All four ladies turned toward the door.
The duke was not alone. Maura’s stomach clenched at the realization that Everod could have joined his friends. Mr. Brawley, Lord Byrchmore, and Lord Ramscar crossed the threshold greeting the ladies. She stared at the empty doorway for a few seconds, silently telling herself that she was relieved that Everod had not sauntered into the room with a cocky grin on his face and an apology that she would toss in his face.
Kilby glared at her husband. When the duke attempted to kiss her on the cheek, she tilted her face away. “If I told our butler the bitter tale of what transpired this evening in the Kerstings’ ballroom, the man would take up a knife to help me geld your friend.”
His Grace straightened with a sigh hissing from his lips. He cast a guarded glance in Maura’s direction. “You heard about Everod’s mischief. I suspected as much when I learned you had departed the ball without telling me. I was worried that our babe had made you ill.”
“I am ill. However, you can thank Everod for my upset,” Kilby said, poking him in the chest.
“Christ, you have bony fingers!” The duke took several steps back. “I can tell you are upset, but you are attacking the wrong man.”
“All of you are his friends,” Fayre said, dabbing at her eyes. “I cannot believe none of you thought to stop him.”
Hesitant of her reaction, Mr. Brawley slowly sat down beside his wife and took her hand. “You should have no quarrel with me, Wife. I wasn’t in the ballroom.”
“And I was dancing with Patience when Everod decided to make an arse out of himself,” Ramscar said, sounding disgusted by the viscount’s actions. “Once I stashed Patience somewhere safe, I rushed to where the fight was occurring. Hell, I did not even know Everod was in the thick of things until I saw Cadd and Solitea drag him off Rowan Lidsaw.”
The gentlemen were keenly aware that the lady who had been subject to their friend’s cruelty was sitting quietly on the sofa. No one seemed to be able to look Maura in the eye, as if they blamed themselves for the viscount’s actions.
“You must have sensed something was amiss,” Patience said, allowing her husband to put his arm around her and cuddle her against his side. “Ram, you mentioned that Solitea and Cadd were close enough to drag Everod off his younger brother.” The blonde appealed to Lord Byrchmore, who was closest to her. “Did something upset Everod?”
It was Solitea who replied. “He was a mite perturbed when Lidsaw announced that he was marrying Miss Keighly.”
“I saw his face,” Lord Byrchmore added, rubbing his neck. It was obvious Maura’s presence was making him feel uncomfortable. “He looked like a man who had taken a blow to the breadbasket. He seemed—” The marquess nodded at Maura, silently inquiring to the others the wisdom of their discussion.
“Pray continue, Lord Byrchmore.” Maura spoke for the first time, her voice husky from crying and disuse. “How did Lord Everod seem to you?”
She had not seen Everod’s face when Rowan had announced their betrothal. However, the man could not have been more stunned by the announcement than Maura had been. Rowan had grown dissatisfied with her hedging when he spoke of marriage. She had thought that she could delay, put him off until the season’s end. His boldness still astounded her.
Lord Byrchmore stared down at his shoes. “Savage, Miss Keighly. We tried to get him to leave.” He mutely beseeched Solitea for support. “Everod would not listen to us.”
Kilby gasped, shifting her horrified gaze from the marquess to her husband. “You guessed his intent and did not stop him?”
“We tried! Everod refused to heed our warnings,” Solitea shouted defensively at his wife. “This is family business, Kilby. One must tread with care when interfering.”
“Out!”
“I beg your pardon,” the duke asked, his voice quieting as his own temper flared.
Kilby pointed at the door. “You heard me, Fayne. Leave us. Your sympathies apparently lie with your friend, and I happen to disagree, which makes you not my favorite person this evening. Lord Everod is a vile miscreant.”
“Hell, Little Wolf,” he yelled, using an endearment he had given her that had been derived from her former surname, Fitchwolf. “I agree with you! I would have beaten the man bloody if he hadn’t stormed out of the Kerstings’ ballroom.”
Maura stirred in her seat. She did not want Kilby to toss her husband out of his own house because of her. Everyone else seemed to be transfixed on the arguing couple.
