Malum slipped his hand from behind Lady Melanie’s waist. “No need for theatrics,” he said. “This isn’t what it appears to be.”Just your sister sprawled on top of me in front of half the bloody guests.
Malum’s indifferent tone, unfortunately, only fanned Standish’s fury. “Then pray, enlighten me,” he bit out, fists curled at his sides as his gaze swept over his sister’s disheveled appearance.
Lady Melanie, flustered and flushed a deep crimson, opened her mouth as if to speak, but nothing came out.
And seeing her looking so vulnerable, guilt and—something else—rose up within Malum. Oh, hell.
It suddenly dawned on him that, perhaps, most unfortunately, extricating himself from this situation might not be as simple as he’d initially imagined.
Because, althoughhisreputation could survive even the most salacious of scandals—might even be improved, in fact—hers…
Could not.
Bloody.
Fucking.
Hell.
The fix was an obvious one, but Malum wasn’t prepared to resort to it.
Not just yet.
With Lady Melanie still beside him, the faint quiver of her arm against his own was impossible to ignore. Even so, Malum kept his focus firmly on Standish, refusing to let the subtle, unsteady rhythm disturb his composure.
“Her gown snagged on something,” Malum said. “She stumbled. I merely caught her before she fell into the fire.”
Standish’s blue eyes darted to Lady Melanie’s dress, the visible rip, and the uneven angle of her bodice. His lips curled into a sneer. “And her gown just happened to tear so conveniently in the process, did it?” he snapped.
Malum resisted the urge to roll his shoulders, to dispel the tension coiling within him. “It was an accident,” he said evenly. “Nothing more.”
There was no guilt in his voice, though Malum knew what the scene must look like to someone with no context—especially to a protective older brother. He held Standish’s gaze, daring him to challenge the explanation, knowing full well that the man was balancing his outrage against their professional relationship.
Melanie, her voice small and hesitant, finally spoke. “It’s true,” she whispered, her hands twisting in front of her. “I tripped.”
Before Standish could speak again, his wife—the countess—stepped in, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “Reed,” she murmured, her tone both soothing and pleading. “Perhaps we should hear them out in a more private setting.”
Malum noted the slight softening of Standish’s posture, though his eyes remained narrowed as they shifted around the room.
A room which was slowly filling with people, whose presence only made the situation more precarious. All of them were staring at Lady Melanie as though they’d stumbled upon a grisly crime scene.
Lord Fallbridge, a rotund man with thinning hair, surveyed the situation with feigned and exaggerated distaste. Lady Fallbridge, however, looked delighted. With her vibrant plum gown and a mass of almost lavender curls, her sharp, knowing eyes gleamed with amusement. “Well, this is quite the turn of events,” she cooed, her fan snapping open dramatically.
The comment was enough to make Malum’s blood boil, but he remained composed, his attention fixed on Standish.
“I’ll expect a visit, Malum. First thing tomorrow morning.” Standish’s voice was as threatening as Malum had ever heard it; he honestly hadn’t realized the man had it in him.
“What is there left to explain?” Malum kept his voice cool. “She fell. That’s all there is to it.”
“You expect me to believe?—”
“I don’t give a damn what you believe,” Malum cut him off, stepping forward with deliberate ease. He could feel the room shifting excitedly, the eyes of their audience rapt as they carefully followed the scene.
The calculation was clear in the earl’s eyes as he weighed whether to cede to Malum or escalate the situation further. For a moment, Malum thought Melanie’s brother might actually take a swing at him.
Malum raised his brows.
“Be that as it may,” Standish finally growled, “I’ll expect you at my home tomorrow morning.”
