He had no business lettingherlinger in his mind. Whatever had happened last night was the natural consequence of tension, curiosity, and opportunity. He had been indulgent; that was all.
Yet when dusk crept along the walls, tightening every shadow, his mood had soured into something hard and unyielding.
A footman appeared. “Your carriage is ready for Lord Ranleigh’s dinner, Your Grace.”
Victor almost refused.
Mother…
But refusing would require an explanation, and he had no patience for explanations. So he straightened his coat, donned the mask of Greystone, and let himself be driven toward Ranleigh House.
His irritation came with him.
Ranleigh’s drawing rooms glittered with chandeliers and too much perfume. Ladies tittered in corners. Gentlemen boasted about investments they barely understood. The smell of rich sauces permeated the air.
Victor despised it all.
“Greystone,” Lord Ranleigh boomed, clapping him on the shoulder hard enough to make him consider breaking his fingers. “Come and meet a fellow who has questions about your wharf.”
Victor followed, not because he cared, but because leaving would invite questions. The group of men by the fireplace grew louder as they approached.
Among them stood Philip Markham. Half drunk. Entirely vulgar.
“Your Grace,” Markham greeted with a sloppy bow. “A pleasure. A true pleasure. Tell me something.”
“No,” Victor uttered.
Markham laughed as if he had said yes. “You’re a man about the ton. Is it true what they say about that girl?”
Victor turned his head slowly. “What girl?”
“The ruined one,” Markham said cheerfully. “Some claim that you danced with her at the garden party. Others say that she is attempting to entrap someone of rank.”
Victor set down his glass with deliberate care. “You repeat baseless gossip.”
“Well, the ton talks,” Markham replied. “And talk is sometimes truth. They say she is desperate. That she turned up at three houses last Season, trying to catch a husband. Perhaps?—”
“Enough,” Victor gritted out.
Ranleigh waved a dismissive hand. “Philip has had too much wine.”
Markham pushed on. “One rumor even claims that she attempted to blackmail a gentleman. Imagine that, Your Grace. A little thing like her blackmailing?—”
Victor stepped forward. “You will hold your tongue before you speak of her again. I’m tired of being polite. Men do not perpetuate gossip.” He said it softly. Dangerously.
Markham blinked, confused. “I meant no offense.”
“You gave it,” Victor said flatly. “Profoundly.”
“Now, Greystone—” Ranleigh sputtered.
Victor turned to him. “Your hospitality disappoints me, Ranleigh. I did not realize your guest list had fallen so low.”
Ranleigh flushed. “He is rarely so unrestrained.”
“Unrestrained is one word for it,” Victor said. “Insufferable is another.” He faced the room. “If Markham remains a guest in this house, I will not. Nor will I attend any future gathering where he is permitted to open his mouth.”
Silence rippled like shock through water.