“Please, Kilby,” she entreated the duchess. “There is no need to throw a man out of his own house because you do not agree with him. Think of your child. This upset cannot be good for the baby. Besides, I have tarried here too long. I should return to my aunt and uncle, and face—”
“No!” the three ladies protested in unison.
The Duke of Solitea stared at Maura, his keen green eyes noting her tearstained face and the utter misery his friend’s outburst had triggered. And yet, she thought of his wife’s health and that of their child. He nodded, a belated respect kindling in his expression. “No, stay. We’ll go.”
The duke addressed his wife. “This is the first of many calls this eve. I insisted that we stop here first because you had left the ball without word to me. I was worried,” he said gruffly, clearly not pleased that his friends were witnessing how gentle he could be with his duchess. He lightly splayed his hand on her stomach to remind her that both she and the child growing in her womb were important to him.
“Where are you going?” Kilby asked, leaning against her husband as if their brief fight had weakened her.
“After Everod,” His Grace replied, needing her to understand. “He is out there somewhere, and we need to find him before he decides to take his anger out on any unfortunate bastard who crosses his path.”
Fayre touched her hand to her throat in a protective gesture. “Is he that dangerous?”
Mr. Brawley patted her hand and stood. “He has no quarrel with us.”
Ramscar kissed Patience on the lips. “If he encounters Lidsaw again, the pair may finish what was started in the ballroom,” Ramscar grimly interjected. “Wait for me here.”
Maura pulled the blanket tucked around her higher, and averted her face as the gentlemen bid their farewells to their wives. She noted that Lord Byrchmore, the only bachelor in the room, also seemed disconcerted by what should have been private between the couples.
Her thoughts returned to Everod. Although the viscount had devastated her this evening, she could not quell the growing concern welling within her. Even his friends were worried about what he might do. Everod was prowling the streets of London, angry and reckless. If his friends did not find him, he might be injured, mayhap killed.
Maura could not bear the thought.
Not when it would deprive her of the pleasure of killing him herself.
Chapter Twenty-Two
“This is most unexpected.”
Everod glanced up from his pot of beer to study the lady standing in front of him. Uninterested in cards, Everod had selected a table in one of the dark corners of the gaming hell. He had wanted to be alone, but he was reconsidering his decision.
“So are you, my bonny girl.” He kicked out a chair so that she could sit with him. “Shall I summon a barmaid for another pot or do you prefer something else?”
She giggled, cocking her head so the ribbons and tiny bells threaded in her brown-colored tresses jingled. Since she was a barmaid, she couldn’t very well carry out the task for which she had been employed, and simultaneously flirt with the gentleman she hoped would increase her earnings for the evening.
“What if we just share,” she said with a merry smile as she gingerly picked up his pot and sipped the beer. She stared at him over the rim. “You seem lonely.”
Everod was startled by the lady’s astuteness. He had been musing about his life, and how alone he felt, even though the hell was crammed to the rafters with professional gamblers, loutish young noblemen who pre
ferred the stews to elegant drawing rooms, sailors, drunks, and whores. Giving her a practiced smile, he shrugged. “No more than any other man, I suppose.”
“Oh, I know for a fact that you do possess more than the average man, my lord,” she cooed, offering him the pot. “I remember you. More to the point, are you willing to share it with me again?”
Everod peered at the young woman’s face. He did not recognize her. She had a sweet face, with rosy cheeks and sparkling dark blue eyes, but she was not beautiful. He did not look at her and hunger.
She wasn’t Maura.
“We have met, then?” he said, lifting his brow questioningly. Had he been so shallow in his couplings with other ladies that he had not bothered to learn their names or recall their faces?
Or had Maura banished his earlier conquests, wiped them from his mind so that he would only think of her? Everod could almost convince himself that Maura Keighly was an enchantress. He had been beguiled by her the moment he approached her at the bookseller’s shop.
The barmaid’s pout was emphasized by the red rouge painted on her lips. “Oh, love, you don’t recall loving poor Marjorie? We had a grand time, you and me in the back. You rented one of the private rooms. Told Xavier you were showing me some trickery with cards. A leg-ger-man—” She scowled as she tried to recall the word he had used.
