Marquess of Malice (Lords of Scandal 2)

All the eyes of the room turned to her. “What does what mean?” her mother asked, fiddling with the needlepoint in her lap.

She huffed a breath. “How is he invested in the wedding plans?”

“Well.” Her mother continued fiddling with her thread. “I mean he’s asked for an expedited wedding and he’s already acquired the license and made plans for the wedding breakfast.”

“Without me?” She swallowed a lump. He’d found time for all that but not for a visit.

“Well dear, you’ve been injured.” Her mother stood, setting her work to the side. “Really, you should thank him for taking care of all the details. And you know my taste is excellent—”

“Your taste?” A churning began in her stomach. “You’ve been helping him?”

“Of course, I have.” Her mother smiled brightly. “You’ve been in bed and someone had to speak for you.”

She drew in a deep breath, trying to control the anger that threatened to bubble out from inside her. “Why didn’t you just come ask me? I’ve been laying upstairs alone and in pain. Did it occur to you or my future husband to include me as a distraction or just a form of company?”

Her mother held up her hands. “You needed your rest, dear. You were badly injured.”

She stared at her mother. She knew that the woman loved her. But how had it occurred to no one to include her the past few days? Their actions made her feel like a ghost in her own family. “I needed love and support.”

“Corde.” Grace started standing as well. “You usually like your quiet time.”

Diana grimaced. “I’m sorry, dear. I’ve been distracted.”

“Thank you, Diana, for understanding that an apology is appropriate here. Just because I am quiet doesn’t mean you can treat me like I don’t exist.”

“We’re not doing that. You have your stories and—”

Cordelia stomped her foot, which made her arm jolt with pain that she ignored. “My hand is broken, mother. I can’t write. And besides, I write the stories because they fill my time and in them, my family doesn’t ignore me.”

“That’s not fair.” Grace stepped forward. “You like to be by yourself.”

“Not for days,” Cordelia huffed. “Did he even ask about me? Where are the letters?”

“Letters?” Her mother crinkled her brow. “What do you mean?”

“What do I mean? How else did you do all that planning?” Her good hand, holding up her sore one, tightened on the skin.

“We didn’t write, dear. He came here. It’s where the breakfast will be after all.”

Her eyes blurred with tears. “He was here? Today?”

“Just for a little while.” Her mother took a few steps toward her. “We did most of the planning yesterday.”

He’d been here multiple days? And he hadn’t visited her or even sent a note? Was her marriage going to be exactly as her relationship with her family was? Did she really want that? The answer was no.

Chapter Thirteen

Malice sat in the seedy back room of their club with his head propped on his elbow as he allowed coins to drop from his hand one at a time. He wasn’t sure when he’d decided he hated the club but somewhere during the past week his feelings had changed.

He didn’t want to be here. Instead, he’d like to be curled against Cordelia’s side, cradling her hurt arm. Pathetic.

Naturally, he’d stayed as far from her as he could. He fully intended to continue on with the wedding and he’d promised to keep her in London with him. Which meant he’d spend even more time here. He grimaced at the smoke-covered walls. When had this place become so dreadful?

“I swear, you are single-handedly creating an air of gloom about the place.” Bad, the Baron of Baderness, frowned around the cigar tucked between his teeth. “And that’s coming from me.”

Bad was a quiet and intense man, not that Malice cared. Except for right this moment when his friend insinuated that Malice was being morose. “I’m not making it gloomy. That is thanks to the damn cigar. Where did you get that thing? It stinks to high heaven and is blackening the walls.”

Exile laughed as he stacked another pile of coins. “First it’s the cigar smoke, then it’s the drinking men. Next thing you know, we’ll be losing yet another member of our little tribe.”