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“Gammon.” He kissed her again because he could then sat back with a sigh. “Let us see how the night goes before we borrow trouble. It might surprise us both.” And if they were fortunate, flushed with success of the evening, he would come to her bed and make love to her until her doubts had fled.
“Dear God, let that be the case,” she whispered and availed herself of his hand, squeezing for comfort.
An hour later, Percival wasn’t as fond of his fellow man as he’d been when he and Lavinia had first entered the drawing room. As soon as he’d swept into the space with her on his arm, most of the conversation ceased as people turned to stare…
…and whisper.
Those voices, lowered behind fans and hands, caught like wildfire, and went about the room. And there was naught he could do about it.
“Hellfire and damnation,” he hissed out, and when he glared, daring anyone to condemn his choices to his face, Lavinia tightened her fingers on his arm.
“Steady, Laughton. A lion doesn’t need to prove himself to sheep. They already know that he’s a lion.”
Some of the tension eased from his shoulders. “I suppose you’re right, and I should bear that in mind.” A curl of warm pleasure went through his chest to know that she considered him in such high esteem. “At least the Duke of Bradford isn’t in attendance this evening.”
“Indeed.” She gave him a smile. “Keep calm. Don’t let them see a reaction. It’s the only way to survive the gauntlet.”
Not for the first time did he wonder exactly what she’d been subject to in her lifetime, but damn if she didn’t hold her head high and move as regally as a queen through the crowded room. She never failed to offer a kind smile or words of greeting to anyone who actually met her gaze. Percival’s respect for her edged up.
Eventually, the conversation and laughter resumed, yet the looks and whispers didn’t cease. As he and Lavinia approached a viscount’s wife—her husband was one of his contemporaries and club members—Percival introduced Lavinia to the couple.
“Lord and Lady Arbuthnot, may I present to you my wife, Lady Laughton.” A certain amount of pride swelled his chest, for Lavinia was easily one of the loveliest women in attendance.
The viscount snapped his gaze between them and then glanced at something past Percival’s left shoulder. “Oh, I say, Laughton, there’s Peterfield. I simply must speak to him regarding a matter of Parliament.” The cowardly peer took his leave while his wife looked Lavinia up and down then sniffed as if she’d smelled something foul.
“They are certainly rather lax in who they invited to this event, I see. I’m surprised at the marquess.” The blonde woman departed in a rustle of crimson taffeta to join her husband’s side.
Well, fuck them all! One glance into his wife’s face showed tight lips and a fleeting disappointment in her eyes. Finding acceptance for them both wouldn’t prove an easy road. “Come. There are other people here tonight of more consequence than them.”
The next two couples he introduced to Lavinia gave equally frosty receptions. A quiver of her chin—ever so slightly—betrayed how the slights affected her.
“To be fair,” Percival whispered into her ear, “that second couple took exception to me. I haven’t managed to remove the tarnish from my name in recent years, for I rather took the lord for an exorbitant sum of money at the gaming table a while back.”
Her lips barely curved into a grin. She met his gaze. Infinite sadness filled her eyes. “Thank you for that.”
Never had he thought about the delicate balance women in the profession Lavinia had previously worked exercised. Not of the world of the ton but possessing too much pedigree to rest below it, they neither fit in or out.
And seeing how a mere fraction of the beau monde acted in front of his wife had him reeling with anger and embarrassment. “I need brandy.”
“No, you don’t. Fight it, Percival.”
“I cannot. Not tonight.” When a trace of annoyance flashed in her eyes, he sighed. “Please, Lavinia. Just one. Even you must admit this night is beyond the pale.”
Tersely, she shook her head and kept her voice low. “You must commit to do better. Find a different way of coping when things aren’t as you’d hoped.” She tightened her fingers on his arm. “That means leaving old ways behind that hinder your growth. Don’t let these people win or see that you are indeed the lost cause they think.”
He forced a hard swallow into his dry throat. “In my heart I know that, but my head believes I can accept everything more readily if it were softened by brandy.”
“Please don’t.” Tears welled in her eyes, but she blinked them rapidly away. “If you care at all for me in any capacity, you won’t undo all the progress you’ve previously made.”
Damn it all to hell. Why did she have to put it that way? Yet everywhere he looked, people whispered, stared in their direction as if he’d murdered a peer instead of married his mistress. “I’m sorry.” Disappointment in himself threatened to bury him as he shook off her touch and then moved away to find the sideboard or a servant with a silver tray of drinks.
After imbibing in two snifters of brandy and hating himself for every blessed sip, Percival returned, but Lavinia was in conversation with one of the more popular ton hostesses—a woman who could make someone’s splash into society or forever cast them out. Oh, dear God. Panic ricocheted through his chest. Should he indulge in another drink? Keep downing them until that familiar numbness made him stop feeling and fretting? As he edged closer, keeping his focus on the slender lines of his wife’s neck and the baby fine curls that clung to it, he overheard a bit of their talk, and he froze perhaps two feet away.
The rather matronly woman tsked her tongue. “I’m surprised you had the courage—or the stupidity—to show your face here, or in public at all, after what you’ve done.”
“You will need to be more specific Lady Jersey. I have lived a full life in my nine and twenty years.”
Percival stifled his gasp but the patroness’ seemed to echo in the room.