“Legerdemain,” he smoothly corrected, amused that he had seduced the wench with a word she had not understood let alone could pronounce. “And did my nimble tricks please you, Marjorie?”
The barmaid nodded enthusiastically. “Aye, my lord.” Pressing her advantage, she slid from the chair and moved to his lap. “You were most generous. After I finish my duties, I wouldn’t mind another one of your lessons in the back rooms.”
Everod flicked one of the little bells in her hair, and smiled absently at the faint jingle. He must have been quite foxed to have risked Xavier’s wrath by using the hell as his personal brothel. Though he could not recall Marjorie, she would have appealed to his lusty nature. She had a fair face, was plump in all the right places, and her eagerness for his coin would have made up for what she lacked.
The barmaid brazenly nestled her hand between their bodies and rubbed the bulge at the apex of his breeches. Everod was not surprised his cock warmed and thickened at her brisk strokes. “Oh, my, you are a big man,” she said, her eyes shining with approval.
She leaned closer and kissed him. Everod did not pull her away, but he did not encourage the barmaid by kissing her back. She tasted of the beer she sold, and there was a slight bitter aftertaste from the rouge she had painted on her lips. Marjorie took his hand, and brought it up to her breasts.
“I seem to recall you were partial to these, my lord,” she purred in his ear.
With Marjorie wiggling in his lap, Everod could not deny that his nether regions were responding as God intended. He was not made of stone, though his straining cock was determined to make a liar out of him. Later, when he reflected on this moment, he would laugh. He had a willing, amorous female in his arms, and Everod felt nothing. No curiosity. No excitement. No desire to take the comely barmaid into a private room in an attempt to erase Maura’s touch from his brain.
It was a sad predicament.
“Your Grace,” Hedge said from the threshold. “A gentleman is in the front hall. He begs for an audience.”
Everod.
Maura straightened in her seat, glancing about for a way to escape the confrontation.
Kilby frowned at the servant. “At this hour? Who is it?”
“A Mr. Lidsaw. His unpleasant connection to Lord Everod urged me to shut the door in the man’s face. However, he claims to be betrothed to Miss Keighly.” The butler sniffed, a not-so-subtle pronouncement of his personal opinion. “Shall I throw him out?”
The servant’s loyalty was to the Soliteas, and that included Everod since he was a treasured friend. Maura glanced at Kilby, but she had come to a decision on her own.
“Send him in, Hedge,” the duchess told him.
Fear blossomed within her. “Kilby, I do not know if I can face Rowan,” Maura said, throwing aside the blanket and smoothing out her dress. “If he has come to chastise me for Everod, I—”
Kilby clasped both her hands and squeezed them in reassurance. “You have to face Mr. Lidsaw eventually, and I think it best that it be done in front of friends,” she said, attempting to soothe Maura’s nerves. “If the gentleman is as ruthless as his elder brother, then Hedge will oblige us, and cast the uncouth scoundrel out on his backside.”
“Maura,” Rowan said, his voice filled with relief and tenderness as his gaze settled on her.
Her own relief was so great that Maura’s knees gave out, and she sank promptly back onto the sofa.
“Well, well, what do we have here?”
Everod peeled his lips off Marjorie’s at the sound of Ramscar’s voice. He glanced up to see Brawley, Solitea, Cadd, and Ramscar glowering at him. “Good evening, gents. May I introduce you to Marjorie.”
“G’evening, sirs,” the barmaid said, her eyes widening at the four handsome strangers. The greedy wench was likely tallying the riches she could earn if all five of them would buy her favors for the evening.
Cadd snorted. “So typical of you, Everod. We’ve been racing all over town, worried we’d find you battered, bloody, and with someone’s broken teeth buried in your fist. And here you are cuddling up to some whore.”
“Say, I have ears, you know!” Marjorie exclaimed.
“There is blood on his mouth,” Brawley dryly observed.
