Lord of Scoundrels (Scoundrels #3)

On the afternoon following Madame Vraisses’ party, an unhappy Roland Vawtry paid Francis Beaumont two hundred pounds.

“I saw it myself,” Vawtry said, shaking his head. “From the window. Even so, I shouldn’t have believed it if everyone else hadn’t seen it as well. He went right out the door and chased her down the street. To scare her off, I suppose. Daresay she’s packing her bags this instant.”

“She was at the unveiling celebration last night,” Beaumont said, smiling. “Cool and collected and managing her swarm of panting admirers with smooth aplomb. When Miss Trent does decide to pack, it will be her trousseau. And the linens will be embellished with a D as in Dain.”

Vawtry bridled. “It isn’t at all like that. I know what happened. Dain doesn’t like interruptions. He doesn’t like uninvited guests. And when he doesn’t like something, he makes it go away. Or he smashes it. If she’d been a man, he would have smashed her. Since she wasn’t, he made her go away.”