That Scandalous Summer

by Meredith Duran

  She did not apologize for herself to anybody. Did she?

  Perhaps you should apologize to yourself.

  “At least I didn’t end up in the water closet,” she said. “Ask Lord Sanburne about that, if you like.”

  His expression did not change. “Do you think it would make a difference, Elizabeth?”

  She wasn’t sure what he meant by that. Or perhaps she thought she knew, and was afraid to discover that she was wrong.

  Or that she was right. He was not for her.

  “I wonder if you should go,” she said. Her voice was not steady. “If it would be . . . easier. For both of us.”

  “If I’m the cause of your drinking,” he said quietly, “then I’ll leave tonight.”

  She sucked in a breath. “No.” It felt terribly urgent to make this clear to him. “That started long before you. And it . . .” It was not always so bad. “I never drink when I’m alone. I would not . . .” Drink with you.

  “Then perhaps you should rethink the company you keep,” he said.

  Now came the gentle clink and rattle of china being collected. She found herself afraid of what she might say if they continued to stand here. His blue eyes were so steady on hers. So pale, ringed with gold around the irises. The most beautiful eyes in the world. “We should join the other guests,” she said. We cannot be alone. Not any longer. “Tonight is . . . the medium. Table rapping.” Her laugh was weak. “An old favorite.”

  He tilted his head slightly. “You look steadier,” he said. “But perhaps you should bid us an early good night.”

  She brushed her hand across her mouth—and then froze as she realized what she’d done, the girlish rudeness of it.

  He gave her a slight smile. “I think you missed a spot.” He leaned forward and very gently ran his thumb along her chin, flicking away the last drop of water.

  A sound escaped her, more formless than an Oh. His smile faded. She stepped backward, breathless. The way he was gazing at her! “I really didn’t drink so much,” she said quickly. “Only I hadn’t eaten anything until dinner.”

  “And you barely touched your plate,” he murmured.

  He’d been watching. She’d felt his eyes on her. She had to leave. Now. “I’ll be fine. I only—”

  The door flew open. Mather burst into the dining room, breathless and harried in one of her new gowns. “Madam,” she said. “A coach just arrived from the station, and it seems—Mr. Nelson is here!”

  “Who?” she asked stupidly. And then: “What?”

  “I’ll handle this,” said Michael, scowling—and that, at least, she had the wits to reply to immediately.

  “No, you won’t.” The look on his face left no doubt that his treatment would not be diplomatic.

  “You’re in no condition to deal with uninvited guests,” he said coolly, and then strode out of the dining room—leaving her no choice but to race after him, Mather at her heels. She never, ever wished him to meet Nello. The very thought drove her mad with panic. Nello was not . . . not a man she ever wished to have to explain. Or to have Michael associate with her.

  She caught him by the arm just as he turned into the main corridor. “Stop! Stop,” she said. “This doesn’t concern you!” What Nello’s visit concerned, she could not begin to imagine—but he had no part to play in it.

  He swung around with a curse. “Doesn’t it, then? Don’t I have the right—”

  There was violence in his face. The sight shocked her. Pure instinct drove her to recoil from him, snatching back her hand—and her reaction, in turn, seemed to shock him.

  He blinked and then scrubbed a hand over his face. On a long breath, he let his hand fall.

  “Of course, you’re right,” he said coolly. “It does not concern me in the least. Forgive my presumption, Mrs. Chudderley. I will join the other guests, then.”

  The bow he gave her was painfully formal. She swallowed hard and waited until he was out of sight before turning to Mather.

  “Nello?” she asked.

  “Yes, ma’am!”

  “What does he want? Did he say?”

  Mather shook her head. “Ronson did not know what to do. He let himself into the little drawing room. You’ll have him thrown out, of course. I’ll handle it myself—you needn’t even see him.”

  “No. No, that would be unwise.” As their relationship had deteriorated, Liza had come to realize—too slowly, and very reluctantly—that Nello was cut from the same cloth as the Hawthornes. He made a game of other people’s miseries. To turn him away now, when he obviously had some reason for visiting, would be like turning away from an oncoming vehicle whose horses were shying and bucking. Better to figure out his aim.

