Prelude to a Scandal

by Delilah Marvelle

  SCANDAL SEVEN

  Only heathens call upon brothels. It is best to avoid such men at every turn, for once a heathen, always a heathen.

  How to Avoid a Scandal, Author Unknown

  14 Craven Street

  Half past ten that night

  RADCLIFF ADJUSTED HIS HOOD more securely around his head in an effort to not only draw away attention from his scarred appearance, but shield himself from the world he’d vowed never to be part of again. He silently walked past the row of closed doors and intently followed the plump, older woman who led him down a long passageway of unevenly papered tawny walls adorned with yellowing, nude prints.

  The heavy, stagnant smell of sweat, sex and urine penetrated his nostrils, causing his throat to clench. Every moan and movement behind those closed doors reminded him all too well of the animal he’d once been. Of the animal he still in some ways was.

  The madam leading him eventually paused at the end of the corridor, lingering before the last closed door, and gestured toward it. “In there.”

  Radcliff withdrew a gold sovereign from his pocket, held it up for her by the tips of his black-gloved fingers, then took hold of her hand and pressed it into her palm. “For your silence.”

  The woman closed her pale, veined hand around the sovereign without meeting his gaze, gave a curt nod and whisked past.

  Radcliff hesitated, eyeing the closed door, and mentally prepared himself. The last time he’d seen Matilda had been that night. That night when his face and his life—not to mention hers—had forever changed. He drew in a deep breath and let it back out. He could do this. Opening the door, he stepped inside, closing it behind himself.

  The glow from an oil lamp set on a small side table was more than enough light for him to make out ivory-and-burgundy-flowered wallpaper. And there, in a large oak bed set against the right side of the wall, tucked beneath linen, sat his brother’s mistress. Matilda Thurlow herself.

  Radcliff closed the distance, his boots echoing within the emptiness of the room, and paused beside the bed. He stared down at her in complete disbelief.

  Dark blue-and-yellow flesh bloomed around sections of Matilda’s jaw as she stared up at him with astonished gray-azure eyes. Thick, tangled blond hair clung to the sides of her face.

  His gaze dropped to her hands which rested protectively upon the rounded top of a large, pregnant belly. He’d heard the rumors, whilst in seclusion, that Matilda was carrying his brother’s child, but for her sake, had hoped they were not true.

  What was as disturbing as her appearance was her taking refuge in the same brothel she’d once serviced before Carlton had decided he wanted her for his mistress. Did she have no other place to go? And no one else to turn to?

  Matilda shifted into a better sitting position and stared at him in both horror and pity. She’d never seen the full extent of what had happened to him. He’d never wanted her to feel any more guilt than Carlton had already imposed upon her.

  “Those savages,” she whispered, still staring up at him. “They destroyed you. They destroyed your face.”

  As if he didn’t know.

  “I… Forgive me, Bradford. I am to blame for all of this. I should have never followed you that night. I should have never sought to engage you.”

  “It wasn’t your goddamn fault,” he snapped, agitated she would even think to blame herself.

  She scooted closer toward the wall, the frayed yellowing linen pooling down onto her lap, exposing more of her plain, beige gown. With shaky hands, she smoothed her hair around the sides of her pale, bruised face. “You and I make quite the pair.”

  Son of a bitch. There really was no mercy in this world, was there? He dropped onto the mattress beside her and shoved his hood back. “Why in God’s name are you here, given your tender state? Have you no other place to go? I thought you had a sister. Why aren’t you with her?”

  She shrugged but said nothing.

  Agitated by her silence, he waved a hand toward her face. “Who did this? Carlton?”

  She drew in a harsh, shaky breath and then released a soft, heartbreaking sob as she pushed out a breath. Tears slowly streaked down the sides of her bruised face as she looked away. “Yes.”

  “Shit.” He knew his brother to be a good many things, but this? “Has he done this to you before?”

