Barbara Pierce ~ Scandalous by Night ~ Excerpt

SCANDALOUS BY NIGHT by Barbara Pierce Prologue

November 12, 1799, Worrington Hall

Hate.

The insidious emotion slithered like a parasite just beneath his skin; whispering enticing promises of retribution as it slowly consumed a man’s soul. Townsend Elliot Lidsaw, Viscount Everod, had not truly embraced the darker side of his nature until his defiant, fuming gaze had settled on the small, pale, beautiful face of Maura Keighly, knowing the ten-year-old girl had cost him his family.

The girl stood, her slender frame trembling, between Everod’s father and his thirteen-year-old younger brother, Rowan. Even in anger, he conceded that she was a beautiful creature with unblemished alabaster skin, a pert nose he had enjoyed tweaking on numerous occasions, and a prodigious wealth of dark brown ringlets that saucily framed her face. At present, her nose and cheeks were an unflattering pink and her sea-gray eyes were red and swollen from crying. Did she weep for him or herself? Everod had pondered the question since her calculated betrayal seven days earlier. Each night, he had heard Maura’s muffled sobs long past midnight when both of them should have been sleeping.

Everod deliberately touched his bandaged throat as he strolled through the front marble hall of the country house that had been in his family for three generations. Maura’s sweet, duplicitous face blanched to an alarming pallor. Swaying, she touched his brother’s arm for support. Her distress warmed him like mulled wine on a winter’s evening.

Yes, you lying bitch. I know the sins that slipped effortlessly from your lips.

The wound at his throat had almost been mortal. The blade had caught him just behind his left ear, and cut an ugly jagged path diagonally across his throat to his collarbone. If he had not twisted away during the attack, his father might have succeeded in severing his head from his neck.

Killing his elder son had been the earl’s burning intention, after all.

And where was his charming young stepmother, Lady Worrington? The countess had gone to so much trouble to orchestrate his ousting from the family, Everod was surprised that she was not watching the tragic debacle firsthand.

Everod halted parallel to his father, Rowan, and Maura. “Any final words for your heir, Father?” Everod said, his voice so low and hoarse he did not recognize it. “Mayhap a blessing for a speedy and safe journey?”

His father’s face flushed bright red at the taunt. His sire might have attacked his heir if not for the two footmen and his younger brother who held the old man’s arms.

“You traitorous bastard! I wish you a speedy journey to hell,” his father shouted, still seething and struggling to free his arms from his well-meaning captors. “I will rejoice when word reaches me of your death!”

“As will I, Father. As much as you desire to eliminate me as your heir, you cannot prevent me from claiming what is rightfully mine. One day I will claim your title and wealth for my very own as I did your delectable, willing bride just seven days earlier.”

“Scoundrel!”

Everod smirked at the insult. If he was indeed a scoundrel, then he intended to revel in his infamy. With a little dedication, he might even become one of the most renowned scoundrels in London!

His hot, insolent amber gaze slid over the cowering girl. Maura could not bear to look at him now that he was close enough to touch her. The temptation to grab her by the throat and choke her until she begged for his mercy made his fingers clench in anticipation.

“Although our parting pains me,” he said roughly, his hand absently caressing his bandaged throat, “find solace in the knowledge that we will all meet again.” His cold gaze swept over the trio, before finally settling on Maura. Sensing his perusal, she warily lifted her lashes until she saw the heated oath in his amber eyes.

“I know I will.”