“No?” Waverly’s smile turned knowing. “I do see that you have been watching your brother’s widow like a hawk all evening. Are you concerned with her soon return to society?”
The observation struck too close to the truth. Tobias forced his expression into something resembling amused indifference. “Of course not. I’m merely ensuring her return to society proceeds smoothly.”
“Ah. Family.” Waverly took a sip of his champagne. “How very dutiful of you.”
Before Tobias could formulate a response, a ripple of laughter drew his attention across the room. A small group had gathered near the terrace doors—gentlemen, mostly, with a few matronshovering at the edges. And there, in the centre, Lord Penworth holding court with the smug satisfaction of a man who believed himself terribly clever.
Tobias recognised him immediately. One of Edward’s acquaintances, though calling him such, dignified the relationship. Penworth was the sort of gentleman who traded in gossip and innuendo, who derived pleasure from others’ discomfort.
The sort of gentleman Tobias had always despised.
“—widows who forget too quickly,” Penworth was saying, his voice carrying across the music with calculated volume. “One does wonder if the grief was ever genuine, or merely... convenient.”
The words struck like a physical blow. Tobias felt his entire body go rigid, fury flooding through him with white-hot intensity.
He’s talking about Amelia.
His feet moved before conscious thought could intervene. He crossed the ballroom floor with singular purpose, dimly aware of conversations dying in his wake, of heads turning to track his progress.
He didn’t care.
Penworth was still speaking when Tobias reached the group, something about young widows and their ambitions. The man hadn’t even noticed his approach—too caught up in his own performance.
“I beg your pardon, my lord.”
His voice cut through Penworth’s monologue like a blade through silk. The surrounding conversations died. Even the orchestra seemed to falter momentarily.
Penworth’s head snapped towards him, colour draining from his face. “Lord Redmond. I was merely?—”
“I heard precisely what you were doing.” Tobias smiled faintly, his expression promising rather dangerous consequences. “And I was under the impression that gentlemen refrained from speaking of ladies who are their betters. Or do you find yourself so desperate for attention that you must borrow theirs?”
Penworth stammered something incomprehensible, his earlier bravado crumbling.
“I thought not.” Tobias let the silence stretch, let Penworth’s discomfort build, before continuing in that same pleasant, lethal tone. “You will, of course, keep Lady Amelia’s name out of your mouth for the remainder of the evening. And the Season. And, ideally, the rest of your natural life. Am I making myself clear?”
“I—yes. Of course. I meant no offence?—”
“You meant every offence.” Tobias’s smile sharpened. “You simply didn’t expect to be called to account for it. Consider yourself educated.”
He turned away without waiting for a response, ignoring the whispers that followed. Let them talk. Let them speculate about his motives, his relationship with Amelia, whatever salacious theories their small minds could conjure.
None of it mattered compared to ensuring she was protected.
He found her near the refreshment table, speaking with Lady Clara Whitmore—her cousin, if he remembered correctly. Both women looked up as he approached, and something flickered in Amelia’s eyes that he couldn’t quite name.
“Lord Redmond,” Lady Clara said, her smile knowing. “How lovely to see you. I hear you’ve been quite busy terrifying peers this evening.”
“Merely correcting misapprehensions,” he said smoothly. “Lady Amelia. Might I have a word?”
Amelia glanced at her cousin, who made a show of examining her fan. “I’ll just refresh my champagne, shall I? Do take your time.”
She departed with suspicious haste, leaving them standing alone amidst the glittering crowd. Well. As alone as one could be in a ballroom containing half of the ton.
“I heard you’ve been terrifying the ton again,” Amelia said lightly, though her eyes held something more serious.
He shrugged, affecting the careless insouciance that had always come so easily. “If they can’t mind their tongues, they deserve the fright.”
“And what am I to do with a reputation protected by the infamous Viscount Redmond himself?” She tilted her head slightly, and candlelight caught in her hair. “No one will dare speak to me now.”
