The Marrying Season by Candace Camp Page A

lightly, his hand reassuringly warm and strong around hers. “The problem is I find myself out of love as quickly as I fell into it.”
    “No doubt leaving behind some jeweled trinket as an expression of your esteem.”
    “Dear girl! Wherever did you hear such shocking things?”
    “I am not entirely ignorant, no matter how the world strives to keep a maiden that way. Everyone knows men have their little affairs,” Genevieve said airily.
    The carriage rolled to a halt, saving Myles from having to answer, and they went inside.
    “Have tea and brandy brought to the drawing room,” Myles told the footman, and started with Genevieve for that room.
    “I am fine,” Genevieve protested. “I don’t need a brandy.”
    “Well, I do.” But when the butler brought the tray of drinks, Myles poured a healthy dollop of the fiery alcohol in Genevieve’s cup, as well. She took a sip, grimacing at the sharp taste, and sat down. A large, white puffball of a cat came into the room and stopped just inside the doorway, as if posing for an admiring audience.
    “Xerxes!” Genevieve smiled, beckoning to the cat.
    “Oh, the devil!” Myles said under his breath. The cat and Myles regarded each other balefully for a moment. Then, with a twitch of his tail, Xerxes turned, dismissing Myles, and stalked over to jump into Genevieve’s lap.
    Tears threatened Genevieve again, but she swallowed hard and ran her hand down Xerxes’s back. The cat narrowed his eyes to slits, a low rumble rising from his chest, and Genevieve’s tightly held shoulders relaxed as well, as she continued to pet him.
    The front door slammed open, the noise reverberating through the house, and Alec strode through the doorway. “Genevieve? Myles? What the devil is going on? Morecombe’s footman gave us your message; we thought Genevieve had taken a fall or some such thing.”
    Genevieve let out a snort. “I took a fall, certainly, though not the sort you mean. I am surprised no one told you.”
    “Everyone was buzzing, but we left without pausing to speak to anyone.” Damaris came into the room behind Alec, the dowager countess beside her.
    “Well?” Alec looked from Myles to his sister. “Is anyone going to bother to explain?”
    “Foster Langdon made improper advances to your sister, so she planted a facer on him,” Myles summarized.
    “The devil you say!” Alec scowled. “That sneaking little scoundrel. I always knew he was a loose fish.”
    “He was in his cups,” Genevieve said, “or I don’t think he would have dared try to kiss me. He never has been anything but annoying before.”
    Damaris went over to Genevieve and knelt beside her chair, laying her hand on Genevieve’s arm. “Are you all right, dear? Did he hurt you?”
    “Only my pride. He was drunk as a wheelbarrow, and he assumed when I went into the library that I had come to see him. He was stretched out on the couch, and I didn’t see him until he sat up or I would never have gone in. He was most importunate when I started to leave, though in fairness, I do think it was an accident that he tore my gown.”
    “Tore your gown!” Alec thundered.
    Genevieve cast an appealing look at Myles, and he rose, going over to his friend.
    “Don’t erupt, Rawdon. Genevieve stopped him. She must have landed a damn fine punch, too. His blood was flowing like wine.”
    “Yes, I did, and no one would have known about it if the stupid man had not shrieked like a girl when I tromped on his foot.”
    “Ah, so you crippled him as well.” Pride mingled with laughter in Myles’s voice, and even Alec smiled faintly.
    “Where the devil does Langdon live?” Alec turned toward Myles.
    “Alec, no,” all three women chorused at once, and Damaris rose, laying both her hands on his arm.
    “Don’t be a fool,” his grandmother added sharply. “If you challenge him to a duel, it will only make the scandal worse.”
    “Duel? I wouldn’t challenge that worm to a duel; he isn’t enough of a gentleman