The Marrying Season (6 page)

An accurate, if vague, description. Genevieve plucked the note from her hand and opened it.

Dear Genevieve,

Meet me in the library. Do not fail me.

Myles

Surprised, Genevieve read the note again, but was no more knowledgeable than before. She looked up to ask the maid a question, but the girl had already gone.

Why would Myles ask her to meet him? What could have arisen in the past few minutes that was so urgent? She glanced around the room but did not see him. Folding and refolding the note, she tucked it into her pocket. Whatever was going on, she suspected that it was better not to tell her grandmother. Genevieve turned and slipped out the nearest door.

W
hen Genevieve stepped into the
hall, she spotted Myles at the far end of the corridor, walking with Miss Halford toward a group of people that included Lady Dursbury. No doubt he was escorting the girl back to her chaperone after the dance. Genevieve thought about simply waiting for him here, but she discarded the idea. Myles obviously wanted to speak to her alone, away from prying eyes.

She wandered down the corridor until she found a long room with a door at each end. The walls on all sides were lined with shelves of books. No doubt this was Thea’s favorite spot, Genevieve thought as she entered the library. Comfortable chairs were scattered about the room, as well as a small secretary. Facing away from her was a dark leather couch, and as Genevieve came farther into the room, Foster Langdon popped up and peered over the back of the couch.

“Lady Genevieve!” he exclaimed in apparent delight. “Aphrodite walks among us.”

Oh, bother! She could not let Myles come in here with
Langdon hanging about. Langdon would assume she and Myles had an assignation.

“Mr. Langdon. I beg your pardon. I was looking for Lady Morecombe.”

“Dear lady, no, you need not pretend.” He lurched up from the sofa and came unsteadily toward her. “I am as eager as you to be alone together.”

Genevieve realized she was in a worse situation than she had thought. Langdon, who appeared even more inebriated than earlier in the evening, seemed to believe she had slipped into the library to meet
him
.

“I fear you are laboring under a misapprehension, Mr. Langdon,” she said, sidestepping his outstretched hand. “I was unaware you were here. Or that anyone was. Pray excuse me.”

“No, my goddess, do not be shy.” He grabbed her hand and began kissing it. “You are a vision! An angel, sent to me by a most kind Providence.”

“Really, sir, that is quite enough!” Genevieve tried to jerk her hand away, but he clung to it like a limpet. “I am no angel, and I seriously doubt that Providence is concerned with sending you women to bedevil.”

He let go but only to grab her upper arms and tug her to him. Genevieve twisted and pulled, alarmed but still doing her best to get out of the situation gracefully. “Let go of me!” she hissed. “Have you gone mad? There are people all around!”

“Yes! I feel the same! I wish them all at the devil.” He wrapped his arms around her, leaning in for a kiss, and
Genevieve turned her face away so that his lips met only the side of her head.

“Let go of me or I shall scream!” Still she kept her voice low. The last thing she wanted was to make noise and attract any onlookers. She could feel her carefully pinned hair coming loose on one side, and her dress was twisted from grappling with him—the man had arms like an octopus! She must get away and put herself in order before anyone saw her.

Langdon grabbed her head between his hands, his fingers digging into her hair, and jerked her to him, planting a kiss on her mouth. Genevieve growled deep in her throat, fury seizing her, and she stamped her heel down on his instep. He let out a howl and staggered backward, his hands ripping from her hair with a painful jerk.

Genevieve whirled to run, but more quickly than she would have imagined for a man so drunk, he pounced, his hand clamping around her arm and whirling her back around. Genevieve drew her right arm back and launched her doubled-up fist straight at his face, as she had seen Alec do. She hit him square in the nose, sending a shock up her arm and blood spurting onto his white cravat.

He shrieked, his arms pinwheeling as he sought to regain his balance. He hooked a hand into the neck of her dress just as Genevieve pivoted to flee from him, and her bodice tore as Langdon crashed to the floor.

At that moment, a shocked male voice said, “Lady Genevieve!”

Genevieve turned around to see Lord Dursbury, his stepmother, Sir Myles, and several others standing in the doorway, gaping at her.

