But there would be no scandal.
She was very careful, both in covering her own tracks and in ensuring she only drew what Society already knew to be true.
More importantly, in a less than a sennight, it would all be over. Lady Roundtree’s fractured limb was improving with every passing day. Once Nora returned home, everyone’s lives would go right back to normal. Both she and the caricatures would be quickly forgotten.
A footman appeared in the open doorway. “Mr. Grenville is here for tea, madam.”
A rush of excitement filled Nora at the sound of Mr. Grenville’s name.
“Shall I have the repast brought to this room instead?” the footman asked.
“No, no. It’s already set up the way I like it.” Lady Roundtree motioned her footman toward the handles of her chair. “Take me to my favorite settee.”
She and Lady Roundtree had only been installed in the parlor for a few moments when Mr. Grenville strode into the room.
Nora leapt up to curtsey. Instead, she froze in fear.
She had expected him to take her breath away, but not with a display of anger.
This was not the playful man who had helped her train a puppy with teacakes. Nor was this the rakish gentleman who had set her heart aflutter with a decadent waltz and a stolen kiss.
This version of Mr. Grenville was darker. Harder. More dangerous.
“What happened?” Nora stammered in alarm. Had he somehow found out the truth?
His beautiful lips curled into a sneer. “Have you seen the latest filth?”
She frowned. “What fil—”
“The caricaturistdaresto draw my sister,” he snarled.
Nora’s stomach bottomed.
Mr. Grenville gripped the back of a chair but did not bring himself to sit down upon it. “I will not rest until he is destroyed.”
“B-but the drawing didn’t say anything bad about your sister,” Nora blurted. “Or her husband. It’sSocietywho finds fault with perfectly normal marital—”
She clamped her teeth together before any more confessions could tumble out.
Lady Roundtree winced. “I thought I burned that one before you had a chance to see it.”
Nora cleared her throat. “Er…”
“It doesn’t matter.” Mr. Grenville threw himself into the rosewood chair with obvious agitation. “All of England has seen it by now. Camellia’s likeness is being used not only for mockery, but to line some cretin’s pocket.”
Nora’s throat clogged with shock and guilt. She had thought she was doing a good thing. Poking fun where it belonged, not at the innocent. She had meant no insult to Lady Wainwright.
Belatedly, she realized even a “positive” caricature was worse than no caricature at all for a man as fiercely protective of his family as Mr. Grenville.
Drat her pen. Nora knew exactly what it felt like to do anything within one’s power to protect one’s family. It was good fortune she would soon be gone. She had no doubt a man this angry would turn over every stone in London in search of the culprit.
“That’s… terrible,” she managed faintly. “I can only imagine how you and your sister must feel.”
He threw his hands in the air in frustration. “Everyone can scrounge up some semblance of sympathy except for the black-hearted rotter behind these cruel cartoons.”
Lady Roundtree’s fingers fluttered in perturbation. “Do you want a teacake?”
“No,” he answered flatly. “I want justice.”
