How to Enjoy a Scandal

by Adrienne Basso

  But his strength was no match for hers. Tears of frustration filled her eyes and she tried to move her jaw so she could bite the hand across her mouth, but even that effort failed.

  Then suddenly, a large shape surged out of the bushes and tackled her assailant. The man yelped in surprise.

  With a cry of alarm, Gwendolyn too fell to the ground, the breath knocked from her lungs. They tumbled together for a moment, a disjointed array of limbs. It took but a few seconds for Gwendolyn to realize her attacker’s grip had been broken in the fall and she was free. Seizing at this chance, she rolled out of his reach.

  “Jason!”

  Her savior turned. His hair was mussed, his coat torn, his shirt and breeches filthy with dirt.

  “Are you hurt?”

  Before she could answer, Jason grabbed her arm and hauled her upright. Her captor cursed loudly and Jason thrust her behind his back, standing tall between her and danger.

  Gwendolyn stumbled, struggling to remain on her feet. She could clearly see her attacker. He was a slender man, with a strong, wir y frame. His face was wild with anger, his eyes black with rage, his mouth drawn into a thin, cruel line.

  For an instant, no one moved.

  “He has a knife!” Gwendolyn screamed.

  The merest flicker of alarm lit Jason’s face, quickly replaced by a look of tough resolve. His face taut with menace, the attacker lunged toward Jason, the long, sharp blade glistening with deadly intent as he drove it toward Jason’s throat.

  Jason caught the man’s wrist and they grappled for the knife. Though Jason was larger, the men appeared equal in strength. Frantically, Gwendolyn searched for something to use as a weapon. Falling to her knees, she rooted through the soft ground, digging furiously with her bare hands until she triumphantly uncovered a sizable rock.

  Weapon in hand, she shoved herself unsteadily to her feet, poised to strike the moment it became necessary.

  The men grunted and staggered, then Jason released his grip on the man’s wrist and drove his fist into his attacker’s stomach.

  There was a loud yelp of anger as the breath whooshed out of him, but instead of slowing his opponent, the blow appeared to energize him. Growling, he slashed the knife intently toward Jason’s ribs. Gwendolyn heard herself scream in horror, then a flash of motion caught her eyes and she saw the fading light glint off the polished wood of the pistol that suddenly appeared in Jason’s right hand.

  The attacker continued to charge, and then suddenly a reverberating crack of thunder echoed through the quiet. Gwendolyn watched in amazement as Jason’s attacker slowly slid to the ground, an expression of surprise etched on his face.

  The initial small spot of blood spread across his shirt front, turning his chest quickly from white to red. Slowly she lifted her eyes from the grisly sight to stare at Jason.

  “He had a knife,” Gwendolyn repeated in a dazed tone.

  “Thankfully, my love, I had a pistol.”

  “Oh, Jason!”

  Her relief was so great she swayed, but she soon found herself surrounded by Jason’s powerful arms. His solid strength calmed her racing heart, soothed her frazzled nerves.

  Yet strangely she became aware of a slight tremor from him as the dam of his emotions seemed to burst. “God help me, I have never been so bloody scared in all my life,” he whispered hoarsely, burying his face in her hair.

  “When I saw him touch you, the breath in my body seized. It seemed to take hours as I ran to reach you and I feared I would be too late. I could not have gone on if I lost you, Gwendolyn.”

  “Nor I you,” she whispered. She pushed away a little, looking up into his eyes. Her chest squeezed until it was hard to breathe as she struggled to keep the emotions bubbling inside her carefully suppressed.

  A rustling noise startled them both and men seemed to appear of out nowhere. Jason whirled, his position defensive, his empty pistol raised. They both looked up and saw Jasper, sword drawn, leading a small band of men.

  “We have captured the others,” Jasper said. “With a bit of persuasion, they have told us where Mr. Ellingham is being held.”

  “We must go to him at once,” Gwendolyn cried.

  “I have already sent a few of our men,” Jasper replied.

  “If we were told the truth, they should return shortly.”

