Ripe for Scandal

by Isobel Carr

  “Well, she has now. I wondered about the startled look she gave me.”

  “Then let’s get out of here, sir.” His voice had taken on a high-pitched whine. “Before she brings them down on us.”

  “A wise suggestion.” Granby tossed his things willy-nilly into his trunk. “Take this down and have the carriage put to. I’ll slip out the back and meet you in the yard.”

  The Irishman set his own bag atop the trunk and hefted them both. Granby spun about, mulling over the information. They wanted the boy back, did they? He might not be able to ruin Beau’s marriage, but he could still take away something she wanted and leave her supremely unhappy. He just had to make sure that she could never find the boy.

  He sauntered down the back staircase, slipping past a harassed-looking maid in a checkered gown and mobcap, and emerged into the busy yard feeling better than he had in days. His postchaise had already been brought out, and the last of the four horses necessary to pull it was being hitched.

  Granby climbed in and waited for Nowlin to join him. The Irishman swung the door shut behind him and threw himself into the rear-facing seat.

  “Another thought occurs to me, Nowlin. Just what did you do with the boy?”

  “Dumped him, sir. Just like you said to.”

  “And if we wanted to find him again?”

  “Then you’d be searching all over England. I dropped him off near a gypsy encampment. Gypsy traders are always willing to take a stout boy on, or so I’ve been told. They could be anywhere by now.”

  CHAPTER 45

  Got word from The Three Crowns,” Leo said with a martial gleam in his eyes. “A one-eyed Englishman was seen leaving there in the company of an Irishman. No sign of a child though.”

  Beau leapt out of her chair and ran to hug him, her skirts nearly tripping her in her haste. “They could have stashed him away. Do we know which direction they went? Is the carriage being readied? Where is Devere?”

  “Slow down,” her brother said, hands gripping her shoulders. “Devere is already on the road. As soon as Sandison pays your shot, we’ll follow.”

  Gareth burst into the room in a whirlwind, hair untidy, a feral smile lighting up his face. Beau felt her heart turn over. This was the man she’d fallen in love with.

  “Let’s go, love,” he said, taking her by the hand and hurrying her along. “He’s on the move, and we’ve got him in our sights. We just have to be patient a little longer.”

  “I’m not feeling patient at this point,” Beau said as they pelted down the stairs.

  Her brother gave a bark of laughter, causing the inn’s cat to bolt from her place at the bottom of the stairs. “If we have to resort to torture, we’ll give you first rights.”

  Beau took Gareth and Leo both by the lapels of their coats, holding them tightly, bound together. “Promise me. Promise me we’ll do whatever it takes.”

  Gareth covered her hand with his own and squeezed. “You know we will, brat. We’re none of us good at losing. Your beastly brother least of all. Now up with you.”

  Beau let her husband boost her into the carriage. He and Leo stood with their heads together, one pale, the other dark, conferring in low, urgent tones. Just as though no estrangement had ever taken place. That was as it should be. If nothing else came out of this, at least one good thing had occurred.

  “What?” Gareth said upon entering the coach.

  “It’s nothing.” Beau swiped a hand over a misty eye and smiled back at him. How could she put it into words? Horror and pain on one side of the scale, friendship and happiness on the other. They didn’t balance out, and one didn’t make up for the other, but the warm glow inside her when she saw them together again was undeniable.

  “Liar.”

  “I never lie.”

  Gareth raised an eyebrow in mocking disbelief. Beau reached out to cup his cheek, smoothing her thumb over the wayward brow.

  “Ask Leo if you don’t believe me.”

  Gareth caught her hand and kissed the palm, lips warm even through the leather of her glove. He tugged the glove off, using his teeth to loosen each finger. “The last thing I want to do is talk to your brother at the moment.”

  Desire mingled with guilt. Guilt over Jamie warred with the guilt of disappointing Gareth. She’d sworn to make him happy, and all she’d really managed was to cause him strife and trouble.

  “Refusing the small pleasures in life won’t bring Jamie back a moment sooner,” Gareth said, hands already fumbling with the fall of his breeches. He took her mouth, hard, tongue dueling with hers. “Touch me.” His hand guided hers to his cock.

