The Scandalous Flirt

by Olivia Drake

  The trill of genteel voices penetrated the spell on her senses. The intrusive sound lured her attention upward. She blinked in surprise to see a party of two gentlemen and two ladies descending the grand staircase.

  Chapter 6

  A woman should derive contentment from her own life rather than requiring a man to assure her happiness.

  —MISS CELLANY

  Lucas clamped his teeth around a curse. He had been so focused on Rory’s kissable mouth that he’d failed to notice his brother and their guests until they were halfway down the stairs. Blast Henry! He’d been ordered to remain in the drawing room with the ladies until Lucas’s return.

  He pressed his palm to the back of her slim waist, giving her a little push toward the rear of the house. “Go. Now.”

  Curiosity glinted in her dark eyes. “As you wish.”

  Even as she took a step to depart, it was already too late.

  Henry galloped down the marble stairs ahead of the others. “Well, well, Dash! So, it wasn’t a crisis in Parliament that lured you away from us. It was this mysterious beauty. Won’t you introduce me?”

  Lucas had hoped to delay revealing his hiring of a disgraced woman. Especially since he couldn’t explain it himself, aside from suffering a momentary fit of madness when Rory had looked at him with those soft doe eyes and admitted she was desperate for employment. He knew all too well the anxiety of needing money.

  “I’ve engaged a new companion for Mama,” he said curtly. “You can meet her tomorrow when she begins her assignment.”

  Henry seized Rory’s hand and kissed the back. “Never mind my brother’s rudeness. Dash was born a tyrant. I’m Lord Henry Vale. And you are…?”

  As she drew back her hand, she cast an oblique glance at Lucas. “It’s Lord Dashell’s prerogative to make me known as he sees fit.”

  “Then he must do so at once! Else I shall be forced to sniff along at your heels like a lost puppy until I discover your identity.”

  Lucas despised being backed into a corner. But the family would discover her name soon enough, and better it should come from him than spiteful gossips. “This is Miss Paxton. She was just about to depart.”

  “Paxton, you say?” Perry asked as he reached the bottom of the stairs, Alice on one arm and Mrs. Kipling on the other. Abandoning them, he hastened closer, his youthful features bright with interest beneath a thatch of fair hair. “Are you kin to Miss Celeste Paxton?”

  “She’s my half sister.”

  Perry and Henry exchanged a surprised glance. Lucas had witnessed them behaving like besotted idiots around this year’s crop of debutantes, in particular, Celeste Paxton. Luckily, they were both too low in the pocket to entertain a serious courtship of a girl with so modest a dowry. And at least now she was off the market and no temptation to his brother. Unlike her elder sister, she’d had the sense to accept Whittingham’s offer of marriage rather than ruin herself by cavorting with the wrong man.

  “I see that beauty is a family trait,” Henry said with an echo of their father’s lavish charm. “You’re as dark as she is fair, two sides of the same lovely coin.”

  “Odd, Ce-Ce never let on that she had a sister,” Perry said.

  “You used her pet name,” Rory said, turning eagerly to him. “Do you know her well, sir?”

  Perry flushed, his freckles becoming more prominent, as often happened when the attention turned on him. “Just—just a little,” he stammered.

  “No need to address this scamp as sir,” Henry said, clapping his friend on the back. “He’s Peregrine Davenport, though you may call him Perry if you like. Oh, and this is Miss Alice Kipling and her mama, Mrs. Kipling.”

  Lucas wanted to drag Henry out by his ear and ream him over the coals for that introduction. Mrs. Kipling and her daughter had been politely standing back, but now they were gazing askance at Rory, as if unsure what to make of a nubile spinster in his employ.

  Especially one who was clearly a lady.

  The only saving grace was that none of them could possibly know about Rory’s scandalous past. Henry and Perry were too young to have heard the eight-year-old gossip, and the Kiplings had only recently been accepted in society due to their rich, eligible daughter.

  “Miss Paxton needn’t meet our guests,” he told his brother. “She will remain upstairs with the marchioness at all times.”

  “But what if Miss Kipling wishes to visit Mama in her chambers? It would be nice for her to know that she has an ally present.” In an aside to Rory, Henry added in a loud whisper, “She is Dash’s romantic interest, you see, and she’ll have to meet Mama sooner or later—”

  “Henry,” Lucas snapped. “That is quite enough.”