  The viscount glanced around, wrinkling his nose at the smell of gunpowder wafting through the air. “I see you have things well in hand here, Jason.”

  Silence fell as they all looked over at the man who had attacked first Gwendolyn and then Jason. The body was eerily still, his eyes glassy as they stared sightlessly toward the horizon.

  “Is he dead?” Gwendolyn asked fearfully.

  Jasper knelt beside the prone man. “He lives. His pulse is steady and strong. It was a clean shot through the muscles of the shoulder. I believe the bullet passed though to the other side.” His lifted his eyes from the body and smiled. “I told you, Miss Ellingham, that my brother has excellent aim.”

  “I could hardly miss at this distance,” Jason drawled modestly. “Though I’ll confess it was hard to restrain myself from putting the bullet though his black heart.”

  “Are you certain you are all right?” Lord Fairhurst asked. “Both of you?”

  Gwendolyn nodded. Safe within the circle of Jason’s arms, she felt her worries drop away. She lightly stroked his broad back, reveling in the solid feel of him.

  “Good God, those hooligans must have struck my head harder than I thought, for I swear I am seeing double.”

  “Uncle Fletcher!”

  Gwendolyn’s bottom lip trembled as she hurried to her uncle’s side. He hobbled towards her, sporting a black eye and a few other visible bruises, but his embrace was warm and heartfelt.

  “How is Ardley?” Uncle Fletcher asked.

  “Gravely injured, but there is hope he will recover,” Jason answered, stepping forward.

  “Fairhurst?”

  “No, Jason Barrington, the viscount’s twin brother,” he replied. “And soon to be your in-law.”

  The men shook hands. Uncle Fletcher looked shocked.

  Gwendolyn was uncertain if it was due to his ordeal or the declaration Jason had just made.

  “I owe you and your brother more thanks than I can say.” Concern and worry were carved into Uncle Fletcher’s features. “Though perhaps once you learn the truth about this wretched business, you will regret coming to my aid.”

  “They already know,” Gwendolyn explained.

  The older man regarded them sheepishly. “We will pay back every penny we owe your family. I promise.”

  “Then I shall take you at your word.” Jason heaved a deep sigh. “I would like to escort you and your niece home, Mr. Ellingham,” Jason said. “My brother will handle matters here.”

  Two horses were brought. After assuring them repeatedly that he was able to ride, Uncle Fletcher was assisted into the saddle. Gwendolyn waited patiently beside her mount for Jason’s horse to be brought. But he surprised her by first swinging himself up on the animal’s back and next hoisting her in the same saddle, in front of him.

  “You are riding with me,” he declared forcefully, as if he expected a protest.

  Gwendolyn adjusted her seat and leaned back against his solid strength. She smiled as his arms snaked around her waist and drew her more closely against him in a possessive, thrilling gesture. Her fear gone, her heart free, her happiness complete, Gwendolyn gave a silent prayer of thanks for the many blessings in her life.

  It was a most peaceful, triumphant journey home.

  Everyone agreed it was the perfect day for a wedding.

  In August, the weather could be damp, muggy or on occasion, beastly hot. But today the cloudless blue sky was vibrant with sparkling color, dotted with a few ornamental white clouds and the sun shone with brilliant, pleasant warmth.

  The assembled crowd at St. George’s in Hanover Square shifted restlessly in their pews as they waited with eager anticipatio
n for their first glimpse of the bride, who was already fifteen minutes late. Many had heard of her, but few had actually seen this mysterious country girl from Yorkshire who had somehow captured the heart of one of the ton’s most scandalous bachelors.

  Rumors were rampant as to the means she must have employed to land her most elusive prey, for Jason Barrington was not a man who came to mind when one mentioned marriage. Had she blackmailed him, enticed him, used a potent love spell? Did she have a fortune?

  Or a beautiful face and figure? Or all three?

  All these, and as well as other, even more outlandish possibilities had been discussed and analyzed intently ever since the banns had been posted. However, the betting book at White’s was giving the best odds that the future groom had put a babe in her belly in record time and was now compelled to do the right thing.

