by Ava Stone
A Scandalous Ruse
Ava Stone
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About Ava Stone
Also by Ava Stone
Ava Stone’s New Adult Romance
SNEAK PEAK ~ A Scandalous Vow
Chapter 1
Copyright © 2017 by Ava Stone
Cover Design by Covers By Lily
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Created with Vellum
Dedication
I don’t want to say that Elliott Winslett is based on my brother, but there is a lot of my brother in Elliott Winslett.
So for anyone who has ever loved an addict, I know the journey is painful. My heart goes out to you.
~Ava
Prologue
Rufford Hall, Nottinghamshire - February 1816
Gregory, Baron Avery, offered his younger brother Tristan a glass of whiskey. “It’s been so nice, having you home again.” The golden liquid reflected the roaring fire, just a few feet away in the hearth.
"Phoebe insisted.” Tris accepted the glass with a nod and a smile that said better than words ever could the concern that he and his wife obviously had for Greg. “Why don’t you come back to Norfolk with us, before we head to London? Change of scenery might be just what you need.”
But they both knew Greg wouldn’t leave Rufford Hall. After all, he rarely did, preferring surroundings that did not change to those that did. “Who says I need anything?” Greg asked, returning to his study’s sideboard to pour himself a drink as well. “It takes quite a lot of time and effort keeping the Hall running smoothly. Not that you or Russ would understand that.”
As soon as his younger brothers were able, they’d purchased their army commissions and departed for one adventure after another on the continent. Greg didn’t begrudge either of his brothers the freedom they’d found along the way. Such was life for younger brothers. But Greg was the peer, the one tasked with running the Avery barony and its holdings, which he quite enjoyed, actually. Mending his tenants’ roofs, overseeing the harvest, maintaining the glory of Rufford Hall. It was all rather calming in a way. And purpose. It gave him a purpose and kept his mind occupied.
“I do,” Tristan said, making Greg splash more whisky than he’d intended into his glass and subsequently onto the sideboard. “This place is like a bloody mausoleum.”
Greg’s head jerked toward his brother, and he frowned. “What exactly do you mean by that?”
“You know what I mean by that.” Tristan heaved a sigh, concern etched across his brow. “She is dead, Greg. And with the way you live, you might as well have climbed inside that coffin right beside her.”
She. Her. Tristan would never say Marina’s name. No one ever did. And though no one had ever said Greg didn’t have a right to mourn her—she had been, after all, another man’s wife—he knew they all thought so, quietly. But he didn’t have a choice in the matter. He’d loved Marina with all of his heart, and with her passing so too went all of his youthful carefree days, the lightheartedness that had, at one time, been so much a part of who he was. Even though he’d come to realize that Marina wasn’t the sweet girl he’d once believed her to be, her death and the death of their daughter had forever changed him.
“Look.” Tristan placed his glass on the table beside his chair. “I can never repay you the debt that Phoebe and I owe you, Greg.” His voice cracked with emotion as though he was reliving the very moment Greg and Phoebe had found Tristan the previous year, the very moment they’d stopped him from fleeing the country and ruining his only shot at true happiness. “But I’m trying my hardest, and you’re making it damned difficult to return the favor.”
Was that what this was about? Another it’s-time-you-got-on-with-your-life speech from one of his siblings? “I’m happy where I am, Tris.” He lifted his over-filled glass to his lips and drank a healthy amount from the top.
“You can lie to yourself if you want, Greg.” Tristan’s green Avery eyes stared a hole straight into his soul. “But you can’t lie to me. I remember what you said to me that day, the morning I left. I’ll never forget it.”
That was the problem with baring one’s soul to one’s brother, they tended to remember every word you said and would use it against you when it suited them. “Tris…” he began.
But Tristan shook his head, his mind clearly made up. “You were young. You made a mistake. You shouldn’t have to pay the rest of your life for it. You’re a good man, a decent one, no matter how you see yourself. And you have every right to a happy life.”
“My life is happy,” Greg stressed, even though that wasn’t entirely true. No amount of tending to his holdings would fill the empty cavity in his chest. Though he was not about to say those words aloud.
Tristan snorted. “Happy? Her ghost haunts each step you take, like a specter floating around you day and night, not willing to let you go.”
“I had no idea you had such a flair for the dramatic,” Greg drawled, hoping he didn’t seem as exposed as he felt under the keen eye of his brother’s observation.
“When is the last time you looked in a mirror, Greg?”
“This morning.”
Tristan’s eyes narrowed, silently accusing Greg of being petulant. “When is the last time you truly took a good look at yourself?” He sighed warily. “You didn’t die with her. It’s all right for you to live, you know?”
If he didn’t know his brother’s heart was in the right place, Greg would have been tempted to toss his whisky at Tristan’s head. Even still, it was almost impossible to keep the growl from his voice when he replied, “I breathe in air, same as you, every day.”
