The lady could not dismiss him so easily, especially since he was not finished with her. As he worked his way through the crowd, there was a rousing cheer in the direction Maura had been heading.
Over the fanciful sea of feathers, jewels, and silk, Everod watched as two gentlemen hoisted Rowan high onto their shoulders. His brother had a bottle of wine in one hand, and a glass in the other. Shouting out for everyone’s attention, Rowan clanked the glass against the bottle.
“I beg for your patience,” Rowan shouted over the murmurs of curiosity. “And your ear.” His handsome features beamed with elation as he noticed Maura off to the right of the small group of people his antics had drawn. “There you are, my dear. Come, join me.” He extended his hand.
Everod moved forward, but his gait slowed as he noted Maura’s puzzlement, and increasing unease from being the center of attention. He was so focused on Maura that he did not immediately notice the two gentlemen who deliberately blocked his way.
It was Solitea and Cadd.
Both gents looked grim, which did not bode well for him.
“Don’t.” The duke’s soft entreaty made the fine hairs at the back of the viscount’s nape bristle.
His friends knew something. What had they overheard before Maura had been summoned? “Out of my way,” Everod growled, attempting to brush by them. If they wanted to fight him in front of a room filled with guests, he would oblige them. He was not particularly concerned about the ensuing scandal.
“This business is done,” Cadd said tightly, as he grabbed Everod by the arm. He might have cuffed the marquess for his impudence if Rowan’s words had not shifted the ground from beneath his feet.
“I have news to share, and I cannot wait for the papers!” his brother said, staring at Maura. “Raise your glasses, my friends, and drink heartily for I have joyous tidings. With the blessings of both our families, four weeks hence Miss Keighly will become my bride!”
The bride in question furiously blushed at Rowan’s announcement. She tried to speak, but her voice was drowned out. Amid the cheers and toasts, dozens of well-wishers pressed forward to congratulate the couple.
Everod shoved Cadd’s restraining hands away, his scorching hot gaze focused on Maura’s deceitful beautiful face. Hours earlier, she had lain in her bed, sleepy and replete from their lovemaking. As she had parted her thighs, writhing and pleading for him to fill her, she had whispered that she was his alone. Moments earlier in the alcove, she had sworn that Rowan would not gain her consent.
She had lied.
The similarities between Maura and her aunt were not lost on Everod. As if sensing his approach, Lady Worrington saw his savage expression and smiled.
The countess was savoring her victory.
An unyielding grip hauled him backward. Everod turned and snarled at Solitea’s interference. “Hands off!”
“You’ve had your revenge,” the duke said, his voice low with tension. “Let her go. She deserves to make a life for herself, to marry a decent gentleman who will give her a dozen kids, and try to make her happy. If you have any tender feelings for the young lady, you will stay away from her.”
Tender feelings? What he felt for Maura was dark and volatile, twisting and fuming just beneath the surface. The thought of her made him yearn. His chest was so tight he thought his lungs might implode; his brain buzzed with reckless feverish thoughts. Solitea thought he had had his revenge on Maura and his family. His friend was wrong. Maura’s betrayal had tipped the scales once again, and Everod was determined to return the favor.
“We’ll leave after I’ve made my toast to the future bride and groom,” he said, his lips contorted in a frightening distortion of a smile. With a fluid grace he slipped Solitea’s hold, and he moved away, ignoring his friend’s muttered oaths.
Seizing a bottle of wine from one of the male revelers, Everod raised the bottle as he faced Rowan and Maura. “I would also like to offer a toast.”
Lord Worrington subtly shifted so he was standing between his two sons. The protective gesture was further proof his father viewed him as the villain. “This is a happy event, Everod. Your drunken rambles are not wanted here.”
Everod shifted his jealous, brooding gaze from his father to Maura. Her eyes brilliant with unshed tears, she was the only one who looked him directly in the eye. Chin tilted upward, she was struggling to hold her composure. There was a despairing resignation in her expression, as if she knew what he was about to do, and was helpless to stop him.
