Scandal of the Year

by Olivia Drake

  James ignored him. He was staring up at Blythe, and she could not tear her gaze from his. “I hope you can forgive my boldness,” he said in that stirring foreign accent. “I’ve been called back to my homeland and there is no time for delay. I would very much like for you to go with me. My dearest Blythe, will you marry me?”

  She desperately wanted to say yes. But she didn’t want to accept the prince; she wanted to wed James the footman.

  If he truly loved her.

  “That is quite enough,” Savoy said. “Release her hand at once. Your Highness, you cannot waltz in here and steal my bride.”

  “It is up to Miss Crompton to decide whose bride she will be.”

  Blythe looked from one man to the other. The duke, who needed her money to pay his gaming debts. And James, who was far too adept at playing Prince Nicolai when what she really wanted was … open and honest love.

  She pulled her hand free. “I refuse both of you.”

  Turning, she ran out of the drawing room.

  Chapter 27

  “There be such a quarrel above stairs,” said a wiry maid named Sally whose mobcap drooped low on her brow. “Shoutin’ an’ doors slammin’ an’ such! I was polishin’ the woodwork an’ ’eard it all.”

  A cluster of servants had gathered in the kitchen, where a scullery maid stood peeling carrots at the long wooden table. Listening intently, James busied himself by mixing the contents of a jar of silver polish at the dry sink. He had just returned to Crompton House after changing back into his footman’s livery. He burned to know what had happened after Blythe had fled from the drawing room.

  God! She had rebuffed him again. The memory lodged like a stone in his gut. At least he could take solace in the fact that she’d also turned down Savoy and his blasted title.

  “The missus locked Miss Blythe in ’er chamber,” Meg told the others. “Told ’er t’ stay put till she comes to ’er senses.”

  Sally gave a vigorous nod. “She refused to wed a duke and a prince, all in one breath.”

  “Cor!” said the scullery girl in awe. “Fancy that! Two at once!”

  The women murmured in envy and disbelief.

  Godwin appeared in the doorway and clapped his hands. “Enough gossiping about your betters,” he snapped. “Go on, get your work done.”

  The maids scattered.

  The head footman marched toward James. “You! Where have you been? You disappeared for an hour.”

  “Miss Crompton asked me to walk her dog,” James said coolly. He nodded at Minx, who lay by the hearth, gnawing on a beef bone.

  Disapproval showed on Godwin’s thin, foxy face. “Next time, you will inform me before you leave the house. Or you will have no position here upon your return.”

  James was tempted to turn in his notice right then and there. But not yet. Not when he had made such a mangle of things.

  Assuming the guise of Prince Nicolai had seemed the perfect solution, for Blythe had always found him charming. But even that ploy had failed miserably. What the devil was his next move to be when she clearly wanted nothing to do with him?

  One fact was certain. He had to see her again. He was desperate to make amends somehow.

  But how?

  The jar of polishing mix in hand, James stalked to the tiny, dank workroom where another endless pile of silverware awaited him. Minx trotted along with him, the bone clamped in her teeth. She settled down in a corner to continue her happy chewing.

  Would that he could be so easily contented.

  The approach of dusk muted the already dim light from the single high window. In the semi-darkness, he ferociously attacked one spoon after another. All the while, his thoughts dwelt on Blythe. The silken feel of her skin. The taste of her breasts. The look of wonder on her face when he’d entered her.

  Then the hurt in her eyes when he had failed to return her words of love.

  What a damn fool he was! After she had sent him away, he’d plunged into the depths of misery. He had been wretched at the thought of losing Blythe. It was a feeling unlike anything he’d ever known. His turmoil could not be attributed merely to the failure of his scheme to entrap her.

  There was only one explanation. He really had fallen in love with Blythe. Hopelessly, stupidly, in love.

  Yet when he’d told her so as Prince Nicolai, when he had sunk to his knees and bared his heart, she had scorned him.

