To Love a Scandalous Duke (Once Upon a Scandal)

by Rosa, Liana De la

  “Your Grace, please allow me to introduce you to Her Ladyship, Viscountess Banbury. Your Ladyship, this is His Grace, the Duke of Darington. As I’m sure you remember, we’ve known each other since we were children.”

  Declan’s breath hitched at the reminder. It seemed a lifetime ago since his happy, carefree childhood. Pleasant days spent dodging his tutors so he could explore the Herefordshire countryside with his friends, the Swinton twins. And despite her scolds, Alethea had always concocted the best schemes and plans, which had captivated the young boy he’d been.

  He suspected he was still vulnerable to her appeal, even now.

  “Of course, everyone remembers how close your families were.” Lady Banbury crooned. Her filmy eyes grew wide, but the shrewd light in them was recognizable. “Not that I meant to call attention to your mutual past.”

  He smothered a snort of disbelief. “I would like nothing more than to continue the close friendship our families have always shared.”

  The ladies tittered in approval, but Alethea clenched her jaw.

  “I’m sure Lord Rockhaven would be thrilled to hear it,” another lady in the conveyance interjected. “My husband, Lord Worthington, has always said how devastated the earl was by what transpired with your late father.”

  From Albert’s letters, the Earl of Rockhaven had supposedly been distraught after their father’s death. Although his brother long blamed the earl for bringing the Vicomte de Viguerie into their sphere, he reluctantly admitted to Declan the earl had been generous with his time and was of great assistance when he took up the ducal title.

  Declan glanced down at the same time Alethea raised her gaze to his. Sorrow lurked in her jade green eyes, and he marveled that she still understood him so well. She didn’t assume his years away had somehow erased the burning pain that seared him whenever he thought of his father, and now of his brother, and that insight smoothed the tattered seams of his temper.

  Alethea may have matured into a tempting armful who made his body ache in want, but the low cadence of her voice still comforted him in ways no one else ever had.

  “Lord Rockhaven and my father were longtime friends. I have no doubt the earl was much affected, as we all were, by what transpired.” When Lady Banbury opened her mouth to let loose with what he assumed to be another barbed comment, he rushed to continue, “Now, ladies, please reassure me that glorious days like this are commonplace during the summer months. I find my memory of English weather is lacking.”

  The women clamored to describe the horrid, unpredictable weather, and Declan listened to them with barely concealed impatience.

  Throughout the exchange, Alethea stood quietly beside him, a polite smile on her face. When Lady Worthington began to recount a time she’d become trapped in the rain on Bond Street in a new velvet wrap, Declan allowed his attention to rest on Alethea. In her dark-green riding habit, with a ridiculously impractical cap adorning her vivid-red curls, she looked breathtaking.

  Glimpses of the girl he once knew came through in the alto of her husky laugh, which used to encourage him to laugh along with her. Except now, the sound drifted down his spine like a fingernail, raising goose bumps and other excitable parts of his anatomy.

  Declan’s eyes tracked how she rocked back and forth on her feet, her hips swaying ever so slightly with the motion. The Alethea of his youth had loathed to sit still, although her mother’s rigid rules and the weight of her father’s approval had curbed her natural exuberance.

  Perchance that’s why they always gravitated to each other. They were two sides of the same coin. She, desperate to escape the strictures of her sex and position, and he, anxious to cast off familial expectations and determined to run from the critics who whispered he’d never live up to his brother’s stellar example.

  But now Declan was Darington.

  He realized that no matter how much time elapsed, they’d always be reduced to an event neither had any control over. Every interaction, every accomplishment, every failure would be forever tainted by the scandal. If he were a good man, he would leave her alone. If he were Albert, he’d invent an appointment and leave the park immediately, before the shadow of his past and the uncertainty of his future soured Alethea’s prospects and sullied her reputation.

  “I’m sure the weather in England in no way compares to the sunny, warm days you experienced in the Caribbean. Is that not right, Your Grace?” Lady Banbury’s voice pierced through his thoughts.

