“What?” Devlin almost spat the champagne he’d just drunk back out.
Monty shrugged. “There were a lot of whispers, so naturally I—”
“Lady Cassandra is a close friend of the family’s,” Caleb said, apparently sensing Devlin would more likely sputter than speak if he tried to say something else at the moment. “She’s the Earl of Vernon’s daughter, which made it all the more scandalous twelve years ago when she had a daughter out of wedlock.”
“Could she not have married?” Monty asked. “Surely there must have been someone willing to take on the task of raising her child in order to gain an attachment to such a prestigious title.”
“If she received any offers,” Devlin said, “she turned them all down. As far as I know, she’s content to be a spinster with a bastard child, however unusual that may be.”
“Youcould have asked her,” Caleb said. “After meeting her, that is.”
Devlin frowned and took another sip of his drink. “I’ve as little interest in marriage as she does.”
Monty made an “hmm” sound that clearly demanded further investigation, but Devlin forgot all about responding the moment he heard a lady say, “I cannot believe the duke and duchess would think to invite her.” The speaker had just stepped onto the terrace a few yards from where Devlin stood.
“It is my understanding that she and the duchess are dear friends,” another voice gently advised.
“Well yes. There is that, I suppose. But to not consider the Vernons’ feelings really is bad form.” There was a small sniff. “Can you imagine having your scandalous daughter make a spectacle on the dance floor for all the world to see? I mean, honestly! She practically threw herself at him, poor man.” There was an outraged snort. “As if Lord Devlin would ever consider marrying the likes of her. The mere thought of it is—”
“What?” Devlin asked stepping forward. He set his glass aside and faced the spiteful shrew. His head felt like it might explode at any given second. In fact, strangling the woman before him was not an implausible outcome. He stared her down while digging his fingernails into his palms. “The mere thought of me marrying Lady Cassandra is what, madam?”
“I…ugh…” The shrew gaped at him as if he were some sort of statue who’d suddenly come to life. And then she said, “I am Baroness DeVries. A lady of the peerage.”
Devlin deliberately grunted, then proceeded to stare her down.
“I don’t believe he cares about that,” the baroness’s friend muttered.
She was right. The only thing Devlin cared about at that precise moment was seeing justice served. Because Cassandra was one of the finest people he’d ever known and she deserved to be defended. Even if that meant forcing the horrid baroness to choke on her own words.
“Yes?” he inquired in an eerily quiet voice that managed to turn his own stomach. “You were saying?”
“Um…merely that…er…” She glanced at her friend while fidgeting with her gloves but when she found no help there, she surprised Devlin by raising her chin and looking him dead in the eye. “You are a duke’s brother for heaven’s sake and she is nothing but a—”
“Lady DeVries,” Caleb snapped.
“—trollop,” the baroness finished, punctuating her statement with a victorious smile.
What she couldn’t see was the blood rushing through Devlin’s veins or the tight strain of his muscles. Never in his life had he been so livid, and if Lady DeVries had been a man, he would have called her out by now so he could have the pleasure of shooting her dead.
“Devlin,” Caleb murmured from somewhere nearby. “Don’t do anything rash. I beg you.”
But the middle-aged woman who stood before Devlin, dripping with smug maliciousness, had pushed him past all reason. “And what makes you so much better?” he asked.
Lady DeVries gasped. Her friend gulped, took a step back, and then fled back inside the ballroom, abandoning the baroness to her fate. Caleb groaned and Monty managed to get in a weary, “For God’s sake, Dev,” before Lady DeVries recovered and said, “I will not be spoken to in such a rude manner. I deserve better.”
“So does Lady Cassandra.”
The baroness crossed her arms. “Don’t be absurd. She might have been born into the nobility, but she threw all of that away the moment she chose to—”
“Madam,” Devlin seethed, “I would advise you to choose your next words wisely.”
“Or what?”
“Or I shall have to ask you to leave,” Caleb said.
The baroness scoffed – scoffed! – in response to her host’s statement, but Caleb apparently chose to let it go without comment. “Why am I not surprised?” she asked as she turned away and started toward the French doors leading back to the ballroom. But just when Devlin thought that might be the end of their quarrel, she turned back to face him with all the arrogance Devlin despised about the aristocracy. “Lady Cassandra is a fallen woman. When even her parents can see that, I don’t understand why you find it such a hard concept to grasp.”
“Oh, Jesus,” Monty murmured.
