Surrender to Scandal

by Kelly Boyce

  A mist appeared in Hen’s eyes. “It is nice to have a true friend. Now come, let us venture out. The theatre awaits and my dear brother has confirmed that Lord Pengrin will be joining us in our box. Is that not the most exciting news?”

  Any joy Judith experienced a moment ago fizzled and died. “Lord Pengrin is joining us?”

  “Indeed. He and James are quite good friends. I think my brother will be most amenable should Lord Pengrin have an interest.” She smiled and clasped her hands beneath her chin, the mist that had shone in her eyes only a moment before now lit with a hopeful excitement. “Do you think he is interested? I fear getting my hopes up. I am, after all—” She waved her hand near her scars, craftily hidden as best they could be beneath a high, open collar and the fall of thick, blonde curls. Her smile dampened.

  Judith grabbed her hands, hating the fear and insecurity that so easily found its way back to the young woman, no matter how often she beat it back.

  “You are beautiful, Hen. Inside and out. Any man who cannot see that is a fool and not worthy of your notice. You would not want to be married to a fool, now, would you?”

  Hen’s smile returned. “No, I don’t suppose I would.”

  “Then come. Let us go downstairs and meet Lord Ridgemont and Lady Dalridge. They are likely wondering what is taking us so long.”

  They were halfway down the sweeping staircase when Hen asked her, “Is there any particular gentleman you are hoping to see this evening?”

  The question took her by surprise and one name hovered on her lips, but she bit it back and avoided Hen’s pointed gaze. “No. No one in particular.”

  When she sought out Lord Glenmor this evening, it would be to enlist his assistance in getting Hen to see Lord Pengrin for the charlatan that he was. Nothing more.

  Chapter Twelve

  Generally, Benedict enjoyed the theatre. He loved the spectacle of it, of being taken away for a couple of hours and transported to the world that existed on the stage. If the play was particularly well done, he managed to forget his troubles and actually enjoy himself. Tonight, however, was not one of those nights, though through no fault of the play. Drury Lane’s rendition of Shakespeare’s The Twelfth Night was entertaining and the actors on stage more than talented, but Benedict could not stop glancing upward and to his left, where Lord Ridgemont’s box resided.

  Just two boxes to the right of that was the former Glenmor box. Benedict had let the family’s box go, considering it an unnecessary expenditure during their leanest times. Times that were on the verge of returning, if he did not act fast. Lord and Lady Kemptville occupied the box now. He pushed the melancholy away and turned his attention back to Miss Sutherland.

  She sat in the first seat of the back row, unobstructed by the row in front of her. Resplendent in a plum and cream gown that set off her ivory skin and dark hair, he marveled that anyone had ever considered her plain. Nothing could be farther from the truth. She was an absolute vision. She was also very distressed. Her rigid posture and the constant worrying of her hands where they were clasped in her lap gave away her inner workings.

  He glanced to the next row down from her. Lady Henrietta sat flanked by the indomitable Lady Dalridge on one side and the pompous Lord Pengrin on the other.

  “A shame Mr. Bowen had to send his regrets,” Charles Elmsley said as he leaned closer and peered in the direction of where Benedict’s attention had strayed. “Who is it you keep staring at? Lady Henrietta? Really, Glenmor? Are you considering her?”

  Benedict straightened and shot his gaze forward to the stage, embarrassed at being caught, but thankful Charlie had missed the mark. He didn’t care to explain to the future baron that he had been in the process of lusting after his cousin. Such confessions would likely bring their new friendship to a rather abrupt end, and he rather liked Charlie. The man was easy-going and lighthearted.

  “Word is,” he said, in the hopes of distracting his companion. “Ridgemont hopes to marry his sister off this coming Season and is supplying her with a dowry meant to entice. It is difficult not to consider it.”

  Charlie craned his neck to get a better view. “And the scars do not put you off? I think I would fear touching her, worried it would cause grievous pain. Do you think it would?”