  “Yes,” he said as he patted his gelding on the neck. “But then few places can compare to the tropical beauty of the West Indies.”

  “What is St. Lucia like?” Alethea’s voice was breathless and her eyes unfocused, as if she were envisioning his mother’s island homeland.

  Declan thought of its verdant, fragrant rainforests filled with exotic, wild sounds. He thought of how he’d lay on the warm, gritty sand and watched the sun set over the iridescent waters of the ocean, and how the reds, golds, and oranges reflected off the mirrorlike waves and the world seemed as if it were on fire.

  And more than once he swore he’d heard her laugh on the breeze.

  “The words capable of describing its beauty are not part of my vocabulary.”

  She nodded slowly, her gaze traveling over his face as if it held a kaleidoscope of the sights his eyes had beheld but his tongue was unable to convey.

  “Have you spent all your time away in St. Lucia, Your Grace?” Lady Worthington asked.

  “No.” He managed a brittle smile. “I spent a great deal of time with my mother’s family there and also in France, but I’ve traveled to many places.”

  “How wonderful that must have been for you.” Lady Banbury flipped open her fan and waved it in front of her face. “I’ve heard you visited all the port cities up and down the European and African coasts.”

  Declan choked back a laugh, and Alethea’s lips twitched. He couldn’t say he was surprised by the viscountess’s line of questioning, as he’d expected to hear pirate innuendos at some point.

  Considering his long absence and his uncommon background, gossip would eventually turn that way.

  “I’ve visited port cities all over the globe. My favorite has been Shanghai.”

  “The Orient,” the third woman in the carriage exclaimed, censure and excitement flavoring her words. “How peculiar.”

  He opened his mouth to retort, but Alethea lightly brushed his hand with hers. He felt that touch throughout his body. “I think it’s fascinating. Our world is vast and full of wonder, and sadly the farthest place I’ve traveled is the Highlands.”

  “There are many people who say there’s no place more beautiful than the heather-covered mountains, valleys, and glens of the Highlands.” Declan ran a hand along his horse’s snout when he longed to run a finger down Alethea’s smooth cheek. “I look forward to testing that claim.”

  Her gaze held his captive. “As do I.”

  “I’m surprised your father allowed you to stay in Scotland for as long as you did.” Lady Banbury sniffed.

  Alethea took a step back. “I asked to stay. I enjoyed the time I spent with my Scottish family.”

  “Oh, but what a waste for Lord Rockhaven to have let a diamond of the first water, such as yourself, rusticate in the far reaches of Scotland.” The third woman in the landau shook her head. “Now that you’ve returned, I can’t say I’m surprised your father has you attending every ball and Venetian breakfast. No doubt he wants to see you finally settled.”

  Viscountess Banbury swatted her friend on the hand. “Nonsense, Mrs. Pottinger. Her absence hasn’t affected her status at all. She’s still one of the most sought-after dance partners at the balls I attend.” She lowered her voice as she turned her head to her friends. “Aside from that hoydenish Scottish chit.”

  Although he had only just made her acquaintance, Declan would wager Lady Flora wouldn’t object at being labeled a hoyden.

  “Lady Alethea will have no trouble bringing some young buck up to snuff, whenev
er she deems it time to choose from her court of suitors, is that not right, my dear?” Lady Banbury eyed her expectantly.

  A white-hot inferno of fury rolled through Declan’s mind at hearing the viscountess’s words, and he whipped his head toward the lake as he breathed deeply. Just the thought of Alethea in another man’s arms set his teeth on edge. He scolded himself. Any claim he had on her was the result of adolescent emotions and dreams and had been relinquished long ago. She could marry whomever she chose…or her father chose, more likely. His mental chiding did not lessen the ferocity of his response.

  Nevertheless, the reminder of whom her father was, and the ever-present suspicions Declan still nursed against him, dampened his spirits. In truth, he was not certain his conscience would allow him to claim Alethea, even if it were possible.

  Alethea’s voice was higher pitched than he recalled it being. “Yes, well, I…err, appreciate the confidence you have in me, my lady.”

