Nothing But Scandal

by Allegra Gray

  Alex

  No polite closing. Just his signature. How like him.

  Elizabeth squeezed the letter against her bosom, giddy with anticipation. He did want to see her again! She took a quick spin around her room.

  She opened the letter to stare at it again. “Forgive the presumption.” Hah! she snorted. The man was a duke, one of the most sought-after in England. Presumption, and the expectation of forgiveness, were second nature to him. He knew perfectly well she’d climb into any carriage he sent.

  She would. Elizabeth wouldn’t bother fooling herself about that again. She couldn’t resist the temptation of another afternoon in the duke’s arms—especially not now, when she knew what to expect.

  But she did have a few things to consider first. Slowly she folded the letter and tucked it at the bottom of the valise she’d brought when she’d first come here.

  The Grumsby children were lovely. But was this—caring for other people’s children, with only a few stolen moments for herself—all her future held?

  She lay down on the narrow bed and rolled her shoulders a few times to ease out the kinks. Chasing Henry and Clara about the grounds tired her. Nature lessons were a favorite of both children, especially since, once they’d covered the planned material, she usually gave into their pleas for a game of chase or blindman’s bluff. She shouldn’t complain, though—they were sweet children, if active.

  Rather how she’d once imagined her own children. Loneliness pricked her and she shut her eyes. She’d always wanted a family and children of her own. That wasn’t likely to happen now, but she had the joy of Henry and Clara Grumsby—both surprisingly affectionate youngsters—in her life. She spent more time with them as their governess than most women of the ton did with their own children. It wasn’t the same, of course, and would never totally erase the ache for a child of her own, but it was something, and it was good.

  And as far as the men in her life—well, things in that area had improved vastly. She was not married to Harold. Thank God. And as a governess, she was finally out from under the thumb of her uncle George.

  So far, her decision to run away hadn’t brought dire consequences down upon her family. Elizabeth’s friend Beatrice had sent word that the Medfords were simply saying that Elizabeth had gone away to the country to visit a sick relative. They were angry with her, according to a separate note from Charity, but apparently not so much they’d air their dirty laundry before the rest of the ton. Good. Elizabeth didn’t want people to shun her sister because of her.

  Best of all, she had the one man she’d dreamed about for years. Alex Bainbridge. And the real thing was far better than those naïve fantasies of old.

  True, he wasn’t hers in the most legitimate way. She could never marry him. But he did care for her—she could sense it. It was more than she’d ever really expected.

  No. Elizabeth opened her eyes to stare at the ceiling. Try as she might, she couldn’t convince herself that last was true.

  This wasn’t more than she’d ever expected. She’d been raised as a privileged daughter of the ton, a daughter for whom a good marriage—or at least an advantageous one—and children were not too much to expect.

  She almost wished she hadn’t had that childhood. She wished she’d known about her father’s foibles all along, so the disappointment at giving all that up would taste a little less bitter now.

  She had Alex’s attentions for now, but for how long? And what would she do when he moved on?

  Elizabeth punched her pillow, unwilling to think about that eventuality.

  It could be worse. Much, much worse. She could be married to Harold.

  She would just have to keep reminding herself of that and learn to be content with her lot in life.

  In three days she would see her duke again. A moment spent in Alex’s arms would erase the cares of her daily life.

  Yes, Elizabeth told herself again, life was good.

  Three Sundays passed, and with each one, Elizabeth met Alex for a few brief hours. She grew to understand that in between spurts of rakish charm, Alex was brooding, distant. She wanted nothing more than to reach him at those times, ease the pain of whatever had hurt him. He cared for her—that much she was sure of. But there was more to Alex than she’d ever guessed, and each moment spent together made her yearn to know more. And, Lord, how she missed his touch.

  He’d told her he found her spirit and laughter refreshing, so when Sunday next arrived, Elizabeth didn’t hesitate before donning the most frivolous frock she’d brought with her: a green muslin costume her friend Bea said brought out the color of her eyes. It wasn’t fancy by the ton’s standards, but when she fastened her hair in curls at her crown and wound a matching ribbon through them, she thought the effect quite nice.

