Earl of Scandal
by
Mary Gillgannon
First published as A Rogue’s Kiss by Mary Gillgannon,
Kensington Publishing Corp. 2000
Copyright © 2000 by Mary Gillgannon
EBook published by Mary Gillgannon, 2012
Copyright © Mary Gillgannon, 2012
Cover art by Rae Monet
EBook design by A Thirsty Mind
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the author excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Epilogue
Titles
Meet Mary Gillgannon
One
London, 1821
Christian Faraday, earl of Bedlington, awakened slowly and assessed the damage. A fetid taste in his mouth, pounding head, churning stomach—a rough night indeed. And he had absolutely no recollection of any of it.
Wincing, he raised his head and scanned the unfamiliar bedchamber, furnished in the latest rage of China red walls and black lacquer furniture. Mahogany-colored curls spilled over the pillow beside him, but he couldn’t see the woman’s face. His uneasy feeling deepened.
He waited for the worst of the nausea to subside, then sat up and hugged the black satin sheets to his chest. A few moments later, he stood and walked unsteadily to the bell rope and rang for a servant. From experience, he knew he needed food, and soon.
He made no attempt to retrieve his clothes, strewn across the scarlet and gold Turkish carpet. Instead, he made his way back to the bed and once more climbed beneath the blankets. The woman beside him roused and stretched. Christian felt the blood drain from his face as he glimpsed her delicate features. “Honoria—Mrs. Averill!” he cried.
She pushed her sleep-snarled hair away from her eyes and smiled. “Really, Christian, don’t tell me you don’t remember last night. My pride is devastated!”
Christian licked his dry lips, at a loss for one of the few times in his life. It seemed obvious that he’d gone to bed with his host’s wife. Worse yet, he had no memory of the incident!
“Of course, I remember,” he managed. “I simply didn’t expect to find you here this morning. Your husband...”
The woman’s hazel eyes narrowed. “That bastard! I hope he discovers us.”
“Really, Honoria, I don’t think...”
A knock sounded at the door, and a timid, feminine voice called, “My lady, did you ring?”
Christian gestured frantically that Honoria should send the servant away. She ignored him and answered, “Yes, Maggie. Do come in.”
After a despairing look at his clothes on the floor, Christian jerked up the blankets. If the maid were well-trained, she would pretend there was not an unknown person in her mistress’s bed.
Honoria got up and stretched languorously. “After you repair the fire,” she told the maid, “I’d like you to fetch some breakfast for myself and Lord Bedlington. I’m sure he’s starving after last night’s strenuous activities.”
As soon as the maid was occupied at the fireplace, Christian stuck his head out from under the covers and glared at Honoria. She gave him a wicked smile and jiggled her abundant breasts.
Christian suppressed a groan. How had he got himself into this disastrous situation!
His dismay increased as Honoria approached the bed and began to pull at the blankets. “Come, Christian,” she cooed. “You’ve nothing to be ashamed of. At least not that I recall.”
After a few seconds of tug-of-war, Honoria jerked the slippery sheets away, exposing him at the moment the maid finished with the fire. The young woman stared, mouth open in a startled “o”, then, recovered herself and turned rigidly to her mistress. “What can I get you for breakfast, madam?”
“The usual for me, Maggie. What about you, Christian?”
“Beefsteak and eggs,” he growled.
Maggie dashed off. As soon as the door shut, Honoria broke into peals of laughter. “Oh, my, that was priceless!”
“You’ve an appalling sense of humor, Honoria. I must have scared the girl out of her wits.”
“I rather think not.” Honoria’s voice was breathy as she neared the bed. “You likely intrigued her as much as you do me.” She stared pointedly at Christian’s nakedness.
“God’s sake, Honoria!” Christian rolled away as she climbed onto the bed. “We can’t do this. It’s indecent!”
“Too late,” Honoria purred. She stretched out beside him and fondled her breasts. “Last night was most gratifying.” She pouted again. “Surely you remember now.”
“By Jupiter!” Christian jumped from the bed as she rolled over and reached for him. “I mean it. We’ve got to stop this. Pretend it never happened!”
She lay back on the bed, splaying her legs wide. “Please, Christian. Just once more.”
He gazed at her in fascinated horror. She was a beautiful woman, and his body responded .to the tempting vision presented. If he’d already had her, what was one more time...
“No!” He backed away. “I can’t!”
“Of course, you can, love. You’re as ready and randy as a stallion.”
“I don’t mean that. I mean... how will I live with myself? How can I ever look Anthony in the eye again?”
Honoria sat up and glared at him. “You damned men are all alike. Always taking each other’s part.”
Honoria rose and began to dress. Christian sank into a red velvet chair. His ailing body felt the worse for wear. He could scarce wait until the food arrived and he could eat to settle his stomach.
“I’m sorry,” he told Honoria, trying to be gentle. “I’m certain last night was wonderful, but even if we shared the most stupendous lovemaking in the world, nothing would change. You’d still be married to Anthony. I’d be a cad to continue the affair.”
