The Scandal of the Season

by Annie Burrows

  ‘Well, no, since you have already done so dozens of times,’ teased the Captain, ‘when Her Grace was letting you practise on me.’ Which was true. And, she reflected, it hadn’t only been Rosalind who had needed practice on a real man before Godmama would let them loose in a real ballroom. Cassy had only been able to vaguely recall the figures of the simplest country dances and had never learned to waltz during her years of exile in Market Gooding. There had been no need.

  She ought to remember how good it had been of Captain Bucknell to indulge the girls on his afternoons off and the good-natured way he had brushed aside all their ignorance and lack of expertise. Especially tonight, when she’d been so fortunate. It would be petty of her to keep on resenting and disliking him, simply because the idea of him and Godmama romping...

  Ugh. No, she wasn’t going to think about such things tonight. Not when she was glowing with such gratitude for all the effort so many people had gone to on her behalf to bring her to this point. Even Captain Bucknell, in his own way.

  If he asked her to dance later on she would swallow back the revulsion that the touch of his hand normally induced and smile at him. Perhaps she would not be able to smile with the same evident pleasure that Rosalind was showing as she practically skipped to the dance floor. But smile she would. At anyone who asked her to dance. No matter who they were.

  Although it wasn’t as easy to smile as she’d thought, when none other than the Marquess strolled over and made a courtly bow.

  ‘Mama has told me,’ he said, ‘in no uncertain terms, that I must make sure you get straight out on to the dance floor.’ He stepped back, took out his quizzing glass, and eyed her from top to toe in such a way that she felt her cheeks blush hotly. ‘I suppose she thinks,’ he said, tucking his quizzing glass away, ‘that once the other gentlemen here have seen you looking so...ah...delectable, you will have no shortage of partners.’

  ‘Um...yes,’ she said, for although that much was true, that wasn’t the whole truth.

  ‘Do not be alarmed,’ he said, offering her his arm. ‘I shall not ask if there is one, specific, victim of Mama’s latest campaign. I find it far better to avoid becoming embroiled in her schemes.’

  ‘Are you not, then,’ she snapped, forgetting all her determination to smile at whoever asked her to dance, ‘afraid to dance with me? Will that not embroil you?’

  He shook his head in mock reproof. ‘Dear me. What a sharp tongue you possess. No, I do not fear becoming embroiled with you after just one dance. Nor even after exchanging this small amount of conversation. I do, sometimes, dance with young innocents, you see. As a favour to a friend, or relative...’ he cocked his head at his mother, who was beaming at him from the chaperons’ bench ‘...but only once.’

  ‘She knows better than to depend upon you for help, then?’

  ‘She has no need of it,’ he replied, Cassy’s taunt appearing to slide off his indolent facade like water off a duck’s back. ‘She is, from what I can see, thoroughly enjoying herself this Season and so...’ He finished with an elegant shrug.

  And proceeded to dance with her with equal elegance. And a sort of indifference, as though he was barely aware she was his partner. He could not have made his lack of interest in her more obvious, without being downright rude. How could a man make a dance feel like a snub? Yet he did. However, even the Marquess was not going to put a dent in her good mood tonight. The more he snubbed her, the more she smiled. To anyone else, it must have looked as if she was having the time of her life. Still, by the time the dance came to an end, she fervently hoped he never deigned to honour her in the same way again. She was really looking forward to the moment when he’d restore her to Godmama’s side. Until, that was, she spotted Colonel Fairfax, standing in the midst of the throng of young hopefuls jostling for introductions to Rosalind, glowering.

  And her hand involuntarily clenched upon the Marquess’s sleeve. For the Colonel’s demeanour was so hostile that even the Marquess, the man she’d vowed to stay well away from in future, felt like a safer bet.

  Chapter Nine

  She looked stunning.

  Nathaniel ground his teeth, reflecting that the glittering white of her gown was far too much like snow catching the dawn light in Spain, while all those rubies put him in mind of the blood that had sprayed across it. Which meant her radiance came at too great a price.