  But Rory’s attentive gaze had already shifted from him to Alice, and he felt exposed and raw, his private plans laid out for her—for everyone—to scrutinize. He despised having his intentions bandied about before he’d even made his official offer.

  Mrs. Kipling’s pudgy face glowed. “It would be a great honor to meet the marchioness. I’m sure it must be tremendously dull for such a venerable lady to be confined to her chambers, and we would be happy to do our part in keeping her entertained.” She cast a speaking glance at her daughter. “Wouldn’t we, darling?”

  “Oh, yes, indeed,” Alice piped up, while batting her lashes at Lucas. “It would be our pleasure.”

  Good God, the last thing he needed was to frighten off his heiress by introducing her to his peevish mother. Better to wait until the last possible moment, just before the knot was tied. “Perhaps another time,” he said vaguely.

  “We hope it shall be very soon,” Mrs. Kipling said. She cast another dubious glance at Rory, then turned a toadying smile at Lucas. “My lord, I should not wish to gainsay you, but are you quite certain that such a young female as Miss Paxton will be suitable company for her ladyship?”

  “Yes. She comes highly recommended.”

  By herself, Lucas amended silently. He was annoyed at having to defend his choice. But if Rory could tame his mother’s temper as she’d boasted, then hiring her would be well worth the trouble.

  “I’m curious as to why you would seek employment here, Miss Paxton,” Henry said. “With your sister marrying Whittingham, one would think you’d be required at home.”

  “Oh, but London isn’t my home,” Rory said. “I hail from Norfolk—”

  “Henry,” Lucas broke in, “we’re heard enough of your impertinent commentary. Miss Paxton was just on her way out.”

  If Henry questioned her need to earn a living, he’d learn that she’d been cut off without a penny. And then he’d find out about the scandal.

  Thankfully, Rory took the hint and curtsied, before gliding down the corridor toward the rear of the house. The sight of her sinuous walk sparked a fantasy of encountering her upstairs in her nightgown, her hair unbound and her feet bare. Heat bedeviled Lucas, and he had to quash the untimely reaction. He was a damned fool for letting her live under his roof. Even if she had gazed at him with those soulful eyes.

  He dragged his attention from the sway of her hips and forced a smile at Alice as her mother blathered something about seeing him at the Earl of Copley’s ball the following evening. Henry and Perry vanished into the library, no doubt seeking the decanter of brandy and a private chat about Celeste Paxton’s sister.

  As Mrs. Kipling and her daughter took their leave, a footman sprang to open the door and Lucas escorted his guests out onto the columned portico that faced the greenery of Grosvenor Square. Alice set her dainty gloved hand in his and graced him with a winsome smile while murmuring a shy farewell. It was only as mother and daughter were entering their luxurious black carriage that he realized he had forgotten to request permission to call on Mr. Kipling the following morning.

  Lucas could have rectified the oversight by hurrying down the granite steps. But he didn’t.

  As the carriage rolled away, he subdued a guilty twinge of reprieve. What did it matter, really? There was no immediate rus
h. The marriage proposal could be postponed for another day or two. The bailiffs were not beating down his door.

  At least not yet.

  * * *

  Stepping into the bedchamber with its French white furniture and the frilly rose draperies, Rory found herself gazing upon a scene straight out of the past.

  Her half sister lay prone on the canopied bed, her back to the door and her arms straddling a feather pillow. She’d kicked up her lower legs and idly swung them back and forth, revealing silk stockings and a fluff of white petticoats beneath a pale-yellow gown. With her golden head bent over a sketchpad, she glided a pencil over the paper in quick strokes. She was so intent on her drawing that she hadn’t even noticed the soft click of the opening door or the muffled patter of Rory’s footsteps on the plush carpet.

  Celeste’s favorite occupation at age ten had been to sprawl on the bed and sketch fantastical pictures of dragons and princesses and castles. But she was not a little girl anymore. She was a woman of eighteen. A woman who would soon be a wife.

