A Most Scandalous Engagement

by Gayle Callen

  Surprised that he’d reveal something so personal to her, Mary Anne said, “You must have been displeased. Surely you thought you were the perfect candidate for a duke’s daughter.”

  He laughed without amusement. “I must have thought so, because I allowed my pride to become involved.”

  “And that’s why you were spying on them?”

  “Apparently I had to see them in a private moment, to decide for myself what I thought about them as a couple. After all, when a woman can have me, and she chooses a commoner . . .” He grinned and spread his hands.

  “You’re a catch, my lord.” She couldn’t believe she was speaking so freely to a man. It was frightening, but freeing, too.

  His eyes widened, and she thought perhaps there weren’t many women who spoke openly to him. Even Elizabeth, she realized.

  “I’ve bared my soul,” Lord Thomas said. “Now it’s your turn. Why were you watching them?”

  She hesitated. “They were arguing, though I couldn’t hear what they were saying. I want my brother to be happy.”

  “Because it dawned on you, too, that her choosing to marry someone so much lower in the ton is unusual.” He looked around, as if making sure no one was nearby. “Are they happy?”

  “I can only speak for my brother, but yes, he is.”

  Thomas nodded thoughtfully.

  And then they were approached by a group of young ladies who had seen Lord Thomas at the piano earlier. They demanded a song, and Mary Anne left him to his admirers. When he finally did sing, in a deep baritone that was just as smooth and intriguing as his speaking voice, Mary Anne found herself watching Elizabeth’s very impassive expression.

  And then she saw Peter watching Elizabeth, too.

  To Peter’s relief, when he entered his club that night, Lord Thurlow was in attendance.

  He sat down opposite the viscount, who folded his newspaper and smiled at him. “Good evening, Derby.”

  Over the last months Peter had learned to trust Thurlow’s opinion on anything, and although that usually involved the railways, tonight he had a different agenda.

  “Good evening, Thurlow.”

  “Surely you’re not trying to have some peace from your fiancée already?”

  “No, I just left her,” Peter said, knowing the viscount spoke lightly, but unable to match his tone. “Would you mind answering a question for me?”

  “If I can.”

  Peter lowered his voice, although there were card games at several tables, and drinks flowing freely. He didn’t imagine anyone cared to overhear them. “Do you know Lord Thomas Wythorne?”

  “I do, although not well. More by reputation.”

  “And that’s just what I’m looking for. I know that he’s arrogant, and he comes from a well-respected, wealthy, and powerful family.”

  “All of that, yes.”

  “But is there more?”

  Thurlow studied him for a time.

  His hesitation made Peter say, “I know he asked Lady Elizabeth to marry him, and she refused.”

  “I wasn’t certain if you knew,” Thurlow said. “He did not advertise it.”

  “I’m not surprised. Rejection hurts even the mighty.” He thought about Elizabeth talking to Lord Thomas—the stiff, formal way she held herself. Had she been . . . frightened? He couldn’t stop wondering if Lord Thomas had now latched on to Mary Anne. “But what about him as a man?”

  “Honest in his dealings, from everything I’ve heard. But he doesn’t do much business. Leaves that to his eldest brother, who’ll inherit the dukedom someday. But he enjoys wagering.”

  “You mean like horses or cards?”

  “Besides those, the books are full of the most outlandish reasons to place bets, like who would be the next mistress taken by a newly titled nobleman, or if someone’s by-blow would ever be recognized.” Thurlow crossed his arms over his broad chest and frowned. “I find such a display vulgar and uncalled for. And scandalous for his family, although they seem to indulge him as if he were naughty child.”

  Peter grimaced. “How does he act when he loses?”

  “He never does. But he’s an arrogant son of a bitch. That kind hates to lose the most.”

  What was such a man still doing at Madingley House? Watching what he set in motion after being rejected?