  Her lips trembled as more tears spilled down her cheeks. “No. He hasn’t. I…I cannot help but feel as if that night…when those men…” She squeezed her eyes shut, shaking her head, then reopened her eyes. “It affected Carlton. I grew tired of arguing with him about it, day after day. I grew tired of constantly defending myself against his accusations as to why I followed you that night. Even worse, he doesn’t think the child is his. And in the end, he may be right. Because how would I know after what was done to me? For all those reasons and more, I informed him this past week that I didn’t want to be his mistress anymore. And needless to say, he repaid me for it.”

  Radcliff fought the impulse to smash his fist into the side wall. As if Matilda hadn’t already been through enough.

  He stood, struggling to remain calm. “Carlton is under the delusional belief that he has the right to do whatever he pleases. But you needn’t worry about him. All you need worry about is retaining your strength for the birth of your child. I’m going to leave for a small while, but I promise to return with a doctor I trust. The same man who saw to my face. All I ask is that you stay here. Once the doctor approves of moving you, I will see to it you are given money and returned to your sister. You’ll be safe with her.”

  She shook her head, almost violently. “No. I can’t involve her in this. I can’t. She’s respectable. Nothing like me. She is married and has two children. I could never…no. No.” She kept shaking her head. “Carlton cannot be trusted not to come after me. If I stay away from my sister, she’ll be better off. I know she will.”

  So that was why she was here. Because she preferred to expose herself to harm than bring harm to the doorstep of the only family she had. “Noble though it may be to consider your sister, you are needlessly endangering yourself and your unborn child by staying here. Go to her, Matilda, and surround yourself with good people. You needn’t worry about Carlton. I will see to him. I promise.”

  She sobbed again, lips still trembling, and shook her head. “No. He will only make life more difficult for me. And for my family. Please. I…I barely escaped.”

  He hissed out a breath. No one deserved this. He settled beside her on the bed again and firmly met her gaze, hoping to give her some measure of assurance and comfort. “Carlton will not contact you again. I swear it.”

  She was quiet for a long moment. Shakily reaching out, she caught his gloved hand with both of hers and brought it to her lips. “You are not like your brother, are you?”

  She repeatedly kissed the top of his knuckles, as if she never meant to stop, then slid his gloved hand down toward her full breasts. “I don’t belong to him anymore.”

  Radcliff sucked in a savage breath and yanked his hand up and away from her. He leaned back and adjusted his cloak around his shoulders. “For God’s sake, woman, I am not seeking payment. I am assisting you because it is the right thing to do.”

  She blinked in astonishment. “I…thank you. I meant to call on you in person months ago, to thank you for what you did, but Carlton wouldn’t allow it. I understand why he hates me, but I don’t understand why he hates you. Please know that despite what Carlton thinks, you are not to blame for any of it. You were merely one against six. There was nothing more you could have done.”

  “No,” Radcliff growled out. “I could have done more.” He’d simply been so disgustingly inebriated that every blow he threw had slid and every step he took had swayed.

  Matilda searched his face, lingering momentarily upon his scar. “You’ve always been so kind to me. Please. Won’t you consider taking me as your mistress? I know you once wanted me.”

  Radcliff swallowed, remembering that all too we
ll. It was what he once did. It was what he once was. He had wanted every beautiful woman. Even if that woman belonged to another man. Even if that woman belonged to his own brother.

  “I’ll not deny you, Bradford. Not ever again. If you want me, you can have me.” She leaned toward him, offering up her full lips.

  Radcliff choked and stumbled onto his booted feet. He stepped back and away from the bed. “Please. I am a married man.”

  She stared up at him, earlier tears still streaking her battered face. “You’re…married?” She blinked rapidly, as if unable to comprehend it. “Why didn’t Carlton tell me? Who did you marry? Do I know of her?”

  “The details of my life should not concern you any more than they should concern Carlton.”

  She pinched her lips together, half nodded and glanced down at her oversize belly. She rubbed it gently. Lovingly. “All I ever wanted were the very things Carlton was never willing to offer. He made so many promises. So many.”