Myles had danced with Lady
Dursbury, then with the shy Miss Halford. Feeling his duty done, he returned the girl to Lady Dursbury, thinking he would seek out Genevieve if she was not standing with her fiancé. Much as he enjoyed a bit of conversation with Genevieve, he refused to endure Dursbury’s talking about . . . well, it didn’t matter what; any topic, whether it was horses, cards, or the opera, all turned stultifying in his mouth.

However, when he and Miss Halford strolled into the outer hall, where Lady Dursbury was standing with her stepson and several of his friends, Myles could not, without rudeness, simply leave Miss Halford and walk away, so he suppressed a groan and paused to chat with the group for the smallest amount of time courtesy demanded.

Suddenly a shriek came from down the hall, and everyone turned and started for the library. The group came to a shocked halt in the doorway. Genevieve stood in the middle of the library, hair straggling down from her once-elegant coiffure, her dress twisted and the bodice torn open, revealing her chemise. Foster Langdon was half-sprawled against the back of the sofa, disheveled, blood streaming from his nose.

For a moment everyone was too shocked to speak or move. Myles took a step forward just as Lord Dursbury barked out Genevieve’s name. Myles stopped, recalling
that it was Lord Dursbury’s place to go to his fiancée’s aid, not his.

Genevieve, too, had whirled at the sound of Dursbury’s voice and was staring at them all with horror. She grabbed at her bodice, pulling up the torn half to cover herself. “L-Lord Dursbury!”

“What is the meaning of all this?” Dursbury demanded. “Lady Genevieve, what is going on here? This is most irregular.”

“What the devil is wrong with you, Dursbury?” Myles stared at the other man in astonishment. When Dursbury did not move, Myles strode across the room to Genevieve. Langdon, seeing him coming, scrambled away, but Myles did not bother to chase him, instead shrugging off his jacket and draping it around Genevieve’s shoulders.

“Thank you, Myles,” Genevieve said through bloodless lips. Her face ashen, she faced her fiancé, who had come farther into the room. “I—when I came in . . . he . . .” Her voice wavered.

“Good Lord, man, anyone can see what happened,” Myles told Dursbury. “That blackguard obviously attacked her. And, from the looks of it, she drew his cork.” He regarded Genevieve with pride. “Good girl. I always knew you would show well in a mill. Got bottom.” He gave her a grin.

Genevieve smiled back somewhat tremulously. “Well, I am a Stafford.”

“Are you jesting about this?” Dursbury exclaimed incredulously.

“No, of course not, Dursbury,” Genevieve said a trifle
testily, her voice strengthening. “It’s as Myles said: Langdon tried to kiss me, and we tussled.”

There were gasps from Lady Dursbury and Miss Halford, and Lord Dursbury grew even stiffer. “Tussled? You say it as if nothing happened.”

“Nothing did happen, fortunately,” Genevieve answered. “I hit him before he could harm me.”

Dursbury’s eyebrows soared toward his hairline. “Nothing? You think this is nothing?” He swept his arm out as if to encompass the room and all the people in it. “What of your reputation? Your good name? What of mine?”

Genevieve narrowed her eyes. “
Your
name? I fail to see that this has anything to do with your name.”

“You are my betrothed!” he snapped. “It has everything to do with my name. You are the future Lady Dursbury.”

“I am already Genevieve Stafford.” Genevieve’s face was no longer ashen; bright red washed her cheekbones, and her eyes were a piercing blue. “And that is as good a name as any in this kingdom.”

“Perhaps you should have thought of that before you went into the library with a man!”

“Careful, Dursbury.” Myles stiffened beside Genevieve, his voice hard. “You would not want to say anything you will later regret.”

“I did not go into the library with a man,” Genevieve shot back. “I came in here by myself and he just happened to be here.” She swung around to point at Langdon, but he was no longer in the room. The door at the other end of the room stood open, indicating where he had gone.

“Bloody hell!” Myles burst out. “I should have grabbed the cur.”

“To what purpose?” Dursbury asked coldly. “To create even more of an uproar?” He gestured vaguely to the area behind him, now crowded with people avidly watching the scene. “I think this situation is bad enough already without you beating some fellow senseless.”

“I think beating him senseless would do a great deal to improve things,” Myles answered. “One can only wonder why Genevieve’s own fiancé doesn’t want to do the job himself!”

