Patricia Frances Rowell

by A Scandalous Situation

  She glanced at her father and smiled. Papa was being sly. She doubted very much that the little carriage would be returned to service before her nuptials—whenever those were to be. At that point, her safety would become Lord Duncan’s concern, and Papa would heave a sigh of relief.

  The coach made a sharp turn and started up the winding road to the Eyrie. In due time they pulled up in a courtyard under the ramparts of the old keep. At one time the enclosure had been the bailey, but now the walls lay in disarray. Emerging from the carriage, Iantha could see the roofs of the stable at a lower level.

  And Lord Duncan standing in the door. Rob, she reminded herself. She must remember to call him Rob. At the sight of them he descended the few steps and strode forward to help her down from the carriage. Behind him hovered a figure she had not seen before, a figure bearing all the earmarks of a butler. Apparently the new staff had arrived.

  “Welcome! Welcome to the Eyrie. Lady Rosley. My lord. I trust your gout is improved?”

  Lord Rosley trust out a hand, and Rob shook it. “A bit better, thank God. At least I can get a boot on.”

  Rob turned back toward her. “Iantha.”

  Detecting a different quality in his voice as he spoke her name, Iantha glanced into his face and experienced a shock. His intense, dark gaze reflected the feeling in his voice. Her breath caught in her throat, and it was with great control that she prevented herself from retreating into the coach. “Th-thank you, my lord.”

  A large, warm hand grasped hers. She stepped to the cobbles and carefully took the arm he extended, giving her attention to the management of her skirts rather than looking at his face. Having not seen him since their betrothal, she had allowed his image to fade, providing a fog of safety. Now the full force of his energy again pummeled her, creating a storm of conflicting feelings.

  The four of them climbed to the door amid trivial comments on the road and the possibility of more snow. In the entry hall their wraps were collected by the butler, with the assistance of two footmen. Yes, a new order had definitely been established at the Eyrie.

  As her fiancé ushered them up the stairs, Iantha found herself missing the friendly, informal air that had accompanied her last visit—even with the disturbing sensations it had engendered. Becoming steadily more aware of the stone walls surrounding her, Iantha thought that, although fortresses were built for safety, they also made excellent traps. She carefully controlled a shudder and straightened her shoulders. No, she would never allow herself to be trapped again.

  But all images of traps evaporated as she followed Lord Duncan and her mother into the spacious drawing room done in shades of cream, blue and lavender. The room, situated at the rear of the house, perched on the back edge of the great stone cliff on which the Eyrie rested. A rank of tall windows marched across the far wall, revealing a view of tier after tier of mountains.

  “How wonderful!” Iantha hastened to stand before the central window, devouring the expanse of hill and sky.

  The rest of the party joined her, Lord Duncan coming to stand beside her. “I knew you would like this room. It was in holland covers during your last visit.”

  “It’s breathtaking.”

  “Aye, it is.” Something in his voice caused Iantha to look up at him. He was gazing not at the view, but at her.

  She flushed and turned back to the rest of the room. She rarely received compliments from a man unless insulting innuendo was written clear upon his face. In fact, most men avoided her. She saw no such thing in Lord Duncan, and of course, he had already declared honorable intentions. But still… The implications of the expression on his face unnerved her.

  Directly opposite her, a large framed painting over the white marble fireplace caught her eye. “Why, that’s the painting I did while we were snowbound! I had forgotten about it.”

  “Aye, do you like it there?” Rob strolled toward the fire, and the rest of the group assembled beside him.

  “Oh, Iantha, dearest. I do believe that is one of your best.” Her mother patted her arm. Iantha was careful not to step away. It hurt Mama so when she did that.

  “Yes, yes. Very nice.” Lord Rosley peered through his quizzing glass. “But, as I have told you many times, minx, lovely as it is, no one will take your work seriously until you start working in oils. Watercolors are all very well for young misses, but they will never garner critical acclaim.”

  “Yes, Papa, I know. But I feel that my talent is best suited to the more delicate, translucent shades.” Iantha let the frequently repeated advice roll off with only a small twinge of annoyance. Papa meant well.

