Free The Madcap Masquerade by Nadine Miller Page A

note in the vicinity, which, of course, included the widow of our late alderman.
    “I am devastated to think her presence caused you a moment of pain and embarrassment, dear lady,” he purred in the dulcet tones that had inspired many an incomparable of the ton to offer herself to him body and soul.
    “Don’t be an ass!” Miss Barrington frowned. “Why would you think her presence would disturb me, my lord? I do not care in the least how you conduct your personal affairs; ours is purely a business arrangement negotiated between you and my father. When I questioned your lack of consideration for a woman’s sensitivities, I was thinking of Mrs. Whitcomb. One has only to look into those pathetic bovine eyes of hers to recognize the foolish creature believes herself in love with you. Think of the pain you caused her, prattling on about how happy you were to marry another woman, when most likely you’d warmed her bed but twenty-four hours earlier.”
    For the first time in his life, Theo found himself utterly speechless. He didn’t have to pretend shock at his betrothed’s bizarre reaction to the unusual situation they found themselves in; he was jolted to the core by her unconventional attitude.
    “Miss Barrington!” he exclaimed, when he finally found his voice. “This is not a conversation I would expect to be having with my future wife.”
    “And why not, my lord? I believe in speaking the truth as I see it.”
    Theo felt consumed with anger at the injustice of her accusation and the insult it implied. “I have already explained it was not my fault she was invited to this ball,” he said coldly. “Furthermore, for your information, there has never been a question of love between Sophie Whitcomb and me. We are friends, nothing more, as we have been since we played together as children.”
    Miss Barrington’s eyes fairly blazed. “Which telling statement only proves you are even more callous than I had judged you to be. For no right-thinking man would subject a friend to the kind of scorn Mrs. Whitcomb must suffer at the hands of the so-called proper folk of the village—to say nothing of the position she will be in once you tire of her and withdraw your patronage.”
    She raked him with a look of such loathing, it was all Theo could do to keep from cringing. “You, of course, will simply have enhanced your reputation as a charming rogue when you end the sordid affair. Men are never called to account for their actions in such matters.”
    Theo stared at her. Stunned. Nothing in his background had prepared him to defend his treatment of his mistress to the woman he was pledged to marry—a woman who, by rights, should not even be aware of the existence of the demimonde .
    The balance of the waltz was accomplished in uneasy silence. Like it or not, Miss Barrington had forced him to take a good look at what he had done to Sophie when he’d made her his mistress. Something he had never before considered. The picture was not a pretty one. Nor did it help that he could see the object of his betrothed’s concern standing alone in a far corner of the ballroom—a plump, purple pariah, shunned by the proper folk of the village.
    The set finally came to an end and with Miss Barrington on his arm, he exited the dance floor. She was the first to break their long silence. “Well, that’s that then, my lord. I believe I have fulfilled my duty as far as this evening is concerned. If any of your guests should remark on my absence, you have my permission to tell them I retired with a headache.”
    She pressed her slender, tapered fingers to her left temple, as if to prove her headache did, indeed, exist. “Since my father refuses to escort me home, I would appreciate the loan of one of your carriages.”
    Theo dropped her arm and executed a courtly bow. “Your servant, ma’am,” he said and hailing a nearby footman, requested a carriage be brought around.
    A full moon greeted him when he escorted Miss Barrington to