His Scandal

by Gayle Callen

  He looked up and caught her staring, and she lifted her chin and held his gaze.

  Oh, he was arrogant, so sure of himself. Well, he would see she was not a woman to cross. Blythe would be protected, no matter what Emmeline had to do to achieve it.

  After blowing away the sand from the ink, Sir Alexander folded his reply, sealed it with wax, and handed it to her. She tucked it safely into her purse and turned to the door.

  “Lady Emmeline, shall I show you another way out? There might be talk, should you go through the taproom.”

  “Consideration, Sir Alexander?”

  “For myself as well,” he said, standing much too close to her. “After all, my reputation would suffer should you appear to leave too quickly.”

  “Thank you,” she said, looking away, knowing he was secretly laughing at her and not understanding why.

  He shut the door behind them, pulled the cloak about his shoulders, and led her to a rear staircase that exited to a surprisingly pleasant courtyard near the stables. They circled around to the front of the tavern, where Humphrey had just hoisted himself out of the driver’s seat.

  “Lady Emmeline!” he cried, his expression so relieved that guilt rose up to swamp her.

  “Forgive me, Humphrey,” she said, taking his hands. “Sir Alexander was kind enough to escort me out a back way. The tavern was rather raucous.”

  But when she turned around, Sir Alexander was gone.

  That evening Emmeline stood alone in her bedchamber, surrounded by the books and maps she so loved, and felt disquieted, restless. This situation with Sir Alexander had upset her ordered world. She wished desperately that she could have read his letter first, but Blythe was not a little girl to be so protected.

  And yet…they had always shared so much. Surely Blythe was ready to discuss the letter’s contents—and the writer.

  She slipped out into the dark stone corridor, carrying a candle to lighten the gloom. Crossing to Blythe’s door, she knocked softly and entered when her sister bade her to.

  Blythe was sitting up in her four-poster bed that was hung with delicate fabrics and decorated with endless pillows. She liked to be amongst pretty things, and the room was indeed pleasant. Her sister had blankets piled in her lap and about her shoulders, and she was holding the letter near a candle on her bedside table.

  Blythe smiled up at her. “I cannot thank you enough for bringing this to me, Emmy.”

  “You must have read it many times by now.”

  Ablush suffused her sister’s cheeks. “Of course.”

  Emmeline hesitated. “Might I read what he wrote?”

  “Oh, surely,” she said, holding it out.

  Emmeline took the letter over by the hearth and sat down in a comfortable chair. She bit her lip as she began reading, but there were no intimacies, nothing improper. Sir Alexander merely wrote of Blythe’s beauty and his desire to know her better. His handwriting was as bold and confident as he was. It was a nicely romantic letter, but nothing like what she’d received long ago from her beloved, her poet. The thought of what she’d lost brought a pain to her heart that she immediately swept aside, as always. It was Blythe’s turn for romance.

  “Isn’t he wonderful?” Blythe said with a sigh, falling back amidst her pillows and hugging one to her chest.

  If one likes rogues. In her mind Emmeline saw his wicked smile, the way his eyes had skimmed down her body as if penetrating the cloak. And he had thought her a strumpet.

  She wanted to refuse ever to see Sir Alexander again, but Blythe had to be protected. If Blythe couldn’t find the right man for herself, then Emmeline would have to.

  Blythe slid to the edge of the bed, her legs dangling beneath her linen night rail. “Tell me about him, Emmy; how he was, what he was doing when he read my letter, how he looked when he wrote back.”

  Emmeline sighed. “He is a man of the world, dearest. You must realize that you are not the first girl to cast her eyes at him.”

  “I know! But it is so enjoyable to have the interest of men, now that I’m finally of age.”

  “Well, he was not at Thornton Manor, but in lodgings he rents above a tavern.”

  Blythe’s lips parted in obvious amazement. “A tavern?”

  “He says ’tis sometimes too long a journey home.”

  She suddenly sat upright. “Wait—does that mean you were in the tavern, too?”