  Benedict shook his head. Sometimes the thoughts in Charlie’s head flew out of his mouth before any filter of propriety or the company they were in could disseminate it. “I could not say, though I wouldn’t think so.”

  “And what of children? What if she is too damaged to carry a child? You will need an heir, you know. You are the last of the Glenmor line, are you not?”

  Benedict squirmed in his seat. “Yes. Thank you for that reminder.” As if he didn’t have enough pressure weighing upon him without adding propagating a proper heir for the title and lands to the list.

  Lady Scallywaite turned in her seat and shushed them. Charlie flashed her a charming smile, then continued the conversation, though he did manage to lower his voice a notch.

  “Well, if you are considering Lady Henrietta, you may want to hurry. It looks like Pengrin has the jump on you there, and I hear ladies find him to be quite appealing.”

  “Your cousin doesn’t.”

  Charlie scowled. “True enough. Though she did, once upon a time. I think she may have had a hope there early on.”

  “Truly? For Pengrin?”

  Lady Scallywaite turned once more and glared. Benedict offered her an apologetic smile, but he could not stop now. His need to plumb the depths of Miss Sutherland had grown too strong to be silenced.

  He leaned closer to Charlie and lowered his voice to a whisper. “I would not have suspected Pengrin to be her type.” Although that did go a long way to explaining her distaste for sitting next to the man at Ridgemont’s dinner party, and her discomfort as she watched the viscount court Lady Henrietta now. His heart stuttered. Did she still have tender feelings for the viscount?

  “I guess even someone as level-headed as Judith can have their heart captured by a charming man.” Charlie grinned and wiggled his eyebrows.

  Charlie should know. His friend’s ability when it came to enchanting the ladies was almost as legendary as Lord Huntsleigh’s, at least before Huntsleigh had married Benedict’s cousin, Caelie. Now she was the only one who received the full force of his charm.

  Still, it seemed unlike Miss Sutherland to have her head turned so easily. “Did Pengrin lead your cousin to believe she could expect a proposal?”

  Charlie shrugged. “I am not certain. She was rather tight-lipped about the ordeal or what became of it. I can say he did pay her a certain amount of attention and courted her to some degree, but nothing that could be outwardly construed as having singled her out. Though what he may have said to her in private, I do not know. Regardless, near the end of the Season his interest in her appeared to have waned and she was reluctant to even leave the house, insisting she be returned to Havelock immediately. I assumed she was nursing a broken heart.”

  “And did she return to Havelock?”

  “Yes. Never to return to London, until now.”

  Benedict leaned back in his chair and considered this new information. What had happened between Miss Sutherland and Pengrin that had put her in such a state? A state that, from all appearances, continued to this day. And why had Pengrin harassed her in such a manner at Ridgemont’s dinner? Benedict had only caught snippets of what the man had said, but based on Miss Sutherland’s reactions he had not misread their interpretation. It was almost as if Pengrin had purposely taunted her. His estimation of the man dipped even lower.

  When the intermission came, Benedict glanced over at Ridgemont’s seats. Miss Sutherland was the only one who remained.

  “Excuse me,” he said, tapping Charlie on the shoulder. “I believe I will take a walk about.”

  Benedict wound his way through the theatre, dodging anyone who appeared to want to make his or her conversation longer than a passing pleasantry. When he reached the Ridg
emont box, none of the others had yet to return. He stood at the edge of where the curtains parted, separating the box from the hallway behind it.

  “Miss Sutherland.”

  Her head turned swiftly and her breath caught. She was jumpy tonight. How unlike her. Benedict offered her his warmest smile and entered the box without invitation. He took the seat one over from her, leaving an empty one between them for propriety’s sake.

  She returned her gaze forward. “You should not be here.”

  “Really? Why is that?”

  She opened her mouth. She had the most beautiful lips. Wider, perhaps, than was considered fashionable, but ruby red and curled upward at the corners so that no matter how stern or serious her manner, her mouth always appeared ready to smile at the smallest provocation. How had he not noticed I that before? The sudden realization made him want to lean across the empty seat between them and kiss her soundly. Repeatedly.

