Miss Watson's First Scandal (A Miss Mayhem Novella)

by Heather Boyd

  “I have been ready for an hour, as you well know. How sad I’m always ready ahead of time, and you must rush about.”

  Peter grinned. “Now, now. No need to ring a peal over my head. I did not see the moth hole in my waistcoat and I did change when you demanded it. I’m ready and fit to be seen, am I not?”

  She glanced over him with a critical eye. At her urging, especially in light of the damaged waistcoat, he’d returned upstairs to dress a little more formally than he would normally. It wouldn’t do to be lax about his attire while courting an heiress. Abigail would have to sneak into his bedchamber and inspect his other clothes for similar damage.

  Tonight, his cravat was perfectly tied for a change, his hair was neatly styled, and his pocket watch chain gleamed in the candlelight. Given the effort he had made with his outward appearance, she hoped Melanie Merton would finally notice what a fine man he was to look at. Only time would tell.

  Although the evening was fair, she picked up her best shawl, placed it around her shoulders, and then linked her arm through Peter’s. “I’ve been looking forward to dining with everyone tonight. Melanie is so lovely, but I rarely see her unless it’s at a dinner somewhere.”

  Peter’s brow rose as he opened the door to lead her out onto Cavendish Place. “Last week you complained that Miss Merton kept standing in your way when you were talking. Why the devil are you keen to spend time in her company?”

  Abigail shook her head, glancing quickly at the front of David’s house. Every window was as dark as if he had not come to Brighton after all. Where was he? “I was mistaken in thinking it deliberate. She’s so elegant and tall, and I so short, I suspect she didn’t see me.”

  Peter led her down the street, away from David’s house. “Strangely charitable. You have forgotten I saw it all. Damned rude of her to interrupt your conversation with Radley. If she does it again, I will say something cutting about it this time.”

  Abigail dragged him to a halt. “Don’t you dare say one unkind word to Melanie. Not now.”

  “Why not now?” Peter’s eyebrows shot up. “Abigail, I won’t have you slighted like that again. I don’t care if I offend the silly chit or her family. She has no right to lord her fat dowry over you as if you were beneath her notice. It isn’t money that makes someone a better person. It is how they treat others.”

  Abigail set her free hand to her trembling stomach and prayed Melanie might be in a friendlier mood tonight than she usually was. She simply had to see Peter’s better qualities. She was sure the right woman could overcome his interest in gambling.

  Her brother rapped on the Radley’s door and they were whisked inside the elegant townhouse.

  Mr. Linus Radley greeted them warmly. “Watson. Miss Watson. So happy you could come.”

  “Thank you, Radley.” Peter shook hands with him and then headed for where the gentlemen had clustered on the far side of the drawing room.

  Mr. Radley smiled at Abigail. “You look as lovely as ever, Miss Watson.”

  A happy warmth invaded her chest at the compliment. She had dithered over her gown, settling on a cream silk edged with heavy burgundy embroidery. It had been a favorite since her time in London. “Thank you, sir.”

  She glanced into the room, noting who had come. All the ladies of their group were here and of the men, David would be the last to arrive.

  Mr. Radley cleared his throat. “Do you have a moment, Miss Watson? There is a pressing matter I wish to discuss with you.”

  Abigail stilled at the memory of the last time someone had spoken those exact same phrases to her. Surely Mr. Radley was not so ridiculous as to propose marriage to her, too. She gathered her courage and pasted a smile on her face. “Of course. What can I help you with?”

  He leaned closer. “I need to obtain your support in regard to my sister.”

  Relief trickled through her and she relaxed. “What has Julia done now?”

  Mr. Radley’s heavy sigh raised the hair on her neck. “She intends to challenge the gentlemen to a swimming race. I’ve done all I can to dissuade her, but she is determined to ignore the impropriety of mixed bathing to prove she’s a strong swimmer. You have as much influence on her as anyone. Can you try to convince her it’s a very bad idea?”