  How could he blame her? Blythe was right to mistrust him. She sensed he had a secret purpose—she likely thought him a fortune hunter. She couldn’t know that his true motive was far, far worse.

  He intended to use Blythe in order to expose her parents as imposters. Those two must be tried in a court of law and punished for their crime. But first, Edith had to come face to face with Mrs. Bleasdale, the elderly woman James believed to be her mother. Edith must be lured to Lancashire.

  James burned to know what had happened to his cousin and his wife. His love for Blythe must not stand in the way of justice. But with every passing moment, he felt his chances with her slipping away.

  Abandoning the silver, he stalked to the kitchen, Minx at his heels. The assistant cook stood at the stove, stirring a large pot.

  “Miss Crompton has requested a tea tray,” James told her.

  The stout woman stared at him in befuddlement. “Meg took one not ’alf an ’our ago.”

  “A fresh pot of tea,” James amended. “The first one was cold.”

  Grumbling, the woman shuffled to the hearth to pour the hot water and add the leaves. He took the dainty porcelain pot from her, set it on a silver tray, and headed toward the servants’ staircase.

  Minx trotted after him. “Stay,” he told her.

  The mutt plopped down on the bottom step, head cocked mournfully and tail barely wagging.

  James trudged up the narrow stairs. What could he possibly say to Blythe? How the devil was he to convince her to abandon her family and friends, to give up London society in exchange for an uncertain life as the wife of a common servant?

  Of course, he couldn’t reveal that he was really a gentleman. Nor could he say that by marrying him, she would be securing her future.

  Everything her father owned rightfully belonged to James. As his wife, Blythe could continue to live in the lavish manner to which she was accustomed. It would be difficult for her to endure the scandal of her parents’ crimes, but at least she would have the protection of James’s name. The gossip would die down in time. With the aid of her sisters, she might even be accepted in society again.

  But would she ever forgive him? That was a question for which James had no answer.

  As he walked down the opulent upstairs corridor, his steps faltered. A footman stood on duty outside Blythe’s bedchamber door.

  Anger stabbed into James. Blast Edith! The dragon had actually imprisoned Blythe as punishment for refusing the two offers of marriage.

  The tray balanced on his palm, he strode forward and greeted the freckled young man. “Laycock,” he said with a nod. “I’ve been sent to relieve you. You’re to finish polishing the silver.”

  Laycock looked perplexed. “But Godwin said—”

  “He’ll be angry if you don’t finish the task before dinner. Now, I presume the bedchamber is locked, so give me the key. I’ll need to deliver this teapot to Miss Crompton.”

  Laycock fished the key from his pocket, handed it to James, and took off down the passageway.

  James turned the skeleton key in the lock, then rapped lightly. A moment later, the door opened a crack and Blythe peered out.

  Her face looked wan, her hair charmingly mussed, her eyes a little red as if she’d been weeping. There were wrinkles in the skirt of her lemon-yellow gown. She had never looked more beautiful.

  Or further out of his reach.

  “May I come in?” he asked gently.

  James didn’t know what he’d do if she refused him. Push his way inside? Force her to listen to him? Fall to his knees and beg?

  But she step
ped aside to give him space to enter. Twilight had cast shadows throughout the room. A single candle burned on the bedside table. The large four-poster was rumpled, the coverlet and pillows in disarray. He ached to coax her there right now. To kiss her until they both forgot all their troubles in pleasure …

  Amora chirped sleepily in the brass cage by the window. It was enough to snap James out of his untimely fantasy.

  He carried the tray to the table, where another tea tray already sat untouched. Setting down the pot, he turned to face Blythe. She stood watching him, her back to the closed door, her arms crossed.

  The guarded look in her eyes was not encouraging.

  A host of charming compliments stuck in his throat. But she appeared in no humor to suffer platitudes from him. It would be cowardly to hide behind such shallowness, anyway.

  “I was worried about you,” he said. “They were talking below stairs that you’d had a terrible row with your parents.”

