Scandal of the Year

by Olivia Drake

  But now that the scheme was finally under way, she felt the prod of misgivings. What if she’d misjudged James and he failed to pull off the scam? She couldn’t bear it if her sisters found fault with him.

  “The both of you should go now,” she told them. “You’ll want to be in the entrance hall when the guests arrive.”

  Lindsey languidly arose from the bed. “We’ve a few minutes yet. Thane and Colin can greet anyone who is rude enough to arrive early.”

  “Our husbands are probably speculating right now about why the three of us went off together,” Portia said darkly. “I don’t like keeping secrets from Colin.”

  “We’ll tell them after the fact,” Lindsey said. “Anyway, it’s a harmless masquerade.”

  “I certainly hope so,” Portia said. “Because if something goes wrong—”

  The quiet rattle of the knob sounded like a gunshot. As one, they pivoted to watch as the door to the dressing room opened and James stepped out.

  Or rather, Prince Nicolai.

  He wore a superbly tailored coat in coffee-brown superfine over a gold striped waistcoat and buff breeches. His cravat was perfectly tied and a ruby stickpin glinted in its folds. From somewhere, Lindsey had procured a crimson sash on which gleamed a variety of medals. A sword in a jeweled scabbard hung at his side.

  He walked toward the women and gave a royal nod, regarding them with the perfect trace of hauteur. “Good evening, ladies. How enchanting to make your acquaintance.”

  His deep voice held the hint of a foreign accent. Blythe could only gape at him in astonishment. He was James—and yet he wasn’t.

  She lifted a gloved hand to her throat. Words escaped her. Even in her wildest imaginings, she had not thought he could look so magnificent.

  “Oh my,” Portia said faintly.

  “A pity he isn’t a real prince,” Lindsey murmured to Blythe. “Lady Davina would be out of your way for good.”

  Blythe agreed, but only in part. Little could they guess that it wasn’t for the sake of the duke’s daughter that she wished James really was a prince. It was for herself.

  Foolish, foolish fancy!

  With effort, she collected her scattered thoughts. “There, you’ve seen that the disguise will work,” she told her sisters. “Now do hurry downstairs. I must give Prince Nicolai some last-minute instructions.”

  “In a bedchamber without a chaperone?” Portia said, looking from Blythe to James and back again. “I hardly think that’s appropriate.”

  Shooing her sisters toward the door, Blythe affected a laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous. There’s no impropriety. After all, he’s merely a footman.”

  As Portia and Lindsey went into the corridor, Portia pulled the door almost shut, leaving a gap of a few inches. Blythe listened at the crack until the sound of their footsteps died out. Then she quietly closed the door until the latch clicked. The last thing she wanted was for any servants to come along and overhear this conversation.

  When she turned back around, Prince Nicolai stood directly before her.

  Blythe uttered a startled gasp. “You mustn’t creep up on me like that.”

  “I most humbly beg your pardon, Miss Crompton. I did not mean to frighten you.”

  James spoke in the foreign accent of Prince Nicolai, and his deep, rich baritone sent shivers over her skin. One white-gloved hand resting on the hilt of his sword, he regarded her with cool arrogance. With the crimson sash across his chest, the medals gleaming in the candlelight, he looked every inch a royal.

  Just gazing at him made her knees weak.

  “You needn’t pretend with me,” she said. “We must go over again how you should behave with Lady Davina and what you should say to her.”

  “How delightful. I find myself most intrigued by the notion of being instructed by such a beautiful lady as yourself.”

  He continued to play the character of the prince. His dark eyes were intent on her, and Blythe found herself in danger of falling under his spell. But perhaps it was wise that he kept up the pretense. Practice would help ensure that he made no mistakes.

  “Have it your way, then.” She stepped around James and turned to face him. “When you greet Lady Davina in the garden, you must pay heed to her sensibilities. It is better to be somewhat aloof than to be overly charming.”

  “She will be enamored of me. Make no mistake about that.”

  James was confident, but the prince was downright conceited. It shook her to see how well he’d adapted to the role.

