Page 64 of The Truth About Lord Stoneville
Paying her no heed, Betty continued her campaign to salvage her master’s dubious honor. “Then Lord Stoneville went to the opera house and left without a single dancer on his arm. John says he never done that before.”
Maria rolled her eyes, though a part of her desperately wanted to believe it was true—a tiny, silly part of her that she would have to slap senseless.
Betty polished the ornament with the edge of her sleeve. “John says he drank himself into a stupor, then came home without so much as kissing a single lady. John says—”
“John is inventing stories to excuse his master’s actions.”
“Oh no, miss! John would never lie. And I can promise you that the master has never come home so early before, and certainly not without . . . that is, at the house in Acton he was wont to bring a tart or two home to . . . well, you know.”
“Help him choke on his tongue?” Maria snapped as she picked up her fan.
Betty laughed. “Now that would be a sight, wouldn’t it? Two ladies trying to shove his tongue down his throat.”
“I’d pay them well to do it.” With a sigh, Maria turned for the door. “He only refrained from bringing his tarts home because of his grandmother and sisters. In Acton, he was running a bachelor’s house. Here it’s different.”
Betty’s face fell. “I suppose that’s true.”
“But thank you for trying to cheer me up,” Maria said softly. “You’ve been very good to me, and I appreciate it.”
The servant beamed at her. Honestly, it took so little to make Betty happy.
She headed downstairs, relieved to notice that the others were already below her in the great hall. She wouldn’t have to be alone with Oliver. If his servants were making excuses for him, she could well imagine the ones he’d startmaking for himself. Or worse,wouldn’tstart making for himself. She had no claim on him, and whether he went to a brothel should be none of her concern.
She could only blame herself for the fact that she felt like it was.
Especially when he glanced up to follow her descent, his hot, intense gaze burning her body. Lord help her, but he looked splendid—too handsome for his own good, as always. His blend of sin and sophistication made a woman want to sink down with him into any sort of degradation, whatever it took to have him.
He wore an opera cloak of dark blue wool over his usual black evening attire, which made his hair shine blue-black in the candlelight. White silk gloves encased his long, narrow fingers, the same fingers that had stroked her cheek. Mercy, had that only been yesterday? It seemed a lifetime ago. She couldn’t stop thinking about the tender way his hand had swept her hair from her forehead.
She scowled at her traitorous memory. No wonder women trailed after him everywhere. How could they not when he did such things? And when he gazed at her as he was now, with a hunger he didn’t bother to mask even in front of his scowling grandmother, he fairly took her breath away.
Curse him for that. She wasnotgoing to lose her breath, her heart, or anything else to him. Not after last night.
He approached her with a smile. “Any gown that looks so perfect on you deserves something extra to set it off.” He drew out a velvet box.
When he opened it to reveal a lovely pearl necklace with a diamond-encrusted clasp, she sucked in a breath.
“Clearly this belongs with that gown,” he said, and held the box out to her. “The necklace was my mother’s.”
She glanced at his siblings, who all looked shocked. His grandmother looked fit to be tied.
She lowered her voice. “I don’t think this is proper—”
“You’re my fiancée. No one will take it amiss if I give you a gift.”
A gift? Heavens alive, she’d thought it a loan at best. “It’s too expensive.”And you do it only to make me forget last night.
“Don’t you think I would have sold it by now if it were that costly?”
A good point. Still, it had to be worth something. And it was of great sentimental significance, which was farcical under the circumstances. “Surely it should go to Minerva or Celia.”
“Oh, it’s far too heavy for me,” Celia said airily, having recovered with surprising speed from watching her brother offer her mother’s necklace to a virtual stranger. “I’d look like a chicken with an anchor around her neck.”
“And I don’t like pearls,” Minerva added.
Maria met Minerva’s gaze. “You realize he’s only trying to buy my forgiveness for his . . . transgressions.”
As Oliver stiffened, Minerva cast her a sly smile. “All the more reason to accept it. He deserves to pay. That doesn’t mean you have to forgive him.”