  Ah, what a scandal that would create. What a relief it would be to surrender to it nonetheless.

  “What will people think? Seeing us here?”

  “I suspect they will think I stopped by to say hello to a friend.”

  “We are not friends.”

  “Are we not?” Benedict leaned forward and stared at the seats that lined the center of the theatre. “I had thought we had turned a corner in that respect. After all, we did perform together and one cannot accomplish such a feat when there is acrimony or dislike between them. It sours the performance.”

  “Does it?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “I had not heard such a thing. And truly, I’m not sure we can qualify what you did to the pianoforte as performing.”

  Benedict glanced at her from the corner of his eye in time to see a bewitching smile tug at those lips he so desperately wanted to kiss. How lovely she was. And surprising. “What would you call what I did to the aforementioned pianoforte?”

  “Brutalizing, perhaps?”

  He placed a hand over his heart and groaned, but he could not help his own smile. Somehow, that they had such an experience to share made his day all the richer. “You wound me! I think I did quite well, under the circumstances.”

  Miss Sutherland finally relented and let the promise of a smile spread across her features, lighting them up. “Perhaps. I suppose I did coerce the situation by looking to you for assistance.”

  “Indeed. It is truly all your fault. I was merely doing my duty as a gentleman and assisting a damsel in distress.”

  “Such knightly behavior coming from a Peer of the Realm.” Her smile faded.

  Benedict itched to reach out and take her hand, bring her smile back, but he had the sense that it had disappeared for the evening and in its absence, a dark curtain had fallen behind her deep, brown eyes. He softened his voice. “We are not all a bad sort.”

  “No?”

  He turned toward her. “No. But I suspect your experience has made you believe otherwise.”

  She stiffened immediately. “Whatever do you mean?”

  Benedict chose his words carefully. If he probed too deeply, she would shut the door to him and likely not reopen it. “I have the sense you and Lord Pengrin have had a falling out and that now you base your view of all gentlemen on your experience with him.”

  Her cheeks burned, a slash of red across warm ivory. He had hit the nail on the head, yet still, he remained in the dark. What exactly had Pengrin done? Was it, as Charlie believed, nothing more than a bruised heart? Miss Sutherland was a proud woman and likely would not have taken to humiliation or rejection well. But she was also a sensible one and he found it odd she would carry such a grudge throughout the years. Or that Pengrin would taunt her as mercilessly as he did because of it. There must be more.

  “I cannot imagine any scenario where my business with Lord Pengrin becomes yours, my lord.”

  “I hate it when you my lord me.”

  Her eyebrows dipped and two grooves appeared between them. “What is it you would have me call you?”

  “My family calls me Ben.”

  The redness in her cheeks burned brighter, or was that just a trick of the gaslight flickering light and shadow over her? “I am not your family.”

  But I wish you to be.

  Hell and damn. Where had that come from? Perhaps coming up here to unravel the mystery of Miss Sutherland had been a mistake. He’d acted rashly. Unusual for him. But when it came to Miss Sutherland, rationality did not appear to factor into his decisions. Instead, instinct took over.

  “My close friends also call me Ben. Or Benedict. Even Glenmor if you prefer. But not my lord. I dislike the sound of it.”

  Her shoulders loosened their rigid hold a fraction and she turned to look at him. “Why do you dislike it so? You are a lord. A Peer of the Realm. I would think such a high rank in society would bring you joy and fulfillment.”

  “On the contrary,” he said, losing himself in the depth of her gaze. How did she do that? Make everything around them disappear, as if they were the only two people left in the world? “It has brought me nothing but misery and anxiety.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Because it came at too high of a price.” The words slid out of him and he wondered how she did that too, because until this moment it had been a truth he had kept locked up inside with all the bad memories that led to it and all the ones that came after. He had pushed the memories deep to ensure they would not escape, afraid if they did and he spoke them aloud, he would fall into a dark abyss, never to return.