  Blythe pursed her lips, unsure if she liked the idea of him whispering sweet nothings into Lady Davina’s ear, giving her the full force of his magnetism. But wasn’t that the point? To keep Lady Davina occupied and away from the duke?

  “Pray remember that she will be engaging in risqué behavior by meeting a man to whom she has not been introduced, prince or not. For that reason, it may be that she will take one of her friends along to act as chaperone.”

  A frown darkened his face. He walked away, only to swing around to face her. “I requested that she come alone. These other fawning sycophants bore me.”

  In spite of herself, Blythe felt a tickle of humor. “Excellent, James. But you needn’t be pompous, merely polite. And you really mustn’t tease her as you do me.”

  He took a step closer, and his eyes held a gleam she recognized well. “You wound me, my lady. Do you not enjoy my teasing, then?”

  She liked it entirely too much. Not that she would inflate his pride by saying so. “We are speaking not of me but of Lady Davina. Now, you surely have observed many of the rules of well-bred behavior. For instance, you must never sit so long as she is standing.”

  A half-smile crooked one corner of his mouth. “Do you truly think me so untutored? Allow me to put your mind to rest.”

  He held out his gloved hand and after a moment’s hesitation, Blythe took it. She was keenly aware of the warm strength of James’s fingers through the thin kidskin of their gloves. He led her to a chaise in the corner of the room and with an imperious gesture, bade her to sit.

  Watching him warily, she sank down on the cushion. She started to draw back her hand, but his fingers retained hold of hers and brought her hand to his mouth. He kissed the back, his gaze roaming down to her breasts, then back up to her face. “My lady, you are indeed the most ravishing creature I have ever beheld.”

  Tingles scurried over Blythe’s skin and penetrated deep within her core. Was James directing those words to her or merely practicing his role? For the life of her, Blythe didn’t know.

  I want to seduce you. And by God, I will do so if you give me half a chance.

  The memory of that declaration made Blythe’s heart race. She extricated her hand from his. “You’ve certainly proven yourself to be an accomplished flirt,” she said coolly. “However, you cannot depend on extravagant compliments alone. I would suggest that instead you draw out Lady Davina by asking questions about her life and her interests. And for obvious reasons, it’s best that you speak as little as possible of your own—or rather, the prince’s—background.”

  James towered over her, his hand on the hilt of the sword, looking for all the world like Crown Prince Nicolai of Ambrosia. “So I am to remain a man of mystery? I find that strategy to be an insult.”

  “An insult? It’s for your own protection.”

  “Yet you would deny me the chance to charm the lady. Only consider all the amusing little tales I can tell her about life at court. In particular, she will want to hear the legend behind the solid gold thrones used by the monarchs of Ambrosia. Since, as you know, she has an ambition to occupy one of them as my queen.”

  Blythe couldn’t help giggling. “James, how wicked. Did you really make up a legend? All right, let me hear it.”

  A smile played at the corners of his mouth. He propped one polished boot on a footstool and casually leaned an elbow on his knee. “A very long time ago, a fair princess was captured by an evil ogre and whisked away to his mountain castle. There, he l
ocked her in a gilded cage and commanded her to sing for his amusement every day.”

  “I trust she could carry a tune better than me. I was ever the despair of my governess.”

  “Oh, she did sing beautifully. Her voice was like the trill of a lark on the wind. The sound of it carried down into the valley, where it caught the attention of a lowly stable lad. The poor fellow was utterly enchanted, for never before in his hard life had he heard anything so pure and lovely.”

  When James paused, Blythe found herself caught up in the tale. Sitting on the edge of her seat, she prompted, “And?”

  “And so he resolved to discover the source of that angelic song. Being a strapping young man, he set out to climb the mountain. He disregarded the warnings of the villagers about the ogre, for nothing mattered to him but rescuing the princess and claiming her for his wife.”

  “But she was royal. He can’t have expected her to come live with him in a stable.”

  Ever so briefly, James touched his forefinger to her lips. “Shh. Just listen.”

