Making of a Scandal (The Gentleman Courtesans Book 3)

by Victoria Vale

  The murmur of the vicar’s droning voice echoed through the doors at him, swelling ominously as Nick yanked one open and dashed inside. The pews were packed from front to back, with what seemed like the entire ton in attendance for what had already been hailed the most anticipated wedding of the year.

  Nick dashed down the aisle, aware of the swiveling heads, slackened mouths, and wide eyes, murmurs of confusion drowning out the solemn words of the clergyman. But he could spare no thought for them as his gaze fell on Calliope and held. He halted halfway to the altar, sucking in great gulps of much-needed air as she and Lewes went still, trading confused looks as they realized something was amiss. The vicar had gone silent, eyes bulging as he stared at Nick over the rims of half-moon spectacles. One could have heard a pin drop as the entire assembly went silent, the sound of his harsh breathing the only thing that could be heard as Calliope slowly turned, her bouquet falling to the floor as their gazes met.

  He nearly lost his hold on good sense as she faced him, looking every bit the goddess in her wedding gown, the colorful drape of the fabric at her shoulder, and the glitter of her jewels. Breathing became difficult again for an entirely different reason than his mad dash into the church. He wanted to charge up the aisle and lift her off her feet, carry her out of this place and never look back.

  Nick faintly made notice of Lewes, who stood beside her looking at him in slack-jawed shock, his face reddening to the roots of his hair as that shock transformed into rage. But, Nick ignored the inconsequential presence of the groom who wouldn’t be one much longer if he had his way.

  “Calliope,” he called out, finally finding his voice.

  Even from where he stood, Nick could see the play of emotions over her face—confusion, shock, terror. But then … something else; something that gave him the strength to take another step and then another. It was a reflection of the same hope that had brought him here, that drove him to force words past his lips.

  “I almost made the biggest mistake of my life today. You see, I had convinced myself that I had lost you, that you were out of my reach. But, I’ve come to my senses.”

  “Oh, thank God,” a voice murmured from Calliope’s left—her sister, Diana.

  “Dominick,” Calliope whispered, so low he almost didn’t hear her. “What are you doing?”

  He swallowed, opening his mouth to continue when he was interrupted by Lewes.

  “Making a fool of himself, that’s what. Mr. Burke, you have already been rebuffed once. Must you compound the embarrassment of yourself as well as my fiancée with this ungentlemanly display?”

  Nick’s hands curled into fists, and he’d nearly decided that he had waited long enough to knock Lewes’s teeth down his throat, when Calliope held up one hand.

  “Let him speak.”

  Gasps and whispers rippled through the congregation all at once, the noisy din nearly drowning out Lewes’s growl of outrage.

  “Calliope!”

  She ignored her groom and looked to Nick, eyebrows drawn together, hands clenched in her skirts. Giving him a slow nod, she waited for him to go on.

  The attention was back on him now, and he could feel their glee, their scandalized excitement at such entertainment. Viscount Barrington had come to his feet, though he was watching his daughter rather than him, seeming to wonder—just like everyone else—what she intended to do about this.

  “I know that you are afraid. I am nothing like the man you once imagined yourself marrying or loving. I am not the best of men, and I may not even be a good one, but you have made me want to be. No one has ever inspired me as you have or made me believe that I could be redeemed. That is what you have done to me. You’ve made me believe in the impossible—so why should I not believe that despite the odds, or all the evidence to the contrary, you and I belong together?”

  “That’s enough,” Lewes barked, taking hold of Calliope’s arm. “You’ve said your piece, and now you will leave.”

  Calliope remained frozen in place, even as Lewes tried to turn her away, even as the eyes of the ton rested on her—waiting for her to either cut him in front of them all, or further stun them by capitulating.

  “No,” Nick declared, taking another step and another, Calliope’s stare drawing him in. “No, I won’t leave until you tell me to. Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t love me, that you cannot find it in yourself to forgive me for not being a better man in anticipation of someday finding you, or for the horrible things I said the last time I saw you. I meant none of it, and I’d never hurt you that way again. Please, I’m begging you!”

