Christian felt a twinge of envy. Lord and Lady Northrup appeared devoted to each other. Despite his doubts that such an emotion as love even existed, Christian had to admit that whatever it was that those two shared, there was something magical about it.
Of course, unlike him, Devon Langley had never been one for fast living. While he... Christian winced inwardly as he recalled waking up in bed with Honoria Averill. There was no denying it. He was a wastrel.
Devon frowned at him. “What’s wrong, Christian? Never known you to look so blue-deviled.”
Christian hesitated. This was his chance to unburden himself. But somehow, despite his years of friendship with Devon, he couldn’t get the words out. He forced a smile. “Must have been the wine, combined with the brandy. Had a dashed queer night.”
Devon shook his head. “You’ll rot your brain if you overindulge too often.”
“Have to keep myself amused.”
Devon’s hazel eyes narrowed, and he smiled a smile which would have been chilling if Christian hadn’t known him better. “Caroline’s right. I have to get you out of London. I still have some acquaintances on the East End who would be delighted to kidnap you and deliver you to the Darton Park doorstep on a single word.”
Christian laughed uneasily. “Really, Dev. No need for that. If you’re going to be so insistent, I’ll come willingly, I swear it.”
“Yes, swear.” Devon’s voice was firm. “Swear that you’ll come. And, furthermore, swear that you’ll stay long enough to do yourself some good.”
“How long is that?”
“Until the Derby.”
“Surely you jest! That’s months from now!”
“It won’t do you a bit of good to return to London after a fortnight and immediately resume your self-destructive ways,” Devon said sternly. “What you need is a complete change of outlook. Something to give your life meaning.”
“And I suppose you imagine that I will stumble onto that shining, noble purpose in the godforsaken wasteland you call ‘home’?”
“I don’t know. At least you’ll have a chance to restore your health and clear your wits.”
“I’m not unhealthy! My physique is as sound as a horse’s!”
“Hah! Have you looked in a mirror lately, Christian? Your skin’s sallow, your eyes more red than blue. A few more years of this and your insides will start to disintegrate from being pickled in spirits all the time. And your mind will go as well. That’s the worst of it. If you wait too long, you’ll end up a bacon-brained fool like Farningham.”
“Farningham!” Christian experienced a wave of revulsion. The once-elegant earl of Rosemore was now known mainly for getting so foxed at parties that he spent the evening slumped, drooling, in a chair in the corner.
“That’s nonsense,” Christian protested. “I’m exceedingly fit. I go a few rounds at the Daffy Club twice a week and there’s hunting in the season and races whenever I can get up a wager.”
Devon shook his head, looking very serious indeed. The knot in Christian’s stomach tightened. He stood abruptly. “Pardon me, old boy.”
In the lavatory, he leaned over the water closet, wracked by a spasm of dry heaves. Finally, he straightened, then washed his hands and gazed bleary-eyed into the glass. What was Devon talking about? He still looked like the same old Christian. Didn’t he? He leaned closer. Were there not faint strain lines around the famous Bedlington blue eyes? A trace of fleshiness to the once firm, manly jaw? A hint of puffiness obscuring the dimples so many women had admired?
Christian felt his ailing stomach clench again. The life of dissipation had begun to take its toll. At this rate, he would eventually come to resemble his great-uncle Albert!
The thought struck him rigid with dread. Before his eyes the image in the glass altered. The athletic body grew thick with bloat, the bloodshot eyes, pouchy and mean, the aquiline nose, swollen and red.
Christian brought his hands to his face in horror. “Gads! I must do something!”
He turned on his heel and left the terrifying vision in the glass behind.
At the entrance to the dining room, he paused and tried to gain control of his nerves. He must take Devon up on his offer. It was the only solution, the ideal escape from his current life of dissipation.
But doubt nagged at him. What if he couldn’t do it? What if he had advanced so far into ruin that there was no turning back?