“But it’s not the same as me.” Tristan frowned. “It’s not the same, and you know it. You know it because you loved her. You were whole and your heart was alive and—”
“Don’t tell me what is in my heart, Tristan. Only I know what’s there.”
“And what is there?” his brother asked, his eyes steady and unwavering as he studied Greg’s face.
Damn Tristan and his blasted honor. It would be so much easier to be standing there, looking at Russell with all of his flaws. So much easier to tell their less than honorable brother to go hang; but with Tristan… Well, Greg couldn’t tell him what was in his heart, it had been so long since he’d felt it. But he’d be damned before he admitted as much to his youngest brother.
When it became apparent he had no intention of answering the question, Tristan pushed out of his chair and sidled over toward Greg. “I’ll make you a deal.”
“A deal?” he echoed, his eyes narrowing just a bit.
Tristan nodded. “Spend this upcoming season in London. Just this once, and I
’ll never mention it again.”
“London?” he spat as though it was a foul word.
“London.” Tristan nodded. “Cordie will be there, and with her recent loss, she could use all of our support. She puts on a brave face, like she always has, focusing on one project or scheme or another, but she’s completely devastated, Greg.”
Of course their sister was devastated. She’d been so happy at the prospect of having another child, but that apparently wasn’t to be. Still, Greg was the last person whose support she needed. “As Clayworth is not terribly fond of me, I don’t know how much good I would do for her.”
“Clayworth loves her, more than life. He won’t push you away. He knows how happy she would be if you came to Town.”
“To even endure my presence?” Greg asked, and a self-deprecating laugh escaped him.
“He never loved Marina,” Tristan said, and hearing her name spoken aloud, after all these years, nearly made Greg’s knees buckle from the weight of it. “So perhaps we can all put the past behind us and move forward together. If not for ourselves, then for Cordie’s sake. She loves and needs you both.”
Unshed tears stung Greg’s eyes, but he refused to let even one measly tear stream down his face in Tristan’s presence. He couldn’t find his voice to reply, so he simply nodded instead.
London, of all the damned places. He could go the rest of his life without setting foot in that bloody city. Still…he would go if his presence could somehow lighten his sister’s heartache. After all, Cordie—sweet, devoted Cordie, whom he should have taken better care of in her youth—was the last person who deserved heartache. She cared about everything and everyone, up to and including him, whether he was worthy of her concern or not.
“I have been meaning to stock my stables,” he conceded. “It wouldn’t hurt to look over horseflesh at Tattersalls, I suppose.”
Chapter 1
Chatham House, Mayfair – April 1816
Trepidation tiptoed across Lady Arabella Winslett’s spine. Chatham House was never quiet. Well, perhaps it was quiet in the dead of night when no one was awake to appreciate the novelty. But it was never quiet during the day, and certainly not whenever her grandfather was at home. The boisterous and gruff Duke of Chatham made ultimatums, issued commands, and expressed his wishes in no uncertain terms. Day in and day out.
But not at the moment.
And though Bella had often wished for peace whenever her grandfather was about, she found the deafening silence in this moment more than a little terrifying. Standing at the far end of the corridor, she pulled her attention from the silent, ducal study to exchange a glance with her sister, Priscilla, at her side.
“You’re certain he’s still in there?” she whispered and gestured to the large mahogany door.
Prissa nodded quickly, her silvery eyes round with fear, the exact same way Bella’s eyes must look to her little sister. “And Papa,” Prissa muttered quietly.
Grandfather and Papa in the same eerily, silent study? Bella wasn’t certain what that was about, but she couldn’t imagine it boded well for anyone. “Did he look angry?”
There was no need to specify which he Bella meant. Their father, the Marquess of Aylesford, was never angry. Happy, sometimes. Charming, on occasion. But mostly, he was thoughtful and quiet. The exact opposite of his father in almost every way.
Prissa shook her head. “Worried,” she mouthed the word.
Worried couldn’t be good.
“Sign your damn name, Aylesford!” Grandfather’s voice suddenly boomed from the study.
Bella and Prissa exchanged another look.
Their father mumbled something, but his voice was too low for Bella to hear his words. What in the world did Grandfather want him to sign?
Bella started toward the door, but Prissa grabbed her arm to stop her. She glanced over her shoulder to find her sister shaking her head most vehemently. They’d both be in a heap of trouble if they were caught eavesdropping. Still, Bella couldn’t help her curiosity. Whatever was going on in their grandfather’s study required more investigation.
She pulled out of Prissa’s hold, left her sister in her spot, and quickly scrambled down the corridor toward the study. Bella pressed her ear to the keyhole just in time to hear her grandfather say, “She didn’t take last season, and there’s no reason to think she’ll do better this year.”
Bella managed to keep from gasping. Were they were talking about her? They had to be. While Grandfather might say something similar about Sophie or Charlotte, he’d most likely do so with Uncle George instead of Papa.
