Surrender to Scandal

by Kelly Boyce

  SURRENDER TO SCANDAL

  Kelly Boyce

  THE SINS & SCANDALS SERIES

  While there are those who spend their time in modest pursuits, upholding propriety befitting the lords and ladies of the ton, it would seem that for others scandal is just a sin away…

  AN INVITATION TO SCANDAL

  A SCANDALOUS PASSION

  A SINFUL TEMPTATION

  THE LADY’S SINFUL SECRET

  SURRENDER TO SCANDAL

  COMING WINTER 2016: A SINNER NO MORE

  Copyright © 2015 Kelly Boyce

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or a portion thereof, in any form. This book may not be resold or uploaded for distribution to others.

  This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN: 978-0-9936169-9-0

  Editor: Nancy Cassidy

  Cover design: The Killion Group, Inc.

  Formatter: Author E.M.S.

  Dedication

  The hero of SURRENDER TO SCANDAL was introduced in Book 1 of the series, AN INVITATION TO SCANDAL. Benedict was the big brother of my heroine, Abigail, and from his first appearance, I loved this character and the influence he had on Abigail. Having a big brother of my own, I’ve discovered a thing or two about the influence they can have.

  This book is dedicated to my own big brother, Craig, who reminded me early on that every great heroine benefits from having a big brother who helps keep her feet firmly planted on the ground, while challenging her to reach for the stars. Thanks for being that for me.

  Chapter One

  “Have you heard a word I’ve said, Glenmor?”

  Benedict Laytham pulled his attention away from the window and returned it to Marcus Bowen, who had come by to discuss several investments they’d made and future ones he had in mind. The man’s brain never sat idle.

  “Forgive me, I had just…” He let his words trail off. He had just what? Been staring like a lovesick schoolboy at the carriage conveying Miss Judith Sutherland up the drive to Sheridan Park? Hardly respectable behavior for the Earl of Glenmor, now was it? He cleared his throat and straightened. “Never mind. You were saying?”

  He’d had a devil of a time concentrating on Marcus’s report. A most disconcerting situation, given the current state of the Glenmor finances. But the fact was, he had not been expecting Miss Sutherland to stop by this afternoon and her sudden presence had left him with an unwanted sense of disquiet. He really needed to get over this. It was inevitable that he would run into her with relative frequency, given he was staying at Sheridan Park while the Glenmor countryseat, Maple Glen Manor, underwent much-needed—and frighteningly costly—repairs. According to his sister, Abigail, Miss Sutherland was assisting with the wedding planning, indicating the young woman had a most orderly mind.

  Still, he wished he’d had enough notice prior to the lady’s arrival to remove himself from the premises. Taken a long walk and avoided the temptation of her.

  “I said our return on investment in Booth’s Liverpool and Manchester Railway will prove most lucrative over time and should help immensely with rebuilding the Glenmor coffers.” Marcus, never one to mince words where business matters were concerned, crossed the room to stand at the window and peer outside. “What are you looking at? I swear your mind is elsewhere today.”

  Benedict turned away from the window to face the interior of the room. “Nothing in particular.”

  He tried to shake off the idea of Miss Sutherland, of the fact that she was only at the other end of the long hallway. If he kept this up, Marcus would no doubt figure out what had him so addle-brained. The man had an acute sense of observation that could be unnerving at times.

  Miss Sutherland had proven to have the oddest effect on Benedict. Disturbing, really, and for the life of him, he could not pinpoint exactly why. She was not beautiful, at least not in the conventional sense. She dressed plainly and kept to a rather sedate palate of colors. In fact, she still wore her mourning garb of dark grays and pale mauves, though over six months had passed since her father had died. Nor did she arrange her thick, chestnut brown hair in an attractive coif. Instead, she pulled it back into a tidy bun at the nape of her slender neck. She did not wear baubles or such fripperies that most ladies of his acquaintance seemed to prefer. She did none of the usual things that brought one’s attention to a lady, and yet…

  He sighed. Yet she possessed the most expressive eyes he had ever seen. Deep and dark and steeped in mystery, as if she hid a secret she did not wish to tell.

  Which was ridiculous. She’d spent the past two years playing nursemaid to her dying father. Before that, she’d had but one Season in London that, according to his sister, had been most uneventful. What possible secrets could she have locked away so tightly?

  Marcus glanced out the window one last time, then back at Benedict, arching one dark eyebrow upward as if reading his thoughts. Most disconcerting.

  Benedict left the window and crossed the room to his desk—or rather Blackbourne’s desk that he had borrowed for his visit—and picked up the papers Marcus had brought with him. The numbers were indeed favorable and he breathed a small sigh of relief. The improvements to Maple Glen’s manor house were costing more than he had intended, but the work was necessary.

  Attracting a wealthy bride to help alleviate the chokehold on the family finances had proven far more difficult than he’d expected. Apparently, the title of Countess to an impoverished and scandal-ridden title was not considered a fair exchange. A true pity, as without a bride in possession of an ample dowry, he had little hope of refilling the Glenmor coffers his uncle had decimated before his untimely death.

