Lessons from a Scandalous Bride (Forgotten Princesses #2)(6)

As far as Cleo was concerned, he was the perfect candidate for matrimony. The last thing she wanted was some young, virile male to inflict upon her all the misery her mother had endured.

Thanks to Jack Hadley’s newfound interest in his daughters, she had a dowry to rival Croesus himself. Yet in exchange she was expected to wed someone titled. Someone to help elevate her father’s social standing among the ton. That was the trade-off.

After her half sister Grier married the Prince of Maldania, Cleo had thought Jack’s ambitions for her might lessen somewhat. One of his daughters had married a prince, after all. But she wasn’t off the hook. Her father still wanted an English nobleman for a son-in-law.

“I’m so excited.” Lady Libba bounced her generous frame upon the theater seat.

Cleo glanced down at the program in her hand, nodding. “Yes. I’ve heard several good things about the score.”

Libba slapped her with her fan. “Not the opera, you silly hen. McKinney.” She quickly glanced around as if uttering the name alone might set the hounds of hell upon them.

Cleo blinked. “Who?”

“Oh, Cleo! Have you been living under a rock?” She inched her chair closer, bouncing even more as she did so. “McKinney will soon be joining us.”

Cleo glanced at the two remaining seats, still vacant. Presumably the mysterious McKinney would occupy one. “I thought a Mr. and Mrs. Blackwell were invited to join us.” She’d overheard Hamilton mention that he’d invited his old school friend.

Libba bobbed her head in agreement. “They were, but Mr. Hamilton sent a letter around explaining that Mrs. Blackwell was not feeling quite the thing, so his brother-in-law, Lord McKinney, is joining us.”

“I see.” Cleo stared at Libba, seeing nothing at all. Apparently this McKinney should be known to her—at least in reputation.

Libba fluttered her fan as if suddenly overheated. “I’ve been fairly panting to meet him. He’s all everyone is talking about—ever since he drew a sword and sliced Lady Chesterfeld’s gown to ribbons.” Libba made a motion across her dress that looked as though she were fending off bees. “Left her stark naked on the ballroom floor. He’s a perfect savage.” Her eyes danced with delight, attesting that this was not a mark against him.

A perfect savage. Cleo’s lips twisted in a sardonic smile. Seemed rather a contradiction to her but she didn’t bother pointing that out. Instead, she said most soberly, “If that were true—”

“Oh it is!” Libba stared crossly at her, evidently resenting that her tale should be doubted.

“I’m sure it didn’t happen quite like that. He would have been tossed in gaol, certainly, and not about to join us in an opera box.”

Libba readjusted her plump figure on the chair with a sniff. “You shall see.”

With an indulgent smile, Cleo lifted her opera glasses and eyed the crowd pouring into their seats below. She was so engrossed in appreciating the ladies in all their finery—and musing how much her mother would love to witness such a sight—that she did not take heed of the newcomers entering their box until Libba slapped her with her fan again.

“Come now, stop your woolgathering,” Libba called out in an overly loud voice. “We’ve company!”

Cleo resisted the urge to rub her bare arm where the fan struck her. Libba really could be an annoying creature. The girl nodded her head meaningfully toward the back of the box where two gentlemen stood, exchanging greetings with Hamilton.

She assessed the new arrivals, her gaze sliding over a nice-looking fellow with sandy-brown hair and smiling eyes. When her attention turned to the man a step behind him, her breath caught in her throat.

There was no mistaking him. Libba’s perfect savage had arrived.





Chapter Four

Lord McKinney stood a head taller than the other gentlemen. He was a veritable brick wall with impossibly broad shoulders. He filled out his jacket to perfection—no padding necessary. No wonder the ladies of the ton were all atwitter. The image of him cutting away some lady’s gown with a sword was rather easy to envision.

His smoky gaze swept over the box, briefly appraising Libba before moving on—to her. Too late, she didn’t have time to look away. Their gazes collided. His eyes reminded her of a storm rolling in off the sea.

The air trapped in her lungs. She locked her jaw and tightened her lips, refusing to so much as smile lest he mistake the gesture for interest.

Her resolve only deepened as those gray eyes turned speculative. He evaluated her where she sat, ramrod straight in her seat, hands folded tightly in her lap. She felt stripped of her gown, exposed and vulnerable as he scanned her features, lingering on her mouth for a long moment before dropping to survey her décolletage, modestly displayed in her heart-shaped bodice.

She resisted the urge to press her hand there like some squeamish schoolgirl. Heat flooded her cheeks, and by the time his gaze lifted back to her face, she was certain her cheeks were the color of the red velvet drapes. His dark hair, in need of a trim, fell forward on his brow, begging for a woman’s hands to touch . . . caress. She damned herself for the fanciful notion.

Her gaze snapped away at the sound of Lord Thrumgoodie’s jarring tones. “Eh! Who are these two gents?”

Hamilton edged closer to his uncle, explaining, “This is the old school friend I was telling you about, Blackwell, and his brother-in-law, Lord McKinney.”