His Scandal

by Gayle Callen

  In the mirror she watched Blythe’s eyes blink slowly, heavily. “It’s time for you to sleep,” she murmured.

  Blythe shook her head and sat up straighter. “Oh no! My head is still buzzing with memories of our wonderful party. I would so like to be more a part of the preparations next time, so I can someday do what you do.”

  Emmeline smiled. “That would be wonderful.” She completed a few more strokes, then asked, “So whom did you dance with this evening?”

  She sighed. “So many men that I feel blessed! Lord Seabrook was especially generous with his time, and even Alex’s friend Sir Edmund showed that for such a big man, he is quite graceful.”

  “I didn’t see you dance with Sir Edmund,” Emmeline said cautiously, trying not to frown.

  “He didn’t arrive until late in the evening.”

  “Oh. What about Lord Willoughby?”

  “Who?” Blythe asked, once again blinking slowly.

  “Lord Willoughby, the young man I introduced you to at the refreshment table.”

  “Oh him! He seemed…nice, I guess. He didn’t ask me to dance.”

  Emmeline already knew that, and she wanted to groan at the man’s shyness.

  “But Alex did.”

  When she heard his name, she accidentally pulled the brush too hard and Blythe gasped.

  “Oh, dearest, forgive me!” she said, upset that her hands started to shake, that her mind immediately took her to the dark garden, and Alex’s arms around her, his mouth on hers. “What did Alex do?”

  “He danced with me,” she repeated, giving Emmeline a puzzled look.

  “Oh. I’m surprised he managed to find the time to attend our little party. He has been so busy of late.”

  “He has?” Blythe said after a big yawn. “How do you know?”

  “I have seen him…about.” Oh, why had she started this conversation?

  “Where?”

  Emmeline softened her strokes and lowered her voice, to put Blythe to sleep. “I saw him at a play, when I went with the queen’s ladies.”

  “On the day that my head ached so?”

  “Yes.” She hesitated, then blurted out, “He was with a lovely young lady.”

  Blythe only nodded. “He told me about her. She’s married, and her husband dislikes plays, so Alex takes her.”

  Was that all Alex did with her? Emmeline couldn’t help wondering, and she realized that she was jealous of a woman she didn’t even know. She began to brush again, slower, slower, as Blythe’s eyelids drooped.

  She whispered, “Come dearest, go to bed now. You’ve had a long evening.”

  Eyes practically closed, Blythe kissed her cheek and crawled under the covers. Emmeline returned to her own bedchamber, but sleep would not come easily—not with Alex tormenting her mind, reminding her of everything she would never have.

  Alex’s shadow had returned. Once again he could not shake the feeling he was being followed, nor the frustration of being unable to catch the scoundrel. If he owed somebody money, why didn’t they just ask for it? At least the creditors hounded him openly. It had been damned difficult getting used to no longer having his brother’s money to spend, and maybe in a drunken state he’d wagered something he shouldn’t have.

  In a brief moment of clarity, Alex wondered what the hell he was doing with his life. All he had to do was go back to his estates in Cumberland. The work he’d been doing as viscount could be applied to his own land. There, he was their master, whom his steward had no choice but to listen to. He could gain their respect, if he wanted to try.

  But when he’d lost the viscountcy, when he’d returned to being Alex Thornton, drunken scoundrel, none of it seemed so important. He couldn’t go back until he’d exorcised this restlessness inside him, until he’d proven—

  Proven what?

  That he was still Alex? That pretending to be Spencer for a year and a half had not changed him in some fundamental way?

  So, he would continue to live his life the way he wanted, determined not to let these hidden cowards affect him. Let them try to capture him, if they wanted.

  They tried again on his return home from a night of cards and gambling at a friend’s house. He was riding his horse through the muddy streets by moonlight and the occasional lantern hung outside a shop.

  He heard the jingle of horses nearby. He pulled up on the reins and stopped. So did the sound from the other horses. A feeling of menace stole over him, and he looked over his shoulder. He had his sword with him, but they might have firearms.