“Let him speak his toast,” Rowan, the favored son, said and Everod’s fingers itched to punch his brother for his charity. “You have tender words for me, Brother?”
The benevolent victor surrounded by family and friends did not fear anyone, least of all his outcast brother. Everod took a breath and savored the moment. Rowan had sorely underestimated his opponent.
“You don’t have to do this,” Cadd hissed in the viscount’s ear.
Everod disagreed.
Neither Cadd nor Solitea understood. They thought he was striking out in jealousy. His feelings were a trifle more complicated than that. His friends did not fully comprehend what Georgette’s carnal machinations had cost him. He did not give two farthings for his virginity. If he had been left to his own designs, he would have tossed his innocence away on a milkmaid or a pretty whore selling her fleshy wares in some tavern.
Georgette had seduced him, partly out of desire and power. However, her true aim had been so vile and ruthless, even he would have never guessed the lady’s hidden nature. He had had years to ponder the malicious actions of his stepmother.
In hindsight, the answer was evident. Georgette had viewed him as a threat. Everod had been curious about his father’s new wife in those early months, and he had discreetly watched her. Once he had caught her kissing one of the grooms. Twelve years ago, Everod’s opinion held sway with his father, and time would have only strengthened that bond. Fearing that he might recount the incident to his father, Georgette turned her ample wiles on him. She had appealed to his pride and lust, and Everod had sweetly succumbed to her lures, allowing the countess to entice him into committing a betrayal his father would never forgive, one that almost ended Everod’s life.
And Maura?
Please.
She did not mouth the word as she had before when she playfully attempted to dissuade him from following her. He saw the plea in her liquid gaze. Everod deliberately looked away, dismissing her.
For some reason, not entirely clear to him, Georgette wanted Maura to marry his younger brother. It was important to Lady Worrington that the marriage transpire. So important, Everod was equally determined to snatch the prize from her. His brother would not marry Maura Keighly.
His revenge would cost a lady her honor.
“Aye, I do, Rowan Lidsaw,” Everod said, his voice silencing the chatter around him. “I congratulate you, Brother. Your lady is exquisite.”
Everod gestured at Maura without meeting her eye. “Beautiful … educated … strong bloodlines … and skin so soft, it inspires a man to stroke it and spout ridiculous verses.” He raised the bottle higher, as he grinned at Georgette. “I am intimately acquainted with her exceptional qualities,” he purred smoothly, switching his attention to Rowan. “She surrendered her innocence to me with a generosity and enthusiasm you will come to appreciate when you fu—”
Rowan slammed his fist into Everod’s jaw.
The viscount staggered back, colliding into several witnesses to the Worringtons’ latest debacle. Someone steadied his stance. Distantly Everod heard several ladies scream and the ballroom seemed to erupt in utter chaos. His father grabbed Rowan from behind and was struggling to hold him. Clutching the front of her bodice as if frightened, Georgette watched them all, her excitement barely contained.
Maura had vanished like a specter.
Everod rubbed the sting out of his jaw as he searched for her. He tasted blood, too, but he would never admit the blow had hurt. “You hit like a spoi
led puppy, Little Brother. On second thought, maybe you are not man enough to bed a lady like Maura—”
Rowan roared, tore himself free from Worrington’s grasp, and launched himself at his brother. Everod relished the fight. The fact that Rowan had planned to marry Maura was reason enough to bloody the man’s pretty face. Everod wanted to gouge, pummel, and rend until there was nothing left.
It took Solitea, Ramscar, and Cadd to pull him away from his brother. Two gentlemen were helping Worrington hold Rowan down. His brother was raging, flailing about, as he demanded that his captors free him.
“Enough!” Solitea shouted at Everod. “This is finished. You’ve done what you came for.”
Solitea had taken part in countless brawls and duels. The man’s condescending tone was damn irritating, and Everod was in no mood for hypocrites. “And what was it I came here for, Your Grace?”
