A Scandalous Past (Regency Romance, Book 4)

by Ava Stone

  “You can thank me now,” the gregarious bastard said with a smile when it appeared the other gentlemen were engaged in a rather uninteresting political discussion.

  Brendan glowered at Chet, but kept his voice low to keep the others from overhearing. “I’d like to thank you right into the Thames. That was the most bloody awful dinner I’ve ever had to sit through.”

  “Oh, that’s Hannah’s fault,” Chet said as he raised his glass to his lips. “She stumbled across some unemployed army cook and hired the man on the spot. I’m still trying to get accustomed to the fellow’s idea of what passes for fine dining.”

  “It wasn’t the bloody food,” Brendan bit out. Though the meal wasn’t a highlight either. “I can do without your help where Miss Avery is concerned, and I’ll thank you to keep that in mind.”

  Chet shrugged, unconcerned as always. “Someone needs to help you. I saw the blackguard abscond with her this afternoon, Brendan. Miss Avery is tempted by adventure and excitement, neither of which are your best qualities. If you’re going to win her, you’re going to have to go about it differently.”

  “Since when did you become an authority on young ladies?”

  With a brilliant smile, Chet had the audacity to wink at him. “Oh, I’m not. But Caroline is, and she thinks you need a little guidance. I’m inclined to agree with her.”

  He was going to slowly kill them all. Caroline. Chet. The dowager. Every blasted last one of them. He pushed his glass aside and rose. “Thank you for a delightful evening,” he replied mordantly.

  “Bren!” Chet frowned.

  But he didn’t look back. He waved his hand over his shoulder and started for the corridor. He stalked down the hallway, past the drawing room, and was just about to turn the corner towards his escape when he heard her voice behind him.

  “So, are you really the best swimmer in all of Derbyshire?” she asked with a hint of amusement.

  Brendan spun on his heel to find her standing quietly in the doorway of the Astwick library. How he’d missed her a moment ago, he had no idea. The soft glow from the wall sconces bathed her skin in golden hues, complementing her gown. One dark curl had escaped her coiffure, and rested temptingly on her shoulder. He couldn’t help but smile at her. “I’m sorry about all that in there.”

  “Do you really need that much help, my lord?” A soft giggle escaped her, and Brendan was entranced by the sound.

  “No.” Against his better judgment he walked towards her. His heart pounded so loudly, he could hear it in his ears. Miss Avery is tempted by adventure and excitement. Dear God, somewhere in the last day he’d completely lost his mind.

  ~ 9 ~

  Cordie’s eyes widened when Clayworth suddenly stood before her. There was something different in his eyes, something she hadn’t noticed until now. Desire. She’d seen that look on Captain Seaton’s face before she broke their engagement, but it had never left her as breathless as she felt in this instant.

  The earl touched her fallen curl and wrapped it around his pinkie, staring at it as if her hair held the answers to the world’s greatest questions. Then his eyes flashed to hers. “Do you crave adventure, Cordelia?” he asked softly, his hand gently caressing her cheek.

  Cordie stood paralyzed, staring up at him in amazement. Her name had never sounded so sensual as it did on his lips.

  Clayworth’s free hand was suddenly on her waist and he backed her further into the library, holding her closely against him. “Is that why you surround yourself with dangerous blackguards? For the adventure?”

  She still hadn’t found her voice, which was something that never happened. Cordie should ask him to stop, or yell for someone to help her, or slap sense back into him. But she couldn’t do any of those things as his mesmerizing dark blue eyes bored into hers. His gaze dropped to her lips, and she swallowed nervously.

  “If I was a wicked scoundrel, could I capture your heart?”

  She managed to shake her head. She wasn’t after adventure. Where had he come up with that idea? She craved freedom to do what she wanted, to be loved and desired. He apparently desired her, but he was incapable of love, and she shouldn’t forget…

  His warm mouth covered her lips, and Cordie lost all thought. Her eyes fluttered shut. She staggered slightly, but his muscled arms steadied her, drawing her to his strong chest. She inhaled the heady scent of rich, spicy port on his breath as he sucked on her bottom lip. Clayworth’s tongue lightly touched the corner of her mouth, and Cordie gasped. He deepened his kiss, surging inside her.

