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“I think Lord Barrington is merely miffed that his stepsister beat him in a carriage race. His vanity was pricked and he is disheartened,” Pippa said pertly.
“How do you know of it, Pippa?” her brother asked, piercing her with his gaze.
“Why, Amelia and I are friends, and it was with great pleasure she recounted the tale of how she thrashed him soundly.” And afterward, he had hauled her into his arms and ravished her mouth with thorough soundness. The shock of that had seen Amelia running to Bath and hiding from the viscount.
Her father scowled, his bushy brows lowering far too ominously. “You are friends with a young lady who races carriages?”
Pippa barely prevented herself from rolling her eyes. Her mother saved her from the necessity of a reply by saying, “I think it is a marvelous idea that ladies should have a club in the veins of White’s to attend. Just imagine the wonderful spectacle of it.”
Outrage slung from her father and brother, which her mother deftly fielded with amused rebuttals. Pippa grinned, pushed back her chair and excused herself. They barely paid her any heed as she hurried from the room, down the hallway and up to her bedchamber. Once inside, she hastened to the window and plucked up the scandal sheets her maid had arranged. Pippa sat and devoured the pages, breathing a sigh of relief that there was no mention of Viscount Shuttleworth.
Last night Pippa had lingered at the ball for another two hours, and in that time, the viscount had not returned inside. She had not risked going back to the gardens to investigate if he was still there or if he had woken and slinked away. Hopefully, he would accept everything as the demands of honor had been satisfied and never approach her again. If he should, Pippa would not hesitate to inform her father. The viscount was now married to an heiress; hence there could be no pressure on her to marry the scoundrel.
A knock sounded, and her lady’s maid, Mary, entered. The girl bobbed a curtsy and held out a small jar.
“This was delivered for you, Lady Pippa.”
“It was?” she reached for it and the small note.
This will help with the pain and swelling in your hand. Use it liberally at least three times for the day. There is no need to thank me. It will be as if we had never met.
Pippa’s pulse tapped briskly in her ears, and an odd feeling of weakness assailed her knees. Thankfully she was already seated! No name was attached to the abrupt and almost rude note, but she knew it was the Marquess of Trent who sent it. Her fingers shook slightly as she opened the small jar and brought it to her nose. Peppermint and lavender wafted from the jar. “Thank you, Mary,” she murmured to the hovering maid. “That will be all.”
“Yes, milady,” she said and departed, closing the door behind her.
Pippa dipped her fingers into the cool cream and rubbed it over the knuckles that were still frightfully tender. Her skin tingled, and she smiled when the throbbing immediately eased. Another quick glance at the note, and she smiled. He did not want her thanks and preferred never to meet her again. Pippa closed her eyes, recalling the gentle way he had held the ice handkerchief to her hand, the sense of his body being too powerful as he stood before her. Pippa had felt surrounded and had been desperate to flee inside and from the confusing sensations pitting low in her belly. Blowing an unsteady breath, she folded the note, went over to her dressing table, and rested it there with the jar. As he did not wish for her gratitude, Pippa would not intrude by sending a note, even if she knew his townhouse’s address.
Almost an hour later, she set aside the gothic romance novel she was reading, collected her bonnet and pelisse, then went downstairs to meet her mother for their shopping trip to High Holborn. Afterward, Pippa might visit 48 Berkeley Square and return home with enough time to prepare for tonight’s ball.
Seated with her mother in their elegant town carriage, Pippa brushed aside the curtains and peered outside.
“Are you appearing so distracted because you wish to avoid the conversation you know is coming, young lady?”
Biting back her smile, she lowered the curtains and glanced at her mother. “What conversation do you refer to, Mama?”
The countess searched her expression keenly. “At last night’s ball, you disappeared outside into the gardens. A few minutes later, Lord Shuttleworth followed. What happened, Pippa?”
She gasped, her hand fluttering to her throat. “Mama!”
“Why do you appear so disconcerted,” her mother said with a sniff. “You’ve avoided town for so long, always pleading with me to extend our stay in Bath. I suspected it had something to do with the viscount since he called on you a few times before your urgent desire to leave the season behind. Did you think me ignorant to your distress or your avoidance? You only ask to come to town when you visit Berkeley Square, that club.”
Pippa swallowed tightly. She truly believed she hid her pain and distress deeply behind her determination to be…different.
Her mother’s expression softened, and her light blue eyes glistened with alarming tears. Her mother tended to cry whenever she felt things too deeply.
“Mama,” Pippa said, “I…what do you wish to know?”
“The viscount is married,” she said gently. “It is wrong to secretly meet with him in any gardens. You are one and twenty, and we allow you much freedom, Pippa, but this would not be supported in any manner.”
Oh!Pippa groaned and gripped the edges of the carriage seat. “Mama, I assure you, I deplore the viscount!”
Her mother’s eyes widened. “I urge you to explain.”
Swallowing, Pippa tugged the gloves from her hand and held it out.
“Upon my word! Your hand is swollen. What has happened?”
“It is like this because I…I punched the viscount several times.”