  A heavy hand clapped on his shoulder and he was pushed backward. He turned to find that Lewes’s younger brother had left his pew. Though larger than his brother, he was not as intimidating as he assumed as he gave Nick another shove

  “You heard my brother. Leave this place, or I’ll—”

  “Lay a hand on him again, and I will break that hand,” growled a voice from Nick’s back.

  It was Benedict, who had just arrived and now came to stand beside him. His eyes were like glaciers as he stared the younger Lewes brother down. The other man gulped, shaking from head to toe as he shrank back into his pew.

  Benedict stepped back then, shoulders squared and expression menacing enough to keep anyone else from approaching. Nick turned back to Calliope, his head spinning and his heart in this throat … and waited for her to seal his fate.

  “Dominick.”

  It was the only word she could manage—the first one that had come to mind as she’d grappled for something to say, anything that would convey how she felt. She wanted him to know how relieved she was to see him, how hopeless she had felt thinking she’d lost him for good, how joy overflowed in her as she realized he could still be hers. But, only if she were bold enough and brave enough to reach out and take him.

  As it turned out, it had been the right thing to say, for in the sound of his name on her lips he seemed to hear it all. He smiled, his eyes glistening like spring leaves coated in morning dew.

  “I love you,” he said, his words sending another wave of awed murmurs through those seated in the pews. “God knows I’ve tried to stop, but it cannot be helped. I love you with every fiber of my being, with every breath, every beat of my heart. Please, my Anni … come with me. Marry me. Love me.”

  She released her next breath on a sob, her vision momentarily blinded by tears. They cleared when she blinked, rolling down her cheeks. All around him sat the people who would judge her and whisper behind her back. In time they might forget about this day, as new scandals came to light and overshadowed her own. They would accept her among them again, though she’d always be the runaway bride who had left one man at the altar for another.

  But, as they all faded away in the face of Nick, extending one hand as if acting on faith that she would come to him, she couldn’t help but laugh. The sound startled Martin, who was still holding her arm, watching this exchange with fury and disbelief all over his face. Confusion mingled with the almost festive air in the church as they all watched her giggle, then break out into full, belly-quivering laughter.

  Among these people were the men who had offered to make her their mistress, because they hadn’t thought her good enough to wed. Beside them sat the women who had turned their noses up at her, making veiled remarks about the dark exoticism of her looks, her parents, the land of her birth. She could hear the names they would call her: heathen, wanton.

  It stunned her to realize that for the first time in her life she didn’t give a bloody damn.

  These people had never really liked or accepted her, aside from the patronesses of the home, her sister, and a handful of others—and she was reasonably confident they would continue to do so. It had to be enough. What was there to fear other than the trivial things she now realized didn’t matter? She’d almost lost her chance … she wouldn’t make that mistake again.

  “Yes,” she called out, taking a step toward him.

  Nick’s smile
could rival the sun with its brilliance, and he let out a surprised huff, hands coming into his hair and pulling as if to assure himself this was really happening.

  Another step, and she was brought up short, Martin’s hand tightening painfully around her arm. She’d forgotten him just that quickly, but he was a very real, furious presence, one that refused to relinquish her.

  “What the devil do you think you are doing? In case you have forgotten, you chose me, you are promised to me, and I will not stand here and be embarrassed this way!”

  “I am sorry Martin,” she whispered, prying his fingers off her arm and backing away. “But the fact that you are more concerned with how this makes you look, as opposed to losing the woman you were going to marry, should be enough for you to realize we nearly made a horrible mistake. I cannot marry you … I’m so sorry.”

  She whirled away from him before he could react, the length of her sari draped over one arm and her skirts held in her opposite hand as she closed the distance between herself and Nick. Bottoms left pews and necks craned, and it seemed no one wanted to miss a thing as she dashed away from her groom and into the arms of the most scandalous rake in London—who had just cemented his reputation by publicly pilfering someone else’s bride.