  Tingles raced across her skin. She wouldn’t be able to stand at all if he wasn’t holding her.

  “Kiss me back,” came his guttural plea.

  Her hands, of their own free will, cupped his jaw, and she tentatively touched her tongue to his. Clayworth moaned at the contact and his arms tightened around her, nearly robbing Cordie of her breath. Even still she’d never known the wanton feelings that were flooding her. Captain Seaton had kissed her, of course, but not like this. Not like he was a starving man, and she a platter of delicacies. Each time his tongue entered her mouth, she was certain she would melt away into complete nothingness.

  “Cordelia!” came her mother’s voice, somewhere off in the distance.

  Clayworth slowly raised his head and stared down at her with such an intensity Cordie thought she might burst into flame.

  “I think you’re dangerous for me,” he told her before dropping his arms and stepping a few feet away.

  A moment later, her mother stood in the doorway, smiling when her eyes landed on the earl. “Oh there you are, Cordelia. I thought I’d lost you.”

  Clayworth stepped forward and smiled at the baroness. “My apologies, Lady Avery. Your daughter was simply helping me look for a book.”

  Her mother frowned at the innocent explanation. “A book?” she asked dejectedly

  “On Scandinavia,” he lied smoothly. How could he speak so calmly after that kiss? She couldn’t form a sentence if her life depended on it, but his cool façade was firmly back in place.

  Lady Avery’s face brightened instantly. “Oh, Lord Clayworth, Cordie should have told you that we have dozens of books on the Scandinavian countries. My youngest son, Tristan, spent quite a bit of time there.”

  The earl’s smoky eyes settled on Cordie and she couldn’t help but stare back at him, at his perfectly chiseled jaw, his slightly swollen lips that had so recently touched her skin.

  “She didn’t mention it,” he drawled easily, though his baritone voice made Cordie’s knees weak.

  “Silly girl,” her mother trilled, stepping further into the library. “My lord, I insist you visit us at Avery House to peruse our library.”

  “I will be anxiously awaiting your return from Norfolk.”

  ***

  The ride to Norfolk was painful in many ways. In the first place, Cordie had hoped she and Phoebe could talk openly on the journey, but unfortunately, at the last moment, their mothers decided to change coaches and ride with them. They certainly couldn’t discuss anything important with those two harridans listening to their every word. Worse than that, however, was the fact the ride was exceedingly bumpy and she couldn’t even drift off to sleep, which she desperately needed as she hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep the night before.

  All night she’d gone over and over Clayworth’s kiss. From start to finish. It was the most uncomfortable night she’d ever spent. She’d tossed and turned this way and that, trying to forget every touch of his tongue to hers, how large and imposing he felt surrounding her in his muscled arms, the urgency in his voice when he’d demanded she kiss him back.

  Sitting next to Phoebe, she shifted uncomfortably in her seat as the memory flashed again in her mind.

  “Are you incapable of sitting still?” her mother finally wondered aloud.

  “Sorry. I suppose I’m just anxious to arrive,” Cordie replied and stared out the window at the passing Norfolk countryside. Honestly, how much longer would it be? And could she re
tire immediately upon their arrival? Even if she did so, would sleep continue to elude her?

  Her mother smiled at her, the first smile Cordie had seen on her face in quite a while. “Don’t worry, dear. I’m certain he’s awaiting your return just as anxiously as you are. But time apart is good, too. Absence makes the heart grow fonder and all that.”

  Phoebe’s mouth dropped open, then she recovered with an innocent smile. “Oh, I’m so relieved that you know, Lady Avery. I was feeling so guilty. Mother would never let a man like him court me.”

  Haversham. Cordie’s eyes flashed to her friend and at the same instant her heart sank. How could Phoebe say that to her mother, of all people?

