A Scandal In the Making

by Bethany M. Sefchick

  Also by Bethany M. Sefchick

  Fabulous Fairy Tales

  A Midsummer Night's Delusion

  Much Ado About Something

  Ghosts, Inc.

  Ghosts Of Lovers Past

  Heart Of Shadows

  Spellbound

  Edge Of Heaven

  Time's Mirror

  Ghosts, Inc. - The Short Story Anthologies

  Ghostly Shorts

  The Ghostly Shorts

  Modern Magic

  Dream Date

  Bewitched, Bottled, and Bewildered (Coming Soon)

  Tales From Seldon Park

  To Catch A Duke

  Far Beyond Scandalous

  At The Stroke Of Midnight

  A Viscount Of Mystery

  A Marquess Is Forever

  The Secret Seduction Of Lady Eliza

  From The Viscount With Love

  The Kiss Of A Rogue

  The Earl Of Heartbreak

  A Gentleman By Moonlight

  A Scandal In The Making

  An Earl For Hire

  My American Marquess

  One Forbidden Night

  The Pleasure Of His Kiss

  A Lady to Desire

  The Seldon Park Christmas Novellas

  One Christmas With The Earl

  On A Cold Christmas Eve

  The Earl Who Loved Me

  Christmas At Hollywell

  A Season For Romance

  Standalone

  Santa Search And Rescue

  Crossed Hearts

  Christmas In Philipsburg

  The Magic Of Christmas

  Watch for more at Bethany M. Sefchick’s site.

  A Scandal In The Making

  A "Tales From Seldon Park" Novel

  By Bethany M. Sefchick

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2017

  Bethany M. Sefchick

  All rights reserved

  For my beloved Baba & Dzedo...

  I miss you...

  Prologue

  March 1820

  London

  "What do you mean, she is my responsibility? Until a few weeks ago, I never even laid eyes upon the chit! I had no idea she even existed!"

  "Well, she is the late marchioness' cousin, my lord. And I can assure you that I have most thoroughly looked into her history and background. She is precisely whom she claims to be. Might I also remind you that she was invited here, my lord, by the previous marquess and his late wife, or at least through the dictates of their wills? The lady, for might I also remind you again that she does have blood ties to the peerage, arrived before you, actually. Well before you. She is already quite comfortably ensconced within these walls."

  "I was in Scotland, Franklin! The bloody fucking Highlands! Looking after my not-quite-sane late Uncle Moses' farming interests, might I remind you! It is not my fault if news does not travel very fast there! If it even travels at all! It wasn't until I returned to Edinburgh that I discovered any of the numerous pieces of correspondence you had sent to me there!"

  "Again, my apologies, my lord. But it changes nothing, I am afraid. The lady is here, she is blood to the family, and she is, whether you wish her to be so or not, your responsibility. Then, of course, there is the matter of her claim to ownership of the Gray Ladies. It is a rather, shall we say, muddled area of the wills and not one so simply settled as you might like."

  "I don't bloody well care! About any of it! I just want the chit gone! Now! Tonight!"

  "I'm afraid you can't simply toss the girl out, my lord. It's just not done. It is not proper or humane or even kind."

  "Since when have I ever been kind? Hmmm? Surely you have known me long enough by now, Franklin, to understand that kindness is not among my finer attributes."

  A throat was cleared, the first sign of nervousness in the less powerful man. "Be that as it may, my lord, you cannot simply cast the girl onto the streets like so much baggage. She might not hold claim to the title of lady, but she is gently bred. She would not survive the night most likely. More to the point, you late uncle's estate forbids such a thing. Well, at least until you are wed and might take full control of everything the marquisate entails. As you presently do not have a wife? Well, oddly enough, your uncle still wields some power from beyond the grave. The lady is now technically your ward, whether you wish her to be or not. I am sorry, but the matter cannot be undone."

  This time, there was a long, dangerous silence before the explosion Cassandra knew would follow from the fire-breathing dragon who held her life in his hands.

  "Forbids it? The estate forbids it? Who is in charge around here, Franklin? Me? Or my late uncle?" The dragon sounded completely enraged now. And more than a little unreasonable, though she should have expected that.

  "Well, you, my lord, of course, at least to an extent, but there are still laws and codicils and quirks in the will and..." She was certain the solicitor had broken out into a cold sweat by now.

  Taking a deep breath of her own, Cassandra could still hear the raised voices coming from behind the closed study doors rather clearly, even when her ear was not pressed directly to the door. Even the thick oak panels could not truly muffle the argument that had been increasing in volume over the last ten minutes or so. The fact that she should not be outside in the hallway eavesdropping on the two men was another matter entirely.

  Her first inclination was to burst through those very doors and defend herself against the man who would see her cast out upon the streets tonight if he was able. However, she had dealt often enough with the new Lord Berkshire within the last few days to know that such an action would only make him dig his heels in further. The man could become rather intractable at times, especially where she and her claim upon the Gray Ladies were concerned. He did not wish to own them, but for some peculiar reason, he did not wish for her to have possession of them either.

