A rigid anger coursed through him that she would do something that foolish. Others were staring, and he caught whispers about them. She would regret embarrassing him like this.
He would make sure of it.
“You, sir, are no gentleman. I don’t know how you thought to masquerade as a viscount’s heir.”
The man accusing him at Lady Rumford’s ball was a fanciful dandy wearing a bright blue coat and yellow breeches. Paul met the man’s sneer of superiority with no response at all, save to lift his glass of punch in silence.
Perhaps he should have been wary, afraid of being thrown out. But he’d attended so many functions in the past few months, he hardly cared anymore. The only reason he’d come to this one was to learn Juliette’s answer.
There were hundreds of people here, and he had not yet spied Juliette. It made him uneasy, for he suspected what that meant.
And yet, he intended to find Lady Arnsbury and learn for certain whether she had come. If that meant wearing fine clothes and pretending to be a gentleman one last time, so be it. He started to walk away when the dandy approached again. “I know who you are,Doctor,” he scoffed. “I saw you leaving the hospital the other day.”
Paul debated whether to ignore the man, but he was drawing more attention. He placed his glass upon a tray and approached the dandy. “I don’t believe we’ve met, sir.”
The dandy reddened, and drew himself up. The top of his head nearly reached to Paul’s chin. “I suggest you leave, Doctor, before I alert our hostess.”
His patience snapped, and Paul leaned in closer, dropping his cultured speech. “Go ahead and tell her whate’er you wish. But you should ken that I’m a Scot. We don’t take kindly to insults.” His mouth spread in a thin smile, and he lowered his voice to a whisper. “If you’re wanting to, we could be talking about this outside. Where your blood willna get on the floor.”
The man blanched, and before he could say another word, Paul added, “I don’t think you’re going to say anything to Lady Rumford, am I right?” Though he smiled, he made no effort to hide his irritation.
Damned meddling fool. What did it matter about his uncle’s title, especially when Paul intended to return to Scotland?
Another matron stepped forward to intervene. Though she was flustered, she sent Paul a warm smile. “I can vouch for Viscount Falsham. I was well acquainted with his uncle, Donald Fraser.”
Paul went still, uncertain of who the matron was or how she knew his uncle. Why had she called him Viscount Falsham, when Donald Fraser was very much alive? But the tone of her voice held sincerity, as if she thoroughly believed Paul had inherited the title. He offered nothing to undermine her, but bowed and excused himself.
He had expected to see a glint of conspiracy in her eyes. Perhaps a sly nod and a wink, as if she now wanted him to pay attention to her daughter. Instead, she nodded to him and excused herself.
Her response unnerved him more than the dandy’s accusation. He felt the stares upon his back as he went toward the doors leading outside. Before he could retreat farther, Margaret Andrews stepped forward. Her eyes flashed and her mouth tightened.
More than likely, she, too, would tell him that he was an imposter who had no right to be here.
Instead, she walked past him and gritted out, “Strathland is causing trouble for Juliette. He’s spreading rumors, and people are beginning to talk. Do something.” With that, she walked away.
Juliette was here? Relief flooded through him at her sister’s proclamation. He finally saw her through the crowd, and as Margaret had claimed, Strathland was watching from a distance.
Vicious anger coursed through Paul at the sight of the man. He crossed through dozens of people, ignoring those who tried to speak to him. He saw Juliette standing near her aunt Charlotte, looking miserable.
Look at me,he willed silently. When her eyes finally glanced up, he nodded toward a door that led into the conservatory. It would give them a moment to speak alone.
Juliette frowned a moment but gave a discreet nod to show that she understood. Paul didn’t know what rumors the earl was starting, but he knew of one certain way to end them.
By causing a few rumors himself.
Juliette waited until Paul disappeared into the conservatory before she made her way toward the room. Margaret and Amelia walked alongside her, keeping her shielded from anyone who might approach. She wasn’t at all certain what Paul wanted, but he’d raised a finger to his lips, bidding her not to tell anyone.
She started to glance behind her, but Margaret ordered, “Don’t look. The earl is following us.”
Which explained why her skin was crawling. “I want to go home.” Though she knew Paul wanted her answer, right now, she was wishing she hadn’t come at all.
“We can’t depart now,” Margaret insisted. “We’ll offend Lady Rumford if we leave too soon.”
“Tell her I have a headache. Anything.” She took a breath, trying to think of how to slip into the conservatory. “Perhaps, if I had a moment to myself, I would be able to endure more of this night. But please make sure Lord Strathland doesn’t follow me.”
“Oh, he won’t,” Margaret countered. “Even if I have to dance with him myself.” She shuddered at the thought.
Juliette stopped walking when they reached the conservatory. “I’ll slip inside. If you and Amelia could keep him away…”
