Bargaining With a Rake (A Whisper of Scandal Novel)

by Johnstone, Julie

  With his father’s dying secret, he had the weapon to be the man he was meant to be. Mother could take her shrewish ways and disappear if she didn’t behave.

  He grinned as he entered the immaculate grounds of the Kingsley estate. Soon he would be part of all this, and then the men at his club would never be condescending to him again. He would be the one to look down on them, gifting them sometimes with a tale or allowing them to share in a card game.

  First things first, though. Gillian’s education as to exactly who reigned as lord and master needed to begin today. He was not concerned about Kingsley trying to stand up to him. In eleven years, the great and mighty duke had not managed to break the hold Harrison’s mother had over him, and she was just a bent-over, beady-eyed woman with a sharp tongue.

  God, he loved this feeling of finally having control over his life. He jumped off Abigor and bounded up the steps. Just as he raised his hand to rap on the door, it swung open and a butler, dressed better than he was, damn him, glanced over him once before resting cold gray eyes on his face.

  “Help enters at the rear entrance,” the butler said, brushing past to shake out a rug.

  “I am not a servant, you fool.”

  The butler paused mid-shake and turned to face Harrison. “You’re not the stable master’s new man?”

  Harrison clenched his fist at his side. Luckily for this idiot, he didn’t want to ruin a perfectly good shirt. “I am Baron Westonburt, Lady Gillian’s fiancé.”

  “I apologize for my mistake,” the butler hastened to reply, but the man did not make a move to show Harrison into the house.

  “Go announce me to Lady Gillian and His Grace.” He brushed past the butler and into the foyer. He wanted to break the man’s nose, but what if Kingsley was one of those weak men who opposed violence and decided sacrificing Gillian was actually wrong?

  He stopped in his tracks, stunned and pleased by the splendor of the home. Obviously, blackmail had not put the tiniest dent in the Kingsley coffers. Good. He glanced at the arrogant butler. What would the good man say if Harrison swung from one of the enormous chandeliers singing his good fortune for having a mother who followed her brainless husband into the woods eleven years ago? The servant would likely faint dead and show himself to be the fop he really was.

  “Lady Gillian is not home at present. Would you care for an audience with His Grace?”

  “Didn’t I just say that?”

  The butler inclined his head and turned on his heel, but Harrison reached out and grabbed the man’s arm. “What’s your name?”

  “Mr. Percy.”

  “Well, Percy.” Harrison towered over the man, intent on intimidating him.

  The butler gazed at him with a blank expression. Fool. Soon he would understand his place. “Do you always leave company standing in the entranceway? How about a drink and a seat?”

  “I beg your pardon,” Percy replied. “I’m afraid I’m still recovering from learning you were not the new help.”

  “Why you miserable little—”

  “See here, what’s this about?” a voice boomed from the top of the stairs.

  Sure that the voice belonged to the duke, Harrison stepped back from Percy and genuflected as Kingsley descended the stairs. The necessary show of respect curdled in his stomach like sour milk. “Your man needs a lesson in respect.”

  “Go about your business, Percy.” Kingsley waved at his butler, then turned dull blue eyes upon Harrison.

  “Follow me.” Kingsley did not wait for a reply but walked away. Left with no choice, Harrison followed along, though he hated feeling as if he was a puppy trailing after his father.

  Kingsley shut the door behind him as Harrison situated himself into a deep, comfortable chair. He gazed around at the hundreds of books lining the walls, the full liquor cabinet and the ornate, expensive looking mahogany desk. This was a rich man’s haven with the view of the enormous gardens, lush rugs and an open box wafting the scent of foreign cigars in his direction. He settled back with a contentment he had never experienced. He was home, and nothing short of death would prevent him from claiming everything here as his.

  Of course, he’d never have Kingsley’s title, but that left a lot of other treasures for the taking. He was in the mood to take. He needed to make sure Lady Gillian’s dowry was indecently huge.

  “Thanks,” he said, taking the drink Kingsley handed to him. The strong aroma of whiskey made his mouth water. Just what he needed to relax a bit.

