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“Shaw, we need to show these young ladies out.” Richard wanted to personally escort them out of his townhouse to ensure that they left. And to question them downstairs. He swung his head in Sophia’s direction. She gave him a nod; it appeared she understood his need without him voicing it.

“You shall find me in my chambers when you are done, my lord.”

Richard was relieved, but also concerned. Why was she ‘my lording’ him? Faugh! This day had been so promising, but now it was going to be a very long, very disappointing evening.

Courage, Richard.

He must deal with this. Only then could he return to explain the situation to his bride.

One step at a time. One step at a time.

He drew a deep breath. Take them downstairs, Richard. Then find out how they gained access.

Only then could the depth of his bride’s disdain be established.

One step at a time.

Chapter

Eight

“The education of women should be particularly directed to improve the heart.”

Dr. John Gregory, A Father’s Legacy to His Daughters

Once he had established very little—other than a cloaked, hooded figure had ushered the women through the mews and into one of the garden-facing doors before leading them to his rooms—Richard returned to his bedchamber. Which reeked.

The overpowering scent of cheap perfume filled the room, making it difficult to ignore the disarray. It was what he imagined an unsavory establishment might smell like, though he had never set foot in one. Richard had always avoided such places, unwilling to risk the dangers or indignities they entailed. Over the years, his easygoing charm and status as a handsome, successful peer had ensured no shortage of attention from more refined women.

Not that he felt successful or easygoing at the moment.

His valet arrived with a swarm of footmen to hurriedly provide a tub of bathing water and whisk away bedding to be cleaned. Richard had already thrown open the windows despite the chill of the evening in order to air the room out.

Once the bath was prepared, he quickly took advantage of the steaming hot water to bathe the stench off his skin and hair. In his imagination, the odor lingered still, but Shaw assured him that he currently smelt delightful. He was uncertain if the man was funning him with his droll words, but the servant stated it with no trace of humor.

Clothed in loose cotton trousers and a shirt, he pulled on a dressing gown and approached the adjoining door to Sophia’s chambers. For several moments, he stood there in silence, his forehead resting against the cool wood. What could he possibly say to her? He could not explain what had happened, as he barely understood it himself. Surely, his bride now thought him the worst sort of rake—perhaps even worse than his own father. The thought filled him with a deep, gnawing regret.

All his hard work forming a connection with her, destroyed by some unknown figure … presumably a so-called friend who was utterly lacking in taste. Mayhap he had done too many terrible deeds in his past, and this was his penance. Perhaps his cousin was wrong, and it was far too late for him to amend his ways. Perhaps he should go sleep in a guest room and leave his bride alone. He dreaded entering the room to find her embittered toward him after their enchanting day together.

Inhaling deeply, he accepted he was well on his way to relying on her esteem, and he felt angry desolation at how their day was ending. Nonetheless, the problem would not evaporate on its own. He must confront it now before it worsened so he knocked on her door.

It had taken Sophia only a moment to register her groom’s distress when she entered his rooms. She quickly ascertained from his expression, and his general demeanor, that he was not involved in inviting the women into his chambers.

Had he done such a thing in the past?

Hearing the quiet knock on the adjoining door, she sprang up from the bed to race across the room on her bare feet and open the door. She found her husband on the other side, looking worn out. And well-scrubbed, his hair damp.

“I am so sorry. This was not planned.” His voice was gruff, and Sophia took pity. Claiming his hand with her own, she drew him into the room and over to the seating area.

“I know.”

He frowned in confusion.

“It only took a moment to realize you did not possess the look of a man with an agenda. You looked like a man in a blind panic.”

He chuckled dryly. “That would be an accurate description of how I was feeling.”

“Did they come on the wrong night?”