His Scandal

by Gayle Callen

  But no. He groaned and covered his face with both hands. He’d had a successful mission today—making her see that Roswald was happy and wanted her to be happy too. It was her first step in coming back to life as a vibrant woman. He needed to let the drink wear off until he was more in control of his impulses.

  He flung his arm over his eyes. Even when he was sober, Emmeline Prescott played hell with his impulses. Surely he only felt this way because she was such an unattainable challenge.

  In the morning as she dressed, Emmeline kept her back to her sister to hide her worried frown. There was no way to avoid Alex, and she couldn’t imagine looking him in the face again after her wanton conduct. Remembering the firelit room, the feel of his hands on her barely clothed body, made her shudder with guilt. How could she enjoy such a thing—and why was she so curious to find out the rest?

  Luckily, Blythe distracted her from her thoughts.

  “Emmy, something happened yesterday that I don’t quite understand. Oh, could you help me button the back of my gown?”

  Taking a deep breath, Emmeline approached her sister and was glad not to have to look her in the face. “What is it, dearest?”

  “You seemed…upset, and it wasn’t just meeting up with Mr. Roswald after so many years.”

  Emmeline took her time with the buttons, telling herself that Blythe was merely curious, not suspicious. Though Emmeline hadn’t initiated the deception upon poor Clifford, it weighed on her conscience. Perhaps telling Blythe would ease it.

  “Unbeknownst to me, Sir Alexander decided to play a trick upon Clifford. Oh, perhaps ‘misled Clifford’ is more correct.” When the buttons were done, she used her fingers to comb her sister’s hair into order.

  “Why would he do such a thing? Did he know what Clifford was to you?”

  “Yes, he overheard us speaking.”

  Blythe suddenly whirled about and took Emmeline’s hands. “Oh, and this is even more my fault! I once mentioned to Alex that you’d had to turn down a tutor who’d fallen in love with you. Can you forgive me?”

  Emmeline felt her own sins magnify next to her sister’s. “Blythe, you did nothing wrong; my past is hardly a secret.”

  “So what did Alex do?”

  She gave her a shaky smile. “In front of Clifford, he pretended that we would soon be…married.”

  Blythe’s eyes widened, and Emmeline felt her stomach twist as she waited for the worst. But her sister suddenly laughed.

  “What a fine amusement, Emmy! I do so enjoy Alex’s wit. What did Mr. Roswald think?”

  Bewildered, she said, “He thought it wonderful.”

  “I am not surprised. He must have fond memories of you, to want your happiness after all these years. And now I know why Alex followed you into the garden. More proof to Mr. Roswald of this supposed romantic secret.”

  Emmeline nodded hesitantly. “You are not upset?”

  “Upset?” Blythe smiled as she walked behind Emmeline and used her fingers to comb her sister’s hair. “I could not be more pleased with Alex’s thoughtfulness. He is becoming a good friend to us, is he not?”

  Emmeline could think of nothing to say to that. In the silence, she felt Blythe pull her hair off her neck.

  “Emmy, hand me that ribbon.”

  She lifted the ribbon Alex had bought her off the bed table. “Blythe, I don’t think—”

  “It will look lovely on you.”

  It was difficult to swallow as her sister took the ribbon and used it to hold her hair back. As they left the chamber, she tried to return Blythe’s smile, but her stomach remained in knots over facing Alex, with the further mortification of having his ribbon entwined in her hair. Would he think she gave her approval of his attentions?

  When they reached the taproom, Alex and Maxwell stood up at their table.

  “Gentlemen,” Blythe said, “have you not ordered our meal? Are you not hungry?”

  Maxwell shuddered, and Alex’s dark skin paled.

  Emmeline felt relieved to be of use. “Dearest, food is beyond our companions at the moment. You and I will eat lightly, I think.” Avoiding Alex’s gaze, she went to the bar and ordered simple bread and cheese with cider.

  When she turned back, it was Alex she saw first, Alex whose dark eyes captured and held her almost as tightly as his arms had. She stumbled to a halt.

  “The color of the ribbon goes well with your hair, Lady Emmeline,” he said softly.

  She opened her mouth, but could think of nothing to say, with the enormity of her passion for him so painfully obvious to herself. Finally, she murmured, “Blythe decided I should wear it this way.”

  He smiled. “She knows what becomes you.”