He approached the table where Devon sat. His friend put down his tea and regarded him intently as he slid into his chair. “What’s wrong, Christian? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”
“In a way, I have.” Christian motioned to the decanter of brandy in front of him. “Take that away,” he told the waiting servant.
“Sorry,” Devon said “I thought you’d want some `hair of the dog that bit you’. Rather have some of this?” He pushed a pot of tea towards Christian.
“No, thanks.”
Devon watched him a moment longer, then said, “Now, about my invitation, what do you say we make things a little more enticing by turning it into a wager?”
“A wager?” Christian felt a twinge of interest. He was always up for a challenge to his absurd good luck.
“Yes. Let’s say that I wager that you won’t be able to manage to stay away from London until May.”
“Stakes?” Christian asked, his excitement growing.
“You set them. Both of us can afford to lose a decent bit of blunt, so money’s not the thing.”
“Say five thousand,” Christian answered quickly. “And something else, some terrible affront to our pride that the loser must endure.” He grinned at Devon, rapidly getting into the spirit of things. “The loser has to drive his phaeton through Hyde Park wearing not a stitch of clothing!”
Devon raised his brows. “Really, Christian.”
“All right then, something else. Something which would embarrass me as much as it would you.”
“Is there anything which embarrasses you?” Devon asked.
Christian recalled waking up in bed with Anthony Averill’s wife. “I’m certain there is. I’ll have to think on that part of it. But I accept the wager anyway. Five thousand it is.”
Devon held out his hand and they shook.
“When do you want to leave?” Devon asked.
“Today. No sense putting things off. But I’d rather take my own rig. If I’m going to be trapped in the country for months, I want my beautiful new grays with me.”
“That suits my plans. I’ll be in London for several more days, but you’re welcome to go on ahead. I’ll warn you, though, the roads are treacherous. You can’t drive like a madman as you usually do.”
Christian grinned. He’d sworn off strong drink and other defilements, but that didn’t mean he had to give up every vice. After Devon left, he should be able to find someone willing to wager against him making Derlingham in five hours or less!
Two
As he drove north, Christian decided that Devon was right. His brain had rotted. Only a madman would race an open curricle in such abysmal weather. The roads were slick with ice, the air so damned raw, Christian’s face ached, and his hands had gone numb in his calves’ leather driving gloves.
He swore as another gust of wind caught his beaver hat and threatened to jerk it off. Grabbing the hat with one hand, he kept control of the reins with the other as the carriage bounced over the frozen ruts.
His stop at the town house to pick up the curricle and grays had delayed his departure until well after noon. Now it grew dark and he still had an estimated ten miles to travel. Gone was all hope of winning his bet with Wyngate. At this point, simply arriving in one piece at the posting station in Derlingham was his fondest wish.
The road wound into a forested area, which blocked the wind but did nothing to aid the fading light. Christian squinted into the gloom. All at once, a dark shape appeared in the road. He jerked hard on the reins, trying to avoid the oncoming carriage. His curricle hit a rut and went airborne, the
n landed with a jarring thud. The grays whinnied frantically as the careening vehicle crashed into the ditch and fell sideways.
Christian threw himself clear and landed in a pile of leaves. His first thought upon regaining his wits was for the horses. He picked himself up and hurried to them. Speaking soothing words, he examined their quivering, sweaty flesh inch-by-inch. Delilah seemed unharmed, but Jezebel gave a low nicker when he touched her right hock. “Damn!” he muttered.
Whirling, he stomped toward the other vehicle. It had halted a short distance down the road. As the driver approached him, Christian let loose with a violent tongue-lashing. “Are you blind? Didn’t you see me coming? Or, are you too hen-witted to think that quickly?”
“Hen-witted! You nearly run me off the road. Then you have the audacity to blame me!”
Christian halted in his tracks at the sound of a distinctly feminine voice.
“Begging your pardon, ma’am. I didn’t know you were a woman. That is, I...”
