A Scandalous Past (Regency Romance, Book 4)

by Ava Stone

  Cordie shut the door behind her and started toward the marquess. “I couldn’t let anyone note my absence, my lord.”

  “Marc,” he reminded her.

  “Marc,” she echoed softly, closing the gap between them.

  He touched her cheek and smiled. “So there is the little matter of our deal, Cordelia.”

  “A kiss,” she replied. “But not here. There are too many people about.” Clayworth, in particular. It would be terribly difficult to kiss the marquess knowing the earl was so close. She didn’t know if she could do it. Distance was a necessity.

  His smile deepened and he ran his fingers along the column of her neck. “My thoughts exactly. We’ll need to go somewhere else.”

  “Somewhere else?” Cordie blinked at him. “But my family, my brothers are in the other room. I can’t leave now.”

  “Your brothers.” Marc frowned. “Did you know Captain Avery threatened me?”

  “Russell threatened you?” Her voice rose an octave. The interfering, overprotective lout!

  “He said he’d call me out if I came near you again, but I can’t seem to help myself.”

  How dare Russell think he could take control of her life in such a manner? She was perfectly capable of making her own decisions. How was she going to get Haversham to propose if he wasn’t allowed near her? Not that she was allowed near him, but that was another matter altogether. Russell could cost her the only chance she had at becoming the Marchioness of Haversham. Blast him!

  “Where do you want to take me?” she asked, her mind made up.

  “Somewhere quiet.” His gravelly voice washed over her. “Somewhere we can be alone.”

  ~ 20 ~

  How long could it take to repair a bloody flounce? Brendan kept his eyes glued to the entryway, his unease growing with every minute that passed. He shook his head. He was being ridiculous. What sort of trouble could she have gotten herself into?

  Viscount Brookfield strode through the door, wearing a rather threadbare jacket and a desperate look. Brendan’s wariness doubled. Cordelia couldn’t be alone with Brookfield about. Who knew what he was capable of? Brendan doubted Phoebe Greywood could hold off the fortune-hunter.

  “You’re making a mistake,” the lieutenant warned his brother. “That chit’s giggle is enough to make one jump off the cliffs of Dover.”

  The captain chuckled. “She seemed delightful to me.”

  Brendan cleared his throat, garnering both officers’ attention. “Your sister has been gone quite a while.”

  Lieutenant Avery smirked at him. “Watch it, Clayworth, you’re in danger of revealing your hand where Cordie’s concerned.”

  “She’s awful with a needle and thread,” the captain added. “Consider yourself warned, though you didn’t hear that from me.”

  “I have a bad feeling,” Brendan admitted, certain the two fellows would think he’d lost his mind.

  Captain Avery sighed. “Very well, Clayworth, if it will make you feel better I’ll track her down.” Then he added as an afterthought, “And the pretty Miss Greywood.”

  The lieutenant rolled his eyes. “It should be quite the campaign for you to locate the retiring room, Russell. Good luck with your endeavors.” He then turned his attention back to the dancers just a few feet away, grumbling something about stupid societal affairs.

  Brendan watched the captain leave the room and took a calming breath. He was being foolish. He knew he was. He just couldn’t shake the uncomfortable feeling that something was wrong. He considered going after the captain, but figured the officer had the situation under control. The man was Cordelia’s brother, and at the moment Brendan didn’t have any claim to her.

  It felt like a lifetime before Captain Avery re-entered the ballroom, his face ashen white. Brendan and Lieutenant Avery noticed him at the same moment and quickly crossed the room.

  “What is it?” the lieutenant asked.

  “I can’t find her,” the captain admitted. “Lady Sunderland has four retiring rooms. Two on this level and two above. No one has seen either her or Miss Greywood in any of them.”

  “We’ll split up,” Brendan ordered. “They’ve got to be here somewhere.” At least he prayed they were.

  ***

  Phoebe paced the library for what felt like the millionth time. How much longer would she have to wait? Cordie had said the library, hadn’t she? Phoebe pulled out an ancient tome with a dark, red spine with golden lettering. Ancient Rome. Not even remotely interesting. She slid the book back in place and began her pacing again.

