Page 139 of Wicked Highland Heroes

“The marriage took place three days ago.” Lord Rushton said. “It is possible.”

“Wedding? I understand you stood before a Registrar. “

“Marriage, then,” he drawled.

She gave a derisive snort. “Anything to ensure that Ravenhall doesn’t fall to me.”

“One cannot blame a father for wanting his family home to remain in his family,” the earl said.

Lydia’s eyes shifted onto her father. “Is that what it is, you want Ravenhall to remain in the MacLean family? Or is it that you are simply determined I shall not inherit the estate?”

“This is not the place or time to have this discussion,” he said, and Eve agreed. Despite the privacy of the alcove, if the conversation became too heated, the guests would be privy to a family squabble. Something she feared was taking on a life of its own.

“Tell me, my lord, where is a good place and time to discuss the fact that you tossed aside my mother for your mistress?” Lydia demanded.

“We have discussed this a thousand times,” the marquess said. “You know that wasn’t the case.”

Her eyes flashed. “The ink is barely dry on the marriage certificate and already there is talk of how long it will be before Erroll, like his father, sires a child out of wedlock.”

“Bloody hell—” Lord Rushton cut his gaze onto Connor. “I am sorry, Connor, but she must leave.”

Connor gave a brusque nod and grasped his wife’s arm, pulling her to her feet.

She shook him off. “Are you afraid of the truth, Erroll? Or perhaps you attempt to shield your wife from the truth?” She looked at Eve. “Surely you know his reputation.”

Her husband seized her arm. Eve feared he would drag his wife from the room in front of their guests, and quickly replied, “It is impossible not to be aware of Lord Rushton’s reputation. But he isn’t the first rake to marry.”

“Then you don’t mind that he will carries on his father’s legacy?”

Anger and fear rammed through Eve. “I never asked him to change.” She’d never had the chance—never seized the opportunity.

A malicious glint appeared in Lydia’s eyes. “Well, well, Erroll, a woman who doesn’t care that you have bedded half the women of the ton. What will she do in the nights ahead while you bed the other half?”

“By God, Lydia,” the marquess began, but Lord Rushton cut him off.

“You are mistaken, Lydia.” He took Eve’s hand, placed it in the crook of his arm, then covered her hand with his. The tremble inside her traveled down through her legs. “Eve did not ask me to change. I made that choice.”

Eve jerked, but his hand kept her fingers firmly wrapped around his forearm.

“Never say London’s most notorious rakehell married for love,” Lydia sneered.

He smiled at Eve and she was certain her heart would break when he said, “It had to happen eventually.”

“I wish you luck, Eve,” Lydia said. “His affection will last until you return to London.”

Eve recalled Laura Greenwood. His attention hadn’t lasted even that long. “Whatever the case, I only pray I don’t become as embittered as you.” Eve shook her head. “What happened to you, madam?”

Lydia gasped.

“Simple,” Ash cut in. “Olivia and I were born to our father’s mistress, Moira MacLean, while he was married to Lydia’s mother.”

“You make it sound so simple,” Lydia hissed. “There is much more to the story. He abandoned my mother for your mother, left her to die when I was but six years old. Even now, the rumors about how she died of heartbreak are repeated.”

“That is enough,” the marquess snapped. “Put those malicious rumors to rest. If anyone perpetrates them, it is you.”

Lydia fisted her hands at her sides. “Is it a rumor that you loved Moira MacLean? You sired two children with her. Even your Sassenach wife means more to you than my mother did. Four children you sired on her, but you couldn’t bring yourself to touch my mother after I was born.”

The marquess stared in stunned silence. “My God,” he finally whispered. “Where did you concoct such a story?”