  The older woman clapped her knobby hands together and Declan turned as she bounced in her seat. “And what of you, Your Grace? Do you plan on taking a wife sometime soon?”

  His head was already shaking back and forth. “Truthfully, I haven’t thought that far in advance, my lady. I didn’t return to England expecting to find myself the new duke. There are still many things to accomplish before I’ll devote time to a courtship, let alone a wife.”

  “Many people would say a duke’s most important responsibility is to the succession,” Lady Worthington said as she pointed her fan at him.

  “I’m sure those people are mothers with unmarried daughters.” Alethea’s dry delivery surprised a chuckle from his lips, and his eyes met hers. Her emerald depths sparkled in merriment.

  “As the last in your line, you should reconsider the importance you’ve placed on securing an heir.” Lady Banbury leaned forward. “Your brother’s untimely death should show you how important it is to have a contingency plan. The future is not fixed and tomorrow is guaranteed to no one.”

  Her sage words caught him unaware, and he was forced to admit she was right. He held his tongue, however, refusing to concede the point to the older woman. Heaven knew she did not need additional tidbits to spread about him.

  Mrs. Pottinger sighed loudly. “Pity the duke never married.”

  “I remember hearing a rumor years ago that Lord and Lady Rockhaven had proposed a betrothal between you and the late duke.” Lady Worthington clasped her hands. “Was the rumor correct?”

  Alethea cast her eyes down and cleared her throat. “Actually the duke and duchess proposed a betrothal between Lord Declan”—she gestured to him with her hand—“now His Grace, and me.”

  “But Lord and Lady Rockhaven wanted Lady Alethea to marry the heir,” he intoned.

  A lifetime’s worth of resentment and anger steeped in every syllable he uttered. He’d not thought of his embarrassment and dismay when his father told him the betrothal had been rejected by the earl and countess until just that moment. He’d obviously squashed it deep down where he banished all the other indignities he’d encountered in his life.

  He wondered what Lord Rockhaven thought of him now that he was the duke, instead of just the mulatto second son he could easily ignore.

  Alethea offered him a small, fleeting half smile. He liked to think he read regret in the gesture, but he was too irritated to trust his judgment.

  “Just think, my lady, if all had gone as your parents had suggested, you could even now be a duchess.” Mrs. Pottinger’s smile held a malicious edge.

  “What a drastic set of circumstances that would offer,” Lady Worthington agreed with a nod. “You would never have had to return, Your Grace.”

  “You could have continued your priva—”

  The carriage horses suddenly leaped forward, as if an invisible whip had spurred them on.

  Declan jumped out of the way as the horses plowed into the water, their front legs rearing up as they realized their folly. They jerked their massive bodies to the side, and Alethea fell into the water in her haste to escape their flailing hooves. The three older women screamed as the horses darted back up the path, the landau disappearing over the rise, their lingering cries trailing in their wake.

  He stumbled into the water, intent on pulling Alethea from the chilly waves. Before he could reach her, she regained her footing and launched herself to shore, her feet making sucking sounds as she wrenched them from the mud. She pushed strands of wet hair from her face then dashed water from her eyes. As Declan inspected her body, making sure she was uninjured, every one of his muscles suddenly seized.

  Her camlet clung to her skin, each curve and dip accentuated. The wet material seemed to celebrate her perfection. Even as she attempted to squeeze excess water from the material, his eyes refused his attempts to haul them away. They acted of their own volition and reveled in their rebellion. Seeing Alethea thus was like watching Aphrodite emerge from the clamshell. She was an earth-shattering revelation.

  “Bollocks,” she exclaimed as she gripped her train tightly before dropping it to the ground with a thud. “That wasn’t supposed to happen.”

  “What do you mean?”

  She cut him an impatient look. “The horses weren’t supposed to run toward the water. Daft creatures.”

  “They weren’t?”

  “They should have turned away from the shore.” She stomped her foot and huffed. With her wet red hair hanging around her face, she looked like a selkie.

