When Scandal Came to Town (Scandalous Sons 3)

The sound of footsteps outside drew their attention to the door. The series of knocks that played like a melody confirmed Wycliff’s arrival.

Benedict rushed forward, slid the bolts and opened the door. Gripping an arm each, Wycliff and Trent dragged the Earl of Worthen into the old building. Tregarth followed, wielding a stick sword, the tip of which he took pleasure prodding in Worthen’s back.

Cassandra’s face turned ashen. It was one thing to imagine exacting revenge, another to see it played out before one’s eyes.

“Get your bloody hands off me!” Worthen struggled to free himself, but no man was as strong as Trent. “I swear, heads will roll for this.” Through red, puffy eyes, he glared at Benedict. “Don’t think your father will save you this time.”

Cassandra rushed forward. “Silence! I’ve heard enough of your nonsense to last a lifetime. The only person who needs saving is you.”

Worthen blinked in shock at his daughter’s sudden outburst. “Look what he’s done to you. Did I not tell you, heathens corrupt the soul? You should have married Murray.”

“Lord Murray is bedding Miss Fox.” Cassandra braced her hands on her hips. “For three months they have been sneaking about behind my back. Is that the sort of man you want for my husband?”

Worthen scoffed. “Every man partakes in the odd dalliance.”

“Not every man,” Benedict countered. He dragged a crude chair and placed it in the middle of the room. “Now sit down, before I knock you down.”

Trent and Wycliff pushed the lord into the chair. Tregarth played prison guard and kept the tip of his sword pointed at the earl’s non-existent heart.

“Well?” Worthen barked at Tregarth. “I should have known you’d go back on your word.” The lord was so misguided, was such a damn hypocrite, it was laughable. “We fought a duel over the attack on your son. Why the devil have you brought me here?”

“You can stop pretending.” Benedict came to stand in front of Worthen and folded his arms across his chest. “You expect us to believe you have not spoken to your good friend Lady Murray?”

Eight hours had passed since Benedict had brought Cassandra home from their enlightening trip to the Oxford Arms. Sir William would have called on Lady Murray as a matter of urgency. Therefore, she must know what had transpired.

“Good friend? The woman is a backstabbing termagant. A demon in pearls. A conniving devil.”

“A conniving devil?” Cassandra came to stand before the earl, too. “Is that not the reason you conspired with her to bring about my ruination? Perhaps you were unaware that Miss Fox was hiding behind the curtain in Lord Craven’s library when the two of you discussed your despicable plan.”

Worthen gulped a breath as the words penetrated, as it suddenly dawned on him why he’d been abducted from his home and brought to a decrepit warehouse.

A tense silence ensued.

Tregarth drew the tip of the blade up to Worthen’s throat. “Well? We’re waiting to hear your explanation, George.”

Another series of knocks on the door signalled the arrival of the other devious player in this game. Trent assisted Verity and Scarlett in hauling the disgruntled matron into the ramshackle building. The Marquis of Blackbeck followed behind. The arrogant smirk on his face suggested he was enjoying the night’s proceedings.

Dressed immaculately in black, the marquis waited as Scarlett forced the matron into the chair next to Lord Worthen and then said, “When I perused my diary this week, I do not recall seeing abduction on the list of appointments.”

Wycliff glanced at his father. “Don’t pretend you’re not excited at the prospect of watching events unfold.”

“Yes, almost as excited as poor Lady Murray when her butler informed her a marquis had come to call.”

“This is an outrage!” Lady Murray’s cheeks flamed red. “I demand you return me to Mortimer Street at once.” Her irate gaze scanned her abductors. “Do you know who I am?”

Blackbeck stepped forward. His amused grin faded. “You most certainly know who I am, madam, and you do not want to feel the full force of my wrath.”

The matron turned her anger on Lord Worthen. “What the devil have you told them? Doubtless it’s all lies. More fictitious drivel.”

“You’re the bare-faced liar,” Worthen countered. “There is little point playing innocent now. I should have known you had hidden motives when you devised the blasted plan.”

“Me?” The matron clutched her chest, affronted. “Me! You’re the heartless fool who uses his own daughter to further his ends.”

“I guarantee, people would have paid a fortune to watch this show,” Blackbeck interjected. “It reminds me of an opera I once saw in—”

“This is a serious matter,” Wycliff snapped. “If you wish to play your part, you will watch the performance quietly from the stalls.”

Blackbeck inclined his head in acquiescence. “Then I shall brace myself for the finale.”