Saved by Scandal's Heir

by Janice Preston

  She had crossed the room to stand by the window, waiting for him to speak. Cool, calm, composed. Hands clasped loosely before her. The perfect lady.

  Except now he knew the passion that ran deep below that unruffled exterior. Despite his intention of keeping his distance from her after the night of the masquerade, he had been unable to. And his need had triggered last night’s disaster—his need to see her, to speak with her, to learn everything about her, had driven him into following her into the library.

  He still did not entirely trust her. He still suspected there was something she was hiding but those questions could wait. He had a lifetime to learn the truth. The way she had responded to his kisses and caresses last night reassured him that, whatever else she felt for him, she felt the same desire he did. He could not wait to make her his wife.

  He crossed the room to stand in front of her. She tilted her head to look deep into his eyes.

  ‘Will you marry me?’ He should speak of his love but, somehow, the words would not form. This felt vulnerable enough—he could not expose himself further by admitting his love for her. His heart beat faster as she held his gaze, her huge eyes solemn. His entire body was rigid with urgency, his skin stretched so tight it felt it might split if he made a sudden move. He realised he was holding his breath.

  ‘Thank you. Yes.’

  No outburst of joy. Barely a glimmer of a smile.

  What do you expect, when you have told her nothing of what you feel?

  * * *

  What is he thinking? He looks so stern. Has he only asked me because of last night, or does he have some feeling for me other than lust?

  What does it matter? Your problems are solved, and you know you will always be safe in a marriage to Benedict.

  She ignored the uneasy thought that she was being unfair in accepting his proposal. She had—eventually—got the result she had planned for on the night of the masquerade. Security. Safety. Maybe even a child, if God saw willing to grant her that blessing. Her heart skipped a beat at the thought. A baby! How she yearned for a baby of her own. Resolutely, she cast aside her guilt.

  Benedict owed her.

  And she loved him. Even though that love was layered under years of anger and resentment, it had survived. Would she ever dare to open her heart to Benedict and admit her love? She shrank from that thought. What if he rejected it? He could still do so, even within a marriage. She could not imagine risking such heartache ever again.

  An awkward silence ensued, though their gazes remained fused. He reached out and took a pin from her hair, dropping it to the floor. His eyes never wavered from hers as he felt for another pin and removed it. And another, until her hair was falling loose around her shoulders. She did not move. Waiting, her heart racing as anticipation spiralled up through her entire body.

  He lifted her heavy tresses, weighing them in the palms of his hands, much as he had weighed her breasts on the night of the masquerade. Then he threaded the fingers of one hand through her hair to cup her head.

  ‘Harry...’

  The groan came from deep within him. Tormented. Heartfelt.

  At last. Her bones were melting. Her blood on fire.

  He pulled her to him, against his chest, and his lips crushed down on hers. She moulded her body to his hard, lean frame, winding her arms around his neck, clinging to him, returning his passion.

  At least we have this.

  * * *

  ‘We will wed as soon as possible,’ Benedict said some time later. ‘I shall consult my solicitor tomorrow and have the settlement drawn up. You will never again be beholden to Brierley.’

  A wave of such relief swept through Harriet at Benedict’s words she felt she might cry. She blinked several times and swallowed hard before she dared to answer him. ‘Thank you. That means more to me than you know.’

  He had been standing by the fireplace, but now he came to her and sat by her side, placing his hand over hers where it lay in her lap. ‘Tell me,’ he urged.

  She turned her hand palm up and laced her fingers through his. She forced a light laugh. ‘Oh, it was merely a figure of speech. I have to say I am looking forward to telling Edward our news. And to seeing Lady Marstone’s face—she made sure everyone believed you would never stoop to taking on a humbly born, penniless widow.’

  His fingers tightened around hers. ‘She was wrong,’ he said gruffly. ‘You are more of a lady than she will ever be.’

  ‘May we go and see Edward now? Together?’

  ‘Of course,’ he said, but he made no effort to move. His head bent, he watched the interplay of their entwined fingers. ‘Do you miss him?’