  A flood of emotion inundated Rory … joy at seeing her sister again … regret for the lost years of separation … and anxiety that Celeste might have made the worst mistake of her young life in betrothing herself to the Duke of Whittingham. According to Kitty, the couple were madly in love. But it remained to be seen if that was really the truth.

  Rory cleared her throat.

  Without pausing the movement of her pencil, Celeste spoke over her shoulder, “You’re far too early, Foster. I’ve nearly two hours yet before it’s time to leave, and I do want to finish this. Can’t you please help Mama dress first?”

  “Ce-Ce.” Rory used the pet name that Celeste had invented for herself, back when she was a toddler just learning to talk, just as Rory had done with her own name, Aurora. “It’s me.”

  Celeste whipped her head around. A pair of startled blue eyes widened on Rory. The ormolu clock on the mantel ticked into the silence as the sisters stared at each other. Rory drank in the sight of that pert nose, the delicate chin, the arched eyebrows. Her sister looked hauntingly familiar, yet her youthful features had gained maturity, radiant now with womanly beauty.

  Rory stepped forward. “I’ve come home. Aren’t you happy to see me?”

  The sketchbook and pencil went flying as Celeste scrambled off the bed and hurled herself into her sister’s arms. “Rory!” she squealed. “It’s really you! I can’t believe it! Why, I must be dreaming!”

  Rory caught her close in a hug. Tears blurred her eyes and tightened her throat. Inhaling the fragrance of lilac, she reveled in the warmth of the embrace before drawing back to fondly regard Celeste. “You’re not dreaming, silly. And my, look at you! You were a little girl when I left. Now, you’re all grown up.”

  “It’s been eight years, after all. But why didn’t you write and tell me that you were coming to London? Does Mama know you’re here?”

  A lurch assailed Rory’s stomach. So, Kitty hadn’t mentioned her arrival. She must have hoped that Rory would secure the post at Dashell House and remain there. Because, of course, Kitty would never have told Celeste about the blackmail scheme, or the plan to have her disgraced stepdaughter retrieve the stolen letters from Lord Dashell.

  Rory hid her resentment behind a smile. “I wanted my arrival to be a surprise,” she hedged. “I’m only here for a short time. Come, sit with me, and I’ll tell you all about it.”

  She guided her sister over to a rose-and-white-striped chaise by the hearth. Celeste plopped down and clutched at Rory’s hands. “What do you mean, only a short time?” she asked. “How long?”

  “I’m departing in the morning for Dashell House in Grosvenor Square. You see, I’ve taken a position as companion to the Marchioness of Dashell. I’ll be living there henceforth.”

  At least until she accomplished her mission and found the pilfered packet of billets-doux. She would relish seeing the coldhearted Lord Dashell receive his just due when his crimes were exposed. Then she would quit the post and return here for a nice long visit, no matter how much Kitty protested.

  Celeste’s lips parted in astonishment. “A companion! You? And to Lady Dashell!”

  “Do you know her?”

  She glanced away for a moment. “I know her son Lord Henry Vale. And his friend Mr. Perry Davenport. They’ve both been very kind to me, asking me to dance so that I wouldn’t be a wallflower.”

  Rory wondered at her sister’s blush. Could there have been a flirtation in the works before she had accepted His Grace’s offer? “You, a wallflower? The gentlemen of the ton would have to be blind not to see your beauty.”

  Celeste shrugged off the compliment. “I don’t understand why you must labor for a living. What about Aunt Bernice?”

  “I’ll be sending my wages back to her. She hasn’t much to her name, and I have resolved to help out with the household expenses.” It was only a small fib, for Rory had every intention of donating her reward money toward improving their living standards.

  “Why don’t you apply to Mama for funds? I’m sure she can spare enough to cover the amount of your salary. She never hesitated to purchase whatever was necessary for my come-out.”

  Her earnest manner touched Rory’s heart. Celeste was too naïve to see that if Kitty had wanted to be generous, she would have done so already, instead of allowing her stepdaughter to languish in the country wearing eight-year-old gowns. But Celeste had always been the favored one on whom Kitty lavished gifts and affection. After Rory’s disgrace, everyone had believed the worst of her, even her dear Papa, who had sided with his wife in banishing Rory for fear that her soiled reputation would eventually taint her half sister.

