The Scandalous Flirt

by Olivia Drake

  Scowling, Kitty turned her gaze to the pastry tray and nabbed an apple tartlet. “I fail to see how that can be of any consequence. It is all in the past. I would prefer to forget the entire matter.”

  “It is of consequence. The more information I know, the better.” Rory couldn’t resist adding, “And if you’d really wanted to forget the affair, you’d have burned the letters. As I burned all my correspondence from Stefano.”

  “Well!” her stepmother huffed. “I fancy you are comparing your own transgression to mine. Perhaps you think this puts us on equal footing. You couldn’t be more wrong. At least I had the good sense to … Oh, never mind!”

  “The good sense to do what?”

  An obstinate look on her face, Kitty attacked the tartlet with her fork. “I’ve had quite enough of your impertinent questions. Why, it is plain as the nose on my face that Lord Dashell is the guilty one. Such a cold, sour man! He will stop at nothing to rob me blind.”

  Lucas Vale wasn’t always cold and sour, Rory knew. He could be quite burningly attractive when wooing a woman. The mere memory of him nuzzling her throat made her heart race. “Regardless, I only wish to find out—”

  A discreet knock interrupted her. The door opened and Grimshaw stepped into the breakfast parlor. He looked harried, glancing back over his shoulder. “A visitor, madam. Mrs. Culpepper.”

  No sooner had he spoken than a tall, sturdy woman with salt-and-pepper hair sailed past him. She wore a plain brown cape that had seen better days and a dull gray gown that made her resemble a servant instead of the wellborn lady that she was.

  The conversation forgotten, Rory leaped to her feet. “Aunt Bernice!”

  She flew across the room and threw herself at her aunt. Bernice’s arms closed around Rory in a bear hug. “My dear, you are a sight for sore eyes. That journey was worse than any sea voyage, what with all that bumping and swaying over bad roads. The worst of it was when the dogcart broke an axle near St. John’s Wood.”

  A disbelieving laugh caught in Rory’s throat. “You drove all the way from Norfolk in the dogcart?”

  “Yes, and such a nuisance it was! Especially as the accident forced us to stop overnight and bear the expense of an inn.”

  “Us?”

  Just then, Murdock shuffled inside, his shoulders bowed and a large leather portmanteau tucked under each arm of his wrinkled black garb. “I fixed the axle myself,” he bragged. “Leastways, I told the smithy how ’twas best to be done.”

  Grimshaw fairly trembled with indignation. He pointed to the door. “You! Depart this chamber at once. Proceed to the servants’ staircase as I instructed you.”

  Murdock fixed his rheumy eyes on that pristine dignitary, looking the butler up and down. “I don’t take orders from no fancy-pants. Only from the cap’n’s widow.”

  The two servants sneered at each other, seeming on the verge of coming to blows, when Bernice said, “Do run along, Murdock. I’m sure someone down in the kitchen can give you directions where to take my cases.”

  “I’ll fetch me a drop o’ rum, that’s what. A man needs t’ fortify hisself after such a journey.”

  As he trudged out, Rory gazed at her aunt in happy perplexity. “But Auntie, why have you come to London? I thought you disliked the city excessively!”

  Bernice removed her cape and thrust it at Grimshaw, whose upper lip curled as he bore the ancient garment away. “No sooner did your carriage drive out of sight than I decided that Halcyon Cottage was far too quiet. I deemed it high time I paid a visit to my sister-in-law.”

  Her mouth agape, Kitty sat staring in obvious consternation. She arose and came forward, a stiff smile plastered on her mouth as she gave her late husband’s sister a perfunctory embrace. “Dear Bernice. What an unexpected pleasure. It’s been quite a long time.”

  “Eight years, to be exact. Would have been only seven if you’d have notified me when my brother died so that Rory and I could have attended her papa’s funeral.”

  Kitty blanched at the bald reprimand. “I’m terribly sorry. Roger fell ill … it happened so quickly … I was in such a dreadful state…” Drawing out her handkerchief, she sniffled.

  If Rory didn’t know better, she’d believe that display of heartfelt grief. But how could Kitty have loved Papa and then engaged in a sordid affair with a renowned lecher? If it weren’t for the reward money and Celeste’s happiness, Rory would be tempted to wash her hands of the whole matter.