“Oh, really,” she interrupted tartly. “Meaning that if I were a man, you would find no impediment to blaming me for an incident that was clearly your fault.”
“Of course not, it’s only that—”
“Indeed, sir,” she continued. “Your behavior is unspeakably arrogant. No matter who I am, you owe me an apology.”
Christian felt his face grow tight with exasperation. He wasn’t used to a female using that tone of voice with him, especially a little chit like this.
She had drawn near enough that he could finally make out his antagonist. A mass of unruly curls framed her delicate oval face, and silver spectacles glinted above an up-tilted freckle-sprinkled nose. She looked no more than sixteen.
“What are you doing out on this road alone?” he demanded.
“I’m going home,” she answered, still in that insufferable tone. “If you hadn’t nearly run me down, I’d be there by now.”
“You shouldn’t be out alone this late. Think of your reputation.”
“My reputation? Fiddlesticks! Everyone around here knows me. If people want to gossip, why should I care?”
“There may be brigands who travel these roads. You could have met one of them instead of a gentleman like me.
“Gentleman?” Her voice was scathing. “I didn’t know ‘gentlemen’ nearly ran people off the road.”
“I didn’t nearly run you off the road! I simply didn’t see your vehicle until it was too late. I swerved to miss you and ran my own rig into the ditch!”
“Hmmph!” she sniffed. “You were clearly traveling too fast. And not paying attention either. Otherwise you would have seen me.”
He wanted to throttle her! It was unthinkable she persisted in the delusion he was in the wrong!
“One of my horses is lame,” he said, trying to impress upon her the extent of his injuries. “And I think the axle on my curricle is broken.”
“I’m sorry,” she answered. “Truly I am. But I refuse to take responsibility for that which is clearly not my fault. Besides I must get home. Elizabeth will worry.” She turned and began to walk away.
Christian watched her in disbelief. Then he started after her. “You can’t mean to leave me here. I’ve no way to get to the next posting station, and it’s damn... dashed cold out.”
“What do you suggest?”
“The least you can do is give me a ride.”
He heard her sigh across the twenty feet that separated them. “I suppose you’re right. In the interests of Christian charity, I have no choice.”
He followed her to her vehicle, which turned out to be an open farm wagon. When he put his hand on her arm to lift her up, she pulled away.
“Really, sir! You mentioned my reputation.”
Christian gritted his teeth. What an utterly provoking wench!
He forced his voice to a soothing tone. “I only meant to assist you.”
“No need.” She sprang nimbly into the seat. He followed and attempted to take the reins. She pulled them out of his hands. “You’re certainly not driving. I saw what you did to your own carriage.”
“I’m a crackwhip,” he protested. “I’ve won dozens of races!”
“Hmmph!” was all she said as she coaxed the docile cob into a trot.
Christian sat stiffly on the hard seat, struggling to regain his temper. It was not like him to get so provoked, especially with a woman. He had to admit there was some merit to her scolding words, although she didn’t have to be so shrill about it. In truth, he had been traveling too fast. He was probably lucky to have escaped with no more than a lamed mare and banged up carriage.
The thought softened his mood. That and the sight of her pert profile when he glanced her way. She was rather cunning baggage.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Merissa Cassell.”
“I’m Christian Faraday.” He almost added, “earl of Bedlington,” then decided against it. If he truly meant to change his life, he didn’t need the burden of his title complicating things.
They rode in silence for a time. When they reached the milepost, Merissa turned the carriage off the road onto a narrow lane.
“I say, I thought the posting station was that way.”
“It is. But my home is this direction.”
Christian felt a further lightening of his mood. The chit wasn’t entirely immune to his charm. She obviously couldn’t wait to introduce him to her family. Some things didn’t change. Even in the wilds of the midlands, women found him irresistible.
“If you conveyed me to the posting station that would be more than adequate,” he said, “there’s no need to go out of your way on my account.”