  His hand was in hers and then he was pulling her alongside him, dashing down the aisle amid raised voices and the shuffle of bodies rising from pews as everyone followed their progress. Calliope heard the voices of her father and her sister, mingling with those of Lewes and his family—bickering and shouting, some in her defense, some casting aspersions. But, she forgot them all when she looked to Nick, who stared back at her as they cleared the doors and stepped out onto the portico.

  They stumbled to a stop, laughing and panting for breath—his face a mirror image of her own shock over what they’d just done. The shift between them happened at once, smiles fading and laughter quieting as she took both his hands in hers.

  “I love you,” she declared, a wide, unrestrained smile stretching her lips as she finally allowed the words free of her throat. “I love you, Nick, and I’m so sorry … I should never have put you through this, but I was so afraid—”

  He tugged her hands, jerking her against him and kissing her soundly. She clung to him, weak from the overwhelming power of his mouth on hers, pressing, probing, ravenous. He kissed her as if he’d been starving for her all this time, as if he’d thought he would never have another chance to touch his mouth to hers.

  Then, he took his face in her hands and held her away from him, staring down at her as if beholding the most wondrous sight in the world.

  “I don’t care. I was afraid, too … afraid I wouldn’t be good enough, that you would never come to love me. But, if you can love me despite who I was or what I’ve done, then nothing else matters.”

  “No,” she agreed, wrapping her arms around his waist and leaning into him, craving closeness and oneness with him after so much time apart. “None of it matters. I don’t care who came before me, because now you’re mine. Thank you for giving me one last chance to make the right choice. It never felt right, but I thought I’d lost you for good.”

  “Never. I am yours, completely and forever.”

  “Burke!”

  Martin’s voice snapped through the air like the lash of a whip, and Dominick released her, turning just in time to meet the fist flying at his face.

  Calliope cried out as he reeled backward, falling into the nearest column and pressing a hand against his jaw. A flurry of motion announced the arrival of those pouring out of the cathedral—her father, her sister and Hastings, Mr. Sterling, Martin’s family. All stood by, open-mouthed as Lewes charged Dominick like an enraged bull, fist raised to strike again. Nick straightened, licking at his bloodied lip and stepping forward to meet him. Mr. Sterling appeared between them, shouldering Nick aside and holding a hand up to push against Martin’s chest.

  “That’s enough,” he barked. “Get a hold of yourself, Lewes.”

  “Like hell I will,” Martin seethed, face flushed as he pointed an accusing finger at Nick. “This man has offered me insult, and I will have satisfaction. Name your second, Burke.”

  Calliope’s throat constricted, and she clutched Diana’s arm as the gravity of Martin’s challenge weighed upon her. “No! Martin, please … this was my fault, not his. Please, don’t—”

  “Ben?” Nick asked, ignoring her protests and turning to his friend.

  Mr. Sterling grimaced, but gave a jerky nod. “Of course.”

  Diana wrapped her arms around Calliope’s waist to hold her back, as she tried to insert herself between them and put a stop to a duel that could end with one of them being hurt or killed.

  “Nick, don’t!”

  “Weapons?” Martin challenged.

  “Pistols,” Nick replied without breaking the other man’s gaze. “Putney Heath, midnight?”

  “Done.”

  With that, Martin turned to stride away, his brother and parents on his heels. Diana released her then, and Calliope flew at Dominick, clutching at his lapels and rattling him until he finally seemed to remember her presence.

  “What could you be thinking? Nick, he could kill you!”

  “It has to be done,” he replied, taking hold of her arms and gently chafing them with both hands. “It is a matter of honor, and Lewes risks looking like a fool if he doesn’t seek restitution of some kind. It will be all right.”

  “How can it be all right after I’ve left a man at the altar for one who might be dead come morning?”