  Her hand closed around his shaft, and his breath hissed out of him. “I’ve been a bad wife,” she said softly. A bad wife who hadn’t lived up to her pledge, if only in her own eyes.

  “No, you’ve been an understandably distracted one.”

  Beau held back a smile. He was, perhaps, being more generous than she deserved. She loosened her grip slightly and swirled her palm over the still-swelling head. With a slither of linen and silk, she slid to the floor of the coach.

  Gareth held his breath as Beau swung herself out of his lap and onto the floor. Her mouth, hot and wet, slicked over the head of his cock. Gareth gripped the seat, wanting to thrust his hands into the head of curls spilling over his lap. Heat engulfed him, spread through his veins, and sapped his will. Her lips followed the tight circle of her hand, the stroke now slick. She sucked, and his vision fluttered.

  Gareth grabbed a handful of Beau’s hair and attempted to dislodge her. Her free hand shoved hard against his chest, the heel pushing up against his diaphragm, holding him in place.

  “Beau—” His breath hissed out of him as his balls tightened and drew up, his release only moments away.

  She sucked harder, squeezed harder. Her tongue swirled over the ultrasensitive rim, and Gareth spilled himself into her mouth.

  Beau sucked lightly, and he shuddered in response. She released him slowly, trailing her tongue the length of his shaft, her hand still cradling the base. She smiled up at him, tongue darting out to lick the corner of her mouth. Gareth pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and held it out.

  “You’re indecently good at that for a newly married woman.”

  Beau shrugged and lifted her arms to re-pin her hair. “I always was a quick study when something was important.”

  She was still smiling like a naughty child when a horrible snapping noise broke the silence and the entire coach shivered around them. Gareth grabbed hold of her as the world tilted and lurched, landing them both in a haphazard pile of knees and elbows inside a suddenly dark coach.

  The shouts and curses from the men outside were muffled by the wood. The coach shivered again as it was dragged forward, roughly. Gareth kept ahold of Beau and waited. A pounding knock reverberated through the coach.

  “Sandison? Beau?” Vaughn’s shout was easy to distinguish from the general din.

  “Fine,” Gareth shouted back. “Wheels off?”

  “Smashed to flinders.”

  “Damnation,” Beau grumbled, catching him in the ribs with her elbow as she attempted to climb up off him.

  Gareth bit back an oath of his own and yanked her back down. “Stop squirming about, brat. Door’s underneath us. Nothing we can do until they right the coach.”

  Vaughn said something to the same effect, followed by a shout to mind the horses. Gareth strained to catch the rest of what was happening but gave up when it became evident that it was impossible to eavesdrop from their current position.

  Beau gave a gusty, annoyed sigh and dropped her head back onto his shoulder. “Leo should go on. We’ll lose Granby if he doesn’t.”

  “I wouldn’t waste your breath suggesting it. Your brother’s not going to just leave you here, trapped. I imagine once they’ve settled the horses, he’ll ride on for help and try to pick up Granby’s trail.”

  A disgusted snort was her only reply. Gareth pushed them both up a bit, and Beau yanked at her
skirts and shifted about. “What are you doing?”

  “Trying to get the pad that holds out my skirts to stop bowing out my back in the most uncomfortable manner possible. It’s not meant to be laid upon.”

  After a few more minutes of struggling, she gave a growl of pure frustration and demanded that he help her. Gareth obligingly pushed her up, hands steadying her as she attempted to find footing in the dark amongst the jumble of dislodged cushions, hats, and traveling gear.

  The rustle of fabric and the sound of her breath filled the coach. The hem of her skirts flicked across his cheek as she yanked them up. “Ha!” Her exuberance echoed inside the coach and something fell heavily beside him.

  “What now?” Gareth said, hands sliding up her legs.

  Beau made a tsking sound, like she was rebuking a horse. Gareth grabbed hold of her skirts and pushed himself up so he was kneeling. She pushed at him blindly, attempting to fend him off.

  Gareth chuckled into the dark. “You have a better idea of how to pass the time?” he whispered, head already under her skirts.

