Scandal of the Year
Page 13
“His Royal Highness Prince Nicolai has had the very best tutors. He can speak English like a native.”
“How convenient.” One dark eyebrow cocked, James continued reading, “‘Pray forgive my boldness in writing this note, but I confess to being too eager to await the proper introductions. The tales of your great beauty have reached far and wide, luring me on a journey to the shores of England. I hope you will be so kind as to grant me an audience upon my arrival in London. Until then, I shall look forward with great anticipation to paying my addresses to you, dear lady. I remain your most ardent admirer, Nicolai Aleksander Leonide Pashenka, Crown Prince of Ambrosia.’”
Deviltry in his dark eyes, James looked at Blythe. “Couldn’t you have given him a shorter name? It shall prove a disaster if I forget the order of my own identity.”
“Stop teasing and tell me, is it a good letter? Do you think Davina will be fooled?”
He shook his head. “I’m afraid it won’t do at all.”
Affronted, Blythe sat up straight. “What do you mean? I spent the better part of half an hour debating exactly how to word it.”
“It isn’t so much the content, although I must say that is a bit syrupy.”
“Then what is the problem?”
“The note obviously has been written by a woman’s hand. And if I must play this role, I heartily object to the prince being perceived as effeminate.”
“Oh.” Blythe studied the letter with a fresh eye. He was right, there was a dainty quality to the penmanship. And James—in the guise of Prince Nicolai—required a more masculine style.
Sliding off the edge of the desk, he advanced on her. “You needn’t look so glum. Move aside, if you will, and I’ll do it over for you.”
Blythe found herself obeying, vacating the chair so that he could take her place. A belated concern struck her. He claimed to have had the education of a gentleman, but what if James had overplayed his skills in order to impress her? What if he embarrassed himself by producing a coarse, ink-spotted mess?
She hovered over him as he reached for a clean sheet of stationery and dipped a quill into the silver inkpot. He frowned down at her letter for a few moments, which only served to increase her anxiety. Then with confident strokes of the pen, he began to write. For a few moments, the only sound was the scratching of the nib on the paper. Every now and then, he reached out to refresh his ink.
Standing so close, she could touch his broad shoulders or run her fingers through the thickness of his hair. The very thought of indulging those desires stirred a secret fire in her. If only she could fathom why she felt so drawn to him. Was it merely the temptation of the forbidden?
Perhaps, for there was no denying he was the most breathtakingly handsome man in the world. Unfortunately, good looks were not what mattered in life. She was obliged to marry well in order to secure her future and her parents’ place in society. And yet … wistful longing kept a tenacious hold on her heart.
Clearly oblivious to her wayward thoughts, James signed the prince’s convoluted name with a flourish. He sanded the note before nudging it in her direction across the polished surface of the desk.
Blythe bent nearer to read it by the meager light of the candle. He had altered a few words here and there to lend a more masculine tenor to the message. The bold dark slash of his handwriting gave an air of authenticity to the letter, and she caught her breath in delight. “Oh, that’s much better. It’s perfect!”
Turning her head to smile at him, she felt a lightning bolt of awareness. His face loomed mere inches away, and there was no mistaking the heat in his eyes. His smoldering gaze flicked to her bosom, then returned to her face. More specifically, to her mouth.
“You’re perfect,” he muttered. “And I must be the world’s biggest fool for helping you catch another man.”
The husky statement sounded wrested from him by force. It sent a shiver over her skin, for never in her life had she heard such a romantic declaration.
In the grips of a powerful yearning, Blythe stroked her fingertips across his cheek. “James,” she whispered. “Oh, James.”
She didn’t know who moved first. But their mouths met in a tentative brush that instantly caught fire like dry tinder. In a flash, she tumbled into his lap, throwing her arms around him as he kissed her with feral intensity. When his tongue demanded entry into her mouth, she welcomed the intimacy. Whatever inhibitions she had left melted away under the heat of their closeness. His taste, his scent, the sheer masculinity of him, overwhelmed her with a feast of the senses.
