A Winter Scandal Read Online Free

guests were shifting toward the front of the room, their faces turned toward the door.
    “I think he must be here,” Thea told her companion. “But I cannot see.”
    The elder Mrs. Cliffe grimaced and brought her cane down with an irritated thump. “Never mind. She’ll bring him over to introduce him to me—Maribel won’t be able to resist tweaking my nose with it. Sit down, and we’ll pretend we didn’t even notice. Always better to look like you don’t care, I say.”
    “Yes, ma’am.” Thea retook her seat. She wondered what it said about her that she found herself in sympathy with this crotchety old woman.
    “Tell me about this silly live Nativity that Maribel says you’re planning for Christmas Eve.”
    “I think it will be quite affecting, ma’am. St. Thomas Church in Holstead-on-Leach did it last year, and I believe it was very successful.”
    “Quite chilly, I’d say,” Mrs. Cliffe snorted. “Hope you know what you’re in for, letting my granddaughter play Mary. Course, you had no choice there. Maribel would have hounded you to your deathbed if her eldest weren’t chosen.”
    Thea decided it was probably better not to comment on that. Instead, she launched into a description of their efforts to mount the production, knowing that the mishaps that occurred at each rehearsal would arouse Mrs. Cliffe’s prickly sense of humor. As Thea talked, she kept an eye on the room in front of her. The guests, after the initial movement forward, began to part down the middle like water before the prow of a ship, and before long Thea could see the younger Mrs. Cliffe moving slowly through the room beside a tall, dark-haired man. Two other men were with him, but Thea noticed only the one to whom Mrs. Cliffe clung.
    His hair was thick and black, swept back from a sculpted face. His brows were as black as his hair, sharp slashes over large, intense dark eyes. He was, as gossip had rumored him, sinfully handsome, and his black jacket and breeches were elegantly tailored to fit his muscular frame. His pristine white neckcloth was tied simply and held in place by a sapphire stickpin; he wore no other adornment save a gold signet ring on his right hand. Tall and broad-shouldered, he walked with the confident stride of one who was accustomed to being the center of attention.
    Gabriel Morecombe. Thea’s heart thudded so hard she feared it might leap right out of her chest. The blood seemed to rush from her extremities to her center, leaving her face pale. She tried frantically to pull her thoughts together, to have a smooth, polite greeting ready. The group moved slowly, Mrs. Cliffe stopping to introduce her prize to each guest. Beside Thea, Mrs. Cliffe’s mother-in-law rumbled with a low laugh.
    “Wants him to get a long look at all four of the girls—and Meg’s just sixteen. Poor little sparrows; she’s got their heads stuffed full of nonsense about catching a peacock.”
    Lord Morecombe looked, Thea thought, rather glassy-eyed. No doubt he was stunned by the succession of simpering Cliffe daughters—not to mention every other halfway marriageable female in the room. The thought made Thea chuckle, and it eased her nerves a bit. But then Mrs. Cliffe pivoted and led him toward where Thea sat, the other two men trailing along behind.
    “Allow me to introduce you to Mrs. Robert Cliffe, my husband’s mother. Mother Cliffe, this is my honored guest, Lord Morecombe. And his friends, Sir Myles Thorwood and Mr. Alan Carmichael.” Thea noticed that her cousin Ian had apparently not joined the group.
    Gabriel stepped forward and executed a formal bow to the old lady. “My pleasure, madam, though surely you must have married very young indeed to be the Squire’s mother.”
    Mrs. Cliffe let out a short crack of laughter. “Ah, you’re a smooth-talking devil as well as a handsome one.”
    “Mother!” The young Mrs. Cliffe’s face flooded with color. She rushed on, “And this is another of our lovely young ladies,