Scandal's Daughter

by Emma V. Leech

  Chapter 22

  "Wherein our suitors take their places."

  Sebastian scanned the ballroom and felt his heart clench as his eyes immediately settled on a burst of fiery red hair. She stood out like a beacon, a lovely blaze of glory in a sea of insipid pallor. Every other woman in the room paled beside her in his eyes. Not one could hold a candle to her beauty, she shone like a sun, dazzling him and hurting his heart all at once.

  He had promised himself he would approach her. He would be calm and polite and try and arrange a time when he might call on her and explain ... explain what? How in the name of God could he explain the manner of madness that had come over him that fateful day?

  For there was no doubt of it now. Friends of his father's, the few truly honourable and trustworthy people who had stood firm in their friendship to his family, had all agreed. She was the image of her mother. This was the face of the woman that his father had fallen in love with. The woman he had loved so desperately and passionately that he had murdered her husband when he'd discovered their affair and left Sebastian and his mother to face the outcome alone. For the first time in his life Sebastian felt he had some glimmer of understanding as to how his father had felt. For if that woman had been anything like Georgiana, he felt compelled to admit that he sensed that same madness overtaking him too. And it was utterly terrifying, the gnawing realisation ... that he might do just about anything to be with her.

  Ever since his father's death, ever since he had become the Duke of Sindalton and the man of the family, he had required utter and absolute control. He knew every detail of his estate's management. He never left any decision to be made without it first going through him. Every aspect of his life had been strictly managed by him with utter discipline. Down to his decision that it was time to take a wife. Lists had been made. Pro and cons considered. Until she had come into his life ... and everything began to spiral out of control.

  "Good evening, your Grace," chimed an ingratiating voice in his ear. "I do hope you are enjoying our little soiree."

  Little soiree? Sebastian gave an inward snort of amusement. Lady Ashton's ballroom was packed to the very elegant rafters, there were candles blazing in such numbers the glare was giving him a headache and no conceivable extravagance had been overlooked. Little soiree indeed. Sadly it wasn't conceit that led Sebastian to believe that a great deal of effort and an obscene amount of money had been spent on the outside chance that he might look at her daughter with an eye to marriage.

  "It is a very great success by the looks of things," he replied, trying hard to force his unwilling face into some semblance of a smile. "I think half of London must be here tonight.

  "Oh, your Grace!" The obnoxious woman trilled, smacking his arm playfully with her fan. "Only the better half I hope," she added, as her daughter gave an ear splitting shriek of laughter at her mother's tasteless joke. She fell silent suddenly and an over familiar hand slid over his forearm. "Of course, I would have rejected ... that woman if I'd been able to, your Grace," she said, her voice dropping to an intimate whisper. "But it is so terribly awkward. One dare not insult the earl, such a terrifying man!" she said with a visible shudder. "He positively puts me in a quake. But I know you will forgive me," she crooned, her fat hand caressing the impeccable line of his sleeve. "After all one unwelcome presence at a crush like this is really rather inevitable isn't it. And we are all on your side of course."

  Too late she looked up and blanched as she saw the white hot fury that he knew must be blazing in his eyes.

  But Sebastian had not been raised a duke without knowing exactly how to crush someone who had incurred his displeasure without making a scene. "If you will excuse me, Madame," he replied, every word dripping ice and disdain as he turned his back on her with a sneer and walked away. It didn't afford him the same satisfaction that wringing the blasted woman's neck might have done but he'd given the gossip mill enough fodder for the time being without murdering his hostess. No matter how appealing the idea might be.

  Without his ever having consciously moved his feet in her direction he found himself crossing the floor. The closer he got to her, the harder his heart seemed to thud and the impossibility that she would ever be his seemed to grow. Could she ever forgive him? Even if she did, would she chose him over Beau or any number of the dazzled looking suitors who were gathered around her like planets circling a sun. And if by some miracle she did want him, could he really marry her, knowing his mother would never forgive him. Could he be so cruel to her after all she had suffered after the scandal his father had wrought. She had been destroyed that day and had barely left the house ever since, too terrified to face the outside world and the varied pitying or sneering faces of the ton. Could he really bring another Lady Dalton into the home that the last Lady Dalton had shaken to its foundations? It would surely kill her.