  What he did not need, most decidedly, were thoughts of Miss Sutherland infiltrating his mind and muddying his thinking. He understood his duty and she, sadly, was not it. While the Sutherlands had a comfortable income, Benedict needed something far more substantial than comfortable if he hoped to repair the damage Uncle Henry had levied.

  “I was thinking we should consider increasing our number of shares in the railway,” Marcus said. He’d stayed at the window, sitting against the protruding sill with his legs outstretched.

  Benedict nodded, forcing himself to pay attention. Marcus’s keen business sense had been the one saving grace that had allowed him to slowly start rebuilding the family fortunes. Unfortunately, he had no more money to invest. He’d tapped out his resources with his other investments, using their returns to pay off the last of the debt his late uncle had incurred.

  “I can loan you the—”

  Benedict gave a sharp shake of his head. “No,” he said, harsher than he’d intended.

  “Are you certain?”

  Despite his lack of title, Marcus Bowen likely had more money than most titled gentlemen filling the House of Lords, but the idea of taking charity from even his dearest friend galled. He would do this on his own. He would not fail. Not again. He owed his family that much.

  Benedict softened his tone. “No, thank you. I appreciate the offer, but I have no wish to be further indebted.”

  He would not incur another debt. He’d stopped the bleeding and repaid the outstanding debts, but with the ongoing repairs to Maple Glen, one misstep could easily send them teetering back on the edge of ruin. A possibility that kept him up at night.

  Marcus didn’t press. Of all the friendships he had acquired upon his sister Abigail’s marriage to Lord Blackbourne, Marcus, a self-made man,
understood best of all the need to make it on one’s own.

  “Well, there is still time if you change your mind. Are you still considering selling your interest in Western Trading Company?”

  The Western Trading Company had been Uncle Henry’s pet project when he was alive. He had invested heavily, convinced the promised returns would be the answer to their financial woes. Perhaps they would have been, had Uncle Henry not insisted on using up the early profits in a vain attempt to win back his mistress, the infamous Madame St. Augustine. In the end, both enterprises failed, one more miserably than the other. But Benedict did not share his uncle’s faith in Western Trading. There was little alternative but to cut ties completely and sell back his interest.

  Unfortunately, Uncle Henry’s former partner in the venture was not only silent, but also unnamed, making tracking him down to discuss the matter an impossible task. Benedict’s only contact with the mystery investor was through his agent, Mr. Francis Crowley, a blustery little man with a tendency to talk around any issue without ever providing a firm answer. Over the past year, as their profits had dwindled, Mr. Crowley had assured him they were on the brink of a financial boon that would see the company’s shares soar. Desperation drove Benedict to invest further, an action he immediately regretted. The more he insisted on meeting his silent partner, the more excuses Crowley had until Benedict no longer believed a word out of Crowley’s mouth.

  “Yes,” Benedict said. “I have determined to cut all ties with Western Trading Company. When I return to London, I will insist Crowley set up a meeting with this silent partner of mine, to put an end to the matter once and for all.”

  Marcus nodded and pushed away from the window to cross the room, clapping Benedict on the shoulder. “Perhaps you will find that rich bride you seek and all of this will be a moot point, hmm?”

  “Perhaps.” Though at this rate, he wouldn’t hold his breath. The Season wouldn’t get underway again until spring and he’d spent the past month holed up at Sheridan Park. While he loved spending time with his new nephew, not to mention his mother and sister, he could not stay here forever. Though the House of Lords was not in session and many families had left the city for their countryseats, London still offered smaller parties and festivities. He needed to return and take part. To do his duty. Perhaps without the competition of more wealthy lords, he might stand a better chance at finding a suitably dowered bride before the New Year. Then he could increase his investment in the railroad and rebuild the family fortunes.

  If only the idea of such a marriage came with even the smallest rush of excitement, instead of the constant dread pooling in the pit of his stomach. Choosing one’s life mate in such a mercenary fashion left him cold. Oh, he understood that was the way of things, and perhaps if he had grown up in society, the idea would be more palatable to him. But his father’s estrangement from his family had allowed them to live outside of such constraints. His parents had married for love, as had his sister. As had his friends, Huntsleigh and Marcus. Even the Dowager Countess of Blackbourne, whose wedding planning had brought the lovely Miss Sutherland to Sheridan Park this day, would in the end, marry for love.

  Was it so selfish of him to have hoped to do the same?

  “Tell you what,” Marcus said, stopping at the door of the study, his fingers drumming absently against the oak frame. “Peruse the report at your leisure, preferably after you’ve had a sound sleep, and then you can get back to me, tell me how brilliant I am and that you are forever in my debt for sharing with you my superb financial acumen.”

  Benedict smiled. “I promise I will give your suggestions my most rapt attention.”

  “Very good.” Marcus said and gave a rare smile. “Now come. Let us go interrupt the ladies and their wedding planning.”

  Benedict’s smile faltered. “Interrupt them?”

  “Of course. They would be insulted if we did not.”

  Benedict hesitated. He did not want to see Miss Sutherland. Or he did, but he did not want to want to. It was all very confusing.