  Lady Avery frowned and turned her attention to Mrs. Greywood. “Evelyn, is there something unfavorable about Lord Clayworth that I’m unaware of?”

  Phoebe’s face flushed red when she met Cordie’s eyes, apparently just now discovering her error in opening her big mouth.

  “Clayworth?” Mrs. Greywood echoed, then shook her head. “He’s a paragon in everyone’s eyes.”

  Though Haversham’s name wasn’t mentioned, it didn’t take her mother long to figure him out. Cordie could tell the exact moment Lady Avery’s mind reached that conclusion, because her face turned a perfectly horrid shade of puce. The Greywoods presence in the carriage was the only thing preventing her from suffering a sore backside and bleeding ears.

  Lady Avery glared at her daughter the rest of the journey, two more excruciating hours, until they finally reached Malvern Hall. Cordie wasn’t certain which was worse—the anticipation of dealing with her mother’s rising ire or the actual event.

  ***

  Brendan arrived at Bayhurst Court shortly after dusk. His nephew, Thomas, raced down the grand staircase upon his arrival and threw his arms around Brendan’s middle. “Uncle! You’ve returned,” the boy gushed.

  Brendan ruffled his nephew’s shaggy, light brown hair, then took a step back to get a good look at the boy. “I was barely gone at all.”

  At ten years old, Thomas was more like a son than a nephew. When Flora died weeks after the boy’s birth, Brendan immediately took over the infant’s care. At the time, he had hopes his new wife, Marina, would make a good mother to the child, but the circumstance of Thomas’ birth was not something Marina could get past.

  “Well, we weren’t expecting you,” Thomas explained with a shrug. “We thought once you got to London you’d stay for a while.”

  “Actually,” Brendan began, gesturing for Thomas to follow him as he went to his study, “I’m only home for a bit, I’m afraid. I’m working on something in London.”

  “Then why are you here?” Thomas asked. The boy was always inquisitive. It was one of his better qualities, in Brendan’s opinion. Always trying to figure out how things worked and why things happened.

  Brendan clapped his nephew on the back. “I hadn’t planned to be gone for long and I wanted to get things in order before I abandon you and Rose for a period of time.”

  “How long will you be gone?” the boy asked, a hint of sadness in his voice.

  He had no idea. At least not until he had searched Avery House from top to bottom. But how long would that take? He could find the letters in a day if he was extremely lucky, or it might take months. “I’m not sure, Tom.” And then there was Cordelia. When he’d foolishly taken her in his arms, the last thing on his mind were those blasted letters. Would he even be able to focus on the job at hand if she was around, tempting him with her very presence? And if she was gone, he didn’t have an excuse to visit Avery House. It was a quandary indeed.

  As they reached the study, Brendan held the door open, then followed his nephew inside. He quickly poured himself the brandy he desperately needed after his journey. Then he took a second snifter and poured just enough for a swallow. He handed Thomas the dash of brandy and seated himself opposite the boy in one of the room’s overstuffed leather chairs.

  Thomas looked at the glass with a frown. “For me?”

  Brendan shrugged. “You’re growing into a man, Tom. Be careful with the first sip, it will burn a bit on the way down.” He threw back his own glass and downed the velvety oak brandy in one swallow. He would generally prefer to nurse such an exceptional drink, but tonight he was tired and sore, and had lots on his mind he wanted to forget.

  Thomas peered into his cup and sniffed, crinkling up his nose.

  The sight made Brendan laugh. “Thomas, if you don’t want to drink it, you don’t have to.”

  “No, no.” The boy frowned. “I’ll try it.” He tentatively tipped the snifter back and took just a sip. He squinted and moved his tongue around like a dog trying to get rid of a bad taste.

  “All right,” Brendan said with an indulgent smile. “You’re not ready for it yet. We’ll try again next year.”

  Pleased, Thomas placed the glass on a side table. He tilted his head to one side, looking intently at his uncle. “What are you working on in London?”

  “A little family business. Something your grandmother left undone.”

