How to Enjoy a Scandal

by Adrienne Basso

  It took a long time to dress. Gwendolyn felt odd wearing an evening gown at this time of day, but at least the garment was freshly cleaned and pressed. And considering all the bizarre and life-altering events of the past twenty-four hours, wearing an evening dress at noon time was hardly the worst infraction.

  Gwendolyn raised her chin and looked in the mirror as the maid quickly buttoned the many small buttons down her back. Thank goodness they were all intact. She had worried that in her haste to disrobe last night, several would have been torn away.

  No sooner had she completed her toilette, Gwendolyn heard the steady tread of footsteps and then someone knocked on the door. The maid answered it and exited at the same time the visitor entered.

  A tremor ran through Gwendolyn as Jason stepped into the room. Oh my, he was in fine form this morning.

  He was dressed in a dark green coat, tan breeches, black waistcoat and tasseled riding boots so shiny they gleamed like a mirror.

  She assumed his valet must have entered the chamber earlier, when she had gone to visit Dorothea. How else could he have gotten such fine, clean garments?

  He bowed, but Gwendolyn’s shaking knees made it too difficult to answer with a curtsy. “Good morning, my lord.”

  “Good morning, my love.” He smiled, the expression lighting his emerald eyes. “And please, do call me Jason.”

  Gwendolyn’s resolve faltered. He looked so handsome, so earnest and loving. My God, how could she refuse him anything?

  “I saw Dorothea very briefly earlier this morning, but I should like to go and sit with her now.” Gwendolyn deliberately spoke in her most polite, impersonal tone, praying he would adopt the same attitude and make it easier for both of them.

  “I’ve just come from her chamber. She was awake for a short time, but has fallen back to sleep, which both the doctor and nurse assured me is perfectly normal.”

  Gwendolyn drew in a slow breath. “Nevertheless, I would feel more at ease if I were with her.”

  “Of course. But first we need to talk. I have something very important to discuss with you.”

  Shaking, Gwendolyn turned away. Jason’s arms enfolded her from behind and the unique aroma of spice and masculinity surrounded her. His nearness sent her heart racing to an irregular rhythm. It was too much.

  Too much.

  She pulled away. “There is nothing at all to be said between us.”

  He pressed his lips together, as if something pained him. “I know this is not easy for you.”

  “Not easy?” The calm visage Gwendolyn attempted to present crumbled to a grimace. She moved to the other side of the room, needing to place a physical distance between them. He looked at her in mild exasperation.

  “There is no need for such melodramatics, Gwendolyn.”

  Her nerves tightened. Jason moved closer and she slid her hands restlessly up and down her arms.

  Without warning, he pulled her against him and kissed her, hard and swift. He moved so fast that she did not even realize his intentions until his mouth was molded against hers.

  Initially shocked, she started to pull away, then somehow, her arms found their way around his neck, and Gwendolyn held him closer. As they continued kissing, the pleasure began to unfold itself inside her and a now-familiar ache started to spread through her body.

  A loud knock sounded at the door. “My lord?”

  Jason pulled back far enough so he could turn his head, and Gwendolyn saw he was glaring at the door.

  “Did you recognize that voice?” she whispered.

  “It sounds like Snowden. My butler.” Jason sighed, but did not release her from his embrace. Instead, he dipped his head and kissed her again.

  Gwendolyn’s knees weakened when he thrust his tongue inside her mouth. The yearning began and the sweet ache of love swelled in her heart. The feeling was so complete, so intense that it overshadowed her doubts and regrets.

  The pressure of Jason’s body against hers as he leaned closer caused a shiver to rage through her. All her senses sprang to life and she felt the now-familiar ripple of longing between her quivering legs.

  He reached down and cupped her bottom, parting her thighs as he rubbed suggestively against her.

  The knock sounded again. “My lord—”

  Jason abruptly pulled his mouth away. “If you knock on that bloody door one more time, Snowden, you will be dismissed! Without a reference.”

  There was an ominous silence on the opposite side of the closed door. For approximately thirty seconds.

