How to Marry a Marquess (Wedded by Scandal 3)

His eyes shadowed. “Well.”

His reply was so chillingly succinct she could only stare at him helplessly. Two years had passed since the ton discovered he had an illegitimate daughter, yet Evie had only four occasions upon which to see her, the most recent a few months past at her dear friend Adeline’s, now the Duchess of Wolverton, twin boys’ christening. Richard guarded his little Emily with a fierce protectiveness, which the ton gleefully hated him for. The missed opportunity to stick their vicious barbs into tender flesh was deeply resented. She understood his protective caution, but it shredded her heart that he also kept his daughter from her. On more than one occasion she had sent an invitation to tea, and there had been no reply.

“Will you take a turn with me in the gardens? There we should have relative privacy to converse,” he said smoothly, then frowned, his eyes shadowing. “It will not bode well for society to see us alone.”

“Would you not prefer to dance?” Though her heart lurched at taking such a bold step, she did not want him to believe for even a moment she was scared to be seen in his arms, hopefully waltzing.

His gaze scanned the crowd, and it was quite easy to see the disdain he felt for the gathering. “No.”

His presence at society events excited malicious speculation, which the ton made no effort to curtail, and it was evident now in the whispers stirring the air around them, the pointed suspicious looks directed her way. Perhaps it was best he had declined to dance, for the last time they partook in such a pleasure, society had not been kind—the cartoons had been horrific, and her mother had been insensible with mortification. She ignored the pinprick of unease at being the regard of their speculations. “There are a frightful number of guests in the gardens being wicked no doubt. Perhaps it would be best if we visited the conservatory.”

They maneuvered through the crush, he a few discreet paces behind her. They entered the entrance hall and Lord Beaufort inclined his head to Richard with a smile. He ignored the earl and his countess, walking with purpose ahead. From the few gasps and twitters, his action had been noted, and it would appear in the morning scandal sheets that Lord Westfall had given Lord and Lady Beaufort the cut direct.

A pang went through Evie’s heart at Lady Beaufort’s evident embarrassment. Richard had changed from the amiable and caring man she had known over the years. Once, she’d asked if he was a libertine, and he’d said no, a claim he was unable to boast any longer. Now he was the most dangerous degenerate according to several scandal sheets, uncaring of society’s views and expectations. He despised high society for some unfathomable reason, and he made no effort to conceal his distaste. And she was being inexcusably reckless. Despite their friendship and the cravings in her heart, his reputation did not allow for them to be alone. Although her logical mind argued her to caution, she continued through the side door leading to the terrace.

They exited, and she moved to walk beside him. “You were quite rude just now. What have they done to suffer your disdain?”

“Their existence offends me,” he said flatly.

“You have the sensitivity of a battering ram,” she muttered. “Lady Beaufort is still struggling to be accepted by society after her daughter eloped to Gretna Green with her music tutor. Your actions gave society more reason to condemn her.”

“You chide me as if I might feel remorse.”

“I daresay you ought to feel some regret. I never knew you to be unfeeling.”

He shot her a derisive glance. “A boy of eleven was caught poaching on their land. A pair of pheasants to feed his little sisters. The gamekeeper caught him. Do you know where that boy is now?”

She frowned. “No, but surely you cannot resent the earl and the countess for handing over a thief to the magistrate.”

“A thief?”

“Well, yes,” she said carefully. “He did take something that did not belong to him.”

“That boy of eleven years was sentenced to seven years’ hard labor for a pair of birds. Would you like your liberty to be taken for food?”

Shock coursed through her. Seven years? “It is the law,” she said faintly.

“Then it is easy for me to deduce you would treat your tenants with similar contempt, Evie.”

Uncertainty sifted through her. There was an undercurrent in his tone she was unable to decipher. He’d sounded disappointed in her defense of the earl. They slipped through the gardens and toward the glass house. They entered the well-tended conservatory, the laughter and excitement of the ball a distant buzz. “I do not agree the boy should be given such a harsh sentence, but I cannot defend his thievery as you easily do.”

Richard’s lips curled. “As expected from a lady of society.”

There it was again. The veiled disdain he felt for the ton. The lump in her throat grew larger. It had become distressingly clear these past few months that he equated her with everyone in society. The bonds of their friendship had been straining, quite severely. “It relieves my mind to know that you are in attendance tonight,” she said softly. “It has been a while since we’ve had any occasion to converse.”

“Ah…I thought that had been deliberate. I was met with chilling incivility upon our last encounter.”

Evie could feel her face redden. “You attended Lady Welsh’s ball with…with your mistress. Certainly you did not expect me to own to our acquaintanceship and dance with you?”

“I expected kindness.”

And in his eyes, she spied a peculiar coldness he’d not normally reserved for her. It pained her to see it. “You were introducing her to our society. I thought you would desire for me to speak with her.”

“Shocking that I expected you to be civil.”

“Richard, surely you understand my reputation would have been sullied if I had conversed with her.”

“Your reputation was never in danger. Mrs. Cranston is a widow who has seen better times, but she was never my mistress.”