The Taming of a Scandal (The Beautiful Barringtons Book 8) by Kathleen Ayers

Author:Kathleen Ayers [Ayers, Kathleen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-03-28T00:00:00+00:00

12

Phaedra observed the residence before her, taking a deep breath to help bolster her resolve. Three stories of cold, gray stone, a shade darker than Morgan’s eyes. Devoid of ornamentation. Door knocker not even in the shape of a wolf or a lion, which would have been appropriate. Even the shrubbery looked menacing. It was no surprise to Phaedra that Morgan hadn’t sold Gertrude’s former residence and perhaps opted to move somewhere else after her death. Whatever this house might mean to Van Rhys, this was Morgan’s home, something he’d never had until Gertrude. It would be akin to Phaedra selling Cherry Hill, for instance.

Morgan wasn’t about to leave this house, not even with Martin Van Rhys living at the other end of the street.

In the week that had passed since the trip to The Battery, Phaedra had debated long and hard about the outing with Van Rhys. If Morgan was angry, it was his own fault. He didn’t have the right to dictate to her, even if she didn’t particularly care for Van Rhys or his mysteriously dropped hints concerning the relationship between Morgan and Gertrude. Her relationship with Morgan was vague at best. He wasn’t courting her, at least not in a respectable manner. There was no understanding between them. Only a wager.

When he appeared, she meant to tell him so. In the meantime, Phaedra would keep occupied. She had busied herself by insisting Rosalind show her how to make a lemon tart. The results were mixed at best. She’d also attended two teas on behalf of Mrs. Rutherford.

Van Rhys had lingered about, dining with Leo at least twice.

Phaedra had avoided him.

She drummed her fingers along one thigh, eyes never leaving the gray stone before her, and took a halting breath.

Morgan, as it turned out, had not laid siege to The Barrington. Nor had he appeared outside in the gardens where he’d lurked during Olivia’s wedding. He wasn’t the sort to send flowers or sweets, but Phaedra had thought at least he might send another knife. Perhaps a pistol. Or a deadly hatpin.

Absolutely nothing had happened.

His silence spoke volumes.

Phaedra had been prepared for coldly biting anger. A bit of menace, perhaps. Morgan might have displayed possessive behavior, which she would have combatted with her carefully prepared speech.

But not this terrible, unexpected silence which tore at her heart.

Arrogant, slightly murderous Morgan was one thing.

Wounded Morgan was quite another.

“Don’t be a coward, Phaedra,” she whispered under her breath, staring at all that gray brick. “Even the lion tamer must enter the beast’s cage now and again, risking dismemberment.”

Placing a hand on the hack’s door, she took a deep breath, holding it to the count of ten before expelling. It did nothing to calm her. Yesterday, Phaedra had swallowed her stubbornness and sent Morgan a note.

There had been no reply.

This was not about page seventy-eight in the Red Book. Teaching her to shoot a pistol had not been about the bloody wager. Morgan taking intimacies—well, if that was about the wager, he could have just ruined her beneath the tree.

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