A Scandalous Ruse (Scandalous Series Book 6)

by Ava Stone

  “Perhaps Felicity Pierce should keep better company, then. Carraway is only concerned about her wellbeing.”

  “Perhaps,” Phoebe countered, “Lord Carraway should realize that Lissy is a grown woman and doesn’t need the viscount trailing after her, playing the role of an ill-mannered governess all the time.”

  Tristan sent a rueful glance in Greg’s direction. “Phoebe took Lady Felicity home last night, and Carraway returned me here since my coach had departed without me.”

  Apparently, Greg had missed an interesting evening. More interesting than having a drunkard cast up his accounts upon one’s boots in any event. Honestly, he would have enjoyed seeing Haversham sprawled across the floor of the Rotherbys’ ballroom. It was the very least the villain deserved.

  “You can’t honestly agree with the way Carraway behaved last night.” Phoebe gaped at her husband.

  Tristan cocked his head to one side as though he didn’t truly want to answer the question and anger his wife further, but then he said, “Haversham has had that coming for many years, Phoeb. I only wish I’d been the one to do it.”

  “Every man in Town will be saying that very thing today,” Greg agreed as he dropped into a seat at the table, relieved they were no longer discussing the Kelfield Ball and whether or not he’d attend.

  Phoebe heaved a sigh. “Lord Clayworth has forgiven him. They’re even friends now. I would think the two of you could manage to pass the man an olive branch after all this time.”

  Tristan shrugged. “And do you imagine Matthew would have forgiven him if it was you he’d absconded with that night?”

  Phoebe clamped her mouth shut. She must have realized Tristan had a point and couldn’t come up with anything to counter it.

  At that moment, Sanders, the butler stepped into the breakfast room. His dark eyes landed on Greg as he said, “A note from Lady Clayworth, my lord.” Then he strode toward Greg’s seat and handed him a vellum envelope.

  “Thank you,” he replied as he broke the seal.

  As Sanders left them, Phoebe leaned toward the table to catch Greg’s attention. “What does Cordie say?”

  “Give him a minute to read,” Tristan said softly.

  Gregory,

  I have given quite a lot of thought about our conversation yesterday. There is something I would like for you to do for me, and I have every confidence that doing so will relieve any guilt you may have in regards to your guardianship of me.

  Please visit Clayworth House at your earliest convenience, and please do keep this request to yourself. The fewer people who know, the better.

  You’re loving sister,

  Cordelia

  What in the world did she mean by that? Greg re-read the letter a second time, the words not making any more sense than they had at first glance. He could feel Phoebe and Tristan’s eyes on him, he had to tell them something.

  Greg folded the note and tucked it in his jacket pocket. Then he smiled at his brother and sister-in-law. “She would like me to visit today, that’s all.”

  Phoebe nodded as if that made all the sense in the world. “She probably wants to press upon you the importance of Olivia’s ball. You shouldn’t upset her, Gregory. You should just tell her as soon as you arrive that you have every intention of lending Olivia your support.”

  “I’m certain you’re right,” he replied. Though Greg hardly thought attending Olivia Kelfield’s ball would alleviate the guilt that lay on his conscience. But agreeing with Phoebe would keep his sister-in-law from delving any further into Cordie’s cryptic note. “I’d best go see her after breakfast.”

  Greg was shown directly into Cordie’s green parlor. His sister rose from her spot on the brocade settee to greet him, her arms outstretched.

  “Greg! Thank you so much for coming quickly.” She slid her arms around his waist and hugged him to her.

  “Of course.” He returned his sister’s embrace and was relieved to find that she was in a cheerful mood. Ever since he’d read her letter he’d been plagued with one thought or another that he might find her in some sort of duress. “I did have to tell Tris and Phoebe where I was going. They were with me when your note arrived.”

  Cordie pulled back from him, a slight cringe upon her face. “You didn’t tell them anything else, did you?”

  “I have nothing to tell them. I had no idea what to make of that note, I still don’t.”

  Slightly relieved, Cordie nodded quickly. “Wonderful. Don’t breathe a word of this to either of them. Phoebe would only try to help, and while that would be sweet of her, truly – the fewer people who know the better.”

