How to Ruin Your Reputation in 10 Days (Ladies of Passion)

by Harmony Williams

  I almost laughed at the idea. “I’m not.” Julian was engaged, and I didn’t love him, anyway. Though if I had to marry anyone, why not my best friend? I should have thought of it years ago. Now it was too late. “I was just curious.”

  Papa gave a short, terse snort of derision. “Stifle that curiosity, young lady. Men are not like the flowers you stick your nose into all the time.”

  I scowled. I didn’t only study flowers. Botany encompassed so much more. Was that how he saw my scientific pursuits?

  “You’ll marry a man worthy of this family. None of these silly notions women get about love.” He wagged his finger beneath my nose. “When you attend the Wentworth luncheon this afternoon, your mother and I will be by your side the entire time.”

  Wonderful. Something to look forward to.

  …

  Papa’s fearsome expression still hadn’t eased by the time our carriage pulled up in St. Paul’s churchyard. He resembled the devil himself. Even the statue of Queen Anne seemed to shrink back in fear.

  I cultivated a somber mien, like a mesquite tree. Nothing could uproot me. I was hardy. I could weather the storm of Papa’s displeasure.

  I trailed in his wake as he cut a swathe through the grand doors into the church itself. The pews below clamored with workaday men and women greedy to claim a seat. Even the whispering floor above was mostly full. I’d lain abed too late, and the lecture from Papa had stretched on for too long for us to arrive at our usual time.

  I climbed the stairs to the floor where we usually sat. It afforded a good view of the modest organ set on the screen. The strains of the choir in the far corner drifted to my ears as they exercised their voices.

  The hostility in the air on the second floor was palpable, and far from Christianly. Our peers glared at me and nattered to each other. Given the tone, I doubted their words were charitable. My hardpan expression slipped for only a second.

  If Rose had taught me nothing else during my come out, it was never to let the opposition know they affected you. She would make a good politician if they ever let women run for office. Which, if Mary had her way, they most certainly would. I’m sure it was on her list of things to lobby for when she didn’t have someone in her immediate view to take down a notch or two.

  I spotted Rose with her husband and Mary with her father, but they sat far away from where Papa, Mother, and I were forced to sit. As we were the latest arrivals, we chose from the most impious spots left, at the back of the pews. I lowered myself onto the hard wooden bench.

  If God really listened to those praying in churches, I hoped he would turn me invisible. I hadn’t meant to bring any of this scandal on myself. From my vantage, I couldn’t see over the heads of those sitting in front of me to glimpse the bishop as he began the sermon. I clasped my hands on my lap, trying my best to embed a look of innocence and piousness. But how could I, when those around me punctuated the sermon with heated glares, as if I sullied the church by joining them?

  I lifted my voice with the choir, but it came out scratchy and hoarse. When we sat once more, I leaned closer to Mother nestled between me and Papa.

  “I can’t breathe properly. It’s beastly hot.” In that, I wasn’t lying. Even so early in the morning, the temperature mounted to near unbearable, especially considering the high collar of my dress. It seemed to tighten around my throat with every new grimace aimed in my direction, as though abiding by their wishes to choke the life out of me.

  “Do you have a fan?” Mother asked.

  Of course I didn’t. This was church. I couldn’t carry around a dance card like at the balls. I shook my head.

  “I just need a breath of fresh air. I’ll be back within minutes, I promise.” A prolonged absence would draw more nasty comments. I begged for a short respite. At least in the rear of the pews, I should be able to slip away without drawing attention.

  “Don’t tarry,” Mother said, her voice clipped. She was angry at me, too, for the disgrace I’d brought to our family.

  I nodded, but my impassive mien wobbled. I thought she, of all people, would be on my side. She must know I hadn’t done this on purpose.

  I slipped off the hard bench and retreated to the stairwell. The stairs sometimes creaked, but I descended them slowly, one by one. Once down among the working class, I found a corridor branching to another part of the church. With everyone’s attention on the sermon, I snuck into it unnoticed.

