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Sir Walter was entertaininga guest in the drawing room, Ramsay the butler told Guy, when he and Freddie arrived back at the house. His mouth was tight and he was fidgeting with his buttons in a most un-butler-like manner.
“Lady Belinda is not in the house,” Ramsay continued. “Perhaps, Lord Hardbury, you would be so kind as to offer your assistance.”
“With what?”
“With removing the guest. His lordship is not welcome. But he will not leave, and Lady Belinda is not here, and Mr. Larke does not wish to be disturbed. If… If you would be so kind, Lord Hardbury.”
Guy charged into the drawing room. He had no intention of being kind.
Because the unwanted guest was Lord Sculthorpe.
He sat at his leisure, the very image of the ideal gentleman, across from where the Treadgold family were lined up in a row: Sir Walter beaming with self-satisfaction, Lady Treadgold looking ill at ease, Miss Treadgold studying her fingernails, her cheeks pink.
No need to ask why Sculthorpe was here. Another match. Poor Miss Treadgold.
“You’re not welcome,” Guy said by way of greeting. “Get out.”
Sculthorpe rose lazily, offered Guy a mocking half bow, followed by a smile. “Here is my beloved betrothed now.”
Miss Treadgold’s eyes were firmly on her fingernails. Guy spun around, seeing only Freddie, her strawberry-blonde hair disheveled, her dress eccentric, her complexion deathly pale.
Guy looked back at Sculthorpe, who was looking at Freddie. Guy looked at Freddie, who was looking at the floor.
Guy looked at Sir Walter, who was beaming broadly.
“Felicitations are in order,” Sir Walter said.
“Freddie?” Guy said. “You told me you don’t want to marry.”
Her tight smile made her face appear even more elfin. “I also told you I did something silly.”
Sculthorpe sauntered across the room, a hand extended. “Come now, my little dove. That’s no—”
Knocking his arm aside, Guy planted himself between his sister and the baron. “Don’t touch her. Don’t even speak to her or look at her.”
Sculthorpe smiled. “I say, that will make our wedding night awkward. Won’t it, Frederica, my dreamy little…dove.”
“My sister will not marry you.”
“She seemed willing enough.”
“I’m not!” Freddie said from behind him. “I was merely curious.”
Sculthorpe laughed. “I promise to satisfy your curiosity.”
Guy shoved him. “Stars above, man, do youwantme to beat you up?”
“Not in the drawing room, Hardbury.” He straightened his coat. “Besides, let’s not forget what happened last time you challenged me. I left you as a sniveling, whimpering mess curled up in the dust. Do you remember that?”
“I do. I do remember that.”
“I should do it again, in the circumstances. But I prefer this solution: You took my betrothed, so I shall take your sister. You see how it works?”
Guy stared. “That is the most distorted piece of logic I have ever heard.”
“I learned a bitter lesson about the perfidy of women when I was young,” Sculthorpe carried on, oblivious. “I have waited for a woman to prove me wrong, but it seems they’re all the same. Maybe your sister will put me right.”