  But he couldn't stay away.

  She was wearing white, her creamy shoulders revealed by the cut of the dress, a demur single row of pearls at the slender column of her throat and pearl drops at her ears. On any other of the young women here it might have looked insipid, but against the blaze of her hair she was breathtaking. He felt a jolt of desire so over powering that he had to pause for a moment to collect himself before he moved any closer.

  She was talking to Percy Nibley and the poor bastard was as obviously in her thrall as every other man that seemed to be hovering about her. He took a step closer and suddenly she became aware of him. Her head came up, the smile falling from her lips, her shoulders growing taut. Misery washed through him at the idea his presence would take the smile from her face and put her on her guard. It had been such a short time ago she'd lain in his arms and laughed and whispered secrets to him. Why hadn't he realised how precious that had been before it was too late? Lord Nibley moved forward, shielding her from him, as though he was some kind of enemy to her.

  "Your Grace?" Nibley bowed, but there was a challenge in his eyes that Sebastian had never seen before. Percy had been bullied at Eton. Too tall and gangly, bookish and useless at sports, he'd never been able to stand up to anyone and had been a target from day one. Sebastian had been too caught in his own troubles to notice for much of the time, but he'd seen Beau step in and protect him on occasion and so Sebastian had followed suit without really questioning it. Once everyone knew he was under their protection the bullying had died away. But now, here he was, challenging Sebastian, as though he was the bully and Georgiana in need of defence!

  "Percy," he replied, keeping his voice and manner as non-threatening as he could manage, which wasn't easy as he wanted to pick the fool up and throw him over his shoulder.

  "Lady Dalton," he said, looking past her spindly protector. "It is a pleasure to see you here."

  She stared back at him but he could read nothing in those tawny eyes except suspicion. She put him in mind of a fox watching out for the hounds. He had a sudden and vivid image of himself in a red coat, out to destroy her. Was that what she thought of him? Was that what she believed he wanted? The longer she stayed silent the more he believed it was.

  "I hope you will forgive me for my behaviour the other night," he said, hoping she could hear the sincerity in his voice. "I ... I was surprised beyond measure and it stole my manners from me. I assure you I meant no disrespect."

  She still said nothing, but had that been a slight tilt of her head, an acknowledgement of his words? He wasn't sure. He did know that everyone around them had fallen silent, that the stares of the entire ballroom were burning the back of his neck.

  He lowered his voice as far as he dared and took a step closer, his heart plummeting as she flinched. "Would ..." he began, suddenly feeling as nervous as a green boy, seeking the hand of a woman far beyond his reach. "Would you do me the honour of dancing with me?"

  She swallowed, her eyes darting away from him, as though looking for an escape. "The next dance is already taken, your Grace," she said, with such a cool tone that part of him wanted to slink away in shame. He to
ok a breath, determined not to be thwarted. "Then pencil me in for another," he replied, smiling at her and willing her to give him the chance.

  Her expression didn't change, a considering gaze that seemed to weigh up the sum of his parts and find him wanting in every respect. "That might be a little awkward," she replied.

  "Oh?" He heard the disappointment in that simple sound as clearly as if a bell had rung but he suspected she hadn't finished yet. "How so?"

  She raised one elegant eyebrow at him. "However would I know what name to write down?" she asked, the well aimed blow finding its target with deadly accuracy. For the first time since he was a small boy he felt a flush of embarrassment stain his cheeks. Before he could demand she allow him to explain, his breath caught as a smile curved over that lovely mouth and pleasure lit her eyes. But not for him.

