“She’s still a virgin, if that’s what you’re asking,” he said with an indolent air, as if he hadn’t a care.
And perhaps he hadn’t. He was a man, after all.
She felt her face going hot, anger crackling up and down her spine. “That isnotwhat I was asking, though I am gratified to hear it. Good sweet heavens, Ridgely. This is beyond the pale, even for you.”
“Well.” He waved a careless hand before him, flashing her a self-deprecating smile. “Allow me to alleviate you of any concern in that regard, nonetheless.”
“How long has this been happening?” she gritted from between clenched teeth. “Have you been debauching her for the entirety of her stay at Hunt House, beneath my very nose?”
“Such matters tend to be delicate and require privacy,” her brother drawled. “I’d never dream of debauching my ward whilst you watched, Pamela. What manner of scoundrel do you take me for?”
Oh, the rogue! That was it.
“Cease jesting!” she hollered, losing her temper entirely, her control and composure going with it. “How can you dare laugh about this, Ridgely? Are you completely callous and cold, utterly without conscience? Do you not feel badly about what you’ve done to Lady Virtue?”
Ridgely sobered. “I’m not laughing, sister dearest. I’m being perfectly calm. You, on the other hand, are rather making a spectacle.”
How dare he accuse her of making a spectacle after what he had just done? The sheer arrogance. How she longed to toss something, anything, at his head.
Pamela stormed forward, ready to wage war. “How long, curse you? How many times have you trifled with her? I warned her against the dangers suitors might bring to her reputation, but I never dreamed the greatest danger would be here in her very home.”
“It was a mistake,” he told her coolly. “One that won’t happen again. That is all you need concern yourself with.”
“I am her chaperone,” she reminded him tartly. “Only think of the damage it will do, not just to Lady Virtue, but to me, were it to become common fodder for the gossips that her own guardian had ruined her beneath my nose.”
She threw her hands up in despair, and then looked about, seeking an object. Any object. The inkwell on his writing desk would do, she decided, before picking it up and hurling it into the fireplace. It shattered within, sending ink splattering all over the interior brick. The violence of the action ameliorated some of her frustration, but then it reminded her of the last time she had lost her temper and what it had cost her, and the sadness that was never far crowded her mind with renewed vengeance.
“I am exceedingly fortunate you have excellent aim,” her brother said. “I should hate to think of how all that ink would look on the wall coverings.”
No, she wouldn’t think of the past. Not now, when she was faced with Ridgely’s problems. Far better to concern herself with his woes than her own.
She raised a scolding finger and wagged it at him as if he were a petulant child, because at the moment, she felt very much as if he were one. “If you touch her again, next time, I shall aim for your head. Sow your rakish oats anywhere else in London. Go to your sordid little house of ill repute. Take a mistress if you haven’t one. But leave Lady Virtuealone.”
Ridgely nodded, surprising her. “I intend to do precisely that. As I said, what happened was an unfortunate lapse in judgment. It won’t occur again.”
“If it does, you’ll have no choice but to marry her yourself,” she felt compelled to warn him. “There won’t be any other way to protect her from the damage.”
Ridgely’s expression turned properly horrified at the prospect.
“Rest assured that I have no intention of marrying Lady Virtue or anyone else,” he said smoothly, his rakish, devil-may-care façade firmly back in place. “I promise I shall keep my distance. You, meanwhile, will encourage her to marry. Quickly.” He paused, wincing. “Butnotto Lord Mowbray.”
“What is your objection to the viscount?” Pamela asked, indignant, for his lordship had only just begun paying attention to Lady Virtue recently, and her charge seemed to welcome his suit.
“I don’t like him,” said Ridgely in a dismissive tone. “He isn’t good enough for her.”
For the first time, it occurred to her that there was something about her brother that seemed different when he spoke of Virtue’s suitor. He was almost…defensive. As if he didn’t like the notion of her being courted by anyone else. Which made no sense, for her brother was a wicked rake who had no intention of marrying.
Unless…
“Hmm.” Pamela narrowed her eyes, studying Ridgely. “They seemed taken with each other last night at the Montrose ball when they shared a dance.”
“I said no,” he said curtly. “Now, is there anything else you wish to take me to task for, or are we done?”
Now that the fires of her ire had been dampened by the violence she had visited upon the inkwell and her brother’s fireplace, her original reason for seeking out Ridgely returned to her. Beast.
It was his eyes. She told herself that was the reason she had found him so unusually compelling. They had been hazel—not quite brown, and neither green nor blue. Its own unique, mysteriously complex shade. Beautiful, just like the rest of him. She ought not to have noticed how handsome he was. And that she had still nettled her.
“Will you tell me why there are suddenly ruffians sauntering about Hunt House?” she asked crisply, doing her best to conceal the ill-advised effect the stranger had upon her. “There is a man calledBeastroaming about as if he were an honored guest. It is all quite scandalous, even for you.”