  ‘Edward?’

  ‘No. Brierley.’

  Harriet pulled her hand from Benedict’s and stood up. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Come, let us go now before it gets too late.’

  They took a hackney to Upper Brook Street. Harriet sneaked a look at Benedict as he stared out of the window, his jaw set. He did not have the look of a man joyously anticipating his forthcoming nuptials. Was he thinking about the coming interview with Edward, or was it their betrothal and all that it meant that was on his mind? She tried to ignore those ever-present pangs of conscience.

  Edward received them in his study, standing squarely in front of the hearth. He did not offer them a seat.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘We have come, as a courtesy, to tell you that we are betrothed,’ Benedict said. ‘The wedding will take place as soon as the banns have been read.’

  ‘I am pleased you are finally making an honest woman of her, Poole,’ Edward said.

  Harriet felt Benedict stiffen by her side. Well, he deserved that gibe—if he had taken responsibility for his actions years ago, a great deal of heartache might have been avoided. But she had no wish for the two men to be constantly at odds with each other. Edward and his family would still be a part of her life. She slipped her hand into Benedict’s and squeezed.

  ‘I trust you will do the decent thing and allow Harriet to remain in her home until our marriage,’ Benedict said. ‘After all, a continued crusade against your own stepmother can only reflect badly on you.’

  Edward scowled. ‘There was never a crusade,’ he said. ‘I had my duty as head of this family not to allow my stepmother to scandalise society with her behaviour. Thankfully, that responsibility will lie with you henceforth. I dare say you will be more equal to the task than I.’

  Harriet bit back her retort and lightly tugged at Benedict’s hand in a silent attempt to prevent him reacting as she feared he might.

  ‘You may as well come to the drawing room and tell Fanny and Katherine,’ Edward added grudgingly. ‘Wincott is there, too. I make no doubt he will be relieved that scandal has been averted.’

  ‘Lord Wincott? Has he made his offer for Kitty?’

  ‘No.’ Edward led the way from his study to the drawing room. ‘We have agreed to give her time to enjoy some of her first Season before he offers, although he very nearly backed out after the deplorable goings-on last night.’ He halted and faced them both. ‘He was utterly horrified by your behaviour.’

  ‘I am sure Lord Wincott is as mindful of the advantages of the match as you are, Edward.’ Harriet chose her words carefully. Wincott was, in her opinion, a pompous ass—a bit like Edward himself—and that was no doubt why Edward thought he would make a good husband for Kitty, but Harriet worried about her lively granddaughter being tied to such a dull spouse. ‘Lord Wincott should count himself fortunate to win a bride with so many fine qualities. And the political alliance will benefit him as well as you, so do not be too quick in thinking all the benefits flow in your direction. He will gain, as well.’

  For the first time since their arrival, Edward’s face softened. ‘I had forgotten quite how perceptive you can be at times,’ he said. He heaved a sigh, then held hi
s hand out to Benedict. ‘I suppose I must welcome you to the family.’

  * * *

  ‘Edward is not a bad man,’ Harriet said some time later, as Benedict’s carriage conveyed them back to Sackville Street. ‘He is merely inflexible in his views.’

  A sarcastic laugh escaped Benedict. ‘Inflexible? How I didn’t plant my fist in his smug face, I do not know. Or in Wincott’s. Patronising poltroon. God help the country, with men like that at the helm.’

  ‘I am pleased you did not,’ Harriet said. She had seen the effort Benedict had made to remain polite and agreeable. ‘At least you must allow that both Fanny and Kitty are delightful.’

  A rumble of acquiescence sounded deep in Benedict’s throat. ‘Although how in hell they have remained so with that stepson of yours as husband and father, God only knows,’ he said. ‘Poor Kitty has my sympathy. She’ll be going from the control of one pompous windbag straight to another.’

  Harriet shivered at the reminder of the control a husband exercised over his wife.

  ‘What is it? Are you cold?’

  ‘No, indeed.’