  Emmeline reluctantly nodded, and Blythe let out a laugh.

  “Oh, Emmy, I wish I could have been there with you. Did he offer to protect you from unsavory sorts?”

  “You could say that,” she said, realizing that if she told the truth, Blythe might be offended enough to lose this infatuation. Very briefly, she explained the sword fight, and Sir Alexander carrying her up to his room.

  Blythe’s eyes went wide and she covered her mouth with both hands. “How heroic!”

  “Heroic!” Emmeline repeated, dropping the letter on the bed and getting up to pace. “He thought I was a—a strumpet!”

  Her sister only giggled. “But surely he was quick to realize his mistake.”

  “Yes, because I told him.”

  “And he was a perfect gentleman after that, wasn’t he?”

  “Well…”

  How could she say that while Sir Alexander had played the part of a gentleman, his eyes implied wickedness and his smile spoke of seduction? How it must have amused him to tease a spinster. What lengths would he go to amuse himself even further with her young, innocent sister?

  Alex lay alone in bed, the fire crackling in the hearth, the noise of the tavern slowly dying as the night aged. Unable to sleep, he had considered asking Viv, the tavern maid, back to his chambers, but the idea had held no appeal—which baffled him. He had always enjoyed the companionship of women: to tease, to enjoy, to lose himself in. Women had been one of his few solaces when he’d posed as Spencer, when he’d begun to fear he didn’t know himself anymore. He’d soon realized that as the viscount, he could no longer converse with his own companions. And he hadn’t known Spencer’s friends well enough to feel at ease with them, especially since his brother’s life could be forfeited if Alex was revealed as a fraud.

  But there were always women, a bridge between his old identity and the one he’d been forced to don. It merely took awhile before he’d understood that their interest in him was not what it seemed.

  Disjointed thoughts rolled around in his head, and he couldn’t understand what made this night different. Surely being attacked by the two strangers was the reason.

  If they’d wanted his money, it would have been far easier for them to follow him down a street, hit him over the head and rob him. Instead they’d made a very public challenge, as if they wanted to be recognized for something.

  And they’d put the lady Emmeline in danger.

  “Hellfire.” Alex laughed at himself as he threw an arm over his eyes. Where did that thought come from? But once she invaded his mind, it wasn’t easy to forget her.

  She was nothing like the women he preferred, confident women at ease with themselves. Oh, she portrayed confidence well, but he suspected it didn’t run deep. She was a spinster, with an uncertain place in this world, and the knowledge that she would always have to depend on others.

  Yet Emmeline was interesting, and reacted so strongly to every subtle taunt he tossed at her. It would be amusing to coax her outrage as he teased her sister. Outwitting Emmeline might even turn out to be more fun than luring a kiss from her flirtatious sister, whose type he knew all too well.

  Chapter 4

  The next day, as the waterman rowed the wherry up to the dock at Thornton Manor, Alex felt the usual bitter mood steal over him. It didn’t help that he’d again had the feeling that someone had been following him in Southwark. He paid the waterman and walked up the long stone pathway, trying to force away the memories of being the master at Thornton.

  He had not expected to like the hard work of running Spencer’s many estates scattered throughout En
gland, but had discovered that the land and its upkeep interested him. With attempts at agricultural modernization, he’d affected so many lives for the better. He almost regretted the quiet satisfaction he’d achieved, for its absence disturbed him.

  Alex opened up the main door of the house and stepped inside. Ah well, he had the rest of his life to accomplish something else. He’d get to it…eventually. For now he would visit his mother, who was soon to leave for the Isle of Wight for the birth of Spencer and Roselyn’s baby.

  The hall of the house stretched to the second floor, and somewhere in the distance he could hear the raised voices of servants.

  “Madre?” he yelled, knowing it would take too long to search for her.

  He heard a gasp from a corridor to his right, and he turned to find a little maidservant steadying a tray filled with goblets and cakes.

  “Hello, sweetheart,” he said, and enjoyed the maid’s blush.