  Alex’s unmarked carriage waited at the edge of the Grumsby grounds. She appreciated the precaution, though she still worried that eventually, someone would notice a pattern to her outings and start asking questions.

  Today, the coach took her directly to Alex’s cousin’s nearby hunting lodge. The building was kept comfortable at all times, but neither the cousin nor staff was in residence. A perfect place for a tryst.

  And tryst they did. For the moment the carriage pulled away, Alex’s lips were on hers, his hands searching for the hooks and ties to her garments as he shut the door behind them. Her carefully styled hair came tumbling down in seconds, the festive ribbon lost, a victim to their passion.

  She pressed closer, seeking his touch, the feel of his skin on hers. Was this desire for him insatiable? It felt as though they’d been apart for ages, not a mere week.

  They made it up the stairs, stumbling, laughing, kissing, and shedding clothing as they went.

  There was urgency in Alex’s lovemaking today. An intensity she didn’t understand. But when he finally slipped inside her she ceased questioning. God, yes. This—he—was what she’d been missing.

  Yes, this was worth all the risk.

  But afterward, when they’d spent themselves not once, but twice, and lay sated in each other’s arms, the odd feeling returned.

  Alex held her, but his gaze was on the ceiling. Elizabeth reached out to run her fingers through his thick dark hair.

  “My lord?” she asked tentatively. “Have I done something wrong?”

  “Of course not, darling,” he murmured, capturing her hand and pulling it from his hair to his lips to take little nibbles of her fingers.

  Elizabeth smiled but continued to watch him. Even though she felt bonelessly, deliciously exhausted, there was still a tension in her lover’s body. He was restless, distracted. She knew it in spite of his reassurances.

  She lay silent for a while, stroking her fingers up and down the wide expanse of his chest, the firmness of his arms, and mentally urged him to relax, or share with her his concerns.

  When he finally spoke, it wasn’t to whisper foolish endearments in her ear.

  “Elizabeth, my sweet, there’s something I must tell you.”

  “You’ve arranged with your sister for an extended visit?” she asked hopefully, trying to tease away the uneasiness she’d sensed. Their afternoon was drawing to a close, and the upcoming week, a week spent away from him, loomed endlessly before her.

  “Unfortunately, no.”

  A weight fell in her stomach, pulling her down. “What is it?”

  “I must travel on a matter of business.”

  “You’re going away?” On business? That didn’t make sense. Noblemen weren’t businessmen—though she knew Alex did invest, quite successfully, in a number of ventures. Rumors of just how successful he’d been often flitted about the ton.

  “A shipping venture I’ve invested in requires my oversight,” he confirmed. “Our vessel recently returned from India, damaged by a storm. The repairs aren’t going well, the crew is restless, and my partner is trying to arrange replacement of some of the exotic goods that were lost. On top of that, there is some question as to the captain’s integrity. I’d
thought to let my man on the coast handle it, but the matter is more complicated than I’d anticipated, and there are considerable funds at stake.”

  She appreciated the insight into his business—she had a feeling it wasn’t something he shared with most women. But it didn’t answer her most pressing question. “How long will you be gone?”

  “Three weeks. No more.”

  She nodded dumbly, the weight she felt in her stomach growing heavier. She understood, but this pending absence made the week she’d thought they’d spend apart pale in comparison. They’d only just become lovers. She ached for more of him, not less.

  Alex took both her hands in his. “Elizabeth, if you would drop this charade of being a governess and become my mistress in earnest, I could bring you with me. ’Twould make for a far more pleasant trip.”

  “It’s not a charade.” But more and more it was. Much as she loved the Grumsby children, she lived for the moments spent with Alex.

  She looked away. Swallowed.

  “I know, Elizabeth. You truly care for my sister’s children. I would not have you change that—in fact, it’s one of the things I like best about you. But it’s bloody awkward for a man of my position to play second fiddle to two small children.”