Snickering, Solitea swore and retrieved his handkerchief. He tossed it at Everod, who deftly caught it. “Rouge, I think. The color looks lovely on you, Everod.”
He must look like a bloody idiot with lip paint smeared on his lips. Everod nudged the barmaid off him, and used Solitea’s handkerchief to wipe away the evidence of her kiss.
“Marjorie, my sweet,” Everod said without looking at her. “Since I was about to decline your generous offer before we were rudely interrupted, why don’t you fetch some beer for my friends.”
Vexed that his friends had deprived her of some extra coin, the barmaid stomped off to the bar. Everod dropped the soiled handkerchief on the table and silently watched as his friends sat down at his table.
“You seem to have recovered from losing Miss Keighly rather swiftly,” Solitea observed casually as he glanced at the buxom barmaid. “So this evening’s debacle was more about striking at your family, rather than anger over the fact the lady was planning to marry your brother.”
Everod’s shoulders tensed. Another night he might have launched himself at his friend, and physically displayed his displeasure, but he was not the only man at the table poised for an attack. The four of them were battle-ready. They expected him to be unreasonable, perhaps even violent. Just to prove he wasn’t a wild animal that they needed to subdue, Everod deliberately leaned back and relaxed.
He cracked his neck, and smiled faintly at his friends. “My feelings are my own business, Solitea. Marjorie was just being friendly. She runs her own business within Xavier’s establishment. I was about to refuse—”
“A bit late, don’t you think?” Cadd snapped, gesturing at the ruined handkerchief. “Your Marjorie had her hand curled around your stiff cock, and her tongue—”
“She isn’t my Marjorie, you arse!” Everod growled over the marquess’s diatribe. “I barely know the wench. Besides, even if I was going to fuck her, it would have been my choice, my business!”
“Everod is correct,” Brawley said, placing a placating hand on Cadd’s arm. “It is none of our business, and we will be happy to leave, so you can continue your conversation with the lady.”
Marjorie returned with their beer, and took her time placing a pot in front of each gentleman. Her gaze roamed possessively over Everod, sending him a silent invitation that was difficult for the other men to ignore.
“If you feel inclined, my lord, you may say your fa
rewells to me in private.” The barmaid winked at him. “You know where to find me.”
Cadd slammed his fist on the wooden table. “By God, you have gone too far, even for you!”
It appeared that little provocation would prod the marquess to violence this evening. Since the four men had hunted him down to save him from his temper, the irony was not lost on Everod. “You have something to say, Cadd?”
“Yes. If you want to know the truth, I feel inclined to smash your face in,” Cadd said, bracing his palms, on the table as he pushed himself onto his feet.
Everod slowly stood. “You could try.”
Both Solitea and Ramscar jumped up and seized Cadd’s arms to prevent him from attacking.
“This isn’t helping,” Solitea murmured in Cadd’s ear.
The marquess scowled at Everod as he strained against his human shackles. To Solitea, he said, “Miss Keighly is at your house miserable because of this bastard, while he celebrates her ruination with some tavern whore. I agree with your duchess. We are on the wrong side of this business.”
The urge to fight Cadd drained away at the mention of Maura’s name. He grabbed Solitea’s arm. “Maura is at your house.”
Solitea hesitated, seeming reluctant to confirm her whereabouts. “Yes. Kilby, my sister, and Patience thought it best that Miss Keighly return to our house instead of the Worringtons’.”
After you humiliated her, where was she supposed to go?
In the ballroom, Everod had been completely caught up in his own roiling emotions. His feelings of betrayal because Maura thought that she could marry Rowan, his jealousy at his brother for being in the position to claim her, and his hatred for his father’s countess had blinded him. He had attacked without thinking of what would happen to her once he spoiled Rowan’s plans to marry her.
What did you expect, Everod? That Maura would forgive you for humiliating her in front of half the ton, and that all would be as before?
The Worringtons would send Maura away. She would return to her parents, and steps would be taken to insure that he never saw her again. Georgette would be furious that her plans had been ruined. Although Lady Worrington would not have been able to strike at him, Maura would have suffered greatly in her aunt’s hands.
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