  “Lord Thornton—I mean, Sir Alexander,” she murmured, bobbing a little curtsy while still balancing the tray.

  “You could tell it was me, eh?” he teased.

  “Lord Thornton is on the island, sir, but surely ye knew that. Should I tell her ladyship ye’re here?”

  “Are you heading her way?”

  She bobbed again, and her linen cap dipped toward her eyes.

  “Then I’ll just follow you.”

  She almost scurried before him, as if he would trample on her heels. When they entered the withdrawing chamber, he came up short.

  Sitting on a high-backed bench beside his mother was Lady Emmeline Prescott, dressed in a dark blue serviceable gown with fine, delicate lace at her throat. She was more than amply curved in all the usual places; in fact, she was downright lush—though he could tell she tried to tame her figure into submission with the usual feminine contraptions.

  She glanced up at him; a spark of awareness took him by surprise. He was intrigued to see some of the color leave her face, as if she’d been discovered.

  Which could only mean she was there to discover things about him.

  As he swept his mother off the seat and into his arms, Emmeline leaned back, as if she were afraid to touch him. He had handled her roughly last time, after all.

  “Alexander!” his mother said, returning his hug and smiling at him.

  He wondered if she would ever stop wearing black in mourning for his father.

  “I thought I heard you bellowing in the hall,” she continued.

  “’Twas me, I admit, Madre. Forgive me for startling your guest.”

  “This is Lady Emmeline Prescott. Her mother was one of my few dear friends at court. Lady Emmeline, my son Alexander.”

  “Lady Emmeline,” he said, bowing and bringing her hand to his lips. He thought she’d have cool hands, but they were very warm and soft, and ah, that blush did interesting things for her blue-green eyes. “We have met before.”

  Emmeline’s wide, shocked eyes returned to his with alacrity, and he grinned, unable to stop himself from teasing her. Spinster sisters who kept him from winning a wager were a special irritant.

  He did not ask her purpose at his home, merely waited and watched her squirm and cast her gaze away from him. He could see her intelligent mind wondering: would he tell his mother that he’d tumbled her onto his bed?

  “Of course you would have met,” his mother said. “Have you been respectful to the young ladies at these parties you attend?”

  “Always, Madre,” he answered easily.

  He wanted to laugh when Emmeline’s eyes narrowed, but what could she say when her own behavior had been just as scandalous? He remembered her on her back amidst his blankets, warming his bed.

  “And what are you two ladies discussing today?” he asked, seating himself on a heavy wooden chair to Emmeline’s right.

  She slid her knees to her left to avoid his. When his mother asked her to pass him a goblet of wine, he let his fingers cover hers for a moment too long, but she wouldn’t meet his gaze. My, she made things interesting. He was reluctant to admit the last time a woman had intrigued him.

  His mother sipped her own wine and smiled at him. “Lady Emmeline has asked me to help her with funds for the orphans. Her mother had always been kind to those in need, and Lady Emmeline has continued her work.”

  Riotous color stained Emmeline’s cheeks. Hmm…the righteous lady had kept his mother unaware of her true motives.

  He leaned a little closer. “I admit my errand here is not as generous. The queen has forgiven my latest indiscretion, and invited me to court for a weekend revelry. I’ve come to collect suitable garments.”

  His mother gave him a stern frown, and for an uncomfortable moment, he remembered the feel of her anger in his childhood, something he had deserved far too often.

  “Alexander, Her Majesty can only be so forgiving. When will you cease antagonizing her?”

  He shrugged. “The old girl likes it when I antagonize her. And I am the only one who can flatter her the proper way.”

  Emmeline set down her goblet firmly in the sudden silence. “Lady Thornton, please forgive me for taking up so much of your time. Thank you for considering my request.”

  She rose in a fluid motion that Alexander was so busy admiring, he needed his mother’s warning glance to remember to stand.

  “Lady Emmeline,” his mother said, “I would like to correspond with you on this subject. I am leaving for Wight today. I have a grandchild coming into the world,” she added proudly.

