Page 22 of Scandalous: Family Ties and Spies

“The damage is done,” her mother murmured. “Come, I’ll walk you back to your room.”

“But it was nae Valeran’s fault,” she snapped in a harsh whisper. “The woman needs tae tell Father this is her doing.”

“It will only make things worse, mo luaidh. Now come.”

For a moment, Amalie hesitated as she debated breaking free of her mother’s restraint. She wanted to charge forward and wrap her hands around Lady Mary’s throat with a vengeance even Angus Stewart would have approved of.

“Now, Amalie.”

Her mother’s gaze locked with hers in a stern look that said Amalie was not to argue. The fight drained out of her. Her mother was right. The damage was done. She was ruined. As Lady Patience pulled her out of the room, the crowd in the hallway parted for them. Not about to show how sick she was from the humiliation churning her stomach, Amalie held her head high. She refused to give them the satisfaction of seeing her cower in shame, especially anyone judging her without knowing the facts. Tomorrow, she would go home to Crianlarich and remain there without ever returning to London again. But most importantly, she would not marry Valeran Rutherford, Earl of Sommerville.

Chapter 7

Did you bed her?”

Jamie’s harsh question echoed with a rage that made Valeran’s jaw clench even tighter than it already was. For the first time in years, he was completely disoriented. Sounds he was accustomed to using for judging distances were impossible to separate out from the buzzing in his head. Not even the layout of his bedchamber that he’d surveyed and memorized with his valet’s help when they’d arrived at Callendar Abbey made sense to him.

Ever since the room had erupted into chaos more than fifteen minutes ago, nothing seemed to be where he thought it should be. At least he thought that was how long it had been since MacTavish had stormed into his room to confront him and his daughter. With his senses in an uproar, his brain sluggish from drink, and the memory of his fingers beginning to learn Amalie Rockwood’s lush curves, Valeran was struggling not to reveal his bemused state.

“I asked you a question, Sommerville.”

Raw fury echoed in Jamie’s icy question, and only years of training allowed Valeran to maintain the stoic expression he’d mastered over the years. His blind gaze fought to distinguish the outline of his best friend’s tall gray form from all the other faceless figures in the room. It took him a moment, but when he finally found Jamie’s dark shape, he pinned his sightless eyes on his friend’s shadow.

“Your cousin’s virtue is intact.”

His reply was devoid of emotion, but Valeran’s jaw tightened painfully as he answered his friend’s question. While it was true, he’d not bedded Amalie Rockwood, he couldn’t deny he’d been headed in that direction. If the woman’s family hadn’t arrived when they had, he would have been forced to give Jamie an entirely different answer. Christ, her father might have even found her in his bed.

“My daughter’s virtue may still be intact, but it is her reputation that’s in shambles.” Where Jamie’s voice had been icy with anger, Julian MacTavish’s words resounded with a savage rage that indicated he was ready to kill Valeran. “Ye will do right by her, Sommerville, or I will use whatever means possible tae destroy ye.”

Valeran slowly turned his head toward a collection of tall shadows off to his left. Several moments ago, he’d heard Percy Rockwood and two of Jamie’s cousins quickly disperse the crowd outside his room. In the back of his mind, Valeran had registered the threatening words Braxton Rockwood had uttered as two shadows had restrained Amalie’s brother from charging toward Valeran. A moment later, his bedroom door had thudded closed to block out curious stragglers who’d surged out of their rooms to watch the spectacle.

Now, as he tried to single out Amalie’s father from the large group of shapes filling the room, Valeran realized the Rockwood men had shown up in full force. He wasn’t sure he’d isolated the dark shadow that was the Laird of Crianlarich until he saw the man’s tall shape take a menacing step forward when Valeran didn’t answer.

The Scotsman’s forward movement was swiftly halted when another, equally tall, gray shape, blocked the laird from reaching Valeran. Satisfied he was looking at Amalie Rockwood’s father, Valeran stared intently at the Scotsman’s shadowy figure.

“Do I have your permission to speak with your daughter in the morning, Crianlarich?”

At his quiet question, the violent storm of energy that had been pounding a vicious rhythm against his body immediately changed. The angry tension bombarding his senses eased as surprise and relief replaced a substantial amount of outrage vibrating through the charged atmosphere. It provided an immediate reprieve to the sharp prickly energy that had been scraping across his skin ever since Amalie’s father had strode through his bedroom door.

Valeran gritted his teeth with anger at their reaction. Clearly, these men didn’t know him as well as he had believed they did. Even Jamie had believed the worst. Crianlarich pushed aside the shadow standing in his way to take a menacing step toward Valeran.

“Are ye stating ye intend to offer her marriage?”

“Under the circumstances, I can think of no other reason I would have for securing your permission to speak with Miss Rockwood.”

Harsh, dry mockery echoed loudly in Valeran’s reply as he narrowed his gaze at the dark, forbidding figure he knew was Amalie’s father. Several of the dark shapes surrounding him took a step forward in what he was certain was anger, while others held them in place.

Valeran’s jaw ached as his facial muscles tightened even further. The fury surging through his body was reserved for one person, a treacherous little mouse who’d skillfully entrapped him in a marriage. In the back of his head a voice protested his judgement of Amalie, but he violently crushed it.

He didn’t know which cut deeper, his inner voice’s defense of Amalie Rockwood or the bitter betrayal of the men surrounding him. Pain sliced its way through him with the same burning sharpness as a switchblade. Not a single man standing in his bedchamber had thought to give him the benefit of doubt. Not even the man Valeran considered no less dear to him than the brother he’d never had.

None of them had even contemplated the possibility that Amalie Rockwood had arranged this debacle. These were men who, in the past two years, had become father figures and brothers to him. Yet they’d banded together to judge him guilty of deliberately ruining Amalie Rockwood. Their continued silence made him go rigid with fury, and Valeran didn’t bother to hide his scornful contempt at their betrayal.

“I am an honorable man,” he snarled. “A fact every single man standing here has called into question.”

Another pulse of energy rushed over Valeran, and he recognized the sensation of regret, confusion, and shame. The uncomfortable silence did little to ease the pain of their lack of faith in him. The lot of them had questioned his honor, and that he would find hard to forgive. Valeran arrogantly arched an eyebrow at Amalie’s father.

The man uttered a sound that might have been a reluctant admittance that Valeran’s accusation was a just one, but it was impossible to tell. Not that Valeran gave a fuck whether the man had any regrets. All that mattered was that every one of the traitorous bastards left his room.