  She nodded. “Mama and Papa weren’t very happy that I’d turned down two such brilliant offers. Of course, I couldn’t tell them that one was not quite so exceptional as they believed.”

  “Prince Nicolai.”

  “Mm-hmm. By the by, how did you talk my sisters into letting you borrow the clothing again?”

  “I took Minx on a walk to Pallister House. I told Lady Mansfield about the duke’s visit, and that Prince Nicolai would find some way to thwart him.”

  Blythe’s spine remained glued to the door. “Lindsey and Portia will be anxious to know everything. I wonder if they’ll come to call.”

  “I told them afterward that you’d rebuffed the duke, and they seemed quite satisfied to hear that.” He softened his voice to a husky murmur. “Of course I didn’t mention Prince Nicolai’s proposal—or your refusal of it.”

  She dipped her chin and gazed at him through the screen of her lashes. “Why did you do it, James? Why did you say what you said?”

  He knew exactly what she meant. She was referring not to his offer of marriage, but to his declaration of love.

  The dusk had grown so thick that he couldn’t read the look in her eyes. But he had the keen sense that whatever he said next would determine his future. Although he didn’t dare reveal his secret purpose, he at least could admit the truth about what she meant to him.

  James took a step toward her. “I couldn’t let you marry any other man, Blythe. Ever since we met, you’ve occupied all of my thoughts, all of my dreams. I’m obsessed with you, with the way you move, the way you speak, the way you smile.” He spread his hands out wide. “I don’t know if that’s love. I’ve never been in love before. But … you mean more to me than anyone else in the world. Last night was the single most incredible experience of my life—”

  He broke off. She had darted forward to lay her head on his shoulder and to slide her arms around his waist. “Yes, I’ll marry you,” she said breathily. “Yes.”

  Awash in amazement, he clasped her close. He could scarcely believe she had just agreed to become his wife. His wife. He closed his eyes to hold back the unmanly prickle of tears. He concentrated on savoring the faint flowery scent of her hair and the womanly curves of her body. He didn’t ever want to let go of her. “But you refused me last night. And then again this afternoon when I said I loved you.”

  “I didn’t want to accept the prince. I wanted to accept you, James. Only you.”

  Tilting her face up, Blythe stood on tiptoe to brush her lips over his. A vast tenderness filled him, a feeling that was far richer than mere physical lust. James joined their mouths in a deep kiss, threading his fingers into her hair to hold her in place for fear she might change her mind. It was humbling to realize that Blythe would give up everything … her family, her status, her wealth. For him, a man she believed to be a mere footman.

  What had he done in his misbegotten life to deserve such love?

  The question faded beneath the intoxicating taste of her, the feel of that shapely form pressed against him. She was everything he had ever dreamed of in a woman—and so much more. In the past, he had given only negligible thought to marriage. So long as there were experienced women who were willing to slake his needs, what was the point?

  But now he understood. With Blythe in his arms, he felt … complete. She belonged to him, as he belonged to her. No other man could ever touch her. He wanted to spend the remainder of his life making her happy.

  If she didn’t hate him when she found out the truth.

  Drawing back slightly, he gazed deeply into her eyes and spoke in the voice of Prince Nicolai. “Such a kiss will be immortalized by the bards for a thousand years to come.”

  She laughed. “But it wasn’t our first kiss.”

  “It was love’s first kiss. Can you forgive me for being such a fool?”

  In the candlelight, Blythe had stars in her eyes. “Oh, James, of course I can.” She looked sweetly naïve, at least until her fingers ventured below his waist. “Can we—? Dare we—?”

  Lust threatened to swamp his common sense. “Absolutely not. There are people about. And I’m supposed to be on duty outside, guarding the door.”

  Blythe ran her fingertips over his erection. “We could be swift. Without completely undressing, perhaps?”

  His willpower crumbled and he made haste across the room to turn the key in the lock. When he returned, Blythe sat on the edge of the bed with her skirt drawn to her waist. She gave him a sinful smile. Lord! She was every man’s dream. While they kissed open-mouthed, James opened his breeches and then caressed her between her legs, finding her damp and ready.