  Blythe looked between the two of them. “Alex, it is not only me, after all. You bought the ribbons.”

  The ball held at the Queen’s palace of Whitehall a week later was attended by hundreds, some traveling from their vast estates for the event. It was as if the fear of a looming Spanish invasion, now lifted, had given way to a need for celebration.

  Emmeline and Blythe traveled by family barge with their father, and reclined amidst cushions as they waited their turn to dock at the royal palace. A dark, covered walkway led into the palace, but the presence chamber itself was a glorious hall whose walls were gilded in gold, and hung with red and gold tapestries. Such rarities as ostrich eggs and coconut cups were mounted in silver to decorate the room. The rugs that normally covered the floor had been taken away to facilitate dancing.

  Emmeline felt excitement bubble inside her. She felt beautiful clothed in a black and white gown that Blythe had had made for her. Her mother’s rubies and sapphires hung about her neck and diamonds glittered on her fingers. She had felt foolish, dressing so ostentatiously, but Blythe had adorned her herself, giggling as if they played dress-up with dolls.

  It seemed every courtier had donned their finest garments, and the candlelight reflected from shining cloth and jewels. Something good would happen this night, she just knew it. She had been mentioning Maxwell subtly yet often to Blythe, and in a letter, she had told Maxwell outright to ask Blythe to dance.

  Now she watched fondly as Blythe was surrounded by young men asking to bring her refreshments, or partner her to dance. Lord Seabrook captured her first, and Emmeline craned her neck to watch her sister amidst the splendor of the dancers, tapping her toe to the beat of the music.

  Maxwell Willoughby approached her and bowed. “Lady Emmeline, how lovely you look this night.”

  “Maxwell!” She gave his hand a squeeze, and bestowed a fond smile on him. “Blythe and I have missed you this past sennight. What kept you from us?”

  “I had business in Sussex, my lady, but I thank you for thinking of me.” His smile became self-deprecating. “And it is kind of you to say your sister missed me, but I think it not quite the truth.”

  She waved her hand. “Nonsense. We both enjoyed the day in Islington.”

  He seemed about to say something else, but only shook his head and smiled. Emmeline felt relieved, because just mentioning the village fair brought back shadowed memories of a nearly naked Alex. She had not seen him during the week, either, and she’d been torn between relief and regret.

  “Maxwell, remain here with me. I’m certain Blythe would enjoy a dance with you.” She eyed him sternly. “You are going to ask her, aren’t you?”

  He hesitated.

  “Maxwell!”

  “I’ll try, my lady. It is difficult for me to compete with the gentlemen who gather about her.”

  “You can do it,” she insisted, laying a hand on his arm.

  Maxwell covered her hand with his. “I shall do my best.”

  But dance after dance, Blythe didn’t return; she merely continued to laugh as each dance was claimed before she even left the floor. Emmeline ran out of things to say in the face of Maxwell’s growing dejection.

  Was she wrong? Would the tentative friendship she felt between Blythe and Maxwell wither rather than flourish?

/>   But no. She sensed something, and she had to find a way to give it meaning.

  Sighing, she looked out once more into the hall and saw that Blythe was now dancing with Alex. She froze, wondering why she hadn’t known he had arrived, why she hadn’t felt his presence like a living thing wrapping itself about her?

  He didn’t look her way as he led her sister through the intricate steps of the dance. The musicians played, the guests laughed and enjoyed themselves, but Emmeline could only stare, remembering Alex’s mouth on hers even as that mouth smiled so charmingly at her sister.

  But Blythe seemed unaffected, as her gaze wandered about the other dancers and landed only briefly on Alex. Emmeline could not understand why her sister wasn’t swooning in his arms, as she would be. But then again, his kiss had meant nothing to Blythe, and that was a great relief.

  Tearing her gaze away, she glanced at Maxwell and found that he, too, was staring at the dancing couple. His usual smile was gone, replaced by an intensity of which she had never thought him capable. His eyes were narrowed, unblinking, and she realized that he was angry, even jealous.

  “Go to her,” she said softly. “Ask her to dance.”

  But without a word, he stalked away from her and out of the presence chamber.

  Emmeline stood alone for a few moments, saddened that her plans were not succeeding. Finally she wandered to where the married and elderly ladies were sitting and took a bench nearby. The evening’s promise dwindled away and she sighed.

