How to Enjoy a Scandal

by Adrienne Basso

  “You belong to another.”

  “Gwendolyn, please, I cannot bear to see you look so stricken.” He turned her chin and their eyes met. “I did not intend for this to happen. On my word of honor, you must believe me.”

  Gwendolyn gulped down a deep breath of emotion. “I know. I never believed I would go so far, I never thought at my core I was so weak, that I would act so foolishly.”

  The reality of what they had done began to slowly sink into her conscience and her throat grew painfully tight.

  Even now, when she knew she had no claim on him, she felt wildly possessive.

  I must leave. I must get away.

  She started to move, realized she was naked and a shock of modesty overcame her. Pulling the coverlet to her chin, she stared at him mutely.

  He sat up in bed, allowing the covers to fall away from his well-muscled chest. “Do you need something?”

  Helplessly, her eyes were drawn to the trail of hair that began on his chest and continued down until it disappeared beneath the bed linen cinched around his waist. Disgusted with herself for still feeling such a strong physical and emotional connection to him, Gwendolyn turned away.

  “Jason, please, do not speak of this any longer. What we have done is so very, very wrong.”

  “Ah love, try not to look so miserable. Far worse sins than this can be forgiven.”

  “That hardly brings me any comfort.” Gwendolyn grimaced, her heart hammered painfully against her chest.

  “Would it have been better if you had pushed me away, slapped me hard across the mouth when I tried to kiss you?”

  “To my utter shame I did not even try.”

  “Because you wanted me as much as I wanted you.”

  She rubbed her hand across her forehead, sighing deeply. “Wanting, and having the right to indulge those passions, are not the same.”

  He leaned across the bed, coming so close their noses nearly touched. “I want to marry you.”

  Gwendolyn snorted. His outrageous words dissolved her modesty. She sprang from the bed and began fumbling through her clothes, searching for her undergarments. “How terribly inconvenient that you already have a wife. Makes it a bit difficult for me to hold you to that promise, does it not?”

  “I do not have a wife.”

  The chemise she was holding fluttered to the carpet.

  “What?”

  He took her hand and brought it to his mouth, then kissed her knuckles ever-so-gently. “I know this makes no sense and I regret that I am not at liberty to explain it all, not yet at any rate. But know this, my darling. I will marry you.”

  Gwendolyn lowered her gaze to stare down at their joined hands. He squeezed hers tightly and she yanked her hand from his hold. “I deeply regret ever telling you that you need to be more fun-loving and frivolous, my lord. When I told you that, this is not what I meant. A joke in poor taste is far worse than a somber disposition.”

  “I am not joking. I am perfectly serious. I adore you.

  With all of my heart and soul. Mark my words, I will be your husband one day.”

  He did not elaborate and a deadly stillness came over her. “You mock me,” she whispered.

  “No! Never!”

  It took several seconds for his denials to sink into her mind. Gwendolyn felt even more uncomfortable. She turned and looked into his eyes, hoping to find some clue to his emotional state. His returning gaze was steady and confident, filled with purpose. She continued to stare into his brilliant green eyes and when his gaze never wavered, it gradually became clear that he was perfectly serious and totally sincere.

  Gwendolyn slowly sank to the edge of the bed. She reached for the garment at her feet and clutched her chemise to her breast, holding her back rigid with surprise. “You cannot mean that you are planning to divorce Lady Fairhurst? The scandal would be unbearable.”

  “That is not what I said. There will be no divorce and no scandal.”

  “How?” she croaked.

  “You must trust me.”

  Gwendolyn bowed her head and studied her twisting fingers. Marry him when he already had a wife? But no, he claimed he did not have a wife, even though everyone knew he had recently acquired one. The London papers wrote about her, wrote about the parties they had attended, the plays they had seen, the charities she favored with her patronage. Surely Lady Fairhurst was a real woman, a true wife?

  Suddenly, Gwendolyn could not catch her breath, could not still the thundering of panic in her heart. No divorce, no scandal? How would Lady Fairhurst vanish into thin air? Through foul play?

