Page 2 of Snowed-in with Scandal
“Of course it’s not possible with those dark clouds threatening even worse,” said Antoinette comfortably. “Don’t you concern yourself for you will help enliven our little party this evening, which is four short due to the weather. Why, we are very happy to have you here.”
“That is very kind of you,” said their visitor, looking slightly less anxious. “And if there is somewhere warm and cosy for my maid, Sarah, to be accommodated, I’d be very grateful. She does suffer dreadfully from the cold. Your footman has kindly seen to John and the horses.”
“Mary will show Sarah to the servants’ quarters, where she’ll be well looked after,” said Fanny. “And I see that your trunk is being conveyed to the house as we speak. When Mary comes back, she’ll show you to one of the guest bedrooms. You arevery welcome to stay as long as the snow prevents you from continuing your journey.”
Lady Lushington’s lower lip trembled. In fact, Fanny thought that she looked like a young girl about to cry.
“I did hope to make it to my destination by tomorrow evening,” she said, her hands twisting with obvious agitation.
“Come now, Lady Lushington, no one will be making much mileage in this weather. I’m sure whatever business you are on can wait,” Fanny said gently. “Where are you travelling?”
Lady Lushington hesitated, then said, “To somewhere I once called home. It’s about three hours travel from here in good weather,” and Fanny was about to ask if she meant Lushington Hall when the door was opened again and without warning, their youngest, single visitor, Mr Morley—together with Fanny’s husband, Fenton—strode into the room, raking his hands through his dark hair with the easy familiarity that came from having spent the last five days as their guest, remarking, “Fenton has just shown me the ha-ha, and by gad, I’m impressed. I think I’ll?—”
But neither Fanny nor Antoinette got the benefit of his impressions because as he turned with a smile, still addressing his hostess, his whole demeanour seemed to suffer a paroxysm and for a moment Fanny truly thought he might turn to stone.
“Mr Morley, I do not know if you have made the acquaintance of Lady Lushington,” said Antoinette with commendable ingenuousness. Of course, that was Antoinette’s specialty. “Lady Lushington. Mr Morley.”
Fanny could scarcely believe her sister could make the introductions as if she truly were oblivious to that which was obvious given the stricken expressions of their two guests.
Lady Lushington and Mr Morley most certainly were acquainted.
CHAPTER 2
“Milord, are you intending to go down to dinner tonight?”
Max turned at the diffident tone of his borrowed valet. He grunted. “Did you say something, Milton?” he asked.
His young manservant reddened as he hovered by the fresh set of clothes laid out on his master’s bed. “It’s just that the dinner hour is nearly upon us and you…”
But of course Milton could not put into words what he really meant, which was that Max had been standing immobile for at least five minutes staring at…
Well, he didn’t really know what he had been staring at nor what he’d been thinking of.
No, that wasn’t true. He had been thinking of a pair of cornflower blue eyes staring lovingly at him. He had been thinking of soft white hands gently cupping his cheeks. He had been thinking of delicious, yielding lips flowering against his own.
And then Milton had broken the spell, and all he could think of was the piercing pain of discovering he had been hoodwinked.
Hoodwinked by a beauty who had pretended to love and adore him. Hoodwinked by a woman who’d insinuated those soft white hands into his chest cavity and slowly eviscerated his heart.
Because she hadneverloved him. No, she was interested only in wealth, comfort, prestige and a title.
A week before their wedding, the beautiful woman he had loved—and whom he had thought loved him—had broken off their betrothal. In fact, she’d not even had the courage to tell him to his face that she was severing all ties with him before she had made off with a very plump-in-the-pocket viscount, who had made her Lady Lushington.
And Max’s world as he knew it had imploded.
So affected was he that he had been unable to remain in the country. After realising that Arabella was not coming back to him; in fact, the day after her marriage to Lord Lushington when he finally accepted it was, indeed, a fait accompli, Nicholas had set sail to the continent, where he had remained for four years until he finally believed he was over his heartbreak.
He had returned to England this last week, and his first social engagement was to spend a week as a houseguest of the Earl of Quamby—whose godson he was—and the earl’s beautiful, scandalous wife, Antoinette.
He’d been looking forward to re-entering the social whirl. In fact, Nicholas had been so sure he was over his heartbreak that he’d even entertained the idea with good grace when, within minutes of him crossing the threshold, Lady Quamby had impishly promised to find him a lovely debutante for a wife.
Max was not sure if Lady Quamby had any idea of his past amours. And nor did he intend to apprise her of the pain he’d left England to cauterize. Or that he’d returned to England with the express intention of starting with a clean slate.
And now this?—
“Well, that is, my lord, if you do intend to go down to dinner, perhaps you might let me dress you.” Milton held up his clean shirt and took a threatening step forward. At least that was how Max regarded anyone insinuating that he must go down and face the woman who ruined his life and ensured he would never trust love again.
The clock chiming quarter to the hour galvanised Nicholas into action. The truth was, he had no choice about it. Good manners required him to sit down with his hosts.