  Unaware of Kitty’s lapse into depravity, Bernice patted her on the shoulder. “We’ll let bygones be bygones. Now, let me drink a cup of tea and rest these old rattled bones while we catch up on the family news.”

  Rory fetched a cup and added a drop of cream the way her aunt liked, while the two older women sat down for a comfortable few minutes discussing Celeste’s upcoming wedding. Then Rory was forced to broach the topic that pressed on her mind. She informed her aunt that she had taken a position as companion to Lady Dashell.

  Kitty gave her a stare that shot daggers. But what else was there to do? Rory couldn’t sit and chat the rest of the day. She added, “I’m afraid that I’m expected back at Dashell House very soon. And I mustn’t be tardy. Her ladyship is quite cantankerous enough already.”

  Bernice looked stricken. “Is that the reason you came to London, dearie? To find another place to live? Why, I could have sworn you were content at Halcyon Cottage.”

  “It’s only temporary. I’ll be returning to Norfolk in a few weeks, I promise. I merely thought that so long as I was here in London to plan Celeste’s wedding, I might earn a bit of pin money, that’s all.”

  Her face fierce, Bernice set down her teacup with a clatter and rounded on Kitty. “Why, I never! Is this how you treat your stepdaughter? Sending her out to labor for her bread while you live in luxury! For shame! And all these years you’ve given her nothing! Are you so cruel that you could not crack open your purse enough to spare her a small allowance?”

  Kitty’s mouth flapped, though no sound emerged. Her cheeks were pale, her brow furrowed, her gaze flitting about as if seeking an escape route. She appeared in danger of needing her vial of hartshorn.

  Rory took some satisfaction in seeing her stepmother at a loss for words, for Kitty deserved to be rebuked. At the same time, Rory disliked lying to her aunt. It wasn’t fair to let Bernice go on thinking she’d been deserted for greener pastures. The best solution was to let her aunt in on the ruse. Kitty would object strenuously, but that was just too bad.

  She addressed her stepmother. “Aunt Bernice has every right to be upset. And I believe it’s time you told her the truth.”

  * * *

  Having been announced by a hatchet-faced butler with the bearing of an ex-soldier, Lucas stepped into a morning room decorated in feminine hues of rose and yellow. A lady sat reading in a chair by one of the tall windows. Sunlight lent radiance to her raven-black hair and smooth features, though surely she was close to his mother in age.

  She set aside her book and arose with a smile. “Ah, Dashell, what a surprise. How do you do? You’re looking well on this fine morning.”

  He gave a terse bow. “Lady Milford. This is not a social call, as I’m sure you can guess.”

  “Oh? That sounds intriguing. Would you care for refreshment? A brandy, perhaps?”

  “No.” Anger simmered in him, and he had to remind himself to be polite. “Thank you.”

  She seated herself on a chaise by the unlit hearth, arranging her lilac skirts and then folding her hands in her lap. “Do sit down and join me.”

  Lucas ignored the request. Instead, he propped his elbow on the marble mantel. Never one to value the exchange of useless pleasantries, he got straight to the point. “I’ve discovered your latest scheme. And I want to know if you stole that packet of letters from Mrs. Kitty Paxton.”

  He succeeded in startling Lady Milford. Her long-lashed violet eyes widened and lent her a dewy beauty despite her mature years. Rumor had it that she had once been mistress to a princ
e. He could believe it, for she was still unduly handsome—and conniving enough to befuddle a man who wasn’t on to her schemes.

  She did not blink or look away. She answered him as frankly as he’d spoken. “No, I most certainly did not. Did you?”

  “Of course not!” He slashed his hand downward for emphasis. “Would I be here otherwise? And if I’d taken the letters, I’d have burned them at once. It will be a disaster for me if they’re published.”

  “You’re referring to Miss Alice Kipling, I presume.”

  He glowered. Was everyone privy to his private marital plans?

  He’d come here to confront Lady Milford because she had a penchant for matchmaking. She was the spider at the center of the web, spinning her intrigues, wrapping her sticky threads around him. Her maneuverings had induced Rory Paxton to come to his house in search of the billets-doux. Ever since learning of Lady Milford’s involvement, he had wondered if this blackmail scheme was all an elaborate hoax designed to throw Rory back into his path.