  At that she gave him a small smile, unable to imagine her powerful duke playing “second fiddle” to anyone. “We agreed this would be on my terms,” she reminded him.

  He expelled a forceful breath, his frustration evident. “Elizabeth, your terms make no sense. I can keep you in far more luxury than what you have now.”

  “But you cannot offer me respectability.”

  “This, what we’re doing now, sneaking around behind everyone’s backs, is more respectable?” he asked incredulously.

  She looked away again. He had a point. “Still, I cannot.”

  If their relationship remained a secret, the shame remained hers alone. If she was kept as a mistress, word would spread, and her family would lose the last shreds of respectability to which they still clung.

  She couldn’t do that to Charity. There was still hope for her sister’s future.

  She’d wanted Alex from the moment she’d met him. Maybe she hadn’t known what wanting meant, back then, but she did now. And she wasn’t willing to let him go.

  But the choice he was asking her to make—she just couldn’t do it. Between her father’s actions and her own, her family had borne enough shame.

  “If that is your decision, Elizabeth, I will accept it. And I will see you when I return.”

  Elizabeth nodded, and did the only thing she could think to do: kissed him with enough passion to last the next three weeks, and possibly to make him hurry his business matters along.

  Marian Grumsby loved country life—most of the time. Her husband and children filled her world with love and joy, and they were happiest away from London. And, truth be told, she didn’t want to do what so many other mothers did during the Season: simply leave the children for weeks on end. But occasionally, she missed the soirees and teas enjoyed by the other ladies of her acquaintance.

  So when Lady Alicia Wilbourne, a girlhood friend, invited her to come to London for a holiday, she eagerly accepted. It was a blessing, Marian thought, to know she could have a few days’ fun while the children were well cared for at home.

  Hiring Elizabeth had been unconventional, but so far it was proving a perfect solution. The girl was good with the children, and her upbringing unquestionable. Which meant Marian could attend a few parties and catch up on all the latest gossip with her friends without worry.

  She’d opted to stay at her mother’s town house, as she usually did when visiting London—preferable, in her opinion, to imposing on friends she rarely saw. The dowager duchess was infrequently there, as she spent the vast majority of her days taking the waters at Bath. But the house had a small staff, who was always pleased to see Marian, and she had peace and quiet in between social events.

  This afternoon’s schedule held a garden party at Alicia’s home. The weather had, remarkably, cooperated, and when Marian arrived, the Wilbournes’ yard was decorated with white tents and flowers.

  Lord Wilbourne, a middle-aged man with a quickly receding hairline, strolled the grounds, a plate of hors d’oeuvres in hand. He gazed fondly at his younger wife as they greeted their guests.

  Upon seeing Marian arrive, they immediately headed her way.

  “Lady Grumsby! Back from rusticating at last,” Lady Alicia Wilbourne greeted her.

  They’d come out during the same Season, and while Marian had initially pitied her friend for her parents’ decision to marry her to Robert Wilbourne, Alicia didn’t look unhappy in the least.

  “Yes, for a short while,” Marian said.

  “Then you must be simply dying for conversation. I can’t imagine how you spend all your time in the country. Come.” Alicia gestured to a group of prettily attired women. “I’ve other guests to greet, but you remember Lady Tweedley, and Lady Robesford, and Miss Josephine Baxter.” She led Marian to the group of women and, after a moment, returned to her hostessing duties.

  The other women obligingly made room for Marian without a pause in the conversation.

  “…sent her packing,” Lady Tweedley finished. “She was his mistress for, what, two years? Gone. He hasn’t been seen with her in weeks.”

  “Oh, Harriet, however do you hear such things?” Lady Robesford asked, though her facial expression and the expressions on the other women’s faces suggested they were far more fascinated than shocked to be discussing a member of the demimondaine.

  “Perhaps he’s finally looking to marry. If only it were five years ago.”

  Five years ago was when Lady Tweedley had married.