  The door opened and she sucked in a breath. Who, besides her, would go traipsing about the library during a ball?

  “Cordie?” a male voice called.

  Oh, no! Oh, no! Oh, no!

  Phoebe bit her lower lip and started to back towards the far side of the library. There was a nice little alcove she’d noticed earlier, and it would be the perfect place to hide. But then something caught her at the back of her legs and she stumbled backwards, falling on her bottom. “Oh!” she cried, as the wind whooshed out her. Immediately, she covered her mouth in horror.

  How stupid could she be? Now he, whoever he was, would surely find her.

  At that moment, Lieutenant Avery stepped around the corner of a shelf and stared down at her, relief washed across his face. “Thank God!” He rushed forward and helped her to her feet. “Are you all right, Miss Greywood?”

  Unable to find her voice, Phoebe nodded.

  “Where is Cordie?” he asked, his golden brown eyes boring into her.

  “Cordie?” she squeaked. What was she supposed to do now? She couldn’t tell them where she was? That was sure to land them both in trouble.

  His eyes suddenly narrowed. “Yes, my sister, your friend. Where is Cordelia?”

  Phoebe gulped, shaking her head.

  “Answer me!” he nearly growled.

  Phoebe backed away from the lieutenant. He seemed fairly dangerous and she didn’t want to be too close to him. “I-I’m not certain.”

  “You’re not certain?” he asked with a frown. “Why didn’t you return to the ballroom?”

  “I-I was looking for a book.”

  “A book?”

  “On Ancient Rome. I find the era fascinating.”

  He stalked towards her, disbelief etched across his brow. “And I’m Julius Caesar. Where is my sister, Miss Greywood?”

  “I’ve already told you. I’m not certain.” She turned on her heel to escape the officer. Every moment spent with him, his ire seemed to rise and she’d rather not be around should he explode like Mount Vesuvius.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” he demanded.

  “Back to the ballroom. It was your suggestion, Lieutenant, and I believe a very good one. So nice making your acquaintance.” Just as she started for the door, she tripped again. Blast her clumsiness! She stared at the angry, upside down face of Lieutenant Avery, hovering over her.

  “You seem to be in quite the hurry, Miss Greywood.”

  Phoebe swallowed nervously. “No, just accident prone, Lieutenant.” She scrambled back to her feet and started towards her exit, when the officer snared her about the waist and pulled her against the wall of his chest.

  “Where is my sister?”

  “Un-unhand me,” she begged, prying at his fingers.

  His grasp tightened. He was too strong for her. “You tell me where Cordie is and you’ll gain your freedom,” he hissed in her ear.

  Phoebe shook her head. Cordie needed time to bring the marquess up to scratch. She couldn’t tell anyone where she was. “I-I already told you. I don’t know.”

  “I think you know exactly where she is.”

  “She’s probably still in the retiring room.” This was perfect. This was her escape. “I’ll be happy to search the room for you.”

  “You little liar,” he growled. “I know damn well neither of you were ever in any retiring room. Now start speaking or I’ll get out my horsewhip.”

  Having se
en the scars on Cordie’s back, Phoebe believed him instantly. Her heart pounded and she took a steadying breath. Why hadn’t Cordie come back for her? “Sh-she’s in one of the parlors at the front of the house.”

  The lieutenant did not release her as promised. Instead he pushed her towards the doorway, maintaining his position of half a step behind her. “Show me.”

  Phoebe nodded. There was nothing else she could do.

  In the corridor, they bumped into the handsome Captain Avery and Phoebe’s heart leapt to her throat. He looked just as panicked as his brother, and she saw her chances with him dwindle away.

  “Miss Greywood, where have you been? Where is Cordie?” the captain asked.

  “Don’t listen to a word she says,” the lieutenant advised. “She’s going to show us where Cordie is.” He pushed her forward a bit. Obviously, the man still thought he was on the battlefield and hadn’t adjusted to life in the civilized world. Phoebe felt like a prisoner of war.