  How could she feel the chill when he sat so close by her side, his heat warming her even through their clothes? He put his arm around her shoulder anyway and she snuggled closer. Maybe, in time, she would learn to forgive him for the past but, in the meantime, she felt safe and she felt secure, and if she could not have her independence that, surely, was the next best thing.

  ‘We have not discussed tonight yet,’ Benedict said.

  Heady, sensual anticipation swirled at Harriet’s core. ‘Tonight?’

  ‘Yes. I thought we should show our faces somewhere, even if it is only the theatre.’ He nuzzled her ear, whispering, ‘We need not stay until the end as long as we allow ourselves to be seen.’

  The swell of passion deep inside her burst to the surface, heating her skin. Heavens! Was she really that shallow? It seemed he was not the only one consumed with lust. Then reality—plans already made—intruded into her thoughts.

  ‘But it is Matthew and Eleanor’s musical evening tonight, and we have both promised to attend.’ She shifted on the seat and stared at him. ‘You surely had not forgotten?’

  Benedict coughed, and then cleared his throat. ‘I may have done.’ He glanced down at Harriet with a twinkle in his eye—the first sign of humour since he had proposed. ‘Be warned, however, that I shall never admit to it if you let on to Eleanor. She is one lady I don’t want to get on the wrong side of.’

  ‘She is forthright in her views, certainly, but she has a kind heart,’ Harriet said, recalling Eleanor’s compassion at Kitty’s ball. ‘And she has had her share of troubles.’

  She recalled the whispers when Eleanor had spent the Season in London the year before—her first visit in several years. They hadn’t been acquainted then, but Harriet remembered the rumours about Eleanor’s mother having caused a scandal when Eleanor was young, and then—although Harriet had never learned the full story—someone had tried to kill Eleanor.

  ‘Yes. Matthew has told me what happened last year,’ Benedict said. ‘They are fortunate to have found each other.’

  ‘Indeed.’ Harriet conjured up a mental picture of Matthew and Eleanor: a couple very much in love. Could she and Benedict ever be half so happy and content? ‘I might not have known Eleanor long, but I like her very much and should not like to offend her by not attending tonight.’

  ‘Then I shall sacrifice my personal preference for spending most of the evening in bed with you, my dear, and I shall escort you to the musical evening. I warn you, though. I am not a lover of music, unless it is a sea shanty or an impromptu tune played in an alehouse somewhere. I did not think Matthew was, either. Strange how marriage can change a man.’

  His voice had grown thoughtful. Harriet stole a look at him. All trace of good humour had once again vanished. ‘Are you regretting—?’

  ‘Not at all.’ His response was blunt and immediate, and Harriet chose to believe him.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The Poole family solicitor was standing at the window of Benedict’s study when he entered it the following morning.

  ‘Mr Swain, thank you for coming. Please, take a seat.’

  Benedict indicated the visitor’s chair and settled into his own chair on the opposite side of his desk. Mr Swain approached the chair, bent slightly to examine the seat and then, very gingerly, he swept his coat-tails aside and perched on the edge. Benedict bit his lip. He had only met Swain once before, and this action only confirmed the opinion he had formed on that occasion.

  ‘Laurence informs me that you are the man I need to speak to with regard to drawing up a marriage settlement.’

  Swain straightened, placing long-fingered hands on the rim of the desk. ‘Laurence,’ he said. ‘I have not seen him for a while. How is he?’

  Benedict stifled his sigh. This promised to be a lengthy meeting. He was used to commercial transactions: an offer, a counter-offer, brisk negotiation, a handshake.

  ‘Laurence is very well and is kept inordinately busy answering all my inane questions about the estates and Sir Malcolm’s investments,’ he said of the young man who had been Malcolm’s secretary and whom he had inherited, along with the rest of Malcolm’s retainers and advisers—including old-fashioned, fastidious solicitors, he thought, eyeing his visitor.

  ‘Good, good,’ said Swain. He shifted back a little in the chair and regarded Benedict through his spectacles. ‘Marriage settlement, you say. Well, well. And who is the lucky lady, might one enquire?’