  A tiny frown puckered Rob’s brow. “I have had heard that watercolors are much more demanding than oils. Have you more at home?”

  Iantha laughed. “You could say that. I have a roomful of them.”

  “Would you allow me to hang more in this room? Those colors seem to be just the thing for it.” Lord Duncan—would she ever learn to call him Rob?—placed a large hand at the small of her back. His heat seeped through her gown, and she stiffened. She might have pulled away, but suddenly remembered her decision to learn to accept his touch.

  Consciously relaxing, Iantha took in a long breath. “Oh, no, my work is not suitable to—”

  “That is a perfect idea, Lord Duncan.” Mama interrupted Iantha’s disclaimer. “Really, Iantha dearest, your talent should be displayed, especially on this occasion. It is not as though you sing or play the harp at parties, as some young ladies do.”

  “Thank goodness.” Lord Duncan made a wry face, then at a sharp glance from his spouse, he hastened to add, “Most of them do it very badly.” And then, with a noble effort at diplomacy, he stated, “We have nothing to blush for in Iantha’s work.”

  “Why, thank you, Papa, for such high praise.” Iantha responded dryly.

  Her fiancé’s eyes twinkled. “May I have some then?”

  “Well, yes, if you want them.”

  “I do.” His lordship smiled. “You won’t disappoint me, will you?”

  The smile had an uncomfortable affect on Iantha. In spite of a determination to do so, she no longer felt exasperated at Lord Duncan’s high-handed ways. He was being kind, after all.

  “No. When I say I will do a thing, you may be sure that I will do it.”

  He captured her hand and kissed her fingers, an impish expression in his eyes. “I am very glad to hear that.”

  He meant more than he had said, she could tell, but for the life of her, Iantha could not decide what it was.

  A week later the day before Christmas Eve arrived cold and blustery, but though clouds persisted, no sign of snow appeared. The Kethley clan had traveled to the Eyrie the previous evening. As it was Christmas, the party had been planned for families. The younger Kethleys were thrilled to be included in such a grand affair.

  Valeria and Nathaniel looked forward to the company of several of their particular friends who were invited along with their parents, and numerous amusements were planned to fill the time of the schoolroom set. Trying to look unimpressed, Thomas was to have the pleasure of joining his first party as an adult, and was pretending a lofty disinterest in the assortment of young ladies whom he knew to be on the guest list.

  Rob strolled into the breakfast parlor that morning to discover Lord Rosley already at table. His future father-in-law nodded a greeting while buttering a scone. “Morning, Duncan. Glad to see another early riser. Are you ready for the invasion?”

  Rob chuckled. “That I am. Like any good general preparing for an onslaught, I have provided myself with sufficient officers to carry out my plans without my having to worry about the details. I intend to enjoy myself.”

  And he intended to have enough free time to mount a more important campaign. This would likely be his best opportunity to begin the seducing of his bride-to-be. That was likely to present a long and arduous challenge. Rob had to ask himself again why he had offered to take on such a difficult task. But every time he asked that question, the image of a g
entle and innocent girl being cruelly abused leapt into his mind. Followed by one of that girl’s courageous and lonely battle to find a place in a world that had no place for her.

  Before he had filled his plate, the chance to begin presented itself. Iantha floated into the room in a cloud of rose-colored muslin. He hurried to escort her to the buffet, gently guiding her with his hand on her elbow. He felt the tension in her increase the moment he touched her. Yes, this would be a long process.

  Turning her slightly toward him, he looked questioningly into her upturned face, but did not remove his hand. He saw determination flood her eyes. By Jupiter, she was a brave little thing. Smiling, he squeezed her arm slightly.

  She took a deep breath and, returning the smile tentatively, held her ground. “Good morning, my lord.”

  Rob nodded in approval and released her. “I hope you were comfortable last night?”

