London's Late Night Scandal

by Anabelle Bryant

  “But you behaved ridiculously. Why would you risk my reputation? My name will be on the tip of everyone’s tongue come morning and not for the right reasons. I so wish you hadn’t felt the urge to defend that man. My brother should have escorted me. I’ll be ridiculed for keeping company with you.”

  “You’re overreacting.” He knew the upper ten thousand were cutthroat with their assumptions, but that matter didn’t cause him as much concern as Amy’s callous disregard of Lord Talbot’s situation. She worried more about gossip and perception than the earl’s despairing crisis.

  “I’m still shocked you stood up in front of everyone and made a spectacle of yourself. You behaved as if you’d gone mad.”

  “No one is mad.” Controlling his anger was difficult. He was outraged by now. He wrapped his fingers around the top of his walking stick and formed a fist to defuse his temper. “Lord Talbot was confused and Lady Leighton helpless to change the situation. I merely attempted a diversion. No one will think poorly of you, Amy. If the scene is portrayed in the right light, some might consider my actions honorable.”

  “You wished to assist the lady?” She choked the question out with that same incredulous tone.

  “I did.” He checked the window, relieved to see they were nearly returned to the Chesters’ home and their conversation would end.

  “At my expense?”

  “I didn’t give thought to any particular repercussions. I had no motive and acted as I saw appropriate, but as we’re being honest, what expense would that be? You wished to visit Mivart’s restaurant, where you ate a fine meal. You saw your friends and they saw you. You’ll have plenty to discuss tomorrow afternoon at tea, or not. Your acquaintances perpetuate the gossip mill. Ask them kindly to refrain if you believe my actions cast you in a poor light.” He clenched his teeth. She dare not spread an unkind word in relation to Talbot and Theodosia.

  “I’m taken aback by your reaction to all this.” She shifted on the carriage bench. “Usually, you’re the epitome of kindness.”

  “Exactly.” He didn’t waste words explaining how ironic her complaint.

  “I’ll need time to think about this. I pray this mortifying scene isn’t the topic of the papers come morning. Either way, there’s no need to call upon me tomorrow, nor the next day after. I’ll send word when I’ve reconsidered our sharing company.”

  “I understand.” He exhaled, a surprising sense of liberation flooding his veins. Mentally his time was already claimed. He needed to see Theodosia, inquire about Lord Talbot and discover why they’d shown unexpectedly in London.

  Amy gave a bitter laugh. “I’m sure you do.”

  The carriage jerked to a stop and George was quick to extend the steps. Matthew escorted her to the door in silence, though there was nothing left to say anyway. Then he hurried back to the carriage.

  “Mivart’s, George. And waste not a moment.”

  He’d barely closed the door when his driver snapped the reins and the horses leapt forward.

  * * *

  Theodosia dried her tears and washed her face a second time in the bowl of water left next to the ewer on the dressing table. Grandfather was asleep in the room next door under Collins’s vigilant watch. The hour was close to midnight and Dora had retired as well. Only Theodosia’s mind hummed with too many unanswered questions to find rest.

  She worried for her grandfather’s health. She wondered about her future. And most of all, she attempted to decipher why Matthew would risk public embarrassment in the middle of a room filled with London betters. How pitiful she must have appeared. He could only feel sorry for her. No other answer made sense. At the time, she’d tried not to make eye contact with any of the ladies in the restaurant who sat, aghast, at the developing scene, but she’d noticed Matthew’s companion’s appalled expression. Her reaction reminded Theodosia of emotions she’d thought long ago mastered.

  In the morning, Kirkman would arrive and they would travel to Dr. Fletcher’s office. With hope the physician would speak with Grandfather and make recommendations to forestall what now seemed inevitable. A deterioration of the mind.

  Tears stung her eyes for the umpteenth time this evening. She held the towel against her face and willed them to stop.

  A distinct knock sounded on her door and she dropped the towel to the ewer in surprise.

  She couldn’t answer. Not only was she dressed in nothing but her nightclothes, but it wasn’t safe or wise.