Something wild flashed in Solitea’s green eyes. A muscle near his mouth jumped. Everod tensed, expecting his friend to strike him down. “Revenge on your family, though if you want my opinion, I think you punished the wrong person.”
“What do you know?” the viscount said sullenly. Maura had become his lover, but she had been quietly planning to marry his younger brother.
“I know that you announced to half the ton that Maura Keighly, Lord and Lady Courtwill’s daughter, was your eager whore. Honestly, Everod, cutting the lady’s throat would have been merciful.”
“Biche-sone,” Everod murmured under his breath, uncertain if he was referring to himself or Solitea. Swinging his hands out to push away his well-meaning friends, he staggered away from his family who were still cursing his name.
Maura could not remember how she managed to cross the large ballroom. One moment she was staring at Everod, mutely appealing to him not to confirm her secret fears that she had meant nothing more to him than a way to hurt his family, and the next she was striding through the door that opened into the front hall.
With her hand at her throat, she dragged air into her lungs praying she would not add to her humiliation by fainting. People stared and whispered as they passed her, but no one paused to ask if she was ill.
Oh, how her heart ached!
The pain was simply intolerable. Blinded by her unshed tears, she covered her mouth with her hand and sobbed.
“Maura!”
She heard someone speak her name several times before she reacted. By then, she felt someone hug her. Maura blinked several times to clear her vision.
It was Kilby.
“Maura, what happened?” the duchess asked gently.
Had she not witnessed Everod’s revenge? The viscount had been ruthless and quite thorough in his attack. Kilby had missed a performance worthy of the stage. Hysteria bubbled up, clogging her throat with misplaced laughter.
“Everod,” Fayre spat, her shoulders quaking with her ire. “If Fayne does not murder the scoundrel for what he has done, I surely will.”
“And I will help you!” Kilby said, hugging Maura too tightly. “Maura, you are coming home with us.” She did not give Maura a chance to argue. To Fayre, she said, “We can leave word with one of the servants so the Worringtons know her whereabouts.”
“The men can find their own way home. I think it prudent that we depart immediately,” Fayre said, nodding at the ballroom doors.
The notion of confronting Everod again allowed Maura to shake off the numbing stupor that was claiming her. With her friends flanking her, and issuing terse orders to the hovering footmen, they hurried out of the house.
Chapter Twenty-One
“Madam, leave my coat alone,” Worrington bellowed at his wife. “If I wanted my damn valet, I would have summoned him.”
Espying his mistress, her Blenheim spaniel Beau ambled with his head low toward her, his nails clicking on the hardwood flooring. Unfortunately, the poor creature made the mistake of crossing in front of Worrington. Almost stumbling, the earl swore and kicked the animal on his rump. Beau yelped and scurried under the bed.
“Devil take the beast! I grow weary of tripping over it,” he said, removing his coat out of sheer obstinacy, and throwing it at her dog.
Oh, her husband was in a fine fury. It was amazing the walls of the coach had not toppled as the earl pounded his fists against them, thundering curses at his elder son, and anyone else who had the misfortune to encounter him.
“Beau wanted some affection from you, my lord,” Georgette said, wishing she had the luxury of kicking anything or anyone she desired. The evening had seemed so promising, after Rowan had agreed to announce his betrothal to Maura. She had anticipated Maura being skittish about a betrothal to which she had not officially agreed. However, her niece would have resigned herself to her fate. Everod would have eventually discarded her as a lover. Even if Maura had fancied herself in love with the scoundrel, she would have come to accept that not many gentlemen would have overlooked her lack of virtue.
What Georgette had not anticipated was Everod’s public attack on Maura. The man had been savagely cruel. If it had not been her plans he was ruining, Georgette might have applauded his efforts. She had sorely underestimated Everod. She had assumed his seduction of her niece would have satisfied his need for revenge. Why would the man care who his brother married? It should have amused Everod that Rowan was marrying a lady the viscount had privately taught the bed skills of a practiced courtesan.
