Undressed with the Marquess (Lost Lords of London #3) - Christi Caldwell Page 0,101

her weight over the head of her cane and struggled to draw breath.

Fabulous. The only one missing was the damned duke.

Dare looked to Temperance, and she jutted her chin mutinously at him. Refusing to help him, she shook her head slightly.

“Perhaps we should adjourn to—”

“The Opal Parlor?” Kinsley spat. She stormed into the room in question, and as he followed reluctantly behind her, she tossed her arms up. “Oh, forgive me, there is no available seating because it is all covered with items from—” Her words cut off on a gasp. The young lady raced over to the row of paintings stacked against one another alongside the wall. “What is this?” Gripping one heavy-looking frame, she struggled to hold the ornate piece aloft. A lord and lady with a boy beside them and a small babe cradled in the woman’s arms stared back. “These are the familial portraits,” she cried, and quickly returned it to the floor, where she proceeded to flip through frame after frame.

“Things.” That correction came automatically, and before he could think about the wisdom of uttering it.

Temperance covered her eyes with her hand and shook her head.

Lady Kinsley’s eyes formed tiny slits. “What?”

The lady before him might be a stranger, but even he knew to be properly wary of the rage pouring from the stare she leveled on him. Dare gave his collar another tug. “Er . . .”

“Things?” Avery Bryant offered helpfully in Dare’s stead. “That’s what we call portraits and vases and paintings and crystal. It helps if you think of them all as ‘things.’” His partner preened with pride. “Taught him that myself.”

Chance winced.

Dare made a slashing motion across his throat, urging his business partner to quit speaking.

The duchess’s eyebrows climbed to her hairline. “Who is this man? Who are all these people?”

When no one rushed to perform introductions, Avery saw to the task himself. “Avery Bryant, at your service, ma’am.”

Chance, however, proved wise enough to remain silent under the duchess’s scrutiny.

“Your Grace.” Rage underlined Lady Kinsley’s correction. “She is a duchess, and you will address her properly.” She took an angry step toward Dare’s partner. “Do you know, you will address her as nothing. You are no one.”

“Well, you’re a friendly one, aren’t you, princess?”

“Avery,” Dare said quietly.

His partner grunted. “I know when it’s time to leave.”

“Do you?” Lady Kinsley shot back. “If you did, you would have left the moment I caught sight of you, you bastard,” she hissed, and then she charged.

Cursing, Dare jumped in the way, putting himself between his partner and his sister.

“Kinsley!” the duchess cried, clutching for the chain dangling at her throat that contained her smelling salts.

“Yes, I’m the shocking one, but”—she swiped a hand in Dare’s direction—“this one here is letting his thieving friends inside to collect our family’s heirlooms.”

Avery yanked at his lapels. “I resent that.”

“And I’m not . . . really a thief,” Chance said weakly. “I work at a mill.”

Kinsley ignored Temperance’s brother in favor of Avery Bryant.

“I’m to believe you aren’t a thief,” Kinsley demanded, stepping left and then right in a bid to get around Dare.

“Get. Out. Avery.” Temperance’s clipped order was one of the only ones Avery had ever managed to listen to.

“I’m leaving. I’m leaving.” He looked to the bust lying on the hall floor still. “You want me to take that—”

Temperance stormed over. “Get out,” she repeated. She turned to Chance.

Shame marred the young man’s features. “I’m so sorry,” he mouthed.

She shook her head sadly. “You should go.”

Hanging his head like he was still the little boy who’d stolen a loaf of bread and been dragged by the ear by the baker who’d owed Dare several favors, Chance slunk off.

The moment they’d gone, Kinsley faced Dare. “You’re taking everything.”

“I am selling it.” There was a difference.

Temperance gave her head another shake.

“You’re selling it,” Kinsley whispered. “You’re a monster.”

“Because I’m ridding the household of items that could bring in valuable coin?” That would spare a man from a trip to the gallows. He opened his mouth to say as much, but Kinsley cried out.

“Yes. That is why you’re a monster.”

Temperance rested a hand on his sleeve. “Enough,” she said quietly to Dare.

“I was right about you. All of you. You’re all the same.” She looked to Temperance. “And h-her”—Kinsley’s voice cracked—“I thought I might even come around to liking you.” With that, she flew off, the duchess calling out and racing after her granddaughter, until it was just Dare and Temperance . . . and the army of