  She squared her shoulders. “Do I look well?” Amazing how her dizziness evaporated at the hint of danger.

  Mather frowned. “Very well,” she said solemnly. “But I don’t like—that is, shall I listen at the door, in case you . . . need assistance?”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Liza said. She had already broken one vase in that room, but there remained several heavy objects that would make excellent weapons.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  When she entered, Nello was standing at the mantel, examining some piece of bric-a-brac. He turned immediately, his lips crooked into a sideways smile—a favored weapon in his patented arsenal of charms. But that smile, which had once made her heart turn over, now gave her a strange, prickling sensation, akin to the icy breath down one’s spine that often followed a brush with mortal danger.

  He looked far from menacing. With a startled sense of coming awake, she saw that she had misremembered him. He looked smaller, somehow diminished, and his blond hair, which had always been thin and fine, seemed to have receded an inch since they’d last spoken. His coat, cut in the latest style, seemed a poor choice, the broad lapels emphasizing the narrowness of his build.

  Had he always been so small?

  Calm fell over her. Her pulse slowed, and she drew an easy breath. “What are you doing here?”

  “Right to the point,” he said. “Shan’t we share a drink first? I’ve traveled a long way.”

  “You’ll be traveling longer yet. I’ve no intention to house you tonight.”

  “Oh, come now!” With a laugh, he fell into a nearby chair. When he stripped off his gloves and folded them, his hands looked as pale and slim as a girl’s. “Will you really be so cold? We’re old friends, you and I.”

  It gave her a shudder to remember how those hands had once touched her. “Not cold,” she said. “Bored, already. And you’ve barely spoken five words.”

  “Intriguing,” he said. “You seem to be doing splendidly without me. You know I can’t resist a lady’s indifference.”

  How had she ever found his malice-tipped humor so diverting? And really, was there anything so demoralizing as meeting a former lover? Never did a woman have more cause to doubt her judgment than when confronted with the pathetic evidence of what she had once somehow found appealing.

  “Won’t you return the compliment?” he asked, winking.

  That wink annoyed her. She had seen him dispense it across a dozen ballrooms, but she had never liked the boyish affectation.

  That memory encouraged her. Yes, from the start she had seen all the warning signs that had eventually made him intolerable. “Surely you didn’t come all the way to Cornwall for compliments.”

  “Perhaps I missed you,” he said.

  She smiled. “How amusing! Has Miss Lister broken off the engagement, then? The Hawthornes had been wondering why a date hadn’t been set for the wedding.”

  He laughed and gave an idle flip of his gloves. “Good heavens, no! That child thinks I hung the stars for her. No, she has no idea I’m here. Her father, on the other hand . . .” He sighed. “More difficult. I really do wish you would sit down, Lizzie.”

  That was James’s name for her. That Nello used it now, when he never had done before, announced very plainly how determined he was to be chummy. The rea
lization was mildly alarming.

  She took a seat. “There,” she said. “Now explain yourself.”

  “Well, if you must know—I’ve a proposition for you. A delicate one. Didn’t want to put it into writing.” He laughed again. His laugh was one of his chief charms, low and lovely. His teeth, on the other hand, were yellow. She had always known that, too.

  “I can’t imagine any proposition that would concern the both of us,” she said.

  “Can’t you?” Now he began to bounce his foot. He’d always lacked the talent to sit quite still. His eyes wandered the room, latching onto the liquor cabinet, which he nodded toward. “Just one drink, then,” he said.

  “Pour it yourself.” She folded her hands. “I’ll wait.”

  His mouth flattened. “Had to let go of staff? I knew you were pinching pennies, but I never dreamed it would go south so quickly.”

  “My staff is busy entertaining my guests.”

  “Yes, Katherine said you had a houseful of perfect lunks. Very well.” He rose and loped to the cabinet, rummaging about until he found a decanter of whisky. Uncapping it, he took a whiff and grimaced. “Economies here, too?”

