The Irredeemable Miss Renfield by Regina Scott

Author:Regina Scott
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Published: 2016-10-19T18:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

I

f Cleo had seen Leslie that night, she could not have thought him safe. Nor would she have thought he had left his predilection to mischief behind. He had marched into his town house, demanded a bottle of port, and sequestered himself in the library. And none of this servants had seen him until morning.

Leslie woke with a groan. It wasn’t that he was hung over. Far from it. Chas Prestwick had always complained that while Leslie was the first to feel his liquor, he was also the first to recover. He seldom felt the least effect of the alcohol the next day, no matter how many drinks he’d managed to put away the night before. So today there was no pounding headache or wretched stomach to remind him of his folly. There was simply the unalterable fact that he had ostracized himself from Society. Some marquis he’d turned out to be.

He should never have started on that bottle of port. But in truth he hadn’t expected the pain that had accompanied Sally Jersey’s words. He should not have dwelled on them; they were, after all, only the prideful ravings of a woman who took her power in Society too seriously. But having started on the bottle, he couldn’t seem to stop. It was as if she had found the one hole in his armor and neatly slipped the dirk into his heart.

And twisted it.

In truth, he hadn’t been certain how she’d react to his willful disobedience to one of Almack’s most sacred rules. He’d rather hoped she’d give him a playful slap on the wrist. He’d wanted to shock Cleo’s sisters, not the world. No such luck. He was in exile, banished from good Society for the Season.

But perhaps he deserved his banishment. He groaned again, throwing an arm up over his unshaven face. He was failing dismally at keeping his gentlemanly protector role with Cleo. Each time he saw her he wanted to take her in his arms. He’d tried to be the good friend when they were dancing last night, but instead had succumbed to his desires, pulling her closer to him, wanting only to feel their bodies touching.

Well, that was done now. He was not likely to be given the chance to dance with her again. Surely her sisters would send him packing. He had only to make his obligatory appearance to his godmother today to receive his notice. Cleo would be allowed to make her own decisions. He only hoped one of those decisions might involve remaining friends with him.

He did not reckon on company that morning, particularly female company. He had gone upstairs to bathe, change, and shave himself, then arrived in the breakfast room ready for a hearty meal. Bertram, his father’s stiff-necked butler who seemed to be no more easy than Leslie about the new lord of the manor, stood even straighter than usual when he came to the breakfast room. Leslie paused in wolfing down his breakfast of steak and eggs to learn the reason for the interruption.

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