Scandalous Scions One

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  “Why is it unsuitable?” Rhys asked curiously.

  “Because it is!” Elisa shot back.

  “Who is Susanna?” Vaughn asked, startled.

  “Actually, there is no legal reason to deny the match,” Rhys said. “There are no consanguinity issues.”

  “You’re Natasha’s brother,” Elisa said. “Does it not bother you in the slightest that Raymond…” She trailed off.

  “That I what, Mother?” Raymond asked curiously.

  “As we seem to be counting degrees of separation, I should point out that I am only Natasha’s half-brother,” Rhys said. “And I merely said there was no legal reason to prevent an association. Social and familial concerns are another matter and one that Anna and I have no say in.”

  “Yes, you do,” Vaughn said sharply. “Natasha is a blood relative, so there’s that. Friendship is another.”

  “I am a commoner. What I think is irrelevant,” Rhys said.

  “That is what the ton would say,” Elisa told him. “I would like to know what you think.”

  Rhys shrugged and took a mouthful of the brandy. “With all due respect, Elisa, I fail to see what your concern is. To begin, what exactly are we talking about here? Raymond may simply care for her as a friend. Perhaps even a close friend, yet that still requires no alarm. Even if we are speaking of a different sort of relationship, there is still nothing I can see that is objectionable about it. Would the ton really disapprove of a widow and a widower forming an alliance? Natasha is a countess, and the daughter of an earl, Raymond a marquess. Society can’t wag their heads over either of them reaching too high or falling low.”

  “Vaughn?” Elisa said, her heart thudding unhappily.

  “I am afraid, my sweet one, that I feel much as Rhys does on this.”

  “Raymond is your son,” Elisa said.

  “A courtesy title, only,” Vaughn reminded her. He picked up her hand and stroked the back of it. “What are you really objecting to, my lady?”

  Elisa knew that low voice of his. Vaughn was being reasonable and charming, because she was not. She squeezed her other hand into a fist. “Natasha is older than him.”

  “Not terribly much older,” Vaughn said. He smiled. “You are the last person who can afford to protest based on that, my love.”

  Elisa could feel her cheeks heating. “Raymond is my son and Natasha is my best friend,” she said hotly. “To think of them together is…is…it isn’t natural!”

  “Ah, and there is the nub of it,” Vaughn said softly.

  Elisa sighed. She dropped her gaze to her shoes. “I am being unreasonable,” she admitted.

  “It’s perfectly natural, under the circumstances,” Annalies said softly.

  “Besides, nothing may yet come of it…whatever it may be,” Rhys said. He looked over his shoulder to where Raymond was still sitting in the chair. “I don’t suppose you care to help us sort out exactly what your relationship is?”

  “Are you asking what my intentions are?” Raymond said, his tone curious.

  “I suppose, as Natasha’s oldest living relative, that is my right,” Rhys admitted. “Do I have reason to ask what your intentions are?”

  Raymond got to his feet. “Not yet,” he said softly.

  “That is a statement rife with innuendo,” Vaughn said. “You will not explain yourself, Raymond?”

  Raymond took the brandy glass from Vaughn’s hand and drained it, then handed it back. “No,” he said simply.

  Elisa let out a deep sigh. “I am afraid you might get hurt again, if this is allowed to continue,” she told him. “Both of you,” she added. “Natasha is not as strong as she pretends to be.”

  Raymond met her gaze. “Natasha will not be hurt by anything I do. I promise you that.”

  Vaughn was watching her closely. Elisa forced herself to smile at Raymond. “I will still worry. I know how cruel people can be.”

  * * * * *

  Natasha slept until nearly noon. When she woke, she found that Elisa had sent a message to Corcoran, who had sent Mulloy back with clothing and accessories for Natasha to use, as she could not come home in a ruined ball gown.

  Mulloy helped her dress and clucked her tongue when she saw the bruising around Natasha’s breast. “All I can say is the Duke must have a powerful hand to do that. Look, there are marks right down under your arm and all.”