  Nor did he want her under his roof. He had also made that plain from the very first. If she had been a weaker woman, she would have likely scurried off into the foreboding night rather than argue with the increasingly stubborn man who held her future - nay, her very life - in his hands. However, turning tail and running away had never been in Cassandra's nature so there was no reason to make it a part now. No matter how fiercely the handsome dragon on the other side of the door roared and breathed his fire, Cassandra would not be intimidated by him. Fear and intimidation were simply not luxuries she could afford.

  No matter that often times the mere sight of said dragon in full temper while he was railing against something - usually her - could make her quake in her slippers. Just a bit. She was human, after all.

  Not surprisingly, the dragon roared again. "The chit simply must go! Back to whatever miserable little shire she hails from so that she can leave me in peace!" That was Berkshire again. She could tell by the low, gravely rumble in his voice. The dragon, for all of his other faults, had a very distinctive and not altogether unpleasant voice.

  "She has nowhere to go, my lord. You currently have her previous home, Ivy Cottage, up for sale, if you will recall. She has lived there for some years now, first with her father and then later under your uncle's protection when the previous marquess made her his ward until she was old enough to take charge of her own finances." Franklin, the estate's solicitor, was forever attempting to be the voice of reason. "You installed tenan
ts in there just the other week to make certain the cottage was well maintained until it could be sold. A retired navy man and his family, if I remember correctly."

  "I do not bloody fucking care!" Berkshire was roaring now and Cassandra could not help but smile at the mental image of fire spewing from his mouth as he bellowed again. "I want the chit gone! From my home! From London! From all of bloody fucking England if you can manage it!"

  Finally, Cassandra could not stand the roaring any longer. That was the last straw. She realized there was no love lost between her and Berkshire, but she refused to be tossed out of the country, of all the absurd things! Though if anyone could somehow manage such a feat, Cassandra was fairly certain it would be Berkshire. She had to put a stop to this nonsense before the man went any further. Once more, it was time to face the dragon in his lair. She prayed that she did not become too badly singed during their encounter. She was still nursing her wounds from their last row.

  Grasping the handles firmly, she pushed open the study doors with as much strength as she could muster. Which admittedly wasn't much given her small stature, so her entrance did not have quite the dramatic effect that she had hoped for.

  "The chit has a name," she stated flatly as she marched into the room and attempted to stare down the new Marquess of Berkshire, though the fact that she was wearing a pale blue sprigged muslin dress that made her look a bit like a child still in the schoolroom likely did not give her the air of authority she had hoped for. "And as you know my name rather well, my lord, I would thank you to use it."

  The dragon smiled then, a cold and calculating sort of look that did not suit him. He was far too handsome a man for such an ugly expression. "So the kitten has claws, does she?"

  Cassandra crossed her arms over her chest and glared, refusing to be cowed, though all the while her hands shook where she had them tucked beneath her arms. "You know that I do, my lord. And I shall be happy to be on my way and out of your life rather soon. I have my own funds now that I am of age and have for some time now. Admittedly, my inheritance is not nearly as great as yours, but I shall make do, which includes securing a snug little cottage somewhere along the coast if I am fortunate. After all, you have all but sold my home out from under me, or are attempting to do so at the very least."

  This time, the dragon's smile was calculating rather than cruel. Not much of an improvement, but a little bit better, she would grant him that. "So you are saying that if I return Ivy Cottage to you that you will be gone? Out of my life and my business?"

  Cassandra nodded sharply, wondering when, exactly, he would strike back at her. He wouldn't do so physically. Oh no. He was far too much of a gentleman for that sort of despicable behavior. But he could lash out with words very easily. She could as well, and she had been told on numerous occasions that her tongue was enough to flay a man alive. As of yet, she had been unable to accomplish such a feat with the dragon. Though she had tried. Numerous times.

  He stood there, waiting, his broad chest heaving, and Cassandra did her best not to avert her eyes. He was handsome. So very, very handsome, and that was the curse of it all. It was completely unfair that a man so delicious looking could have the personality of an angry badger.

  For the longest time, neither of them spoke. In the end, it was Cassandra who blinked first.

  For surely this battle could not be won so easily. Moreover, she had learned from the very first to be extremely wary around this man. "Yes." She cleared her throat when her voice wobbled a bit. "After we formalize the papers so that I may take possession of my portion of the Gray Ladies, I will be satisfied. Then I shall leave you in peace and not darken your doorstep again. Though also realize that we might have contact from time to time regarding the running of the organization. Though I do promise to keep our interactions to a minimum if you do the same."

  All traces of a smile were gone now, the dragon's lips pressed into a firm, grim line. "Back to this again, are we?"

