How to Marry a Marquess (Wedded by Scandal 3)

She was once again gathered into arms…his arms. She moaned a feeble protest.

“Westfall! It is highly inappropriate for you to hold Lady Evelyn so close. Hand her to me,” a familiar male voice muttered.

“If you value your fat, stubby fingers, Lord Muir, I suggest you keep them to yourself. I will slice them from your hand if you attempt to touch her again,” Richard said with soft menace.

Voices swirled in the carriage, some strident, angry, and others rife with speculation. Evie did not care. Her heart had been pierced, and she feared it would never be mended. With that painful and inexplicable awareness, she allowed her lids to close and slid into the oblivion of a faint.

Chapter Fourteen

Richard paced the floor. He had not slept in twenty-four hours. His mind was in turmoil and irrevocably frozen on the piercing pain that he had seen in Evie’s eyes.

It is me who will never marry a man like you.

Her words haunted him. He had always been so decisive choosing his path in life, so certain of his purpose in all he did, yet now he felt adrift, and his heart warned him he had made a mistake that he would never recover from. He could only hope with time she would understand he did this to save her from a life of bitterness.

God’s blood. There was a damned hole in his chest, one that felt as if it was incapable of being healed. Not even when Aurelia had thrown him over for her rich earl had he felt such a sense of wrenching loss. Evie had been such a constant in his life these years that he’d never once imagined her not part of it. She made him feel as if he belonged, a feeling that had been missing from his life for the longest time.

He couldn’t imagine never having the comfort and pleasure of Evie’s friendship to cling to when he felt lonely.

You have broken my trust…you’ve broken me…I never want to see you again. She was the one person he wanted more than anything, and he’d hurt her. Hell’s teeth. Somehow, he’d never thought they would have such a break in their friendship. He couldn’t imagine losing her good opinion forever.

He ruthlessly tried to squash the emotional upheaval so he could try to consider rationally what to do concerning the scandal roaring through the ton. A day had not fully passed, and several scandal sheets had already mentioned their midnight assignation while attaching all manner of lurid speculation to their names. The bloody vultures. One had even theorized perhaps they had been eloping to Gretna Green because Lady Evie had fallen prey to his seductive wiles. Christ, if they knew how bold and intriguing she had been. Another had painted him a marauding scarred villain, an outcast from society who had tried to debauch their fair diamond.

He would need to do all in his power to stem the tide of gossip. It would shred Evie to be the butt of such scandal, and he needed to do everything to protect her reputation, simply because it was important to her. Richard could walk away unchallenged from any taint society wanted to paint over his name, he had been doing it for years. This new scandal was just another in the unending speculation into his life since he had claimed his daughter. Though he was damned glad the society gossips were painting him the rightful debaucher and villain, and Evie their wronged innocent.

He’d crafted two plans of action. If Evie proved to be without child, he would find a gentleman of upstanding qualities and circumstances for her to wed, and the man would understand his life would be at risk if he ever hurt her. Richard would use all his wealth and influence to bury all scandal shrouding her name, even if he had to resort to blackmail to get it done.

He slapped a hand against his chest at the pain that pierced him at the thought of Evie on another’s arm. Christ. When would he be able to move past this hunger and the torturous need for her?

If she was with child, they would wed and face the storm together, and pray they were not wrecked in the aftermath. The sense of rightness that filled him at that solution had Richard gritting his teeth.

There was a commotion outside, and his butler, Mr. Nugent, shouted a curse, and then it seemed as if he tussled with someone. Richard reached for the cane with his foil and exited his library on light feet, prowling through the hallway toward the entrance of the manor.

He appeared in time to see a disheveled Ravenswood punching Mr. Nugent flat on his ass. Richard had expected Elliot, the man was Evie’s protective older brother, and he fully expected Elliot to challenge him to a duel.

“Ravenswood,” Richard said calmly. He flicked a glance at his butler who had launched to his feet with a dangerous glower. “It’s quite fine, Mr. Nugent. I’ve been expecting Lord Ravenswood. Shall we take this to the library?”

Without waiting for an answer, Richard spun on his heel and went back to the library. He’d expected this reckoning from the minute he had taken her home to his estate with some of the ton’s most interfering gossips following and observing. His only concern had been to remove her soaked clothes and stop her shivering. Propriety be damned, Evie’s health had been a priority.

At Kencourt Manor, he’d taken her to his rooms, undressed her and dried her hair, and had her clothes laundered. He stayed up through the night, watching her, forcing her awake to drink water when she had muttered of her thirst. In the morning, at her insistence, he had delivered a quiet and somber Evie to Rosette Park. She had traveled in his carriage, and he had ridden his horse beside her, understanding their relationship had irrevocably changed and at a loss on how to fix the damage his actions had wrought.

He allowed Elliot to precede him into the library, and then Richard closed the door.

His friend spun to face him, raking his fingers through his tousled hair. His eyes were red, and Richard had never seen the viscount look so unkempt. Regret kicked him hard and brutal in the gut.

“Elliot, I—”

“What happened? We were sent an urgent summons by the Duchess of Wolverton to attend Evie at Rosette Park. Despite our questions, Her Grace has remained tight-lipped on how you came to deliver Evie to her home in such a state. The newspapers with their God-awful speculations have not helped. Mother collapsed and is prostrate with grief. She is beside herself with fear. I’ve never seen Father so broken and lost. An explanation must be had, man.”

Richard frowned. Fear? The countess was very much concerned with her social standing and the rumormongering of society, but he’d never believe a scandal would elicit such a reaction. Her father is broken? Christ, he had much to repair.

“It is complicated.”

“Uncomplicate it,” Elliot snarled, fisting his hands at his side. “What the hell were you doing with my sister? Lord Muir said he came upon you in the rain with her in your arms. I demand an explanation.”

Richard walked over to the mantel, leaned his cane against the wall, and poured brandy into two glasses. He handed one to the viscount, while he downed the other.

“With the aid of the Duke of Wolverton, Evie had me kidnapped. The axle on our carriage broke, we argued, I was harsh, and she fled into the rain. I ran after her,” he said succinctly.