  Natasha lifted her arm to look and winced. “Yes, right in the muscle there,” she admitted. “That is the only part that hurts anymore.” She took the camisole Mulloy held out. “Is there much fuss, downstairs, about what happened last night?”

  “Not that they’d say anything to me, my lady, but no, I can’t say there is any sort of fuss that I noticed on my way upstairs.”

  “Is everyone at home?” Natasha asked carefully. She couldn’t ask directly about Raymond.

  “Lady Farleigh is here, of course,” Mulloy said. “Oooh, is the corset going to dig in?”

  “The tender spot is above the corset,” Natasha told her. “The boning stopped him from getting his hand any lower, thank goodness.”

  “I suppose the men of the household have all gone about their business for the day,” Mulloy added. “Lady Lillian is upstairs with the children. I didn’t see anyone else. Paulson pushed me up the stairs straight away.”

  Natasha worried silently as she finished getting dressed. She would have to ask Elisa if anything else had happened and hope that Elisa would mention if Raymond had done anything ill-advised last night after she had been brought here.

  She made her way slowly downstairs, for she was unable to use her normal hand to hold the railing as she descended, as it hurt too much to grip the rail. She moved to the other side of the stairs and used her left hand. It felt odd and she moved down the stairs carefully.

  Paulson was waiting for her at the bottom. “Lady Elisa is writing letters in the library,” he told her. “I arranged for some of the soup from lunch to be kept warm for you. Shall I have it put on the dining table?”

  “Let me speak to Elisa first, thank you, Paulson. Would you see that Mulloy is taken back to my house, please?”

  “Of course, my lady.”

  Natasha went through to the library. Elisa was sitting at Vaughn’s desk, writing swiftly. She rose to her feet as soon as she saw Natasha and smiled as she came toward her. “You look none the worse,” she said, stopping in front of her. She was wearing a simple wrapper over her crinolines. That told Natasha that Elisa was not expecting company that afternoon, or intending to go out anywhere herself.

  “Thank you for letting me stay the night,” Natasha told her. “And for taking care of me.”

  Elisa’s smile warmed. “We must watch out for each other. Isn’t that what we agreed, years and years ago?”

  “It was,” Natasha replied.

  Elisa turned back to the desk. “Paulson has been fussing about making sure you eat something before you leave—”

  “Did Raymond challenge the Duke?” Natasha asked, the question pushing out of her. She had to know!

  Elisa paused, halfway back to the desk, then slowly turned to face her.

  “What is it?” Natasha said quickly, in response to the very strange look on Elisa’s face. “What did he do?”

  Elisa put her hands together. “Raymond did as you asked. He did nothing to the Duke.”

  Relief trickled through her. Natasha let out a breath she hadn’t been aware she was holding. Then she realized what Elisa had not said. “Did Raymond do…something else, instead?”

  Elisa hesitated and Natasha’s heart beat a little harder.

  “He said…” Elisa began. Then she frowned. “He implied that there was an association between the two of you.”

  Natasha’s breath whooshed out of her again. “He said that?” she said weakly.

  “He could hardly deny it,” Elisa said. “He hovered outside your room for hours. It took all four of us to convince him he should not go off half-cocked and do something the entire Great Famil
y would come to regret. The only argument that curbed him was that you would suffer if he did.” Elisa took a breath and simply looked at her.

  Natasha’s heart thudded wildly. “Oh…” she murmured, inadequately. “Elisa, I—”

  Elisa shook her head. “You do not have to explain anything,” she said quickly. “Raymond refused to. He made me promise not to tax you with questions, either.” She stepped closer and for the first time Natasha saw that she was paler than usual. “Promise me you will be careful, Natasha. Whatever is between the two of you, it could so easily be used against you. I would die, rather than see either of you hurt again.”

  Natasha took her hand and squeezed it. “Oh, Elisa, if I could explain any of this, I would, without you having to ask. Only, I am not entirely certain what is happening, either.” She squeezed her hand again. “I would not let Raymond suffer, not through anything I do.”

