Beyond Scandal and Desire

by Lorraine Heath

  “How did he know you’d be in the park?”

  Having never seen him so blistering mad, she was feeling rather put upon. “How do you think? I sent him a missive and told him to meet me there.”

  The anger that flashed in his eyes gave her pause, made her realize it might be best not to taunt him. But communicating with her fan left a great deal to be desired, and at the moment, she had a need to speak what was on her mind. She had the fleeting thought that Mick Trewlove would applaud her, and inappropriately, she took a measure of pleasure in that. “Honestly, Kip, you can’t think I encouraged him in any way.” Although she had, just a tad, when she’d mentioned the hour she usually strolled through the park. She did hope the heat rushing into her cheeks was not giving her away. She’d longed to do something she shouldn’t, to take a chance, a risk, and then Mick Trewlove had come along, dark, dangerous and tempting. Even though she’d never go beyond a stroll with him, she’d been flattered to know she appealed to someone other than Kip.

  “It’s frightfully warm in here,” he said curtly. “Shall we take a turn about the gardens, allow the fresh air to cool our tempers?”

  “This heated discussion seems to warrant it.”

  With her hand on his arm, he escorted her out through the open doors onto the terrace and down the steps into the gardens. Lighted torches lining the paths revealed other couples walking about. She wondered how many ladies were holding folded fans to their lips, signaling they wanted a kiss. Would Kip accommodate her should she make use of her fan? She wished she possessed more courage, wasn’t hesitant to find out. Not that she was particularly in the mood for a kiss at the moment. They’d never before been out of sorts with each other, had never had a row. She didn’t much like it now, although in a strange way it made her feel very much alive, as though she’d gone through life in a trance, simply existing from one moment to the next.

  “My meeting him was merely coincidence,” she admitted, wondering why she felt she had to be the first to offer an olive branch. “If you must know, he even asked after you, wondered why you weren’t in the park.”

  “I was told you strolled with him for a considerable distance.”

  “Nothing untoward happened.” She hated apologizing for something not her fault. “Have you people spying on me?”

  “That’s the thing, Aslyn. Among our set everything is noticed and commented on. A couple of fellows mentioned it at the club, and not in a kind way. He’s not the sort with whom you should be seen consorting.”

  “I wasn’t consorting. How many times must I say it? Besides, you seem to like him well enough.”

  “A man is allowed to associate with whomever he wants. A woman cannot.”

  “It was an innocent walk.”

  “I simply find it odd that within the space of a few days, you’ve twice crossed paths with the man.”

  He wouldn’t be at all pleased to discover there was a third time—­or a gift. “He was probably always about before. We just never noticed him because we’d never been introduced to him.”

  “He doesn’t strike me as a man not noticed.”

  “Are you jealous?” The hope-­filled words popped out before she could stop them.

  “I simply don’t want him to take advantage of you.”

  “We were in a park where an abundance of people were strolling about, and my servants were in attendance. I don’t see how that could happen.”

  “If it were his intent, he would find a way.”

  “You speak so poorly of him, and yet I thought you wanted to go into business with him.”

  “I don’t trust him. At least where you’re concerned.” He laughed harshly. “Good God, perhaps I am jealous. Have I reason to be?”

  “No.” At least she didn’t think so. A man like Mick Trewlove would never be accepted by the Duke and Duchess of Hedley. She wasn’t even certain he would have been welcomed by her parents. Kip was the sort a woman of her station married. It helped that he’d been her friend for so long. The fact that he didn’t create the strange stirrings within her that Mick Trewlove did was no doubt a good thing. A lady should at all times be calm, collected and in control of all her thoughts, putting errant ones to rest quickly. “I care for you deeply, Kip.”

  “And I you.”

  “Then why have you never kissed me?” She despised the surfacing doubts regarding his desire for her, hers for him. She was beginning to wish they’d never gone to Cremorne. Everything seemed to have changed that night: the way she viewed him, herself, their future.