  He slid his hands beneath her bottom and lifted her a bit for his entry. As he pressed into her heat, she moaned, lying back slightly while braced on her elbows. Her fingers clutched at the coverlet while he moved rhythmically. He glanced down at the place they were joined, and saw her watching, too, her eyes heavy-lidded with desire.

  Her breath coming faster, she closed her eyes. Gritting his teeth against an early release, he quickened his pace, working her with swift, urgent strokes. With stunning swiftness, she shuddered and cried out, her inner muscles clenching around him. One final plunge sent him over the edge into white-hot rapture.

  He collapsed on top of her, his labored breathing gradually slowing. As coherent thought returned, he nuzzled her hair and basked in perfect contentment. Never had he known a woman quite like Blythe, so sweet and yet so sensual. Although he felt utterly sated, James was sorry the act was over. He could hold her like this forever.

  He opened his eyes to find her gazing softly at him. They kissed and caressed for some minutes, a tender and gentle interlude that he relished as much as the wild passion they had just shared. The closeness he felt with her far surpassed anything he had ever known.

  She took his face in her hands. “My parents will never give us their blessing.”

  The reminder hung over him like a dark cloud. “Indeed,” he murmured. “And they’ll cut you off without a penny. I only pray to God you can forgive me for separating you from them.”

  James held her tightly, not wanting her to see the guilt in his face. But she pulled back, saying, “We are going to run away together, aren’t we? We’ll go to Gretna Green. I am ready to leave right now.”

  He chuckled. “It will take a little time for me to make the arrangements. And there’s the small matter of smuggling you out of the house.”

  “Tonight, James, please. I don’t think I can bear to stay here a moment longer. I want to be with you, always.”

  His chest tightened. Everything in him balked at the prospect of causing her pain. What if he abandoned the whole scheme? What if he whisked her away to some corner of the world where no one would ever find them?

  The thought held the allure of temptation. But then he would always be hiding a secret from Blythe, the truth about his identity. Their life together would be a lie.

  He also would never learn what had happened to his cousin. The crimes against the real George and Edith would
go unpunished. James felt the crushing weight of obligation to seek justice for them. His own wants and desires must not deter that.

  A scratching sounded at the door.

  Blythe gasped. She sat up and gazed at him in shock, hastily rearranging her skirt. “Is it Mama?” she whispered.

  James shook his head. “I believe I know who.”

  He buttoned his breeches, then went to turn the key and open the door. Just as he’d suspected, Minx bounded into the bedchamber.

  After a swift glance to see that the corridor was empty, James shut the door again. “I must not have securely latched the staircase door,” he said. “Minx is becoming quite adept at pushing open doors.”

  Blythe crouched down to pet the dog. “What a clever girl! You found my room all by yourself.”

  Wagging her tail, Minx lapped Blythe’s hand.

  Blythe cuddled the dog close and gave James a pleading look. “Can we take her along with us when we go? Please?”

  “I’m sure there will be space for one little mutt. But I do draw the line at bringing the bird.”

  “Kasi will watch over Princess Amora,” Blythe said. “Now, you’ll need to hire a post-chaise and horses. I’ll fetch you some coins.”

  She vanished into the adjoining dressing room, Minx at her heels. James set his jaw. It stung his pride to take her money. He wanted to be the one providing for her. But in his role of penniless footman, there was no other way. He could hardly produce his own funds without stirring her suspicions.

  What a tangled web of deception he had woven! And it was far from over. Little did Blythe realize, he was a cad of the worst ilk.

  Instead of honoring her love, he would repay her with betrayal.

  Chapter 28

  In the soft light of late afternoon, Blythe leaned against James on the seat of the well-sprung carriage. Minx lay curled up asleep on the blanket in her lap. The sway of the vehicle had a lulling effect on Blythe, although she felt too full of life to slumber. She wanted to treasure every moment of this marvelous day.