  “Uncreative,” she remarked. “I’ve already told you of my difficulties. If you mean to insult me, you’ll have to find a novel approach.”

  “Insult you?” He splashed himself a generous few fingers and then returned to his seat. “No, I’ve no interest in that. And of course I haven’t breathed a word to anyone . . . yet.”

  She lifted her palm to disguise her mimed yawn. “And now threats. But surely those could have been communicated by post. It only requires a bit of subtlety.”

  “Too true,” he said, and took a healthy swallow. “But I mean it when I say I’ve no wish to harm you, Liz. You’re lovely. And I look back very fondly on our time together.”

  Her skin crawled. It would be far easier, she realized, to hear that he loathed her. “Don’t think of me at all,” she said. “And I will return the favor.”

  “No, I have a different bargain in mind altogether,” he went on.

  She could not begin to imagine what devil was dancing in his brain-box. “Then propose it, so I may return to my party.”

  “Very well,” he said. “To the chase, then. What got me thinking of you was Hollister. Ennobled three years ago, yes?”

  A very bizarre tangent. “I don’t keep track of such things. You may ask my social secretary. Shall I summon her?”

  He waved away this suggestion. “Well, no matter. It was three years ago. I hear the Duke of Marwick had a great deal to do with it.”

  She tried not to tense. The last time Marwick had entered their conversation, she had been awash in tears over Nello’s betrayal with Marwick’s wife. It was horrifying now to remember how very hurt she’d been. This man had not deserved a single sleepless hour. “What of it?”

  He crossed his legs and leaned back in the chair, making himself comfortable. “To be clear—I speak now on the understanding that you and I, we will keep each other’s secrets, as a favor to each other . . .”

  “Yes,” she said impatiently. “You needn’t spell it out; I don’t wish to hear my private business advertised abroad.”

  “Very good,” he said. “Then to be blunt: my future bride’s father was less than enthusiastic about our match. Some nonsense to do with thinking his daughter deserves a title.”

  Liza laughed, blackly amused. “Imagine that! And I suppose you had nothing to do with his expectations.” Nello had been spinning the same story for years: a title was coming to him any day now. He was related to the Queen through a second cousin, and made an attempt, occasionally, to appear at court, though his welcome had waned after the Queen had witnessed him drunk at the theater last spring. Yet he persisted in believing that his blood connection to her, and the few brief years he’d served in the Horse Guards, somehow merited ennoblement.

  “I may have hinted,” he said with a shrug. Always shameless, Nello. No parson or priest in the world could have put him to the blush. “That is, if Hollister can win a barony—a nobody whose parents were raised in the penal colonies! Well, then I can’t see why I shouldn’t be so lucky. They’re practically on sale these days. Disgraceful, really.”

  She sighed. A very old polemic. “If they’re for sale, then Hollister certainly had the wherewithal to purchase his own. But I suppose, once you’ve wed your heiress, so, too, will you.”

  “There’s the rub,” he said with a grimace. “Her father wants some more solid assurance of my advancement before we wed.”

  “But that’s absurd.” Despite the editorials in the conservative papers, it was not, after all, so common for titles to be created. Yes, a handful of baronets every year, and a new baron or two, perhaps—but titles were not given to men who’d achieved nothing of import.

  “Isn’t it?” Nello sighed. “It would be ever so much easier with his daughter’s fortune bankrolling my chances. But he’s insistent, and I’ve made discreet inquiries. In fact, I’ve had assurances from several quarters that my name might yet be placed on a particular list, to be submitted to Her Majesty for consideration early next year—but it will require funds, you understand, to guarantee it. And, more important, a word or two from the right people.”

  “Naturally,” said Liza. “I’ve no idea what on earth this has to do with me, of course.”

  “Nothing, really,” said Nello. “Only I’ve certain information that you’d not like divulged, which ensures your discretion—and you’ve a certain proximity to someone who can help me. Or rather, to his brother.”

