The Lord and his Lady (Forbidden #2)

Chapter Thirty Two

And share he did, except the storm that was to arise had been as thunderous as he had expected. No sooner had the words of the affair been in the air, Weston cackled until he was red-faced.

"This is one of your silly jokes, I surmise?"

Richard cleared his throat, placing a finger in between his throat and the collar that suddenly seemed too tight against him. "I would not joke about something as serious as this, my friend," he said.

The chuckle died out and silence overcame them, a deadly one before Weston shot up from his seat with a clatter that resounded against the carpet.

"I will bloody kill that bastard!"

"I am sure you would not want any blood on your hands."

"If it means I will not have to see that traitorous face ever again, Caldwell, so be it." He flung open the door of his study and all but raced toward Lady Harriet's room with Richard hot on his heels.

Lord, he is fast when in a fit of rage!

Weston burst in, startling the three ladies and forcing Miss Cavendish to let out a shriek.

Lady Harriet was seated on her bed, crying into the waist of Miss Price whom had her arms wrapped around her. Miss Cavendish's red face darkened upon seeing the storm emanating from his being.

"Is this true, Harriet?" he asked, his trembling voice betraying his rigid, still form.

"Weston—"

"You," he whisked around, pointing a finger at Richard, "keep quiet."

Richard raised his hands in the air and stepped back. That about finalised his part in this. He could not step in lest there was a physical altercation to be had.

Miss Price cast a desperate look at Richard who only closed his eyes in reassurance. Neither of them should get involved. It wasn't their fight. Her tight shoulders slowly relaxed. She rubbed the blotchy faced girl's arm once, then twice, up and down.

Miss Cavendish stood in between them, as a barrier. "Lord Weston, you must breathe and let your sister explain first."

"Is that not what I am bloody doing, woman?" he snapped before attempting to peer over the woman. "Speak, Harriet!"

"Brother, I—it is the truth," she wailed. Her body shivered violently, chin quaking with every word. "We did not mean to spite you, we are only in love."

"Love?" he spat. "He is...he is a great deal older than you, Harriet. Old enough to be your uncle perhaps!"

"He is only your age!"

"That is besides the point," he exclaimed, voice becoming increasingly louder in pitch. "You have been sneaking around with my friend behind my back participating in acts that I do not even care to know about—you are an heiress, Harriet, for pity's sake. This will ruin your potential of ever securing a suitable match in the future. God forbid if this will ever allow you to show face in London at all!" Weston's chest heaved with the exertion of his exclamations.

"Now, now, no need to be a dramatic watering pot," interjected a calmly veiled Richard. Weston spun a dropped jaw at his friend over his shoulder.

"Dramatic?" he repeated as if the mere word insulted him. "Surely you do not condone what Devonport has done? What my sister has allowed?"

"Of course not, but what are we to do? Is scolding your sister into submission going to change the crux of the matter?"

Weston hesitated though he did not respond. Lady Harriet's cries had now reduced to muffled sniffles.