Page 3 of Scandalous Desires on a Summer Morning
“My dear—” came a deeper voice, wearied and calm. The earl, no doubt.
“If Sir Percival left no sons, then the cousin ought to have taken them in! That is what cousins are for.”
Maryann laced her fingers tightly, pressing until her knuckles ached. The pain in her hands was a faint distraction from the sharpness of each word. How deep they wounded.
“That cousin cares only for the estate,” the earl replied. “And you know I was once a close acquaintance of Winton. In truth, I suspect it was your friendship with his wife that prompted him to write to me, asking us this years ago. We gave our word then. How could we refuse it now?”
“That was before the eldest bore a child out of wedlock,” the countess returned coldly. “The scandal and disgrace of it is more than I can bear! I will not have it touch our family in any regard.”
Tears stung Maryann’s eyes. She bit down on her lower lip, hard, to keep them at bay.
“Perhaps it is not as it appears,” the earl said.
The countess released a sound between a half-sigh and a half-scoff. “What other explanation is there? The child appears to be about four or five years old. Sir Winton did not remarry and made no effort to bring out his eldest to his society. The reason is that she has a bastard!”
“I understand your anger, my dear. I can see the notion of turning them away pains you,” he added.
A glimmer of hope flickered in Maryann’s chest. She could not bring herself to step away. She knew she should. It was most improper and shamelessly rude to eavesdrop on a private conversation. But she remained frozen, listening.
“There is a part of me that cannot bear to turn away Linnet’s girls. At least two of them are quite pretty,” the countess went on. “Elizabeth has a charming face and a fair complexion. If presented properly, she may attract someone respectable. Vivian has a sweetness that many will find appealing. She is young, only sixteen, and there is room yet for growth. Their mother had beenthe daughter of a viscount, so their family connections were far from insignificant.”
There was a pause before the earl asked, “And the eldest?”
“Even without the blot upon her reputation that came from bearing an illegitimate child she is already three-and-twenty and only moderately pretty with a far too improper figure. I would not dream of launching a spinster. She is better suited to life as a companion or governess. We shall see what can be done, but the eldest Miss Winton is not the priority.”
“Then what must be done concerning her?”
“Shemustleave and take the little one with her.”
Maryann did not flinch.There will be no shelter for us. Though her eyes burned, she refused to let the tears fall. If her sisters would be sheltered and safe, that was more than she had dared hope. Her chin remained high, her shoulders square, but somewhere deep inside her, something fragile and unspoken cracked.
“I’ve never perfected the art of eavesdropping,” a voice drawled behind her, smooth and lightly mocking, “and it seems neither have you. One should, at the very least,pretendto be discreet.”
CHAPTER 2
Maryann gasped, turned sharply and then forgot how to breathe.
A gentleman leaned with careless ease against the panelled wall, scarcely a breath away, his arms folded over his chest, his eyes gleaming with amusement and something decidedly more dangerous. She had not heard a single footfall, and now here he stood, entirely too close.
Maryann took a hesitant step backward. He was tall and lithe, his frame striking in the understated elegance of dark trousers and a silver waistcoat that gleamed softly in the lamplight. His chestnut hair, shot through with hints of darker blond, was tousled, in clear need of a trim, and yet the effect suited him far too well. His features were refined, his mouth sculpted with a sensual curve meant to unsettle. And it did.
Those eyes—green, sharp, and glittering with amusement—watched her as though she were the day’s entertainment.
She knew at once who he must be. The earl’s son. The man who held his father’s courtesy title—Viscount Ranford.
Maryann was mortified to have been caught in this position.
“I beg your pardon,” she said softly, pressing a trembling hand to her racing heart. “I… I did not hear your approach.”
“Clearly.” His tone was unhurried, his gaze slipping down her figure and returning without apology. “I presume you are part of the grave matter mentioned in my mother’s most dramatic letter. Whatever would she say to know of this breach in decorum?”
Maryann drew a quiet breath, straightening her spine. “I was not eavesdropping, my lord.”
“I stood behind you for nearly two minutes,” he replied, completely unconvinced, the devilish gleam in his eyes deepening. “I counted. The boldness was impressive.”
She flushed. “It is not the mark of a gentleman to compel a lady to confess her faults.”
One brow lifted in lazy amusement. “Ah. This is either a gentle reprimand or an attempt to civilize me. Which is it? Though I hardly think you are in any position to admonish me, given your own conduct, hmm?”