  He had deliberately taken the road leading past the high walls surrounding Emmeline’s estate. He had meant to look upon it and think of her kiss, and his next plans for her. Now, in the shadows where the walls met at a corner, he reached up and caught the top of the gritty wall, letting the horse slide out from under him. He pulled himself up and over, then dropped to the ground and held still. He heard no outcry, only the jingle of spurs as horses passed by.

  Alex leaned back against the wall and released his breath in a sigh. Across the neat rows of a kitchen garden loomed Kent Hall, massive and regal, jutting with turrets and tall windows in every wing.

  Somewhere in there Emmeline slept.

  Well, he had to do something until he was certain he’d eluded pursuit. It had only been a few months since he’d snuck into a woman’s house. He hoped he wasn’t out of practice.

  He approached the mansion, then moved from window to window on the ground floor. It wasn’t long before he found one unlatched. Pushing it open, he slid his legs inside and dropped to the floor.

  Chapter 13

  Emmeline couldn’t sleep. Through her mind ran thoughts of how to make Blythe and Maxwell comfortable with each other. She discarded plan after plan and still had nothing.

  And then there was Alex, and what to do about him. In the few days since the masque, he had not come to call, nor sent a letter to Blythe. Emmeline wondered if it bothered Blythe.

  Was her sister awake? She got up and looked across the dark hall, but saw no light beneath the door.

  Suddenly, she heard a sound from somewhere else in the house, and it echoed softly and died away. Who could be awake at this time of night? She quietly opened Blythe’s door, and found her sister fast asleep.

  Returning to her room, Emmeline shrugged into her dressing gown and tied it about her waist. She took the candleholder from her bedside table and walked out into the dark hall.

  The candle wrapped her in its glow, but made it hard to see anything else. She went down the front staircase very carefully, the cold marble numbing her bare feet.

  Light glowed from the parlor, as if the servants had put wood on the fire before they’d gone to bed. But only the kitchen fire was supposed to be left—

  She saw the silhouette of a crouching man before the hearth and frowned, her unease blossoming. He didn’t look like any of her people…

  Then he rose up, and seeing that he was a stranger, she gave a startled cry and dropped the candle.

  “Emmeline!”

  Alex Thornton rushed toward her. She shuddered with relief and leaned against the doorframe, watching rather dazedly as he picked up the now unlit candle.

  He scuffed his foot across the spot on the floor. “I don’t think it did any damage,” he said, looking back up at her.

  He had the gall to grin. She could easily have slapped his face, but then his gaze roved down her body, and his smile faded. Remembering vividly how it felt to be held in his strong arms, she stiffened and pulled the dressing gown even tighter at her waist. He seemed to choke as he turned back toward the fire.

  “What are you doing here?” she demanded as she followed him, her voice low.

  “Passing the time.”

  “You cannot possibly make me believe that Blythe knew—”

  “No, of course not,” he said, holding up a hand as he turned to face her. “I didn’t intend to stop in, but it seemed the best alternative.”

  “Alternative to what?” Emmeline
rested her fists on her hips and glared up at him as if being alone in the night with him did not do strange, wicked things to her insides.

  “To being accosted by criminals out in the street. I was being followed, and I had to go somewhere, didn’t I?”

  He busied himself at a small table, and she realized with disbelief that he was pouring himself a goblet of wine.

  “Is that my father’s?” she asked faintly.

  He lifted it toward her in a silent toast, took a sip, then sighed with obvious pleasure. “I assumed he wouldn’t mind. Can I pour you some?”

  “No. Just—just tell me why you were being followed.”

  He shrugged. “Thievery, I guess.”

  “Like that evening I came to the tavern?”

  He nodded, looking very much at ease in the flickering firelight in someone else’s home. She had to think about something else.

  “Do you think the incidents are related?”

  He glanced at her sharply. “Smart girl.”

