Gail Whitiker - Revenge In Regency Society - Brushed by Scandal / Courting Miss Vallois

The breeze came up and, once again, Anna felt chilled. She hadn’t stopped to fetch her wrap before venturing outside, but neither was she about to run back into the drawing room now.

Observant eyes would see the evidence of her tears, recognise the flush in her cheeks and put their own interpretation on the events—and nothing on earth was going to persuade her to tell anyone what had really happened.

She glanced back over her shoulder, wondering if Barrington had followed her. She didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed when she saw that he hadn’t. All right, so she’d made a mistake. It wasn’t the first time she’d done so, but at least this time she was old enough to recognise it for herself. Barrington had made his feelings for her clear. The episode would not be repeated. From now on, she would treat him exactly the same way he treated everyone else. Coolly. Professionally. Without emotion. He would never make her cry again.

It was a good ten minutes before Anna felt calm enough to venture back into the house. Not by the drawing room through which she’d left. That would be far too embarrassing, especially knowing that Barrington had gone back in only a short time ago. Instead, she walked to the end of the balcony and, finding another set of glass doors, tried the handle. Thankfully, it was unlocked and pushing it open, she walked into a small study—only to stop and gasp in shock.

Her brother and Julia’s maid were standing by the door, locked together in a passionate embrace. ‘Edward!’

At once, the pair sprang apart, but it was too late to disguise what they had been doing. The maid’s dark hair had come down around her shoulders, her gown was in disarray and her lips were red and swollen.

Embarrassed, Anna looked away. Obviously, her brother wasn’t above seducing pretty housemaids, whether they be his own or someone else’s. Refusing to meet his eyes, she murmured, ‘Excuse me’, and then immediately made her way to the door. Edward said nothing, but she heard his mocking laughter following her through the door. She supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised. Her brother had once again proven himself the immoral creature she believed him to be.

And what about you? the little voice nagged. Are you so much better? So much more virtuous?

Anna felt her face burn with humiliation. No, perhaps she wasn’t. She kept remembering the passionate encounter she’d just shared with Barrington, the shameless manner in which she had allowed him to kiss her. Oh, yes, she’d let him kiss her. She wasn’t about to lay the blame for what had happened entirely at his door. He was gentleman enough that if she had asked him to stop, he would have—but she hadn’t done that. She’d wanted to know how it would feel to kiss him. To watch his head bend slowly towards her, and to feel his mouth close intimately over hers.

It had been everything she’d expected—and more.

But Barrington was no more likely to become her husband than Julia’s maid was to become Edward’s wife. They had both been indulging in impossible fantasies.

‘Let he who is without sin cast the first stone …’

A sobering thought. As Anna made her way back to the drawing room, she realised that the proverbial stone would never find its way to her hand.

For the next few days, Barrington went around like a bear with a sore head. Unable to forget what had happened between Anna and himself at the baroness’s dinner party, he was quick to anger and slow to unwind, because he knew he’d hurt her. And hurting her was the last thing he’d ever wanted to do.

He’d still been in the drawing room when Anna had finally returned, but she hadn’t approached him again. She had remained coldly aloof, treating him as though he wasn’t there. He wasn’t surprised that she had left shortly after.

He’d left early as well, all pleasure in the evening gone. Upon returning home, he’d made for his study and downed a stiff glass of brandy, followed in quick succession by two more. But the potent liquor had done nothing to assuage his guilt, or to help him find escape in sleep. When the morning had come, he’d been as tired and as irritable as when he’d gone to bed.

Much as he was this morning, three days later, as he made his way to Angelo’s Haymarket rooms for his ten o’clock appointment with the Marquess of Yew’s son.

Barrington deeply regretted having made the appointment.

The last thing he felt like doing was teaching the finer points of fencing to the gangly nineteen-year-old son of a man he neither liked nor respected. However, he had given Yew his promise that he would show the boy a few things and he was a man who kept his word. All he could do now was hope the hour passed quickly and that he didn’t do the boy an unintentional injury.

Unfortunately, Lord Bessmel was right when he’d said that word of the lesson—or demonstration—had spread. By the time Barrington arrived, the room was filled to overflowing with gentlemen of all ages, some carrying swords, some just there to observe. It was worse than he’d expected.

‘Ah, Parker,’ Lord Yew greeted him with a smile. ‘Good to see you. Quite the turnout, eh? I vow you draw a larger crowd than Prinnie.’

‘Perhaps because you put it about that this was to be a demonstration, rather than the private lesson we agreed to,’ Barrington said.

‘Really?’ the marquess said lazily. ‘I don’t recall saying this was to be a lesson. But never mind, now you and Gerald have a suitable audience.’

‘An audience that comes armed and ready to spar?’ The marquess smiled. ‘You should be thanking me, Parker. You have your pick of opponents and since we both know there’s not a man in the room who can best you, you’re guaranteed to come out on top. Why not just have fun with it?’ ‘Because that’s not what I do.’ Barrington’s jaw tightened. Unfortunately, they both knew this was something of a command performance. A ‘small additional favour’ in exchange for the marquess’s silence over Peregrine Rand’s affair with his wife. And while Barrington would normally have refused to play a part, all it took was the memory of the look on Anna’s face when she had spoken of Rand’s guilt to make him change his mind. He didn’t particularly care about the other man’s feelings, but he would have done almost anything to prevent hers being further injured.

‘I’ve lived up to my side of the bargain, Yew. I trust you intend to do the same.’

‘Are you questioning my integrity?’ the marquess asked, peering down his long, patrician nose.

‘No. But I know how angry you were with Rand and I don’t want to think that all of this has been for naught.’

The marquess chuckled. ‘I can assure you it has not. In point of fact, I wasn’t really angry at all.’

Barrington’s mouth tightened. ‘I beg your pardon?’

The marquess’s expression was remote as he gazed at the milling crowd. ‘Rand is not the first man to make love to my wife, and, God knows, he won’t be the last. Susan is voracious in that regard and while I enjoy sex as much as the next man, I am not inclined to engage in it as often as she might wish. So I turn a blind eye to her affairs. It flatters me to know that she is still beautiful enough to attract other men; it flatters her to know that she is desired by men younger than herself.’

No stranger to the unusual, Barrington was none the less bewildered by Yew’s unexpected admission. ‘Then why did you go to the trouble of persecuting him?’

The marquess’s gaze narrowed. ‘You really don’t know?’ When Barrington shook his head, Yew said in amusement, ‘Because I was asked to.’