Valiant (Gentlemen of the Order #3) - Adele Clee Page 0,48
cried, “Do not belittle me. I heard it from a reliable source.”
“Come, let us join the party before one of them leaves.” Mr Sloane clasped Vivienne’s hand and barged into the dimly lit library before she could protest. “What have we here? Cleopatra consorting with an envoy of Rome? Are you seeking to bring about the destruction of an empire, or just poking your noses into my affairs?”
The Roman emperor cursed. He tore off his gold mask and glared at Mr Sloane. “As I have just explained to Lady Hollinshead, marry who the devil you please. Thankfully, in her infinite wisdom, our great-grandmother sought to divide the family. So those of us with blue blood might avoid any association with our dissolute relatives.”
Mr Sloane laughed. “And yet Lady Boscobel-Sloane raised my father and left him a huge portion of her estate. It must cut to the bone to know I’m wealthier than you, despite the fact my grandfather was a marauding pirate.”
The viscount, who was a wisp of a man compared to his cousin, glared down his patrician nose. “Money does not make you a gentleman. Your mother was a governor’s daughter. Your lowly status is evident in the sordid work you do for Lucius Daventry.”
The atmosphere turned volatile, the threat of danger as frightening as Mr Sloane’s thunderous glare. “Do not dare speak about my mother. Not if you want to live to see tomorrow.”
“Saving innocent children from blackmailing monsters is far from sordid,” Vivienne spat. The need to defend Mr Sloane took command of her senses. “The fault lies with you, not Mr Sloane. Men of privilege ought to right society’s injustices instead of endlessly pursuing pleasure.”
“Miss Hart!” The countess put her hand to her throat as if struggling to breathe. Her cheeks looked deathly pale against the stark black wig. “Mind your manners. You’re speaking to a viscount.” Despite her heritage, her accent was devoid of the Scottish burr, a burr she occasionally let slip.
“I have spent the last three months minding my manners, my lady, but I cannot permit anyone to disrespect the man I’m to marry.”
She glanced at Mr Sloane, who did a remarkable job of appearing touched. Vivienne would fight his corner even if they weren’t putting on a show.
The countess scanned the delicate gown hugging Vivienne’s frame like a silk glove. “Please tell me this is a terrible dream and I will wake in a cold sweat, praising the Lord and counting my blessings.” She pressed her gloved fingers to her brow. “This cannot be true. Not after your dear mother left you in my care.”
Vivienne had passed the age of majority years ago and did not need a guardian. But she supposed the lady had taken her under her wing and sought to introduce her into society.
“I am extremely grateful for your kindness, my lady. Indeed, when I met Mr Sloane two months ago, I didn’t imagine our relationship would blossom so quickly.”
For the first time in history, Cleopatra looked ready to swoon. Lady Hollinshead gripped the rosewood writing desk. “Are you with child, my dear? Has this devil violated you? Can you be sure he will go through with this marriage, and it is not a ploy to annoy his cousin?”
“Second cousin,” Mr Sloane corrected, for he was equally keen to distance himself from his relative. “And if a man had made those derogatory remarks about my character, I’d shoot him dead.”
“Do you not entertain courtesans, Mr Sloane?”
“Like most unmarried men, I did until I fell in love with Miss Hart. And while I long for the day when we might cement our union, I would never disrespect the woman set to be my wife.”
The countess groaned. “Oh, this is dreadful.”
“Then perhaps you should have paid more attention to the daughter of your friend instead of leaving her alone to watch the gaiety from her chair. Indeed, why did you not find her a suitor from your long list of respectable acquaintances? Not once has she graced the dance floor. According to Buchanan, she hasn’t received a single offer to ride out.”
Vivienne couldn’t help but feel somewhat inadequate when she considered the lack of male attention. And when had Mr Sloane taken to questioning Buchanan about her private affairs?
“Well?” Mr Sloane prompted.
After an episode of excessive swallowing, the countess found her voice. “It’s an extremely complicated situation.”
Vivienne frowned. This was the first time the countess had suggested there might be a problem. “Complicated? I don’t understand.” Or perhaps she did but