Earl of Scandal (London Lords)

by Gillgannon, Mary

  Oh, he was wicked! She well knew that when he referred to “urges of the flesh” he was not referring to her rumbling stomach.

  Determined to ignore him, as well as the heated, sensual memories his words aroused, she pointed to the dish filled with some sort of thin rolled cakes. “What are those?”

  “Ah, the Crepes Suzette. I believe they’re kind of a light, sweet pancake drizzled with orange sauce.”

  Merissa’s mouth watered, and she nodded to the-footman waiting with tongs and a plate. “Some of those, I think, as well as a bit of bacon, potatoes, perhaps a roll or two.” She was making a pig of herself, but why shouldn’t she? Perhaps her gluttony would convince Christian that she wasn’t the stuff society misses were made of. Snide Mrs. Hammond always said “ladies” should never be seen indulging in something so crass as eating.

  After filling her plate, the footman took it over to the table by the chintz-draped windows and helped Merissa be seated. Christian sat across from her. “Are you going to watch me eat?” she asked, alarmed.

  “Certainly not. I simply thought to keep you company, read The Post and try my very best to keep my gaze from straying to your delicious lips.”

  Merissa cast a panicked glance at the expressionless face of the footman. Did he have any idea what his master was up to? Or was it customary for Christian to flirt with his female guests at the breakfast table?

  How many had there been? She wondered as she began to eat. How many actresses and demireps had sat at this table while Christian indulged in mischievous repartee? Had the vulgar Lady Fortescue ever eaten breakfast here? The thought almost made Merissa lose her appetite.

  She glanced up to see Christian peering over his newspaper. “I thought you said you wouldn’t watch me.”

  “I tried my best, but the way you look in that gown, it’s hard to keep my eyes away.”

  “Flattery is cheap,” Merissa said and then decided that under the circumstances she sounded rude and ungrateful. After all, he had obviously gone to great lengths to please her. “Did you truly go shopping and select these things for me?” she asked.

  “Of course. Did you think I had closets full of women’s gowns available in case of unexpected female guests?”

  “Well, I don’t know,” Merissa said tartly. “The bedchamber where I slept was certainly furnished to please a woman.”

  “Oh, that. It was already done up with all those fripperies and furbelows when I bought the house. I don’t think it’s been used the whole time I’ve lived here.”

  Of course if he had a female guest, she would have undoubtedly shared his bedchamber. Merissa took a few more bites at the marvelous food, then pushed her plate any. “Oh, my, that was wonderful. Please convey my compliments to your kitchen staff.”

  “I’m glad you liked it.” Christian rose and extended his hand. “Now, let us consider the rest of the day’s entertainment.”

  Merissa stood. “Charles and I must go back to Whytcliff as soon possible. Elizabeth will be worried sick.”

  “I’ve already sent her a message explaining that you and Charles are perfectly safe and will be staying with me for a few days.”

  “Oh, no, we couldn’t possibly!”

  “Why not?” Christian took hold of her hand and began stroking it in the most distracting fashion. “I was a guest in your home on several occasions. Why will you not allow me to return your hospitality?”

  “That was different.” The feeling of his warm strong fingers against her skin aroused quivering sensations inside her. She jerked her hand away and glanced to see if the footman saw. He appeared to be busy clearing dishes from the table.

  “Why was that different?”

  Her thoughts flitted around in her head like birds, “Why? I don’t know. It simply is.”

  “I’m not asking for much.” His voice was silky soft. “Merely that you spend a few days here and allow me to show you the sights of the city. After all, you do rather owe me a favor. I rescued your brother from utter disaster. The least you can do is allow me to enjoy the pleasure of your company.”

  “Where is Charles?” she asked desperately. Christian was a master of seduction. A few more moments of listening to his persuasive, velvety voice and she would be utterly witless and unable to refuse anything he asked.

  “He went to tour the city with some friends of mine. Never fear, they’re all discreet and reasonable fellows. They won’t lead him into trouble. No gambling hells, I promise you.”

  Merissa heaved a sigh. How could she object? She was in Christian’s debt, the whole family was. “All right,” she said. “We’ll stay for a visit. But only a short while.”

