To Make a Match (A Scandal in London Novel)

by Liana Lefey

  Her grin was infectious, and he found himself laughing. “She was beside herself. You really enjoy tweaking her nose, don’t you?”

  She attempted to look contrite, to no effect. He knew better. “I can’t help it,” she said. “She really is a terrible busybody and meddles in everything I do. The only real freedom I have is here, riding my horses—and now she’s trying to take that away. Everyone already thinks me an eccentric, and now she’s telling people that I’m mad and that I talk to horses.”

  It was hard for him not to smile. “But you do talk to horses.”

  She glared.

  “And I don’t think you mad for it,” he added, moving closer. “Even if I did, well…perhaps I’m the sort of fellow who finds a little madness intriguing.”

  “I’m sure you’ll feel quite differently once the gossips pick up the story,” she replied sourly. “It’s bad enough having your own family making fun of you, but that’s nothing compared to public ridicule.”

  He grasped her by the shoulders so that he could stare right into her wide, grey eyes. “I’m not so easily frightened off.”

  Taking her in his arms, he determined to prove it to her, now that they were finally alone. Her lips were like berries at the peak of ripeness. He ran his tongue across their crease, teasing until she opened on a sigh. Slowly he plundered the sweet darkness of her mouth, tasting her, learning her.

  She was dressed like a boy, but the curves he felt beneath his hands were lush and womanly, unhindered by stays. By Jove, her natural form was crafted to drive a man to madness. With reverence, he confirmed her shape, pulling her into him, pressing her against the sudden ache in his breeches.

  To his surprise, she yielded and leaned into him rather than going stiff. Her softness against him was a revelation of pleasure so acute it made his whole body tighten with need. He burned with the desire to touch her.

  Pulling her shirt out of her breeches, he reached beneath it to cup a warm, full breast. The goddess in his arms moaned aloud and stilled as he gently massaged the sensitive flesh, lightly rubbing her rigid nipple against his palm. Lifting her shirt, he bent and closed his lips over it.

  She moaned and her knees gave. Gently, he laid her down on the grass. When he treated her other breast to the same attention, she tightened her grip on his shoulders in a silent plea for more.

  But even as his hand slid downward, Julius stopped. The fact that she was wearing breeches gave him pause, if only because it felt exceedingly odd to encounter a man’s button flap that was not his own. Her hips rose invitingly. Looking down at her all flushed and lovely, he knew he could quite happily take her here and now. But she deserved better than to be ravished in an open field.

  With a pang of regret and no small amount of physical discomfort in his nether regions, he rolled away.

  Her eyes popped open, the question in them clear.

  “I’ll not take you here in the field like a peasant wench,” he rasped, struggling to control himself.

  “The hell you won’t,” she muttered, hooking a leg over his midsection and rolling to sit astride him.

  The sudden pressure of her lithe body atop him was a pleasant shock. A shock that instantly galvanized his lust. His arms snapped up, dragging her down across his chest.

  It was a kiss that was reckless and uninhibited, a kiss that stole his breath away completely.

  She was obviously driven beyond reason by her innate passionate nature and wasn’t thinking of the consequences. Not that he would care, himself. He already knew he wanted her. But should there be a babe, she would be ruined. Regardless of a hasty marriage, people would talk, and it would never be forgotten that she’d lacked the self-discipline and chastity expected of a duke’s daughter. The whispers would follow her forever.

  It was a dash of cold reason to his befuddled mind, which was just now registering the fact that his hands were grinding her bottom into his pelvis even as hers were unbuttoning his shirt.

  She leaned forward, her hair falling like a dark veil about him, and ran her tongue down from the hollow of his throat to circle one of his nipples.

  The sensation was exquisite torment.

  Julius jerked up off the ground, shoving her off his lap as he scrambled to his knees. “Victoria!” Holding out his hands before him in denial of the bliss that awaited him in her arms, he slowed his panicked breathing, trying to regain sanity. “No matter how much I might desire you, I will not allow this to happen. I at least have enough self-control to prevent such foolishness.”