  Damn it, she was talking in riddles. Greg furrowed his brow. “The fewer the people who know what? What exactly is going on, Cordie?”

  A smile lit her face and she slid her hand into his. “Come sit with me,” she said, tugging him back toward the settee.

  Greg followed her lead, settling in beside his sister, who turned on the settee to face him, her green eyes alit with…something. He wasn’t sure what, but his stomach turned just a bit. He had the sudden feeling he wasn’t going to like whatever she wanted to ask of him, not at all. “I hope all you’re going to ask is whether or not I intend on attending Olivia’s ball this evening.”

  Cordie giggled. “Heavens, no. You’d attend Livvie’s ball without me having to send you a note.”

  Perhaps, perhaps not.

  He must have had an expression she didn’t care for because Cordie lightly tapped his chest. “You’ve known her all her life and you know what she’s gone through. You would never disappoint her, Gregory Avery.”

  He grumbled something under his breath, and his sister must have taken that as his acquiescence, because her smile was back in place.

  “Anyway, what I have to ask of you is much bigger than Olivia’s ball.”

  His curiosity was more than piqued, though his stomach was still a bit anxious. “What do you want to ask of me?”

  Cordie bit her lower lip as though she wasn’t quite certain how to ask whatever it was she wanted to say. She furrowed her brow and then said, “I met a girl yesterday and she is in need of help, help I think only you can provide her.”

  What the devil was she talking about? Greg frowned at his sister. “A girl?”

  Cordie nodded quickly. “Actually, you’ve met her. Well, sort of.”

  One of the girls Phoebe had thrust in his direction over the last few weeks? “Who?” he asked suspiciously.

  “Lady Arabella Winslett.”

  That name meant absolutely nothing to Greg. If she was one of Phoebe’s friends, she wasn’t a memorable one. He shook his head. “I have no idea who that is.”

  “I’m certain you know the girl, Gregory.” Cordie shrugged a bit. “Her brother is Lord Gillingham.”

  An image of the pretty brunette from the Astwicks’ flashed once again in Greg’s mind as did the memory of her rushing from Hyde Park the day before in a panic. Greg’s stomach twisted even more. He didn’t know what his sister wanted from him, but he was fairly certain he wasn’t going to like it. “Lord Gillingham? As in the wretching-upon-my-boots Lord Gillingham?”

  Cordie nodded. “Precisely. Just yesterday you said no matter how ungentlemanly Gillingham was, that he should have his sister’s care in the forefront of his mind. Unfortunately, her brother isn’t able to assist her, and she does need someone looking out for her. Someone other than Lissy. Lissy wanted to engage Haversham’s help, but that would not be a good idea at all.”

  His sister was talking complete nonsense. Not one thing that came out of Cordie’s mouth made a bit of sense. Gillingham? Haversham? Lissy? “What are you talking about?”

  Cordie blinked her green eyes up at Greg. “She needs a pretend fiancé, Greg.”

  His stomach had been correct. He didn’t like what his sister was suggesting at all. “A pretend fiancé?”

  Cordie nodded quickly. “Well, more of a temporary one, and not for too long. Just the next fortnight or so, a month at
the very longest, I’d imagine.”

  Greg’s mind spun in circles. What an utterly ridiculous thing to suggest. “Have you taken leave of your senses?”

  The stare she cast upon him said very clearly she had not. “When you think about it, Gregory, it’s perfect. You can aid a girl who is very much in need of help. And if everyone, including Phoebe, believes you to be betrothed, then you won’t have our sister-in-law playing matchmaker for you the rest of the season. See, I have helped you with your Phoebe problem.”

  That last bit was something to think about, but Greg shook the thought from his mind. He couldn’t believe he was even entertaining the idea. He narrowed his eyes on his sister. “Why does she need a fiancé?”

  “Because if she doesn’t have one by the time her cousin arrives in England, the Duke of Chatham will marry her off to her horrid cousin. And that is a fate Lady Arabella does not want for herself.”