  He had no right to lust for her. No matter how drawn he was to Rory Paxton, no matter how keenly he craved her, he was obliged to marry an heiress. That fact could never be changed.

  He must provide his brother with an estate free of debt. He must hold on to the London house for his mother’s sake. He must preserve the remaining family assets for future generations. The last thing he needed was for this busybody to try to match him with an impoverished outcast.

  He directed a hard stare at Lady Milford. “I intend to take Miss Kipling as my bride. And I will not abide a scandal.”

  “I see. Have you set a wedding date?”

  “No.” He hadn’t even sought permission from Alice’s father yet. But he’d be damned if he confessed that to this schemer. Instead, he attacked from another angle. “You told Kitty Paxton that I’d squandered my inheritance through bad investments. Why did you lie to her?”

  Lady Milford smiled rather guiltily. “I wanted Miss Paxton to investigate you. She was more likely to do so if she thought you a dastardly fellow rather than a sympathetic figure who’d merely inherited his father’s gaming debts.”

  “Ah, so you admit you conspired to get her into my house!”

  “Of course. Because I believed you to be a likely suspect. If you must know, I’ve glimpsed the perpetrator myself.”

  Nothing could have been better designed to distract Lucas. Leaving the fireplace, he strode forward to stand over her. “What the devil? Describe him.”

  Lady Milford proceeded to relate how she’d chanced to spy Kitty Paxton outside the bank several days earlier, placing a small box containing the diamond necklace underneath a bush. A few moments later, a cloaked figure had darted out to retrieve the jewels. “It was nearly dark and I wasn’t able to get a good look at him, but he was about your size. When I called on Kitty the following morning, she confessed to having had an affair with your father and said that she was being blackmailed for the return of a packet of his letters to her.”

  “Flimsy evidence to convict me of the crime!”

  “I never convicted you. I merely thought it wise that you be investigated, given your connection to the letters.”

  “And my obvious need for funds,” he added bitterly. Too agitated to stand still, he prowled back and forth. “So you plotted to entrap me. You went to Norfolk to fetch Rory—Miss Paxton. I would venture to guess that you even paid off my mother’s previous companion so the position would be open.”

  Lady Milford didn’t deny it. “I have no regrets about making such arrangements. Or engaging Miss Paxton’s assistance. She’s a resourceful woman and I knew that you would not do her a harm, but—”

  “But? You believe me capable of heinous deeds!”

  “I humbly beg your pardon, my lord. However, I never thought Miss Paxton had real reason to fear you. That is why I had no compunction about sending her into your employ.”

  “Small comfort, that.”

  “Given her headstrong nature, I daresay she will continue her quest to find the blackmailer.” Lady Milford rose to her feet and took his hand, urgently pressing it. “Please, Dashell, you must promise to watch over her. If the villain is desperate, he may be very dangerous.”

  Chapter 11

  Not all women are helpless creatures in need of a man’s protection.

  —MISS CELLANY

  In light of the revelation about Kitty’s secret, Aunt Bernice decided to accompany Rory back to Dashell House. She declared that she could not bear the sight of her deceitful sister-in-law a moment longer and would pass the afternoon by paying a call on her old acquaintance, Lady Dashell.

  Walking briskly toward Grosvenor Square, Bernice muttered under her breath. “An illicit affair—imagine! I knew there was something improper about that saucy female from the moment I met her. Who but a flibbertigibbet has a name like Kitty, anyway? I warned Roger against marrying her, but he was besotted.”

  “Papa loved her, I’m sure. He certainly doted on her.”

  As they crossed a busy cobbled street, pausing to allow a carriage to rattle past, Bernice gave her niece a contrite look. “You’re right, dearie, and I don’t mean to go on. It’s just that she deserves to be keelhauled for involving you in a calamity of her own making.”

  “There’s Celeste to consider, though. I don’t wish a scandal to taint her.”

  A pot of gold also waited at the end of the rainbow, but Rory wanted that to be a surprise. Wouldn’t Aunt Bernice be thrilled when they had an extra thousand pounds with which to spruce up Halcyon Cottage, refurbish their wardrobes, and create a nest egg as a cushion against penury?