  She faltered when she caught sight of him and clutched at her dancing partner’s sleeve. But the Marquess melted out of her hold, leaving her standing to face him, alone.

  She began to turn away from him, her eyes darting back and forth as though she was searching for some safe corner into which she could flee. But he was not about to let her escape that easily. As she took her first step in the direction of the open door of the refreshment room, he swooped over and seized her wrist.

  She stiffened, but did not do anything as obvious as struggle. Instead she lifted her chin and looked down her haughty little nose at him.

  ‘You are holding my arm too tightly,’ she said.

  ‘Hah!’ He was not hurting her, but she could not run from him now without making a scene, so he relaxed his grip a touch.

  ‘And you may not have noticed,’ she continued in that same frigid voice, ‘but we are heading in the wrong direction. If you are not careful, you will end up on the dance floor. With me.’

  Better that than allow her to charm her way into some other man’s heart. He’d warned her that he wouldn’t permit her to get her claws into anyone else. But what did he find her doing? Working her wiles on none other than the Marquess of Devizes, a man rich enough to keep her in the kind of luxury to which she probably believed her beauty entitled her.

  ‘I am going to dance with you,’ he warned her. He’d denied himself the pleasure the first time he’d ever seen her at a ball. But perhaps, if he’d indulged himself back then, she wouldn’t still be exerting this strange fascination. Because he would already know what it felt like to be her partner. He would know she was no different from any other woman.

  ‘Oh? I should have thought it was the last thing you would wish to do.’

  He spun her round to face him when they reached the edge of the area where other couples were gathering. ‘Far from it,’ he growled. ‘Because if I dance with you, at least it will prevent you from sinking your claws into some other poor sap.’

  She flinched, as though he’d slapped her. But after only the briefest of pauses her mouth curved into a cat-like smile.

  ‘You can only dance with me twice,’ she pointed out. ‘And after that you will not be able to prevent me from dancing with anyone else. What will you do then, Colonel?’

  He would think of something. During two dances he’d surely be able to come up with something other than heaving her over his shoulder, carrying her to his house and locking her in his bedroom.

  His bedroom? Why was that the first place he thought of imprisoning her? He gritted his teeth as an image of her bound, naked, to his bed flashed into his mind. He thrust it forcibly away, because if he sank to that level, then she would have won.

  He bowed to her as the orchestra struck up the opening chords to his first dance with her and performed all the necessary manoeuvres with as much dignity as a man could, who was scarcely able to tear his eyes from his partner no matter where in the figure she happened to be. A partner who twirled and smiled as though promising him delights he would never experience anywhere but at her hands.

  If he would but surrender.

  To hell with that! He would never surrender. Not to the likes of her.

  * * *

  ‘Well,’ she said eventually, her face flushed and her eyes shining with triumph, ‘your two dances are over. You must release me.’

  ‘I shall do no such thing,’ he snapped, winding her arm round his own and securing her to his side. ‘We will now go to the refreshment room.’ He began to tow her in t
hat direction.

  ‘But what if I want to carry on dancing?’ she complained, as a hopeful-looking young buck stepped into their path with a smile and a bow.

  One glare, accompanied by a warning growl, was all it took to send the coward running for cover.

  ‘I cannot believe you just did that,’ she gasped. ‘Snarling at him like a...like a...well, you really frightened him.’

  He hadn’t scared her, though. Not now, nor at any time since they’d renewed their acquaintance. She had looked scared when she’d been clinging to Gilbey’s arm. Though back then, he’d been convinced she was so timid she would not be a suitable wife for a soldier on active duty. But she definitely had a great deal of pluck nowadays, he had to concede. Enough pluck to chide him as if she were his equal. It gave him a strange feeling inside. A feeling that reminded him of what it had been like as a young officer. A time when he’d had friends still living.

  ‘Good,’ he said as they set off once more in the direction he wanted to go. ‘A man who is scared off by a look and a snarl is not man enough for you.’

  She gasped. ‘I... What kind of man do you...?’

