Lessons from a Scandalous Bride (Forgotten Princesses #2)(7)

The earl nodded, but Cleo was unconvinced he had heard—or understood. Thrumgoodie possessed far too much pride, however, to beg his nephew to repeat himself.

“Ladies, allow me to present Mr. Blackwell and Lord McKinney. Gentlemen, my cousin, Lady Libba.” There was a weighty pause before he introduced Cleo, as if she were an afterthought. “And Miss Cleopatra Hadley.”

Cleo stifled the wince that always followed when she heard that dreadful name her mother had chosen for her spoken aloud. Given the life she had lived up until now, it was a mockery.

The gentlemen took their turns bowing over first Libba’s and then Cleo’s hands.

“A pleasure,” Mr. Blackwell murmured. “Thank you for including us. My wife is abject over missing such a delightful evening. She adores the opera.”

“Indeed,” Hamilton replied, all graciousness. “We are sorry to miss her lovely company, to be sure, but glad you could join us. We shall rehash our youth with stories of our days at Abernathy Hall.” Hamilton clapped Blackwell on the back. He nodded cheerfully at Lord McKinney, as if that pardoned his exclusion.

The “perfect savage” nodded in acknowledgement and Cleo wondered if he would deign to speak. The lights dimmed and everyone lowered into their seats.

Hamilton dropped back to sit beside Blackwell, so Lord McKinney took the vacant seat beside Libba. It could not have been arranged any better. Libba did not bother to hide her ear-to-ear smile. Unable to contain her excitement, her hands shook upon her lap.

“How are you enjoying London?” Libba inquired amid the opening notes.

Lord McKinney opened his mouth to answer her, but she did not give him a chance, rushing ahead with her next question. “Have you visited Persephone’s Emporium yet? Or Haverty’s? You must stroll Bond Street. The most splendid shopping in the world. It’s simply brilliant. I’m certain you’ve never seen the like. Certainly not in Scotland. That is where you are from, is it not? I’ve heard of you, of course . . .”

McKinney nodded, shifting to face her better as she prattled on and on about shopping, of all things. A glazed look fell over his eyes.

Cleo couldn’t help herself. A smile twitched her lips. He was probably reconsidering the wisdom of accompanying his brother-in-law.

His gaze caught sight of her as she fought down laughter, that same speculative look on his face as before.

Thankfully, the curtains lifted at that moment and the performance began, snaring everyone’s attention and silencing Libba. A blessing, Cleo couldn’t help but think. Especially for Lord McKinney.

Cleo soon lost herself in the music and drama unfolding below. She did not even immediately notice when the old earl’s hand crept upon her shoulder.

She started at the realization, glancing sideways as though a spider rested there. His thin, cold fingers brushed her flesh before settling upon the curl of hair draped there. He stroked her hair until she was quite certain the curl had unwound itself. Her throat tightened and she struggled to swallow. Her pleasure in the opera quickly vanished. For being defunct in matters of intimacy, he was certainly fond of touching her, but then she supposed touching was the only thing left to him.

Hoping to subtly dislodge his hand, she angled her head as though she needed to stretch her neck—or perhaps better see the corner of the stage. The action turned her body, and she found herself locking eyes with Lord McKinney.

His eyes gleamed darkly in the shadows, but even in the dim lighting she didn’t miss the knowing look there. The barest smirk tainted his well-sculpted lips.

She’d seen the look before, scorn the moment someone realized that she and the earl were more than passing acquaintances. The judgment was always evident once they comprehended he was her beau. They deemed her a greedy social climber, after the earl for his title.

She quickly faced forward again, her spine an unyielding rod. Lord McKinney’s stare burned into the side of her face. Her hands knotted in her lap. The intermission couldn’t come quickly enough. As soon as the curtain lowered, she hastily stood and murmured her excuses. Lifting her skirts, she fled, gaze averted.

The corridor was not yet crowded. Fortunate for her, she reached the sanctuary of the retiring room before it was invaded by too many other ladies and claimed a seat.

As it filled up with chattering women, she pretended to fiddle with her hair in front of one of the gilded mirrors, feigning great concentration and using this time to compose herself.

“Did you see him? McKinney? Sitting bold as you please up in one of the boxes?”

Cleo blinked hard at the mention of the Scotsman. Could she not escape him even here, in the ladies’ retiring room?

“I don’t care if he is some savage, he’s the most delicious-looking specimen to ever set foot in Town,” a young woman uttered, readjusting her generous bosom inside her snug-fitting bodice.

“He’s on the hunt for an heiress, you know.”

A sigh followed this remark. The lady released her breasts and puckered her lips for her reflection, angling her head as though seeking the most flattering pose. “Aren’t they all? One of four girls, I’m certain my dowry couldn’t tempt him. I must look to my other assets.” She and her friend giggled at this. Cleo rolled her eyes. Ninnies.

Lowering her hands from her hair, Cleo rose to her feet more abruptly than she’d intended. The girls paused in their ministrations, sending her curious looks. She pasted a vacant smile on her face and departed the retiring room. In the corridor, she struggled through the mad press of overly perfumed bodies. In these moments, she missed being able to step outside and inhale the salty sea air.