  Alex swore his mother thought this miracle was due to her own manipulations.

  “Congratulations to your son and his wife,” Emmeline said. “Good day, Lady Thornton.” After a curtsy, she turned for the hall.

  “Alexander will escort you to your coach.”

  From behind his mother gave him a shove. He could have laughed—until he saw Emmeline’s face, and then a darker mood struck him. He was obviously not good enough for her sister, so perhaps she didn’t want to be seen with him, either.

  He took her arm a little more tightly than he meant to and pulled her close to his side. Her breasts rose and fell with obvious indignation, and suddenly he wanted to see how far he could push her.

  “Lady Emmeline,” he murmured, as they left the withdrawing chamber. “Perhaps you’d care to tell me the real reason you visited my home.”

  “Your mother told you my reasons,” she said coolly.

  “Come now, surely between us you can admit the truth.” He leaned nearer and felt her subtly try to pull away. “You came to discover more about me from my own mother.”

  “Our mothers were friends, Sir Alexander. I need no other reason than that.”

  “Did you hope to see me?” He opened the door leading to the gardens down to the Thames.

  “Of course not!” she said indignantly. “Wait—my coach is on the other side of the manor.”

  “It is a lovely day. A stroll will do us good.”

  Emmeline was breathing so deeply and angrily that her corset was digging into her flesh. Sir Alexander held her elbow, guiding her in the spring sunshine where he wanted her to go. She had too much respect for his mother to yank away from him and run, and he knew she was trapped!

  “I did not think to see you here, Sir Alexander,” she continued as he drew her past a spraying fountain, “because I would naturally assume you to be in the lodgings you rent. Does your mother know about the Rooster?”

  “It is no secret, Lady Emmeline.”

  She glanced up at him, and saw that he was not looking at her face, but lower. A wave of shame heated her skin. She knew she did not have her sister’s fine figure, but that did not give him the right to remind her by staring so critically.

  “My mother does not want me to ride home late at night,” he said.

  She heard the laughter in his voice.

  “So she approves of your drinking? And does she know that the Rooster is more dangerous than the streets?”

  “I almost think you care about me, Lady
Emmeline.”

  “I care about my sister, and what danger you could bring to her.”

  “And have you another letter for me from the fair Lady Blythe?”

  “No!”

  Oh, he was so arrogant he thought every subject was about him! When they came to the end of the stone manor, she pulled sideways and forced him toward the front drive, feeling triumphant at his obvious surprise.

  Humphrey waited beside the coach, his cap in hand, his gaze obviously taking in how close they walked together. Emmeline pulled away, and literally stumbled because Sir Alexander let her go so easily.

  “Tsk, tsk,” he murmured, taking her arm again with his strong hand. “Such clumsiness leads me to wonder if you can dance.”

  “Oh, I dance very well indeed,” she said, lifting her chin. My goodness, what was she thinking by practically challenging him?

  When Sir Alexander laughed, she couldn’t even look at him for fear he’d see that his low, rumbling voice somehow…affected her. She climbed up into the coach, banging the door shut behind her and trying not to imagine dancing in Sir Alexander’s strong arms.

  Alex thought about ignoring his mother altogether, but knew she’d only follow him to his bedchamber. Instead, he went back into the withdrawing room and smiled at her. She narrowed her eyes at him.

  He felt too restless to sit for her probing, and found himself aimlessly walking about the room, running his hand over the carpets decorating the cupboards, pretending to admire the tapestries on the wall. He ended up at the lead-paned window that overlooked the gardens, almost wishing he’d taken Lady Emmeline deeper into the foliage, hidden away. What would she have done?

  His mother cleared her throat. “Lady Emmeline is a lovely señorita.”

  “I am actually interested in her sister, Lady Blythe,” he said, not turning around.

  She hesitated. “Oh. The younger one, eh?”

  He glanced over his shoulder at her and smiled. “Don’t you want me to marry as Spence has? Don’t you want more grandbabies?”

  “You are interested in marrying this girl?”