  "Lord Beaumont," she replied, holding her hand out to Beau as the smooth devil raised it to his lips. He kissed her fingers, holding her gaze. "Hello, Eve," he replied, winking at her. "Still waving that apple under my nose I see."

  Her laughter seemed to wrap around Sebastian's heart and squeeze tight. It was obviously a private joke, though the meaning was obvious enough and the intimacy of it stole his breath. He glared at Beau, wanting nothing more than to smash his fist into that damned perfect face.

  "My dance I believe," Beau said, sparing a cursory glance for him as he settled her hand in the crook of his arm. "Sindalton," he replied, nodding as they passed, the glimmer of a smile at his lips. The smug bastard.

  He watched with jealousy raging through his body, his muscles taut with the desire to cross the floor and tear them apart as he saw Beau take her in his arms. Worse than anything was the picture they presented. Beau's dazzling colouring, the rakishly careless styling of his golden hair that gave him the look of a fallen angel, set against the fiery red of Georgiana and that pure white dress. They looked like ancient deities, come to play for a while in the human world before returning to their perfect lives.

  He couldn't let Beau have her. He wouldn't. He had to get her back.

  ***

  "You dealt him quite a blow, sweet Eve," Beau said to her, amusement glimmering in his gorgeous blue eyes. "I shall have to guard my heart I see. If I ever dare reach for that apple I might get quite a set down."

  Georgiana didn't know what to say to that. Her heart and mind were in turmoil. Seeing him there, Sebastian, asking for her forgiveness. It had been everything she'd wanted but she'd quickly realised it wasn't enough. She'd trusted him with so much, with her whole heart, and he'd betrayed her trust. He'd lied from the first.

  How could she ever believe anything he said now, no matter how much she wanted to. But she thought she'd seen real regret in his eyes. A sincere desire to make amends, to explain. Céleste believed she should give him a chance after all and ... she did want to hear an explanation. If he'd really loved her, he wouldn't see her fall into Beau arm's and walk away, though. Not if he loved her.

  And she had to admit, Beau's were very strong arms to be held in. She looked up and admired the handsome profile of the man holding her. She had fallen in love with Sebastian, but there was no denying this man made her pulse race when he got close.

  He was charming and funny, he made her laugh and the time seemed to fly in his company, and the look in his eyes, that obvious desire ... that was a heady thing. He felt her eyes on him and turned towards her gaze, his eyes darkening, his hands pulling her a little closer.

  He lowered his head, his warm breath fluttering over her skin and making her shiver. "I would do anything to be alone with you."

  Her breath caught and she swallowed but looked back at him, refusing to look like a flustered school girl. "I'm sorry, my Lord, but that is something I cannot allow you."

  "Damn these people," he cursed, though his voice remained soft. His eyes on hers intent. "The next time I intend to claim every dance on that blasted card."

  She laughed and shook her head, amused by the vehemence of his words. "What is it, my Lord? Do you fear to see my bank balance slipping from your grasp."

  For a moment anger lit his eyes and he looked away from her, but when he looked back she thought he looked hurt. "I never lie, Lady Dalton. Of all my faults, and I assure you I can claim many, that has never been one of them." She felt the tension in his arms, and knew this was true. He was someone who would always tell her the truth, and she knew now, that was something of great value. "I would have never allowed myself to spend such time with you if you hadn't been an heiress. I don't set out to ruin innocents and if I marry, yes, it will be to a woman with money. But if you think that is the only thing that keeps me coming back to you, you are very much mistaken."

  She flushed and looked away from him, shame faced. He hadn't deserved that comment. He'd been nothing but kind, and honest.

  "Forgive me," she murmured.

  The dance came to a close but he didn't release her for a moment. She dared to look back up at him and found a bemused smile tugging at his lips.

  "Crook your little finger, Eve," he whispered. "I'll come running,"

  Chapter 23

  "Wherein a rake reveals a heart."