  Who Lady Arabella wanted or didn’t want to marry was none of Greg’s concern. It was none of Cordie’s either, for that matter. “Absolutely not.”

  “She says he’s cruel, Greg; and the girl does seem frightened of him.”

  Again, Lady Arabella’s pretty face flashed in Greg’s mind. Was the girl truly afraid? That suggestion did prick at his heart, which was damnably unfortunate.

  “And even if her brother was able to help her,” Cordie continued, “he’d have to be sober long enough to do so. And I don’t believe he’s enjoyed one sober day in his adult life. She needs someone to look out for her. Someone who is able to”

  His sister was playing on his guilt.

  “You wouldn’t want to see her married to a man she hates, would you? Miserable the rest of her days?”

  Like Marina had been? Cordie hadn’t spoken her name aloud, but it swirled in the air above Greg’s head anyway. Damn it all, he hated to be manipulated.

  When he said nothing in response, his sister sighed. “I had hoped it wouldn’t come to this, Greg, but…”

  “But what?”

  “Well, I spoke with Brendan, and he’s offered to forgive you for…”

  Cuckolding him? Falling in love with the man’s first wife? Getting her with child? Making a fool out of him? Whatever it was… “I don’t need his forgiveness.”

  “No, you don’t. You need your own,” she said matter-of-factly. “But all I can offer is his. I do think, however, that if you were to help Lady Arabella that you might find it in your heart to forgive yourself. And nothing would make me happier than that.”

  Oh, damn it all. Greg sighed.

  “It would only be for a few weeks. And she’s a lovely girl. I liked her very much when he met.”

  “Cordie.”

  “Honestly, Greg, wouldn’t it make the rest of the season go so much more smoothly without Phoebe trying to play matchmaker?”

  Oh for God’s sake. He wouldn’t have a moment’s worth of rest until he agreed. Once his sister set her mind on something, she always got her way. It was damned annoying, that. “I’ll meet her. I’m not making any promises until then.”

  His sister graced him with a gleeful smile. “Of course not, Greg. One should be very cautious and practical when planning a pretend betrothal. You are quite right.”

  He scowled at her. “If I agree to this madness, you’ll make certain Phoebe won’t force me to attend any more societal functions?” Freeing himself from social entanglements was the only thing he’d gain for himself with this little plan, and if he agreed to participate, he was going to get that promise at least.

  “Not after Olivia’s ball tonight.”

  For the love of God.

  “Honestly, Greg, it will be perfect. We can go to Chatham House this morning, you can ask for Lady Arabella’s hand, and tonight we can make the announcement at Olivia’s ball. Doesn’t that sound grand?”

  His sister had a completely different idea of what constituted the word grand than Greg did. “I said I would meet her. I haven’t made any other promises.”

  “Yes, yes,” Cordie said breezily. “But I’m certain you’ll adore her as much as I do, and then we’ll make the announcement this evening.”

  Chapter 6

  Bella closed her left eye, studying her canvas. The willow tree was too close to the center, drat it all! She heaved a sigh. She’d have to make it work. Starting over, getting a new canvas was wasteful. Mostly though, it was difficult. She always tried to keep her painting expenses to a minimum. The less she bought, the less Papa saw of her expenditures in that area, the less she reminded him of her mother.

  She picked up her paintbrush, dabbling with the idea of adding a bit to the right side of the tree. A scratch sounded on the door, startling Bella and she dropped her brush to the floor. Perfect! A green paint stain on her rug! If Papa saw that…

  Bella dropped to the floor beside the stain to better assess it. “Come,” she called half-heartedly.

  Her door opened and Mary rushed inside. Her maid halted in her step, however, when she saw Bella on her knees. “My lady!” she admonished.

  “Hurry, Mary. Get my spirit of turpentine. We might be able to clean it so no one finds out.”

  “Lady Arabella, you have callers,” Mary said, sounding slightly aghast.

  “Callers?” Bella turned her full attention on her maid. She never had callers. Never. She couldn’t remember the last time she did, actually.

  “Lady Clayworth and Lord Avery.”

