Lord Scandal Read Online Free Page A

around the fireplace, and two ladies gossiping in one corner. There were also, inevitably, several people Imogen had known previously when she’d been Mrs. Perrin, such as the elderly Earl of Carr and the even older Duke of Alençon.
    Chest tight with panic she looked about for George. If she could just find the countess, she’d make it through the evening, and if she made it through the evening, then she’d likely make it through the next two weeks.
    The countess had her back to the door, and over the din didn’t appear to have noticed her arrival, but Alençon noticed her right away. He rose and quickly crossed the room, as immaculate and frightening as ever.
    â€œWe reprobates have to stick together, Miss Mowbray,” he said with what would have been a flirtatious twinkle in a man half his age. He had to be over eighty, but was still trim and spry, with boyish dimples in his cheeks. He was a flirt and a roué. Someone her husband had loathed. That alone made her want to like him.
    With a grateful smile she allowed him to lead her over to where Carr was seated, Lady Beverley—herself well past middle-age—beside him. Carr had changed little since she’d seen him last. Not so well-preserved as the duke, he was beginning to shrink. Wisps of his own hair peeked out from under his wig.
    The duke placed her in the seat beside his and then fell easily back into conversation with his friends, one hand playing idly with the gold-headed cane he didn’t appear to need.
    This wasn’t nearly as bad as she’d feared it would be. So long as she remembered to breathe everything would be fine. It was even beginning to feel familiar. She’d done this thousands of times before. Perhaps if she acted as though tonight were no different from any of those occasions, it wouldn’t be.
    Across the room she could now see the countess, surrounded by a tight knot of men, including Mr. Angelstone. His dark hair gleamed in the candlelight. As she studied them, he caught her eye and winked. Imogen fought to keep from blushing. She heard Carr chuckle and yanked her attention away from the group by the fireplace.
    â€œThe rogue making up to the countess is Angelstone,” the earl said. “He’s about the only one who can get within ten feet of our George without setting off poor Somercote. The earl has, on occasion, even taken exception to poor Alençon here. The lanky copper-top beside them is her brother. He’s been up in Scotland for the summer, so I don’t suppose you’ve met him yet; delightful boy. The handsome devil kicking at the fender just now is St. Audley, and the sandy-haired gentleman on the other side of him with the dashing scar is Colonel Staunton.”
    Imogen smiled at her elderly comrades and sat back to listen to them gossip. When dinner was finally announced, the duke led her in, breaking every rule of etiquette Imogen had ever learned. As the highest ranking man present he should have taken the countess in, leaving her to one of the misters. George had warned her that they rarely paid any attention to such rules, but she’d been wondering if she’d be left to partner Mr. Angelstone into dinner all the same.
    She spent the first several courses mentally sorting all the details she’d been given. There were a smattering of guests who were merely friends, but most of them were related in one way or another. Once upon a time she’d been quite absorbed with such things. As the wife of a rising political star, she’d had to be.
    She’d tried to make William see reason, but he had been unable to see anything but what he’d been told he’d see: a love letter written in oils; a declaration of her indiscretion—his betrayal—put up for the world to see.
    He’d ranted and raved. He’d even thrown things. She’d never imagined that he was capable of such violence. That had been an awakening. She’d thought