  Her look of hurt made his heart contract.

  “If by your words you imply that I have less self-discipline than a lady ought, then perhaps you should pursue someone else,” she said, flinging her words like daggers. “Amelia, for example. She’s certainly concerned enough with propriety, and she wouldn’t be caught dead wearing breeches.”

  Before he could respond, she shot up and let out a shrill whistle. At the sound of approaching hooves, he looked up to see Primero thundering straight for her.

  She ran to meet him. At first, it appeared as if he would run right over her, but at the last second he slowed and turned, even as she leaped. In a feat of timing and skill worthy of a Romani showman, she planted one foot in the stirrup of the saddle, swung her leg over—and was gone.

  A shout echoed back to Julius as, stunned, he watched the pair shoot across the downs. “Victoria, wait! I didn’t—” Swearing, he made haste to catch his borrowed mount. At the faint sound of another whistle on the wind, however, the mare’s ears perked and she trotted off to join the others, leaving him behind.

  He watched as the trio dwindled into the distance, crested the nearest hill, and disappeared. He stood on the wold, dumbstruck as he realized she’d deliberately left him several miles from civilization with no means of return save his own two feet.

  The rays of the evening sun warmed his back, taking off the chill of the steady breeze as he plodded along, contemplating his situation. Victoria was a right hellion and no mistake; marrying her would no doubt hopelessly complicate his life.

  Even so, he couldn’t deny his growing attachment to the little spitfire. Everything about her drew him.

  As to her concerns, people might indeed whisper a bit about her oddities, once they became known, but in time it wouldn’t matter. There were plenty of eccentrics in the upper echelons—with far worse peccadilloes than a penchant for riding in breeches.

  He would ensure that they rode together frequently with her dressed so, and rely on the servants’ gossip to tell the world that Lady Cavendish always returned from their private outings with a scandalously disheveled—and very satisfied—look about her. The thought made him smile, despite being a bit footsore. He now wished he hadn’t worn his new boots.

  The sun hung low on the horizon and long shadows stretched across his path by the time he reached his carriage. Rapping on the side of the vehicle, he startled the driver, who was nodding in the seat. “Wake up, Remy. It’s time to go home.”

  “Yes, m’lord,” answered the servant, his expression properly neutral.

  Julius didn’t bother waiting for him to hop down, but opened the door himself and clambered inside. He leaned back against the squabs as the carriage lurched into motion, and scowled at the drying mud that encrusted his now-broken-in boots. Already, he could feel the blisters forming beneath the once-immaculate leather.

  Outside, the outline of Richmond Manor slowly shrank, at last disappearing behind the trees.

  He would definitely call again soon—under the pretense of seeing Lady Amelia, of course, he reminded himself. If Victoria was prepared to be deflowered in a field, he’d better move quickly before things got out of control.

  For both of them.

  PRIMERO TROTTED INTO the stables, tired after his long, hard run but seemingly content—unlike his mistress.

  Sliding down, Victoria began unfastening buckles and straps with vicious little jerks. She hung the saddle on the wall, wishing it was Julius’s
hide. Hearing a sound behind her, she made to open another stall for the mare he had borrowed.

  For only half a ride. She smirked at the thought.

  When the mare did not appear, she turned to see what the matter was and saw Amelia lounging against the door.

  Two gazes raked each other, one calculating, one defiant.

  “You never visit the stables. What are you doing here?” Victoria asked imperiously.

  “Watching my foolish sister return from an even more foolish tryst.”

  Passing a tired hand over her forehead, Victoria sighed. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve been out riding the wold.”

  “And the grass stains on your back and arse?”

  “I fell.”

  Stalking over, her willowy blond sister leaned down to stand nose-to-nose with her. “You’ve not fallen off a horse since you were four. And that great, hulking beast of yours, for all that I despise him, would never allow such a thing and we both know it! You can’t tell m—” She stopped cold. “You’ve been crying,” she accused.

  “What of it?” Victoria shot back, infuriated.

  “Why?”