  Over the rim of his glass, he studied Kingsley. The duke took a swig of his drink before setting the glass down with a thud. “Was it the ride that put you in such a foul mood?”

  “Your butler thought me a servant.”

  With one eyebrow raised, Kingsley hardly appeared appalled. Fine. Let the duke play this game. The man’s turn would only last a minute.

  “I don’t know how you get on with your servants, Westonburt, but I don’t manhandle mine. Percy made an honest mistake. You’re covered in dust and sweat and not exactly dressed in finery.”

  “Well, I guess you’ll have to remedy that once I marry your daughter. You wouldn’t want me to bring shame to the family name with my shabby attire, now, would you?”

  Kingsley scrubbed his hand across his face. The man’s increasing weariness was pleasing.

  “Why are you here? I told your mother—”

  Harrison came out of his chair to tower over the duke. “You’ll no longer be dealing with my mother. I know what your agreement was with her, but I have some terms of my own.”

  “Who the hell do you think you are?” Kingsley choked out.

  The man was angry. It was plain enough to see by his mottled complexion and the spittle that had sprayed out of his mouth when he spoke. Harrison smiled evenly. “I am the man that knows your darkest secret.”

  Blanching, Kingsley pressed down into his chair. “Roberta swore never to tell you. It was part of our arrangement.”

  Pleased with Kingsley’s shaky tone, Harrison dropped down in the chair beside the duke and slapped the old man’s back. “Don’t worry, Kingsley. Mother didn’t break her promise to you, though she shouldn’t have tried to keep me in the dark. Father told me everything, rest his pathetic soul.”

  “Have you been sending the threatening letters to Gillian?”

  “That was Mother. She was worried someone else might catch Gillian’s eye when you returned to Society, but I’ve told her to stop.”

  “You’ve gotten everything you want, so why are you here now?” the duke whispered.

  “I want you to add more money to Gillian’s dowry. And I want you to come fully out of seclusion and make sure I’m accepted into Society.” He settled back and crossed his legs. This day was getting better by the moment.

  “Is that all?” the duke sneered, raising a shaking hand to his temple.

  “Oh, I almost forgot. I want to spend some time alone with Gillian, so we may properly get to know each other.”

  The duke lunged at him. With little effort, Harrison stopped the old bugger’s laughable attempt and sent him flying with a grunt backward into his seat. “Careful, Your Grace. Your temper could be the death of you. Gillian’s virtue is safe with me until our wedding night.”

  “And if I’ve changed my mind and I don’t agree?”

  “Then I suppose your secret will have to come out, and we shall see what consequences the past reaps for the future.”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  He caught Kingsley’s gaze and held it. “I would. Make no mistake about it. Now tell me—where is Gillian?”

  A few short minutes later, he was back on Abigor and riding hell-bent toward Davenport’s home.

  Gillian sat in brooding silence as she swayed with the motion of Mr. Sutherland’s―drat it all―Drake’s horse. She did not know why it was so hard to think of him on intimate terms. It hadn’t been difficult to think of Alex on personal terms. She gritted her teeth and struggled simply to relax into Drake. Loosening up en
ough to seduce him was proving no easy task. A persistent image of Alex staring at her as she rode off with Drake kept popping into her mind no matter how she tried to concentrate on the man behind her.

  After nearly half an hour she shook her head. This line of thought was not helping. She studied the broad expanse of Drake’s back. Was it sneaky to pursue a man who she truly believed in her heart would make her a good husband and who she fully planned to make an excellent wife? Even if it was, she could not see how she had a choice. Drake had the power to help her take Whitney far away from here. Gillian touched his shoulder. “Do you mind stopping for a moment?”

  “I thought you’d never ask,” he replied and brought the horse to a slow stop.

  Her jaw fell open at his comment. Thank goodness he could not see the surprise on her face. He had been waiting for her to say something. Wasn’t it a man’s place to take the initiative?