  Thomas nodded, as if he understood, though he couldn’t possibly fathom what Brendan was trying to accomplish. He hoped to keep it that way. Thomas’ life as a bastard would be hard enough over the years. He didn’t need to know he was the grandson of a traitor as well. “How’s Rose?” he asked, hoping to change the subject.

  “The same,” Thomas answered quickly.

  It would have been a surprise if he’d answered differently. Rosamund had been the same for more years than Brendan could remember. She seemed to be perpetually ten or eleven years old, never advancing mentally. In the past, Brendan had invited all sorts of doctors to examine his sister, but no one could ever come up with a reason for her strangeness, nor a cure. One fellow suggested sending her off to live in a hospital in Scotland, but Brendan wouldn’t hear of it and tossed the man out. No one would love Rose and care for her like her family. He couldn’t possibly trust her care to someone else. Whatever was wrong with Rose, she deserved better than that.

  “Are you all right, Uncle?” Thomas asked.

  Brendan nodded. “Of course, Tom. Why would you think otherwise?”

  Thomas pursed his lips and furrowed his brow. “I don’t know. You just seem different.”

  If a ten-year-old boy could tell he was different, Brendan didn’t have chance of fooling anyone else. He wished he knew what seemed different about him, so he could try and mask whatever it was.

  “This business,” Thomas continued, “of grandmother’s. If it’s waited this long, will it hurt to let it wait some more?”

  Brendan shook his head. “I’m afraid so, Thomas. The sooner I take care of this situation, the sooner things can go back to normal.”

  As soon as the words left his mouth, Brendan wasn’t certain he wanted things to go back to normal. What if he courted Cordelia in earnest? God, he couldn’t get her off his mind. The way she tasted like sweet summer berries, the way her rounded breasts felt pressed against his chest, the way she made him harder than he’d ever been in his life.

  He had to find the letters. If by some miracle he could convince the girl to marry him, her future would be forever tied to his. He couldn’t risk bringing her into his family if the letters dangled out there, ready to ruin everything in their life with no notice.

  No, everything hinged on finding his mother’s letters.

  ~ 10 ~

  When Cordie was five, she made the mistake of telling her father over dinner that she wasn’t going eat her “bloody” squash. Her mother and sister’s mouths had dropped open and all three of her brothers sucked in surprised breaths. Her father, an imposing man, had pushed away from the table, snatched her up with one hand, and returned her to the nursery, where he blistered her backside. He hadn’t even asked where she heard that word—he hadn’t needed to. The next day, both Russell and Tristan walked with the same painful limp she did.

  Her father’s punishment was a blessing in comparison to what her mot
her had doled out in the years since. Cordie wasn’t quite certain how, but her mother’s blows always seemed more powerful than she remembered her father’s being all those years ago. And while Lord Avery quietly went about his business with a steely determination, Lady Avery ranted and wailed the entire time.

  Cordie went without dinner the first night in Malvern Hall. She couldn’t possibly sit down if she wanted to. Lying down hurt as well. So she leaned against a heavy armoire in her guest room and tried to convince herself that the pain would subside soon. It always did. Her situation was desperate, more so every moment she remained at home. She needed to marry quickly. It was her only way out of the situation.

  She was so confused now. Haversham or Clayworth? The two men couldn’t be more different. Days ago, the choice would have been easy.

  Haversham desired her and would offer her the freedom she most wanted. He was sinfully handsome and his very presence spoke of untold pleasures that awaited her. Her mother would hate him, and that was definitely a plus in his favor.

  Clayworth, on the other hand, was more difficult to figure out. He was a dichotomy. For years she’d heard Marina complain about her loveless marriage. Clayworth was cold, cruel, passionless. She knew each complaint by heart. But she was having a difficult time rectifying those words with the man who held her and kissed her with a fierce passion. Was he like that with Marina in the days before their marriage? And then did it just go away? She didn’t think she could take his defection. Her heart couldn’t withstand the pain of losing his affection. After one kiss, she knew this with absolute certainty.