In all of her girlish dreams, she had never imagined a man’s embrace could make her feel so wildly alive. She’d flirted and teased, much to the frustration of her suitors. But now she experienced the torment of passion herself. She craved James in every part of her body and soul.
Pressing herself to the wall of his chest, she could not seem to get close enough to him. Her fingers learned the angles of his face and the smooth silk of his hair. He explored her as well, his hands roving over the exposed skin of her shoulders and tracing the shape of her breasts. She moaned from the surfeit of pleasure. The illicit nature of their kiss only fed the hunger inside her. Clasped in his arms, in the small circle of candlelight, she felt as if the rules of the outside world had ceased to exist.
How amazing to know that James desired her with such ferocity. James, with his sardonic sense of humor and abundant charm. James, with his enticing aura of mystery. How was it that the one man who set her heart on fire had to be a servant?
Even as the unwelcome thought intruded, he lifted his head and slid his hands from her bosom down to her waist. His breathing harsh, he pressed his lips to her brow. “This is wrong,” he muttered. “We should not be doing this.”
His chivalry stirred her deeply. Catching his face in her hands, she brushed her damp lips over his. “It’s merely a kiss. Nothing more.”
“It’s far more than that. You know it as well as I, Blythe … Miss Crompton.” Grimacing, he shook his head. “There, you see? I haven’t even the right to use your given name.”
“Then I grant it to you.” Unwilling to end the pleasure, she enticed him with light kisses. “Whenever we’re alone, you may address me so.”
“We won’t be alone again, not if I can help it.”
“Then I shall devise reasons to keep you in my company.” With her fingertip, she traced the shape of his lips and the solid line of his jaw. “You’ll attend me to the shops while I procure your princely garments. I’ll find an excuse to stay home again so that I might teach you about the ways of society. You’ll need to learn what to say—”
He caught her wrist in a firm grip and pushed her hand away. “This isn’t a game, Blythe. I won’t be your plaything while you prepare to marry the duke.”
His sharp tone sliced through the romantic haze. Seeing the glitter of anger in his eyes, she felt the golden moment draining away, leaving her bereft. “I never said you were. It’s just that … we both enjoyed kissing and I only thought…”
He shook his head decisively. “Let me make myself very clear,” he said, his face cold. “I will not be satisfied with a passing flirtation. I want to seduce you. And by God, I will do so if you give me half a chance. Is that what you want? To lift your skirts for a footman? Do you really suppose your duke will accept damaged goods?”
His words struck Blythe like a physical slap. He had transformed the beautiful passion between them into something that was sordid and ugly. And as much as it pained her to admit it, he was right. Her destiny was to marry the Duke of Savoy. She didn’t dare throw away her future for a tryst with a servant.
The enormity of her mistake flooded Blythe. What madness had come over her? She should never have kissed James. Nor should she be perched in his lap—and in her father’s office, no less. How pitifully juvenile he must think her, not to have considered the consequences of her behavior! Even worse, a part of her still ached for him to pull her close and make the world go away.
James sprang up and caught hold of her arms to steady her. Even with her heart bruised and hurting, the brush of his hard body stirred base urges in her. It shook her to realize how very susceptible she was to him—now more than ever.
She thrust away his hands. “How dare you touch me. You’ve no right to do so.”
Her attack wasn’t fair; Blythe knew it the instant the words left her lips. He’d only been trying to help her. It was just that her emotions still reeled from his blunt statement, and she’d wanted to lash out at him for ruining the magic of that kiss. Yet how could she blame him for indulging his desires when she herself had done the same?
His face a rigid mask, he stepped back. “Pray forgive me, Miss Crompton. It won’t happen again.”
She drew a shaky breath. Much as it pained her, she owed him an apology.
She forced her chin up and met his gaze. “No, it’s your forgiveness that I must beg. I’m sorry for snapping at you. Rather, I should thank you for being honest with me.”