  “There are only two ways to be rid of a wife. Divorce or death. And since you claim you will not divorce Lady Fairhurst, then you must be plotting something far more dire.” Gwendolyn shivered at the notion. She shifted her gaze, feeling her eyes glimmering with tears. “You cannot harm her.”

  Jason eyed her askance. “Well, if that was what I planned, I would be a fool to tell you.”

  His tone was mocking and filled with indignation.

  Gwendolyn paused. “I’m sorry.” A sigh broke from her.

  “You are many things, but I do not believe you capable of doing something so vile as murdering an innocent woman.”

  “Thank you. I think.” His hands closed around her shoulders and he looked directly into her eyes. “I would go to extraordinary lengths to have you, but would surely stop short of murder. Do you not know me any better?”

  “Perhaps that is part of the problem. Apparently I do not know you very well at all.”

  “Then we must work toward changing that sad state of affairs.”

  Gwendolyn’s lips quivered. She could not allow herself to know him any better, to get any closer. She was inexperienced and unsophisticated, but not naive. She understood how cruel, how unfair life could be at times.

  She wondered if she could be happy in an illicit love affair, if she would be willing to sacrifice her reputation to be with the man she loved.

  For in that moment she admitted that she loved him.

  She loved him with all her heart, loved him with a breathless intensity that frightened her for it made her forget her very name. She loved him, even though she would never be free to speak the words aloud within his hearing. Not while he was tied to another woman.

  “I do not know if I can be content with what you offer,” she said. “’Tis hard for me to accept a devil’s bargain.”

  “I will give you the world, my dearest,” he proclaimed.

  “I never aspired to anything that grand, Jason.”

  “Would you settle for my heart?” He stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. “My heart, and my name?”

  She tore her gaze away, blinking back the tears of grief and love. Oh, how she wanted to believe him. Confusion licked at her mind. What he was saying was an impossibility and yet if she did not dare to risk believing him, any chance of sharing a life with Jason would slip firmly from her grasp.

  Was she foolish or daring enough to try?

  Jason’s heart was pounding. This was ridiculous. He should just tell her the truth and be done with it, but a deeper part of him desperately needed to know her feelings were true. That she could love him unconditionally, would trust him completely, even when the evidence before her suggested otherwise.

  Jason’s past with Elizabeth had left a deep wound and Gwendolyn held the power to heal it. For so long he had vowed he would never again be crushed by the needing and wanting that love brought. He would never again allow a woman to fill his mind so completely, to consume the essence of his soul.

  He would not be made weak by all that he felt for a woman. He would never again subject himself to the powerless vulnerability of being the only one who loved.

  He had made several mistakes with Elizabeth, among them being too hasty to declare his feelings. Years of experience had apparently taught him little, for he had just proclaimed his love for Gwendolyn. And he had fallen just as deeply in love—more perhaps, for now he was a mature man,
not a callow youth.

  When he looked at her, his heart turned over. At the beginning, he had been so determined to deny any interest or attraction in Gwendolyn. He made assumptions based on her looks and the rumors of her scandalous past. Now that he knew her, now that he could see below the surface, his love flowed freely. She was proud, and opinionated, intelligent and beautiful.

  She was also generous, loyal, open-minded and practical. Gwendolyn had not returned a declaration when he expressed his love, but he suspected it was her morality that held her back. If he revealed the truth of his identity, would she feel free to express her feelings?

  The debate continued to rage in Jason’s head. The confusion and disbelief on her face when he said he would marry her caused a knot of guilt to twist in his gut.

  He tried to rationalize his actions by telling himself it would not be for too long, and insisting that if she did indeed love him, she would understand and forgive.

  “Please, Gwendolyn, say something. Say anything, for Christ’s sake!”

  She turned her head away and shook it from side to side. “Damn it! I don’t know what to say! Hell, I don’t know what to feel or think!” Slowly, she calmed herself.

  “My head is spinning, Jason.”

  “And you are swearing.”

  Her head shot up. “This is not funny!”

