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Guy took his time ending the staring match. “I refuse to play your repugnant game of brides. Sculthorpe, you are not marrying my sister. Sir Walter, I am not marrying Miss Treadgold.”
Sculthorpe shrugged. “Very well. I’ll marry Miss Treadgold instead. She was equally amenable to my advances.”
Sir Walter’s eyes widened. “What do you mean?”
“You and your wife were happy to facilitate my trysts with Lady Frederica. But you failed to realize how enterprising your niece is. We also had some lovely trysts.”
“You met him too?” Freddie said to Miss Treadgold.
Miss Treadgold, looking very pink now, crossed to Freddie’s side. “I was visiting the abbey ruins when he showed up and professed his love. I had no idea he was meeting you.”
“Now, now, my little doves, no need to fight over me. I enjoyed meeting you both.” Sculthorpe looked around the room. “Oh, put away those judgmental faces. I did not compromise either of them in any way. I didn’t need to. A few sweet nothings and they were mine.” He smiled broadly. “Each has her own appeal, so long as they, at least, are chaste. Now, Miss Treadgold, Lady Frederica: Which of you will marry me?”
“Neither.”
The word came, hard and low, from the doorway.
Arabella had arrived.
She stood tall and proud, still in her red riding habit, hat, and gloves, riding crop in her hand. Her eyes blazed as she slapped the end of her crop into one gloved palm.
Those blazing eyes were directed at Sculthorpe. With a slow, deliberate movement, she pointed her crop at him like an avenging angel brandishing a flaming sword.
“No one is marrying that man.”
Chapter 22
Arabella dragged her eyes off Sculthorpe’s smirk to study the other faces, so she would not cross the room and take to the blackguard with her crop.
Lady Treadgold looked shocked. Sir Walter looked outraged. Matilda and Freddie, huddled together by the window, looked thrilled.
And Guy… She could not bear to look at him, but she saw him nonetheless. He had positioned himself between Sculthorpe and the young ladies, with that alert air, as if ready to strike.
“Arabella,” Guy said. “Exactly the person we need.”
She had to look at him then. He held her gaze steadily, and she was still puzzling out his meaning when Sir Walter’s voice intruded.
“This does not concern you, Miss Larke,” he said. “You lost your chance to marry Lord Sculthorpe. Now he will marry—”
“Enough.” Arabella slapped her crop into her palm. Sir Walter shut up. “Allow me to repeat myself for those who did not understand the first time. No one is marrying that man.”
And so it would unravel. Sculthorpe would assert his right to marry Freddie, and Arabella’s accusation would end up in court, in support of Guy’s petition. In arguing that Sir Walter was benefiting himself by marrying his ward to a violent man, she would have to reveal that violence. The whole country would read how she had lain weak and helpless on the grass. In retaliation, Sculthorpe’s barrister would eloquently argue the defense: The poor, heartbroken baron had merely reacted with passion to the news that his betrothed had cuckolded him.
She would do it, of course, for Freddie and Matilda, and any other young woman unfortunate enough to catch Sculthorpe’s eye. She would do it and end up completely ruined.
It would ruin Guy too, although in a different way. If he admitted to his part, he would have to marry her, or be denounced a cad in turn. But why should he confess? After all, she was the cad who had seduced him; she was the scoundrel who had blackmailed Sculthorpe.
She was the one brandishing a crop, and sorely tempted to put it to use.
Why would a decent, honorable man want a lady like that?
She continued: “Lord Sculthorpe is a violent man.”
Guy shot to attention, while Sir Walter spluttered. “Mind what you say, Miss Larke. His lordship is a war hero.”
“And I’ll marry whom I please,” Sculthorpe said.
He extended a defiant hand toward the young ladies. Without a thought, Arabella whipped the crop down onto his wrist.