  The knock sounded again.

  “Theodosia. Are you there? It’s Whittingham.”

  Her heart thundered in her chest as she moved to unlatch the door. She had to open it or his infernal knocking would wake Dora, or worse, Grandfather. At least that’s what she told herself.

  Tightening the sash at her waist, she cracked the door a two-fingers’ width and peered into the shadowy light of the hallway corridor.

  “Are you all right?”

  Matthew was there, handsomely dressed in his formal attire from earlier. He must have taken the lady who accompanied him to her home, and then returned directly to the hotel. But why? She opened the door a bit wider, careful to keep her body concealed. “Yes. I am now.”

  “You’ve been crying.”

  He leaned closer and she fought the urge to withdraw, shut the door, and resist the desire to confess all her fears.

  “I’m fine. Truly.” How he could discern so much in the lamplight was a tribute to his intelligence and empathy.

  “Will you step into the corridor for a word?”

  “Whatever for?” She moved farther behind the door panel. She noticed he didn’t have his walking stick. “I’m dressed in my night rail.”

  “You’re wearing a wrapper, aren’t you?”

  His husky whisper caused her skin to tingle with awareness. He seemed to discard conventionality whenever it pleased him, first with his use of her Christian name and now with his improper request. It was one thing to abandon decorum when off in the countryside, but not here in London.

  “Yes, I am, but I can’t come out into the hall now. It’s the middle of the night.”

  “No one is about because it’s the middle of the night.” He looked left and right before he met her eyes. “Besides, what could ever happen here in the hotel corridor?”

  “I once thought the same of the hotel dining room.”

  “True and fair.” His mouth formed a wry grimace. “But now I’ll be by your side. You needn’t worry. I only mean to hold you a moment.”

  “Here?” Why did he have to say that last sentence? The temptation of his strong arms around her, offering comfort and support, proved her undoing. She angled into the opening and waited.

  “Yes. Here.”

  He didn’t move, but she did.

  She closed her eyes and allowed his embrace. Just for a minute, she told herself. Sixty seconds of comfort and strength. She breathed in deeply and was rewarded with the spicy scent of his shaving soap. His cravat brushed her forehead, her ear placed over his heart, and even through his thick wool coat she could hear the steady beat within his chest.

  He didn’t say a word, though each of his exhales whispered through the fine hairs at her temple. Sensual curiosity caused her mind to race as quickly as her pulse. She would remember this moment. She would recall his empathy and compassion when she was returned to Oxfordshire. Just as his kiss at the right moment had chased away her sadness, his comfort would ease her mind.

  “Thank you for what you did downstairs in the restaurant.” She began to pull away, but his arms caught her tight. Still, an excuse to leave the respite he offered came too easily. “We’ve an early morning appointment with a respected physician who studies confusion and forgetfulness in the elderly.” Her words were muffled against his chest, but she knew he heard her.

  “Dr. Fletcher?” He loosened his grip so they could speak face-to-face, their whispered conversation a silent hush in the hallway.

  “Yes. How did you know?”

  “He’s resp
ected as a pioneer in the study of conditions concerning the elderly, and he also belongs to the Society. Let me escort you to his address.”

  “Thank you again, but it isn’t necessary.” She forced out the awkward explanation. “Lord Kirkman, a family friend, has come with us for that purpose. He’s familiar with the situation and truly wants the best for Grandfather.”

  “I see.”

  Did he? Not that it mattered. They weren’t traveling the same paths. He’d taken a lady to dinner tonight, hadn’t he? They had no claims or obligations to each other, despite their odd form of friendship. Peculiar, how her heart ached a little at that truth. “Besides, I refuse to become an inconvenience. You have your life neatly organized here in London.” It was a bold allusion to his dinner date and he was too intelligent not to realize.

  “Hardly that.” He didn’t explain further and they stood in silence a beat too long.

  “I should return to my room.” She withdrew the slightest. “I wouldn’t wish to oversleep come morning.”

  “No. We couldn’t have that.” He leaned in and before she could retreat, he lowered his mouth to hers.