  “Never you mind.”

  “He’s not right for you.”

  Amelia’s softly spoken words were a simple statement uttered without emotion, yet they elicited so much of that intangible force in Victoria’s breast that she could not contain it. Her blood boiled. “And how would you know what is right for anyone?”

  “Because I know you, Victoria, and Withington is the wrong man for you. You’ll be miserable if you marry him!”

  Withington. She was speaking of Withington. The frantic racing of Victoria’s heart slowed, her blaze of anger replaced by a knot of icy anxiety. She’d just come dangerously close to revealing the entire deception. Keeping her voice level and cool, she reestablished control. “Thank you, but I’ll be the one to decide who is right for me. I don’t need you to tell me whom I may love.” Did I just say love?

  Amelia let out a dry chuckle. “You’ve no idea what men are really like. And you know absolutely nothing of love.”

  “And you do?” Victoria shot back, her temper beginning to rise again. “You’ve no right to say such things. You, with your poison tongue. You wouldn’t know love if it bit you on the arse—not that it would ever dare bite you, for fear of breaking its teeth on your frozen heart.”

  She turned and began tending her mount, pointedly ignoring her sister’s unwelcome presence. She wanted nothing more than to run to her room and cry in frustration, but she’d rather die than let Amelia see such weakness. Today had been a disaster of monumental proportions.

  After a moment’s tense silence, she heard the blessed sound of retreating footsteps. Relief flooded her until she heard a soft call from the doorway.

  “Victoria, I know you think me interested only in preventing your happiness, but I assure you that is far from the truth. If you should ever need a friend, someone to talk to, I—”

  Victoria whirled, filled with disbelief. “Do you actually think that I would ever confide in you? You’ve done everything in your power to take and destroy whatever joy I find, to keep me caged and alone. I would sooner confide in a serpent than tell you the secrets of my heart. A serpent would be more trustworthy!”

  A flicker crossed Amelia’s face, but in an instant it was gone and her ever-present calm was back in place. “One day, you will understand why I have gone to such lengths to protect you.”

  “I understand well enough, sister dear,” Victoria sneered, advancing on her. “Your motives are certainly no mystery. Ever since Mama died, you’ve done your best to discredit me with Papa. You’ve always been first in his heart, Amelia! You’ve never needed to make me look bad to earn his favor. You’ve had it since you were born. I know I’ll never be good enough in his eyes—and I could have lived with it, had you not forced it down my throat at every turn.”

  “That isn’t true. You know it isn’t!”

  But Victoria was not done yet.

  “And if that’s not enough, you’ve all but ruined any chance of my having a life of my own. I would have happily left you to rule here unopposed, but having his heart isn’t enough for you, is it? You have to have everyone else’s, as well.” She fought back tears. “Jealousy wears green on any face, Amelia, and yours is no exception. It’s a very bad color for you, by the by. I should consider washing it off, if I were you, lest the stain become permanent and everyone see it!”

  With these words, Victoria hurled the curry brush at the stable wall and strode past, uncaring that her tirade had upset every horse in the stables. Whistling shrilly, she met Charlie as he came running up.

  “Finish grooming him, please,” she said, not bothering to stop. She broke into a run, heedless of the stares of the servants she passed as she entered the house.

  That evening at the table, she sat in silence, pushing the food around on her plate and avoiding everyone’s eyes. Amelia, she noted, was just as stubbornly quiet. It was the one thing they had in common: neither of them would give in.

  It wasn’t always this way, though. Tears started in her eyes. How she longed for the days when Mama was alive!

  Finally, their father threw down his napkin. “Enough of this. I’ll have it from one of you or there’ll be hell to pay in this house tonight.”

  Victoria sat stiffly and stared at her sister, waiting for her to tell him.

  Shifting nervously, Amelia spoke, her voice hesitant. “I know you don’t approve of entertaining people in our home, Papa, but…”

  “Yes?” he prompted, the cleft between his brows deepening ominously. “Get on with it, girl!”