  “Do you really think it’s necessary to manhandle her?” The captain’s voice came from behind them.

  “She’s already tried to run off twice. I’m not taking any chances.”

  Phoebe led them to the parlor where Cordie and Haversham were holed up and tried to wrench herself free of the lieutenant’s hold. “Please, you’re bruising me.”

  “Tris, let her go,” his brother directed.

  The lieutenant freed her to throw open the door, but the room was empty. There wasn’t a sign of Cordie or the marquess anywhere. Both officers’ eyes bored into hers. Phoebe shook her head in confusion. “But this is where I left them.”

  “Them?” Lieutenant Avery barked. “Who was with her?”

  “Tris!” the captain growled. Then he focused his startlingly green eyes on Phoebe. “Who was with her?”

  Cordie should be here. Was she in some sort of trouble? Phoebe shook her head. She had to tell the truth. If something happened to Cordie, it would all be her fault. “Lord Haversham,” she whispered.

  Both men’s mouths dropped open, and Phoebe felt like the biggest fool.

  “God in heaven!” Captain Avery blanched.

  “You left her with him?” the lieutenant demanded.

  “It’s not Miss Greywood’s fault, Tristan,” the captain replied quietly.

  “What has she done?”

  “Ruined herself completely.”

  ***

  Brendan could hardly believe his ears. He’d just happened to stumble upon the brothers Avery and Miss Greywood when he overheard their conversation. His adorable Cordelia had gone off with Haversham? His heart ached at the thought of her in the marquess’ clutches. As worldly as she made herself appear, she was actually a very innocent, naïve girl. But she wouldn’t stay that way for long, if someone didn’t do something.

  Memories of Flora after her lover had abandoned her, rushed into Brendan’s mind. He’d rather be hung for treason than let the same thing happen to Cordelia.

  There had to be something he could do. If he could just find her. Years ago when the marquess had taken Ella Burke, he’d fled to his Yorkshire estate. Of course, they’d started out in the county, and Brendan didn’t think he’d go that far away. So the lout’s Mayfair home seemed the place to start. It was the closest place to look anyway. He prayed he’d make it there in time.

  ~ 21 ~

  It was only a short distance from the Sunderland’s to Haversham’s enormous home in Upper Grosvenor, so it wouldn’t take long to arrive. Cordie sat back against the leather squabs, immediately second guessing herself. Had she made a foolishly impulsive decision?

  Letting him compromise her was the quickest way to the altar.

  The marquess sat across from her with a devilish twinkle in his light eyes. The sight made Cordie swallow nervously. What had she gotten herself into?

  “You look nervous, angel,” he said silkily. “There’s no need.”

  “I’m fine,” she lied and forced a smile to her face.

  “You’re stiff as a board. One would think you’ve never done this before.”

  Cordie frowned at him. What was he talking about? Escaping from a society ball or kissing a man to fulfill the terms of a bargain? Either way she was nervous enough and didn’t need his scrutiny. “That’s not very complimentary.”

  His rakish grin widened. “My apologies. I promise to be extremely complimentary in the future.”

  The future. They had a future. Well, that was something. It was what she wanted, after all. Cordie ignored the twinge of pain in her heart and smiled in return. Haversham was exactly the sort of husband she needed. He was devilishly handsome and he’d leave her to her own devices, while his name and position would protect her from her mother. She couldn’t possibly ask for more.

  An unwanted thought niggled in the back of her mind. She did want more. It wasn’t Kelfield’s status of scoundrel that had initially set her on this quest. It was the look of love and devotion on his face that he reserved only for Livvie. Being married to a scoundrel had its own benefits, but what she’d truly wanted was for the man she loved to adore her the way Kelfield did Livvie. Was it possible Haversham could become that man?

  Though in her heart she knew the answer to that, she refused to acknowledge it even to herself.

  The coach rambled to a stop, and Cordie’s heart froze. Haversham climbed out first into the foggy night and offered his hand to her. Shaking slightly, she allowed him to help her to the ground.

  “You’re as skittish as a kitten,” he said with chuckle.

