Page 73 of Thief of the Ton
“No…” He pointed toward the stone floor beside the doorway. “The broken glass.”
What was broken glass compared to a shattered heart?
She sidestepped the shards of glass and returned to the drawing room.
The dancing was still in full swing, but the music was a little less excruciating—mainly due to Lady Francis now occupying the stool at the pianoforte. Lord Hythe was partnering Aunt Edna, the two of them doddering about the room, bumping into the rest of the party. Lady Hythe danced with Moss, pressing her bosom against him and eyeing him seductively. Perhapsshe’dbe the one demanding he ride her like a stallion tonight.
Lavinia gestured to the footman standing guard beside the brandy bottle. “Pour me one, would you?”
He splashed a quantity of brown liquid into a glass and pushed it toward her. She took it, drained the contents, then held it out.
“And another.”
“Miss, I hardly think—”
“I asked you to give me a drink, not to think.”
He gave a disapproving glare, then splashed a small quantity into her glass. She fixed him with a cold stare, then he relented and tipped the decanter up again, half filling the glass. She snatched it, then retreated to the corner of the drawing room.
She took a sip and glared at the company.
Society was rotten to the core, filled with self-indulgent, self-important fools who had no use in the world other than to bark orders and look down their noses at others. Moss only wanted to rut every woman in the room. Lord Hythe had taken a part in Papa’s downfall.
As for Lord Marlow…
She spotted him across the room, speaking to Lord Francis. As if he sensed her looking at him, he glanced up. She averted her gaze and drained her glass. The liquor burned her throat, and she fought the urge to choke. But she swallowed it, and a raw, sharp warmth spread through her chest, dulling the pain of her humiliation.
Heath Moss made no pretense at decency—anyone could see he was a rake at first glance. Lord Hythe, by virtue of what he’d done to Papa, had shown his villainy. But Peregrine—Lord Marlow—he’dtricked her into believing he was different. And, fool that she was, she’d fallen for it.
She set her glass aside and smiled to herself. Her plan was already in motion. And, with one small adjustment, she would show the three of them—Moss, Hythe, and Marlow—that she was no fool.
The Phoenix would teach themalla lesson—beginning tonight.
Chapter Twenty
Peregrine adjusted hiscravat and descended the main staircase. Voices came from the breakfast room, and his stomach growled at the aroma of kedgeree.
My favorite.
A footman approached him at the breakfast room door.
“Lord Marlow, would you follow me? The master wishes to see you in his study.”
“What the devil for?”
The servant lowered his voice. “It’s important, sir. Something’s happened.”
For a glorious moment, Peregrine visualized Moss lying in a flowerbed, having been tipped over the balcony. It was plain that he’d intended to cuckold Lord Hythe last night. Though why would any man be attracted to Lady Hythe, if her lovemaking had a similar degree of competence to her musicianship?
“Very well,” he said, “lead the way.”
The footman led Peregrine to a room at the end of the hallway, where Lord Hythe sat behind a large, squat mahogany desk.
Hythe glared at the footman.
“I’m glad to see you’re capable of followingoneorder, at least, Bradley,” he snapped. “Now, go.”
The footman scurried out.
