Love With a Scandalous Lord Read Free Page B

on it identified it as a hallway. Lydia was beginning to hope the palace came with a map.
    The door closest to the stairs opened, and an elegantly dressed woman stepped out of the room. A few dark strands of her hair gave testimony to the fact that the others had faded from black to silver. As her gaze fell on Lydia’s stepfather, her eyes took on a murderous gleam. She slammed the door and fisted her hands at her sides.
    Everyone stopped walking. Her stepfather bowed slightly, and Lydia thought that in spite of his weariness from traveling and his disheveled clothes, he’d never appeared more regal.
    “Your Grace,” he said quietly.
    “You bastard!” she spat, spittle flying between her thin lips. “You are not welcome here. I will not allow you in my house, let alone inside this bedchamber.”
    “Is she the witch?” Sabrina whispered.
    “I think so,” Lydia forced out, horrified by the woman’s treatment of her stepfather.
    “Your Grace—” the butler began.
    “I simply will not allow it. If you value your position here, Osborne, you will escort these people off the premises immediately!”
    The opening of a distant door had Lydia turning her attention to the young woman who stepped from the room into the hallway. She wore an apron over her black dress and a cap perched on her head.
    “Mary, fetch His Lordship,” Osborne instructed theservant.
    “Yes, sir, Mr. Osborne.” Mary scurried toward the stairs.
    “You will not fetch him!” the Duchess screamed.
    In spite of the order, Mary rushed down the stairs.
    “Little chit. The servants Rhys brought here know nothing of discipline. He does not rule this dominion. I do. As for you, you bastard—”
    “You will stop insulting my husband—”
    “Abbie,” her stepfather interrupted quietly, shaking his head.
    “Quite so. He understands his place, and it is not within my house,” the Duchess said. “Now out with you, out with you all, before I set the hounds on you!”
    Her tirade continued, her voice growing louder with each unkind word she threw out.
    Lydia had expected elegant behavior from a noblewoman, not screeching like the fishmongers she’d seen on the wharves when they’d arrived in Liverpool.
    “Lyd, you’re hurting my hand,” Sabrina said softly.
    Lydia loosened her hold, while her heart ached at the spectacle taking place before her.
    How humiliating for her stepfather. How devastating for his younger, impressionable children. Based on the immense size of the house, Lydia assumed it would take Mary several minutes to locate His Lordship , longer for him to make his way there. She wanted to stand her ground, but she couldn’t allow her brother and sister to witness the degradation of their father any longer.
    She wasn’t retreating. She was protecting.
    Quickly she glanced around. Darting into another room was out of the question. She had no idea whatshe’d find inside. Besides, she didn’t think a door or four walls would block out the Duchess’s ranting.
    “Come on,” she whispered. Tugging on Sabrina’s hand and prodding Colton’s shoulder, she guided them back the way they’d come.
    Ushering her charges down the flight of stairs, she simply couldn’t believe this woman’s anger over her stepfather’s arrival. They’d sent for him, for pity’s sake.
    She stopped when she noticed three men rushing toward them. The man in the lead radiated power and grace, his fluid movements tightening his gray trousers around his thighs. His dark blue coat sat well on his broad shoulders. His white shirt, waistcoat, and cravat indicated he was a man who clearly recognized his own worth—dressing in his finery despite the lack of a special occasion.
    She had little doubt he was her stepfather’s brother. Rhys. The Marquess of Blackhurst. Although he looked nothing like Grayson Rhodes. He was dark, foreboding. His silvery-gray eyes reflected the fury of the storms that often whipped along the Texas coast. She was caught in the tempest