Free The Madness of Viscount Atherbourne (Rescued from Ruin, Book One) by Elisa Braden Page B

celebration, what?” The slurred voice of Colin
Lacey, overloud and followed by a drunken snicker, arrived from
directly across the table. “Or, here’s a thought. Why not just take
her out on the terrace? Seemzh you like that sort of thing.”
    Silence fell hard over the table, broken only
by the protest of wind and rain against the dining room windows, as
the group wrestled with the discomfort of the inappropriate
outburst. Seated on Lacey’s left, Lord Berne, a
distinguished-looking man of roughly fifty years with thinning
pewter hair and a jovial demeanor, coughed into his napkin. To
Lacey’s right, the earl’s second oldest daughter, a plump,
painfully shy girl with dull brown hair, a round pug nose, and
large eyes now wide behind her spectacles, sat with her mouth
agape.
    The man between them took no notice of the
tumult he had caused, grinning blearily at Lucien and chuckling.
His pale blond hair, a shade lighter than his sister’s, was cut a
bit long on top, where it curled in charming disarray. His features
were finely drawn and boyishly handsome, bordering on feminine, but
years of dissolution had made his blue eyes dull, his skin pale,
and his expression distastefully cynical.
    “Colin,” Blackmore rebuked frostily from the
foot of the table. “That is quite enough.”
    His eyes resting briefly on his bride’s wild
flush, Lucien felt irritation itch along his spine. Bloody
whelp. It was one thing for Lacey to make an ass of himself, or
even to try to embarrass Lucien. It was another to humiliate his
sister on her wedding day.
    “For once, your grace, you and I agree,”
Lucien remarked with a cold smile. “That is, indeed, quite
enough.”
    With that, he rose from the table and strode
to Victoria’s side, shocking the others into quiet gasps, then
silence. His bride refused to look at him, her hands tightly folded
in her lap, her shoulders stiff and head bowed. He held out his
hand before her.
    “Shall we take our leave, my dear?” he asked
quietly, knowing she would have little choice but to comply without
seeming churlish.
    “But, my lord,” Lady Berne protested, “we
haven’t yet had cake! Certainly you will want your bride to taste
her own wedding cake before—”
    “You must forgive me, my lady,” he
interrupted, glancing around the table and meeting the eyes of
those who, he knew, fervently wished him to Hades. “The morning has
grown … cold. I wouldn’t want my bride to take a chill.”
    A crack of thunder chose that moment to sound
outside. He felt a delicate hand slip into his own and turned to
help Victoria to her feet. She paused briefly and met his gaze with
a solemn one of her own, then turned to the guests as the gentlemen
rose from their seats.
    Her voice tight and quiet, she said, “I thank
you all for coming today. Lord Atherbourne and I shall take our
leave now, but please stay and enjoy the breakfast and cake. It has
been my privilege to have you here to help us celebrate our”—she
stopped and cleared her throat delicately—“marriage.”
    Colin, listing to one side as he struggled to
remain on his feet, squawked a protest and said, “Aw, Tori, come
now. I bloody well know Harrison’s got the sense of humor of a
mossy boulder, but I didn’t think you’d take offense. It was all in
good fun.”
    Victoria’s hand tightened where it rested in
Lucien’s, and her quiet dignity seemed to tremble like a leaf in a
storm. Good God. Is she going to weep? The thought
sent a surge of anger through him. And perhaps a small dose of
panic.
    “Colin, please,” she said, her voice rippling
with restrained emotion. “Don’t.”
    That was it. While Lucien’s hatred for the
duke ran bone-deep, he now had good reason to dislike both of
Victoria’s brothers. If he could find a way to shut Lacey’s mouth
with his fist, and do so without making everything worse, he would
leap across the table without a moment’s hesitation.
    Instead, he urged Victoria forward, eager