“My sister will worry if I am any later. Besides, we can’t leave your team out in the cold. I’ll have Bob go after them as soon as we arrive.”
Christian felt properly set down. He had assumed she meant to gloatingly present him to her family. Instead, she had been thinking of the welfare of his horses. This woman was certainly different from the adoring London misses he was used to.
~ ~ ~
Get control of yourself, Merissa! He’s merely a man—a wretched nobleman like the ones who ruined Charles!
Merissa gripped the reins tightly in her gloved hands and tried to keep her gaze straight ahead. She would not stare at the tall, immaculately-dressed gentleman beside her, nor would she let his disturbing presence affect her driving. Merissa Cassell was not a titter-pated fool to lose her head over a handsome face and elegant manners.
Besides, his virtues only damned him more in her eyes. That he was clearly wealthy and city-bred only meant that he was undoubtedly also arrogant. Hadn’t he already proven that? He blamed her for his own error in judgment and refused to admit his carelessness. Why, he had shouted at her and called her names before even making an effort to ascertain the circumstances of the accident!
Stubbornly, she nursed her grievances against him. It helped keep her mind off the shock of seeing him up close when he tried to assist her into the wagon. She couldn’t forget the classical perfection of his features, nor the aura of physical power he exuded. Try as she might, there seemed no way to quell the odd bubble of excitement that seemed lodged in her chest.
At least she had been able to keep her discomposure to herself: For once, her sharp tongue had aided her. If she could convince him that she despised his company, maybe she could persuade her own treacherous self of the fact!
He cleared his throat and spoke conversationally. “You mention your sister. Is there no one else at home who will worry if you are late?”
“Of course. Both Bob and Papa would fret if I didn’t arrive by dinnertime. But tonight, I’m only late by half an hour, so Elizabeth alone will note it. Bob will be busy with chores, and Papa will be in his study.”
“Is Bob your brother?”
“You ask a great many questions, Mr. Faraday. For a man who saw fit to lecture me on my behavior, your own sense of propriety seems sorely lacking.”
Meri
ssa smiled at her own tart words. That ought to set his back up a bit.
“My apologies, Miss Cassell.” He inclined his head in a bow. “I meant no disrespect.”
Oh, he was the perfect gentleman now. Irritated, she took the turn onto the drive more sharply than usual. They bounced down the rutted drive. As soon as they reached the house, she halted the team, tied the reins to the bar and hurried to get down from the wagon. She had no intention of having him try to help her once again!
Christian hurried after his hostess, frowning in consternation. Where the devil was she going in such a hurry?
By the time he caught up with her, she was talking to a stocky, roughly dressed man carrying a lantern. “.... about a mile down the main road. He said one of them had pulled up lame.”
The man lifted the lantern to shine it on Christian’s face. “Sir, do you think your horses are sound enough to be led this far?”
“I believe so, but if Jezebel balks, leave her there. There should be a carriage robe you can throw over her. I’ll go back for her myself.”
“You, sir?”
Unlike Merissa, this man obviously recognized him as someone to be reckoned with, Christian thought with satisfaction. “She’s a valuable animal, but I don’t want to put you to any trouble.”
“Never you fear, I’ll see to the horses,” the man said. “I’ll report back to you as soon as they’re safe. You’ll be staying for supper, won’t you, sir?”
“Well...”
‘Course you will. Elizabeth wouldn’t hear otherwise.” Bob went to unhitch the team.
“Jezebel?” Merissa asked. “What sort of name is that for a horse?”
“In. London it’s all the rage to name your cattle fanciful things,” Christian explained. “I suppose it represents an attempt at wit.”
“You’re from London?” Merissa asked as they started towards the house, walking more sedately this time.
“I spend most of the year there. When I’m not hunting or visiting friends.”
“And what do you do in London?”
“Do? Why, I entertain myself”
“I see,” she said in a decidedly frosty tone.
Earl of Scandal (London Lords) Page 2