  Christian smiled expansively and held out his arm.

  “What do you think of Hyde Park?” Christian asked as he drove the phaeton along one of the immaculately groomed trails.

  “It’s quite pretty,” Merissa said, “And I’m certain it will be even lovelier in a couple of weeks. Most of the trees are barely beginning to bud.”

  “Yes, by late March the roadways will be crowded with curricles and gigs full of ladies come to see the daffodils and buttercups in bloom.”

  “It’s actually already much busier than I expected. What are all these people doing here?”

  “Oh, they come here to see and be seen.” Even as he spoke, another vehicle approached. Inside was a gentleman in an immense caped driving coat and tiny blonde woman bundled in furs. “Good afternoon, Your Grace, Madam.” Christian tipped his tall beaver hat. The man and woman nodded in response.

  “The duke of Tilsbury and his wife,” Christian said as they pulled away.

  “You know them?” Merissa asked in amazement.

  “Indeed, I believe the duke attended my christening. Old friends of the family, you know. Can’t say I see much of them socially.”

  Merissa gave a giggle.

  “What’s amusing?”

  “It’s merely... you don’t seem anything like those people. You’re not stuffy, and you don’t drive around with your nose in the air.”

  “Do you want me to?” Christian immediately did a hilarious pantomime of the stiff-necked, somber-faced duke.

  “Of course not!” Merissa slapped his shoulder playfully “If you ever acted so full of yourself around me, I’d... I’d...”

  “What?”

  Merissa withdrew her hand. Christian Faraday was a rich, important lord. What made her think she had the right to set him down? “Nothing.”

  His face grew serious, and as if guessing her thoughts, he said, “Don’t ever change, Merissa. It’s the sharp-tongued hussy who threatened to leave me in the ditch to freeze to death who’s captured my heart.”

  Captured my heart. More playful banter. But he looked so sincere as he said it, as if he really meant his words.

  Merissa looked away and swallowed. Her throat felt tight.

  Christian suddenly seemed very occupied by his driving. After a time, he guided the phaeton out of the park and back on the cobbled streets of Mayfair. “Where are we going now?” Merissa asked.

  “Bond Street. I’m taking you shopping.”

  “But that’s hardly necessary. You’ve already provided me with this beautiful costume.” She touched the deep blue velvet pelisse he’d presented her with before they left the town house. Amaranth blue, he’d said it was called. “And my own clothes will be laundered by tomorrow if I need a change of garments.”

  “Ah, but you have nothing to wear to the soiree at Lady Wentfield’s tomorrow night. If the modiste is to have something ready by then, we must select your attire this afternoon.”

  Merissa stiffened. “Who says I’m going?”

  “Don’t you want to? There will be a full orchestra for dancing and tables and tables of delicious food.”

  She turned to look at him. “If you recall, I didn’t make a very good impression at the Northrup’s party. I won’t endure that sort of thing ever again, even to please you.”

  “Endure what?”

 
“All the beau monde laughing at me. Perhaps at the Northrups’ you were so distracted by Lady Fortescue that you closed your ears to all the insulting gossip directed toward Elizabeth and me.”

  “Ah, but that was different. Most of the nastiness came from the local gentry, an ill-mannered lot if I’ve ever seen one. The ton are different. I assure you, if they observe you arriving on my arm, they will treat you with courtesy and respect.”

  “Have you so much influence?” Merissa asked, a touch of annoyance in her voice. She was not sure she wanted anything to do with this snobbish London crowd.

  “It’s not so much a matter of influence, but that they recognize me as one of them.”

  One of them. Merissa had a sinking feeling. Christian and she came from worlds apart. While it was fun dabbling in his glamorous milieu, nothing could come of it.

  Her spirits brightened as Christian stopped the phaeton in front of a shop with a brass sign reading Madam Dubonet, Modiste. Her foray into the glittering London world might be short-lived, but it was still a marvelous adventure.

  Inside the luxuriously appointed shop, a tiny blond-haired woman greeted Christian. “Monsieur, what may I do for you?” She glanced at Merissa. “Do you desire me to dress your wife in the latest fashions from Paris?”