  “Oh, certainly. I am becoming very fond of your grandmother’s room. I almost feel that I know her.” Iantha served herself, and he held her chair as she sat. He let his hand barely brush her shoulder as he returned to his seat.

  “Have you seen the adjacent sitting room? I want you to make use of it at any time—any time at all.” Again he looked directly into her eyes.

  She smiled at him. “Thank you, Rob.”

  Slowly, hesitantly, she reached out and touched his hand with one finger—as light and fleeting as a butterfly’s caress.

  Satisfaction flooded Rob. Long though it might prove to be, he was going to win this battle.

  As the day wore on, guests began to arrive. And the clouds continued to build. The last visitors appeared just as it began to snow, this occurrence eliciting whoops of joy from the younger contingent tucked away above the stairs. A white Christmas!

  Rob’s aunt, Lady Dalston, who proved to be a plump, happy elf of a woman, presided over the affair with the ease of decades as a hostess. As dinner neared, the drawing room filled to capacity with the adults of the party. Iantha delayed her arrival as long as she could, but at last Mama appeared at her bedchamber door and insisted that no more adjustments to Iantha’s appearance were necessary. As she approached the drawing room, Iantha took a deep breath and closed her eyes, as if preparing to dive into the sea.

  The sea would be easier.

  “Ah, there you are.” Rob’s deep voice sounded at her elbow. Iantha started and opened her eyes. He offered her his arm, and for once, she gratefully accepted its support. He patted her hand. “Come now. You will be fine. You are missing all the compliments on your paintings.”

  As he escorted her into the room, it seemed to Iantha that the hum of conversation halted for a heartbeat. But perhaps that was her imagination. She was sensitive to the reaction of others to her…situation. Still, she could see that the presence of her paintings in Lord Duncan’s home, added to her presence on his arm, had started eyebrows rising speculatively.

  Many of the guests were neighbors Iantha had known all her life. Most of them were kind to her—if she overlooked the occasional pitying glance. But there were several people from London whom she did not recognize. Rob set about remedying that situation immediately.

  Approaching a stout, red-faced gentleman with thinning white hair, Rob turned to Iantha. “Miss Kethley, may I present my associate, Mr. Welwyn? Mr. Welwyn represents the firm with whom I bank and invest.”

  “How do you do?” Iantha could not quite bring herself to extend her hand.

  Apparently it was not necessary. Mr. Welwyn bowed. “Your servant, Miss Kethley. Honored to know you.” He gazed around the room. “Have you met my assistant, Stephen Wycomb? The young rascal is here somewhere.”

  “I haven’t had that pleasure.” Iantha managed a smile in spite of the stiffening of her muscles.

  “We will find him eventually.” Rob nodded at his banker and led Iantha past him to a group of younger people, several of them neighbors. “I think you know these young ladies.”

  Iantha nodded. “Of course. Good evening, Miss Carlisle, Miss Clifton. Hello, Meg. It is nice to see you.” The daughters of the Kethley’s neighbors returned her greeting, the expressions on their faces varying from friendliness to curiosity to uncertainty. Only Meg Farlam extended her hand. Iantha clasped it briefly, smiled again and turned to the gentlemen who were being introduced to her.

  “Miss Kethley, allow me to present my cousin, Samuel Broughton. Sam also serves as my agent. And do you know Horace Raunds? He assists his father, Lord Alton, in the Home Office.”

  The fair-haired young diplomat identified himself by bowing, a warm expression on his pleasant face. Iantha thought that, in spite of his smile, his eyes held a certain sadness. She nodded, her neck aching, and produced another smile.

  “And this is a fellow repatriate.” Rob indicated a gentleman with brown hair, a world-weary expression dimming his piercing blue eyes. He looked to be several years older than Raunds. “Lord Sebergham spent ten years in the West Indies—the other side of the world from where I spent my last decade.”

  “Your most obedient servant, Miss Kethley.” Sebergham bowed.

  “Lord Sebergham.” Iantha found one more smile.

  Rob nodded to the two remaining men. “And this is Lord Kendal and Cosby Carrock, whom I believe you know.”

