Page 38 of Thief of the Ton
“Your fathertoldyou this?”
A tear splashed on her cheek, and she wiped it away angrily. “I overheard him talking to Lady Betty—the one friend who stood by us. From that day, I swore vengeance.”
He took her hand. “Take care, little Guinevere—vengeance often causes greater harm to the perpetrator.”
“I have to dosomething.”
“Perhaps,” he said, “but I’d counsel you to desist from speaking of Earl Walton—or even thinking of him. I can see it gives you pain, and I would not have you in pain.”
“You wouldn’t?” Vulnerability shone in her eyes. He longed to take her in his arms, but in a drawing room full of guests, it would compromise her as surely if he’d been caught rutting her on the terrace. The liquor had lowered her defenses, and he was not a man to take advantage of a woman who’d drunk herself out of her wits.
“If I may be so bold, may I suggest something else?” he asked.
“Of course.”
“Avoid the punch bowl at parties. One never knows how much liquor has been poured into it until it’s too late.”
“Is that why the world tipped onto its side earlier?” she asked. A spark of mischief twinkled in her eyes, and he let out a laugh.
“That’s more like it!” he cried. “Do you promise to follow my advice?”
“Your advice onwhat, Lord Marlow?” a sharp voice said.
Lady Yates stood before them. Miss de Grande stiffened, and her smile disappeared.
“I was advising your niece on the need to take sugar in her coffee after a rich meal,” he said. “Lady Foxwell’s sorbet was a little overwhelming, and your charming niece was just telling me that she’d felt obliged to clear her plate for fear of insulting our hostess.”
“Is that true, Lavinia?”
“Your niece is too polite to be frank with you,” he said. The dowager stared at him, disbelief in her expression, but she made no protest.
“Perhaps it’s time you took your niece home, Lady Yates?” he suggested.
The dowager glanced at Miss de Grande. “Lavinia?”
Miss de Grande gave her a watery smile. “Would you mind, Aunt?”
“Of course not,” came the reply. “I was going to suggest it myself.”
Peregrine waved over a footman. “Would you have Lady Yates’s carriage brought round?”
“Very good, sir.”
Their host and hostess approached, making a fuss of Miss de Grande and bidding Lady Yates farewell. As they left the drawing room, Miss de Grande turned, met Peregrine’s gaze, and mouthed a silent address.
Thank you.
But she had little to thank him for. He had deceived her. In promising to investigate her father’s ruination, his motive had been to prevent her from discovering that his own father was the object of her hatred.
She must never discover whose son he was—for if she did, her bitter hatred would be directed at him.
Chapter Twelve
As Lavinia steppedinto the breakfast room, a sharp voice sliced through the morning air, and her temples throbbed with pain.
“Thereyou are, child! I was wondering if you were ever going to favor me with your presence.”
Lavinia’s stomach churned at the odor of fried bacon, and she slipped into her seat, nodding thanks to the footman in attendance.