  “Aye, love, you cannot help but be amusing. And adorable. And incredibly beautiful.”

  She drew taut. “You must not say things like that to me.”

  “Why not?”

  “You know why.”

  He quelled the frustration that began to gnaw at him.

  “You must stop feeling so guilty.”

  “Is that what you do?” she asked, her voice quivering.

  “Ignore the guilt?”

  He slowly moved closer, until the top of their thighs touched as he sat beside her. “I have made a shambles of things, but I vow to set it all to rights. I know it is not easy, but somehow you must find it in your heart to trust me.”

  Gwendolyn looked at him, unconvinced. “I cannot listen to my heart, Jason. I must listen to my head.”

  At that moment, Jason almost blurted out the truth, but there was something in her eyes that made him hesitate, a glimpse of feeling that showed she wanted to believe, wanted to trust him.

  “Have you never heard of blind faith?” he asked.

  Abruptly, she pulled herself away and a sharp exclama-tion came from her mouth. “I cannot simply toss my good sense out the window because it is what I desire.”

  Jason also rose to his feet. Needing an activity to occupy his hands, he began to neaten the bed. When it was freshly made, with the sheets pulled tight and the pillows fluffed, he pulled back the coverlet.

  “May I join you?” he asked with a wistful smile.

  Gwendolyn’s astonished expression faded as she jutted her chin forward. “That would be most unwise.”

  “What if I promised to behave? If I vow to do myself physical harm when the urge to seduce you overcomes me?”

  His attempt at humor failed to win a smile from her and in that moment Jason knew he had to tell her the truth. But not tonight. She looked pale and weary with her gaze focused blindly on the far side of the room and he realized that she must be exhausted, physically and emotionally.

  Jason reached for the chemise she clutched tightly in her hand and pryed it from her fingers. Shaking it out, he carefully pulled it over Gwendolyn’s head and began to tie the satin pink ribbons, starting at her breasts and working toward her waist.

  She blinked as if startled from a dream, her hand reaching for his, no doubt to push them away. “Don’t—”

  “Let me help you,” he pleaded. “Since you have no night rail, this will have to do as a sleeping garment.”

  She bowed her head. Relieved she no longer fought, Jason finished dressing her, led her to the bed and tucked her beneath the covers. Then he went to the washstand, returning with a flannel cloth and a basin of water that was pleasantly warm. He gently bathed Gwendolyn’s face and throat and arms.

  He wanted to wash her properly, knowing there must be some virgin’s blood clinging to her upper thighs, but he knew the intimacy would most likely startle and agitate her. So he did the best he could and when he was finished, he set the basin aside, pulled on his evening breeches, then climbed into bed beside her.

  Gwendolyn stiffened and the lines about her mouth went taut. “Jason, please, you cannot stay here tonight.”

  He gathered her into the crook of his arm, her head resting against his naked chest. “Just until you fall asleep, Gwendolyn.”

  She mumbled something inarticulate, but allowed him to remain. At first she was stiff, awkward, but gradually he felt her body begin to relax, heard her breathing settle into a constant rhythm.

  Aroused, but content to watch her sleep, Jason spooned her warm body closer. Gwendolyn’s face was revealed in the moonlight and when he glanced down at her, his heart melted. She looked younger with her eyes closed, prettier, almost docile.

  A strange peace filled Jason’s chest, stretched his heart. For the first time in his adult life he felt the warmth of home while lying with a woman in his arms.

  Felt a sense of deep purpose in his otherwise aimless life, a certainty about his future.

  Tomorrow morning he would speak to Gwendolyn, make a clean breast of things and set everything straight.

  It would not be easy, but it would go better when she was well-rested and calm, when he had her full attention.

  She would be his wife, his devoted companion and they would be very, very happy together. He knew that she belonged in his life, knew they were a well-matched pair, kindred spirts who would never be truly content unless they were together.

  All he had to do was now was convince her.

  By rights, Gwendolyn knew she should never have been able to sleep at all. The enormity of what she had done last night had kept her mind and body in turmoil, yet somehow she had fallen into a restless and dreamless slumber.