  Abigail blushed as she remembered the unclad state the gentlemen swam in. Accidentally catching half of them stark naked was a memory she strove to push from her mind. Thankfully, Mr. Radley had not been there that day or she really would be blushing now. “You give me too much credit, sir. Julia has always gone her own way. But I will try.”

  “That is all I can hope for.” He stood silently at her side, gazing across the room to where the ladies sat, an expression of disappointment on his face.

  Uncomfortable with remaining apart from the group for too long and wary of giving the wrong impression about their discussion, she cleared her throat to recapture his attention. “I should like to join the ladies now if there is nothing else you wish to speak of, Mr. Radley.”

  He startled as if he had forgotten she was standing at his side. “Yes, I’m sorry to have detained you. Do try to convince her if you have the opportunity. I fear what will happen to her reputation—and the family’s—if word spreads of her intentions.”

  “Of course.” Abigail made her way into the parlor where Imogen, Julia Radley, Teresa and Melanie Merton sat. “Good evening, ladies.”

  While the other greetings were warm and heartfelt, a shrill ‘Miss Watson’ was all Melanie Merton offered. The sharp edge to the salutation sent a chill through her as did the cold gaze that raked her from top to toe. Determined to advance Peter’s cause, she braced herself to overlook the rude behavior and improve their friendship. A bit of harmless flattery couldn’t hurt. “Miss Merton, you look lovely this evening.”

  Melanie preened a little. “Thank you.”

  When Melanie made no attempt to return the compliment or continue conversing, Abigail glanced about. Julia and Imogen gaped at her until she began to wonder if she’d left half her hair hanging down her back.

  “Dinner is served,” the Radley’s butler intoned, saving them from the need to make further small talk. They all stood, Melanie taking the lead to proceed into dinner. Imogen caught Abigail’s arm when she would have followed. “I may just be sick to my stomach before the evening is through.”

  “Oh, Imogen. An advantageous marriage is the only way to save Peter.”

  Her friend frowned as she glanced around. “Well, I hope you can live with the consequences. Has Mr. Hawke spoken to your brother yet?”

  That feeling of disquiet raced through her again when she thought of David’s darkened house. “I don’t believe so. He did not call at the house to see Peter today.”

  “I overheard we may have odd numbers for dinner. Melanie will talk of nothing else for a month if that is the case.”

  Abigail worried at her fingertip briefly. “Did David decline the invitation?”

  One of Imogen’s eyebrows rose. “They say he never answered it. No one has seen him since the men went sea bathing this morning.”

  Abigail took her place beside Valentine Merton at the table and participated in the general dinner conversation, but her thoughts remained on the man she had kissed by moonlight last night. Had David taken ill after the swim? Was he all alone in his dark town house? That thought didn’t rest easy with her. Shouldn’t someone check to see if he were well?

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  David groaned and rolled onto his side as his stomach bitterly complained it was empty. Pale light pierced the gloom through the gaps around his bedchamber drapes and he fumbled for his pocket watch. The hands showed eight o’clock had just passed. He must have dozed off for a few minutes.

  He crawled out of bed, stretched his aching limbs, and peeked outside. The sunny day had turned dreary with rain. He frowned as he parted the drapes wider. There hadn’t been a cloud in the sky when he’d been swimming this morning. The swift change in the weather surprised him. He’d bee
n asleep less than an hour.

  Bemused, he scratched his head, noting that salt had stiffened his hair until it stood on end, and looked for his discarded clothing. But although he searched, everything he’d left on the chair next to the wardrobe was gone. His housekeeper must have crept in and taken them to wash while he’d been napping. Odd, given that Mrs. Lynch had never come into his bedchamber before while he was in it. He didn’t care for the idea. He’d only been asleep for a short time.

  When footsteps approached, tapping lightly up the stairs, he dived back into bed and pulled the covers up his chest so he wouldn’t shock the poor woman. Mrs. Lynch only came in to clean in the mornings and to set a pot on to cook during the day. He had no need of a full-time servant. Not for one week a year.