  Merissa went rigid, but Christian handled the woman’s mistake with the easy grace with which he seemed to do everything. “Unfortunately, I do not have the pleasure of addressing Miss Cassell so familiarly. I must present her to you simply as a houseguest of mine, here visiting from Derbyshire.”

  “Ah, of course.” The modiste’s eyes seemed to light up even more. Her gray gaze assessed Merissa shrewdly. “Demoiselle is a beaute naturelle. She will need very little assistance to make her an incomparable.”

  “Precisely.” Christian nodded to the modiste. “I will return for her in one hour. Will that give you sufficient time for the measuring and selection of materials?”

  “Oui, Monsieur”

  “Excellent.” Christian bowed to Merissa. “Enjoy yourself, Miss Cassell.”

  He started towards the door, then added, “Spare no expense, madam. The bill may be sent to my solicitor, Archibald St. Clair, on James Street.”

  “Very good, my lord.” Madam Dubonet dropped a curtsy.

  Merissa cleared her throat nervously. “Do you, that is... is... Chr... Lord Bedlington a regular customer of yours?”

  “Oh, dear me, no.” Madam stepped behind Merissa and perused her from that angle. “He’s never been in here before.”

  “Then how did you know who he was?”

  “I didn’t. But I did know he was someone of consequence. Sir Archibald only does business with the oldest, most respectable families.”

  “So, you also assumed that Lord Bedlington was quite well off.” Merissa turned so she gazed at the modiste directly. “I won’t countenance your cheating him on price. Christian may not care if you charge him a fortune, but I do.”

  Madam Dubonet smiled ingratiatingly. “Oui, demoiselle. I see you are clever as well as beautiful. No wonder Lord Bedlington is so enthralled.”

  “I would hardly say he was ‘enthralled.’ “

  “No?” The modiste raised her brows, then shook her head knowingly. “Demoiselle is from the country after all.”

  Merissa felt slightly set down, but she didn’t really know how to respond. She could hardly act insulted over the fact that Madam Dubonet had misunderstood her relationship to Christian.

  The awkward conversation was soon forgotten as Madam Dubonet led Merissa into a backroom where bolts of exquisite fabrics, ribbons, and laces were piled near to the ceiling. Merissa stared in awe.

  “Does demoiselle see anything that catches her fancy?”

  “I don’t really know. There’s so much to choose from.” Merissa met the modiste’s gaze. “I’m attending a party at a Lady Wentfield’s tomorrow evening, and I need something appropriate.”

  Madam Dubonet nodded. “Lady Wentfield is one of the most fashionable hostesses in London. We must create something that will make demoiselle outshine all who are there.”

  “What do you suggest?” Merissa suddenly felt nervous. She wished Elizabeth were with her. Her sister was the one who had a flare for colors and styles.

  The modiste pressed a finger to her lips in thought. “Something restrained and yet elegant. Refined but sensual.” She snapped her fingers, and a young woman, even more tiny and blonde than the modiste, appeared from behind a curtained doorway. “Giselle, bring me that grayed blue silk and the silver netting.”

  For the next half hour, Merissa stood impatiently in her chemise as the two women fussed over her, measuring and draping, stepping back to assess the effect, then pinning and measuring some more. She was rather disappointed with the fabric they’d selected—she’d have preferred a brighter, more dramatic color. But she guessed they knew what they were about. Although certainty their cooing remarks about her “swan-like neck,” her “lovely bosom” and her “lavender-blue eyes” were a bit off-putting. She felt rather like a heifer being groomed for market.

  But it was Madam Dubonet’s comment as she helped Merissa back into the lavender day dress that pushed her to exasperation. “It has been a pleasure to dress you, demoiselle,” the modiste said, gray eyes sparkling. “I hope you will remember my small part in your success once you are Lady Bedlington. Having a countess as a patron would fulfill my fondest dreams.”

  “Lady Bedlington!” Merissa shook her head. “Why you misunderstand things altogether! His Lordship and I are merely friends!”

  “Ah, he has not proposed yet? Do not despair, demoiselle, he will.”