  However Cassandra was not about to give in, not this time. "Yes, we are. And we will forever be until you do what is right. My Aunt Ellie left the organization to me. As she founded it, it was her right."

  "Founded it with my uncle's funds," Berkshire snapped, coming around his massive oak desk and returning her glare with one of his own, seemingly heedless of the fact that she was female and he a rather large and intimidating male. He was also far too close to her now to be considered strictly proper, but she decided now was not the time to mention that tiny fact. Or that fact that he all but towered over her, once more making her feel like a child. "And everything, my dear lady, including those charities that he funded, fell to me upon his death. I have responsibilities to them and to the marquisate that you know nothing about."

  "The Gray Ladies are not a charity, my lord. They are a business. An organization, if you must." Cassandra planted her hands on her hips and leaned forward as well, almost daring him to strike back at her just as he would a man - with his fists. They were almost nose to nose now, and she could see the golden streaks in his eyes that so reminded her of the dragon he often resembled. "And what are they to you anyway, my lord? Nothing. Just as I am nothing to you." She shook her head and took another tiny step towards him, so close now that the muslin of her dress brushed lightly against the superfine of his jacket. It was a calculated risk, but she was not afraid. Or at least she told herself that she was not. "You, my lord, do not desire to own them, but yet you do not wish for me to have them either. You cannot have it both ways."

  The dragon smiled again, but this time his smile was one of a predator and immediately Cassandra went on the alert, not wishing to be his prey. She had seen this particular look on his face before, usually mere moments before he all but tore some unfortunate soul apart with his words. Her blood ran cold at the thought of what he might do to her if she provoked him enough. And she also considered what she wished for him to do. Which were two completely different things. Which was where a large part of her problem in dealing with the man lay, unfortunately.

  If only Berkshire was not so sinfully handsome, she might be better able to deal with him. Or at least resist the urge to fight and argue with him as much as she did. She was accustomed to putting men, even powerful men, in their places with her words. She had done so rather frequently when her father was dying and found she had a talent for making men - just about any man - do as she wished, both by force of will and by charm.

  Except for Berkshire. With this man, no matter how hard she tried, Cassandra could not get him to budge, not even an inch, on any matter where she was concerned. And for that, she placed the blame squarely on his almost unnatural good looks. Not to mention how nearly every woman he encountered practically swooned when he so much as looked in their general direction.

  But when he smiled? Cassandra was certain that at least one or two of the ladies in question would have likely disrobed for him if they could have, just so long as they were able to bask in the seductive power of such a smile for even a little while longer.

  Cassandra tried to convince herself that she was not among that group of silly, foolish women, though it was difficult at times. Really, the man was ridiculously handsome.

  At close to six feet and four inches tall, Berkshire towered over most men she knew. With his green-gray eyes with those maddeningly odd golden streaks and close-cropped sandy blonde hair, not to mention his delightfully muscular physique, he was precisely the sort of man she would have been wildly attracted to had circumstances been different. He was the sort of man she would have liked to pay her court back in Little Bromley, the small village that she had called home back in Essex. If such a man could be found there of course, which wasn't all that likely. No, men like the marquess were rare indeed.

  When not arguing with her, Berkshire was kind and charming as well, a graceful dancer and incorrigible flirt who adored women. All women, or so the rumors went. He was often generous to a fault, especially with those who found his favor and those he took pity upon or felt we
re being mistreated by Society. He was also rumored to have exceptional prowess in the bedchamber, at least if some of the more willing widows of London were to be believed. Not that Cassandra should know anything about what sort of lover he might be, of course. She was a true innocent, having never even been kissed. Still, she did have ears that functioned perfectly well, and the ladies retiring room at balls was typically a hotbed of gossip. Especially where sexual matters were concerned.

  To make matters worse, Berkshire was also the sort of man Cassandra had often dreamed about marrying some day, especially when she was a young girl who didn't know any better. He was handsome, strong, and powerful - a true protector, which was exactly what she once thought she needed in a husband.

  In fact, the only thing truly wrong with the man in front of her was that he had the personality of an angry eel and all the warmth of one was well. Those, unfortunately, were too enormous of deficiencies to overcome.

  Hence, she often referred to him as "The Dragon," at least when she was alone. Not to mention that, well, the nickname sounded better than "The Eel," at least in her head.

  Now, the dragon was cocking his head from side to side as if studying her. Or perhaps toying with her. He did like to play games with people, after all. Neither option was particularly appealing. He was also still far too close to her for her liking, so close that if she inhaled too deeply, she could smell the sandalwood scent that she had come to associate with him in such a short period of time.

  "Ah, but I can have things both ways, Miss Grove. I can have things any way I please. After all, I am the marquess." Then he glanced at his solicitor with a calculating look. "And as Franklin here has pointed out several times over the last quarter hour, you are now my ward. So yes, I do believe that I can have things any way that I please."