  “They’ll hear us,” she hissed back.

  “Not if you’re quiet,” he said, hands on the naked flesh above her stockings. “You can be quiet, can’t you, love?”

  Beau sucked in a harsh breath. She moved slightly, bracing herself as he pushed her thighs apart, tongue delving into the sweet, hidden folds.

  He found the tight peak at the apex and sucked hard. Beau whimpered and widened her stance. Her struggle to remain quiet only served to spur him on. Each little choked-back sound was like a gift or a prize.

  Gareth huffed a breath across her and placed an open-mouthed kiss on the sensitive skin at the top of her thigh, and then he fastened his mouth back over her clitoris and drank her down until she collapsed, gasping and shaking, his arms the only thing keeping her upright.

  He rolled back, taking Beau with him. She landed atop him, limp. Gareth kissed the top of her head and wrapped an arm about her. They lay curled up together until the coach heaved. It bounced and rose. Light leaked in, illuminating the scene of their debauch.

  Gareth burst into laughter, and Beau rolled her eyes. “Whatever my hair looks like, yours is just as bad, I assure you,” she said.

  The coach creaked upward and finally righted itself enough that the door could be opened. “Hurry,” Vaughn said, shoulder braced on the side of the coach. “Not sure how long we can hold it.”

  Gareth thrust Beau out ahead of him and scrambled out after her. Beau stood beside the ruins of the coach, finger-combing her hair back from her face. She twisted the curls up and jammed them back in upon themselves. When she was done, she shook out her skirts and surveyed the scene like a newly arrived monarch disembarking from a ship.

  “I suppose we shall have to wait here while someone fetches another carriage,” she said, nose scrunched up with displeasure. Gareth repressed the urge to laugh again. His wife was adorable when playing the haughty queen.

  “That you will,” her brother said, swinging up into the saddle. “As monstrously unfair as I know you find it.” His horse minced, knees lifted high, obviously eager to be off. Vaughn brought it quickly under control. “Either the postilion or I will be back as quickly as we can.”

  Without another word, he loosened the reins and his horse shot off down the road. The postilion raced after him, leaving them alone with the coachman and the three remaining carriage horses.

  Gareth took Beau’s small trunk from the boot and set it down under one of the blossoming fruit trees at the side of the road. Beau sat down and leaned back against the tree, lacing her fingers together over her stomach. She looked like a disheveled Fragonard. Beautiful, elegant, but with an underlying promise of wickedness.

  She caught him staring and fiddled with her hair again. “What?” she said with a hint of a laugh.

  “Nothing. Or rather, nothing of import. Just admiring the view. You should be painted just like this.”

  “Disheveled and blowsy?”

  Gareth shook his head and sat down beside her on the damp ground. “Radiant.”

  CHAPTER 46

  Padrig Nowlin’s gut churned uneasily. Granby hadn’t said why he wanted to find the child, but it couldn’t possibly bode well for the boy. As far as Padrig had seen, Granby had only the worst of intentions toward everyone and everything.

  They’d stopped in London on their way south, and at the moment, Granby and Padrig’s sister were screaming at one another, their shouts and recriminations barely muffled by the thin walls of the rooms that Granby had installed her in.

  Padrig pulled the pillow over his head as the shouting turned to moans. He’d acted the lackey for months now in a bid to save Maeve, but it was impossible to believe it worth it in moments like this.

  When the sounds of their coupling grew louder, he rolled out of bed and yanked on his clothes. He didn’t have enough money to pay for a room elsewhere, but he had enough for a drink. He didn’t have to be here, listening to that.

  The walkway outside tilted toward the street, leaving Padrig with the sensation of drunkenness as he stumbled away. He chuffed his hands over his arms in an attempt to warm up. He should have grabbed his coat, but it was draped over a chair in the main room, which doubled as Granby’s bedchamber.

  To make up for his lack of coat, he walked faster. He passed one dram shop after another. Raggedy whores watched him from dark alleyways. Even more wretched-looking children huddled in doorways, piled together like puppies for warmth. It was no different from the slums of Dublin, but the sheer size of it was startling and depressing.

