Page 76 of The Rake Desires the Diamond

“Evan Eaton?” The absurd-wigged, huge-skirted female, who had to be Greyson’s mother, held a lorgnette to her eye, looked him over, and hummed. “It has been years since I have seen you.”

Evan had no recollection of her. The society functions Grandmother Louisa had forced him to attend blurred together in one long, endless string of distorted smiles. But then, when he was a young lad of fourteen, or thereabouts, his boredom turned to hedonistic adventures as he immersed himself in cards and drink and found his way up skirts.

“I am afraid your betrothed engaged in indecent relations with my son,” the marchioness said, a haughty lilt to her jagged-edged voice.

“You lying witch,” Katrina said as she fought to wriggle free from Greyson’s grasp. “Do not believe a word she says. They plan to ruin my reputation.”

“I would not believe her ladyship if she told me the sky was blue,” Evan said. “Because that would surely be a day it was a brilliant purple.”

The marchioness’s chuckle was void of humor, and despite her lovely eyes, her smile was as unpleasant as her son’s twisted grin. “It only matters what others believe.”

Evan formed a fist and edged forward. “Unless you want to lose a few teeth, you’d better let go of her, Greyson.”

The marquess—make that cruel as hell by-blow—might lose a few teeth even after freeing her.

Panting, Taylor entered the room. He bent forward and fought to catch his breath. Sweat dripped down his nose toplinkonto the burgundy carpet.

“What in the deuces are you doing here?” Greyson asked.

Taylor took his time straightening only to bow again. “Lady Greyson.” He faced his half-brother. “Harrington and Eaton know the truth about our father.”

“No!” the marchioness cried out.

Greyson’s shoulders sagged, and he let go of Katrina. She leaped into Evan’s arms. Clasping her to his chest, he absorbed her warmth and inhaled her scent. Even after everything she’d been through, she smelled of fragrant summer roses.

Harrington’s large body entered the room, bringing with it an angry energy and additional heat. “You bloody fuckwit.” He stalked toward Greyson.

“Wait.” Taylor stepped between the two men. “I am sure we can work something out so that nobody is ruined, maimed, or murdered.”

“Doubtful,” Harrington grumbled through clenched teeth.

Meanwhile, the marchioness sobbed—quite loudly—as Taylor cooed calming words to Harrington and Greyson.

How satisfying it would be to watch Harrington ground Greyson’s face into the carpet. It would be even more gratifying to be the one to do it, but then Evan would have to let go of Katrina, and he wasn’t quite ready to release her. Still, he needed to do something because chaos erupted around him.

But what?

Too bad he didn’t have Stephen’s diplomacy, Alistair’s leadership, or Georgiana’s bold daring, for his siblings would have had a solution to this debacle. As it was, Evan was at a loss, and a quivering solicitor was the only thing keeping Harrington from killing a fellow lord.

Wait a minute. A solicitor? The brother of a duke? A man and a woman with a secret they’d do anything to keep? Evan could work with this. In fact, he had one deuce of a good plan.

Evan let go of Katrina, placing her behind him and taking a protective stance in case Greyson pulled a bacon-headed stunt. He whistled, garnering everyone’s attention. Once all eyes were on him, he took control of the situation.

“Greyson, in return for our silence, you will cease with your threats and blackmailing. You will never come near Katrina again. If you see her at a social function, you will leave at once. There are no exceptions. Not only that, but you will never darken Yardley Manor and show up uninvited at the Harrington estate again.”

Greyson rolled his eyes. Apparently, he had not yet realized his dire situation—a grievous error on his part because Evan was deadly serious.

“You will stop mistreating women and servants. You will set up a milliner shop for Caroline, the poor maid you harassed. I believe she has a particular interest in fine ladies’ hats.”

“Missish chit, she was. I did not even touch her. Well, barely touched her. Still, she boohoo-ed like a child.”

“Wrong answer,” Evan said. “You will hand over the lease to her and never bother her again. And it is my understanding that there was a young shopgirl in town that you impregnated. You will ensure she receives an annual sum of seventy pounds a year to raise her child.”

“Seventy?” Greyson sputtered. “Highway robbery. I will do no such thing.”

“Seventy-two,” Evan said. “Any more objections?”

Greyson growled.