The Scandalous Flirt

by Olivia Drake

  “Then I owe my gratitude to Mrs. Culpepper,” he said.

  “We both do,” Rory added, gliding to Bernice to kiss her weathered cheek. “I declare, Auntie, you are quite the schemer!”

  Bernice smiled modestly. “It’s Prudence’s decision, not mine. Why let those snoots write your obituary when you’re not even dead? Better to show up at one of their parties and give them some real fodder for gossip!”

  “Exactly,” Lady Dashell agreed, her gray eyes alight with relish. “This afternoon, I had Jarvis bring me all your invitations, Lucas. Lord Tinsley is hosting his annual ball tomorrow night, and I intend for you to escort me there.”

  “So soon?” The swiftness of his mother’s intention bowled Lucas over when he was still adjusting to the news of her recovery. And it would interfere with his plan to attend Newcombe’s card party in order to investigate him as the possible blackmailer. “But what will you wear? How will you manage—”

  “Oh, pooh! I’ve a dressing room jammed with gowns that I never wore last season. One of those will do perfectly well. Though Miss Paxton will likely have to borrow something appropriate from her sister.”

  “Miss Paxton?”

  “You heard me. If I intend to make a splash, what better way than by bringing a notorious woman with me as my companion?”

  Aghast, Lucas stared at his mother. This arrangement had mushroomed into an event far beyond his liking. It was one thing for her to reenter society after being injured in that terrible accident. But another entirely for Rory to accompany her.

  His family would be tainted by scandal at a time when he hoped to wed Alice Kipling. No, not hoped. He had to secure that marriage, or financial ruin awaited him. He had put off his creditors with promises of a forthcoming windfall. And he could not squeeze any more capital out of his heavily mortgaged estates. Like it or not, his future—his family’s future—depended upon him marrying an heiress.

  He glanced at Rory, but she too was gazing at his mother in arrested shock. Her eyes were rounded and for once she appeared at a loss for words.

  Lucas stepped forward. “I’m sorry, Mama, but that’s impossible. Miss Paxton has been banished from society. Tinsley will bar her from entering his house.”

  “Nonsense.” Lady Dashell tossed a quarrelsome look up at him from her invalid chair. “You are forgetting the power that I wield. I certainly have the ability to make the ton accept one slightly tarnished lady!”

  “Slightly tarnished? I don’t think you quite understand me. I cannot—I will not permit you to appear at a ball in the company of a scandalous flirt.”

  “Now, see here, my lord,” Bernice objected. “My niece is a fine woman who made one mistake. It isn’t right that she be forever shunned for it.”

  Lucas shifted his attention to Mrs. Culpepper. With that glower tightening her plain features, she looked like a mother bear defending her cub. It struck him that she was the one responsible for this mess, and his gratitude toward her took on a tinge of anger. Had she used his mother? Had she finagled this scheme solely as a means to relaunch Rory into society?

  The two older women wore matching obstinate expressions. He would get no relief from either of them.

  He swung toward Rory, hoping to find an ally in her. With all her modern notions, she surely would scorn playing the lady among aristocrats who had rejected her. But her dainty features looked as stubborn and determined as those of the other two women.

  Lifting her willful chin, she aimed a challenging glare at him. “I may be a scandalous flirt, my lord, but I am perfectly capable of comporting myself in society. If Lady Dashell wishes my company, then so be it.”

  Chapter 14

  Aristocratic marriages are grand alliances in which love is irrelevant.

  —MISS CELLANY

  Rory hurried through the dark alley behind her stepmother’s house. The sun had set, making it difficult for her to see her way through the gloom. The yellow glow of lamps in the windows of the neighboring town homes did little to penetrate the deep shadows.

  Aunt Bernice had stayed for dinner at Lady Dashell’s insistence, but Rory had begged off on the excuse that if she was to borrow a dress for tomorrow night’s ball, it would be wise to do so immediately in order to allow time to make any necessary adjustments. In reality, she had been too angry to sit at the dining table with Lucas.

  I will not permit you to appear at a ball in the company of a scandalous flirt.

  In one fell swoop, his judgmental decree to his mother had banished all the warmth and camaraderie Rory had developed toward him during their afternoon together. It had even erased the compassion she’d felt after he’d confessed his guilt over his mother’s accident.

