Free Confessions of a Scoundrel by Karen Hawkins Page B

people were looking at him, amused expressions on their faces. “Bloody hell.”
    Marcus nodded, though a faint glimmer of a smile lit his eyes. “Lady Westforth had a little dinner party shortly after you left last week. She regaled the world with the story of how you attempted to buy her cooperation to do something she’d already done.” Marcus’s smile widened. “The only good thing is that she didn’t execute the draft.”
    Brandon’s heart gave an immediate leap. “She didn’t…” Why then, had she taken the money to begin with? He wondered if she’d planned all along to use the draft to embarrass him. Part of him was furious, but a small, very quiet part was relieved. She hadn’t taken the money for any reason but to mock him.
    â€œChase warned that she wasn’t his usual fare,” Marcus said after a long silence. “I’m inclined to agree with him if her dinner party was anything like rumor has it.”
    â€œWhat happened?”
    â€œShe had quite an interesting flower arrangement. Your bank draft was part of the ornamentation. It had been folded to look like a little frog. Your name, of course, was clearly visible.”
    Brand could see it now. The room packed with eager guests, all hanging on Lady Westforth’s every word while she amused them with her rendition of the meeting. He could almost hear her embellishments, see the laughter in her violet eyes. “How many people know?”
    â€œEveryone. It is the talk of the town.” Marcus flicked a dark glance his way. “Did you really kiss her and tell her to consider it a bonus?”
    Brand’s ears burned. “That baggage!”
    â€œHm.” Marcus regarded him coolly.
    Brandon winced. “Where’s Chase?”
    â€œAt his lodgings. You know, I believe he sincerely cared for Lady Westforth. Though he laughed when I told him how we’d taken care of his little problem, there was a moment when I mentioned the special license that he looked as if he was in pain.”
    Brand nodded shortly. “I am going to find Lady Westforth this very night and—”
    â€œGet another kiss?” Marcus’s gaze narrowed. “Don’t be a fool. Avoid that woman like the plague. At least do so until this story has died down.”
    â€œI can’t just stand by and—”
    â€œYou have no choice. She hasn’t left you any. Give it some time and soon no one will even remember the incident.”
    Brand clenched his hands into fists. How the hell was he supposed to pretend that nothing was wrong when the entire ton was snickering behind his back? It was intolerable. Damn that woman! And damn his own stupidity for kissing her and giving her even more ammunition with which to mock him.
    He slowly released his breath. Marcus was right. Brand would have nothing more to do with Lady Westforth. For now. But the moment this furor died down, he would have his revenge.
    No one would be able to help Lady Westforth then.
    Â 
    Another week passed during which Brandon put up with an onslaught of whispers followed by a maelstrom of jovial comments from those who thought they knew him well enough to tease. His brothers were the worst, Chase foremost.
    Brandon suffered it all with a polite, unamused smile, whiling away the time by thinking of all the vengeance he’d soon visit on the hapless head of the notorious Lady Westforth. He began to look forward to their next meeting, imagining what he’d do to put her in her place.
    Overall, it wasn’t the gossip that bothered him. He didn’t mind being the topic of conversation—he was a St. John and he’d always been at the center of attention. What was intolerable was that, for the first time in his life, he’d been cast in a comedic manner as if he were the key actor in a farce. But slowly, just as Marcus had predicted, society’s attention was directed elsewhere, mainly the