A Dash of Scandal

by Amelia Grey

  “No, no. Not specifically. The Mad Ton Thief. You did hear about the stolen painting that was the size of a large parasol.”

  “I heard it was a small.”

  “What, the painting or the parasol?”

  Chandler grimaced. “What the damnation does it matter, Fines? It’s ridiculous for anyone to think the painting walked out of the house by itself or in the hands of a ghost.”

  “Of course it is, but you have to admit the rumor is delicious. Can you imagine anyone actually thinking that the thief is Lord Pinkwater’s ghost, and he is collecting objects for a house he occupies up on the northern coast?”

  “Good Lord. Are you serious?”

  “That was the topic of conversation at the parties tonight. According to what I heard it’s beginning to be an honor to have something taken by the thief and an affront on the quality of one’s possessions if nothing is stolen.”

  And he thought being enchanted by a lovely gossipmonger was absurd!

  Chandler shook his head, mystified. “I’m certain the robber is a common footpad who has managed to find a gentleman’s clothing. How do these outrageous ideas get started?”

  “It’s called gossip, Dunraven. Ever heard of it?”

  “Once too often,” he muttered, then finished off his drink. He nodded to the waiter, who set a glass in front of Fines, to refill his own glass. After the man walked away, Chandler said, “I’m not worried about the raven.”

  “Truly?” It was Fines’s turn to raise an eyebrow of doubt.

  “When the thief is caught, if the raven is not returned, I will simply have another made.”

  “He says as his gut wrenches with guilt over having lost the original, knowing one cannot simply replace an Egyptian artifact.”

  Chandler’s eyes narrowed. There was a time when Fines’s mocking comments hadn’t bothered him. He’d rather enjoyed them. Not anymore.

  “Sometimes you’re a bastard, Fines,” he said, but with no real anger in his tone.

  Fines laughed. “Yes. Sometimes. Most of the time. But I’m always a friend, Dunraven. Never have fear on that account.”

  Chandler nodded. Was he fortunate or not to have such a dedicated friend?

  “What are you doing to find the golden bird of prey?”

  “I’m working with Doulton on it, of course, and I’m working with someone else on the thefts, too,” he said, as thoughts of Millicent returned to his mind as easily and gently as a late summer breeze.

  “Who?”

  Chandler picked up his drink as Fines nodded to a gentleman who walked by. “I’d rather not say.”

  “Since when?”

  “In working with this person secrecy is most important.”

  “More important than friendship? There was a time we told each other everything.”

  “There was a time we did a lot of things together that we no longer do.”

  “Yes,” Fines smiled wickedly. “Staying out all night drinking, gambling, and enjoying our latest mistress, then racing our horses most of the day.”

  “It’s a wonder we didn’t kill ourselves.”

  “Oh, hell, Dunraven! What’s wrong with us? We don’t do those sorts of thing anymore. Are we growing into our dotage already?”

  Chandler grunted a rueful laugh. “No. But, perhaps we’re finally growing up, Fines?”

  “Good lord! What an ugly thought.”

  “I suppose it’s better than the alternative.”

  “Which is?”

  “Death.”

  “Yes, so right you are. Forgot about that.” Fines finished off his drink and glanced around for someone who could bring him another.

  Chandler looked at his friend and it struck him that what he’d said so carelessly was true. The reason he didn’t want to spend as much time with his friends anymore was because they’d grown up. He had finally grown up.

  The undisciplined life he’d once lived no longer appealed to him. He was tired of Town with its crush of people on the streets, the smells, and the carriage congestion. He was tired of the endless parties where people went only to eat, drink, to see and be seen. He wanted to spend more time at one of his estates and ride his horses, not race them. He wanted to sit down to dinner in his own home and eat with his beautiful wife by his side, not dine at the clubs with his friends.

  Chandler’s thoughts were brought up short when he realized the lovely wife at his side had the face of Millicent Blair.

