Page 80 of The Theory of Earls (The Beautiful Barringtons 1)

37

“You.”

The words thundered behind her again. It was Winthrop. She hoped if she ignored his presence he would go away and plague someone else. After his persistent courtship, Margaret should have learned her lesson. What he hoped to accomplish by confronting her in her husband’s club, she’d no idea. Nor did she care. Margaret didn’t have the energy or time to be concerned with her previous suitor; she was too busy trying to hold her broken heart together. And decide whether she would kick ortossLady Isley’s voluptuous form down the stairs. Winthrop and his sweating mass could go hang.

“I’m speaking to you,” he threatened behind her.

Margaret turned, the rustle of her skirts hissing dangerously around her ankles. Marching directly over to Winthrop, she didn’t bother to conceal her abhorrence for him. She ignored the stares and whispers of Elysium’s members, some of whom had paused, cards or dice in hand, to watch the scene unfolding.

No doubt it will be all over the gossip columns tomorrow.

The only question was whether it would take precedence over her husband’s amorous attentions to Lady Isley.

“What is it you want, Lord Winthrop?” she demanded. “Speak. Unless you wish to continue our merry chase through the gaming tables.”

The rubbery lips pursed before he wiped them with his sweat-stained handkerchief. He frowned, brow wrinkling to scowl at her. When Margaret didn’t so much as flinch he stammered, “You”—his sweaty face crumpled—“were supposed to marryme.”

“Was I?” Her hands went to her hips. “I don’teverrecall agreeing to a match with you. In fact, I believe Itossed up my breakfastat the very thought when you proposed, right into my aunt’s rose bushes. Did you take that as my agreement?”

Snickers came from the roulette table to her side.

“We were to bemarried,” he stated again, puffing out his chest, which made his much fuller bottom stick out. “Your aunt promised you to me.”

“Then perhaps you should take up your complaint with Lady Dobson.”

His large hands clutched at his sides, the malice in his gaze thickening to hatred.

Maggie marched closer to him and watched with delight when he took a small step back.

“I’m so sorry you won’t receive my substantial dowry, Winthrop. You behave as if you were entitled to it for some reason. Oddly enough, it seems my wealth has ended up in exactly the same spot it would have if I’d accepted your proposal.Here.Elysium.” She glowered at Winthrop, daring him to contradict her. “Probably at the very faro table I’ve just vacated. I understand you play abysmally.”

A series of shocked gasps echoed around her. Margaret ignored them all.

Winthrop’s mouth popped open at her diatribe, no doubt expectingtimidMiss Lainscott, a girl who couldn’t even meet his eyes during his pathetic courtship. Margaret was no longer playing at being a mouse to navigate a society and an aunt she detested.

I have never been that girl.

I see you, Maggie.Welles had always known. Her heart gave a painful lurch.

“Now if you willexcuseme, Lord Winthrop,” her eyes took in his sweating mass, the derision clear in her tone. “I am needed upstairs. I plan on engaging in fisticuffs with Lady Isley for having theaudacityto kiss my husband while I was occupied playing cards.”

The whispers around her grew louder at her declaration. As if she gave afig.

“I bid you good evening.” Margaret tilted her chin, challenging Winthrop to say more. She’d thought about fleeing Elysium, but halfway across the gambling floor, she changed her mind. Her husbandmay notlove her despite Georgina’s remarks. But he cared for her.Shewas Lady Welles. He had come back toher. Margaret would nottolerateLady Isley’s disrespect and would make her feelingsabundantlyclear to the red-haired harlot.

Her fingers curled into fists. She was relatively sure she could throw a decent punch.

Turning on her heel, intent on her mission, Margaret was halted by a familiar wall of muscle, clad in indigo and smelling of the outdoors and leather.

She winced as another odor invaded her nostrils.

There was also a trace of what had to be Lady Isley’s perfume.What a cloying scent.

“Brava, Lady Welles,” the wall of muscle rumbled. “Fisticuffs with Lady Isley? Over my honor? I’d no idea you were so bloodthirsty.”

Margaret ignored his teasing remark. She was angry and might burst into tears. “My lord.”

Welles looked down on her, one dark brow raised at her clipped greeting, but the corner of his mouth ticked up.

---