  The kind of man who would not be so bowled over by her beauty that he became a pawn in her hands, that was what she needed. A man who would look beneath the surface and appreciate her strength of character.

  ‘No, never mind,’ she continued, breaking through his peculiar foray into the realms of imagination. ‘The point is, people are staring,’ she complained.

  ‘Do you care? Really? I thought you were made of sterner stuff.’

  She shot him a suspicious glance. ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘Exactly what I say. You are not some simpering miss to wilt under the disapproval of a few society tabbies, are you?’

  ‘Absolutely not, but...’

  ‘Wine,’ he snapped at the waiter on duty as they reached the buffet. ‘And lemonade for the lady.’

  ‘I might not like lemonade,’ she pointed out tartly as he was about to hand her the glass he’d taken from the waiter. But she was reaching for it. Some imp of mischief had him whisking it out of her reach and holding it high.

  She huffed with irritation. ‘I only said I might not like it, not that I didn’t.’

  A reluctant smile tugged at his lips. He knew she’d been arguing with him for the sake of arguing. ‘If I refused to hand this drink over,’ he mused, ‘I suppose you would accuse me of cruelty. Protest that you were dying of thirst, or something...’

  She pulled her top lip between her teeth. A gesture probably born of frustration at his teasing. But it created an entirely different form of frustration in him. For how many times had he wondered what it would feel like to suck that provocative upper lip into his own mouth? Nibble at it?

  ‘Here,’ he said, thrusting the glass of lemonade at her and taking a hasty step back.

  She took it, rather warily. ‘I would not accuse you of...that is, I have never once thought you a cruel man,’ she said. And then looked up at him, all wide-eyed, as though pleading with him for something.

  ‘That won’t work on me,’ he declared, as much to remind himself not to weaken, as to convey a warning to her.

  ‘What won’t work?’ She looked baffled. And if Issy hadn’t warned him that she was not the woman she seemed to be, he would have fallen for her innocent act, right then.

  But she had warned him.

  ‘Your pretence,’ he told her. ‘Your flattery. The way you act as though the last thing you want is my enmity, when you...when you...’

  Or was it the other way round? Was it more accurate to say that he didn’t want to have to maintain hostilities against her?

  God, he wished Issy hadn’t dragged him into this. He couldn’t sleep, he shirked his work, and...oh, lord. Now she was licking a drop of lemonade from that pouting upper lip with the tip of her moist pink tongue...

  ‘That won’t work on me,’ he repeated, in desperation, although he could feel his own mouth watering. His lips tingling. ‘I know what you are,’ he reminded himself. ‘I know what you are capable of—’

  ‘No, you don’t,’ she said, draining her cup and setting it back down on the buffet.

  What did she mean? That, no matter how hard he tried, he would never be able to stop her? Or was it a hint that, should she choose to really turn her sights on him, she could bring him to his knees? Or worse?

  ‘You dare to threaten me?’

  ‘What?’ She blinked up at him in a very convincing show of bewilderment. And then her lips quirked as though he’d just said something amusing.

  ‘And now you are mocking me,’ he said.

  ‘No, truly,’ she said, laying her hand on his sleeve. ‘It is just ridiculous to suppose that a mere girl could threaten a man who has fought real battles. Especially a man like you, who I have...’ She swallowed. Turned an interesting shade of pink. ‘Well, to be perfectly honest, I sort of held you up, in my mind, as some sort of hero, in secret, for years. Ever since you rescued me from my folly, I...’

  He took a step back, shaking off her hand.

  ‘I have already told you that you are not going to wind me round your finger by laying on such patently false flattery,’ he told her, then tossed back the last of his wine and slammed the empty glass down next to hers before grabbing her wrist, loathe as he was to touch her again.

  ‘Colonel Fairfax, what are you doing? People are staring. Even more than they did when you dragged me in here.’

  ‘What,’ he said bitterly, ‘don’t you like people looking at you? Knowing that you’ve got me worked up into such a lather that I don’t know whether to strangle you, or pin you up against the nearest wall and kiss you?’