  “Out of respect. A man doesn’t dally with a woman he intends to marry.”

  Her heart gave a little kick as she stopped walking and faced him. “That’s the first time you’ve made your intentions regarding me clear.”

  “It’s always been implied. I thought you knew that.”

  “Yes, but a lady likes to have the clarity. I’ve been extremely loyal, welcomed no other advances or interest. And I’m not getting any younger.”

  “Neither am I, actually. My father pointed that out to me recently.” His deep sigh filled the night. “Shall we make it official, then?”

  Stunned, she watched as he went down on one knee and took her hand. “I adore you, Lady Aslyn Hastings. Will you honor me by becoming my wife?”

  The words ebbed and flowed around her, at once ghost-­like, yet solid. She wasn’t quite certain what she’d expected of a proposal. A declaration of undying love perhaps. Her heart pounding with an erratic rhythm. Birds taking flight. The sun replacing the moon. Stars shooting across the sky. She’d waited eons for this moment. It seemed it should be more profound, causing her knees to tremble and her lungs to cease functioning. Instead her body gave no reaction at all, as though his proposal had yet to penetrate.

  “Aslyn?” he prompted. “I’d welcome a quick response as there’s a pebble digging into my knee most painfully.”

  His words brought her back to the reality of the moment. Wasn’t a simple proposal more profound? Didn’t it speak to a more honest relationship that didn’t require fancy words or decorative phrases?

  “Oh, yes! I’m sorry.” Covering her mouth with her hands, she laughed, striving to not become hysterical at what should have been an incredibly romantic moment. “Yes, yes, of course, I’ll marry you.”

  “Marvelous.” He rose, dipped his head. She closed her eyes, waited—­

  “Oh, my word! Kipwick, did we just see you down on bended knee?” a lady called out.

  Her eyes flew open as Lady Lavinia and her escort, the Duke of Thornley, neared. Blast it all! She didn’t mind that they’d seen the proposal, but couldn’t the lady have held her tongue until after she’d been kissed?

  “You did say yes, didn’t you, Lady Aslyn?” Lady Lavinia asked.

  “Naturally.”

  “I daresay it’s about time you two got on with things and at my family’s ball, no less. You will allow me to make the announcement once we return to the salon, won’t you? I won’t take no for an answer.”

  Raising a brow, Kip looked at her. “I see no harm in that. We’re moving forward, after all.”

  She felt her face grow warm. This was truly happening. The fanfare was about to begin, and once the announcement was made, there would be no turning back, no changing of minds for either of them. “Shouldn’t we wait until we’ve told your parents?”

  Grinning, he tweaked her nose. “They know, silly girl. My father is your guardian, and I had to get his blessing first.”

  “Oh, yes, of course.” When had that happened? Shouldn’t she have been consulted? No, it had always been assumed—­

  “Congratulations, old chap,” Thornley said, holding out his hand. “Even if it did cost me five hundred pounds.”

  He was no doubt referring to the stupid wager made at White’s regarding when Kip would ask for her hand. She felt distant, separated fr
om herself as she watched her betrothed shake the duke’s hand. Now that the moment was actually here, it didn’t feel real.

  “My luck is much better than yours,” Kip said. “I shall soon have the lovely Lady Aslyn as my wife.”

  “Let’s go announce it, then,” Lady Lavinia said, “as I can hardly wait to make a splash.”

  As she wound her arm around Aslyn’s and began leading her back to the house, Aslyn couldn’t help but think that this moment wasn’t about Lady Lavinia at all—­and yet the girl was going to make it so.

  “I’m so excited for you,” Lady Lavinia said. “Kipwick is quite the catch. I know a few ladies who are going to be disappointed. Even though we all expected him to marry you, some were foolish enough to hold out hope.”

  She wondered if any gentlemen had held out hope for her, if Mick Trewlove’s recent attentiveness had been more than kindness. What did it matter? She’d been traveling this path for most of her life. It was reassuring to see the destination on the horizon—­at long last. Still, it seemed she should have been experiencing a measure of excitement rather than simple relief.