  Yet none of that was Celeste’s fault. She was as innocent of intrigue as a newborn babe.

  Rory patted her sister’s soft hand. “I shan’t ask any such favors of Kitty, especially as she’s already incurred the expense of your debut. Anyway, I am determined to do this on my own. The decision has already been made. I’m sorry to depart so soon, but at least we have today to catch up on things.”

  A shadow flitted over Celeste’s face, chasing the sparkle from her eyes. “Oh, but I can’t spend the evening with you. Mama and I have a dinner to attend.”

  “Can you make an excuse? Pretend you’re ill as we used to do when we were children?”

  “You did so, not I. I was never so brave! And I dare not, anyway. I must accompany the Duke of Whittingham to his aunt’s house.” Celeste dipped her chin slightly, her teeth worrying her lower lip. “Perhaps you don’t know … I’m engaged to wed His Grace next month. I intended to write to you, Rory, truly I did. But Mama thought it was best that I wait.”

  “Because the presence of a disgraced half sister might make the duke withdraw his offer?” Seeing Celeste’s shamefaced expression, Rory softened her tone. “Don’t fret, Ce-Ce. Kitty only means to protect you, I’m sure. And she already told me the news when I saw her a short while ago.”

  “You must come to the wedding now that you’re in town.” Celeste leaned forward, her gaze earnest. “Oh, can you be there? Will you ask Lady Dashell to spare you for the day? I don’t think I could bear it if you weren’t present.”

  The urgency in her manner only increased Rory’s suspicions. Gazing at Celeste’s angelic face and smooth skin, the golden hair and big blue eyes, she could understand why that stuffy old duke had selected her as his bride. But what did Celeste see in a man more than twice her age? It was hard to imagine that she’d choose ambition over the desires of her tender heart. “Of course I’ll attend. But darling, do tell me. Do you love Whittingham? Are you truly happy to be marrying him?”

  Celeste hesitated the barest instant. “Why, certainly! His Grace is the premier catch of the season! All the other girls are pea-green with envy that I’m to be a duchess.”

  Her gushing testimony sounded like something Kitty would utter. Was Celeste merely echoing her mother? Had she subdued her own hopes and dreams in order to please Kitty? “I do hope you
’ll confide in me if you’re suffering any doubts. It isn’t too late to call the whole thing off.”

  “Oh, but I could never do that. His Grace has chosen me above all others. And Mama would be heartbroken.”

  “Better she is heartbroken than you,” Rory stated. “Marriage is a lifelong commitment. You must be very sure of yourself—and of him.”

  “His Grace has been most attentive, sending me gifts and flowers nearly every day. He is kind and generous to a fault, a true gentleman.”

  Rory couldn’t shake a nagging sense that Ce-Ce was playing a role in order to avoid conflict with Kitty. Even as a child, she had been too agreeable and malleable for her own good, and it was clear that she’d committed herself to the May–December union. Having just arrived, Rory didn’t want to push too hard too soon; there would still be time after she found the letters to return here and coax the truth out of Celeste.

  At the moment, Celeste’s fingers were entwined tightly in her lap, indicative of an inner tension that she refused to voice. “Your mama mentioned an heirloom betrothal ring,” Rory said. “Why aren’t you wearing it?”

  “Oh, my ring!” Pink heightened the cream of her cheeks. “It’s rather heavy, so I sometimes take it off while I’m at home. I’ll put it back on at once.”

  Rising, Celeste darted to the bedside table, opened an enameled box, and slid the ring onto her finger. She returned to the chaise and held out her hand rather shyly. “See? Isn’t it magnificent?”

  An enormous square-cut diamond winked in a thick, old-fashioned gold setting. It looked far too large and ornate for Celeste’s dainty hand. “It’s most impressive,” Rory said tactfully. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a diamond quite so large.”

  “The ring belonged to His Grace’s mother. I must be very careful not to lose it.” Celeste sank her teeth into her lower lip again. “I’m thankful you reminded me. The duchess will be at dinner tonight, and she would be very displeased if I appear in public without it.”

  Rory was about to reply when footsteps approached from the doorway. In a rustle of blue silk skirts, Kitty swept into the bedchamber, her wary gaze flitting from her daughter to Rory. Her tight smile held a note of displeasure.