  Peter felt a chill of sudden recognition, of disbelief. He thought about Elizabeth being forced to save herself with something drastic, risking her reputation on a false engagement. What—or who—could have frightened her so badly?

  As if the answer to a prayer, Peter spotted Dekker, a nightly regular, staggering into the saloon, catching a waiter on the way to a table for another order. He well remembered Dekker and his friends laughing over Elizabeth. Peter had been so focused on the affront to Elizabeth that he hadn’t considered the rest of Dekker’s story.

  “Thank you, Thurlow,” he said, getting to his feet.

  “You’re looking rather dangerous, Derby,” Thurlow said mildly. “Think through whatever you’re going to do.”

  “I’ve been thinking far too long. It’s time for action.”

  He knew he was on the right track when he approached Dekker and the man’s drunken grin faltered.

  Dekker recovered, saying, “Derby!” cheerfully.

  Peter acknowledged the man, straddling a chair as he sat to face him.

  Dekker hesitated. “Seton will bring over another chair.”

  Peter looked over his shoulder at the approaching man. “When we’re done.”

  Seton pulled up short, looked from one man to the other, pivoted and walked away.

  Dekker gave another hardy grin. “Heard you’re getting married. To the catch of the Season. The catch of many Seasons,” he added glibly. “I never courted her m’self.”

  “No, you told me you simply thought to get her alone.”

  Dekker’s grin faded. “So I wanted to steal a kiss. You can’t blame a man. There were many couples on the terrace.”

  “If you want me to forget the slight against my fiancée, tell me the name of the man who took her away from you.”

  Dekker brightened. “That’s easy. Wythorne. Seemed proprietary, too. Not that the lady looked happy to see him.”

  “Thank you.” Peter got to his feet, brushed by Seton, and headed for the door.

  * * *

  The next morning, Peter went to Madingley House as early as was decent. To his surprise, when he asked to see Elizabeth, the butler led him to the billiard room. He found her trying to line up a shot, holding the cue incorrectly, bent over the table, her skirts flaring high over the small bustle. Peter swallowed hard as he thought of what they could do together on that table. She looked up and saw him. The butler discreetly left, and he entered the room, shutting the door behind him.

  Elizabeth straightened, wide-eyed. “You shouldn’t shut the door.”

  “Since my ring is on your finger, who will care?”

  “Besides me?”

  “We need to speak privately.” But suddenly, he wasn’t in a hurry to confront her with all he suspected. He walked forward slowly. “You’re learning to play billiards?”

  “I thought it might help me earn Mary Anne’s friendship.”

  “Still paying me back for being your fiancé?”

  She stiffened. “Are you implying that I’m simply tolerating her?”

  Before he could even respond, her impassive expression became stricken.

  “Oh Peter, forgive me. I don’t mean to argue. I’m so confused. I never thought this would become so complicated.”

  “And it all started because of Lord Thomas Wythorne.”

  Her face whitened and she slowly set the cue on the table. “What do you mean?”

  “Watching you with him, I suspected he might be more involved than I’d thought. And then I found out you’d rejected his proposal, and I imagine he’s not the sort of man to take that lightly.”

  She sagged back against the billiard table, looking at the carpeted
floor. “He’s not,” she said softly.

  Peter cupped her face, lifting it to meet her eyes. “He threatened you?”

  She pulled away from him and walked toward the windows. He followed.

  “Peter, leave this alone,” she said, parting the draperies and looking outside.

  He yanked the fabric from her hand and spun her to face him, keeping his hands on her shoulders. She gaped up at him.

  “Leave it alone?” he demanded. “How could you not tell me?”

  “And have you challenge him on behalf of my brother? What good would that have done other than to see you hurt?”

  “I’d have been challenging him on behalf of you!” he said angrily.

  “Peter, listen to yourself! I knew you’d try to protect me, but I couldn’t have it. I had to solve my own problems.”

  “What did he threaten you with? Ruination? Disgrace?”

  She sighed. “Marriage.”

  He blinked at her in surprise.