  Blythe could not have spoken at that moment, anyway. The brush of his finger had felt too deliciously like a kiss.

  “The young man had a difficult time on his journey up the mountain,” James went on. “The ogre had cast many enchantments, you see, and our hero found himself wandering in freezing fogs, nearly tumbling off cliffs a number of times. Yet the musical sound of the princess’s voice lured him ever upward until at last he reached the castle. There, he engaged in a mighty sword fight with the ogre.”

  James straightened up, drawing his own sword from its hilt and swishing it through the air. “The ogre attempted to use spell after spell, but his evil tricks proved no match for the power of true love. Once the monster lay dead, our hero freed the princess from her gilded cage and she flew into his arms for their first kiss. And what a moment that was, a kiss so perfect and passionate it would be immortalized by the bards for a thousand years to come.”

  He thrust the sword back into the scabbard.

  The metallic clang startled Blythe out of a memory of his kiss. No doubt James had deliberately used a parallel to their own situation. She was the princess and he, the lowly servant.

  Nevertheless, she felt compelled to hear how the story ended. “Surely her father, the king, would never have allowed his daughter to marry a stable boy.”

  “Quite the contrary. The king was so grateful to have her back, safe and sound, that he knighted our hero and gave his blessing to their marriage. They melted the gold from her gilded cage and used it to fashion two thrones. Upon the death of the old king, the princess and her stable lad ruled the kingdom of Ambrosia and lived a long, happy life together.”

  A wistful sigh escaped Blythe. What a pity it was only a fairy tale. Things didn’t happen that way in the real world. She could never imagine her own father allowing her to wed a footman. Such a circumstance would devastate her dear Papa.

  Why would she contemplate such an utter impossibility, anyway? It had no relation to the hoax she had planned for Lady Davina.

  Blythe rose to her feet. “Well! That was an excellent performance, James. I don’t believe you need any more advice from me. When this is all over, you might consider applying to be an actor at one of the theaters in Covent Garden.”

  Giving a cordial smile, Blythe started toward the bedchamber door. She had taken no more than two steps when he caught her by the shoulders and turned her around to face him. His fingers firm and warm against her bare skin, he gazed down at her with faint amusement.

  “Am I acting … or not? That is the question.”

  His accent belonged to the prince, though the rakish glimmer in his dark eyes was pure James. With every breath, she drew in his faintly spicy scent. Her mad, romantic heart fluttered with the hope that he would kiss her again.

  “You’re playing a role, of course,” Blythe said with as much steadiness as she could muster. “And if you will be so kind as to release me, I must go downstairs now and greet the guests.”

  “But there are things you haven’t yet told me.”

  Standing so close to him, with his fingers lightly kneading her shoulders, she could scarcely form a rational thought. “What do you wish to know?”

  “How long am I to keep Lady Davina distracted in the garden?”

  “Oh … half an hour, perhaps. Or a little more if she wishes.”

  “Lady Davina is certain to try to coax me into the party.”

  “You must refuse her, of course. Tell her that you don’t care for large gatherings.”

  “And if she becomes amorous? Would you advise that I kiss her?”

  “No!” Blythe reacted before realizing he was teasing. Or at least she thought he was teasing. “Of course that isn’t required of you. Nor would a lady ever expect it.”

  “A pity,” James murmured in his beguiling accent. He bent his head closer to her. “Because I was rather hoping we might need to … practice.”

  His finger traced the outline of her mouth. The feathery touch set off a slow burn that descended to her depths and heated her all over. He stood so close that Blythe could see the individual lashes of his dark brown eyes. In defiance of good judgment, her lips parted and she placed her hands on his chest. Sweet heaven, she wanted to feel his arms around her again.

  What harm could one kiss do?

  “Perhaps,” she whispered, “it might be wise … just in case…”

  Their lips almost touched. Then abruptly James set her back and dropped his hands to his sides. “No, I believe you’re right, Miss Crompton. Lady Davina is too well-bred to breach any rules on our first meeting. That will come later.”