  His thoughts condensed into a mass of confusion. And lust. “So, you’re wet and uncomfortable because the horses didn’t run the way you expected?”

  Alethea looked down at her sodden skirts and lifted a shoulder. “Essentially, yes.”

  Laughter exploded from his mouth. When only spasms remained, he met her irritated gaze. “What did you do?”

  She crossed her arms over her chest, and Declan did his best not to track their movements like a well-trained pointer. “I may have swatted a horse’s flank. Thankfully, no one heard me above Mrs. Pottinger’s nasally voice.”

  “Still, that wasn’t the smartest way to rid yourself of the coven.”

  Her lips twitched, but she quickly pressed her mouth into a firm line. “So I discovered.”

  “If I had known you were so desperate to escape that you’d spook two perfectly innocent horses, I would have simply excused myself.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I was waiting for you to do that exact thing as soon as I heard them approaching.”

  Declan jerked back. “You were?”

  “Do you honestly think I wanted to stand there while they discussed our pasts like it was on display at an exhibition?”

  He frowned. “No, I suppose not.”

  Alethea raised a brow. “You could have left at any time, you know.”

  “I was schooled to be polite and respectful of women. It would never have occurred to me to interrupt the conversation so I could depart.”

  “Admirable of you.” She smirked. “But I believe you’ll quickly become adept at extricating yourself from trying situations…with all politeness, of course.”

  He studied her again, but kept his eyes trained on her face and away from the delectable sight of her in her wet habit. “There she is.”

  She glowered. “There who is?”

  “The girl who delighted in trying to manage every situation. I thought she’d been lost, but she was apparently lurking behind this sophisticated facade.”

  A blush crept up over her cheeks and disappeared into her hairline. “I apologize. I was taught how to navigate every societal trap, so I’m particularly skilled at recognizing them.”

  “I apologize for placing you in such an uncomfortable situation.”

  Alethea coiled her wet hair over her shoulder and looked away. “The whole Season is an uncomfortable situation.”

  He smiled despite himself. “So I’m learning.”

  “I almost pity you. Unless you learn fast, they will delight in chewing you up and spit
ting you out.”

  “As long as they don’t bite hard, that doesn’t sound so bad.” She made a rude sound and Declan chuckled. “Perhaps I require a tutor.”

  She slowly arched a brow. “Perhaps you do. But I don’t think you can afford my services.”

  His grin was wolfish. “I think you underestimate me and what I will do when I want something.”

  They stared at each other, heat stretching like an invisible web between them. Declan saw a torrent of emotions in her eyes before she blinked and glanced away.

  Clearing his throat, he asked, “May I escort you home?”

  A somber expression transformed her face. “I don’t believe that will be necessary.”

  “I’m not letting you walk back to Rockhaven House like that.” Declan allowed his gaze to rest on her wet garment for a moment, although the sight sent fresh heat through his bloodstream. “My request was merely a formality. I will escort you home.”

  Her jaw firm, Alethea studied him for a moment, before she clamped her eyes shut. “Very well.”

  With her soft affirmation, he followed her to her horse, where he helped her mount, ignoring the enticing feel of her hips under his hands. Once he’d settled in his saddle, he met her gaze. “After you, my lady.”

  Her shoulders drooped, and he wondered at her defeated mood. Not five minutes earlier, she’d engaged in a verbal fencing match with three formidable society matrons. And now that she was returning home, she was dejected?

  Declan frowned as he urged his horse to follow hers. He told himself it didn’t matter if she was embarrassed to be seen with him. It was of little consequence if his return was raising questions about the past and making her family uncomfortable. Her father’s poor choices had been disastrous for his family. Alethea Swinton was not for him.

  Now if only he could convince himself that was true.

  Chapter Seven

  February 1813

  I’ve learned questions are appeased when encountered with a smile. My face tires of the expression.

  -The Diary of Lady Margaret Gordon

  The feel of the comb running through her hair and pins sharply pulling it into the latest fashionable style did little to disturb Alethea’s tumultuous thoughts.