Page 89 of The Scarred Duchess
“Ah, but not every Season has a pair of sisters unmatched in beauty and grace.”
Lambrook did not reply, his eyes fixed upon the dancers. Beauford could not but be annoyed the man had yet to even look in his direction. He chuckled meanly. “Miss Bennet has an allure not seen in a generation, has she not?”
Lambrook’s posture stiffened.
This is too easy, by far.Beauford smirked. “I have not had the pleasure.”
“I am John Smyth of Netherfield Park in Hertfordshire. And you?”
“I am Marquess Beauford, heir to the Duke of Somerset. Welcome to my father’s ball,” he paused, “Cousin Lambrook.”
His cousin’s expression remained unchanged. “Thank you. Pardon my incivility for having attended uninvited.”
“Think nothing of it. Family, however distant and secretive, are always welcome.”
Lambrook smiled.He is a cool one,thought Beauford. “Have you come escorting Lady Lambrook? My father would be disappointed to miss dancing with a previous...lover.”
Lambrook turned and stared at him with malevolence. “You tread upon dangerous ground. Take care.” He returned his focus upon the dancers until the music ended. His eyes followed the Miss Bennets as they returned to the Matlock gathering.
“I see you focus upon the Bennet sisters.” Lambrook took no notice, so Beauford stepped to his front. “The Scarred Lily is most definitely worthy of my notice,” he added, sneering at him.
Lambrook leant forward so that his lips were nearly touching Beauford’s ear. “Should you dare approach Miss Bennet, you may name your second,” he whispered through clenched teeth before giving Beauford his back and walking away.
He is serious!The cut direct! From a nobody!Beauford’s anger flared hot.That is the feather that breaks the horse’s back.I will have my due!
He glared at Lambrook’s back one last time before turning and walking towards the card room, where he held court with his fellow viscounts, barons, and knights. All were in their cups. They slurred on and on of the dances they had failed to secure with the Season’s favourite.
“Who does Matlock think he is?” complained a tipsy baron.
“It is unfair to monopolise her sets,” another nobleman slurred. “I would only need a moment to charm her. And she would be mine!”
“Would she?” Beauford asked challengingly. “Any other takers? I seem to have no worthy competition.”
“I wager one thousand pounds I can turn her head. Faster than you can!” a viscount drunkenly replied. His boast was met with derision.
“I shall match him,” announced a baron.
“I raise your wager to fifteen hundred pounds,” countered another.
“Gentlemen, gentlemen,” cautioned Beauford. He looked about for errant ears. Seeing none, he leant in. “This seems a matter only the book’s table may resolve.”
“Hear, hear!” all acclaimed.
Beauford smiled. “Tomorrow, my friends. Tomorrow we shall see who is a man amongst men.”
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
As Darcy followed a servant to a private dining room within Boodle’s, his attention was drawn to the wagering corner. The crowd appeared larger and more boisterous than usual. He slowed and asked the servant, “Would you have information regarding that distasteful display at the book’s table?”
“Sir, a most cryptic entry has appeared. The wagers are extraordinary.”
Darcy was no gambler, but his interest was engaged. “Ask the book’s captain to explain the stakes to me. Quietly.”
“Yes, sir.”
While Darcy sat in the small private room, sipping coffee and waiting for information, his father joined him. “What has put that curious expression upon your face?”
“I shall soon know, as shall you.”