  “But how can you possibly think such a thing? I’m an absolute nobody! A quaint country miss he seeks out merely for amusement!”

  Madam Dubonet shook her head. “You wrong him to say such things. If Lord Bedlington did not have serious intentions towards you, he would not endanger your reputation by putting you in this circumstance.”

  “What do you mean?”

  The modiste arched her finely plucked brows. “A gentleman does not buy clothing for a young lady unless she is a relative, his fiancée, or his mistress. Since you are obviously neither his mistress nor his cousin, and His Lordship is certainly a gentleman, I can only assume that he means to make you his wife.”

  Merissa opened her mouth and then closed it again. Could it be true? Was that why Christian had gone to such trouble regarding her attire? He wanted to make her over as a refined, elegant lady so she would appear as a suitable wife?

  The presumption of the knave! He hadn’t even asked her! And besides, if he wanted to marry her, he would have to take her as she was, plain, no-nonsense Merissa!

  But then she recalled the beautiful blue-gray silk, and the way it had felt against her skin. If she refused this opportunity, she would be cutting off her nose to spite her face.

  Madam Dubonet patted her arm. “Don’t fret, ma belle. You will look exquisite. The rest of the ladies will be beside themselves with envy, I assure you.”

  “But I don’t want...” Merissa gave the modiste a doubtful look. “I don’t want to pretend to be something I’m not.”

  “Demoiselle, it is not the gown they will envy, but your fresh charming innocence. That is something no amount of money can purchase. And I believe it is the very quality that has stolen His Lordship’s heart.”

  ... the sharp-tongued hussy... who has stolen my heart. Christian’s playful words came back to her. But was it only play, or was he trying to tell her that he cared for her?

  Merissa swallowed hard. She’d never been so terrified in her life. To think that Christian might want her, love her. What if she were getting her hopes up for nothing? How would she deal with the pain if he rejected her a second time?

  The tinkle of the bell over the shop door jarred Merissa from her thoughts. Suddenly Christian was standing before her, looking much too big and male for the small salon. His wavy brown hair was ruffled from the breeze,
his cheeks flushed, his smile dazzling. “Ready, Miss Cassell?”

  Merissa nodded and took his arm.

  Fourteen

  Hours later, Merissa hurried down the hall from the bedchamber, and then slowed to a staid walk as she neared the stairs. She must remember to act the lady, but it was difficult to restrain her exuberance. The new gown she wore felt as light as a feather and her laced “Corinthian” sandals were nearly like going barefoot.

  Then she saw Christian standing at the bottom of the stairs and all her inhibitions returned. He looked dashing in a deep blue tailcoat with gray trousers and a pale blue waistcoat—the immaculate elegant earl. His gaze roamed over her. Merissa was acutely aware of the thinness of her garments, the sheer netting that only barely concealed the swell of her breasts. She might as well have been naked from the way Christian regarded her.

  He bowed as she approached him, then reached to take her hand and kiss her fingers. Through the silver net gloves she wore to match her gown, she could feel the warmth of his lips. “You look magnificent. Whatever Madam Dubonet charged me, I vow it was worth twice the amount.”

  Merissa shivered as she withdrew her hand. His bantering words were edged with an intensity that unnerved her.

  “Cold?” he asked solicitously. “Let me fetch your mantle.” He wrapped her in the velvet pelisse and took her hand. “Come, the coach is waiting.”

  As they stepped outside the town house, Merissa stared in surprise. She’d expected they’d ride in the phaeton Christian usually drove, or perhaps a covered barouche in deference to the cool nighttime air. The opulent blue and black coach waiting at the curb was beyond anything in her experience. A raised crest of gold emblazoned the door of the vehicle and two liveried footmen waited beside it.

  “It’s the official Bedlington coach,” Christian explained. “I always feel a little foolish riding in it, but I thought tonight you would be grateful for the warmth.”

  Merissa nodded dumbly. As they reached the vehicle, one of the footmen started to help her in. “That won’t be necessary, Philip,” Christian said. Merissa flushed as Christian himself lifted her into the coach, letting his hands linger on her waist much longer than necessary. At least there was no one to see. The footmen had immediately assumed their places to the front and back of the vehicle.