  “Please, forgive the interruption, my lord. Mr. and Mrs. Ellingham and Miss Emma have arrived and they are most anxious to see Miss Dorothea,” the butler said in a ner vous, muffled tone. “They are also asking for Miss Gwendolyn. Is she in there with you?”

  “Miss Gwendolyn told me she was going to take a morning walk,” Jason called out. “I am certain she will return shortly.”

  “Her family will be relieved to hear it,” the butler drawled.

  “Please escort the family to Miss Dorothea’s bedchamber. I will join them shortly.”

  “Very good.”

  “More lies,” Gwendolyn muttered. “Will they never end?”

  Jason took a harsh breath. “We will talk, Gwendolyn.

  And soon.” He leaned in and kissed her. She could taste his determination, feel his resolve. “Join us in Dorothea’s chamber when you feel ready to cope with your family.”

  He then quit the room, leaving Gwendolyn burning with confusion, her hand pressed tightly against her tingling lips.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Gwendolyn stood several feet away from the large bed, with a pleasant expression pasted on her face and her hands held behind her back so no one could see them trembling. It had been far more emotional than she expected seeing her family again. Their appearance vividly reminded her of what she might have lost if things had gone differently on the road last night, if the viscount had failed to save them all. It also reminded her of how she had disgraced herself, and indirectly them, by succumbing to her passion last night. She knew it was unlikely, yet a part of her feared her sins would be clearly reflected in her face. So she tried to stay in the shadows.

  “Dorothea, my pet,” Aunt Mildred wailed. “Oh, my heavens, how pale and wan you look, my dear. Quick, Emma, remove my vinaigrette from my reticule. I fear I shall faint at the sight of my darling wounded child.”

  Emma pushed a chair under her aunt’s swaying figure.

  “Gracious, Aunt Mildred, you will frighten Dorothea into a relapse with such nonsense. She looks splendid, does she not, Gwen?”

  “Indeed,” Gwendolyn agreed. “She is already much improved and we are all thankful.”

  Aunt Mildred had always been the sort of woman who cried at the drop of a hat and the moment she had set foot inside Moorehead Manor, the floodgates had opened. Honest emotion and upset could be understood; however, Aunt Mildred’s prolonged hysterics were another matter entirely.

  “And my poor dear Gwendolyn.” Aunt Mildred dabbed at her eyes with her handkerchief and sniffled, then turned toward her. Uncle Fletcher, Emma, Lord Fairhurst and even the nurse imitated the gesture, their curious stares cutting through her.

  Gwendolyn paled and straightened her back as her aunt reached out her arm. Obligingly she moved forward and grasped her hand. “Hush now, Aunt. We are all fine,” she said in a soothing tone.

  The remark set Aunt Mildred into a round of noisy sobs. “So brave in the face of such danger, such horror.

  You are heroes, the pair of you.”

  “It was Lord Fairhurst who saved them,” Emma pointed out, before casting a gaze of pure adoration toward the viscount. “’Tis he who deserved your praise, Aunt Mildred.”

  “Yes, yes, we are grateful to the viscount,” Aunt Mildred said. “Though if he had left the party earlier, as your uncle and I did, you might not have encountered those ruffians upon the road.”

  All eyes turned to Lord Fairhurst. “It was a most unfortunat
e incident,” he remarked in a neutral tone.

  Aunt Mildred sniffed. “’Twas dreadful, my lord. Absolutely dreadful. I wanted to rush over here the moment your ser vant brought us the terrifying news last night, but my dear Fletcher insisted we wait until morning.”

  “You would have only gotten in the way last night,”

  Uncle Fletcher said. “Far better to come after Dorothea has rested and started healing. She is nearly herself already.”

  Aunt Mildred blustered. “She might appear to be herself, but ’tis obvious she will carry these scars for the rest of her life.”

  Gwendolyn stole a glance at the viscount. He looked slightly exasperated and she imagined her aunt’s blub-bering was starting to wear on his nerves. But she looked again and decided there was something else. He seemed bothered, even a bit worried.

  About what?

  “I am fine, Aunt Mildred,” Dorothea exclaimed.

