Page 61 of Snowy and the Seven Doves
Snowy ignored him as did everyone else in the room. “Agreed. And thank you once again, Your Grace, for keeping him safe for the past few days. I am grateful for your kindness, even if Hungerford-Fox is not.”
Two of the duke’s men escorted Hungerford-Fox from the cellar and out to the street, while Snowy and the duke joined the ladies. They were discussing the wedding; apparently, the duke and duchess would be in attendance. Snowy wondered if the invitation had originated with the duchess, but since Margaret seemed happy, he said nothing.
They then went for their drive in the Park. It was almost anticlimactic that nothing happened, apart from civil good wishes from some of the ton, and the cut direct from others.
“Friends of Snowden or those who have believed his lies,” Margaret observed. “We will simply ignore them back.”
*
Margaret had plannedto attend the opera that night, but Snowy and Pauline both agreed when she suggested an early night instead.
“I am very tired, and will make an early night of it,” Pauline told them. “Goodnight, Margaret, Snowy.”
“I will retire, also,” Margaret said. Miss Trent, in her quiet way, stood, prepared to escort Margaret upstairs.
Snowy offered Margaret his arm but left her at the door to his own room. Traditionally, it had been the countess’s suite, but Margaret had taken over the earl’s suite after her period of mourning for her father, because it had a better view of the herb garden.
Aunt Aurelia had been aghast at the blasphemy; a woman in the earl’s suite, even though the suites were mirror images of one another, differing only in their decoration. It was the first time Margaret had openly defied her, ignoring the woman’s complaints, and continuing with her plans to refurbish both suites of rooms in shades of brown and blue with identical furnishings, neither overtly feminine nor masculine, but peaceful and welcoming.
Miss Trent saw Margaret to her door, then insisted on coming inside and peering around the sitting room, the bed chamber, and the dressing room. She even tried the door between Margaret’s sitting room and Snowy’s. If she saw the sudden heat in Margaret’s face, she ignored it. “All safe,” she reported.
Margaret’s maid, who had been laying out her nightwear, watched Miss Trent with wide eyes as she left the room. “Please undo my buttons and my laces,” Margaret told her, “And then you may go. I will read for a while before I sleep.”
But the words would not come into focus, and when she did manage to read a paragraph, she had forgotten the first sentence before she got to the end of the last. It was not just that her thoughts were busy with all that had happened—and even more, all that was about to happen.
Snowy was asleep in the very next room.
In a few days, they would be married. He would do what Martin had done.No. Not that.Snowy had promised it would not be the same, that she would enjoy it. His kisses argued persuasively that he knew what he was talking about. Of course, he did. He was experienced—he had admitted it.
She smiled at the memory.I can promise that, if we marry, there will not be another woman as long as we both live.She trusted him. But then, she had trusted Martin. She had trusted her father and brothers. She had, bother it all, trusted her servants, and look how that had turned out!
She shut the book, put it on her bedside table, and blew out the candles. She was tired, and tomorrow would be another busy day.
Her mind would not stop teeming with thoughts, worries, and memories of Hal’s kiss. If only he would kiss her again. All of her doubts melted away when he kissed her.
At last, she fell into a restless sleep to dream she was kissing Hal, only to have him dragged from her arms and replaced by Richard Snowden. He hurled her down and himself on top of her. She woke with her heart pounding and his snarled words in her ears. “You took my son. You owe me another one.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Lady Charmain’s subornedfootman had the nerve to come to Snowden’s house! Another thing to blame Hungerford-Fox for. The footman should not even have known who Snowden was, when he had met the little group of treacherous servants in disguise, pretending to be acting on Hungerford-Fox’s orders.
He sent the man away, of course, and without the payment that the fool demanded. “Hungerford-Fox bribed you to betray your mistress. If you want money, talk to Hungerford-Fox,” he said, and had his own footmen throw the man back into the street.
He retreated to his study to consider the news the man had brought. Far more annoying than the footman’s impertinence was the fact that Hungerford-Fox’s spies had been discovered and dismissed. To add to that, the counterfeit Snowden had moved into Lady Charmain’s house already, not waiting for the wedding.
He stopped, as was his habit, in front of the mirror, where reflection Richard gazed back at him, eyes burning, face calm.
“She could already be with child.”
Snowden should have expected it. She had shown herself a slut when she let Hungerford-Fox lift her skirts. And the imposter had been raised in a brothel. Why would he hesitate to bed the woman as soon as he could? He had probably had her weeks ago, and that is why she turned away from Chalky. Yes. That must be it. She had already been seduced when Hungerford-Fox put in an appearance.
“I should never have given Hungerford-Fox my support. The man is a failure and fool.”
Yet the man had the approval of the tart’s great-aunt, a toxic old harridan if Snowden had ever met one. When Chalky had turned to bite the hand that fed him, Hungerford-Fox seemed like a good choice of replacement. He could marry Lady Charmain, and Snowden would get the canal agreement as payment for his help.
Now his plans were in tatters again.
He glared at his reflection, but his mind was still busy, and soon the face before him softened, the lips curving into a smile.
