Page 39 of Scandalous Desires on a Summer Morning
“I will not insult your intelligence with pleasantries,” she said at last, turning to him. “Why is Miss Winton here—and why, pray, did you ride up together looking far too close?”
Sebastian’s expression hardened. “She is my friend.”
His mother’s laugh was brittle. “Your friend? Do not insult me. You mean your mistress. Of course, she would try to latch on to you—how else might she claw her way out of her situation? A desperate woman always finds her mark.”
“Enough.” His voice cut through the air like a whip. “You have no notion of Miss Winton’s character, Mother, and I find myself deeply disappointed in you. You judge her for something she is not—because you assume she is Sarah’s mother, when in truth, they are sisters.”
The countess’s eyes narrowed. “You cannot know that for certain.”
“Yes,” he said coldly, “I can.”
For a long, taut moment, she studied him, and then her eyes widened with dawning horror. “Good heavens. The only way you could know that…” She drew in a sharp breath. “Sebastian, tell me you have not been intimate with this woman.”
He leveled an indifferent stare at the countess. “I will not have this conversation with you.”
His mother’s tone rose, sharp with outrage. “Then tell me why she is here! If she is not your mistress, why keep her under your roof? Why invite scandal upon our family name?”
“She is here because I hired her,” he said evenly. “As my housekeeper. To provide for her and her sister, as you should have done after you gave your word to protect them.”
The silence that followed was glacial. The countess stared at him, color rising to her cheeks. “You dare lecture me on charity?”
“I dare,” he said quietly, his tone edged with restrained fury, “because I am at a loss that my own mother cannot show compassion where it is most needed.”
She recoiled as if struck, eyes flashing with both hurt and disbelief. “Compassion?” she echoed sharply. “I saw the way you looked at her when she walked into the house. Your gaze was—tender. I have never seen you look at a woman like that. Do not insult my intelligence by claiming she is not your mistress!”
He gave a short, mirthless laugh, the sound brittle in the tense air. “And even if she were,” he said coldly, “what business is it of yours?”
Her eyes widened in shock. “How outrageous! Think of the scandal—think of the shame it would bring to this family!”
“Mother,” he cut in sharply, his voice hardening to steel, “if there is any scandal, it will be of your own making. Miss Winton has done nothing to deserve your disdain. She is a fine lady—more fine than most who call themselves so. Any gentleman would be fortunate to call her his wife. She is kind, selfless, warm, and genuine in a world where few are.”
The countess stared at him, aghast. “Do not tell me you are entertaining any nonsensical thoughts of marrying her. I will not have her in our family.”
“You should be ashamed, Mother,” he said quietly, his tone glacial. “Ashamed of this ridiculous prejudice, especially when it is unfounded.”
“Society will not see it as unfounded!” she hissed, her composure fracturing. “They will think what they have always thought—that she bore a child out of wedlock. Such things never stay buried in the countryside. One day, people will whisper, and it will reach London, and when it does, the taint of it will spread—to me, to you, to the family name.” She drew a sharp breath. “It is your duty to prevent such disgrace.”
Tired of the foolish argument, Sebastian straightened and said curtly, “You may rest easy, Mother. I have no intention of marrying the elder Miss Winton. Your concerns, as always, are misplaced.”
She studied him for a long moment, searching his face for any sign of deception. Whatever she found there seemed to satisfy her—for the moment.
“See that it remains so,” she said coldly. “For your own sake, Sebastian.”
His mother whirled around and said, “I am returning to Hardwick Manor.”
He scoffed and said, “You travelled an hour to merely lecture me on Miss Winton?”
“Yes,” she clipped and she opened the door and walked out, slamming it close behind her.
Sebastian thought it was damned outrageous. He strode after his mother, anger simmering in his chest, and pulled open the door—just in time to see Maryann crossing the hall, her posture rigid, her chin lifted in trembling pride.
“Maryann,” he called.
She froze, turning toward him. In the muted light from the windows, he saw the sheen of unshed tears in her eyes, the way her mouth quivered as she fought for composure. She had heard his mother’s cruel words—every single one.
“Maryann—”
“Forgive me, my lord,” she said quickly, her voice soft but steady. “I have some urgent matters to tend to. Please allow me a little time before… before we speak.”