  Andrew must be feeling the call of family responsibility, too, for he’d all but come right out and said that he was looking to make a match before this Season was over. Fines was the one who still seemed to be content as a bachelor.

  It also struck Chandler that he didn’t want to be sitting here with Fines. He’d rather be dancing with Millicent Blair, which was specifically why he’d avoided the parties tonight. He had to come to some kind of conclusion about her.

  He had to think about this logically. He’d never been seriously attracted to a young lady for more than a few days before another would strike his fancy. That gave him reason to believe that his obsession, for that was all it could possibly be, for the surprising Miss Blair would be over within the next week or two.

  Yes, he would go back to the parties, dance with her, call on her despite her insistence that he not, and take her for a ride in Hyde Park and St. James, too. In short order he would grow tired of her as he had all the other young ladies who had caught his eye over the years. There was no reason to think that Millicent Blair was different from any of the other beautiful ladies in his past. Absolutely none.

  Yes, that idea had merit. Given her employment, he couldn’t possibly consider her for a wife. He’d see as much of her as possible and, no doubt, the attraction would wear off quickly. It had to, because right now he wanted nothing more than to hold her in his arms and kiss her again.

  ***

  She hadn’t seen him all evening, thought Millicent, as she climbed into the carriage behind Lady Heathecoute. She had danced with several charming young gentlemen and she had enjoyed the parties, but she was constantly searching the dance floor, the supper table, the refreshment table, and the front door for any sign of Lord Dunraven. He had never arrived.

  The thought of him drove her to distraction.

  Not that she was ever in any doubt, but her infatuation with him confirmed she was her mother’s daughter. Even thinking about the earl was madness.

  Lord Dunraven had proven himself time and time again to be a rake, following her, kissing her so intimately in the shop and again in her aunt’s home. He amazed her. He thrilled her. And she was hopelessly smitten by him. She realized now that she had not been prepared to be pursued by a true scoundrel. For surely Lord Dunraven knew all the tricks.

  And maybe she was a fool, but she had believed him when he told her he would not leak to Society that she was a writer of tittle-tattle.

  The Heathecoutes always took the seat facing the horses. It didn’t matter to Millicent which direction she sat in the carriage.

  The viscount climbed in behind Millicent and the footman closed the door. As usual, his lordship immediately laid his head back against the squabs and closed his eyes. It was his habit to nap on the ride home each evening.

  Millicent wondered why she hadn’t seen Lord Dunraven at any of the parties. It was the first night in more than a week that she hadn’t seen him.

  He’s only trifling with you.

  Of course, because that’s what scoundrels do.

  They woo, flatter, and kiss innocent young ladies until they are pining after the rogues, then they move on to the next unsuspecting young lady and steal her heart, too. Millicent knew all this. She should have been able to resist Lord Dunraven’s charms, if for no other reason than what had happened to her mother when she’d lost her heart and reputation over a man of the very same ilk.

  If only she had been stronger than her mother, but in the end, she found she was just as susceptible to a rake’s charms. She had watched
for him all evening, hoping he would appear by her side and ask her to dance. Perhaps he didn’t intend to have anything to do with her now that he knew what she was doing. A stab of envy struck her at the thought that Lady Lambsbeth was back in Town. Maybe he no longer needed any other diversion.

  “Ma’am,” Millicent asked, “what do you know about Lord Dunraven and Lady Lambsbeth?”

  The viscountess fanned herself. “Oh, that’s an old story, and why Beatrice wanted to run it in Lord Truefitt’s column I have no idea. It’s really passé. There are more appetizing things to be writing about than an old love affair. Perhaps it just shows that Beatrice is having trouble keeping up with the column while she’s recuperating.”

  This was the first comment that Millicent had heard the viscountess make about how her aunt was handling the column. Millicent could only assume that her ladyship hadn’t heard that circulation for The Daily Reader had increased and Lord Truefitt’s column was praised for being one of the main reasons.