  Elisa let out a tiny sigh. “I know that,” she said. “I am pleased to hear you say it, though.” She gripped their combined hands with her free one. “Now I really think you should sit and eat, or Paulson will burst into tears. Come along.” She tugged Natasha into turning and following her back out to the dining room.

  Two places had been set for them and Paulson was pouring tea. He beamed approval as Natasha sat down at the place where the bowl of soup sat steaming. “Thank you, Pauson,” she told him.

  When he had withdrawn to his post by the door, Natasha picked up her spoon.

  Elisa was studying her, a little frown between her brows.

  Natasha lifted her brow.

  “I have just realized…” Elisa said. “Now I understand the dress, last night.” Then she leaned forward and put her hands over her face and shook her head. “My son!” she breathed into her hands. “Oh, this is going to be so strange!”

  Natasha put her spoon back down. “Does that not define our whole greater family, Elisa? None of us has ever conformed to normal standards.”

  Elisa put down her hands and laughed. “No, never,” she admitted and picked up her tea. “I suppose we can weather one more scandal. We’re so well practiced at it now.”

  Chapter Eight

  There really was no mistaking a Paris street for anything other than Paris, Will reflected, as he and Jack strolled down the Boulevard de Sébastopol around nine o’clock. It was their first evening in Paris and the city was as charming as Will remembered it. London streets could be picked up and placed inside any big city or town in Europe and not look out of place, while any street in Paris looked only like what it was; Une route à Paris.

  “There’s no need to look so smug,” Jack observed. “Peter will never forgive you for leaving him at the hotel.”

  “We can’t bring him to a club,” Will pointed out. “Mother would flay both of us and Peter, too, just because she would be so mad.”

  “She would not.”

  “You know very well she would,” Will said. “Peter will just have to stay mad at us, instead.”

  Jack fell silent for a few paces. They touched their hat brims as they passed a pair of French women, walking arm in arm. The women gave them sultry, speculative smiles and Will sighed. “Ah…Paris!”

  Jack nodded ahead. “I believe that is the club there, where the lantern is burning. You know, Will, we’re both men now. Isn’t it about time you stopped being scared of your mother? Elisa hasn’t so much as shouted at either of us for years.”

  “Only because she hasn’t found out about…well, lots of stuff,” Will said, with a sideways grin.

  “Like sneaking off from haymaking last August?”

  “Breaking the axle on the cab, in Cornwall.”

  “That was your fault,” Jack said.

  “You were driving,” Will pointed out. “I was…occupied.”

  “She had sharp elbows and jogged me.”

  Will laughed. “It might have been one of the horses with a broken leg, instead of the axel and we would never have got away with it the way we did. My point is, Mother has reasons to be mad. She just doesn’t know about them and I would rather it stay that way. If we brought Peter with us tonight, he would be so excited about stepping into a French club, he would burst if he couldn’t tell someone about it. You know the first person he would tell.”

  “Lilly,” Jack concluded grimly.

  “Precisely. Lilly isn’t exactly…fun, anymore.”

  Jack sighed. “Sometimes, girls do change like that. I just never expected it of Lilly.”

  “Here we are,” Will said as they reached the canopied section of the sidewalk. A butler-type person stood at the door, watching them as they examined the curtained windows and the discreet sign that announced this was Le Club Sapphic.

  Will moved toward the door. The butler didn’t shift from his position in front of it.

  “May we enter?” Will said politely, in French.

  “Oh, you don’t want to come in,” the butler said, with complete confidence.

  “I assure you, my friend, we most certainly do,” Will replied. “A friend of ours is in there and we need to speak to her. It is of vital importance. When we called at her apartment this afternoon, we were told she would be here, you see. We’ve actually come all the way from London to see her.”

  The butler considered Will. “Does your friend have a name?”

  “Lady Linnea Keadew.” Will was struck by sudden inspiration and added, “She may use the name Susanna. It’s a family name.”

  The butler laughed, his big frame shaking with mirth. He gripped his belly, his fingers digging in.

