Читать книгу Sexual Hunger - Melissa MacNeal - Страница 12

“Never in my life have I felt so—exposed! Hung out to dry, like so much dirty laundry!” Lady Darington spewed. Then she grasped Jemma’s hands and peered into her daughter’s red-rimmed eyes. “Mark my words, darling! We shall hold the Inquirer responsible for such—such irresponsible gossip! And when I learn the identity of that vile, hateful Miss Crimson, I intend to tear her limb from limb! And you may watch!”

“Oh, I intend to help you, Mumsy!” Jemma gushed. “Such slander—such a slight!—shall not go unanswered, so help me God!”

Maria perched on her chair in the parlor, holding her face expressionless. While she was not surprised at this outburst, she again wondered if she’d done the right thing last night and if other readers would share Dora Darington’s outrage. Had she inadvertently endangered Jason by publishing her plea for help? Would she find an irate note from the editor in her postal box, informing her Miss Crimson’s column would be cut? This visit was a grim reminder of her vulnerability—and of how she might be depending upon her journalistic income soon, if Jason’s family booted her out.

Across from her, on the striped ottoman, Jude pored over the morning’s newspaper. He, too, refrained from showing emotion, although his reasons were different from hers. What did he think about Miss Crimson’s bold request?

He glanced up at her, clearing his throat. The rings beneath his eyes told of a sleepless night, either because his mother and sister had kept him awake with their tirade or because he was becoming more worried about his twin. “We had hoped to arrive this morning to protect you from Miss Crimson’s news, Maria. Or at least to warn you of it, before you were quizzed about the column’s contents,” he remarked wryly. “But being a man, I must plead ignorance, I’m afraid. Why are you so offended, Mum? Miss Crimson has called upon all of London to help us find Jason! What a gracious, generous thing to—”

“Gracious?” his mother cried.

“Generous?” Jemma echoed as she popped up from the settee. She glared at her brother as though he were a pile of horse manure on the parlor carpet. “How dare that mean-spirited gossipmonger rave about poor Miss Palladino and not even comment about our gowns? They came from LeChaud Soeurs as well, you know!”

“And indeed I paid far more for my attire—and for Jemma’s—than I did for that wedding dress!” Dora Darington joined her daughter. The two of them paced around the perimeter of the room like caged tigers at a circus.

“Even Willie received more coverage than Mum and me! And in the worst way!”

Jude rolled his eyes. “Call her mean-spirited if you must, but she merely reported the facts about your runaway ferret, Jem. Do you think I wanted to spend the rest of the evening trying to trap him, in that enormous sanctuary?”

Maria shifted, trying not to laugh. That explained why the Daringtons hadn’t descended upon her last night, and the vapid attitudes of mother and daughter justified the way she’d given them short shrift in print, didn’t it? What lady would speak, in front of an abandoned bride, as though a simple wedding dress represented the supreme act of charity rather than a gift from a family that could well afford it? A family that was using this wedding to flaunt their affluence.

“Actually, I applaud Miss Crimson for taking our part,” Jude stated. He glanced at the column again, as though inspired by it. “Rather than stirring up doubt and speculation about why Jason didn’t show up, she has enlisted thousands of readers to watch for him. Anyone with information will be far more likely to slip her a note than to approach the police. No one wants to be subjected to an inquisition.”

“The police!” Dora jeered. “Your father has already reported Jason’s disappearance to Scotland Yard. They know nothing!”

“Probably miffed because a mere columnist upstaged them, too.” Jude’s gaze at Maria apologized for the ordeal these two were causing. He appeared eager to spend time alone with her—as though that would happen anytime soon.

“And what does this matter, really?” Fresh tears dribbled down Jemma’s face as she wrung her handkerchief in her hands. “I wanted to meet the unattached men in attendance, a preview to my coming out. And now my hopes are dashed!”

“You could’ve asked those unattached men to help me corner that ferret,” her brother muttered. “Not that your request would’ve endeared you to any of them.”

“Jude! That’s quite enough!” Dora whacked his shoulder with her fan. “Must you always bait your poor sister?”

He bit back a grin. “I’m making up for Jason. In case Jemma misses him more than she can say.”

“If you’ll pardon my intrusion,” came a voice from the door. “I’ve come with your tea.”

Maria could’ve kissed Quentin McCallum at that moment. They were in dire need of fresh air, and the butler’s bright smile cut through the gloom that was closing in around her. “Thank you, Quentin. Please set the tray on the table and I shall pour.”

Nodding, he approached, but was intercepted by an indignant Dora Darington. “You’ll do well to remember who signs your check, Quentin,” she said in a low voice. “You shall place the tray on the sideboard, where I shall serve when I feel like it!”

“Yes, milady. Of course.” With an obsequious bow, he paused beside Jemma. “Mrs. Booth sends her condolences and these lovely lemon tarts, knowing how you favor them, Miss Darington. Might I inquire if you’ve heard news about Jason this morning?”

“If you call this news!” Lady Darington pointed at the newspaper her son was folding.

“Ah, yes. That.”

“Miss Crimson’s identity should be revealed, as much as my son’s whereabouts! I suppose you and Mrs. Booth shared a laugh at our expense upon reading about the wedding?”

Quentin folded his hands before him. He was the picture of cautious diplomacy in his dove gray coat and pin-striped trousers. “A most unfortunate turn of events,” he hedged, glancing around to see whom his allies might be. “And Miss Crimson’s request for assistance may well lead to her unveiling—for if your son is found because of her column, all of London will want to know whom to thank.”

Dora’s smile suddenly shone like the sun come from behind a cloud. “Why, Quentin, I believe you’re on to something!” As she poured their tea, her face took on a feline delight. “When Jason is located—for I believe he will be—I shall personally request an introduction to Miss Crimson! To thank her for bringing my son home, of course!”

As she accepted her tea, Maria’s knees quivered. This was an angle she hadn’t anticipated! And the butler seemed awfully proud of himself for mentioning it. She chose a tart, although she had no appetite for the beautifully crafted confection, which resembled a yellow rosebud. “I’m sure she must be someone perfectly ordinary, someone we’ve all seen at social events,” she speculated. “How else would she know what to write about, after all?”

“How else could she harass so many of London’s finest families?” Dora countered. “I’ve always figured her for a vindictive biddy with nothing better to do. Perhaps a jilted mistress or a dumped debutante, now unable to catch a man. It’ll be fascinating to find out, will it not?”

“Oh yes, Mumsy. We’ll have to have these incredible tarts when we celebrate that occasion, as well!” Jemma forked the last bite into her mouth, grinning at Quentin. “Please pass along my gratitude to Mrs. Booth. Her consideration has delivered this day from total ruination!”

The butler fumbled with his tie. “Indeed I shall, Miss Darington! So happy to play a part in your recovery.”

As though Jemma ever has anything from which to recover! Maria didn’t miss the butler’s between-the-lines efforts to gain the young lady’s favor, but as Dora and Jemma plotted the unveiling of Miss Crimson, she withdrew into her own thoughts.

Perhaps she’s a jilted mistress…or a dumped debutante…now unable to catch a man. Maria concentrated on the final bite of her tart, burning hotter than she cared to admit. Yesterday at this time, such remarks wouldn’t have cut so close to the bone. What a difference a day made—and this day, without Jason, was already feeling endless.