  Just tonight she’d heard more than one lady mention how eager she was to get the paper each day to see what quote from Shakespeare was used in Lord Truefitt’s column.

  Millicent decided it would be wise not to express a view one way or the other to the Lady Heathecoute. She would leave that up to her aunt. However, she wasn’t shy about asking other questions she wanted answers to.

  “Ma’am,” Millicent asked in what she hoped was an offhanded manner, “do you think Lord Dunraven loves Lady Lambsbeth?”

  “Loves? Good heavens, no. I doubt he’s ever loved anyone in his life. I think most everyone considers him a confirmed bachelor. What makes you ask such a question? You haven’t set your eyes on him have you? Because I have to agree with my husband that he is quite unattainable.”

  “No. It’s nothing like that. It’s just there has been talk about the two of them now that she’s back in Town.”

  “Yes, yes. Everyone assumes they had an affair and it ended badly. Talk about it was all the rage last year. She was married and her husband found out about it. Had it not been for friends of both men one of them would be dead to—” She stopped and chuckled.

  The low throaty sound of her laughter sounded ominous in the dark carriage. Millicent noticed the viscount hadn’t even blinked an eye since he stepped into the carriage. No doubt he was used to hearing his wife’s laughter.

  “Ah—that is, one of them is dead, I understand. But of course, not from the challenge. After wise counsel from his friends, Lord Lambsbeth withdrew it and he and his lady left Town the next day. That’s no matter now. I don’t think anyone in the ton cares whether the earl and lady pick up where they left off. It’s old news.”

  “Yes, I suppose you’re right.”

  “I’m more interested in hearing whether another of the Terrible Threesome, Lord Dugdale, is truly in financial straits. That could account for his sudden desire to make a match before the end of the year.”

  “Yes, I heard much the same thing,” Millicent said, but didn’t mention that she’d heard the story earlier in the afternoon from Lady Lynette.

  “Tonight the guests at all the parties seemed to be interested only in talking about the latest news concerning the Mad Ton Thief and the ghost. I wonder if the thief knows how popular he is?”

  “With everyone talking about it at the parties, the clubs, and on the streets, I’m sure he does. He probably hopes the madness continues so that he can continue to get away with stealing. It appears that this idea that he is a ghost is titillating to them all. I think they want it to be so. Though, why anyone would want to talk about Lord Pinkwater’s ghost, I have no idea.”

  “Oh, I do believe it is newsworthy.”

  “But it has little to do with gossip,” the viscountess said in her don’t-argue-with-me voice. “Lady Windham said that she felt deprived when she held a party and nothing was stolen from her home. She said she was thinking of holding another party next week, hoping the thief will show up and take something.”

  “Do you really think she will do that?”

  “Oh, she probably will. The thing is that she has so many lovely things in her home something probably was stolen and she just doesn’t know it.”

  “You think so?”

  “Of course, I really have no idea. I’m only saying that the house is filled with paintings, china, pottery, and all quite valuable. Now tell me, what other delicious tidbits did you hear tonight?”

  It only took a few more minutes to arrive at her aunt’s town house. As usual, Phillips quietly opened the door and she stepped inside. She heard Hamlet bark once as usual, alerting her aunt that she was home.

  Phillips left to prepare Millicent a cup of tea, and she took the time to remove her gloves and pelisse before going upstairs. It was then that she heard a light knock on the door. She glanced down the hallway, expecting the butler to come answer the door. When he didn’t immediately appear she realized the knock was really too soft for him to have heard it.

  Thinking the viscountess must have thought of something else she wished to say, Millicent hurried back to the door and quietly opened it.

  Her arm was grabbed and she was whisked outside into the darkness.

  Fourteen

  “He that wants money, means, and content, is without three good friends.” If that is true, it is to Lord Dugdale’s benefit that he still has Lord Dunraven and Lord Chatwin as good friends. From what this humble soul hears, money is one of the friends who left him.