  “Yes, certainly.” With the greatest effort Iantha prevented herself from wrinkling her nose. She knew both the local gentlemen, but she had never liked either of them. They bowed, and she nodded. Carrock was about her age, and nice enough looking, with shining blond hair and an angular face. But ever since the attack he always seemed to her to be smirking. Tonight was no exception. And Kendal… Kendal had a way of looking at all women with speculation in his face.

  “If you will excuse us…” Rob deftly moved her away and found her a seat in a window alcove. “I see that this is enough introducing. You are taut as a harp string.” He snagged a glass of champagne from a tray carried by a passing footman and pressed it into her hand. “I’ll stand here and intercept traffic while you sip that.”

  Iantha gratefully accepted the wine and turned her shoulder to the room in favor of the view of moonlit mountains beyond the window. Suiting his action to the word, Rob engaged several nearby guests in conversation, his broad shoulders forming a highly effective barricade. Happily, there was to be no party after dinner. If she could get through the meal, she would be able to retreat.

  Thank heaven.

  He twirled his champagne glass idly as his gaze followed the slender, silver-haired figure’s progress around the room. So the bitch played the fine lady, did she? In spite of her sullied condition, like all the titled gentry’s women, she still exuded arrogance and superiority from every pore. They all thought they were so untouchable, so safe from the crude attentions of the opposite sex, especially the lower members of society. He controlled a sneer.

  Perhaps he could yet arrange to bring her down from that lofty perch.

  Giving her another lesson should prove highly amusing, in any event.

  Chapter Six

  “Annie, Annie!” The following morning the door of Iantha’s sitting room burst open, and Valeria and Nathaniel dashed in. “We are all going out to make snowmen. Come and help us.”

  She looked up from the notes she was making. “Good morning, loves. Close the door behind you, please, Nat. Now…what is this about snowmen?”

  “Everyone is going out to make them. Come on…get your coat.”

  Iantha frowned. “I don’t know, Valeria. I’m not sure that is a suitable activity for a lady at a house party.”

  “But it’s Christmas Eve. Lots of grown-ups are going out. Thomas and Miss Farlam are already outside.”

  Smiling at this definition of grown-up, Iantha shook her head. “But they are very young grown-ups. I’m not sure that I—”

  “Aw, please, Annie.” Nathaniel put on his most persuasive expression. “You build the best snowmen of anyone.”

  “Hmm. So you believe flattery will sway me, Nat?”
She couldn’t help but chuckle.

  “Yes. I mean, it’s true.” Her brother shrugged.

  Valeria tried another tack. “Lord Duncan is going.”

  Iantha pondered that information. Did that make her more or less interested in the project? On the one hand, she did enjoy his company. On the other, however, she would need to deal with the effect of his strong masculine energy on her and with the likelihood of his courtly touch. But perhaps that was becoming a bit less of a trial. Last night his arm had been welcome support and his energy an effective screen between her and the crowded room.

  It was really not an inappropriate pastime at a house party.

  And most of the adult guests would remain near the warmth of the fire. She would have an opportunity to enjoy the children.

  And Iantha loved to build snowmen.

  Half an hour later Iantha found herself putting the finishing touches on their snowwoman, while her younger siblings wandered off to inspect the handiwork of several others. They had only been gone a few minutes when the two of them came running back.

  “Iantha! Valeria and Lord Duncan and I are challenging you to a snowball fight!”

  “Now wait!” She turned to smile at them. “Three against one is not fair at all.”

  “No, but you can choose a team, too. You will be captain of one, and Lord Duncan will lead the other.”

  “I believe I can readily deduce who initiated this plan.” Her eyes twinkled as Rob approached.

  “Guilty as charged, ma’am.” His ready grin irresistibly brought an answering one from Iantha.

  “You will have me playing the complete hoyden.”

  Rob appeared to give this idea careful consideration, his head to one side, his expression grave. After a moment he shook his head. “I find it quite impossible to characterize you as a hoyden. You will not say no to this very mild adventure, will you?”