A Rogue to Ruin (The Pretenders #3) - Darcy Burke Page 0,39

appeared to be an anteroom. The occupants, which included Rafe, his sisters, and their husbands all stood.

Sisters.

It occurred to Anne that her godfather didn’t have two nieces. At least not that he was aware of. Was Beatrix a…by-blow? Why hadn’t she thought to ask Rafe about this the other day?

Anne gave her a warm smile, which Beatrix returned. Then her gaze shifted toward Deborah and went instantly cold.

“Good evening,” Rafe said. “Thank you for coming tonight and for being flexible with changing the location. It seemed I should host.”

“Your house is most impressive,” Deborah said. “Is that why you wanted to host? So we could see it?”

“No, that’s not why,” Selina said icily. “I didn’t want to have you in my house.”

Deborah’s nose twitched, and she flashed a small, malicious smile. “We’re just going to be openly hostile?”

Selina shrugged. “Beatrix and I discussed it, and it seemed the most acceptable course. For us, anyway.” She exchanged a mildly amused look with Beatrix, and Anne couldn’t help but admire their solidarity and sisterhood. She and Jane would do the same in the face of a common enemy.

“Well, if that’s the case, then allow me to ask why Beatrix is even here.” Deborah glowered at them.

“She’s Lady Rockbourne,” Beatrix’s husband corrected in a clipped tone.

“Of course, I’d forgotten given the hastiness of your marriage.” Deborah clucked her tongue as she regarded Beatrix. “Why are you here? You aren’t actually their sister. I suppose you could be my uncle’s by-blow, but your father is purportedly a duke.”

“Indeed he is,” Beatrix said smoothly. She didn’t seem the slightest bit agitated by Deborah’s needling. Needling? No, her behavior was far worse than that. Anne wasn’t sure she would be able to keep from berating her for this.

Beatrix waved her hand. “It hardly signifies. I am quite happy with how things have happened, and I can’t say I care if anyone knows I’m a duke’s bastard.” She turned to her husband, who was gazing at her adoringly. “Do you mind, dear?”

“Not at all.” He put his arm around her waist and held her close to his side.

Glover appeared again and announced that dinner would be served. He opened the doors to the adjoining dining room. Before Rafe could approach Anne to escort her in—and she wasn’t sure he would have, but would tell herself that he planned to—Lorcan came to her side and offered his arm.

In the dining room, Rafe sat at the head while Selina and Beatrix sat on either side of him. Their husbands sat next to them while Deborah was seated beside Lord Rockbourne, much to her dismay. But then Anne doubted there was anywhere she could sit at the table that wouldn’t have been displeasing to her. Her father took the chair next to her, while Anne sat next to Mr. Sheffield with Lorcan on her other side.

A dark red claret was poured, and the first course of dishes set upon the table. The room was completely silent, but a thick tension clogged the air.

“This house is spectacular,” Anne’s godfather said, looking around the room with its ivory, red, and gold décor. A magnificent mirror surmounted the hearth, reflecting the hundreds of candles flickering in the chandeliers and in the sconces on the walls. There were also several large, stunning portraits, including one by Joshua Reynolds. “You appear to be a man of great means.” He picked up his wineglass, settling his gaze on their host over the rim.

“Thank you.” Rafe’s voice was even, his eyes cool. “I’m new to Mayfair and this house. I’ve enjoyed the decorating of it.” He said nothing to address her godfather’s last comment. What could he say? Anne realized she was also curious as to how he’d made his fortune.

“I should say,” Deborah remarked as she held her wineglass aloft. “The paintings in this room alone would be the envy of anyone who appreciates art. One can only wonder what the rest of the house looks like.” It was clear to Anne that she wanted to see it for herself.

“Yes, I imagine one can,” Beatrix said with an overly sweet smile. “I can tell you the art in the gallery is even more impressive. And the library…well, I am not sure you will find its equal in Mayfair.”

Deborah’s eyes narrowed as she sipped her wine. No, sip wasn’t right—she took a very long drink, draining nearly half the glass. She glanced toward the footman to refill it.

After several moments during which the tension seemed to increase,