  Such a fall could not be countenanced. People depended on him. Failure in his duties was not an option. Was it not his past failures to save Father and Uncle Henry that had landed him in this position in the first place? Had either of them lived, he would not be here now, fighting to keep the family fortunes afloat and making a dismal mash of it.

  Yet there it was, the truth, laid bare for her to see even if she didn’t know exactly what she was looking at.

  Benedict held his breath. Waited. Stayed silent in the depth of her gaze and lingered there far longer than was right or proper. Finally, she spoke. “Is your bride hunt part of the price?”

  He should deny it. “Yes.”

  “And once you have found your bride with her ample dowry and marry a woman you do not love, will that not make the cost even higher?”

  “People in our circle generally marry for some type of gain, whether it be financial or social.”

  “Not in your family. Not from what I’ve seen. In your family they marry for love.”

  He smiled and glanced down where his hand rubbed at the knee of his breeches. At some point, he had turned even farther in his chair to face her completely. Funny, he did not recall doing so. “I suppose you have the right of it there. Unfortunately, I do not have the same luxury. I have responsibilities. It falls to me to restore the Glenmor name and fortunes.”

  “And what if you recover your family’s fortunes, only to realize it was not the most important thing in the end?”

  Her words prodded the fear that had lived inside of him since Uncle Henry’s premature death shackled him with the title and the responsibilities that went with it. What if the path he had chosen, the decision he believed to be the right one, was wrong? What then?

  He had no answer.

  “Have you always been this wise?” he asked her, an attempt to divert her question.

  “It is not wisdom,” she said, the intensity in her gaze easing a bit, as if she had read his intent and allowed him the reprieve he’d requested. “It is common sense. What is more important than love and happiness? Your family is well cared for. Your sister has married Lord Blackbourne and your mother wants for nothing, save your happiness. Would the true let down not be in achieving this to please her?”

  “It is not as simple as you make it sound.”

  His concerns were not simply about the immediate future—although now, even that hung in the balance. It was about his family’s legacy. The one that should have been
his father’s, had his family not rebuffed him and left him to live the life of a common man, and die in much the same way. But Roderick Laytham had been anything but common. Intelligent, resourceful, and strong-willed, it should have been he who inherited the title Earl of Glenmor from Uncle Henry. His father would have known what to do to remove the stigma left behind by his older brother. Likely, he would have been able to prevent Uncle Henry’s downward spiral in the first place.

  Uncle Henry had loved his youngest brother and, despite the family objections, had never fully cut off his ties with him. It was his uncle who had ensured Benedict was schooled like a proper lord, and his uncle who took them in after the death of Benedict’s father and brother. It was only then he learned how Uncle Henry had looked up to his little brother. Roderick had escaped the life set out for him and forged his own, while Uncle Henry had been left to marry a woman he thoroughly disliked and wear a title he did not want.

  Benedict could commiserate as now the same mantel rested upon his shoulders. It was up to him to pick up the pieces following Uncle Henry’s scandalous death and try to reinstate both the title and fortunes to their former glory so that his son, when the time came, did not inherit the disaster Benedict had.

  But how did he tell Miss Sutherland that? How did he make her understand? And why did it even matter? He let out a quiet breath. Perhaps if he could make her understand, he could convince himself it was the right thing to do. Because as things stood now, being with any woman other than the one who had so captivated his attention from their first dance, seemed horribly wrong and he could not fathom going through with it.

  “Miss Sutherland. I feel I must tell you—”

  “Glenmor!” Ridgemont’s voice filled the box and his hand clapped down on Benedict’s shoulder, jolting him from the cocoon he’d been enveloped in and yanking him back to the real world. “Imagine finding you here. Checking up on Miss Sutherland’s well-being again, are we?”

  Benedict forced a smile and straightened in his seat. “I thought I would come pay my respects to Miss Sutherland and your family and thank you again for the wonderful dinner party. I hope my abysmal attempt at entertaining the guests has not ruined your reputation as a good host.”