  “He still wanted to marry me, to join our families together. It was for prestige alone. He doesn’t love me. He simply wants what was denied him.”

  He gave her a little shake. “You know I wouldn’t have done anything you didn’t want me to. Yet you didn’t trust me.”

  “I was so embarrassed,” she whispered, closing her eyes. “You kept calling me reckless over that painting, and I was so angry about that foolish wager, and— Oh, but that’s not the main problem. I didn’t want to believe I’d regressed so badly, but now I have no choice, do I?”

  “You’ve made mistakes; we all do.” And he was no different than she, was even beginning to realize that he’d been too lenient on himself, writing off his mistakes as simple misjudgments. His dreams were trying to show him what he didn’t want to face. “You can’t blame yourself for Wythorne’s manipulations. What did he threaten you with?”

  “Someone told him about the painting. He said he’d make sure no one else heard, that I’d be protected if I married him.”

  “So someone else knows? Dekker?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know. So far, no one has been obvious about it. Thomas said he’d keep the man in line, because he was certain I would soon be his wife. When he wouldn’t see reason about the marriage, I panicked and told him I was already engaged. He didn’t believe me, but he decided to wait me out, as if we played a game.” She winced. “After he left, I wracked my brain for the solution to the mess I’d created for myself that began with that damned painting. And then I thought of you, and knew I had something to offer in exchange for your help. And now I’ve hurt you with my thoughtlessness—I’m no better than Thomas.”

  He stared at her. “What are you talking about?”

  “Don’t you see?” She leaned into him, hands pressed urgently to his chest. “I am just like Thomas. I’ve always gotten everything I ever wanted—just like him. And when I didn’t—I reacted.”

  He covered her hands where they rested on his chest. “Elizabeth, don’t do this to yourself.”

  “But it’s the truth! When Thomas didn’t get what he wanted, he resorted to threats and intimidation. My response to my problems was a fake engagement, not caring who was hurt, as long as I could have what I wanted—a triumph over Thomas, and the notice of one particular man.”

  “You were desperate, Elizabeth.”

  “And I used you! I’m doing it over and over again. How do I make it better, Peter?”

  He stared at her, holding back his protests, wishing he could tell her he wanted a real engagement. But one hint of that the previous night had frightened her, and now all she could think about was how she’d failed herself and him. They needed a fresh start, without all the deceit between them. He prayed that he could win her in the end.

  He stepped back, and her hands dropped away from him. “The only thing we can do is begin ending this false engagement, as we’d planned all along.”

  Relief mingled with pain in her eyes. But was she relieved about all the lies coming to an end—or relieved that she would no longer be linked to him? He didn’t want to believe the latter, not after their closeness, not after the intimacies she’d so willingly succumbed to.

  “We’ll show more strain in public,” he continued. “Certainly we already did that at the opera. I won’t visit you as often.”

  “Oh,” she said, her brow furrowed.

  But she didn’t say anything else, didn’t beg him to visit her.

  She sank down onto a chair by the window. “You know what I realized about myself, Peter?”

  He sat beside her.

  “That I have been so safe and protected all my life.”

  “And that is a bad thing?”

  “But when confronted with Thomas, I thought I was standing up for myself, solving my own problems. And what did I do?” she asked bitterly. “I fell back on needing to be safe, this time with an engagement, using you to protect me.”

  “That’s because you know I’ll always protect you, Elizabeth.”

  “But I have to do it myself, Peter, don’t you understand?” she asked beseechingly. “I think . . . I think I’ll have to tell my brother the truth about the painting, so it can no longer be used against me.”

  “That might be too hasty a decision. Give it thought.”

  “I will. I have time. But I’m in charge—do you understand?”

  He raised both hands. “Completely.”

  And then he simply looked at her.

  “What?” she finally demanded with exasperation.

  “You’re in charge. So tell me what we should do.”