  “Oh my dear, we could not be happier,” the duchess said, as she enveloped Aslyn in a warm hug.

  The duke and duchess had been waiting for them when they returned from the ball. She’d barely handed her wrap over to a footman before Kip announced that he’d proposed and she’d accepted. It was an announcement she’d been expecting for a long time, and yet it seemed odd having it associated with her.

  “This calls for a drink,” the duke said, and she found herself whisked into the parlor where a decanter of brandy and four snifters were waiting on a low table.

  They’d known the proposal was coming tonight. She shouldn’t have been surprised, as Kip had told her he’d spoken with the duke, and yet she couldn’t help but feel as though everything was moving far too quickly.

  “Your parents would be delighted,” the duchess said while the duke poured the brandy.

  “I’m sure they would.” Although she wasn’t sure at all. Her memories of them were faint and distant, and recently she’d found herself mourning their absence as much as she’d mourned the loss of her parents. She took the snifter the duke offered her.

  He lifted his. “If you love each other half as much as Bella and I love each other, then you’ll be richer than most. To a long, happy and fruitful marriage.”

  She felt her cheeks warming with the reference to fruitful. Children. They would have lots of children.

  “Hear, hear!” Kip said, before tossing back a good portion of his drink, while she rather wished he’d claimed to love her more than his parents loved each other. She was horrid to want some reassurance regarding the strength of his feelings for her.

  She took a sip, not understanding all these doubts suddenly plaguing her.

  The duchess sat on the sofa and patted the cushion beside her. “Sit, tell me everything. Where did it happen?”

  Aslyn eased herself down. “In the gardens.”

  “How romantic.”

  It should have been, yes, but in retrospect it hadn’t, not really. “I was quite taken by surprise.”

  “Surely you knew my intentions,” Kip said.

  “Yes, but I wasn’t certain when you might ask.”

  “Now we have a wedding to plan,” the duchess said. “I suppose we should have an engagement ball. Here. At Hedley Hall.”

  She could see the anxiety in her guardian’s face. “Perhaps a dinner. A small one. Intimate.”

  “I like that idea,” Kip said, smiling warmly at her as though he recognized she was striving to spare his mother worry.

  “Yes,” the duchess said. “We’ll discuss the particulars tomorrow. When would you like the wedding to take place?”

  “We haven’t really discussed it,” Aslyn said.

  “I’ll leave it to you ladies to work out the details,” Kip said. “I must away.”

  In disbelief, disappointment and ire, Aslyn stared at him. “You’re leaving?”

  “I must make the most of the bachelor days that remain to me.”

  “You can stay longer,” the duke said.

  “No,” Aslyn said, suddenly in want of time alone, to ponder her feelings, to what she had agreed, to wonder why there was not a livelier air of celebration. Because it had all been expected? Because there had been no anticipation? “It’s quite all right. I’m actually rather exhausted from all the excitement and merrymaking that took place at the ball once Lady Lavinia announced my good fortune. However, I shall walk you out.” And have a word in private. Setting aside her snifter, she rose and took the arm he offered.

  Once they were outside on the steps, with the door closed behind them, she took a deep breath, released it slowly. “Do you really wish to marry me?”

  “I’d have not proposed otherwise.”

  She studied the face she’d loved for years, searching for the truth, for something more. “You haven’t even kissed me.”

  “I suppose I’ve spent so many years keeping my desire for you tamped down and on a short leash that it’s become a habit.”

  She hated that his words gave her such hope, that words were needed to give her any hope at all. Shouldn’t love communicate in other ways? “You desire me?”

  “Without a doubt.” He cradled her cheek with one bare hand. When they’d arrived home, he’d removed his gloves, had yet to put them on. His skin was smooth, his palm without calluses. Warmth radiated from his fingertips, but no heat. “Aslyn, I intend to do right by you.”

  “Would a kiss be wrong, then?”