He glanced at her again. She looked angry now, her lips drawn together in a thin line as she swished around the bedchamber in a crimson dressing gown. Experience told Christian that it would be wisest not wait for breakfast after all.
Gritting his teeth against the torments of head and stomach, he rose and began to pick up his clothes. He’d succeeded in putting on his breeches, shirt, and stockings when there was a knock on the door. He swore and grabbed his tasseled Hessians as the little maid led in two footmen with a cart of delicious-smelling food. With a rapid bow to Honoria, Christian slipped past the servants and into the hall.
“You’ve done it now, Faraday,” he muttered as he tiptoed down the corridor. “The old boy will probably call you out. Who could blame him? If I ever had a wife...”
The idea almost brought a smile to his lips. Ludicrous thought, that. Christian Faraday would never marry. There was no reason for such idiocy. The only point to marriage was begetting an heir, and he had absolutely no interest in securing the family fortune. Why should he give a fig what happened to his property after he died?
At the bottom of the walnut stairway, Christian met the Averill family’s stern, graying
butler. “I need a way home, Phelps,” Christian said. “And if you could get someone to help me with my boots.”
Phelps snapped his fingers to summon a footman. The servant bent to aid Christian in dressing.
The butler went to speak to the doorman and quickly returned. “I’m surprised you’re leaving so soon, my lord. I thought the festivities were scheduled to continue for several more days.”
“I’m afraid I’ve had my fill. Haven’t the stamina I once did.”
Phelps raised his brows in disbelief. Christian shrugged. “Is Averill awake yet?” he asked.
“Not yet. But I’d be happy to give him a message for you, my lord.”
Christian tried to think of a plausible explanation for his abrupt departure. He couldn’t recall a single instance when he’d ever walked away from a house party. No one would believe him if he said he had family business to attend to, nor could he use the excuse of ill-health. For all his current discomforts, he knew he looked perfectly well. His friends always marveled at his ability to indulge in the most outrageous dissipations and remain energetic and robust
“I’ve another function to attend,” he finally said. “I’d forgotten until this morning. An engagement in the country actually. I don’t expect to return to London for several days.”
Although Phelps appeared unconvinced by his explanation, Christian felt he had done his duty. If Anthony discovered the affair with Honoria, Christian would become persona non grata in the Averill household. This way, he had an excuse to avoid London for awhile.
The doorman arrived to say that a coach was waiting for Lord Bedlington. Nodding to Phelps, Christian left the town house and made his way rather shakily down the long walk to the drive.
“My lord,” the driver of the hansom bowed. “Where may I convey you?”
“Brooks. By the shortest route possible.”
Christian leaned back against the squabs inside the spacious, well-sprung carriage and closed his eyes. He’d have breakfast at the club. Then he needed a place to hide out for a few days, somewhere out of London. Unfortunate that it was only February. Most of his friends were already in the country, having left the city well before the holiday season. Of course, there were any number of hostesses who would be most gratified if Christian showed up uninvited on their doorstep.
Trouble was, he had little taste for further revelry.
The incident with Honoria distressed him. He could now, barely, recall some of the early events of the night before. As the pieces fell slowly into place, his unease increased.
Lord Anthony Averill had invited a select group of mostly bachelor friends to his town house for dinner. After the meal, he assured his guests that his wife had gone out for the evening, and then announced that they would be entertained by some breathtaking Cyprians.
The room was darkened and the ladies filed in. Wearing masks and dressed in sheer white gowns of the classical mode, the dainties paraded their charms before the assembled company. Gossamer fabric revealed the outlines of dainty waists and curvaceous hips, while outrageously low-cut bodices exposed bounteous cleavage and rouged nipples.
The women circled the dazzled, chuckling Men. Then each of the impures selected a partner. Christian had memories of reaching out to fondle the creamy-skinned nymph who approached him. What little of her gown there was almost immediately fell away in his hands, and he caught a glimpse of auburn pubic hair.
Still masked, the naked goddess led him down a dim hallway to a private bedchamber illuminated by a single candle. The wench had danced, undulating sensually before him. Then she offered him wine. With the effects of brandy still swirling in his head, the wine must have utterly done him in. Try as he might, he could not recall anything after that.
At some point, Honoria must have taken the mask off, but in the dim light and his befuddled state, he obviously had not recognized her. An uneasy doubt gnawed at him. How was it possible he had bedded such a beautiful woman and had no recollection of the incident?
He turned the matter in his mind, wondering at his lapse of memory. It had never happened to him before. Did this mean he’d taken the first step down the road to complete ruin?
A shudder passed down his body. Never before had he seriously considered the dangers of allowing strong drink to affect his wits. How easy it was for a man to squander his self-respect for a few moments of amusement.
Due to his uncomfortable thoughts as much as his aching head, Christian frowned, hunched further back against the velvet squabs and closed his eyes.