  She looked up again and intently met his gaze. “I have nothing. Which means this child will have nothing. Radcliff, please. I cannot depend on Carlton for anything. I beg of you. Provide for me and this child. Provide for us and I will give you everything you could ever want. Married men take mistresses all the time.”

  “Some men don’t seek payment for the things they do. I will see to it you and the child are taken care of. For God’s sake, Matilda, why do you continue to put yourself in these damn situations? Here you are, about to give birth, and yet you choose to hide amongst savages who only care about spilling their seed?”

  She looked away and shrugged. “In some morbid way I feel more at home here than anywhere else. There are no pretenses I need to adhere to. I can be who I really am in the eyes of society—nothing. I used to have pride, Bradford. I used to be the daughter of a merchant. Now look at me. I hide from myself.”

  Yes. He himself was guilty of that.

  She shook her head, then veered her gaze back to his face, an odd hope dancing in her eyes. “You must love this aristocratic wife of yours to deny me. Tell me. Is she everything you ever wanted in a woman? Was it a romantic wedding? With lots of flowers?”

  “There were flowers, but I was too bloody nervous to notice anything else. A man like me doesn’t marry for love, Matilda. It suited me, is all. She suited me. I needed a good wife and have always found her to be attractive.”

  Matilda stared at him for an abashed moment, then narrowed her gaze. Gritting her teeth, she kicked her slippered foot toward him. “Is that all a woman will ever be to you and Carlton? Attractive? It is a shame, Bradford, that a woman should mean so little to you, as it does your brother. A shame. I think it is time for you to leave. I have decided not to make use of your assistance.”

  Radcliff rigidly pointed at her and stepped farther back. “I am not about to leave you like this. I have a conscience, despite what you or anyone else thinks. And if you so much as wander from this room or this brothel in your current state before I return with the doctor, I vow you’ll regret that decision. Do you hear me?”

  A sob escaped her as fresh tears rolled down her flushed cheeks. “Why does Carlton continue to punish me whilst refusing to let me go? I don’t understand.”

  Jesus Christ. This was a nightmare. “I… Matilda. He wasn’t always like this. He had a soul once. And I have not been the best sort of brother, imposing upon what mattered most to him. Which was you.” He cleared his throat. “It’s late. I should fetch the doctor. Promise me you’ll stay right where you are. Promise me you will not leave.”

  She nodded and whispered, “I will not.”

  “Good girl. I shall return shortly.” He yanked the hood up and over his head, turned and stalked out.

  Just past midnight, long after delivering Matilda to her sister

  RADCLIFF WASN’T SURPRISED to find Carlton’s lavish abode filled to the ceiling with people the ton always avoided.

  Pushing back the hood of his cloak, he strode by pompous, overdressed men and women smothered with perfumed oils that had lost their scents over the course of a long night spent dancing and drinking. Scents that were now giving way to the raw stench of sweat, heat and wine.

  Radcliff paused within the gold-and-ivory-accented ballroom and scanned his candlelit surroundings, trying to find Carlton amongst the masses.

  A few strides away, an older but very pretty dark-haired woman dressed in a stunning alabaster gown watched him with marked curiosity from behind her fluttering ostrich fan. Her sable eyes drifted across the length of him in a predatory manner before boldly meeting his gaze again. She smiled.

  He smirked, amused she even thought him worthy. Perhaps his scar provided greater appeal to some women.

  Her fan stilled. She lowered it and erotically ran the feathered tips of the fan across the rounded edges of her breasts. Her pink tongue darted out and disappeared back into her mouth as she wet her lips.

  Radcliff’s smirk faded and his chest tightened. He stepped back and away, her flirtation infringing upon his ability to breathe.

  The sparkle in those dark eyes invited him to play as she slowly made her way toward him, her fan still tracing her breasts.

  Radcliff drew in a shaky breath and let it out as he continued to move backward. He had no doubt he could whisk her into a corner somewhere in the back of the house and hitch up her skirts. For he knew that devious look all too well.