  “What do they want?”

  “They already stole most of my money, yet still they come. It makes entertaining myself rather difficult.”

  “But…surely you have more money. Your family is wealthy, is it not?”

  She watched his profile as he stared unseeingly into the fire.

  “I won’t borrow from my brother,” he said in a low voice. Then he turned and grinned at her. “And it’s such a long journey to my own estates. Unless you’d like to keep me company?”

  He was teasing her, and she hated how flustered he could make her feel. “How long do you mean to hide here? What if someone sees you?”

  He poured himself more wine. Then, holding her gaze, he sank down in a large chair beside the fire, his knees spread, his body loose and languorous as he smiled at her. She caught her breath, unable to stop staring as heat seemed to blossom inside her body in embarrassing places. She remembered his lips on hers, his tongue thrusting inside with a boldness that had nearly made her swoon. Would he try to kiss her again—goodness, did she want him to? Never had she thought the element of danger about a man would intrigue her.

  She closed her eyes and braced her hands on the mantel.

  Alex’s mouth went dry when Emmeline leaned before the fire. Her dressing gown was so thin and fine that he could see the luscious curves of her body, even her nipples where they strained against the fabric. He was overwhelmed with the urge to take her clothes from her, to lay her down on a carpet before the fire, and show her what she did to a man.

  “Emmeline.” He had to clear his throat to continue.

  She turned her head and he tried not to watch the fall of her heavy hair where it slid against her body.

  “Don’t ask me to leave,” he whispered. “And please, don’t stand like that.”

  “Like what?”

  She turned toward him and words failed him as he remembered the arousing passion of her kiss. How could she not know how alluring she was? “You’re wearing little, love. I’m only a man, you know.”

  She seemed puzzled, then her face flamed as she once again pulled her dressing gown tight. Did she truly have no idea how she pushed up her generous breasts when she did that?

  “Don’t be cruel, Alex,” she said in a low voice. “I wouldn’t have believed it of you.”

  “Cruel?” He leaned forward to take her hands in his. “I am only saying the truth. If your poet would have seen you like this, he would not have allowed you to turn him away.”

  He felt the tension in her hands, and saw a sudden sheen of tears sparkle in her eyes. “I didn’t want to turn him away. I didn’t care that he was only a tutor. But my father did. He forbade me to marry him.”

  For a moment, it was as if every truth Alex had ever known shook itself into a new place. She hadn’t rejected her suitor because he was unworthy of her? Her father had denied her happiness?

  Unable to deal with his own sudden confusion, he resorted to what he did best. Standing up, he reached out to cup her cheek. She didn’t move, only stared at him, her lips parted, her eyes shining.

  “So you had a suitor,” he murmured, letting his fingers brush over her soft skin. “Did he ever touch you like this?”

  Emmeline couldn’t even remember her poet’s name. She could form no rational thought at all as he stroked her cheek, and down her neck.

  She swallowed and tried to sound affronted, but only managed breathlessness. “No, he was a gentleman.”

  With his hand behind her neck, he pulled her slowly forward. “But if this man truly loved you, he would have needed to caress your skin, to smell your hair.”

  Her breasts touched his body first, then her hips, and she wore so little it was as if her skin was alive with new sensations. Her nipples hardened to sensitive nubs against his chest; her belly tightened when he pressed the hard evidence of his desire against her. He brushed her hair back over her shoulder, then bent and pressed his mouth beneath her ear.

  It was all too much.

  Emmeline fought tears as she whispered, “If he never loved me, then I don’t have a single precious memory to carry into spinsterhood. Don’t take that away from me.”

  His tongue licked a path to her collarbone as his hands pulled her even closer against him. “I can give you such memories.”

  His deep voice rumbled against her chest. His hands were sliding from her waist and up her stomach. Though it was one of the most difficult things she’d ever done, she caught and held them just below her breasts.

  “You do not love me. You’re pursuing my sister.”

  “I don’t love her, either.”