  Marcus called back over his shoulder. “Or you could simply stare out the window at her carriage, if you’d prefer.”

  God save him from over-observant friends. With a low groan, he followed Marcus from the study.

  * * *

  Judith had serious doubts whether the Earl of Glenmor even remembered her name, despite the fact they had waltzed together only last month, and were on the verge of sharing family ties, once her Uncle Arran married the Dowager Countess of Blackbourne.

  Granted, she was not necessarily the memorable sort. She had worked hard to enhance her natural plainness, a fact that had served her well to keep suitors at bay, and she saw no reason to change the way she looked. Still, it would have been nice to see a spark of recollection in the handsome earl’s gaze when he entered the salon where she, her cousin, Patience, the Dowager Countess, and Lady Rebecca were planning the wedding between the dowager and Judith’s uncle.

  Oh, but pride was a tricky thing. A seductive entity that had led her down the road to perdition once before and needed to be nipped in the bud now, before she did something imprudent. Still, she would not lie to herself and say the apparently lackluster impression their dance had made on Lord Glenmor didn’t hurt. It had been a waltz after all, and one would think holding a woman in one’s arms would solidify a remembrance in one’s mind. Somewhere. Even vaguely.

  But when he entered the salon, his gaze slid over her without the slightest hint of recognition. If anything, it practically bounced off her to land elsewhere with all due haste. Oh, he had offered up a polite smile, but she suspected he did the same to every lady that crossed his path. A smile that, if translated into words, would have sounded something along the lines of, ‘Ah, yes, lovely to meet you, Miss…’ followed by a blank stare and a pair of raised eyebrows as he tried to pull her name out of whatever dusty corner he’d stored it in. Obviously, the impression she’d made on him had been far less memorable for him than for her.

  This was not the first time she’d been overlooked by a gentleman and no doubt, would not be the last. She wasn’t the type of woman that men clamored to. Why she should be bothered that Lord Glenmor took no notice of her baffled the mind. Yet it did bother her. Not that she had spent a copious amount of time thinking about him since their dance.

  Because she hadn’t.

  Fine. Perhaps she had, but only a little.

  More than a little. But not a lot. Not quite.

  But could she be faulted if her thoughts occasionally drifted in that direction? He was, after all, exceedingly handsome, with sky-blue eyes and strong, direct features. His hair was a thick, dark, burnished gold, threaded through with shards of light blond where the sunshine had reached down and kissed it. None of that would signify however, had he not been in possession of a pleasing manner, equal parts warmth and charm. In addition, he had held her in his strong arms and whisked her about the ballroom as if pixie dust had given her feet wings. An effect nothing short of magical, and thoroughly unexpected.

  At least it had been for her.

  “I trust the day is finding you well, Lord Glenmor.” She offered a smile despite the hurt his indifference created.

  He nodded. “It does.” A brief hesitation, as if he would prefer to leave the conversation at that, but politeness forced his hand. “And you?”

  “Indeed. Very much.”

  “Good. That is…good.”

  They smiled politely at one another, but his gaze continued to skid away, to land upon the drapery behind her, then the clock on the mantel of the fireplace. Likely counting the seconds before he could leave her presence. If not for the other three chatting away amicably, the room would have descended into an awkward silence. He did not engage her in further conversation, despite being forced to take the seat next to her, as it was the only one available.

  Was she so far beneath his notice? But then again, that was the way of men of his stature, was it not? They may be polite when in public an
d such things were called for, but ultimately, they let you know where you stood.

  Had she not learned her lesson in that regard?

  She twisted her fingers around each other and tried to wrestle such thoughts from her mind. Hard to do when the object of said thoughts sat only an arm’s length away. Despite the distance, however, she could feel him, as if his presence reached out and caressed the length of her. Scandalous thinking, but she could not help herself.

  Lady Rebecca turned her silvery eyes on Lord Glenmor. “Your sister tells me you are planning to return to London before the Season begins, Benedict. Is this true?”

  “Yes,” he answered and Judith savored the sound of his given name. Benedict. She let the name echo in her mind, knowing that later she would whisper it aloud and hating herself for such weakness in advance.

  “Why ever would you make such a journey at this time of year? What if the weather turns and you cannot return in time for the wedding?” Lady Rebecca asked.

  “I promise to do my best to ensure a speedy return. But I must go. There is…business I must attend to.”

  “Business meaning bride-hunting,” Mr. Bowen informed them. Lord Glenmor scowled at his friend, but the expression did little to silence him. If anything, it egged him on. “He is making a preemptive strike before the rest of the lords return to town for the Season. If his hunt proves successful, perhaps you will all be planning another wedding soon.”

  Judith’s cousin, Patience, clapped her hands. The young woman, currently suffering in forced exile from London, consistently looked for any excuse that ended in a party. “Wouldn’t that be lovely?”

  Judith’s heart lurched. She did not find the idea lovely at all, much to her chagrin. Who the earl married was none of her affair. Clearly, whatever spark she’d imagined had occurred during their waltz had been in her mind only. A spark she must extinguish immediately lest she make a total fool of herself.