~ ~ ~
Drawing her silk dressing robe around her, Honoria Averill hurried down the hall. When she reached her husband’s bedchamber, she jerked open the door and stalked in. Anthony was sprawled across the bed, snoring. She approached the bed and pinched his nose between her fingers. He woke with a muffled gasp and sat upright. “What the devil?” he swore.
“You fool!” Honoria put her hands on her hips and glared at him. “You were supposed to burst in and challenge Faraday. Instead, you were here, snoring like an old goat!”
Anthony clutched his head. “Bloody hell! Don’t shout so. I still haven’t recovered from all the wine.”
“You’re pathetic! Can’t even manage a simple deceit like this one.”
“It’s not too late.” Anthony jumped from the bed and began to grope for his clothes.
“Yes, it is. He’s gone. Went dashing out of the room as if the hounds of hell were after him.”
“I’ll catch him before he leaves the house.”
“And what will you say?” Honoria’s voice dripped scorn. “That I came and told you he’d taken me to bed? Even with the drug addling his wits, he won’t believe that.”
Anthony paused in struggling into his pantaloons. “What do we do now?”
Honoria’s generous mouth curled in a sneer. “I don’t know, Anthony. You’re supposed to be the clever gamester. Why don’t you think up a new trick?”
~ ~ ~
“Gads, Faraday, you look like something the cat dragged in.”
Christian smiled tightly at Sir William Pennington as he encountered the stout nobleman in the foyer of Brooks. “Thanks for the words of cheer, Will. Heard you were off your feet for near a fortnight with gout. Still looking a bit done up yourself, I’d say.”
Pennington’s piggish eyes narrowed. “I managed to chair a committee on police reform in parliament this past session, which is more than I can say for you, Faraday. You young cubs nowadays, think of nothing but your own satisfactions. With money and power comes responsibility, boy. Why, at your age—”
Christian walked away, distressed that Pennington’s critical comments mirrored his own growing doubts.
Entering the high-ceilinged dining room, he looked around. Although he would never have admitted it publicly, at this moment, he desperately needed a friendly ear to share his worries with.
No, not Appleford, he decided as he observed the balding, ruddy-faced lord in the corner. An unredeemable rogue if there ever was one. Determined to kill himself with fast horses and faster women. Had at least three mistresses and was unfaithful to all of them. Odd, but only a few days ago, Christian had admired the man’s panache.
Hertford? An upstanding gentleman, and utter bore. If Christian sat with him, he’d have to endure hours of exposition on the new canal system the earl had invested in.
The devil take it, he thought, again scanning the room. Was there no one...
“Christian!”
He turned at the sound of a familiar voice. “Devon Langley! If you’re not a sight for sore eyes!”
The tall, black-haired lord regarded him with a faintly amused expression. “Speaking of which, Christian, those famous blue orbs of yours look decidedly bloodshot this morn.”
Christian shrugged. “Too much wine and women and too little sleep.”
“Still determined to come to a bad end, I see.”
“ ‘Course, old chap. What else is there?”
The indiffere
nt words rang hollow and Devon gave him a searching look. To cover up the awkward silence, Christian cleared his throat. “So, what brings you to London?”
“Business interests. Her Ladyship and I would languish in the country year round if we could, but the responsibilities of her inheritance won’t allow us to avoid London altogether.”
“Want to do a little wagering later?” Christian asked hopefully. “I hear there’s a new hell on Jerym Street”
“No, thank you. Seems a waste of time these days. Besides, the sooner I finish with my business, the sooner I can get back to Darton Park. You should come, Christian. The fresh air and healthful setting would be the very thing for you.”
Christian hesitated. Here was the invitation he’d hoped for, yet it failed to ease his mind. Away from the diversions of London, he’d have too much damned time to think. He returned to his cynical pose. “Still trying to drag me off to the rustic tedium you favor, eh, Dev?” he drawled.
“All I’m asking is that you try it.” Devon found a table in the corner of the dining room and sat down. “You’ve pursued the fast life for years. Perhaps it’s time you gave simpler pleasures a chance.”
“Polite card parties? Lemonade and small talk with gawky country lasses?” Christian sniffed. “I’d be bored to tears in outside of a week.”
“Perhaps,” Devon conceded, “but you won’t know till you try. If nothing else, I wish you’d consider my offer for Caroline’s sake. She’s dying to show off the house. The locals all think it’s stunning, of course, but she’s not certain it’s up to London standards.”
“Ah, Caroline. That’s really why you’re doing this, isn’t it?”
Devon smiled, the change in expression making him look like a mischievous boy rather than a somber lord. “Actually, she suggested I kidnap you. Drag you back bound-and-gagged on the floor of the carriage.”
Christian gave a mock shudder. “Her Ladyship always was a ruthless sort. It’s well you have no interest in other women. I dread to think what she would do to you if you ever strayed.”
Devon’s smile broadened. “No point to it, old man. Caroline’s the only woman I’ll ever want.”
Earl of Scandal (London Lords) Page 1