  He saw a breakfast tray first, and then his eyes widened as Abigail Watson’s face peeked through the gap, only to quickly vanish again.

  Horrified, David sat higher against the headboard and yanked the covers all the way up to his shoulders to cover his nakedness. “What on earth are you doing here, Miss Watson?”

  “I was worried about you. May I come in?”

  David’s body tensed, everywhere, at that idea and he quickly tamped down such improper thoughts about his innocent neighbor. “No, you may not. I’m not decent. Go home, Miss Watson.”

  There was a long silence from the hall, and then Abigail muttered to herself. “Not particularly friendly in the mornings. Must remember that.”

  Regardless of his request that she leave, Abigail entered his room carrying a breakfast tray. The smell of ham, chocolate and fresh baked cake came with her and his empty stomach tumbled over itself loudly.

  She approached and set the tray over his thighs, a bright blush making her cheeks rosy in the half light, her smile timid. “It is good to see you finally awake. I feared a physician would be needed.”

  He pulled the tray higher, attempting to hide the effect her nearness had on his body. “Miss Watson, what are you talking about?”

  As she opened the drapes a touch more and then faced him, he noted the apron tied around her waist and her small bare hands fumbling with the material. “It’s Monday. You’ve been asleep since yesterday morning as far as your housekeeper and I can determine.”

  “Monday?” David stared at her in shock and then picked up his pocket watch again. The hands hadn’t moved since he’d last looked at it. “What time is it?”

  She lifted a chair and relocated it close to the bed. “A little after two o’clock in the afternoon. I’ve never heard of someone sleeping so long unless they were gravely ill.”

  Her concern touched him. “I’m not ill.”

  A frown crossed her face as she sat. “So you say. But most people don’t lie as still as a corpse either, ignoring young women creeping into their bedchamber.”

  She appeared so worried he forgave her for the impropriety of invading his home. However, no one else would if they discovered she was here. “You were here while I was sleeping? Is Peter with you?”

  “No. Peter does not know I’m here. I begged your housekeeper to let me check you were still breathing as she was too afraid to come near you.”

  She twisted her hands in her lap, reminding him the girl should be sent away for her own good, although it was likely far too late to save her reputation. Someone may have seen her enter his bachelor household. They would make the wrong assumption about her presence and any talk would ruin her. She had to leave. “Mrs. Lynch,” he bellowed.

  “She cannot hear you. Mrs. Lynch needed to visit her sister in Hove urgently and I gave her permission to go since you were still asleep. I told her our housekeeper would watch over you in her place. Of course, my housekeeper knows none of this.”

  David shook his head. “Miss Watson—Abigail. What of your reputation? What were you thinking to invade a bachelor residence? If word of this gets out, there will be hell to pay.”

  She’d have no choice but to marry him and that wasn’t what he wanted for her. Abigail deserved a choice in who she wed.

  “I was thinking someone I considered a friend might need someone to look after him,” she said softly. “Your breakfast is growing cold.”

  David glanced down at the overflowing tray. He couldn’t deny he was starving. To sleep even half as long as he had was unusual for him and his stomach protested the lack of nourishment. He’d eat first and then see Abigail returned home and deal with whatever consequences befell them later. He glanced at the tray and at her apron again.

  “I promise my cooking will not harm you. Peter suffers it well enough when I can convince Mrs. Simpson to let me into the kitchen.”

  David groaned at the thought of Abigail slaving over a hot oven on his behalf. That was not the life she should have. She should be pampered not put to work. How could he possibly repay her kindness and concern? Words were his only choice for now. “Thank you, Miss Watson. I may sound churlish and severe about you being in my home and unchaperoned, but I do appreciate your efforts. I just hope we can return you to your house before you are discovered.”

  He attacked the plate, savoring each bite as he tried to adjust to the lost time. He couldn’t believe he’d been quite that tired as to sleep through an entire day, a night, and half another day. Abigail perched on the edge of her chair. She studied him, or rather stared at him, eyes wider than he’d ever seen them. When he glanced down, he realized his sheet had fallen, exposing his bare chest to her innocent eyes. He jerked it back up again and tucked it under his arms. “This is delicious but if you’re not going to leave, I’ll need a shirt or robe to put on.”