A certain wariness entered his eyes. “I had to be frank. You’re too young and sheltered to realize the danger of being alone with a bounder like me.”
Was that how he thought of himself? “James, you’re far from being a cad. By calling my attention to reality, you behaved honorably. Would that I could say the same for myself.”
Frowning, he cocked his head. “I beg your pardon?”
“I’m more at fault than you for that kiss. You’re a servant, and I should never have taken advantage of you.”
“Taken advantage? Of me?” The deferential footman vanished. James slapped his palms on the desk and thrust his face closer to hers. “I’m the one who made that brainless statement about being a fool for helping you entrap the Duke of Savoy.”
In the light of the single candle, James radiated anger from the glitter of his eyes to the rigid tension in his jaw. But Blythe refused to back down.
She reached for the letter from the fictitious Prince Nicolai and carefully folded it. “Be that as it may, as a lady I’ve a responsibility to behave well. I should never have encouraged you to kiss me.”
“What? None of this is your fault. It’s entirely mine for lusting after you!”
Her gaze flew to his. Desire shimmered between them, vivid, undiminished, more intense than ever. It urged her to burn the wretched letter and abandon her scheme to marry Savoy. To throw her life away for a few moments of bliss in the arms of a footman.
Blythe could only imagine the reaction of her parents to that. They might never forgive her. Even worse, they would be devastated and hurt by her wild imprudence. Not just in their hearts but also in regard to their standing in society.
She could never bring such shame down on them.
Willing steadiness into her hand, she picked up the unlit taper, the one she’d earlier blown out. She touched the wick to the flame of his candle. “Then we shall compromise and accept that the guilt is mutual.”
“It most certainly is not—”
“I’ll hear no more about it. That is an order.”
He glowered, opening his mouth as if to argue the point.
Before he could gainsay her, Blythe thrust the note at him. “Seal this now and see that it’s delivered to Lady Davina on the morrow. Good night, James.”
Chapter 16
“Your Grace, you simply must sit with my daughter. She’s an avid card player and she would be quite desolate to be denied your company. Isn’t that so, my dear?”
Aware of her mother’s scrutiny, Blythe made a deep curtsy before the Duke of Savoy. “I confess I’ve been looking forward to this evening, Your Grace. It would be an honor indeed to share your table.”
It wasn’t difficult for Blythe to sound enthused or to give him a warm smile. After all, she was on a mission to further her acquaintance with the duke. For her mother’s card party, she had taken special care with her appearance, choosing a pale bronze gown that enhanced her eyes and enduring a long session of having her hair tied up in rags in order to create the curls that came naturally to her sisters.
Oblivious to her preparations, the duke gave her only a distracted nod. “That sounds agreeable enough,” he said, peering ahead into the Cromptons’ drawing room. “I’m always ready for a good rubber of whist.”
His daughter had lagged behind him to speak to one of the other guests. But now the elegant blonde glided forward to block their path. “Papa, pray don’t forget that you promised to be my partner. And Lady Anne has requested to join us, so we will need a gentleman to complete our foursome.”
A brunette with slightly buck teeth stood at Lady Davina’s side, smiling coyly at the duke. Lady Anne, Blythe recalled, had been one of the clique who had eyed her with derision at the ball here over a fortnight ago. That was the same night Lady Davina had insulted Blythe.
The same night Blythe had met James.
The thought of him stirred a delicious warmth in her, as did the memory of that mad, impetuous kiss of two nights previous. She couldn’t resist scanning the crowd of guests and looking for his tall figure. Several footmen were distributing glasses of champagne, but James was nowhere to be seen.
Thank goodness for small favors. She didn’t need any distractions tonight. She’d already lost track of the conversation.
“I’m sure Lady Anne won’t mind sharing another table,” Mrs. Crompton was saying. “In fact, Lord Ainsley asked after her specifically.”
“Did he?” Lady Anne asked, then giggled behind her fan. “He’s very handsome. Oh! But … but you, Your Grace, you put all the other gentlemen to shame!”
