Page 49 of Not his Marchioness
Rhys closed his eyes. That wasn’t at all what he had meant, but if that was how he could get Woodhaven on his side—and, consequently, interested in helping with the school—then so be it.
“Exactly. That is very good thinking, Woodhaven. In fact, I think it would be better for the school if you backed it through your wife. Then my wife would not have to go to the revolutionaries, who will only take this project as an example of all that is wrong in the country.”
“Ah,” Woodhaven grunted. “That is true. We will end up having to listen to endless speeches from the Tories about it. Let me have a word with my wife. We’ll see if we can garner some support for your wife’s project.” He patted Rhys on the arm, wagging his index finger. “You have a good head on your shoulders, much like your father and brother. I never would’ve thought it, given your reputation, but perhaps marriage suits you.”
Rhys took a deep breath, trying to keep control of his emotions as the man walked away.
He didn’t like being compared to his father or his brother, because he knew he failed the comparison. But right now, hecouldn’t do anything but swallow that notion, take another sip of his drink, and walk away.
He stepped into the garden, and his mood briefly brightened when he remembered how he had met Charlotte there. She had stood by the fence, screaming at the sky. It had been a sight to behold.
“Quite the talent they have,” a man’s voice said from somewhere to the right. “First, Evelyn, and now Charlotte—elevating themselves from nothing to Duchess and Marchioness respectively. Impressive.” The tone, however, suggested nothing of the sort.
“Well,” another man said, “Ravenscar must have been quite desperate for a wife, given they were about to cut him from polite society. A good match for them both.”
“It is. Can you imagine the inside of the boudoir? He, with his reputation for felling any lady who stands still long enough, and she, with that red dress and her big mouth.”
Rhys blinked as the two men allowed their conversation to veer into topics that would have sent even the Prince Regent running for his smelling salts. Rage coiled inside him, and he balled his fists again.
He was going to plant a fist in both of their faces—perhaps kick in their sides, as well—because that was what they deserved for speaking of his wife in such a manner. His nostrils flared, and he set out down the garden path, his pulse pounding in his ears.
However, as he walked, another thought came to him.
If he went and gave those two men what they so rightly deserved, that would be all anyone would talk about. No one would talk about him and Charlotte, except perhaps in passing. And if he went about beating gentlemen, it was not going to help his reputation, and it most certainly would dissuade Woodhaven from assisting Charlotte in any way.
No, he had to keep his wits about him. That was the most important thing right now. He could not ruin things for her or for himself.
He dug his nails deeper into his palms, feeling the skin split. He looked at his hand, raised it enough so the could smell the metallic tang and then dropped it again. . He forced himself to pull his handkerchief from his breast pocket.
Looking down, he saw blood pooled in both palms. He wrapped the handkerchief around one hand and stuck the other into his pocket. Then, he turned back inside.
He would have to find a way to wash his hands. He couldn’t very well ask Charlotte to dance with his hands bloodied.
As he entered, he spotted Lady Swanson’s daughter, Lady Clarissa.
Gideon’s god-sister had been an acquaintance of his since childhood. He had always considered her a sister of sorts, although she clearly had other ideas when it came to him.
Right now, that did not matter; he needed her assistance.
“Lady Clarissa,” he greeted.
She looked at him, her blue eyes lighting up at once as she tucked an imaginary curl behind her ear. “Ravenscar! Good to see you. I saw you enter with your beautiful wife. What a smashing success the two of you make.”
“Indeed,” he agreed.
“Although…” She lowered her voice so no one could overhear the scandalous words. “Some of us are left wanting. Is it true that you have given up your… adventurous ways?”
Was it? He hadn’t engaged in any sort of adventure of late, but he hadn’t made a conscious decision not to do so.
“You could say so,” he replied. “Now, I wonder, Lady Clarissa… could you help me?”
She stepped closer such that her shoulder almost brushed his. “Whatever you need, My Lord.” She blinked once.
He ignored her obvious flirtation and instead showed her his bloody palm. “At present, I require a bandage of some sort.”
“Goodness gracious!” she gasped. “Of course, please come with me.”
She placed her hand on the small of his back and guided him out of the room.
