Always Proper, Suddenly Scandalous (Scandalous Seasons #3)(6)

Sophie folded her arms across her chest. “Introductions, however, will require you to impart the identity of the lady who had caught your attention earlier.”

Geoffrey couldn’t very well admit that the woman who had ensnared his notice was not in fact the woman he’d selected as his future viscountess.

He did a cursory search of the crowd and caught sight of Lady Beatrice Dennington. The only female born to the Duke of Somerset, she stood alongside her brother the Marquess of Westfield, heir to the dukedom, known by Society as something of a rogue. Westfield was not unlike the man Geoffrey once had been…the man he’d resolved to never be again.

Sophie tilted her head. “Geoffrey?”

“Lady Beatrice Dennington,” Geoffrey said quietly.

Sophie blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“I’d like you to introduce me to Lady Beatrice.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Hmph.”

Pause.

“Aren’t you going to ask why I said, ‘Hmph’?” she said after a moment.

“No.”

Sophie shook her head. “You are utterly exasperating. You weren’t always this stodgy, rude fellow. Mother said at one time you were quite the rogue.” He shot her a black look, quelling the rest of her words. She sighed. “Very well. I shall perform the necessary introductions.”

Whether I approve or not. Geoffrey would have placed a significant wager, if he was still the wagering type of gentleman, that his sister muttered those words under her breath…or some other variant.

“Come along,” Sophie encouraged and set out, forcing Geoffrey to hasten his step like he was one of the Queen’s terriers.

“You do know she is enjoying this immensely,” his brother-in-law said, with far too much humor in his pronouncement.

Geoffrey spoke through clenched teeth. “Yes, yes she is.” His sister Sophie had courted scandal since she’d made her come out. For all his efforts and pleading, she’d not changed at all in her more than two London Seasons. He imagined his relying on her assistance caused her a good deal of amusement.

The trio weaved in between lords and ladies. Sophie, however, moved through the throng with purpose better suited to a woman following the drum. She didn’t bother to occasionally pause for politeness sake, but continued onward until they reached Lady Beatrice Dennington, who stood amidst a cluster of young swains—swains who would only serve to complicate Geoffrey’s intentions.

He favored the group of gentlemen with a black glare that sent them scurrying.

Sophie shot him a sideways glance, and shifted her attention to Lady Beatrice. A wide smile filled his sister’s plump cheeks. “Hello, Lady Beatrice,” Sophie greeted.

Lady Beatrice returned Sophie’s smile and dipped a curtsy. “Hello, my lady.”

Sophie waved her hand. “Please, no need for such formality. Allow me to introduce you to my brother, the Viscount Redbrooke.”

Lady Beatrice looked at Geoffrey, before directing her demure gaze to the floor. “My lord.” He strained to hear her faintly spoken words.

He battled down disappointment at the young lady’s meekness; his response made little sense. Such reserved politeness befitted the young lady who would be his viscountess. Such a woman wouldn’t be capable of deceit and trickery. Nor would such a woman need to trap an unsuspecting, gentleman into marriage.

His father would have approved of this match.

That should be enough. It had to be.

Waxham discreetly nudged Geoffrey.

Geoffrey offered a hasty bow, and claimed Lady Beatrice’s hand. “My lady, it is a pleasure.”

She sank into an elegant curtsy.

The orchestra concluded a lively country reel. A smattering of applause filled the crowded hall. If memory served him, a waltz was the next set. A waltz and a quadrille. A waltz and a quadrille. That was his intended plan for an unspoken declaration of his courtship.

“Lady Beatrice, will you to do me the honor of partnering me in the next set?”

The young lady blushed. “It would be my pleasure, my lord.”

With the exception of the earlier stir Geoffrey had caused involving a teasing, American temptress, everything appeared to be going exactly as he’d planned.





A gentleman must remain free of scandal. Always.

4th Viscount Redbrooke





3





With the tip of her slipper, Abigail tapped a steady beat upon the Italian marble floor.

There were four mythical centaurs. She chewed her lip. Or were there five? Of course, it would really depend on whether one included the centaurs and centaurides as one.

After the scandal she’d created at Mr. and Mrs. Van Buren’s ball, Abigail had developed the oddest nervous tendency of cataloguing mythical Greek figures. It served as a welcome distraction from the gossips.

Asbolus. Chariclo. Chiron. And Nessus. Yes. Yes. “There are four.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Abigail started, realizing she’d been counting aloud, and looked over at the plump young lady who occupied the seat next to her. The woman shoved her wire-rimmed spectacles back upon her nose and studied Abigail like she’d sprouted a second head.

“Forgive me.” Abigail opened her mouth to engage the brown-haired, brown-eyed lady in conversation, but the woman directed her attention elsewhere.