  He seethed out a breath through his teeth and quickly turned. He pushed his way through the crowd, toward the direction of the dance floor, moving as fast as he could without startling those around him.

  Sweat coated his skin as he kept moving and pushing forward, trying to ensure that the woman did not engage him. He knew once his obsession took hold, there was very little he could do. Fortunately, she did not follow.

  He blew out an exhausted breath and focused on his surroundings. He was not here to bloody hunt for women.

  He searched the crowded dance floor before him. Carlton’s tall, muscled frame came in and out of view before him. The side of that rugged profile appeared and disappeared as his brother danced and moved among those around him. A young, attractive redhead draped in a mauve evening gown danced seamlessly alongside Carlton, pairing up with him whenever she could.

  Radcliff tugged on the cuffs of his sleeves beneath his cloak and coat. It had been quite some time since he’d last seen the man. Almost eight months.

  Watching Carlton engage in jovial festivities whilst Matilda suffered disgusted him. All he could do was quietly wait for the dance to end. The last thing he wanted was to cause an uproar on his own wedding night. A night which should have been spent in Justine’s bed.

  As he waited, watching the growing flirtation between Carlton and this red-haired beauty, he angrily flexed his gloved hands, opening and closing them. God save him from killing his own brother.

  The orchestra finally ceased playing the set.

  Carlton bent his dark head toward his coquette. She offered him a radiant curtsy with a saucy smile, then turned and sashayed toward a group of randy men who all broke out into competing raptures.

  Carlton stared after the woman, then turned and strode closer, until their gazes locked.

  Radcliff stiffened, the tension in his body coiling. Despite the mounting strain of anger within him, he managed to incline his head in a polite form of salutation.

  His brother came to an abrupt halt and stared with piercing blue eyes no one in the Bradford family had ever borne. It was the only physical characteristic that separated their otherwise similar appearance. Aside from his scar, of course.

  Carlton inclined his dark head.

  Radcliff swept a gloved hand toward the direction of the doors leading out into the garden, but otherwise said nothing. His brother nodded, turned and set off in the direction he’d indicated.

  Radcliff wove through the people around him, following Carlton to the other side of the room. He ignored the passing faces of those who openly gawked at him in respon
se to not only his inappropriate attire but his scar, which had not been introduced to London until tonight. It was but the beginning of what he could expect for the rest of his days.

  Carlton disappeared through the doors leading out onto the darkened terrace, and within moments, Radcliff joined him.

  The light breeze of the summer night cooled his heated skin as he stepped out. Carlton walked farther into the garden, disappearing down the stone path into the darkness, away from the festivities.

  Radcliff moved down the narrow, stone terrace stairs and strode across the garden path after him. He paused when a tall shadow appeared before him barely a few feet away.

  Radcliff steadied his breathing, readying himself for the confrontation he’d been waiting for all night, and closed the distance between them in three swift strides.

  Despite the darkness, he managed to grab hold of the lapels of Carlton’s evening coat and yanked his brother’s broad frame violently toward himself. “Have you seen Matilda? Have you seen what you bloody did to her?”

  Carlton stiffened but otherwise did not attempt to move. “Has that whore run to you again?” he replied in an overly composed tone.

  Radcliff released Carlton’s clothing and seized his throat with a hand, digging every single tip of his gloved fingers deep into that windpipe. He willed himself not to squeeze and suffocate his own brother. “You could have killed her. And the child.”

  Carlton lifted his chin to expand his throat but otherwise did not struggle. “You are overreacting. She is fine.”

  Radcliff leaned in closer. “She is not fine. And rest assured, I haven’t even reacted, you fucking bastard.”

  Carlton grabbed hold of Radcliff’s hand, which still held his throat, and ripped it away in a solid forceful sweep. Carlton rigidly pointed at him and seethed out in a low, predatory tone, “Don’t call me that. Don’t ever call me that.”

  Ah, yes. It appeared, seventeen years after the truth had been revealed to both of them, Carlton still struggled to contend with who he really was.