Page 113 of The Viscount Who Vexed Me

Hattie was shocked. Flora? “Withwho?”

Queenie laughed. “Really, you’re no use to anyone, Harriet Woodchurch. Do you really expect me to believe you don’t know who?”

“By God, Queenie, just tell me—”

“Your brother,” she said, and smirked.

And still, Hattie did not understand. “My brother...what?”

Queenie rolled her eyes. “You should consider the theater—you are very good at deception. Your brother was kissing Flora and I don’t know what else in a dark room and her father walked in. It’s over. The whole Santiavan duchess thing is over. Iknewit would never happen. I knew she’d sabotage it.”

None of this made sense. Flora had been caught withDaniel? “You must be mistaken.”

“I’m not. She’s been toying with him for a while. If you don’t believe me, go home. They’ve all gone there to set the matter to rights.”

“This can’t be true,” Hattie insisted. “Flora hates my brother, and he’s never said a kind word about her.”

“Oh, Hattie. Sometimes attraction looks like hate.”

Hattie felt sick to her stomach. She could be so stupid at times. And now they were going to her family’s house? Lord Raney meant to demand satisfaction from her father?

She whirled around and began to push her way from the room. She ran into the street and looked wildly about for a cab or conveyance. Why were there never any cabs?

“Hattie!”

She looked back—Teo was jogging out to her. “What are you doing? Where are you going?”

“Teo.” Her voice was shaking. “I have to go.”

“What’s wrong?” he asked, catching her arm. “You’re shaking.”

“Something has happened. It’s my brother, and I have to go home.”

“I’ll take you.”

“No!” She shoved against his chest. “You can’t come!”

He took her arm again. “Don’t be ridiculous. My carriage is just here.” He pointed. She looked at the carriage and imagined it rolling up to her home. She imagined how devastating it would be to watch Teo discover how her family lived.

She would rather die than have that happen. But she couldn’t believe it—she chose her terrible, awful family over her pride. Swallowing hard, she said, “Let’s go.”

CHAPTER FORTY

HATTIEWASFRANTIC. Mateo only got a bit of the crisis from her—a compromising situation between her brother and a woman, a fear of a duel or worse. When they reached the modest house near Portman Square, she tried to keep him from going inside. But Mateo refused. “You are wasting your breath. I will not allow you to face whatever is happening in there alone.”

She looked crestfallen. “You’ll never speak to me again,” she said tearfully. And she ran inside.

Mateo went after her.

At first, he was confused as to where they were. He thought it was a warehouse of some sort. He didn’t understand why there were so many grandfather clocks, so many tea services—on every surface. There were dress forms and hats and stacks of books he had to dodge as he made his way after Hattie. Andcats. So many cats, a dozen if there was one.

He followed Hattie and the sound of angry voices down the hall, dipping and sidestepping and stumbling over something, until they entered a room where the hearth was blazing. But every bit of furniture had a cat, or a stack of newspapers, or a collection of needlepoints and books. He noticed in one corner there was a collection of spittoons.

The assembly of people included Lady Aleksander and Beck, Lord and Lady Raney, their daughter, Hattie’s brother, and two teenaged boys, laughing as if they were at a public house.

There was a woman in a chair in her nightclothes. A small, mean-looking gentleman was perched on the edge of his seat, glaring at Lord Raney.

Lord Raney was shouting at Hattie’s brother. He was rattling off so many things so quickly that Mateo had trouble following in English. But then the small man stood up with a roar. “You will leave my son be!”