  He dismounted, then reached up and grasped her around the waist to help her off the horse. She gulped a deep breath and concentrated on the man before her. He was not as tall as Alex, but that would make dancing easier. Instead of her gaze being level with the base of Drake’s neck as it had been with Alex’s, she stared at his chin. It was a nice chin, not too pointy, but his jawline was not nearly as strong as Alex’s.

  She twined her hands in Drake’s hair and brought his head close to hers. “Kiss me,” she demanded, throwing caution, decorum and hopefully the images of Alex clouding her observations to the wind.

  A smile lit Drake’s face, and he wound his hands into her hair to tilt her head back. “You’re an unusual woman, do you know that?”

  “So I’ve been told,” she murmured, wishing he would just get on with the kiss.

  His lips came over hers, soft, warm and timid. Why weren’t her toes curling? Why wasn’t her heart pounding? Maybe kissing was not his greatest accomplishment. When the kiss ended, he drew her toward his chest. She wrapped her arms around his waist. She refused to compare their kiss to the searing one she had shared with Alex. The cad had probably kissed hundreds of women, whereas Drake may have only kissed a few. She would teach him how it was properly done, given enough time. His embrace was warm, solid and comforting. The spark would come later.

  He tilted her chin back, and she met his eyes. Before he could say anything, the sound of horse hooves broke the silence. His arms dropped from around her, just as she whirled around to face whoever approached. Narrowed obsidian eyes were trained on her. All the warmth left her body, replaced by a bone-chilling cold. Lord Westonburt’s dark scowl made him look as if he wished to wrap his hands around her neck.

  “Who is that?” Drake squinted in Lord Westonburt’s direction.

  “That would be my fiancé.” Gillian shuddered involuntarily as the words left her mouth.

  Drake’s eyes narrowed slightly; then a smile tugged at his lips. “Your fiancé has terrible timing.”

  “My sentiments exactly,” she replied, wanting to kiss Drake then and there for the casual way he handled her betrothal. Lord Westonburt jerked up on his steed’s reins and slowed the foaming-mouthed beast. He dismounted and strode toward them, gaze flickering from Gillian to Drake. She held his stare, though her stomach turned. How dreadful. She didn’t even have time to explain her complicated situation.

  “Who is this?” Lord Westonburt snarled, coming to stand so near she could smell the stench of sweat that emanated from him. She swallowed convulsively before settling herself.

  “Lord Westonburt, may I introduce Mr. Sutherland.”

  “We’ve met,” Drake said. “Business is business,” he said and stuck out his hand. “No hard feelings?”

  Lord Westonburt wrapped his fingers around Gillian’s arm and drew her near. She had the urge to kick out at him and flee his side, but he was certain to tell Father if she did. Fleeing to America would be deuced hard if she was locked in her bedroom.

  “I don’t abide men standing so near to what is mine,” Lord Westonburt said.

  “Your horse?” Drake waved a negligent hand in the horse’s direction. “The beast is over there.”

  “You know perfectly well I meant Lady Gillian.”

  “You don’t own her,” Drake said.

  Gillian had to bite the inside of her cheek to restrain her grin.

  “She’s mine,” Lord Westonburt snarled.

  Drake’s eyebrows rose upward. “Then I’ve misunderstood. The two of you are married?” He glanced from Lord Westonburt to Gillian.

  She could not resist shaking her head.

  “We are engaged,” Lord Westonburt said. “And in England that makes her mine.”

  “It may make her yours here, but in America the lady is fair game until she’s wedded, bedded and bound for the birthing chair.” Drake winked, and Gillian coughed to cover her laughter. Had he just declared he wanted to court her?

  Judging by the near purple color of her fiancé’s face, he did not think it nearly as funny as she did. Lord Westonburt had never had a sense of humor, even as a child. Simple teasing had always sent him into a tizzy and ended with him trying to beat the other child to death. And she knew from the rumors what violence the man was capable of now. A shiver tingled over her sensitive skin, and she reached up to rub her arms.

  “Take your leave, Mr. Sutherland. My fiancée has no further need of you.”