  The kiss was wrong for so many reasons. She was alone in a hotel hallway with a bachelor in the middle of the night. She was barely dressed, in nothing more than a thin silk wrapper and night rail. Yet she allowed him liberties that would scald the eyes of any passersby as she held tight in the circle of his arms amidst a deep, openmouthed kiss.

  She wanted this more than her next breath. And that made it right for the most important reason.

  “Breathe, Theodosia.” His commanding growl brushed against her lips as he resumed the kiss.

  Why should she bother breathing when every caress sought to take her breath away?

  This kiss, his kiss, was an unanswered quest. A hypothesis to follow. Something for later thought when clear thinking returned, for now her mind and body flushed with sensation, as heated and delirious as a fever dream. He deepened the pressure of his mouth upon hers and she quickly abandoned any attempt at logical thought, ready to surrender to feeling instead.

  The pressure of his mouth was the ideal elixir to calm her nerves, despite it sent her heartbeat into triple time. She opened to him, the stroke of his tongue against hers like a sweep of fire, igniting sparks of pleasure and heat.

  His hands gripped her shoulders. His fingers pressed against the thin silk as if he wished to touch her skin instead. He drew her closer, hard against his chest, and smoothed his hands upward until he cradled her face, his kiss suddenly slower, less urgent, and that much more tender, though she experienced a restless hunger that had nothing to do with food.

  Each deliberate stroke of his tongue was echoed by the caress of his fingers at her cheek. Her breath quickened and mind spun, as if she’d had too much champagne and twirled in circles over and over and over again.

  “What’s happening?” she asked in a distant voice. “I feel as though I’m falling.”

  “Kiss me, Bookish,” he murmured against her lips, a sensual command as he moved his mouth over hers.

  Her silky bedclothes were no barrier to his heated touch. His fingertips skimmed down her neck, over her shoulders, one hand splayed at her back. Her nipples tightened in a strange and enthralling reaction to his nearness. Her whole body seemed sensitized, and a yearning ache like she’d never experienced, throbbed with anxious pleasure in her lower belly.

  She wanted to kiss him. She wanted to feel his hands on her skin. Caress his muscular chest and learn the shape of his lean body. To touch him and have him touch her and the thought of all these sudden, new, and reckless desires frightened her beyond words.

  She allowed herself another sinful moment of pleasure and then stepped back with a gasp, breaking free from his hold to lean against the door for support, her legs as weak as her willpower.

  “You’re lovely. So very lovely. Those eyes . . .” His words were a low, appreciative hush in the silence.

  His gaze was heavy-lidded as he viewed her, and his hair was a disheveled mess. Had she done that? Run her fingers through the silky strands? The entire episode seemed more dream than reality.

  “I thought the time for flattery was before a stolen kiss.”

  “Stolen? Mine was freely given.” He drew a deep breath and restored his jacket to rights.

  She swallowed, a little stunned by his honest confession. “I’m sorry if I ruined your evening.”

  One dark brow climbed high. “This by no means ruins my evening.”

  “No.” She suppressed a shy smile. “Earlier, in the dining room, with your . . .”

  “Lady Chester,” he supplied, his expression sober. “An acquaintance,” he added belatedly.

  “Not your sister.”

  He chuckled softly. “Good god, no. Amelia would have insisted on marmalade too, and somehow the cook would have produced it for fear of crossing her.”

  This earned him a sincere grin.

  Silence enveloped their interlude. So quiet, the crackle of wax and flame in the wall sconce sounded unusually loud.

  “It’s amusing, isn’t it?” Emotion caught her suddenly unaware. How unfair life could be. How sad and sorry her future appeared at this moment. She had to push him away. She couldn’t care for him. So many reasons existed to place walls in their path. “To pretend for a while.”

  “How do you mean?” His answer sounded guarded, as if he perceived the same shift in mood. She could see it in his entrancing brown eyes.

