Her reputation was ruined.
With her unique height, even if the guest did not see her features, they would know who she was. That she had been caught in the arms of a man, and had sullied the only asset she possessed as a young woman of theton—her pristine conduct.
He released her, placing himself between her and their newly arrived company. Gwen took the opportunity to straighten her gown and raise a hand to check her hair. The gentleman would bear little aftermath, but she … she was about to bear the bitter consequences of losing her mind under a full moon.
She could only whisper a prayer that when she turned toface her consequences, she would find her father rather than any of their guests. If it was anyone else, she was utterly ruined and would have to retreat from the public eye.
Aidan was stilldrunk with desire for Miss Smythe, but he was sobering up quickly when he took in a crowd of guests who had spilled around the corner of the terrace and were now agog, staring at him as if he had sprouted a second head.
At the back, Trafford stood with wide eyes, before casting his anxious gaze down to run a hand through his wheat curls. A moment later, he threw out his hands as if to say there was nothing he could do.
Several matrons stood with their husbands, none of whom Aidan recognized, but apparently they recognized him.
“It’s Moreland’s heir!” The impasse was broken when an older woman with graying blonde hair practically shrieked.
“Is that Miss Smythe?” asked the gentleman she was holding by the arm.
Trafford cleared his throat. “I am sure it is not what we think. Lord Abbott is a nobleman of the highest order.”
Aidan stared at his accomplice, thinking about the list in his breast pocket. Soon they might reveal Frederick Smythe as a murderer, and this revelation of womanhood, the only woman who had ever made him lose his head, would not just be publicly ruined by his actions tonight but would be even further humiliated by her father’s arrest in the near future.
The thought of the lovely and intelligent Miss Smythe being destroyed within their rather cruel community made his blood run cold—a fact that could only be embraced as the last remnants of his passion subsided, to his relief. He could only hope the dark had hidden the evidence of his ardorwhen he shielded Miss Smythe with his body upon realizing they had acquired an audience.
Miss Smythe deserved better. He had instigated their kiss, and he had no choice as a gentleman but to act with honor. It was his duty to protect her, not just this night but all her future days when events unfolded as he thought they might.
Staring at Trafford, he slowly considered his options and found that the obvious solution was not one he unduly objected to. It seemed fitting somehow, despite the complications it would introduce.
Drawing a deep breath, Aidan prepared his announcement, certain it was the right thing to do. Trafford stared back at him, an expression of horror crossing his features as he comprehended what Aidan was about to do. He shook his head, putting a hand up to stay Aidan from his decision?—
“I just offered for Miss Smythe’s hand in marriage … and she accepted.”
CHAPTER 4
“The gods too are fond of a joke.”
Aristotle
Gwen had still not peeked around Lord Abbott to see their audience, which was clearly not her father, but multiple guests. Any notions of discretion were out of the question, she supposed.
More importantly, her kiss with a stranger had been with the heir to Viscount Moreland, according to the multiple witnesses of her ruin.
“I just offered for Miss Smythe’s hand in marriage … and she accepted.”
After he made his announcement, in a mellifluous voice that stroked her interest to rise once more, she did not comprehend the words for several seconds.
Then it hit her.
Thestranger knew who she was.
And he had just announced their betrothal.
The shock at her unrestrained behavior with a strange man, followed by the discovery that her moonlight lover was an honorable and highly eligible member of theton, was too much to absorb.
She could not possibly hold him to his declaration, but she also could not believe that her father had been correct that a man such as him did, indeed, exist.
“You are to wedMiss Smythe?”
Gwen recognized the voice of Lady Astley, a sour grandmother of polite society who was quick with her scathing criticisms. Crouching slightly behind Lord Abbott’s back, she pulled a face at the harridan’s tone of disbelief. Gwen might be entering spinsterhood, but there was no need to be so blatantly incredulous.