  Dread washed over her. A kitten? Why did he have to say that of all things? An image of Clayworth flashed in her mind and she snatched her hand back from the marquess. “I—um—I don’t think I can do this.”

  His smile vanished. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I mean, I—um—I’m not ready, my lord.” Anger flashed in his eyes, and she gulped. Was this the look Miss Burke had seen all those years ago? Would he try to take revenge on her as well?

  “Marc!” a man’s strangled voice interrupted them from a few feet away.

  Haversham looked over his shoulder and straightened in an instant. “Kelfield?”

  Cordie stepped away from the marquess and stared into the mist. It was Kelfield. He staggered a bit and came to a stop before them. He blinked when his eyes fell on her. “M-Miss Avery?” the drunk duke slurred. “Wh-what’re you do-doing here?”

  “She’s my guest.” Haversham answered for her, frowning at his friend. “What the devil is wrong with you?”

  Kelfield tried to straighten up, but wobbled a bit. “I need a place to stay, Marc.”

  Haversham waved him up the stairs. “Stay as long as you want.”

  The duke furrowed his brow, trying to focus on Cordie. “Olivia wouldn’t want you to be here.”

  Olivia wouldn’t want him walking the streets deep in his cups either, but Cordie kept that thought to herself. “Thank you for your concern.”

  “I’ll thank you to mind your own business,” the marquess growled at his friend’s departing form. Then he turned his attention back to Cordie. “We had a deal.”

  They did have a deal. She’d risked everything to save the man who’d just stumbled across Haversham’s threshold. Cordie closed her eyes, praying for strength. “Very well, my lord.”

  “Inside,” he barked at her. “I don’t need a bloody audience.”

  She climbed the stairs and was shown into an elegant salon, remodeled in the Greek style. What was she doing here? This was a terrible mistake, but one she couldn’t see a way out of. The marquess poured himself a liberal amount of whiskey and swirled the amber liquid around his glass before downing it in one gulp.

  “My lord,” she began softly.

  “Quiet!” he ordered, rubbing his brow.

  So much for her theory that he wouldn’t be controlling.

  Finally he sank into a gold and white brocade chair, closing his eyes and massaging his temples. “You are a tease, Cordelia.”

 
She said nothing to defend herself. He was right, after all.

  “I thought you wanted this as much as I did.”

  “So did I,” she whispered.

  He opened his eyes and pierced her with pained look. “And what do you want now?”

  She gulped, afraid to tell him. “I—um—well, I’d like to go home.”

  Haversham pinched the bridge of his nise between his fingers. “Come here, Cordelia.”

  She stepped towards him and swallowed when his eyes never left her. Cordie stopped before him and took a deep breath. “Yes, my lord?”

  “I don’t think I’ll get over you.” He sighed. “It’s Clayworth, isn’t it?”

  “Yes,” she admitted quietly.

  Haversham sat forward in his seat and grasped her hand in his. “I’m at least owed my kiss, am I not?”

  Unable to speak, she simply nodded. They had agreed to a kiss and she did owe him a debt.

  The marquess raised her hand to his lips and pressed a soft kiss to the inside of her wrist. Then he squeezed her fingers and dropped her hand. “There. I’ll have Anderson take you home. You’ll understand if I don’t accompany you.”

  Relief washed over her and Cordie swiped at a tear. “Oh, thank you, my lord.” She leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “You are a gentleman.”

  He scoffed. “I’d rather you didn’t tell anyone.”

  A gurgled laugh escaped her at the same moment they heard an angry voice yell from the corridor.

  “Where is she? Cordelia!” Clayworth bellowed, his voice echoing throughout the house.

  Haversham leapt to his feet, nearly knocking Cordie to the floor. He caught her elbow and sat her in his vacant seat. The marquess bolted to the salon door and hauled it open. A split second later, his face met with Clayworth’s fist.

  Cordie screamed as Haversham dropped to the floor.

  The earl’s eyes flashed to where she sat on the chair. Relief spread across his features and he wasted no time stepping over the marquess, crossing the room, and hauling her into his arms. “Tell me you’re not hurt,” he begged.