  Rake and rogue he might be, but it was a well-known fact that Jason Barrington was nothing if not a gentleman.

  Fortunately, Gwendolyn was aware of none of this gossip and speculation as she stepped from the elegant carriage that had brought her to the church. Her future in-laws had been very involved in the planning of this event and their wealth and taste was in evidence.

  The specifics of the wedding had not been of paramount interest to either the bride or groom and they were more than happy to let the groom’s mother take charge. The countess had been humbly grateful for the chance to finally plan a society wedding, since her daughter had impulsively eloped and her other son had started his married life in a most unconventional manner that was never publicly revealed.

  Gwendolyn was content to leave the details of the day to Jason’s mother, for the biggest relief had been the genuine regard her new family had bestowed upon her. The scandal in her past that had so worried her was never mentioned and her acceptance into the inner circle of the family—an event Jason had repeatedly assured her was a foregone conclusion—had indeed come to pass.

  At Jason’s request, they had come to London to be married. It was a far different environment than she had been raised, but she found it intriguing and for the most part pleasant. Though in truth, Gwendolyn knew she would have been happy just about anywhere, as long as Jason was by her side.

  In these past few weeks she had come to appreciate the unconventional, yet loyal, devotion the Barringtons had to each other, though it had been a bit hard to understand the occasionally volatile relationship Jason shared with his twin brother.

  Jason’s sister Meredith had been a wealth of information and support, and his mother a forceful and tactful instructor when it came to the rules of society. Meeting Jasper’s wife, Lady Fairhurst, had sent Gwendolyn’s nerves into a frenzy and she was relieved to find Claire an unpretentious, modest woman who loved her husband with a fierceness that Gwendolyn admired.

  And now it was her turn to become a wife. She could hear the strains of organ music and the low murmur of hushed conversations as she moved into the church vestibule. Dorothea handed her a bouquet of fresh flowers. They were exquisite white roses, bound with a white silk ribbon.

  “A gift from your bridegroom,” Dorothea exclaimed.

  Gwendolyn smiled and held them close to her heart.

  Then Uncle Fletcher took her arm. She turned and smiled at him, her nerves settling.

  They waited at the end of the aisle for the cue to begin. Gwendolyn strained for a glimpse of her groom and her smile widened when she saw him standing beside his brother. Breathtakingly handsome, powerful and utterly splendid in his elegant wedding attire, she was aware only of him.

  Her eyes locked with his, her heart swelled with emotion. Depending on Uncle Fletcher to keep pace with the music and lead her up the aisle, Gwendolyn’s gaze never wavered from her groom’s. There was no shield-ing of emotions for either of them. Jason’s beaming smile was wholly for her, the sincerity and intensity of his feelings shining from his eyes.

  When she finally reached him, he lifted her hand into his own, then pressed his lips to the delicate, sensitive spot at the inside of her wrist. The sighs of several women echoed throughout the church at the romantic, courtly gesture.

  The ser vice started with a prayer and Gwendolyn strained to concentrate on every word the minister spoke. She wanted to remember, with great clarity, every moment of this day. As she recited her vows, the meaning behind each word surrounded her and she gladly swore to love, honor and yes, even to obey.

  “You may kiss your bride.”

  Jason leaned forward to claim her, but the chaste, brief kiss usually reserved for such a moment quickly turned into a passionate declaration of love and devotion. Gwendolyn sighed as Jason wrapped his arms around her waist, lifted her onto her toes and kissed her with all the skill of a rake and the passion of a lover.

  The world melted away. Gwendolyn felt as if she had been waiting for this moment all her life. Delighted, she lost herself in their shared joy, knowing for the rest of her life that only she would have the privilege of sharing kisses with this amazing man.

  The minister coughed. Twice.

  Finally, the newly wed couple separated. Beaming, Jason turned Gwendolyn to face the crowd. Several gentlemen rose to their feet and started clapping enthusiastically.

  Such a noisy, boisterous display was most inappropriate on such a solemn occasion, but the blushes of the lovely bride and the satisfied smile of the triumphant groom softened even the sharpest of criticism.

