Falling for the Marquess - Julianne MacLean Page 0,47
center of another scandal, a scandal I attempted to avert just over an hour ago.”
Seger glanced down at Wentworth’s bloody hand and felt the muscles of his forearm tighten as he clenched his own hand into a fist. “What scandal? It doesn’t involve Clara, does it?”
“Your concern for my sister-in-law does you credit. Yes, it involves her. The two of you were seen together at two separate Cakras Balls, and a certain gentleman who covets Clara’s marriage settlement has threatened to reveal it. Under other circumstances I would have words for you in that regard, but from what I understand, Clara’s attendance at the ball was accidental, at least the first time, and you steered her away and suggested that she leave. You did the same the second time, when it was not accidental.”
Was Seger receiving a commendation? he wondered, staring at Wentworth’s dark expression. Why was he telling him all this?
“You said just now that you attempted to avert the scandal,” Seger mentioned. “Were you successful?”
“I made an impression,” the duke replied, “but it wouldn’t hurt for you to make an impression as well. I believe we should present a united front.”
Seger tried to keep his anger in check. “Who, may I ask, is the gentleman in question?”
“Guysborough.”
“The duke? Bloody hypocrite. He, of all people, should know the rules of the Cakras Society. He’d tried something like this once before, didn’t he?”
“Yes, two years ago he was suspended for speaking about a particular lady who had rejected his attentions at one of the balls, but I think in this case, Clara’s value financially was worth the risk of being suspended again.”
“Society won’t take kindly to a second misdemeanor. A suspension would be the least of his punishments.”
“I reminded him of that,” Wentworth said. “Perhaps you should, too. Tell him that we spoke.”
“Will that do the trick?
“Who’s to say for sure? All I know is that I don’t trust him.” Wentworth stood. “Thank you for the brandy, Rawdon.”
Seger stood as well. “I’ll show you out.”
They went to the door where the butler was waiting with the duke’s coat and hat. Wentworth was halfway down the steps outside, almost to his coach, when Seger called out to him. “Wentworth!” The duke stopped and turned.
“I appreciated the invitation your wife sent—for my family to attend your assembly.”
A bluebird flew by, then swooped down and perched on the stone wall by the gate.
“It was our pleasure to welcome you, Rawdon.” Wentworth touched the brim of his top hat and continued toward his coach.
Seger stood for a moment or two, watching the vehicle drive off.
The meeting had not gone the way he had expected.
Finally, he closed the door and returned to his study. All he could think about was Clara and the fact that a scandal had come dangerously close to her shores, no thanks to him. He loathed the idea that he had brought her even the smallest measure of grief or anxiety. She had trusted him with her reputation, and he had let her down.
Seger sank onto the chair at his desk and stroked his chin. He gazed at the empty grate in the fireplace and let his mind wander where it would. He recalled the taste of Clara’s open mouth when he’d kissed her the night before. The memory of her irresistible sighs when he’d been busy with his hand beneath her skirts brought on an inconvenient surge of arousal that accompanied the heated recollections. Along with that came a wave of regret for what she had suffered today.
With resolve, Seger decided that he would take care of the scandal. He would see Guysborough, and ascertain what exactly had transpired, then he would ensure the man behaved himself in the future and never so much as looked at Clara again. Then Seger would call on Clara to assure her that all was well.
But who was he trying to fool?
He didn’t want to call on her to ease her mind about a scandal. He simply wanted to be in the same room with her. To touch her if possible.
With some apprehension, he rose from his chair and summoned his butler to have him ready the coach, for he had an important personal matter to attend to.
Just when Clara thought the day could not possibly provide another surprise, an under butler entered the nursery. Clara was holding John, singing a lullaby.
“You have a visitor,” he said. “The Marquess of Rawdon.”