  “Well, we wondered if…” Amelia glanced at her, but then quickly looked away. “That is to say that we thought it might be nice to host a hunt.”

  What? Victoria nearly fell from her chair in astonishment.

  Amelia continued in a rush. “It’s been a long time since we hosted anything, and we just thought that perhaps we might invite Lords Cavendish and Withington…” She trailed off as he continued to stare at her. “I’m sorry. I—I shouldn’t have asked.”

  “No, no!” he said, his expression turning mild. “I just didn’t think such things were of interest to you.” His eyes became shadowed with sudden grief. “Had your mother lived, there would have been such events planned all along to help usher you both into the appropriate circles. It simply never crossed my mind. I’ll ask Mrs. Wiggins to see to the arrangements.”

  Victoria blinked, astounded. What ruse was this?

  “Thank you, Papa,” said Amelia, casting her a hesitant smile. “We’ll help her with the invitation list.”

  “Excellent,” he said. “I shall leave you to it.”

  Julius shook his head as Withington tapped his new walking stick on the paving stones. It was no mere walking stick, he’d been informed, but an “ingenious instrument of subterfuge.”

  “These are all the rage in Paris,” said Withington, showing him the little snuff compartment concealed in the handle.

  Julius did his best to look interested. Then his friend removed the handle and withdrew a slim roll of blank parchment hidden inside the shaft. “Now, that might prove useful,” he admitted.

  “I thought you might think so. It’s perfect for bearing star-crossed lovers’ letters,” teased Withington, replacing the handle.

  Julius lifted a brow. “I might have need of it, if things don’t improve. Now remember, you cannot allow yourself to be distracted by Amelia. Not yet. If we move too soon, it’ll ruin everything.”

  The door opened and the butler showed them in.

  “Good afternoon, Lord Cavendish, Lord Withington,” greeted Amelia cordially. “Victoria will be down momentarily.”

  He sighed inwardly as Withington gazed at her in open admiration. After a moment, he cleared his throat.

  Reddening, Withington tore his gaze off Amelia’s chest just as Victoria paused in the doorway.

  Julius stared, his gaze moving s
lowly from her elaborately piled curls to the tips of her jeweled shoes, pausing to note her reddened cheeks and angry eyes.

  Obviously, she was still vexed with him.

  “I do apologize for my tardiness, my lords,” said Victoria, sweeping past. “I got caught up in the excitement of preparing for the evening’s entertainment. I’m so anticipating Handel’s Xerxes. My friend Esmeralda could hardly contain her enthusiasm when I told her I would be attending. She said the opening aria was the most beautiful thing she’d ever heard, and that the castrato has a voice from heaven itself!”

  Her demeanor suddenly changed as she allowed Withington to kiss her hand. “And speaking of divine things, I did so enjoy your precious gift, my lord,” she purred. “I daresay it makes me smile every time I think of it.” She looked pointedly at the vase of roses on the table beside her.

  Withington turned the color of a crushed beet. “May I be so fortunate as to always bring such joy with so little effort, my lady.”

  She eyed him with a saucily raised brow as though he were some sort of edible confection, and her smile became positively naughty. “Should such be the case, my lord, then I can only imagine the delight a greater effort on your part will effect. I look forward to being surprised.”

  Julius’s heart sank. All at once, he knew exactly the kind of evening they were about to have. Hell hath no fury…

  The Royal Opera was filled with softly rustling silks, glittering jewels, and the soft, gentle laughter of people who haven’t a care in the world. Feigning a stubbed toe, Victoria forced Withington to hang back as the rest of their party filtered into the box, allowing the others to take the foremost seats while they took the back.

  As soon as the curtains parted to reveal a painted forest and Xerxes began to sing “Ombra mai fù,” Julius heard a soft exclamation of pain behind him. Beside him Amelia whipped about to peer back into the gloom, then slowly turned back around, apparently satisfied that her vigilance would forestall any further disturbance.

  She was wrong. Moments later, the rustling of skirts alerted him that someone was leaving. Excusing himself, he followed and found the fugitives a short distance down the hall.