  ‘Harriet, Lady Brierley. She is the widow of the Earl of Brierley. The third earl, that is.’

  Swain was back on the edge of his seat. ‘The widow Brierley?’ There was a pause. ‘Good heavens.’

  Benedict felt his brows draw together in a frown as Swain removed his spectacles, took a handkerchief from his pocket and began to polish vigorously. He then replaced his spectacles and looked up. Benedict curbed his desire to urge the man to get on with it.

  ‘Now, this will take some planning but...yes, yes, it can be done with very little additional expense to you, sir.’ A smile of satisfaction revealed long teeth. ‘Yes, very little additional—’

  ‘What do you mean by “additional expense”?’

  ‘Well, of course, the current settlement will cease and the capital will revert to you, but that is all to the good, for it would not serve our purpose at all. Indeed no. Not with the dividends being paid through his lordship—’

  ‘Whoa! Hold on. You’ve lost me, Swain. What current settlement? Which dividends and, for that matter, which “his lordship”?’

  ‘Why, the present Lord Brierley, of course. You are joint trustees.’ Swain regarded Benedict with an avuncular smile. ‘It is quite all right, sir. No need to worry your head about it—no one expects you to be au fait with the entirety of Sir Malcolm’s business. Not yet. Shall we discuss figures? Would you think the same amount sufficient? Or would you wish to increase it? It is not over generous for a man with your wealth, but then the lady will have you to settle her major expenses once you are wed, so it will only be in the nature of pin money. And there must, of course, be provision made for any children.’

  Benedict stared at Swain, his mind whirling as he tried to piece together the fragments of information the solicitor had scattered through the conversation.

  ‘Let me understand this,’ he said slowly. ‘Are you telling me that there exists an investment, made—presumably—by my cousin, and that the income from that investment is paid to Lady Brierley?’

  Caution crept through Swain’s expression. ‘That is the gist of it, yes.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I beg your pardon, sir. Why what?’

  ‘How did it come about? Why would Sir Malcolm invest any money on behalf of someone he barely kn
ew?’

  ‘Well, I... As I recall...the money was settled on her at the time of her marriage. Her father was the minister at the local church, you know, and your cousin—second cousin, I should say—agreed to provide a dowry as her own father could not.’

  It made no sense. Malcolm had not had an altruistic bone in his body. Why would he provide a dowry for Harriet?

  ‘The settlement was subject to certain conditions set by Lord Brierley, as I recall,’ Swain continued, ‘and, although I cannot bring them all to mind, I do remember that the dividends were not to be paid direct to Lady Brierley but to go to her through her husband and now, of course, through the present Lord Brierley. Unusual condition, but his late lordship insisted upon it, and Sir Malcolm did not seem disposed to argue against it. And the Reverend... Yes, I forget his name now... Lady Brierley’s father just seemed grateful someone was providing a dowry at all.’

  That made even less sense. Malcolm had provided the dowry and yet Brierley had dictated the terms? Benedict was loath to question Swain further until he had thought through the implications of this news.

  ‘You said the current investment will revert to me? Presumably that will be because her ladyship is remarrying?’

  Swain beamed. ‘Yes, yes, that is a standard condition in these deeds, of course, if there is no issue from the union. The capital will revert to you, as Sir Malcolm’s successor, and you will be able to reinvest that sum—ten thousand pounds, if my memory serves me correctly, most generous of Sir Malcolm—for her ladyship when you marry. Quite a neat solution, all told. Was there anything else, Sir Benedict, or should you like me to proceed with drafting the new deed of settlement?’

  Benedict thought quickly. He had intended to settle a large enough sum on Harriet in order that if anything should happen to him she would have financial security. He must also make suitable provision for any daughters or younger sons. Now he hesitated. Had this information changed anything? His thoughts were too random to come to a sensible conclusion. Why had Harriet not told him? But...Brierley had stopped her allowance, and had threatened to do so more than once. If she had known there was money settled on her, would she not have used that to argue her case?