  She thought for a moment, fingers tapping on the armrest. “I think you should storm out of here and slam the door.”

  “And what did we argue about?” he asked mildly. “It’s not as if anyone has ever heard us argue before.”

  “Have we done anything new that might come between us?”

  “Kissing.”

  They shared a momentary stillness, a sensual memory.

  She shook her head. “We can’t argue about that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Too . . . intimate.” She didn’t meet his eyes.

  “Or because you like it too much. Remember, you did say you would use everything I taught you on William.”

  She shook her head. “No, no, I had already changed my mind. I could not possibly . . . I could never . . .”

  Do what they’d shared, with someone else? His hopes that he could win her lifted a bit. If she didn’t want to kiss William—

  “Perhaps I should let William realize he wants to kiss me,” she said tentatively, watching him closely.

  Peter could swear he felt his jaw crack, he clenched it so hard.

  “What about . . . money?” she asked. “As an argument, I mean.”

  “That would be believable between a commoner and a duke’s daughter.”

  “Good. This is the perfect thing to come between us.” She sounded more confident.

  “But you know it never would,” he said sincerely.

  “I know.” Then she looked away.

  Using the armrests, Peter pushed himself to his feet. He crossed the room, opened the door and looked both ways. Although he didn’t see anyone, he knew the immense entrance hall would carry sound far through the house.

  Standing the near the door, he said loudly, “We’ll discuss this when your brother returns.”

  Elizabeth hurried to join him. “It’s not up to you!” she cried, then covered her mouth, eyes wide.

  “We’ll see about that.” With a bow and a secret smile, he marched out the door and slammed it behind him.

  It wasn’t difficult to stride down through the house and toward the front door while wearing a scowl. Their false engagement was over—could he bring about the real thing? More than one servant passed by him, trying not to stare. To his satisfaction, he saw Abigail, the young duchess, come out of the library, and he didn’t bother to talk with her. It wasn’t until he was out the front door that he let s
ome of the tension leave his shoulders.

  A break from him was what Elizabeth thought she wanted—a way to stop using him.

  He needed to prove her wrong.

  Chapter 20

  Elizabeth thought she should have been able to sleep that night. She was righting a terrible wrong, freeing Peter from her manipulations and lies. Once she told Christopher the truth—even though she’d lose his respect forever—together they would find a way to deal with Thomas.

  But ending her engagement had to come first. Their performance in that first “argument” had been so convincing that even Abigail inquired about what was wrong. Stoically claiming a misunderstanding, she had fled to her room.

  But her room didn’t provide any solace. She could see Peter everywhere, going through her things, testing her bathwater—kissing her. Sweet kisses mixed with the hot.

  Had he truly wanted their engagement to be real? Then why did he suggest ending it as they’d planned? Perhaps he’d changed his mind and wanted their relationship finished so he could return to his rakish ways. Perhaps he was bored with her innocence. Though doubts continued to assail her, she couldn’t believe that of him. No, it still came back to the secrets he hid from her, perhaps having to do with that bullet hole in his arm.

  She’d mentioned getting William to kiss her, just to observe Peter’s reaction. She’d thought she saw a spark of anger, but it was gone so quickly she couldn’t be certain.

  Perhaps she was feeling so confused because she didn’t want their engagement to end. Could she be . . . falling in love with Peter?

  She was a fool. She’d used him in a terrible way. It was amazing he could even forgive her. Yet he’d introduced her to the art of intimacy.

  Then again, he was a man—perhaps he would enjoy doing that for any woman. After all, she was not the only woman to benefit from Peter’s intimate focus—and that made her jealous and uncertain. She didn’t like some of the ways she’d changed. At the full-length mirror, she stared at herself in dismay, face flushed, her eyes too bright with memories. Her nightdress was so sheer she could see the brief hint of her breasts and the shadows between her thighs. Peter had awakened a carnal knowledge within her. She’d never felt that for anyone but him before, not even William. That was a change she recognized and had to accept.