  Nonplussed, Blythe stared at him. “Later?”

  “Yes.” He stepped to a gilt mirror on the wall and straightened his sash. “The Duke of Savoy cannot be expected to make you an offer at once. That means you’ll need me to continue to distract his daughter. Although I must warn you”—he leaned closer to check the positioning of one of the medals—“it may prove difficult to keep Lady Davina from falling in love with me. By the very nature of this ruse, she is bound to see me as the husband of her dreams.”

  As he turned to face Blythe again, the embodiment of the perfect man, Prince Nicolai gave her an enigmatic smile.

  No, James.

  He was James, the footman. She mustn’t forget that, not even for an instant.

  And why had he not kissed her when he’d had the opportunity just now? Why had he drawn back? Was he merely being gallant?

  A disquieting thought took root in her mind. Despite Lady Davina’s snobbery, she was a very beautiful woman. What would happen when James spent much time in her company? Would he find himself wanting to kiss her instead of Blythe?

  * * *

  He had her exactly where he wanted her.

  As she went out into the corridor, James took one last look at Blythe’s wary expression before he shut the door. She was off-balance, frustrated, and more than a little jealous.

  Unfortunately, so was he.

  At loose ends, he prowled the sumptuous bedchamber. Without Blythe’s vibrant presence, the place now seemed forlorn and empty. It had been torture pulling back from that almost-kiss, torture to deny himself the pleasure when she had been ready and willing to fall into his arms.

  But it was essential to his plan that she remain uncertain of him. That would serve to hone her desire and make her more amenable to persuasion. Besides, he wanted her to be thinking about him when she turned her feminine wiles on the Duke of Savoy.

  Damn, she had to fail! Nothing could be more disgusting than to think of that cold, self-absorbed nobleman despoiling her innocence.

  His jaw tight, James took a deep breath to calm himself and then stalked to the window. He parted the draperies and peered down at the arriving guests. Coaches lined the street, their headlamps glowing against the velvet darkness. It looked like something out of a fairy tale.

  Tonight, he was the prince.

  Not so much to t
he duke’s daughter, but to Blythe herself. She didn’t yet know it, but in a short while he intended to turn her little scheme upside down.

  In order to expose George and Edith as frauds, James had devised a plan to lure them to Lancashire. It required him to coax Blythe into falling in love with him. As Prince Nicolai, he intended to blur the line between fantasy and reality.

  The Lancashire estate lay near the road to Gretna Green, where couples escaped across the Scottish border to wed against the will of their parents. And when the time was right, James intended to convince Blythe to elope with him.

  Chapter 20

  The intimate party of about a hundred guests was held in the drawing room rather than the more cavernous ballroom. A quartet of musicians in the corner played a lively country tune. At one end of the long, candlelit chamber, the Aubusson rugs had been removed and dancers formed two lines.

  Mingling with the crowd, Blythe kept an eye on the small group seated near the fireplace. The Duke of Savoy and Lady Davina had been laughing and chatting with the Marchioness of Wargrave for nearly half an hour.

  Blythe had greeted the duke and his daughter upon their arrival. After that, she had ignored them, pretending not to see her mother’s little frowns and other furtive signals. Mama wished for her to join them, of course. But Blythe needed to convince Lady Davina that it was safe for her to leave her father alone for a while. Otherwise, she might entertain second thoughts about the rendezvous with Prince Nicolai.

  The tall casement clock against the wall showed less than ten minutes until the appointed hour. Was James keeping an eye on the time?

  Blythe certainly hoped so. Perhaps at this very moment he was stealing down the back staircase to the garden. Then he would wait for Lady Davina beneath the trellis of roses by the fountain. When the girl went out to meet him, he would be standing there, tall and princely, his gloved fingers resting on the hilt of his sword.…

  “May I have the honor, Miss Crompton?”

  Pulled back to the present, Blythe realized that a freckled young man stood before her. “Mr. Mainwaring! Forgive me, I must have been woolgathering.”