  “We’ll weather this storm together,” Bernice avowed. “His lordship daren’t threaten you so long as I’m around.”

  “That’s just it,” Rory murmured as they turned a corner to the stables behind his mansion, the air laden with the odor of horses. “Despite what Kitty believes, I’m certain that Lord Dashell did not take those letters.” Quickly she related how he’d caught her searching his bedchamber the previous night, though leaving out the more sensational aspects of the encounter. “He’s offered to help me find the blackmailer.”

  “Well! Are you certain he wasn’t just spinning a yarn?”

  “Yes, I’m quite sure. I was mistaken about his character. He might be cold and despotic, but he isn’t a thief.”

  The memory of his penetrating gray eyes made her insides clench. It was difficult to put into words exactly why she now trusted him—at least insofar as he wouldn’t stoop to extortion.

  Bernice cast a quizzical glance at her niece as they went through a gate and down a pebbled walk that skirted the large formal gardens. They entered the house by descending a short flight of stone steps to the tradesmen’s door in the cellars. As they passed through the kitchen, the staff was busy with luncheon preparations and no one questioned the presence of a drably garbed older woman in Rory’s company.

  A moment later, they were climbing the steep wooden steps of the servants’ staircase, their footfalls echoing in the narrow shaft. “This isn’t right,” Bernice muttered. “A lady like you should be admitted to the entrance hall and shown into the drawing room.”

  “I expect I’ll survive,” Rory said with a hint of humor. “If nothing else, the experience has given me a better appreciation for the plight of the working class.”

  They said no more as they went down the corridor to Lady Dashell’s bedchamber. The door stood partway open, and Rory slipped inside with her aunt bringing up the rear.

  Like a little brown wren, Mrs. Jarvis flitted around the room, while the marchioness barked orders from her pillowed throne in the four-poster bed. “Adjust those draperies. The sun is hurting my eyes. And stir the coals before the fire goes out. Fetch me a glass of water, too. I am as parched as a desert.”

  The hapless housekeeper attempted to complete all the tasks in a hurry to her mistress’s satisfaction. Rory removed her bonnet and glided to the bed. “You’ve a pitcher of water right
beside you, my lady. You’ve only to lean over and refill the glass yourself.”

  Nevertheless, Rory reached for the crystal jug and poured the liquid.

  Lady Dashell fixed her sharp gray eyes on her. “Where did you run off to, lazybones? Two hours you’ve been gone! Meeting a lover, perhaps? I won’t abide such mischief in my house!”

  Bernice stepped to the foot of the bed. “Nor will I abide such insults toward my niece. She was visiting with me, not a man.”

  “What? Who are you to speak to me thusly?” The marchioness fumbled for her pince-nez and jammed it onto the bridge of her nose. Her eyes widened behind the narrow spectacles. “Bernice? Bernice Paxton?”

  “It’s Bernice Culpepper, as well you know. I’ve had a different surname for nigh on forty years now.”

  “Why, you’re old. Your face is weathered like a common sailor’s. And you’re dressed like a washerwoman. Have you lost all pride in yourself?”

  Chuckling, Bernice drew a straight-backed chair over to the bed. “Have you peered in a mirror of late, Prudence? Your hair is gray and your skin is wrinkled. It happens to all of us as we age.”

  A smothered squeak came from the fireplace, where Mrs. Jarvis had just finished stoking the fire. She stood there, her fingers pleating her apron, as if fearing another outburst from the marchioness. “Er … will you be wishing your luncheon delayed, milady?”

  “Of course not, you dolt. And bring an extra tray since my guest has been rude enough to show up at mealtime without an invitation!”

  While the housekeeper scurried out of the bedchamber, Rory settled down in a chair by the hearth. She appreciated the fire since the vast stone house held a chill, and Lady Dashell would not permit the windows to be opened to let in the warm spring breeze. It was a treat to be spared the marchioness’s ill humor for a few minutes. Besides, the argumentative interplay of the two older women was as entertaining as having a front-row seat at a play.

  “If you’d had the good sense to marry well,” Lady Dashell was griping, “you could be mistress of a splendid mansion like this one. Instead, you ran off with a common seaman.”