  Jack leaned close. “I only followed about half of that, Will. What did you say to him to make him do that?”

  “I have no earthly idea.”

  They both waited for the man to bring himself back under control. The butler wiped tears of mirth from his eyes and shook his head. “Linnea is here.”

  He took a step sideways as they both moved toward the door, blocking them completely. “You still don’t want to come in.”

  “I understood that,” Jack said firmly. He reached inside his coat and pulled out a bundle of Sterling notes. “I’ll wager he understands this, too.” He held them out to the butler and waved them a little, enticing him to reach for them.

  The butler tilted his head, studying Jack. Then he sighed and took the notes. “I warned you,” he said. “Don’t say I didn’t.” He opened the door and murmured to someone inside. Then he opened the door wider to let them through. “On the right. There is a parlor where you can wait. Linnea will see you there.”

  “That’s better,” Will said, as he and Jack moved through the door. They turned to the right and found themselves in a small room with an even smaller round table and two uncomfortable chairs. A sconce with one candle burning was the only light in the room.

  A small man pushed aside a curtain on the other side of the room and stepped under it. Over the man’s shoulder, Will saw a quite-normal looking club, with men drinking and playing cards, while women who did not deserve to be called ladies wandered the tables, flirting with them.

  The man shoved a hand in his pocket, looking from Jack to Will and back. “Is this some sort of prank?” he asked, his voice light and melodious. “I don’t know either of you.”

  Will’s mouth dropped open.

  Jack sucked in a shocked breath.

  The man was Linnea Donaldson. From her neatly shorn head to her natty white bowtie, waistcoat and tails, to her highly polished boots, she was every inch the debonair man about town.

  She backed up a step, her face working with fury. “Who sent you?” she demanded. “Whoever it was, tell them I stayed away. I’m abiding by the agreement.” She turned.

  “No, no, don’t go!” Will said urgently. “We’re not here because of your family. We’re here about Raymond Devlin!”

  She turned on one heel and cocked her head. “Raymond Devlin?” she repeated, sounding shocked.

  “You know him, yes?” Jack asked.

  “Of course I knew hi
m.” She snorted with disdain and it was eerily just as a man would do it. “He used to pull my sashes undone and run away. I would chase him and punch him in the face.” Again, the disdainful look down her nose. “He was such a slow runner.” She looked at them, her eyes narrowing. “Why do you want to speak to me about Raymond? I haven’t seen in him in years.”

  “Well, you see—” Jack began.

  Will nudged him.

  Jack swallowed his words.

  “Raymond’s birthday is next month,” Will said. “We have been chatting with all his friends from long ago, to see if they could attend a party we’re giving, as a surprise for Raymond. However, given your current…circumstances, I doubt you will be interested.”

  “I have no intention of ever setting foot in England again.” Linnea pushed her other hand into her trousers. “How did you find me?”

  “Your family’s secretary returned a letter I sent to you and gave me your Paris address,” Will told her. Over her shoulder, the curtain she had walked through was not quite properly drawn. Through the chink he could see that the club was not as normal as he had first thought. Most of the men sitting at the tables were not men.

  Linnea frowned. “Freddy is a complete fool,” she muttered, then squared her shoulders, under the broadcloth jacket. “One more leak to plug, I suppose.” She gave them a stiff smile. “I’m sorry your journey to Paris was wasted, gentlemen.”

  Another “man” burst through the curtains. “Linden! Hurry up old chap. The game is growing cold.” She put her arm on Linnea’s shoulder and leaned on her, blinking drunkenly.

  “I’m coming,” Linnea murmured.

  “Just one more question, please,” Will said quickly.

  She looked back.

  “Did Raymond call you Susanna?”

  “Susanna?” the other “man” repeated and laughed, then hiccupped.

  “For Susan,” Jack added. “You know, a pet name.”

  Linnea shook her head in disbelief. “If he had I would have broken his nose, not just bloodied it.” She pushed her drunk companion through the curtain, then turned and closed it firmly behind them.