  “Though I do confess to feeling rather tired.”

  It was the cue the nurse seemed to be waiting to hear.

  “All right, that’s enough.” She moved to the center of the bedchamber and clapped her hands together three times. “The patient needs quiet. Too much excitement will do her no good. I must insist you all take your leave at once.”

  “Yes, you must leave,” Aunt Mildred agreed. She shifted in her chair and settled herself closer to Dorothea.

  The nurse straightened the coverlet on the opposite side of the bed with an efficient tug. “You too, madame.”

  “Me?” Aunt Mildred questioned in an affronted tone.

  “But I must care for my niece.”

  “They’ll be plenty for you to do once we bring Dorothea home,” Gwendolyn said.

  She placed her hands on her aunt’s shoulders. Lips pursed, Aunt Mildred was reluctantly brought to her feet.

  Involuntarily, Gwendolyn’s eyes sought the viscount’s.

  The worr y on his face cleared and he became the charming, welcoming host.

  “Cook has prepared luncheon. I shall instruct it to be served immediately.”

  “We would not wish to impose,” Uncle Fletcher said.

  “Nonsense. I told Cook to expect guests. She would feel slighted if you did not at least tr y some of her dishes.”

  They obligingly followed the viscount. The dining room was elegant and formal, the food plentiful and tasty, but the meal was an ordeal for Gwendolyn. She could hardly wait for it to end, for the questions about the horrible incident last night to cease, for the speculation about the community becoming overrun with ruffians to finally be over.

  “When I think of the dreadful nightmare my dear girls went through my heart nearly explodes with emotion,”

  Aunt Mildred said, looking at Lord Fairhurst.

  Then don’t think about it! Gwendolyn wanted to shout, but she bit back her snippy retort. This melodramatic mood her aunt was in was starting to wear very thin on Gwendolyn’s nerves.

  “I shall expect a full investigation from the magistrate,”

  Uncle Fletcher blustered. “To think that decent people cannot travel our roads at night is an abomination.”

  “The Carlyles have canceled their party for this evening,” Aunt Mildred revealed. “I heard that Sophia was having heart palpitations over the possibility that her guests could be harmed.”

  Uncle Fletcher nodded. “Far better to be cautious, under the circumstances.”

  “One incident hardly constitutes a rash of criminal activities,” Lord Fairhurst said casually.

  “I dare say, living in London makes you more accustomed to such dangerous behavior, my lord,” Aunt Mildred replied. She shuddered, then took a long gulp of wine before continuing. “But here in Willoughby, occurrences such as these give us nightmares.”

  “I am certain Lord Fairhurst meant no offense, Aunt Mildred,” Emma interjected defensively. “And he is right. This was an isolated incident.”

  “’Tis far too soon to judge exactly what happened,”

  Uncle Fletcher said.

  They continued to discuss the incident, though thankfully Aunt Mildred declared her nerves far too frazzled to hear the specific details. Which prompted the viscount to add it would be the height of poor manners to allow such inappropriate matters to be spoken of during a meal in mixed company.

  They floundered for a neutral topic, quickly exhaust-ing the weather. Lengthy silences had always made Aunt Mildred nervous and her subsequent attempts to carry the conversation were met with limited results. Uncle Fletcher occasionally grunted a response, the viscount only answered questions directed to him and Emma was too enraptured with the viscount’s company to elaborate on her replies, unless they were directed toward him.

  Gwendolyn said nothing. Eventually, she abandoned all pretense of eating and placed her fork to the side of her dish. She could see Jason out of the corner of her eye and despite her determination to ignore him, she was painstakingly aware of his every move.

  “I agree it is better not to discuss the incident; however, I want to know what you have discovered about these ruffians who attacked you, Fairhurst,” Uncle Fletcher demanded.

  “Though there were four men, regretfully, we were only able to capture one of them,” the viscount answered.

  “He was knocked unconscious during the tussle last night and has not yet come to his senses. The doctor assures me he will eventually awaken.”

  Uncle Fletcher made a scoffing sound. “He’ll have a nasty headache, I’ll wager.”