Georgette did not understand Everod’s reasoning. That in itself made him a very dangerous man. This evening it became clear that Everod would not be satisfied until his hands were stained with her blood.
“My love,” she said, coming up to her husband and placing both hands on his face. “Your coloring concerns me. I should not have encouraged you to leave your bed. You are not well.”
She was not exaggerating. His face looked chalky, even his lips. There was a fine tremor to his body that she had initially mistaken for rage. He was also perspiring, though the room seemed cool to her.
Some of the anger waned as Worrington gently pulled her hands away from his cheeks and brought them to his heart. “I feel weak, Wife,” he grudgingly admitted. “I loathed to tell you, when my family needs me.”
Georgette brought their joined hands to her lips and kissed his knuckles. Maura had run off before anyone thought to stop her. After Everod had swaggered away, Worrington and his male companions had released Rowan. Shouting curses at all of them, he had disappeared into the crowd. It was too much to hope that Rowan might have the courage and skill to hunt down his elder brother and slay him for his troublemaking.
Worrington swayed, brushing against her. “I need to find Rowan.”
“What you need is one of my tonics and strong tea,” Georgette replied sternly, tugging on his hand until he followed her to the bed. He wearily collapsed on the bed. “I will ring for your manservant to undress you. Rowan will return when his temper has cooled. You bruised his pride by treating him like a little boy who needed protection from his older brother.”
“I had to do something,” he muttered, sliding onto his back. “You saw them. Both obstinate and furious, each was preparing to murder the other. My sons …” Worrington closed his eyes.
Georgette pursed her lips in contemplation. My sons. This was the first time in years that she had heard him acknowledge that he had two sons. Although he would deny it, Worrington was worried about Everod, too. “I will bring your medicine, love,” Georgette said, kissing him on the lips. “Soon the pain and weariness will melt away.”
“I thought he loved me.”
Curled up on the Duke and Duchess of Solitea’s sofa in the drawing room with a thick woolen throw tucked in around her, Maura wondered if she would ever feel warm again.
“Oh, he could not bring himself to say the words. Too much pride, I told myself. Too many lies spoken for either of us to trust wholly,” she said, trying to explain to the three solemn ladies who sat beside her why she had yielded to a gentleman who had carelessly humiliated her with no t
hought to what he had done to her.
Patience leaned over and poured more tea into her cup. She had arrived at the house twenty minutes after them. Though she had been in the ballroom with her husband, the couple had been dancing when Rowan had surprised everyone, including Maura, with his marriage proclamation. When fighting broke out between the two brothers, Ramscar had literally dragged her away from the chaos and ordered her to wait in the card room. Maura, Kilby, and Fayre had already departed by the time Patience had reached the front hall.
“If I had known what Everod’s plans were, I would have given him a helpful shove toward Mr. Lidaw’s raised fist!” Patience said, displaying a rather fascinating bloodthirsty nature. “It must have been so awful, standing there while he praised your—your—”
“My assets,” Maura said, finishing what Patience was too kindhearted to say. “High praise, I suppose, from a man who has bedded a staggering number of ladies.”
Fayre frowned. “Everod never struck me as a cruel man. What he did this evening was reprehensible.” She muttered something unintelligible and dug her handkerchief from her reticule. “I do not understand any of this. I saw how Everod behaved around you. I could have sworn the man had finally fallen in love.”
A love he willingly sacrificed for revenge.
Maura set her cup of tea aside. Once Kilby and Fayre had hustled her into the Solitea coach, she had succumbed to the tears she had fought back in the ballroom. With the comfort of friends, her grief finally breached the emotional dam that had been held together by sheer will alone. In the dark interior, Maura had grieved for the man she had loved. After an hour, she had nothing left. Her insides felt sickly and hollowed.
“Oo-oh, I am so disappointed in Everod!” Kilby said, so distressed by what had occurred, she could sit only for a few minutes at a time. “The man should be gelded!”
“Forthwith, I am ordering Hedge to put all the knives under lock and key,” the Duke of Solitea said, entering the drawing room.
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