Only Blythe noticed that in the middle of that discourse, Lady Davina had given her friend a sly pinch on the arm. It was clear that the duke’s daughter had made plans with her friend ahead of time in order to deny Blythe the duke’s company.
She’d had quite enough of Davina’s trickery.
“Look over there, Lady Anne,” Blythe said with a nod toward the grand staircase. “I do believe I see Lord Ainsley beckoning to you right now.”
“Truly? Where?”
While the girl peered myopically into the throng, Blythe slipped past her to take hold of the duke’s arm. “I’m pleased we are to share a table. Do you enjoy making wagers, Your Grace?”
An avid gleam entered his pale blue eyes. “Absolutely!”
“Then I’ll lay you a gold guinea that you cannot win three straight games against my partner and me.”
“Wager accepted.” He waved to a young man with golden-brown curls who was passing in the crowd. “Ho, there, Kitchener, you’ll make our fourth. Come along, Davy, we’ve settled the matter quite satisfactorily. You will be my partner and Kitchener will play with Miss Crompton.”
Now that was a stroke of bad luck. Blythe had no wish to associate with Viscount Kitchener after the incident in which he’d nearly embarrassed her while under the influence of opium. But at least she could take satisfaction in the fact that Lady Davina looked peeved at her father for overriding her arrangement.
Mrs. Crompton gave Blythe a slight smile of approval, then looked at the duke. “Allow me to show you to your table, Your Grace.”
Slim and dignified in dark blue silk, she led the way into the drawing room. The place had been beautifully arranged with tall green draperies, gilt furnishings, and branches of candles glowing everywhere. The chaises that usually scattered the cavernous chamber had been removed to make space for several dozen tables with four chairs at each.
Mindful of her prize, Blythe kept her hand tucked in the crook of Savoy’s arm. His Grace made an impressive appearance in a maroon coat with gold buttons fitted tightly over his slightly stout form. People stepped back to allow them to pass, the ladies curtsying to the duke and the gentlemen affording him respectful bows. His chin raised in a proud manner, Savoy appeared to take for granted all
the attention directed at him.
But Blythe didn’t. She reveled in the envious looks and admiring glances. She smiled serenely at the ladies who whispered to each other behind their fans, no doubt making catty remarks about the upstart heiress. She would show them up by winning the greatest trophy of all, the hand of the Duke of Savoy in marriage. She would achieve the highest pinnacle of society and have a most beautiful life.…
James stood waiting at their table. Clad in footman’s livery and powdered wig, he stared straight at their approaching party.
She faltered to a stop. Her heart took flight, fluttering against her ribs like the wings of a caged bird. More so than before, the hot memory of their passionate kiss permeated her body and weakened her legs.
Savoy cast an irritated frown at Blythe, and she snapped to her senses. The episode took no more than two blinks of an eye; then they proceeded to the place of honor at a table in the center of the drawing room.
His face impassive, James held the chair for Lady Davina. Luckily, she paid him no heed, not so much as glancing his way. She continued to carry on a gossipy conversation with Viscount Kitchener.
Blythe’s alarm swiftly turned to relief and then to anger at James. Blast him for taking such a risk! If Lady Davina were to look at him, she might remember him later. Then how would he ever succeed at posing as Prince Nicolai?
As James rounded the table to approach Blythe, their gazes met for one brief moment. A glimmer of amusement in his eyes, he winked.
Winked.
Her insides performed a cartwheel. Flushed, she looked around the table to be certain no one else had noticed. The rest of the party behaved as normal, talking and laughing, the duke settling into his chair and then picking up the deck of cards to shuffle them. With her mission accomplished, Mrs. Crompton hurried off to see to the other guests.
There was naught to fear, Blythe assured herself. It had been such a quick action that anyone else would have taken it for an involuntary twitch. She alone knew better. Hidden behind the blank-faced mask of a footman, James had a decidedly rakish way about him. And for some perverse reason, his boldness of manner held for her a forbidden allure.