  She opened her eyes to a stream of sunlight covering the bed. As promised, Jason was gone, but his presence invaded the chamber. Gwendolyn spied his shaving equipment on the low dresser, his hairbrush next to it.

  The sight produced an odd lump of emotion in her throat that she had difficulty swallowing back.

  She glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. Nearly eight. The house appeared quiet, though Gwendolyn assumed the staff had probably been up for hours. And what of her sister? Was Dorothea awake? Had she spent a restful night? Was she improving as the doctor had promised?

  Needing the immediate answers to these troublesome questions prodded Gwendolyn to arise from the bed.

  She took several steps for ward and became suddenly aware of the tenderness between her legs. Flushed with the memory of her extraordinar y night with Jason, Gwendolyn brushed aside her regrets. Her time with Jason was over. Given the circumstances, there was no other choice.

  Determined, she crossed the room and opened the viscount’s wardrobe. It felt ridiculously intimate, almost intrusive, to see his garments so neatly hung and arranged inside. Lightly she ran her fingertips over the finely tailored garments, puzzled at how bright and vibrant many of them were—a stark contrast to the conservative and somber colors Lord Fairhurst usually wore.

  Having no time to deeply consider the matter, Gwendolyn shrugged off the puzzling thoughts and searched through the many coats, grinning when she at last came across what she sought—his dressing gown. Made of black silk, with collar and cuffs trimmed in gold velvet, it was a luxurious garment and the only thing even re-motely suitable for her to wear if she wanted to leave the chamber.

  Hastily she put it on, tying the belt tightly at her waist to prevent it from dragging on the ground and rolling back the cuffs several times, exposing her wrists. Modestly covered, except for her bare feet, Gwendolyn left the chamber and hastened down the hallway to check on Dorothea.

  The nurse rose from he
r chair and adjusted the draperies to allow in a bit more sunshine. Her eyebrow rose at Gwendolyn’s strange attire, but thankfully she made no comment.

  “She’s had a quiet night,” the nurse reported. Her hand went to Dorothea’s forehead and she clucked her tongue approvingly. “No sign of fever and that’s very good news. Her ankle will hurt and her head will be sore, but she’ll recover. The young ones usually do.”

  “Thank heavens.” Gwendolyn went to the bed and stroked her sister’s arm. Relief began to flow through her as she noted how natural Dorothea looked. Her cheeks were rosy, her breathing steady, her expression peaceful.

  “Best to let her sleep a few more hours,” the nurse suggested. “After she wakes and has eaten a light meal she’ll be better able to cope with visitors.”

  Taking the nurse’s advice, Gwendolyn returned to her room. She sat on the edge of the bed, then rested her head against the pillow. Her eyelids started to feel very heavy. She let them close, telling herself she would only rest for a few minutes.

  Gwendolyn awoke when a maid arrived, carrying in a tray with hot chocolate and toast.

  “I’ve brought a small repast to break your fast, Miss,”

  the maid said cheerily. “Cook will prepare anything you wish once you have washed and dressed and come down to the dining room.”

  “Thank you.” Somehow Gwendolyn managed a polite smile. Her stomach felt too hot and muddled to eat and the scent of the chocolate made it worse. Ignoring the tray, she scrambled out of the large four-poster bed and searched for her clothing, trying not to panic when she could not find her gown.

  “I have your clothes right here, Miss,” the maid said.

  “Some of her ladyship’s garments arrived last week. The housekeeper checked her chamber, but there was nothing appropriate for you to borrow. So we cleaned the garments you wore last night.”

  Borrow clothes from Lady Fairhurst? Gwendolyn nearly bit her tongue trying to hold back her exclama-tion of horror. It was bad enough she had stolen her husband’s affections. It would be beyond imagining to then start wearing her clothing.

  The very notion made Gwendolyn queasy again. Heart pounding, she leaned against the bedpost and took several deep breaths of air to calm herself. By the time the maid had poured hot water in the china basin, Gwendolyn felt steady enough to wash.