“Because, unlike you and Genevieve and her brother, I prefer to stay away from scandal.” He turned to Genevieve. “Whatever happened, it is quite clear you placed yourself in this situation, my lady. You were alone with Langdon. You have caused yourself to be the subject of gossip. And you have embroiled my family in scandal, as well. It is insupportable. Your behavior is not that of the Countess of Dursbury. I regret, my lady, that I can no longer in good conscience marry you.”

After an instant of stunned silence, Myles strode forward. “I didn’t get a chance to give Langdon what he deserved. But I can bloody well give it to you.” His right arm shot out, catching Dursbury squarely on his chin and knocking him to the ground.

Myles turned to Genevieve, offering her his arm. “Genevieve?”

She stepped up beside him, twisting her engagement ring from her finger. Dropping it on Dursbury’s chest, she took Myles’s arm, and they stalked out of the room.

Myles whisked Genevieve out of the house, pausing only long enough to tell a footman to inform the Earl of Rawdon that he was taking Lady Genevieve home. Genevieve, humiliatingly aware of all the eyes staring at her with avid curiosity, carefully kept her face a cool mask of hauteur. She would not give any of them the satisfaction of her breaking down . . . or even of looking as if she cared for their opinion.

Myles handed Genevieve into a hack and climbed in after her. She sank back against the seat, the shame she had refused to show the world washing over her now that she was safe from prying eyes.

“I am so sorry, Genevieve.” Myles took her hand, and Genevieve surprised them both by curling her fingers tightly around his.

“Thank you.” She knew he must regret sending her the note that had caused her to wind up in the library, but there was no reason. “It was my own fault for going there.”

“You couldn’t have known Langdon would be in there.” Myles scowled. “Dursbury’s a fool. Worse than a fool.”

“Yes.” Genevieve tightened her grasp on his hand. “Promise me, Myles, you must keep Alec from attacking Langdon. Or Dursbury. It will only make the scandal worse. Grandmama will be humiliated.” Tears welled in her eyes.

“Don’t worry about the countess. I am sure she is tougher than any of us. I shall shadow Alec if I have to. But my guess is Damaris will manage him.”

That statement was enough to bring a faint smile to
Genevieve’s lips. She was glad to go along with Myles’s attempt to lighten the mood. “She does have a way with him. No one else has ever managed it.”

“Love does odd things to a man, or so I’m told.”

“Come, Myles. Do not tell me that you have never been in love.” She cut her eyes toward him with the ghost of a roguish twinkle.

“Oh, no, a hundred times at least,” he said lightly, his hand reassuringly warm and strong around hers. “The problem is I find myself out of love as quickly as I fell into it.”

“No doubt leaving behind some jeweled trinket as an expression of your esteem.”

“Dear girl! Wherever did you hear such shocking things?”

“I am not entirely ignorant, no matter how the world strives to keep a maiden that way. Everyone knows men have their little affairs,” Genevieve said airily.

The carriage rolled to a halt, saving Myles from having to answer, and they went inside.

“Have tea and brandy brought to the drawing room,” Myles told the footman, and started with Genevieve for that room.

“I am fine,” Genevieve protested. “I don’t need a brandy.”

“Well, I do.” But when the butler brought the tray of drinks, Myles poured a healthy dollop of the fiery alcohol in Genevieve’s cup, as well. She took a sip, grimacing at the sharp taste, and sat down. A large, white puffball of a cat came into the room and stopped just inside the doorway, as if posing for an admiring audience.

“Xerxes!” Genevieve smiled, beckoning to the cat.

“Oh, the devil!” Myles said under his breath. The cat and Myles regarded each other balefully for a moment. Then, with a twitch of his tail, Xerxes turned, dismissing Myles, and stalked over to jump into Genevieve’s lap.

Tears threatened Genevieve again, but she swallowed hard and ran her hand down Xerxes’s back. The cat narrowed his eyes to slits, a low rumble rising from his chest, and Genevieve’s tightly held shoulders relaxed as well, as she continued to pet him.

The front door slammed open, the noise reverberating through the house, and Alec strode through the doorway. “Genevieve? Myles? What the devil is going on? Morecombe’s footman gave us your message; we thought Genevieve had taken a fall or some such thing.”

Genevieve let out a snort. “I took a fall, certainly, though not the sort you mean. I am surprised no one told you.”

“Everyone was buzzing, but we left without pausing to speak to anyone.” Damaris came into the room behind Alec, the dowager countess beside her.