  “Miss Barrington, you shouldn’t worry,” Mr. Sterling offered. “Nick is better with a pistol than any man I know. Besides, few duels end in death. First blood ought to be enough to satisfy Lewes.”

  Calliope closed her eyes and swallowed against the urge to vomit at the thought of Nick returning from Putney Heath covered in his own blood, his eyes open and lifeless. Nick drew her against his side and led her away from the cathedral. A carriage stood at the ready—one she did not recognize. But as Nick and his friend exchanged words, she realized it must belong to Mr. Sterling. He lifted her into it, then followed. Apparently, it had been decided they should have the conveyance to themselves, for the door was promptly shut, and with a knock of Nick’s fist against the ceiling they were off.

  Calliope sat across from him, mind racing as she tried to make sense of what was happening—what she had caused with her decisions.

  “Come here, goddess.”

  He hauled her across the carriage and settled her in his lap, tangling them both in her billowing skirts. He cupped her face and kissed her, quieting her soft sounds of protest with tender lips. He stroked his thumbs beneath her eyes to dry the remnants of her tears and smiled.

  “You are not permitted to regret this. Do you understand? You were so brave, and did what you felt was right. Now, you will put your trust in me. I will make this right so we can go on to live our lives. Can you do that? Can you trust me to come back to you?”

  She nodded, swallowing a helpless sob. She couldn’t stand to finally have her heart’s desire, only to lose him to reckless violence. But, the surety in his voice, the steady touch of his hands, and the resolve in his eyes were enough to calm her for now.

  “Yes. Yes, I trust you.”

  “Good.”

  He kissed the tip of her nose, then settled her head in the crook of his neck. She clung to him, closed her eyes, and prayed.

  Chapter 16

  “Rumor has it that a most ungentlemanly display of violence occurred outside of St. George’s once the flighty, runaway Miss C. ran off on the arm of Mr. B. Though, one can hardly blame the groom for being put out that his wedding was not to go on as planned. It is said that the drawing of Mr. B’s blood by way of a spectacular right hook wasn’t nearly enough, and a challenge was extended. However, when authorities arrived at the dueling field at dawn, it was to find that the confrontation had already occurred hours before. Who lay dead by the end? Well, dear reader, I shall tell yo
u …”

  The London Gossip, November 21, 1819

  Calliope paced the length of the drawing room at Hastings House, wringing her hands as she counted the seconds. Too many of them had passed since Nick had departed with a pair of dueling pistols and the group of friends she had been introduced to in quick succession—his fellow gentleman courtesans. While Mr. Sterling—Benedict, he had asked her to call him—would act as his second, the other men wouldn’t hear of being left behind. A surgeon had also been enlisted, being paid a tidy sum to attend the wounded and keep his silence about the illegal duel.

  The sun had set hours ago, but Calliope hadn’t even bothered changing out of her wedding gown, too agitated to think of such matters. Her father and Diana had tried to convince her to eat and rest after such a taxing day, but she’d ignored them both and spent the afternoon trying to convince herself that her trust in Nick had not been misplaced. She’d nearly succeeded in calming herself, and had even managed to pass a few hours reading.

  Her composure had begun to slip the moment Nick returned from his flat with the dueling pistols. Glancing at the clock, she saw that it was well past one o’clock. Surely an hour was more than enough time for two men to try to murder one another. Fortunately, the sky was clear tonight, leaving a full moon to illuminate the dueling field. She wasn’t certain whether it was a good thing for the combatants to be able to see one another.

  “Anni,” her father called out from where he sat near the hearth. “Come sit down, my dear. You’ll wear a hole in the rug at this rate.”

  She whirled to face him. “How can you make jokes at a time like this?”

  “When you reach my age, you will have learned not to worry unless you have to.”

  Pulling her sari closer around her body, she used it as a shawl to ward off the chill that had settled in her bones. “And the prospect of losing Nick isn’t enough for me to worry?”

  He patted the empty space on the sofa beside him, and she joined him, sighing as his arm came around her shoulders.