  The high ceiling and cold stone walls lifted some of the terrible heat. Sunlight didn’t penetrate this far into the corridor, and I grappled to find my path. I groped along the wall, pausing when my fingers brushed a closed door. The doorknob turned easily, unlocked.

  The passage led to another set of stairs. Light drifted ahead, a beacon to a room with windows. I followed the steps, though the stuffy heat mounted the higher I went. A musty smell lingered in the room.

  I blinked the sun from my eyes as I climbed over the last step. Rows upon rows of bookshelves, in two tiers, lined the walls. A library. I relaxed. A small unlit stove occupied the opposite end of the room. An ornate rug covered the floorboards. A few sturdy chairs crowded around the stove. No one else lingered here.

  At last. I was alone with my thoughts. I browsed the shelves. Did they have any books on plants? Unlikely in a building dedicated to religion, but I inspected the shelves anyway. Anything to take my mind off the incising judgment directed my way this morning. Raking my fingertips over the spines, I searched for any I might be interested in reading. Some were so old the pages had yellowed, and I feared they would turn to dust if I opened them. Other volumes sported untouched spines, the pages white and pristine. I found several books on the discourse of religion in England and elsewhere. No books on plants.

  At the end of the row, I heaved a sigh. I’d been gone long enough. I turned toward the door I’d entered, across the room.

  A man separated from the shadows of the stairwell, where he surely had lingered, watching. Julian. My mouth dropped open in surprise.

  “What are you doing here? You should be attending the sermon.”

  He gave a one-shouldered shrug as he stepped forward. “I could say the same to you.”

  I swallowed. Shivers prickled over my skin at the thought of returning, though I knew I must. What would happen when the sermon ended and we were expected to mingle before returning home? If someone gave me the cut direct, my careful poise would decompose.

  A far from innocent response in the eyes of the ton.

  “They weren’t ostracizing you,” I shot back.

  He frowned. “What do you mean?”

  I lifted my eyebrows. “Surely you’ve seen the scandal rag this morning?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t subscribe. Should I purchase one on the way home?”

  “I doubt you’d be happy with it. The Infamy Illustrator has targeted me as his next victim.”

  Julian reached my elbow. He raised his hand as though he wanted to touch me, to put my hand on his arm and escort me out of here, but he dropped it once more.

  “I don’t understand. Who is this illustrator?”

  “No one knows for sure. Everyone has their suspicions.” I rubbed my forehead. “I wouldn’t much care, except he’s torn apart the reputation of more than one young lady, and I seem to be next.”

  Julian scowled. “He sounds like a cad. Someone should take him to task.”

  “I’m sure someone would if they knew his identity.” Mary most certainly would give him a tongue lashing. His victims were rarely men.

  A sound in the stairwell hailed the arrival of a third party. My heartbeat quickened. I clutched Julian’s arm. “We have to hide. We shouldn’t be in here.”

  He followed me without question as I moved away from the stairwell. A narrow door was ensconced between two bookcases. I tried the knob. It was unlocked. I pulled it open, hauling Julian behind me as I descended into the pitch black stairwell. I shut the door quietly behind me.

  This staircase was much narrow
er than the one I’d climbed to enter the library. Julian pressed against me from chest to hip. My back caressed the wall. I strained my ears, listening for any sound that we would be discovered.

  “What can they do to us if they find us here?”

  I shrugged. His muscles bunched as he accommodated the movement. “I don’t know,” I answered, “but since I don’t have a chaperone at the moment, I doubt it’s anything good.” Especially not with the amount of scandal heaped upon my person to begin with.

  Julian made a disbelieving sound.

  “Hush,” I whispered. I sidled closer to the door, pressing my ear against the wood as I strained to hear signs of life beyond. A rustle hailed movement. My hammering heart grew louder as the sound neared our position.

  It continued on.

  I let out a long, slow breath, trying not to make any noise. The danger lingered. We couldn’t return to the library while it was still occupied. And where did this staircase lead? My head spun. I was hopelessly lost already. I’d never before ventured out of the common areas of St. Paul’s.