  “To pretend Grandfather isn’t deteriorating. That my parents aren’t dead. Or that I’m destined to be alone with a few compromised animals who need me as much as I need them.” She pulled her shoulders straighter and tightened the sash at her waist. “Don’t kiss me again. Don’t buffer me from the truth of my situation. This is a blink in your existence, nothing more than a page in your history, but for me, it’s my life. It’s too meaningful. I can’t think of my pleasures and wants when I have Grandfather’s health to resolve. I’m not that selfish. So please, you shouldn’t kiss me again. You shouldn’t flirt and tease and call me Bookish. Because when you do, you dare me to believe otherwise and that’s far too cruel a trick to play.”

  “Theodosia.” He shook his head while a half smile twitched about his mouth. “You have it all wrong.”

  She didn’t know what to make of that. She’d confessed her greatest fear. That she could somehow lose her head, or worse her heart, and come away broken from the experience. She couldn’t lose anyone else. The flimsiest suggestion of that happening evoked fear so strong she refused to consider it.

  “You don’t have to be alone.” His soft murmur tempted her to believe.

  “Thank you for checking on me.” She turned, her hand on the latch. “I need to sleep. Grandfather and I have a busy day tomorrow.”

  He nodded and took a step backward. “Good night then.”

  Amidst doubt and ambivalence, she foolishly wished she’d accepted his offer to accompany them to Dr. Fletcher’s office. At least then there existed the guarantee she would see him again. But that same riddle she chased, of wanting what she could not have, was a roadmap for heartbreak. And besides, Grandfather was her most important priority. Any concerns she had beyond that would have to wait.

  “Good night.”

  She closed the door and leaned against it, her eyes pressed together tight.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Matthew cursed all the way to his carriage. In his rush, he’d left his walking stick in the interior and his leg informed him of the unforgivable error now as he managed the slate steps leading from the hotel. Still, his grumbling had little to do with physical pain.

  This evening had proved an unmitigated disaster from start to finish. Since when had his actions become so clumsy, his thoughts so muddled? In the end, what had he accomplished? Not much more than hurt feelings all around.

  Parting with Amy was an act long overdue. Whether she deemed him worthy of her attention again didn’t calculate into his f
uture. He held no ill feelings. This evening proved they would never suit, and regardless, he’d attempted to force something out of convenience and lack of effort rather than true interest. Her dismissal ultimately improved his life. Not that he would ever wish to hurt another’s feelings. Somehow everything became disarrayed once he’d arrived at Oxfordshire.

  Hindsight was undoubtedly clear-sighted.

  Only last year he’d urged his sister Amelia to marry and follow the expected course of life, but in turn he’d erred in thinking the same applied to his future. One couldn’t predict or plan love the same way one proved a scientific theorem. There were no absolutes and the trials were scattered at best.

  But then there was Theodosia . . .

  He’d scared her with his ardor and insistence, pushed her too hard, too fast, and caused her to feel uncomfortable. She’d retreated this evening. In essence, she lived a rather sheltered existence, absent from society’s influence. For him to upset her was truly unforgivable.

  He let loose another expletive and climbed inside his waiting carriage. The rap on the roof would be better served to his forehead. Perhaps he could make it up to her and assist in some useful way. He closed his eyes and dropped his head to the cushioned seat, anxious to soothe his displeasure by summoning her image. How she’d looked this evening in the dining room, stalwart and beautiful, at the ready to assist Lord Talbot at any cost. Later, how she appeared in the doorframe, lovely and fragile, her face tear-stained and lips rosy from his kisses.

  Or how she fit within his embrace. When she peered up at him, her lashes fluttering in her struggle to comprehend his compliments, her hair unbound around her shoulders like a skein of silk. He itched to caress her skin. Strip her bare and worship her body. He fooled himself into believing she was a passing curiosity easily satisfied with a kiss and kind word.

  No.

  Theodosia was a raging wildfire in his blood.

  * * *

  Morning came too quickly. Theodosia stretched, yawned, and dressed, though sound sleep had evaded her. Breakfast was taken in the room, and along with Dora’s report gained through Collins next door, Grandfather was sharply focused and in high spirits.