  It was later said that the assembled crowd who had made the journey to London at such an unfashionable time of year expected no less from the blacksheep son of the Earl of Stafford.

  The luncheon that followed was a lively, happy affair.

  Still, the crush of more than one hundred family members and close friends was far more than Jason would have preferred. As he watched his wife mingle with the guests, graciously accepting their congratulations and best wishes, all he could think about was breaking away from the party.

  Married three hours and already desperately longing to be alone with his new wife. He was a besotted fool and damn happy to admit it! As if sensing his gaze on her, Gwendolyn looked up and smiled. His heart flipped over in his chest and he returned the smile.

  His mother strolled up beside him, her face beaming with delight. “I am most pleased with the job the servants have done today. Are you enjoying yourself, Jason?”

  “Very much, Mother.”

  “I hope the food is to your liking. I tried to include many of your favorite dishes, but of course it was also necessary to select a few more elegant choices.”

  “Ever ything is excellent,” he replied, knowing he could have been eating sand and not noticed. Food was the very last thing he would remember about this day.

  His mother was called away and Jason seized the opportunity to corner his bride. Catching her hand, he pressed a kiss on the sensitive pulse at her wrist. “Happy, darling?”

  “Oh, yes.” Her arms crept around his waist and squeezed. “Is this not the most perfect wedding day?”

  He brushed a curl off her forehead. A passing footman offered them champagne and Jason thrust a glass into Gwendolyn’s hand. He smiled and drank deeply from his champagne. “’Tis a perfectly lovely wedding.

  And perfectly chilled champagne. When can we leave?”

  “Jason! We haven’t had the toasts or the speeches or cut the cake or started any of the dancing.”

  “Hmm, that sounds like it will take a very long time.”

  He pulled her into his arms. “I suppose you are going to tell me it would be rude if we snuck out now?”

  Her eyes twinkled as she pressed herself against him.

  “Your mother would be hurt if we left so soon.”

  “I will ask my father to ply her with champagne.” Jason nipped her earlobe, then feathered a series of sensual kisses along the column of her throat. “After three glasses, Mother will never even realize we have gone.”

  “Jason!” She slapped her hand playfully against his solid chest. “How do you even t
hink of such things?”

  He shrugged. She smiled, but he could tell by the stubborn set of her jaw she wouldn’t be easy to convince.

  “I promise we can leave in a few hours.”

  “Hours!” he growled, but before he could voice any additional complaints, Gwendolyn stood up on her toes and kissed him. It was a long, thorough kiss that whet his appetite with the promise of passion to come.

  He returned the kiss with equal ardor, then drew back, his eyes smoldering. “Are you sure we cannot leave?”

  She shook her head. “Not yet. We have to cut the cake.”

  Pulling her close, he let her feel his growing desire, let her know the physical ache he endured, the cravings that were boarding on obsession. “I have the woman of my dreams as my wife and am finally feel free to express the love within my heart. I can assure you, madame, the very last thing on my mind right now is wedding cake.”

  “We will eat the cake and we will smile appreciatively at the speeches and toasts to our good health and happiness and we will share our joy with all these dear people who have joined us today,” Gwendolyn declared primly.

  “Then we will escape to our honeymoon cottage and lock ourselves in the bedchamber. For at least a week!”

  “Will we stay in bed the entire time?”

  “Yes.”

  “Without any clothing?”

  “Naked as the day we were born.”

  He tightened his arms about her and murmured against her hair, “You are sheer perfection, my love. I am not sure I deserve you.”

  “You are indeed most fortunate.” Drawing back, she smiled at him. “As am I. A love like ours is rare and precious, Jason. And I fully intend to remind us both, not only today, but each and ever y day in all the years ahead.”

  Epilogue

  Three Months Later

  The drive from London had taken less than an hour. Gwendolyn sat beside her husband while he drove the sleek phaeton with skill, and a bit more speed than she appreciated, enjoying the fresh autumn air and the chance to be truly alone. As much as she liked living in the city, it was always a delight to escape the noise and dirt, the constant stream of callers, the endless social and family obligations.