  Marian wasn’t entirely certain who they were discussing, but she had a good guess. It was a known fact that Harriet Tweedley had—prior to marriage, anyhow—always fawned after Alex Bainbridge.

  Marian sighed. Had she really come all the way to London just to hear the usual gossip about her own brother? She almost wished he’d marry simply so the ton would find something else to talk about.

  “Actually, I’ve an idea why he sent her packing, and it wasn’t to marry,” Miss Baxter, an incurable gossip well on the way to old-maidhood, put in.

  “Oh, do tell,” Lady Robesford breathed.

  Miss Baxter glanced around as if confiding a great secret. “I heard,” she said, pausing for effect, “he’s been seen with Miss Medford. And the young lady’s chaperone—if she had one—was nowhere in sight. Miss Medford was also seen entering a carriage driven by a man my source recognized as one of the duke’s servants. One can only imagine why he would send a carriage for her.”

  “Elizabeth Medford?” Lady Tweedley asked.

  “The same.”

  “It couldn’t be. She’s off to the country to visit some sick relative,” Lady Robesford said.

  Marian was finding it hard to breathe—and it wasn’t just because her maid had the strength of an Amazon when it came to tightening stays. No, she had a very bad feeling about this conversation. But her feet were planted to the spot. She couldn’t move.

  Miss Baxter shrugged, smiling the smile of a gossip who relishes each shred of news she reports. “So I, too, have heard. But what relative? I heard there was a falling out when Elizabeth refused her last suitor, and she ran off.”

  “Impossible! The family would be ruined,” Lady Robesford declared.

  “The family is already ruined. Have you not heard? The baron died without a penny or an heir. Anyhow, I saw the suitor leave with my own two eyes, and he didn’t look pleased. And Elizabeth hasn’t been seen since. Except, of course, with Beaufort.”

  Beaufort. Marian blinked. Yes, they were talking about her brother. And, apparently, her governess.

  “Oh, dear!” Miss Baxter exclaimed. “I only just realized you were standing here, Lady Grumsby.” Bright splotches of color appeared on her cheeks.

  Marian kept her face carefully neutral, he
r spine rigidly erect. So. The gossip in the ton revolved around Alex. That in itself wasn’t so unusual. But this time it involved her as well, for her children were being looked after by the very woman rumored to be gallivanting with her hell-bent sibling. Her body hummed with tension, the desire to escape, but she refused to give in. None of the other women knew Elizabeth was in her employ.

  She gave them an acknowledging smile. “Understandable. My brother can be quite an absorbing topic.”

  The other women looked uncertain as to whether to be relieved or not.

  Marian took pity on them. After all, she was certainly used to hearing gossip about Alex. These friends of hers just didn’t know why this particular gossip was unwelcome. “Do you know what I heard?” she asked.

  They looked at her expectantly.

  “I heard he’s booked passage to India and is promised to marry a princess there, the daughter of a man with whom he’s engaged in trade.”

  Miss Baxter’s mouth dropped open.

  “Of course, I know that not to be true, for Alex told me just the other day he wished to escape from London and spend some time at my estate. And not yesterday our mother was despairing over his lack of interest in marriageable ladies. And my home, while lovely, is hardly an Indian palace. But it did make for an entertaining rumor.” With that, Marian excused herself from the gossipy trio.

  She approached Lady Wilbourne. “Alicia. It is a lovely party. Though I hadn’t thought to come so far from home only to hear news of my own family.”

  “It is a remarkably fine day,” Alicia said, looking at the sky. “As to the duke, well, he does seem to be the topic du jour. Not that that’s unusual. My husband plays cards with him, you know, and Robert told me the duke mentioned something that made him think these latest rumors might not be unfounded.

  “Still, I suppose you tire of hearing of your brother’s escapades. Shall we talk about the theater? There’s a marvelous new play showing.”

  Marian shook her head. “I’m afraid I’ve the headache and must make my excuses. I do thank you for hosting this fine gathering.”