  ‘Wh-what?’ Her own lips parted and she stumbled, artfully, against him, pressing one breast against his upper arm, making him instantly hard and yearning for more than just a kiss.

  Which meant that he had to retreat from the field after returning her to the Duchess’s side. Because there was no way he could stay and watch her dancing with any of her other admirers. Not when there was nothing he could do but glare at them and make himself look like a ridiculous, besotted fool. Especially when his tight silk evening breeches would leave nobody in any doubt about what he was thinking.

  But it wasn’t over. Not, he vowed as he marched away from the ball, by a long shot.

  * * *

  ‘Run along now, Captain Bucknell,’ said Godmama, the moment they returned to Grosvenor Square. ‘I have a lot to discuss with the girls. And it really cannot wait until morning.’

  He bowed over her hand and kissed it. ‘Whatever you say, Your Grace,’ he said, with resignation. But as Godmama ushered Cassy and Rosalind into the drawing room she took a quick peek over her shoulder, and, just as she’d suspected, he was heading for the stairs, not the front door.

  ‘Well, now, darlings, I have so much to tell you,’ said Godmama, arranging herself on her favourite chair by the fire. ‘Lady Bradbury has been very, very busy on your behalf, as I suspect you will already have guessed, Cassy, from the fact that she not only got your uncle to attend her ball, but actually to acknowledge you. In front of everyone!’ She clapped her hands in delight.

  Oh, yes. Her uncle. Funny, but since dancing with Colonel Fairfax, her joy at the momentous reunion had faded to the back of her mind. Well, how could she think of anything else after he’d told her he wanted to kiss her? And looked at her as though he wanted to devour her? The shock of discovering that Godmama had been correct, that he was attracted to her, but didn’t want to be, had left her in a bit of a daze. She could not, now, say who she’d danced with after that, or what she’d talked about with her other partners, even though there had been a steady stream of them for the first time since she’d come to Town. All she could think of was the way her knees had buckled as she’d looked at that hard slash of a mouth, which he’d said he w
anted to press to hers. In a crowded ballroom.

  He might just as well have done, because once he’d put the idea in her head, she couldn’t think of anything else.

  ‘It was just as I’d suspected,’ Godmama was saying. ‘Your stepfather has made himself so odious that it only took a judicious word or two, here and there, to get everyone questioning his version of events where you are concerned.’

  Her stepfather? Oh, yes, Godmama wanted to talk about her family, not the Colonel. She had to stop wool-gathering and pay attention.

  ‘How has he done that?’ Rosalind had asked the question Cassy should have asked if she hadn’t had her wits addled by thoughts of kissing the Colonel. So Cassy reached out her hand and took Rosalind’s, in gratitude, since they were sitting side by side on the sofa facing Godmama.

  ‘Well,’ said Godmama, leaning forward and lowering her voice, the way she so often did when descending to the level of gossip. ‘It turns out that Cassy’s uncle has had to practically adopt Frederick, who is Cassy’s younger brother,’ she explained when Rosalind took a breath to ask who he was, ‘because the hateful man claims he is not going to throw his money away sending him to expensive schools when there is a perfectly good one in the village. And he hasn’t brought your mother to Town for so many years everyone was already beginning to wonder if he was being tight-fisted with her, too. Is he?’

  ‘Well, yes, he was when I lived with him...’ Cassy thought of the darning and hemming she’d had to do. Hours and hours of it, rather than buying anything new for any of the household.

  Which had, ironically, stood her in good stead when she’d gone to live with her aunts.

  ‘Apparently, when Lady Bradbury spoke to your uncle about you, he said...’ and she leaned even further forward, lowering her voice as though someone might overhear although there was nobody but Cassy and Rosalind in the room ‘...that your stepfather was refusing to waste his blunt on another man’s whelp. Yes, those were his very words! Which she told me in the strictest confidence,’ she said, sitting back again. Which meant that those words were probably all over Town by now. ‘So your uncle decided he was going to have to sponsor Frederick to some kind of career, or who knew what would happen to the lad?’