Page 64 of To Tempt a Scandalous Lord
Alicia swallowed. “Yes.”
“You’ve risked quite a lot to do this, and I believe all will be well…but I think you quite brave, my friend,” Effia murmured.
Blinking rapidly, Alicia looked away.
They sipped their coffees in silence for a spell, before Effia told her about a series of investigative articles another of her writers was working on about how child labor was exploited within collieries, actually going undercover to get firsthand accounts. Alicia listened in awe, amazed at the anonymous writer’s fortitude and bravery, and the very real difference their work could make in altering the public’s perception of the child labor plight. Her work listening in on vapid conversations amongst members of thetonpaled in comparison. She told Effia as such.
“And yet you are risking your reputation and quite possibly your marriage to do this.” Her friend plopped her cup on the table with athud. “To enact real, comprehensive change, we need to educate people at every level of society. The voice of a titled marquess holds more sway over the opinions of those in government than a hundred working-class men. It’s horribly ignorant and unfair, but it’s the reality we must work with.” Effia leaned forward and lowered her voice. “You’re married to the man who could be our next Prime Minister. Every insipid event you’re forced to attend or tedious conversation you’re made to engage in allows you an opportunity to help win over the hearts and minds of those in power.”
Hours after they parted ways, Alicia replayed Effia’s words in her mind as she sat at her Davenport desk in the solar that overlooked the garden. She had been studying her and Niall’s social calendars, sorting through the stack of invitations they’d received and who would be in attendance at each event. She had to consider how she and her friends could target those people for their whisper campaign.
A knock on the door drew her head up. Stewart appeared in the doorway, a pinched expression on his normally placid face.
“Your ladyship, Lord Matthews has come to call.”
With a frown, Alicia turned about in her seat. “Did you tell him the marquess is currently at Westminster?”
“I did.” The older man cleared his throat. “But he said he was here to see you.”
Before Alicia could form a thought about this, a figure appeared in the entry behind Stewart and her blood turned to ice.
“Lady Inverray, how do you do?” Viscount Matthews swept into the room, moving past the butler as if he were a piece of furniture. His glacial eyes never wavered from her face as he swept her a polite bow.
Rather than answer, she bobbed a quick curtsey. “What do I owe the pleasure of your visit, my lord? I’m sure you’re aware my dear husband is not here at this time.”
The viscount turned to look with raised brows at Stewart, who was still planted like a sentinel by the door. With an expressionless mien, he ignored Matthews, instead keeping his attention on her. At Alicia’s reluctant nod, Stewart stepped from the room but left the door ajar. With the knowledge Stewart or a footman lingered nearby, she turned to the viscount with a stiff smile.
Without waiting for her invitation, Matthews dropped into one of the winged-backed chairs situated near her desk. He linked his hands together over his stomach and gestured with his chin to her desk. “Is this where you write them?”
Alicia started, a ringing sounding in her ears. “I beg your pardon.”
“Yes, you may beg for pardon, but I’m not certain you will be granted it.”
She took a step back, unease running like an electric current over her skin.
“I don’t understand,” Alicia rasped, struggling to maintain her composure in the face of his cold contempt.
“Of course you do. You’re quite clever.” Matthews snorted. “You almost had me fooled, you know, with your pretty, wallflower widow routine.” He waved his hand up and down her body. “But then you captured Inverray’s regard in a way that nothing outside his service in Parliament ever has, and I knew I had underestimated you. When the fellow should have been focused on securing elector votes, he was distracted and not at all like the stalwart politician he’s known to be.”
The viscount paused, his eyes thinning into a glare as he studied her again. “Forsixyears I’ve advised and shaped and molded Inverray, with an eye for the future and what a man with his magnetism could accomplish. And like that,” he snapped his fingers, “you were wed and ruined it all.”
“I don’t know what you mean, my lord.” Alicia skirted around the settee, intent to put a barrier between them. She anchored herself to the seat back with a tight grip. “Lord Inverray’s potential has not been lost, and I believe our happy marriage will be an asset for his career.”
“Do you suppose the marquess will be happy when he finds out about your illicit little hobby?”
The easy manner in which the viscount uttered the words emphasized their threat, and Alicia flinched back.
“It was your most recent tracts that caught my attention. The sudden focus on child labor reform, which has long been one of Inverray’s pet issues.” His lip curled. “Despite all the times I told him it was a nonstarter with electors, many of whom have an invested interest in keeping their work force intact, he stubbornly clung to his ridiculous ideals.”
“They’re not ridiculous,” Alicia bit out around her teeth.
“Another sentimental fool.” Matthews narrowed his eyes on her. “Which is why I’ve been having you followed.”
The room spun about her.
Alicia dug her nails into the upholstery of the settee until she regained her equilibrium. Not willing to concede so easily, she lifted her chin. “Why are you here, my lord?”
Gripping the armrests with both hands, Matthews angled toward her.