  How dare this man think he had leave to rule her life before they had ever said any vows? “There’s no need for Drake to leave. We can all ride back together.”

  “The need is a simple one, my dear.” The cad trailed his finger across her cheekbone. She flinched despite her effort not to move. “I wish to be alone with you.”

  “That’s highly improper,” she retorted, choosing to ignore the fact that she had been alone with Drake.

  “I’m in agreement with the lady,” Drake added.

  Lord Westonburt took her hand in his and pressed his lips against the material of her glove. “Your father granted his permission for me to spend some time alone with you today.”

  She snatched her hand away. Tonight she would discard the gloves she wore. “When did you see him?”

  “At your house. No doubt he’s here now with your aunt if you care to ride back and gain his consent for yourself.”

  The air released out of her lungs, leaving her deflated and sad. What had she done to deserve the cold, uncaring treatment her father continued to lavish on her? She was trapped, and she knew it. She wanted to curl up and hide. Instead she straightened her spine. Whatever lingering misgivings she possessed about fleeing to America and abandoning her father no longer mattered. But until she could leave, she had to be very careful. Father didn’t like disobedience, and she wasn’t at all certain what he might do if he found out about her plan.

  “Drake, please go ahead. Lord Westonburt and I will be along shortly.”

  Drake’s eyes held a world of concern, and she was grateful to see he was a caring man. Hopefully she could steal a moment alone with him later and explain everything. Perhaps he would think too many complications came with pursuing her. A tiny sliver of worry wormed its way into her head.

  He raised her hand to his lips and brushed a soft kiss across her glove. “Will you be coming back to your aunt’s tomorrow?”

  She dearly wished he had not asked her that question in front of Lord Westonburt. She didn’t want her betrothed to stay for the house party, but she felt certain he now would. Undoubtedly, father had mentioned it to him.

  “Of course,” she replied, left with no choice but to tell the truth.

  “Then I look forward to seeing you tomorrow,” Drake said, proffering a quick bow, mounting his horse and riding off. It did not escape her notice that Drake had purposely ignored Lord Westonburt, and based on the stony silence coming from her betrothed she knew the slight had not escaped him either.

  As Drake rode out of sight, Lord Westonburt turned her to face him. “You’ll not speak to that man again, do you hear me?”

  She wr
enched her arm free. “I hear you.” She’d never hated a man before now, but surely it was hatred coursing through her veins, making her see red.

  He reached out and crushed her to his chest, locking her against him. “You need to take care with your tone.” His mouth came down on hers in a bruising kiss while his hand found her breast. But before she could react, he was wrenched away, and she stared openmouthed at Alex’s fist connecting with a crack against Lord Westonburt’s nose.

  “Are you hurt?” Alex asked, assessing Gillian.

  “I’m fine.” She ran a hand through her hair, attempting to tuck the escaping wisps back into order.

  The knot inside Alex’s chest loosened, but the red veil over his vision remained. Losing his soul in exchange for Westonburt’s death seemed a fair trade at this moment.

  Westonburt whipped out a handkerchief and pressed it to his nose. “Why the hell did you charge in here and punch me? I’m her bloody fiancé.”

  “You appeared to be mauling the lady,” Alex replied, thinking of Lissie.

  “I was not mauling her. Passion swept us away. Ask her.” Westonburt flicked his gaze to Gillian. “She’ll tell you we’re to be married, and we were simply getting to know each other.”

  “I know you well enough already,” she replied blandly. “And if you call what you just did to me passion, I’d hate to ever feel the touch of your anger.”

  Alex grinned at Gillian’s show of spirit.

  Westonburt removed his handkerchief. “You’re my fiancée and soon you will be my wife. So watch your shrewish tongue lest you anger your father or me. You’d be wise to remember I’ve every right to discipline you once we’re married.”

  Alex surged forward to wring the man’s neck, but Gillian scrambled in front of him and shook her head. Her hand pressed hard against his chest. Her eyes held his a long moment, her silent plea for him to stand down obvious.