  She felt the tension in his hands as if he would break free and do as he wished with her. To her embarrassment, she wanted to let him. She wanted to feel what it was like to be desired by a man, to know the heady sensations of passion she’d only just begun to glimpse. But then she’d only be his mistress.

  She shoved him and he stumbled back.

  “Go home to your tavern, Alex. I’m sure you can find other women who don’t mind that you’re not in love with them.”

  He caught her arm. “Do you want me to be in love with you?”

  Pain knifed through her. “No! Nor do I want intimacies that mean nothing to you but easing your lust.”

  “Em, you can’t believe—”

  “Do not tell me what to believe! Do you see that window over there? Go out it!”

  “But Em—” he began.

  He smiled with such amusement that she wanted to pound her fists against him, to shake him into realizing what he’d done here this night.

  “Go home, Alex!”

  He stared at her for a moment, then shook his head as he donned his cloak. “Don’t worry for me, love. I’m sure those angry villains have gone away.”

  “I won’t worry.”

  When he had his legs over the windowsill, she was tempted to give him a push. Instead she watched him drop out of sight, then slammed the window shut and locked it.

  She put her shaking hands over her mouth and began to cry as her memories of Clifford faded even further. Had she been lying to herself?

  Was it truly only Alex who had ever made her feel wanted and alive? If so, then she was doomed, for although he desired her, he made no secret of the fact that he enjoyed many women in the same way.

  Emmeline had to forget her own woes and concentrate on Blythe’s newest hope for a suitor. Lord Willoughby was a sweet man, and surely once he and Blythe were together more often, his tongue would loosen. She invited him to play cards with her and Blythe, but the scheme fell apart. Once again, he talked to her freely, but when Blythe made an appearance he was tongue-tied, and could barely bring himself to ask for the next card.

  To make matters worse, Blythe had overheard him speaking so easily to Emmeline, and tried to convince Emmeline that Lord Willoughby really liked her.

  But Emmeline wouldn’t give up. She vowed that when they attended the Duke of Stokesford’s dinner party on Thursday, she would make su
re Lord Willoughby and Blythe were alone together. She would remain nearby, but how else would her sister see that he was intrigued with her?

  Her plans were frustrated by Blythe, who developed a cough and a fever. Emmeline had to send their regrets with an explanation. Little did she know how her “explanation” would be received. The afternoon after the dinner party, four of Blythe’s friends arrived, full of sympathy and comfort—and sweets. Emmeline had her hands full entertaining the girls, while trying to keep Blythe in her room.

  She was serving a tray of tarts to the ladies in the parlor when the manservant announced Maxwell Willoughby. He walked in carrying an armful of flowers that practically hid his concerned face.

  “How is Blythe?” he asked quickly.

  Emmeline smiled. “She is fine, my lord. How good of you to inquire after her. But she’s not seeing visitors today.”

  “Please, call me Maxwell. Without your sister, life must seem dull. I thought I could keep you company, and perhaps catch a glimpse of Blythe from afar. I even brought her wine from my estate.”

  He turned sideways, and she saw a bottle tucked beneath his arm. Emmeline stepped aside so he could join her other visitors, and as she did so, she saw the servant showing another man in—Alex Thornton.

  He walked in carrying two roses, and it was as if excitement suddenly sizzled through the room. The four ladies gasped and giggled. Maxwell visibly drooped. And Emmeline felt her face redden and her body react with betraying pleasure.

  She reminded herself that he was here to see Blythe.

  But then he stopped beside Maxwell, who peered up at him through the flowers.

  “Good afternoon, Lady Emmeline. When I heard about your sister’s precarious health, I had to come see for myself.” He held out the two roses. “One for Blythe, and one for her doting sister, who has had the added burden of playing the nurse.” He glanced over Emmeline’s shoulder and smiled at Blythe’s friends. “And hostess as well, I see. It is a good thing I arrived to help you.”

  “Help me?” she repeated, her teeth clenched.