“Forgive us.” He held Miss Smythe tight against his chest. The need to protect her modesty proved to be the overriding factor. A man professing undying love did not tear his lady’s garments. And they were unlikely to believe Lady Morford’s accomplice had grabbed her from behind the bushes to ensure it looked like a ravaging. “The lady accepted a proposal of marriage, and we struggled to contain our excitement.”
Miss Smythe hid her face against his coat. He cupped her head in a comforting gesture.
“Where would we all be if we were free to express our emotions?” one snooty matron said, her tone brimming with reproof.
“Do you not remember what it was like to be in love?”
The lady with a large ostrich feather jutting out of her coiffure chuckled. “I wouldn’t know. I married for money.” She paused for a moment, squinted as she stared at them. “Ah, it is Mr Chandler, is it not? Are you certain it is marriage you seek?”
Matthew smiled. “Even the most hardened rogues are capable of reform.”
“And who is the unlucky lady?”
He kept a firm grip on Miss Smythe’s head. They would discover her identity in due course, but he would be damned before they would see shame swimming in her eyes.
“You will read the announcement soon enough,” he said.
The comment received a mocking snigger. “We shall believe it, sir, when we see you standing at the altar in St. George’s.”
Anger flared. He failed to repress his contempt for their hypocritical opinions.
“Then you should all hope the lady marries me.” His clipped tone conveyed a wealth of loathing. “A man suffering from a broken heart can be rather foolish and unpredictable. I know enough about the licentious habits of many gentlemen to see shame brought down on the most respectable families.” He considered the identities of the ladies before him. “I am certain you would not wish me to regale tales of your husband’s exploits, Lady Hadden.”
The ladies shocked gasps and sudden frantic hand gestures were evidence he had made his point.
“Then … then we wish you luck in your endeavour, Mr Chandler,” Lady Hadden said, ushering the women at her side like a hen gathering her chicks. “Remember, a good marriage requires nothing more than a good man.”
“I shall bear that in mind the next time I am in the company of your husband.”
Without another word, the matrons turned their backs and sauntered away from the secluded area.
Matthew waited for a moment. He ran his hand along Miss Smythe’s bare shoulder. “They've gone,” he whispered, pleased to witness her shiver at his touch.
She gazed up at him with a look of wonder. “You certainly put them in their place.”
“The only way to beat the gossips is to play them at their own game.”
She stepped away, stared at him for the longest time. “What do we do now?”
With a quick shake of the head, he dismissed all lustful thoughts. “I presume you are here with a relation.” He was aware her parents were dead.
“I was to attend with my aunt, but she is suffering from a fever. I came with my friend, Miss Hamilton, and my uncle is here, though someone persuaded him to play a hand of cards and I have not seen him since.”
Cards?
A strange sense of foreboding took hold.
Matthew scoured his mind to recall her uncle’s name. “You live with your mother’s sister, I understand.” He made it his business to keep abreast of all the gossip.
“Yes, they treat me like the daughter they—” She broke off on a sob. “Oh, they will be so disappointed. How could I have been so foolish?”
He touched her upper arm. “Once Lady Morford puts her mind to something she does not care who she hurts.”
Miss Smythe shook her head and gave a weary sigh. “I am far from the catch of the Season. I know you only offered marriage to save Lord Morford. It was an honourable thing to do.”
Honourable? Damn! No one had ever associated the word with his name. “As your betrothed, may I give you some advice?”
Her eyes brightened. “Of course.”