The woman had the audacity to sweep her with a long, contemptuous look. “Hasn’t everyone? He and your mother are quite infamous.”
“True. But that has nothing to do with this ball in particular. You and I both know that His Grace didn’t neglect to invite you because he lacked an address for you. He didn’t invite you because you and your family treated him and his family very ill. So I suggest you leave before I order the footmen to remove you.”
Lady Fieldhaven drew herself up to her full height, which was still quite a bit shorter than Diana’s. “You have the gall to speak to me about my relations! I assure you that His Grace—”
“—wants nothing to do with you,” Geoffrey said as he strode into the hall.
For once, Diana was grateful he was so very imposing a figure physically. Because if Diana couldn’t cow the woman and her family, Geoffrey certainly could.
He came up beside Diana. “Speaking of someone who has gall, madam, you are a pitiful excuse for an aunt.”
“Now see here,” Lord Fieldhaven said, “that’s my wife you’re insulting.”
The man should never have spoken, because that merely focused Geoffrey’s attention on him. “I feel sorry for you, sir, that you married a woman without an ounce of familial affection. Who joined her mother, my late grandmother, in cutting off my father—your wife’s own brother, for pity’s sake—from every person in his family. My own wonderful mother insisted that we should visit when we children were small, but your wife and my grandparents all refused to give us admittance. So it seems perfectly fitting that I deny you the same.”
He turned as if to leave, and Lady Fieldhaven said, “You, sir, may have undeservedly inherited the dukedom, but you are a rude nobody, just as I suspected. And how odd that you should mention your father, given that you murdered him.”
Geoffrey froze. Diana couldn’t even react. Murdered his father? Ridiculous. Geoffrey wasn’t capable of it.
When he turned, rage burned in his face. “Where in God’s name did you hear something so vile?”
“I have my sources in Newcastle.” She gathered her cloak about her as if to protect herself from Geoffrey’s rudeness. “Do you think that simply because I wouldn’t expose my daughters to your father’s reckless behavior, I didn’t know what was going on in your household? I knew. I heard that your father died of an overdose of laudanum. Although no one could prove how he received enough to kill him, reliable sources say you were the one to give it to him.”
His voice dripped ice. “Aside from the fact that I know nothing about dosing for laudanum and thus wouldn’t have dared administer it to him, I loved him. He was my father, for pity’s sake. Why would I kill him?”
“To inherit the dukedom, of course.”
Diana couldn’t stifle her laugh. “His Grace doesn’t even want it. Never did.”
That threw Lady Fieldhaven off the scent for only a second. “Well . . . of course he wants it. It comes with considerable property.”
“And considerable debt,” Geoffrey snapped. “You, madam, are a fool if you think I cared one whit about becoming duke. My father never kept track of who would inherit the title, and neither did I. I assumed it would be one of my many distant cousins.”
Lord Fieldhaven snorted.
“Are you calling me a liar, sir?” Geoffrey came up so close to the fellow that Lord Fieldhaven could only stare up at the taller, younger man and swallow hard. “If you are not careful,” Geoffrey went on, “I will call you out. And I daresay you aren’t as good with a pistol or sword as I am.”
Lady Fieldhaven pushed herself between the two to poke Geoffrey in the chest. “He’ll call you out first, sir.”
“Quiet now, Ivy,” Lord Fieldhaven said and drew his wife to stand at his side.
Geoffrey gave a mirthless laugh. “I would welcome that, Lady Fieldhaven, because it would give me the right to choose the weapons, and I would choose my fists. I daresay I could make quite the dent in your husband’s jaw.”
“You wouldn’t dare, sir.” She squared her shoulders. “Because then I would reveal your perfidy from here to Newcastle, and you would be forced to go before a jury of your peers to defend yourself.”
For some reason, that gave Geoffrey pause. Which made no sense to Diana. She refused to believe he would ever murder someone, especially not his father. The idea was ludicrous.
Sensing her moment of triumph, his aunt went on. “But I could be persuaded to hold my tongue as long as you made amends by marrying one of my daughters.”
Geoffrey’s face darkened dangerously. “I am not about to do any such thing, madam.” He gazed at the three young women, who were clearly mortified by the entire encounter. “Not that they aren’t lovely ladies, I’m sure.” He narrowed his gaze on their mother. “But I would slit my own throat before I would willingly accept you as a mother-in-law. So I suggest you leave now, before I have my footmen escort you and your family to your carriage.”
Her eyes went wide. “You leave me no choice but to spread the gossip concerning your father’s death far and wide.”
Foolish woman. Did she really think Geoffrey the Almighty would give up with one attack? Clearly she didn’t know him at all. Which only lent credence to his claims that she and her family had cut off his father because he had married Geoffrey’s mother.
“Fine. And you leave me no choice but to share with the world your attempt to blackmail me.” He leaned close. “How do you intend to get your daughters married when people hear that I rejected them as possible wives? That you had so little faith in their ability to attract husbands that you had to blackmail me into marrying one of them? A man you claim killed his own father?”
“You wouldn’t! Why . . . why, no one would believe you. You called them ‘lovely’ yourself.”