“She’s shy, Father. That’s all,” Papa’s soft voice finally reached Bella’s ears.
“The truth of the matter is she’s too much like Harriet,” her Grandfather complained.
Too much like her mother. She’d only heard that objection to her person nearly all of her life.
“And if she follows the same path your errant wife did, she’ll blacken our name worse than your son has done and make certain Priscilla’s chances next season are nonexistent.”
“I hardly think Bella would do something untoward, Father. She’s simply shy.”
“Shy? She’s odd. In the same way Harriet was, and you know what that led to,” he grumbled. “And she walks around with her head in the clouds, unaware of the world around her.”
“She’s thoughtful.”
“She’s an embarrassment, just like Gillingham, just like her mother. Mark my words, Aylesford,” Grandfather growled, “that girl will ruin herself and Priscilla right along with her if you don’t sign these papers. Is that what you want?”
Papers? What papers was he talking about?
The rapid pounding of Bella’s heart echoed in her ears. She’d always known Grandfather didn’t care for her. He’d made that abundantly clear over the years, but hearing him call her odd, an embarrassment, hurt more than she would have expected. She wasn’t…odd, was she? She just liked to keep to herself. She didn’t do anything to stand out in a crowd or cause any sort of notice to herself in any way. She wasn’t an embarrassment, was she?
“Sign them!” Grandfather ordered.
Good heavens! What was he trying to get Papa to agree to? Installing her at Bedlam because of her oddness? To put her somewhere she couldn’t be an embarrassment to the family?
“Father,” Papa began, a placating tone lacing his words. “Prissa isn’t even out yet. Let’s please give Bella one more season to see if she’ll take.”
Her grandfather snorted. Loudly. “I won’t indulge your delusions, Aylesford. Doing so is a waste of time, and I have very little of that as is it.”
“She’s a pretty girl. She could find someone who wouldn’t take her so far away.”
So far away? Where was she going? Did he mean to send her somewhere across the ocean? Or to Scotland, perhaps? She’d always wanted to see the world. To stand on the same stones as art’s great masters, to paint cities and landscapes from every corner of the world, but she had a feeling her grandfather had nothing so grand in mind for her.
Even through the door, Grandfather’s sigh sounded beleaguered. “Johann will be here in a fortnight. She can have until then.”
Johann? Her cousin, Johann? Her awful, angry cousin? Bella’s heart lodged in her throat. Surely she’d misheard him. What could Johann von Guttstadt possibly have to do with any of this?
“A fortnight, then.” Papa sighed as well. “If she hasn’t found a husband within the next fortnight, I’ll sign the papers.”
“I’ll hold you to your word, Aylesford.”
“I—Well, I just hate for her to go so far away from home.” Papa sounded weary as though he’d given all he had to the discussion at hand.
“Home.” Grandfather scoffed. “Why you even want her nearby is a mystery, but your coddling of her is exactly why she’s so strange. You make it sound as though I’m sending her to Australia. Prussia isn’t on the far side of the world, I assure you. Besides, Arabella can do worse than Johann,
much worse. But with him, she’ll find the strong hand she’s been lacking all these years. Someone to yank her head out of the damned clouds.”
Goodness! Grandfather wanted Papa to sign a marriage contract, didn’t he? As soon as the thought entered Bella’s mind, she knew she was correct. The duke meant to send her to the horrid Prussian countryside. To marry her off to her unkind cousin. That was most definitely what he was saying, she didn’t have a doubt.
Panic seized Bella’s heart, and she slowly backed away from the study door as though it was an asp poised to strike. Her world started to spin, and a loud ringing echoed in her ears.
Johann.
Johann von Guttstadt, the Count of Hellsburg? He couldn’t be her destiny, could he? She couldn’t be expected to marry him. She just couldn’t. There had to be something that could be done because Bella couldn’t think of a fate worse than spending the rest of her days with her unbearable cousin in the middle of nowhere. She wanted to see blue Caribbean waters, the white sands of the Sahara, and every color under the sun in the Amazon.
A hand landed on Bella’s arm, and she nearly leapt from her skin. She gasped and spun on her heel to find Prissa wide-eyed, staring right at her.
“Heavens, Bella!” her sister whispered. “Are you all right?”
Bella wasn’t certain if she’d ever be right again. She shook her head, but she couldn’t speak. If she did, her voice would most likely crack, and then she’d cry and…well, Bella didn’t want to admit to Prissa or anyone else what she’d just overheard. She didn’t even want to admit it to herself.
She blinked back a traitorous tear, bolted away from her sister, and then up the staircase toward her chambers.
Bella had poured herself into painting all afternoon, or rather she’d attempted to. Until today, mixing colors and bringing a canvas to life with images that only existed in her mind had always been the quickest way to push unhappiness from her thoughts. But even her beloved paints and brushes failed at transporting her from the troubles swirling about her mind. For the first time in her life, she wondered if this was what her mother had felt before she’d abandoned them all those years ago.