  He grinned, glanced back over his shoulder to the windows. “I don’t think anyone is watching.”

  But if they were, what would it matter now? They were betrothed. He could compromise her all he wanted, and the outcome for their futures would not change.

  He lowered his lips to hers. Her eyes slid closed at the warmth, the gentleness, the way his mouth moved softly over hers. Slowly he drew back. “I shan’t sleep tonight, thinking of you.”

  “You shan’t sleep because you’ll be up to no good.”

  He flashed a grin. “I have an appointment with cards. Not another lady. Know this, Aslyn, for me there is no other lady.”

  Her heart tightened, tears pricked her eyes. “You’ve always been the one for me, Kip.”

  “Don’t set a date that’s too far off.” With that he tweaked her nose, before dashing down the steps.

  The man certainly knew how to ruin a romantic moment, but then he’d tweaked her nose ever since she was a girl. There was a familiarity and a lovingness to it. But she feared the gesture was more appropriately directed toward a younger sister, not a wife, not a lady a man wished to bed.

  They were to marry, and yet she felt like a child playing at pretend, not a woman anticipating the days—­and nights—­to come with relish. She’d been brought up to always feel calm and steady, but at that moment she desired only to feel more.

  Chapter 7

  Mick sat at the desk in his office scouring the Times, one of a half-­dozen periodicals he devoured every morning along with his coffee. While he knew most gents caught up on the news over breakfast, he’d never gotten into the habit of enjoying a leisurely beginning to the day. He awoke, dressed and headed into his office—­which was a short walk from his nearby apartment on the same floor.

  Of late he’d been giving attention to the Society news, and so it was that he saw the announcement regarding Lady Aslyn Hastings’s betrothal to the Earl of Kipwick. It shouldn’t have come as such a shock, shouldn’t have felt like a kick in the gut from a recently shod horse. He’d known of the earl’s interest; had known of the lady’s, as well. It worked to his benefit that they were engaged to marry. It upped the stakes, made his stealing the lady away even more of an embarrassment for the earl, and, as a result, the duke. His heir couldn�
�t hold on to his woman. It would portend that the earl was too weak to hold on to much else.

  It should have made him glad. Instead it filled him with a sense of loss, made him feel as though something had been stolen from him. Ridiculous, that. Yet the sensation was there, grinding into his thoughts, making everything else seem inconsequential.

  “Tittlefitz!”

  The door burst open as though his secretary had been standing with his ear pressed against the thick oak. But then the man always seemed at the ready to serve. “Yes, sir?”

  “The gathering we have planned to celebrate our opening of the hotel for business . . . the grand salon . . . I want an area of it made available for dancing.”

  The slender young man blinked. His hair was a harsh red, his face covered in a constellation of freckles. Like Mick, he was born a bastard. Unlike Mick, he’d not been abandoned by his mother, and both had suffered because of it. The government aided the poor, but not the poor with illegitimate offspring. While there was finally an interest in reforming the Bastardy Act and protecting infants, Mick doubted the negative opinions or behavior regarding those born on the wrong side of the blanket was going to be changing anytime soon.

  “We’ll have to hire an orchestra,” Tittlefitz said.

  “Then hire one.” He had the means to hire a dozen.

  “What of the harpist who was going to perform?”

  “Move her to the lobby. I don’t care. Your job is to make happen what I ask, and not bother me with the details of how you manage it. If I have to think about it, then what service am I paying you so well to provide?”

  “Quite right, sir. I shall see to it posthaste. Anything else, sir?”

  “No, that’ll be it.” He shoved back his chair stood, and strode over to the coatrack. He shrugged into his coat and grabbed his hat. “I’m going out. Don’t let things fall apart while I’m gone.”

  “When will you be returning?”

  When his mind was no longer filled with images of Aslyn saying yes to Kipwick’s proposal, of looking up at him with joy wreathing her face. She was a means to his gaining the acceptance he required. He should be bloody grateful things were progressing as quickly as they were.