  She had an inkling now of where this roundabout nonsense might be headed, and it made her very uneasy. “Go on.”

  “Since you’re doing so very well without me, I hope it won’t distress you if I tell you that Margaret de Grey was quite chatty in bed,” Nello went on. “Even more so out of it. Very indiscreet in her letters—and one in particular. To be blunt: I’ve not only a list of the other men with whom she shared her favors, but also some very amusing anecdotes about these men and their use of secrets shared with her by her husband. Now, we all know the Kingmaker is most sensitive of his reputation. It seems to me that he might appreciate it very much if these letters were never to see the light of day. But I’m not stupid enough to approach Marwick directly.”

  “Oh, indeed,” said Liza. “I seem to recall you groveling in fear at the prospect of him finding out about your liaison.”

  “Fear seems a bit strong,” Nello said sourly. “But a healthy respect, yes, of course. So I’ll entrust the negotiations to you.”

  She scoffed. This was more preposterous than anything she could have imagined. “To me? I’ve barely spoken with the man!”

  “Yes, but it would take a miracle for him not to have heard of you—and of our affair. Besides, I imagine he’ll be quite intrigued when a great beauty comes sniffing at his door. He’s widowed, you know. For your part, you’ll play the heartbroken lover. A widower might appreciate that. In exchange for handing over the letters, you’ll insist that Marwick put in a good word for me when it comes to advising the Queen regarding new titles. Why, I expect he’ll find it very touching proof of your continued devotion to me. Who knows? Perhaps you’ll even end up a duchess for it.” He smiled. “Do you see? I truly am hoping the best for you, Liz.”

  Liza came to her feet, her laughter now entirely genuine. “Charles Nelson! Truly, I believe you’ve taken a hard knock to your head. I wouldn’t lift a finger to spare you from a runaway carriage, and you know it.”

  “Oh, come now, darling, you might at least shriek a little, surely?”

  She rolled her eyes. To think that she’d once found his flippancy amusing!

  Nello came to his feet as well. “But more to the point, you could always demand a payment of your own,” he said. “I won’t be selfish—I’ll have no need of money once this title business is settled and Miss Lister and I walk down the aisle. Ask for whatever you like from Marwick. Save this pile, and
your little parish. See? I bring you a gift!”

  “Goodness,” Liza said. “How kind of you. Do I strike you as a blackmailer?”

  “No, but I have faith that you could learn.” He smiled slowly. “You were always very . . . inventive.”

  Had he been closer, she would have slapped him for that smug leer. “You will leave now,” she said. “Or I’ll have you thrown out.”

  He tsked. “Think, Liz. If not for your own sake, perhaps you’d care to spare Marwick the embarrassment of those letters going public. It would hardly reflect well on his brother.”

  She froze.

  “Yes,” he said. “You were never very good at discretion, were you? The Hawthornes’ letters have been terribly suggestive.”

  A bluff based on empty suspicions. She’d done nothing compromising in front of the Hawthornes. “I have no idea what you mean.”

  “Oh?” Nello bolted the rest of his drink and set his glass on the coffee table. “Very well. I suppose they were wrong, then. It makes no difference to you if Lord Michael de Grey is once again made a laughingstock by his family. Very well.”

  No, that prospect did not agree with her in the least. That Nello should be the one to effect it made her heart pound with pure, elemental rage. She took a deep breath and thought very carefully. “For all I know, you’re lying,” she said. “What woman would be so stupid as to commit all this to writing?”

  “An opium eater,” said Nello with a smirk. “Oh, don’t look at me so—as I’ve said, it was a mistake to sleep with her. But one I’m quite grateful to have made, now that it offers such a neat solution.”

  “Charming,” she said. “So you propose I waltz into Marwick’s house and inform him of all of this? I’m sure he’ll be very amenable to championing you after that. Provided he even believes me!”

  “Well, you’ll have proof in the form of the letters,” said Nello. “As for Marwick . . . surely he’ll recognize his own wife’s handwriting?”

  She stared at him. “You have no shame.”