  “He deser ves far more than that,” Aunt Mildred insisted.

  “Has the magistrate taken him away?” Uncle Fletcher asked.

  “No. Given his condition and the lateness of the hour, it seemed risky to move him last night. He is currently locked in my cellar.”

  Dismayed, Aunt Mildred looked at the viscount. “My goodness, the ruffian is right under our noses,” she tittered. “Are we safe?”

  Uncle Fletcher glared at his wife. “Fairhurst would never be so foolish as to put his household at risk. I’m sure the man is securely contained.”

  “He is,” the viscount confirmed, after taking a long sip of his wine. “Though I will be eager to turn him over to the authorities later today. After I have had an opportunity to question him.”

  They fell silent as a footman entered with a dessert tray. Nearly everyone declined, claiming they were too full. Except Aunt Mildred, who took a most generous serving of rich chocolate pudding and clotted cream.

  Gwendolyn, who was beyond anxious to leave the table, nearly groaned out loud.

  Would this meal ever end?

  “I am so ver y pleased to see that despite your great upset you have managed to retain your appetite, Aunt Mildred,” Gwendolyn remarked.

  “Yes, it is a blessing.” Aunt Mildred smiled.

  This time Gwendolyn did groan. The sarcasm was lost on Aunt Mildred, who allowed herself a second helping of the pudding. Feeling guilty for being so waspish, Gwendolyn vowed to keep her temper under control.

  Still, it was impossible to stay focused on the conversation. She allowed her mind to drift, to think about the future, which at the moment seemed ver y dark and dismal.

  She had been absolutely right to tell Jason they had nothing to say to each other. She had done it for purely selfish reasons, admitting to herself that it might take more self-control than she possessed to resist him if she remained alone in his company. Her only logical form of defense was to keep her distance.

  Being near him was dangerous, being alone with him sheer suicide. If she were to survive, she would have to harden her heart against him. There was a deeply sensual connection between them, as the events in the bedchamber last night had proven, and that had not diminished in the cold reality of day.

  She was drawn to Jason like a moth to a flame. He made her feel alive with every fiber of her being. He was pure temptation, an irresistible ache. Her body craved the perfect pleasure he could so easily arouse, her heart begged for his sweet touch. Whenever she was n
ear him, she fought an urgent wanton wish to—

  “Gracious, are you even listening to us, Gwendolyn?”

  Startled, Gwendolyn nearly jumped from her chair.

  “My apologies.”

  “We were discussing our favorite books,” Aunt Mildred explained. “I told Lord Fairhurst that all my nieces enjoy good literature—in moderation, of course.”

  “Of course,” Gwendolyn repeated. She laughed sharply. “No bluestockings will be tolerated in the Ellingham family.”

  Uncle Fletcher snorted in agreement. “Can’t abide a female who tries to be an intellectual.”

  “It can be a burden,” the viscount agreed in a most solemn tone.

  Gwendolyn stiffened with indignation, but suspecting Lord Fairhurst might be baiting her, she kept silent.

  Emma broke the awkward moment. “I have recently had the great pleasure of reacquainting myself with one of my favorite books. Perchance, are you familiar with Pride and Prejudice, my lord?”

  The viscount’s lips lifted into a thin smile. “I have heard of the novel, but alas never had the opportunity to read it.”

  “Oh, but you must,” Emma cooed. “I do believe that Elizabeth Bennet is my favorite character of all time.

  Such spirit, such loyalty. She is more than a match for the stiff-necked Mr. Darcy.”

  “’Tis a most emotionally satisfying stor y,” Aunt Mildred said with a small sigh. “Ahh, Mr. Darcy.”

  “I never understood what Miss Bennet saw in him,”

  Gwendolyn could not resist adding. “He was pompous, opinionated and far too stuffy.”

  “He sounds perfectly delightful.” The viscount smiled.

  “Though I generally prefer a story with a bit more adventure, like Tom Jones.”

  “My goodness.” Aunt Mildred blushed. “Mr. Fielding writes such scandalous, rollicking tales. They are hardly appropriate for young ladies.”