Page 22 of The Moonstone Marquess
She nodded. “Until later, my lord.”
He noticed she remained standing in the courtyard until his carriage rolled out of sight.
Well, he had been looking back at her, too. Did it signify anything beyond mere curiosity about each other?
He would also have to amend that “my lord” nonsense, for he wanted no formality between them. He was eager to hear his name on her lips.
Cormac.How soft and gentle it would tumble from her mouth. Lord, he ached to kiss her lovely mouth. He was going to kiss her again, of course. He hadn’t changed his scoundrel nature all that much.
The question in his mind was, would she punch him again when he did?
Chapter Six
Cormac was notsurprised to find his guests already in their cups when he returned to his manor. They were drinking through his stock at an astonishingly fast pace. Not that he cared, for he could easily afford the expense of restocking his wine cellar. He looked around, concerned when he found only the countess, viscountess, and schoolmate toady in his parlor. “Where is Lord Crawford?”
The toady giggled. “Sulking in his room.”
The two women approached him to rub themselves against him in blatant invitation. One cupped his privates. He drew her hand away. “Not now, countess.”
Not ever.
As little as a few days ago, he would not have minded these advances and perhaps not hesitated to accept their invitations. For the life of him, he could not remember if he had taken either of them or where they had done the deed, assuming he had done anything in his state of inebriation. He vaguely recollected something occurring on the writing desk in a corner of the parlor. That could not have been comfortable. Perhaps it had been another desk in another room.
Gad, how had he fallen so low?
So had they all, he supposed.
He could not even remember the names of these ladies.
Oh, he knew one was Countess Rothmere and the other Viscountess Hopewell. But as for their given names? He simply could not recall. Had they bothered with names at all?
“Excuse me, ladies. I had better look in on Lord Crawford.”
After all, that young lord was entirely the reason these wastrels were here.
The ladies did not bother to hide their disappointment.
“This is turning into a very dull week,” the countess said, her expression prune-like.
“You are welcome to leave at any time.” He glanced at the others. “That goes for all of you. As I mentioned last night, I will provide your transportation and inn accommodations back to London. My family has come to visit and forced my plans to change. As a gentleman, I allowed you to stay on for the week promised. But it seems pointless now, does it not? You do not care to be here, and I do not want you here. My carriage shall be ready if you wish to leave tomorrow.”
The viscountess tipped her chin into the air and cast him a look of disdain. “You treat us as though we are disposable. Lady Seline warned us about you. Said you were bitter and deformed.”
“How charming of her.” He tried to ignore the verbal spear aimed straight at his heart.
But, to his dismay, these insults still managed to find their mark and wound him. It was quite irritating, really, to feel those wounds after all these years.
“If you are repulsed by my deformity, then pray, take your leave at once. I did not force you to take your clothes off or offer yourself up to me. It is a sad statement that we are all such low creatures. I have never denied what I am or tried to hide the loss of my arm from any of you.”
Ah, Lady Seline.
What a gem of a woman.
She had called him deformed not only to her friends, but to his face.
Her look of revulsion was still vivid in his mind, the hurt still fresh, as was her look of triumph in knowing her aim had been true.
Dear, sweet Seline. She always knew how to dig her claws into a raw and open wound, make it fester and never heal. Losing her as a paramour had not hurt at all. In truth, it was a relief for him. That beauty and her brand of poison was the last thing he needed.
