Page 7 of Scandalous: Family Ties and Spies

Valeran laughed, but he heard the dark anger in his voice. If Miriam had been intelligent enough, she would realize he was ready to get up and walk away. To hell with the goddamn mission. The idea that a Rockwood would try to trick someone into doing anything such as Miriam suggested was ludicrous.

The Rockwood family had a code they lived by. Loyalty and honor were something they valued highly, and he’d seen it in action many times in the past two years. The Rockwoods never tolerated someone threatening or disparaging a family member. Not only that, it was ridiculous to even suggest such a thing when the woman had managed to keep her distance from him for so long.

“Desperate women do desperate things when it comes to securing their future.” The shadow of Miriam’s thin, bony hand waved in the air with cavalier disdain. It made him try to recall exactly what Amalie’s shape was. “I’m simply saying that Miss Rockwood’s marital prospects are limited, and you should be careful.”

Miriam’s words made Valeran move his hand off the table to rest his balled up fist on his thigh. If Lady Chattfield were a man, she’d be on the floor by now. All he wanted at the moment was to end his association with Miriam, and the only thin thread holding him in place was duty. Unable to leave, he struck out at the woman with words that would threaten her vanity.

“Miss Rockwood has done nothing to make me believe she’d be willing to throw herself at me. However, since you’ve challenged me, I’m inclined—”

“You wouldn’t,” Miriam gasped with horror and even trepidation, which shot satisfaction barreling through Valeran.

It was a short-lived moment of pleasure as he stifled a groan of self-disgust. Christ Jesus, what the hell was wrong with him? He sounded just like the reprehensible bastard everyone believed him to be. If he were to hear someone pronounce him capable of seducing an unmarried woman, the speaker would have suffered a blistering retort. But to hear the suggestion fall from his lips was painful.

“Oh, Val, don’t you know how devastated I’d be if you were to do such a thing when I care so deeply for you?”

“Then perhaps you shouldn’t have broached the subject to begin with,” he bit out between clenched teeth, trying hard not to snort with disgust at the woman’s declaration of affection.

Not that he gave a damn how Miriam felt. Even if he was a reprobate set out to ruin Amalie Rockwood, the woman would most likely avoid him at every turn. And he was growing more convinced by the minute that Amalie had intentionally avoided him for some time now. The question was, why?

Then there was his visceral reaction to Miriam’s degradation of Amalie. Her cruel words would have angered him no matter what woman Miriam had been degrading so derisively. But something about Lady Chattfield’s attack on Amalie bothered him deeply. He had no explanation for it, other than he found the assault on Amalie’s character and physical attributes unforgiveable.

If Valeran hadn’t already known Lady Chattfield’s true colors, he’d know them now. God only knew how hard it was for him not to stand up and walk away right now, even if it meant throwing away months of work.

A soft cry of pain made him jerk his head toward the dark shadowy wall behind Miriam. The cry was followed by a feminine whimper of what might have been someone suppressing tears. Without thinking, he quickly rose from his chair. Miriam uttered a sound of surprise and perhaps concern.

“What’s wrong, Val? Where are you going?”

“Someone’s hurt,” he said tersely.

Moving toward the quiet cry of pain, Valeran reached the table on the other side of the wall that separated the two seating areas. The shadowy shape of a table took form, and he could make out the dull gray color of a teapot and cup, along with a tray of biscuits. Whoever had been seated at the table was gone, but he noted how the table was angled oddly as if someone had hit the corner hard and pushed it out of the way.

Valeran breathed in the gentle, subtle notes of a perfume that smelled like fresh falling rain with a lemon scent layered on top of it. A woman had been sitting here, and judging from the angle of the table, she’d left in a hurry. He drew in another breath of the woman’s perfume.

It was an unusual scent. Violet fragrances were the most popular perfumes at the moment, but the wearer of this perfume had to be as unique as her scent. This wasn’t just a pleasant aroma to breathe in, it made him believe the woman was a nonconformist. A woman who most likely didn’t hesitate to speak her mind.

Taking a moment to enjoy the scent, Valeran stared down at the empty chair at the table. Why had she left in a hurry? The clock on the wall chimed the time. Possibly late for an appointment? His eyes narrowed as he studied the table area’s varying shades of gray to the black shadows that was the wall separating his table from this one, imagining how it had arrived in that position. The most reasonable answer was that the woman had hit the sharp corner of the furniture hard enough to cry out in pain while shifting the position of the table.

In the distance, he heard a sound that was almost inaudible. It was sharp, acute, and filled with dismay. Jerking his head up, he turned toward the quiet echo, and he saw the shape of a woman hurrying through the front door of Rules.

Instinct said the woman fleeing had been seated at the table. Whoever she was, the chime of the clock and her hasty departure made him believe she was late for an appointment. Yet, something about the incident struck him as odd. It wasn’t anything he could put his finger on, which was a source of frustration.

Valeran breathed in the woman’s unique perfume again, appreciating the tantalizing scent. It wasn’t one he’d forget, and despite any embarrassment it might cause him, Valeran wanted to meet the woman who wore it.

“Val, whatever are you doing?” Miriam’s question, filled with increased trepidation, drifted clearly over the top of the wall separating the two dining tables.

“In a moment.”

Miriam uttered a sound of dismay at his clipped response, and even that quiet sound of hesitant, worried concern floated distinctly to the table where the woman had been seated. Christ almighty. The woman had to have heard his entire exchange with Miriam.

It would have been impossible not to. From the table setting, it was obvious she’d been alone. Was it her almost inaudible appalled gasps he’d heard earlier? The realization his conversation with Miriam had been overheard made Valeran close his eyes in self-disgust.

The last few minutes of his exchange with Lady Chattfield had made it sound as though he was living up to his reputation. Valeran’s mouth tightened in anger. His words had been meant to silence Miriam’s attack on Amalie Rockwood’s character. But Valeran was convinced the woman who’d just left Rules had heard him.

“Fuck,” he said beneath his breath. “You’re a goddamn fool, Sommerville. You know better. You should have redirected the conversation to another topic.”

Valeran fisted his hands and released another grunt of self-disgust. What the woman had heard didn’t reflect well on him, especially when he had no intention of acting on Miriam’s ludicrous suggestion. Whoever had been seated at this table had to have been listening to their conversation for quite a while.

He’d heard the waiter seat someone several minutes before Miriam had started to express her antipathy for Amalie. That should have been enough for him to guard his tongue. But he was overly tired. As if Miriam wasn’t enough of a handful, he’d embarked on his nightly forays into the East End for almost a month now. It was taking its toll. Now the chickens had come home to roost.