  Lady Clayworth! She’d come already? That was a surprise. And Lord…Avery? That name sounded slightly familiar. Wasn’t Lieutenant Avery the nice fellow who’d dragged Elliott from the Astwicks’ ballroom, a few nights ago?

  “Oh heavens!” She glanced down at the smock, covering her dress. “Untie me, will you?” she asked, rising back to her feet.

  Mary crossed behind Bella. “I’ll get the paint from the rug before anyone is the wiser,” she said as she untied the smock from Bella’s neck and then waist.

  “Oh, thank you.” What would she do without Mary?

  “Just hurry, my lady. I don’t know what you’re up to, but I have a feeling you’d rather see your callers before His Grace does.”

  Bella sucked in a slight breath. What if Grandfather frightened Lady Clayworth and Lord Avery away? The thought hadn’t entered her mind until now. “Excellent point.” After all, her grandfather could scare anyone away, even the bravest of soldiers, she was certain. Bella hastened toward the threshold without a glance backward for her maid.

  Greg stood by the far window in Chatham’s blue parlor, his hands clasped behind his back. What the devil was he even doing here? And how the devil had he let his sister talk him into this nonsense? Of course, he knew the answer to those questions. Cordie had blackmailed him—she’d used his own guilt against him to get her way. And now here he was, his hands clammy, his gut uneasy, his breath a little short as trepidation swamped him while he waited for the beautiful Lady Arabella to make her appearance.

  Her visage had popped into his mind from time to time over the last few days, that grateful smile she’d flashed Greg when he’d kept Gillingham from falling to the floor. It was a brief smile, followed by an expression of horror when her inebriated brother had retched across Greg’s boots; but that first smile, that simple expression of gratitude kept creeping into his thoughts whenever he least expected it. He had thought about her. He had wondered about her, wondered what had inspired her hasty departure from Hyde Park the previous day, wondered if the pretty girl with the grateful smile was really as angelic as she seemed. And now he might very well pretend to be her fiancé, which was completely ludicrous.

  Why would a lady as lovely as Arabella Winslett need a pretend fiancé anyway? She was certainly attractive enough to have her pick of suitors. Perhaps Gillingham regularly tossed up his accounts upon men interested in his sister. That would certainly make a fellow reconsider his affections. Or was it something else? Something a fellow couldn’t see with his eyes. He’d never seen a woman as lovely as Marina, but
her beauty had only gone as deep as her skin, something he hadn’t, in his youthful ignorance, realized until well after her death.

  Not that any of that mattered in relation to Lady Arabella. He wasn’t truly going to marry the girl. He was just going to pretend to plan to do so. Perhaps. He still wasn’t certain about that. The entire thing seemed like a very bad idea, and he couldn’t help but think that his very orderly life was about to be upended no matter what he decided.

  “You could sit down, you know?” Cordie glanced up at him from her spot on the brocade settee. Her green eyes seemed to assess him most unnervingly. What an irritating trait she and Tristan shared, this ability to see straight into his soul.

  “I’d rather stand,” he grumbled, wishing he was nearly anywhere else in the world but where he was at that moment. Even still, he crossed the room ‘til he was just a few feet away from his sister.

  “You look as though you’ve been condemned to swing from the gallows.”

  He shot his sister a glance that said her estimation was particularly on spot.

  She sighed as she picked at a piece of imaginary lint from her skirts. “I just don’t want you to scare the girl, Greg. She seems to be of the timid variety. Not being so stiff might put her better at ease.”

  And who was going to put him at ease? Before he could say as much, the parlor door opened and Lady Arabella rushed inside. Instantly, her eyes locked with Greg’s and her mouth dropped open in surprise.

  Greg could only stare at her in return, a bit surprised himself. A green smudge of something was smeared across her right cheek. What the devil?

  “Oh!” Lady Arabella said, touching a hand to her heart as though she recognized Greg. Perhaps she did. They hadn’t encountered each other under the best of circumstances.

  He wondered briefly if she’d thought of him since that encounter? He felt a bit of satisfaction at that idea, though he shouldn’t feel anything at all. Wouldn’t any girl remember a fellow after her brother retched across the man’s boots?