  Scandalous flirt, indeed!

  He had relished her flirting today when it had been required for their ruse. She had seen the glint of desire intensify those iron-gray eyes. She had felt the heat of passion radiating from him. She had heard the caressing quality of his voice and witnessed the wicked warmth of his smile.

  But in reality, Lucas Vale had not changed one whit. He was still the coldhearted despot who regarded her as less than a worm beneath his well-shod foot. How dare he condemn her as a scandalous flirt when eight years had passed since that mortifying incident! Didn’t he realize she had grown up since then? That she’d paid a steep price for believing a man’s lies?

  “You are so beautiful,” Stefano whispered in her ear. “You are a woman made for loving, carissima. The woman I will love forever.”

  His ardent declaration, spoken with his charming Italian inflection, thrilled her romantic heart. When his hands pushed up her skirts, she didn’t resist. As he brazenly stroked her most intimate place, a tide of excited longing made Rory feel she might swoon. She disregarded all the warnings she’d heard about cads who took advantage of naïve girls. Stefano wasn’t like that. He loved her. He would ask her to be his wife and they would live happily ever after.

  In a haze of pleasure, she had not expected what had happened next. The slam of an opening door. The angry tread of feet. Papa’s furious voice …

  The darkness of the alley suited her own black mood. Lucas was wrong to condemn her for that one mistake. She had been young and gullible, ripe for an expert seducer. Yet he seemed to think she would make a spectacle of herself at Tinsley’s ball. Blast him, couldn’t he give her any credit for having learned her lesson about being indiscreet?

  When Lady Dashell had proposed that she attend the ball, Rory’s initial reaction had been alarm. She’d quailed at the thought of facing all the gossips who had scorned her. She had not seen any of them since the awful night when she had been caught with Stefano in her father’s study in the middle of a party.

  Papa had been livid. He’d demanded Stefano marry her at once. That was when she’d found out the horrifying truth: the handsome foreign diplomat already had a wife back in Italy.

  Rory winced to recall her father’s fury. Only by leaping between the two men had she kept them from blows. Stefano had scuttled off like a coward, never to be seen again. Far worse than her disillusionment, however, had been the profound sadness on Papa’s face when he had banished her to Norfolk to live with her aunt. He had died a year later without her ever having had the chance to make amends.

  But she refused to hang her head in shame any longer. It was time to face her demons. She intended to go to that ball, and if Lucas didn’t like it, he could stuff it. If he couldn’t abide a real woman, tarnish and all, then let him court his innocent, empty-headed Alice. He was welcome to her!

  Rory reached the garden gate behind her stepmother’s town house. She’d decided to enter by the back way in case the Duke of Whittingham was visiting this evening. Now wasn’t the time to antagonize Kitty. Her stepmother would be irked enough when she learned that Rory would be rejoining society.

  As she reached for the handle, the wooden gate abruptly opened. Someone dashed out and collided with her.

  Rory uttered a startled gasp that merged w
ith a squeaky cry from her accoster. The meager light from the house outlined a woman clad in a dark cape. As her hood slipped off to reveal her face, her plain features became recognizable through the shadows.

  “Foster?” Rory asked. “Is that you?”

  “Miss Paxton! Forgive me! I didn’t expect to encounter anyone…” The woman’s nervous voice petered off into an awkward silence.

  “Never mind that. Where are you off to in such a rush?”

  “I—I must visit my sick mother. Mr. Grimshaw gave me permission.”

  “I see.” Rory was dismayed. Surely the woman wouldn’t depart if her mistress was still here. “Have Mrs. Paxton and my sister already gone out for the evening? I was hoping to catch them before they left.”

  “Oh, they’re still here, miss. I believe His Grace is expected at nine. If you’ll excuse me, I’m late.”

  Foster sketched a curtsy and then scurried down the alley.

  Rory watched the woman vanish into the darkness. This being the first time she’d exchanged words with Foster, she was surprised at how well-spoken the maid sounded. Had she been educated as a lady? And how odd that Kitty would allow her to go, even in the case of a sick mother. Servants were seldom given time off aside from their scheduled half-day once a month.

