Page 59 of The Truth About Lord Stoneville
He swore under his breath. He had to escape this place, damn it!
Striding to the door, he jerked it open and called for John. As soon as the footman appeared, he snapped, “Have my carriage brought round. I’m going to town.”
John blinked. “So you won’t be here for dinner, milord?”
“No. Nor for breakfast, if I can help it.”
Color rose in John’s cheeks as he realized what that meant. “What shall I tell Mrs. Plumtree, sir? And Miss Butterfield?”
His conscience nagged at him. He ignored it. “Tell them whatever you please,” he ground out. “Just get me that goddamned carriage!”
“Yes, milord.” John scurried off to do his duty.
This sober life was too much for him. He needed a good night of wenching and drinking to remind him of who he was,whathe was. Only then could he continue the farce of his betrothal.
Only then could he banish this foolish longing for what he couldn’t have.
MARIA HAD DRESSEDcarefully for dinner that evening, even knowing that she shouldn’t. But she kept hearing the ache in Oliver’s voice as he’d murmured,Her very goodness in the face of his villainy bewitches him.
Goodness? Hardly. Though she did like the idea of bewitching him.Ifit weren’t just another passing fancy for him. From what she’d gathered, beautiful women often captured his interest, but only briefly. How likely was it that a simple American who didn’t know how to behave around servants could make it last any longer than any other woman had?
Yet even while telling herself it was unlikely, hope bubbled up inside her as she entered the dining room. Until she saw everyone there except him.
She fought the urge to comment on his absence, but lost the fight as she took her seat. “And where is his lordship this evening?”
The uncomfortable glances his siblings exchanged struck her with foreboding.
“He went to town,” Freddy offered cheerily. “You know these English lords. Always like to have a bit of fun.”
She stared at Freddy, then glanced at Lord Jarret, who wore a stony expression as he dipped his spoon into the soup the servant had just brought.A bit of fun. Surely he was not—
“He’s spending the evening at his club,” Lord Jarret said, with a furtive glance at his grandmother. “Probably doing a little gambling.”
“I thought you told Lord Gabriel this afternoon that he was going to the broth—” Freddy broke off with a yelp, then scowled at Celia. “What was that for?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, did I step on your toe?” she said sweetly. “I didn’t mean to.”
Freddy scowled at her as he reached down to rub his sore foot.
The brothel. Of course. Where else would Oliver go for fun? She ducked her head, fighting to control the pain that lanced through her chest. It was sweet of Celia to try to shield her, but everyone at the table except their grandmother knew he had every right to trot off to a brothel. What a ninny she was, to have hoped he might truly care for her! Oliver cared for one thing only—pleasure. If he couldn’t have it from her, he would go elsewhere for it.
“I wish I’d known he was going to his club,” Freddy went on. “I’d have asked him to take me, too.” Freddy slurped a big spoonful of soup. “He promised to introduce me around it.”
“I’m sure you’ll have another chance for that, Freddy,” Maria said, praying her voice sounded nonchalant. Determined to hide her wounded feelings from all of them, she added, “So, about this ball being held tomorrow night by Lord Foxmoor—”
“Just Foxmoor,” Gabe said helpfully. When his sisterelbowed him, he said, “Do you want her to embarrass herself right there at the ball? That’s no kindness.”
Mortification spread over Maria’s cheeks. She couldn’t seem to get any of this right.
“Dukes are not called ‘lord,’ Miss Butterfield.” To Maria’s shock, the gentle correction came from none other than Oliver’s grandmother.
When her gaze shot to the woman, Mrs. Plumtree seemed to remember herself and hardened her tone. “It is ‘your grace,’ ‘his grace,’ just plain Foxmoor, or the duke. Never ‘Lord’ anything. That is only for the lower tiers of the peerage.”
“Thank you.” Maria lifted her chin a notch. “Anything else I should know before I make a fool of myself tomorrow evening?”
“You’ll be fine,” Minerva said with a kind smile. “Everyone will be so focused on drawing lots for their valentines that they won’t care one whit if you miss an honorific here and there. Will they, Jarret?”
“God knows I won’t.” He scowled at Minerva. “It’s been so long since I’ve attended a St. Valentine’s Day affair that I forgot all about that lottery business. Is there any way to make sure I don’t draw the name of some prune-faced miss with an eye to reform me? My luck always seems to vanish at these gatherings.”
