Lucien’s body heated with shame at what he’d done. He should have been more aware—or, at the very least, in better control of himself.
“But Miss Hannah Bexley?” She gave a harsh bark of laughter, all pretense of her delicate giggles and blushes gone.
He took a step forward, his irritation turning to ire. “Miss Bexley is a fine lady and one I would be proud to be seen with.”
“It appears she does not share your sentiment.” Lady Alison lifted a hand and examined her fitted kidskin gloves indifferently. “I can’t say I’m surprised. You may be an honorable gentleman, but she is no lady.”
Lucien narrowed his eyes. “I don’t approve of your insinuation.”
“It’s not an insinuation.” She tilted her chin at an arrogant angle. “Did you know I went to Lady Finch’s Finishing School with Miss Bexley?”
While this was not something he was aware of, Lucien remained quiet, refusing to feed into whatever claim she intended to lay at his feet.
“She has never been a lady, not in the truest sense,” Lady Alison mused. “Don’t you want to know what I do?”
“Who she was or what she did is not any of my concern.” And he meant every damn word. He knew Hannah for who she was now. Whatever she had done in her past did not define the woman who had so dazzled him with her brilliance.
“Even if she doesn’t marry you, you ought to know.” Lady Alison shrugged her shoulders and then paused to pet the thick fur stole draped around her torso. “She’s the lightskirt type.”
The claim was ridiculous. Hannah struck him as anything but a roundheel. Yes, she expressed her joy in a manner more jubilant than most, and yes, she was amorous when she’d been in his embrace. But that did not make her a “lightskirt type,” as Lady Alison stated so crudely.
“There was a bit of a sordid affair between her and the stablehand while at the school.” Lady Alison covered her mouth with her hand in an exaggerated show of shock. “Surely, you should care about that. A stablehand…” She dropped her hand away and said the latter part with a look of distaste curling her full red lips.
“I do hate to disappoint you, but I truly do not care.” He moved to walk past her, but she put a brazen hand on his chest, stopping him.
“It would be a shame if someone were to discover this little tryst between you.” Lady Alison bit her bottom lip. “Considering how popular you are now, such gossip would spread like wildfire.”
She stepped closer, bringing the cloying sweetness of her perfume with her. “Miss Bexley would be ruined.”
“Why would you do that?”
“Because I don’t like her.” She drew an invisible pattern on the lapel of his coat. “But I very much like you.”
An uneasy sensation tightened in his stomach.
“Or at least, I like your popularity,” she said airily. “I want you to seek out my father for permission to court me.”
Lucien lifted a brow, certain he had heard her incorrectly. “I beg your pardon?”
“I do not believe I mumbled or stammered in my request.” Her lips peeled back into a vicious smile. “You heard me. I want you to go to my father to ask for permission to court me.”
Lucien stared at her in horror.
“Oh, come now.” She pouted at him in mockery. “You needn’t look at me like that. I don’t expect you to marry me. Why would I want an earl when I could have a duke?” Rolling her eyes, she continued, “You only need to court me long enough for people to notice. Don’t worry, it shan’t consume too much of your season.” She tossed a blonde sausage-roll curl of hair behind her shoulder with a flippant air. “Then I can cease being with you once I’ve garnered the attention I need.”
Good God, she had calculated everything in her bid to stretch to the top. And it had only required the few short moments that she had witnessed the tryst between him and Hannah for her to compose it all so thoroughly.
Lady Alison was proof that true evil did exist. Only now, such poison came to Lucien in primped curls and wearing some poor woodland creature strung about her shoulders like a vicious prize.
“Don’t look so glum.” She reached out with her gloved hand and touched the underside of his chin, elevating his face. “There will be many ladies waiting to soothe your wounded heart. I assure you this will be advantageous for us both.”
“And if I refuse?”
Her eyes darkened. “Then Miss Bexley will never have the opportunity to wed any man, and it will be entirely your fault.”
He hissed out a slow exhale, hating being trapped in such a position. “I’ll think on it.”
“You have one minute.” Lady Alison arched a curved brow. “I’m not a patient woman.”
If he agreed now, it didn’t mean he still couldn’t go to Hannah and explain the situation. Perhaps if he could make her understand how very deep his feelings were, she would agree to marry him. In such an instance, her reputation would be salvaged, and none of the ugliness need come up again.
“Very well,” he replied stiffly.
A saccharine smile adorned Lady Alison’s lips. “I’m so pleased to hear you’ve been convinced to see reason. We should return together. For appearance’s sake, of course.”
He wanted to decline, to stalk away from her and find Hannah that instant.
She tilted her head at his silence. “I’m sure you meant to offer me your arm.” Condescension dripped from her tone.
Lucien extended his elbow toward her. She held onto him with a possessive grip that made him immediately miss the delicate caressing manner in which Hannah had cradled her hand in the crook of his arm.
They returned to the pavilion, but he managed to keep Lady Alison from the line of sight of Lord Langston’s supper box, where Lucien could see Hannah and her friends.
Thankfully, they left within the hour, and he could finally give in to Lady Alison’s plaintive pouts to be in a position where they could be seen by all.
It was a horribly miserable night, and Lucien was only too glad to be released from Lady Alison’s clutches to return home finally. However, upon entry into the house, his mother was waiting for him, a cup of tea at her side. No cream. No sugar. As strong and bitter as possible.
Like her.
She studied him with a shrewd demeanor as he entered. “Who were you with this evening?”
He sighed, weary from the night’s events and in no mood for an interrogation. “Good evening, Mother. It’s late, and I intend to retire.”
She stiffened. “I did not wait up for you to be so readily brushed off. I know you were with that Bexley chit.”
“Miss Bexley,” he corrected.
“You are to stay far from her, do you understand?”
He shook his head. “I’m not a child to order about as you please. I happen to hold Miss Bexley in the highest esteem and refuse to stand by as you speak of her in so degrading a manner.”
“Degrading?” Her head snapped back with obvious offense.
“Yes, degrading.” He squared his shoulders and faced her. “The gossip is unseemly. I will choose a wife based on my discretion. It is a grandchild you want, and I will do all in my power to deliver it. But whomever the lady of my choosing is, she will be accepted by you or I will retire to the country this instant and delay marrying.”