  Pushing open the gate, Rory proceeded through the tiny garden. Now that she knew His Grace wouldn’t arrive for over half an hour, she abandoned her plan to sneak in by way of the kitchen. Instead, she went to the glass door of the library. It was locked, but she knew just how to jiggle the handle and coax it to open. Thankfully, the bolt had not been fixed in all these years.

  Stepping into the library, she wended her way past the dark lumps of furniture. The scent of leather book bindings stirred nostalgic memories of her father. This room had served as his study, and as a child she’d spent many a happy hour here in his presence. It pained her to recall that she had hurt him immeasurably when he’d found her here, lying on the chaise with Stefano.

  As Rory proceeded to the foyer and up the stairs, she had the misfortune to meet Grimshaw coming out of the drawing room. He saw her, and his upper lip curled. He’d worn that same derisive look eight years ago, when she’d spied him eavesdropping in the corridor while her father had berated Stefano.

  Grimshaw was the one who’d alerted Papa about her misbehavior, she’d found out later. He was always lurking and listening, which was why he’d landed at the top of her list of blackmail suspects.

  “How did you enter this house?” he said in his snootiest tone. “I did not hear a knock on the door.”

  “I have my ways. Is Celeste in her bedchamber?”

  “She and Mrs. Paxton have a guest in the drawing room. I would advise you not to disturb them. His Grace is expected to arrive at any moment.”

  The tall clock in the hall chimed the half hour. Eight-thirty. Foster had said Whittingham was due at nine. She handed the butler her fringed paisley shawl, a shabby relic of her debutante days. “I’ll take my chances.”

  Brushing past him, Rory stepped into the drawing room. The dark green décor of her youth had been discarded for a rose-and-cream palette and dainty walnut furniture. Kitty had refurbished this chamber—perhaps using the funds that Papa had set aside for Rory’s marriage settlement.

  She headed toward the small party seated by the marble fireplace. The visitor was the same woman who’d been here that morning. All three ladies were arrayed in elegant evening gowns, Mrs. Edgerton in jade silk, Kitty in cerulean blue, and Celeste in pale yellow with a cluster of matching rosebuds nestled in her blond curls. While the older women chatted, the girl sat with her hands folded in her lap, looking like a pretty china doll on a nursery shelf.

  The illusion vanished as her blue eyes widened on Rory. A warm smile blooming on her face, Celeste jumped up to embrace Rory. “What a wonderful surprise! Did Lady Dashell give you the evening off?”

  A lump formed in Rory’s throat. It was marvelous to have someone love her unconditionally. Someone who didn’t scorn her for the mistakes of the past. “Actually, I can only stay for a few minutes. I’m expected back shortly.”

  “Lady Dashell?” Mrs. Edgerton inquired in an avid tone. “Kitty, you told me your stepdaughter was in London to assist with the wedding plans. Surely she isn’t employed by the marchioness.”

  Kitty looked rattled. “I’m sorry, Nadine, did I neglect to mention it? Aurora has agreed to be her ladyship’s companion for a brief time. I thought it best to keep quiet about it. You know how people can talk.”

  Celeste’s smile died. “Forgive me, Mama. I didn’t realize I wasn’t to mention it.”

  “Never mind, dear. We can trust Mrs. Edgerton, I’m sure.” Kitty arose from the chaise, her anxious attention turning to Rory. “Did you come to see me, Aurora? If you wish to speak in private, let us go to the morning room.”

  Her stepmother clearly had assumed this visit had to do with the stolen letters. Rory needed to correct her without mentioning Lady Dashell’s plan to take her to the ball. That would only invite Kitty’s wrath.

  “Actually, I came on a rather pedestrian errand,” Rory said. “Lady Dashell has been critical about the sad state of my wardrobe. She wondered if Ce-Ce would be so kind as to lend me a gown or two.”

  “Lend you gowns!” Kitty said. “Why, that is very bold of her ladyship!”

  “An unusual request to be sure,” Mrs. Edgerton concurred. “But the marchioness has become quite eccentric since her tragic accident, or so I’ve heard. Is that not true, Miss Paxton?”

  The woman might be elegant with her upswept chestnut hair and emerald earbobs, but she had the keen eyes of an inveterate gossip, and Rory had no intention of supplying any tittle-tattle. “She merely wishes for me to look presentable. I cannot think that odd, considering that Dashell House is such a grand establishment.”

