Prelude to a Scandal by Delilah Marvelle Page A

side of that rugged profile appeared and disappeared as his brother danced and moved among those around him. A young, attractive redhead draped in a mauve evening gown danced seamlessly alongside Carlton, pairing up with him whenever she could.
    Radcliff tugged on the cuffs of his sleeves beneath his cloak and coat. It had been quite some time since he’d last seen the man. Almost eight months.
    Watching Carlton engage in jovial festivities whilst Matilda suffered disgusted him. All he could do was quietly wait for the dance to end. The last thing he wanted was to cause an uproar on his own wedding night. A night which should have been spent in Justine’s bed.
    As he waited, watching the growing flirtation between Carlton and this red-haired beauty, he angrily flexed his gloved hands, opening and closing them. God save him from killing his own brother.
    The orchestra finally ceased playing the set.
    Carlton bent his dark head toward his coquette. She offered him a radiant curtsy with a saucy smile, then turned and sashayed toward a group of randy men who all broke out into competing raptures.
    Carlton stared after the woman, then turned and strode closer, until their gazes locked.
    Radcliff stiffened, the tension in his body coiling. Despite the mounting strain of anger within him, he managed to incline his head in a polite form of salutation.
    His brother came to an abrupt halt and stared with piercing blue eyes no one in the Bradford family had ever borne. It was the only physical characteristic that separated their otherwise similar appearance. Aside from his scar, of course.
    Carlton inclined his dark head.
    Radcliff swept a gloved hand toward the direction of the doors leading out into the garden, but otherwise said nothing. His brother nodded, turned and set off in the direction he’d indicated.
    Radcliff wove through the people around him, following Carlton to the other side of the room. He ignored the passing faces of those who openly gawked at him in response to not only his inappropriate attire but his scar, which had not been introduced to London until tonight. It was but the beginning of what he could expect for the rest of his days.
    Carlton disappeared through the doors leading out onto the darkened terrace, and within moments, Radcliff joined him.
    The light breeze of the summer night cooled his heated skin as he stepped out. Carlton walked farther into the garden, disappearing down the stone path into the darkness, away from the festivities.
    Radcliff moved down the narrow, stone terrace stairs and strode across the garden path after him. He paused when a tall shadow appeared before him barely a few feet away.
    Radcliff steadied his breathing, readying himself for the confrontation he’d been waiting for all night, and closed the distance between them in three swift strides.
    Despite the darkness, he managed to grab hold of the lapels of Carlton’s evening coat and yanked his brother’s broad frame violently toward himself. “Have you seen Matilda? Have you seen what you bloody did to her?”
    Carlton stiffened but otherwise did not attempt to move. “Has that whore run to you again?” he replied in an overly composed tone.
    Radcliff released Carlton’s clothing and seized his throat with a hand, digging every single tip of his gloved fingers deep into that windpipe. He willed himself not to squeeze and suffocate his own brother. “You could have killed her. And the child.”
    Carlton lifted his chin to expand his throat but otherwise did not struggle. “You are overreacting. She is fine.”
    Radcliff leaned in closer. “She is not fine. And rest assured, I haven’t even reacted, you fucking bastard.”
    Carlton grabbed hold of Radcliff’s hand, which still held his throat, and ripped it away in a solid forceful sweep. Carlton rigidly pointed at him and seethed out in a low, predatory tone, “Don’t call me that. Don’t ever call me that.”
    Ah, yes. It appeared, seventeen years after the