  “Relax,” Julian whispered into the dark. His breath toyed with the stray strands of my hair falling across my forehead. “We won’t be found out.”

  The silence between us grew heavy and strained. I became aware of every breath he took, every miniscule shift in position. Was it my imagination, or had he leaned closer? His breath felt more tangible against my forehead. I tilted my chin up.

  He raised his hand, raking his fingers over my shoulder and neck before reaching my cheek. He firmed his hold there, cupping my face. His breath teased across my nose to linger at my mouth.

  “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about our kiss,” he murmured. His voice was low. It rumbled over my lips. He snaked his thumb out to trace my bottom lip.

  I gasped at the flood of sensation. His touch was ten times more potent in the dark. The rough pad of his thumb dipped into my mouth, rubbing the sensitive underside of my lip.

  I turned my face away from his touch. “Your fiancée…”

  The silence lengthened as he dropped his hand, though he didn’t move away. His heat branded me as much as the two words I had forced out. A reminder to him and to me. Even if he thought about our kiss—and I did, too—he couldn’t act on it. He was as good as married.

  A hot, damp feeling hedged around my lungs.

  His voice sounded defeated. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

  I didn’t know what I wanted him to say, either. We were friends. Never had I entertained the thought of something more—not until I’d encountered him again in London. Softly, I asked, “Do you love her?”

  I couldn’t fathom how he could contemplate kissing me if he did.

  “No.” His answer was quick and a bit sharp.

  He raised his hand again to stroke my cheek. The rough pads of his fingers left a trail of tingles in their wake. This time, I didn’t flinch away.

  “Does she know how you feel?” Or didn’t feel, in this case.

  “She knows,” he answered softly. “I told you, it’s a matter of convenience, nothing more.”

  If he was engaged for convenience alone, couldn’t he break it should that arrangement become inconvenient? I didn’t know if I could ask that of him. We were friends. What if this confusing pull I felt toward him was only temporary?

  Kiss me. I wouldn’t know for certain until he kissed me properly. If he had no emotional ties to this woman and the union had been made as some kind of financial transaction… Most of the ton married for money or power, not for love. It was the same thing Papa demanded of me. I wanted neither. In fact, I didn’t even want love.

  At that moment, the only thing I wanted was Julian. Could he betray his fiancée by kissing me? Was it a betrayal if they had no emotional attachment to each other?

  “I don’t know what you want me to say, either,” I whispered.

  He tucked his face into the crook of my neck as he pressed closer to me. “Tell me you’ve been thinking of me, too.”

  “I have.” I hadn’t been able to sleep last night because of it. Some of my insomnia stemmed from worry, but I’d entertained several potent daydreams involving that kiss. Softly, I confessed, “I want you to kiss me again.”

  Without waiting for any further invitation, he melded his mouth to mine. I gasped, lips parting to welcome his intrusion. His body moved in a succinct rhythm against mine as he pressed me closer against the wall. I couldn’t pull away. In fact, I didn’t want to.

  I arched my body into his. His hand tangled in my braid. He tugged on it, tilting my head back. It stung a bit, but he rewarded me with a deep, thorough kiss. My toes curled in my slippers.

  When he broke away, I gasped for breath.

  He pressed his hands against the wall to either side of my body. “You’re driving me insane, Francine,” he said with a moan.

  “Why? What did I do?”

  He must have heard the alarm in my voice, because his gentled. “Nothing.” He dropped his hand from the wall to the side of my face, tracing my jaw until he came to my lips once more. He kissed me, light and sweet. “You’re an angel,” he whispered.

  Panic struck me like a spike of lightning. This was indecent. How could we engage in such lewd, sinful behavior in a church?

  I pushed him away. “We have to get back. We’ve been away for too long already.”

  He hedged away from my body. The doorknob jiggled as he eased the door open. He peeked into the library. His shoulder pressed uncomfortably against my chest. I bit my tongue to stifle a complaint.

  “I don’t see anyone,” he said. He thrust the door wider and gestured for me to precede him.