  Young women would not be used to seeing so much of a man. He was surprised she hadn’t fled but then she had seen naked men before, albeit at a distance when she’d followed her brother to the beach. Hopefully, she didn’t remember much of that. Unfortunately, he couldn’t get out of bed to cover himself decently. He hadn’t a stitch of clothing on and he didn’t want to shock her if she saw any more of his skin at close range.

  “Of course, you must be cold.” She bounced up from her chair and flung his wardrobe doors wide.

  Actually, he wasn’t in the least bit cold. David’s pulse raced and his body burned with unaccustomed heat. Keeping hidden how she affected him proved difficult. He’d never imagined Abigail might sneak into his house—or any man’s house—for that matter. He’d always thought her rather proper and restrained until the day before yesterday. What else about her had changed during the last year?

  She stood before his wardrobe, her fingers sliding over his clothing as she searched for what he’d requested. When her hand passed over his robe twice, he cleared his throat. “That’s my robe on the right.”

  She jumped and quickly acquired the garment, but then she lifted the material to her nose as she turned. Her gaze flickered over his body and he tensed again at the odd expression in her gaze. As she drew closer, her bold appraisal added to the torture. How much more of this he could stand before he pulled her into his bed he didn’t know, but it was imperative that she leave. Now. Before he dragged her against him and completed her education on kissing and expanded her understanding of male anatomy.

  She held out the robe. “I have a problem.”

  David had one, too. His attraction to Abigail was an unforeseen complication to his life which would make calling in Peter Watson’s debt that much harder. He quickly settled the material around him, belted it at the waist and repositioned the tray to cover his aching privates. “Oh?”

  “I have no idea how to convince my brother to marry.”

  David picked up a piece of cake and bit into it as he considered how to answer. “There is an old saying that you can lead a horse to water but you cannot make him drink,” he said eventually.

  Abigail slumped back in her chair. “Exactly. I can dangle many pretty girls beneath his nose, but bringing him to the point of proposing is beyond my experience.”

  David frowned. “Forgive me for being indelicate, but I had recently h
eard you’d had experience with marriage proposals. Three wasn’t it?”

  Her eyebrow arched. “Who told you about my suitors?”

  “Mr. Merton mentioned them yesterday. He saw you—us—in the lane the other night.”

  A bright blush swept over her cheeks. “Did he threaten to tell my brother?”

  “Surprisingly, no. However, I did promise him no further mistakes would be made.”

  Her nose wrinkled quite adorably as she frowned. “And I’ve ruined that for you today by coming here unescorted. Never mind that now.” Her expression turned thoughtful. “The proposals I received were a surprise to me. I did nothing to bring them about. One fellow asked me immediately after our first dance. I’d never met him before that night so I was taken aback by the abruptness.”

  “And the next?” David took a second bite into the seed cake, cursing himself for asking about her suitors in the first place. Who had asked her for her hand in marriage would gain him nothing but prolong her time in his house.

  “By letter. Anonymously.”

  David choked on the cake and coughed to clear his throat. He reached for the tea and swallowed some. “How on earth could the fellow have expected you to accept if he didn’t identify himself?”

  She chuckled. “That was my first thought, too. I didn’t meet with him at the arranged time and place.”

  “I should hope not,” David bit out savagely. What if she had gone? What fiend might have been lying in wait for the innocent woman? “What does your brother say about this?”

  “I think my brother prefers to forget I’m of marriageable age.”

  Damn, but Peter Watson was a fool. He should be keeping better watch over her than this. “And the third?”

  “The very first actually, and it was awkward to say the least.”

  Full to the brim, David set the tray aside and repositioned himself in the bed. He was still aroused, but he could listen to Miss Watson talk all day and never tire of hearing her confidences. “And who was that?”

  She clenched her hands together. “Walter George.”