  Padrig eagerly fell into the first decent-looking tavern that he could find. He fished in his pocket and came out with five shillings and a few-odd pence. More than enough to get good and drunk on.

  He found a place near the hearth and paid for a mug of ale. He drank slowly enough that he could keep his seat until morning, and with each passing mug, the sound of his sister fucking Granby got a little bit dimmer… Dawn brought him up short and his last penny went for a bun, hot from the oven.

  He pulled out his pocketbook and stared blearily at the notes jotted within. Number Twelve Chapel Street. That was where he’d delivered Granby’s note. Where Lady Boudicea’s brother lived. He washed the last bite of the bun down with the bitter dregs of ale in his mug and set off for Mayfair.

  Viola was drinking tea and reading the morning paper when an unholy pounding on the front door startled her nearly out of her seat. Her butler’s raised voice breached the walls, and she hurried out into the entry hall. Sampson never raised his voice. He never had to. His resemblance to a champion pugilist discouraged any type of violent interaction.

  Sampson was in the process of physically restraining a man so drunk that he was babbling. “Sher’ladyship!” the man yelled, struggling mightily against the much larger butler. “Need to tell someone. Can’t be trusted.”

  “I concur,” her butler said, dragging the man toward the still-open door.

  “Sampson,” Viola said. “Bring the gentleman inside.”

  Her butler’s eyes widened with disbelief and reproof, but he ceased attempting to eject the man and instead half carried him to the breakfast parlor. Once inside, Sampson thrust him into a chair and stood menacingly between Viola and her guest.

  Pen growled, raising her hackles, and Viola shushed her. “I apologize, Mister…?”

  “Sh-Nowlin.”

  “Penthesilea doesn’t like drunks, and I don’t much care for men who abduct women and small children.” Viola poured a second cup of tea and nodded for Sampson to pass it to Mr. Nowlin.

  “Me either,” Nowlin said, reaching for the cup. “S’why you need to find the boy before, before—” He hiccupped and held his breath for a moment, hand clamped over his mouth. “Before Granby.”

  “Granby doesn’t have Jamie?” A flutter of panic and hope made Viola suddenly nauseous.

  The man shook his head and downed the cup of tea. “Gypsies have him. Least I thin
k they do. S’where I left him. Tell Lady Boudicea. Got to get to him first. Oh, God.” Nowlin put his head in his hands. “Ruined everything. Again and again. Please?” He looked up. “Promise you’ll tell her?”

  “I will.” Viola nodded.

  He blundered to his feet, causing Pen to growl again. Sampson caught him before he fell. “Have to go,” Nowlin said. “They’ll wonder where I am. Had to tell someone though. Too drunk to write a note.”

  Sampson looked at her, expression clearly indicating that he was by no means willing to let the man simply leave.

  Viola shook her head. He might be right, but holding Nowlin would do them no good. He’d told them everything he could, and willingly. Keeping him would simply alert Granby to his betrayal and spur him to quicker action.

  “Put him in a hack,” she said. “And pay the driver to take him wherever he needs to go.”

  When she was alone again, she tossed the slice of toast she’d been eating to the dog and sat back in her chair to stew. Leo knew all the horse traders, and more important, they knew him, but there was no possible way of contacting her husband, which was infuriating.

  If the boy was with the gypsies, Leo was the man they needed in order to find him quickly.

  Leo could find them at this time of year, and word would spread… and the gypsies would keep Jamie safe until he could be returned.

  With a growl of frustration, Viola tossed Pen another slice of toast and went upstairs to change into her habit. At a time like this, nothing but a good gallop would serve.

  CHAPTER 47

  The interior of the mail coach stank of unwashed bodies and garlic. Beau was crushed into a corner by an enormous curate who took up far more of the seat than he had paid for. Her knees were fighting for space with those of a dour clerk. All in all, she’d have preferred to be back on the roof.

  When it had become evident that it was going to take weeks to fix their own coach, Gareth and Leo had put her on the first mail coach to London with an available seat. Sadly, it had taken three days before there had been room for her. Three long, frustrating days.