  —Lord Truefitt, Society’s Daily Column

  “Shhh. Don’t scream. It’s me.” Chandler gently pulled Millicent out of the house. He left the heavy door slightly ajar so that it wouldn’t throw the latch inside.

  It was good he spoke and let her know who he was because it was so dark she couldn’t see a thing. She allowed him to usher her to the far corner of the town house, which was hidden from view of the street by a tall shrub. It had rained most of the evening and the moon was completely covered by clouds, making the night pitch-black and heavy with gray mist.

  Millicent leaned against the side of the wet house, her heart pounding with excitement and trepidation. Already the wet grass had soaked through her satin slippers, chilling her with dampness.

  “Angels above, Lord Dunraven, what are you doing here, and at this time of night—I mean morning?”

  “Shhh. Not so loud.” He moved in closer to her, and she could almost make out the features of his face, feel the warmth of his body. “I wanted to see you.”

  She wished she could see his eyes, but it was just too dark and misty. “Then why, sir, in heaven’s name, did you not attend one of the parties tonight? You knew which I would be attending this evening.”

  “I had other things I needed to do, but I realized I didn’t want the night to end without seeing you.”

  “Phillips has only gone for tea. He’ll be right back. I must go inside.”

  “I’ll only keep you a moment. I’ve been waiting more than an hour for your return. I was beginning to think I had missed you and that you had already come home. Is anyone else in the house awake other than the butler?”

  “Of course, my au—” She stopped just before she said the word aunt. Heavens! He had her so surprised she almost forgot herself. “Never mind about that. And don’t you dare change the subject.”

  “You can change the subject but I can’t?”

  “Yes. I can’t believe you have once again endangered my reputation by sneaking around to see me. How many times must I insist that you—”

  Suddenly he dipped his head and kissed the tip of her nose. Millicent was so shocked that she stopped midsentence. That simple show of affection took away her anger.

  “It’s hard for me to believe I’m here, too,” Chandler said.

  “Have you no care for my reputation?” she asked, trying to regain her exasperation.

  “I’ve told you I do. And I mean that.”

  “Do you want to get caught in a position like this with me and have to mar
ry me?”

  “No man wants to be forced into marriage.”

  The firmness and quickness with which he answered didn’t go unnoticed by Millicent. “Then why must you constantly steal around to see me? We are going to get caught and either my character will be ruined for the rest of my life, or we will be obliged to marry by special license. What you are doing is madness.”

  “I know. Have faith, Millicent. I told you we won’t be caught. You have to trust me.”

  “How can I trust you? Every time I begin to convince myself that you are a gentleman, you do something crazy like this to prove that you are a rogue, a scoundrel, and a rake of the highest order. I’d be a silly fool to trust you.”

  He moved his body closer to hers, pressing her against the wall. Her vision was adjusting to the black, misty night, and she could make out that he smiled at her.

  “Yet, here you stand in the darkness with me while the household sleeps.” He stretched out his arms from his sides. “I’m not holding you. You are free to leave me and go inside.”

  “I don’t want to go.”

  “Then stay a minute longer.”

  Millicent lowered her forehead to his chest and his arms wrapped around her, pulling her close to the warmth of his embrace.

  “I must be one of the silly fools I was talking about,” she whispered.

  “If that is so, it’s only where I’m concerned. You are quite sensible in all other matters.” He paused and moved closer to her. “Except where what you are doing for the gossip writers is concerned. I must admit that, if it is true you are not doing it for the money or by force, I would really like to know why you are doing it.”

  With her face half hidden in the warmth of his shirtfront she said, “Did you come here to talk about that?”

  “No. I came to do this.” He kissed the top of her head and pulled her into his warm arms and held her with his cheek against hers. He breathed in deeply as if trying to take in her essences. “I love the way you feel in my arms and the way you smell.”

  She should be trembling with fear of being caught, but instead she was acutely aware of his every touch and filled with desire to have his lips on hers.