  But when I slipped out into the library, he started to shut the door once more.

  “Wait,” I whispered. “What are you doing?”

  “I’ll wait five minutes then follow you.”

  Why hadn’t I thought of that? If we arrived back at the same time, everyone would suspect the worst. That was if the sin wasn’t branded on my cheeks like my blush.

  I cautiously slipped along the bookcases. No one confronted me on the lower landing of the library. When I reached the edge of the balcony’s shadows, I craned my neck. Whoever had entered had since dispersed. I didn’t trust them not to return. I crossed to the staircase with quick steps, despite the pain in my ankle. By the time I reached the common area of the church, the knots in my shoulders had eroded. I picked my way up the stairs to the pews where my parents waited.

  As I slipped back into my seat, I drew stares and whispers. Blast. My peers had noticed my absence after all.

  Chapter Nine

  Lady Wentworth bustled from her townhouse in Mayfair the moment Henry halted the landau in the drive. She descended from the lofty stairs like the hounds of Hell nipped at her heels. The shadows cast by her sprawling townhouse stretched ominous fingers toward her. A footman dashed in her wake.

  By the time she reached the side of our conveyance, her breast heaved with the force of her pants, and sweat beaded on her brow. She fanned herself with her hand, clutching her waist. I often called her Lady Semelparity, since her beauty had bloomed and died long before I was born, leaving behind a screeching husk eager for attention.

  “You,” she gasped, pointing a finger directly at me.

  Trepidation crawled up my spine.

  She turned her attention to Papa, though Mother sat to my left. Lady Semelparity knew who in my family paid the most mind to propriety.

  “I can’t believe your audacity,” she wheezed. “To attend my luncheon when your light-skirt of a daughter was up to the Lord only knows what at the church today!”

  I trembled. The clop of horses’ hooves hailed the arrival of a second carriage to our rear. I chewed on the inside of my cheek to keep from turning around to catalogue the person to witness my redressing. That Lady Semelparity conducted herself in such a way in public was unforgivable, regardless what she thought of me.

  I clasped my hands so t
ightly on my lap that my knuckles cracked. Papa’s expression turned murderous. Just leave, Papa. Please. We should have returned straight home after church and stayed there.

  Papa opened the landau door with a violent thrust of his palm. He stomped from the carriage. Mother pushed me to follow. I don’t want to. I longed to evaporate into the squabs and pretend I was anywhere else. When I stumbled onto the cobblestone, I landed heavily on my ankle. Hissing under my breath, I hobbled out of the way for Mother to disembark.

  Papa wore a stony mask even more petrifying than when he lost his temper. His eyes blazed with such fury I feared he would set Lady Semelparity alight with his glare. Mother stepped stiffly beside him, her expression venomous.

  “What did you call my daughter?” Papa asked. His voice was low and lethal.

  Lady Semelparity recoiled by a step. “She is out of control.”

  Her words mirrored Papa’s lecture from this morning too closely. I winced.

  The carriage door next to us slammed shut. I jumped. I pressed my hand to my heart to quell its ferocious pounding as a man strode to join the argument.

  “What is this slur against Miss Annesley’s good name? She is angelic.”

  My mouth dropped open at the vehemence in his voice. Was Scandent defending my honor? He was the very last person I’d imagine to have soft or chivalrous feelings toward anyone.

  He turned his head to address Lady Semelparity, and I confirmed his identity. That was indeed Sir Scandent, impeccably dressed in midnight-blue breeches and waistcoat, his mop of hair hanging unfashionably in his eyes.

  “For shame,” he said to Lady Semelparity. His voice was so low and admonishing, my cheeks nearly flamed with guilt, and I wasn’t the object of his scolding. When he gestured toward me, I tried to camouflage myself into the side of the carriage, with no luck.

  “You’ve known Miss Annesley for years. Do you truly think she’s capable of the kind of crass behavior the rumors bandy about?”

  I bit my tongue to keep a straight face. Just what did the gossips say about me, exactly? I feared it was much worse than Papa had let on.