  It has been noted that the ton's darling M of B, that handsome devil, has been paying extraordinary attention to the dazzling new Siren in our midst. Could it be that our most delightful bachelor has marriage in mind at last? Extraordinarily, the D of S is also dancing attendance but his attentions are not received with any visible pleasure. The Siren continues to call to all the most eligible men, but who will get burned this time?

  The following ten days passed in a blur. Dances and routs and shopping and picnics, and yet more shopping and more dancing. Georgiana felt giddy, as though the world was spinning too fast and she couldn't keep her grip on reality. It was like some strange dream where everything was a little too bright, a little too colourful, and too perfect to be real. But she let the colours and the attention and the compliments shower over and about her, and watched the glittering world around her without ever truly feeling a part of it.

  The duke was always there, watching her with those dark eyes. He was like a storm gathered on the horizon. Everyone knew, sooner or later he would break, and the lightening would probably scorch her to the bone. She felt she would welcome it. It was hard to keep pushing him away, to keep rejecting his advances when she could still see the heat in his eyes. But she wouldn't be his plaything this time. She wasn't a toy he could pick up again, simply because another boy had decided he wanted her. If Sebastian wanted her he would have to declare his interest as Beau had. He had to make it clear to the world he was courting her. He needed to offer far more than just an affair that could ruin her and destroy all of her dreams. She wanted him still, loved him still ... but did he love her enough to put the scandalous past aside? Did he love her at all?

  "That's Lady Chartley," Beau whispered to her as they took a turn about the room. "She's been sleeping with Derby for almost a decade now, spends more time there than at her own home by all accounts."

  Georgiana looked at the elegant brunette with a raised eyebrow. She would never see forty again but she was still a beauty. "But Lord Derby is a fat old goat," she hissed to him, in disgust. "If she must take a lover she could do far better."

  Beau smirked and raised an eyebrow. "Oh, but I never said Lord Derby, now did I?"

  Georgiana felt her mouth make a little O of surprise as Beau chuckled.

  "Oh, I do love opening your eyes, darling Eve. It is such a delight to educate you."

  She cast him a sideways look. "I'm not shocked," she retorted, though she knew he dearly loved to make her blush. He seemed to count it as some kind of delightful sport. He was very good at it too. "I'm just surprised, that's all I just ... never considered ..."

  She trailed off, annoyed that she was blushing now. "I mean I know that men sometimes like other men, so I suppose it makes sense," she replied, shrugging as Beau went off into peals of laughter beside her.

  "I
do love it when you try to sound as though you are so very sophisticated and experienced of our dark world, sweet little Eve."

  She huffed and glared up at him. "Well it's not as if I get a chance to discover anything about it myself is it? All I learn, I learn from you. I never realised you were such a dreadful rattlepate."

  He put a hand to his heart with a groan. "Oh, that hurt. After the lengths I have gone to keep you entertained. A rattlepate! Is that the only thing you can find to say of me after all the extravagant compliments I give you? Here I am, hanging on your sleeve as ever, your obedient lap dog, and you never so much as throw me a bone."

  Now it was her turn to laugh at this wounded expression, ignoring the looks of disapproval from some of those they passed by. "Oh, you are an odious, spoilt creature that is for certain."

  "Oh, Eve," he replied sounded so dejected and giving her such puppy dog eyes that she did really feel sorry for him.

  "Beau, you're a dreadful flirt and I know well your game by now, but you know I adore you so stop trying to lure me into spoiling you further. Dreadful man," she added, tutting as his eyes lit with appreciation. She couldn't help but return his smile, but then her breath caught as he paused, his eyes darkening.

  He covered her hand with his and leaned towards her. "Marry me and I'll teach you everything you want to know, Eve."

  She swallowed, unsettled by the look in his eyes. God, she couldn't deny the idea of bedding him didn't make her skin burn. She'd overheard whispers about him from other women, about his prowess and skill in the bedroom. Somehow she didn't doubt a word of it. But though he might be able to make her body respond, her heart was already engaged, and she wasn't so fickle that it could be taken by another with such ease.