  “Perhaps you hope to attract Lord Dashell’s eye, too?” Mrs. Edgerton said, her speculative gaze on Rory. “You may abandon any such aspirations, for he is courting an extremely wealthy commoner, a pretty little chit named Miss Kipling.”

  “I am aware of that, thank you.”

  Rory forced herself to smile, though inwardly she fumed. How rude of Mrs. Edgerton to imply Rory was a fortune hunter who would secure a position in a noble bachelor’s household for the purpose of tricking him into marriage!

  She wouldn’t put it past the woman to spread such a sensational rumor. But was she unscrupulous enough to steal the packet of letters that Kitty had hidden in her sewing basket? Would Mrs. Edgerton blackmail her own friend?

  At present, Rory had only her own instinctive dislike of the woman to go on. She needed to find proof to verify the possibility.

  “I’d be happy to lend some gowns to Rory,” Celeste said, beaming. “May I, Mama? There’s time to run upstairs right now and choose them before His Grace arrives.”

  Kitty thinned her lips. Rory surmised she was reluctant to allow her stepdaughter to wear costly clothing intended for Celeste. But she also must be considering the need to placate Lady Dashell until the letters were found.

  “All right, then,” Kitty said grudgingly. “But do be quick about it, darling. And mind you don’t select your prettiest ones. They wouldn’t be appropriate for a mere companion. By the by, Aurora, where is Bernice? Did she return here with you?”

  “She was kind enough to stay with Lady Dashell during my absence,” Rory said. “They’re old friends, and they got on famously today.”

  “I see. Well, do tell her that I shall expect her to return as soon as possible. She mustn’t overstay her welcome.”

  Rory noted Kitty’s worried expression. This morning, she’d been forced to confess to Bernice about the affair and the stolen letters. Kitty would want assurance that her sister-in-law had kept that secret. But Rory didn’t care to enlighten her. Let her stepmother stew.

  The sisters hastened upstairs to Celeste’s dressing room. By the light of a candelabrum, Celeste threw open a wardrobe to reveal a d
azzling array of gowns, most in the pastel hues suitable to a debutante. “Take whichever ones you like,” she said magnanimously. “I can’t imagine why Mama insisted on purchasing so many. How about this one?”

  She drew out a morning dress in a delicate leaf-green muslin. The style and fabric were more suited to daywear than formal evening events. Rory could see that she’d have to let her sister in on the marchioness’s scheme.

  “It’s beautiful, but … can you keep a secret?”

  “Of course!”

  “Lady Dashell has recovered enough from her injuries to rejoin society. She plans to attend Lord Tinsley’s ball tomorrow night. And she wants me to accompany her.”

  A smile beamed across Celeste’s lovely face. “Truly? You’ll be at Lord Tinsley’s ball, too? Oh, Rory, that’s wonderful! It will be so nice to talk to you there. But why didn’t you tell Mama?”

  “I very much doubt that she will approve, that’s why. I’m still persona non grata, you see.”

  Celeste hung the gown back on its hook in the wardrobe. “I always thought it was cruel of her and Papa to send you away.”

  “No, it wasn’t, actually.” It had taken years for Rory to face that truth. She had behaved recklessly, taking a risk that had led to her own ruin. All because she’d fancied herself in love with a charming foreigner who’d turned out to be a cheating lothario. “You’re too young to remember all the particulars, but I stirred up quite the nasty scandal eight years ago. I deserved to be ousted from society—at least for a time.”

  “Mama told me about it. She said that you … you allowed a man to have his wicked way with you.” Celeste caught hold of her sister’s hands and squeezed them. “But I don’t care, Rory. I won’t shun you because of something that happened so long ago. I’m sure that if Lady Dashell acts as your sponsor, then people will come to accept you again.”

  Rory hoped so. Not because she had any desire to regain the approval of the upper crust, but because she needed to find the blackmailer. Lucas had mentioned two of his father’s former cronies as possible suspects, Colonel Hugo Flanders and Lord Ralph Newcombe. If she could move freely in society, she would be better able to investigate them, along with Mrs. Edgerton.