  “Look at him dancing,” said a disdainful voice not far from her.

  She glanced over her shoulder, then shook her head. It was that dreadful woman again, Lady Boxworth, who had taken such delight in gossiping about Alex at Lady Morley’s party.

  Emmeline pitied her newest target and didn’t feel tempted to listen.

  “Who is that he is dancing with?” asked another woman.

  “The Prescott girl, Kent’s daughter.”

  Emmeline closed her eyes and barely restrained a groan. Not again. How could she escape without calling attention to herself?

  “She is a good match for him, is she not?”

  “Too good,” said Lady Boxworth. “Last year, perhaps, he might have fancied he could reach such heights, but his masquerade is discovered now. Kent will not suffer him, ’tis certain.”

  Emmeline kept as still as a hunter’s prey, her head averted, feeling guilty and curious at the same time.

  “Masquerade?” the other woman said. “I was traveling in the north much of last year, and I fear the gossip did not reach me.”

  There were titters of laughter and gasps, which quieted when Lady Boxworth spoke.

  “You did not hear that Thornton masqueraded as his brother the viscount, undetected, for nearly two years?”

  The other woman let out a gasp, echoing Emmeline’s. Why had she heard nothing of such a scandal? Again, she stared at Alex, while the women continued to talk.

  “I know he is a twin,” said the other woman, “but to pull off such a deed is arrogant beyond belief! Whyever would his brother allow such a thing?”

  “The viscount put his own brother up to the stunt while he was off in Spain spying for England,” Lady Boxworth said. “He needed a replacement for himself, so no one would question his whereabouts.”

  A new, girlish voice said breathlessly, “Then Sir Alexander is a hero!”

  “You show your youth, child,” Lady Boxworth said in a withering tone. “He wasn’t the hero—Lord Thornton was. Sir Alexander should merely have played the part, calling little attention to himself. But a man such as he cannot resist showing his arrogance.”

  Emmeline stiffened, but she wanted to hear the rest of the story. Truly he was a hero, for it could have been dangerous for him.

  “Arrogance?” echoed one of the fascinated listeners.

  “Yes, indeed,” said Lady Boxworth. “Sir Alexander used this pretence to the title to spend vast amounts of his brother’s money. He scandalized the court with his affairs with women—” She lowered her voice. “Married women, as well.”

  “Did he ruin his brother?” asked the young girl.

  “Thankfully, no.”

  “Did he perform the viscount’s court duties?”

  “Yes,” Lady Boxworth admitted reluctantly. “But he rose above himself, courting maidens as the viscount, misleading them with his attentions—as if any of these well-born women would marry a mere knight, had they but known. And now, ladies, he’s paying for the sins of his arrogance and scandals; he’s no longer accepted at the best of homes. His only life was his brother’s.”

  Emmeline’s anger heated her veins, and she lifted her head and stared at the cruel women. “Lady Boxworth, you claim Sir Alexander wooed maidens falsely. Did he offer them marriage? Did he make promises he could not keep?”

  The old woman’s prominent nose rose into the air. “Thankfully these young women discovered the truth in time.”

  “Did he make false promises?” Emmeline asked again.

  After a brief hesitation, Lady Boxworth coldly said, “No.”

  “Then I don’t see why you feel the need to discredit a man for helping his country.”

  “And benefiting handsomely from it, I daresay,” the woman said quickly.

  Emmeline could not respond, because she didn’t know all the facts. She merely shook her head at the gossiping women, dismissing them. She turned around and found Alex approaching her, smiling with the ease of a man who didn’t know what was being said about him. He bowed to the ladies, and Emmeline wanted to wince.

  Then he turned, bowed to her, and held out his hand. “Would you care to dance, Lady Emmeline?”

  Chapter 18

  Emmeline put her hand in Alex’s, happy to be escaping such malicious women, even if it meant subjecting herself to the temptation of his embrace.

  “I would enjoy dancing with you, Sir Alexander.”

  His eyebrows rose, but he said nothing, only led her into the center of the hall.

  As they performed the dance steps together, she watched his face, trying to make sense of this new information. She was curious about the two years of his life he’d given up, but she did not know how to raise the subject with a man so private with his true thoughts. She found herself feeling compassion for him, and it softened her. What had it been like to risk his life for his country, then give up the power and wealth to which he must have become accustomed? Had he felt the same as she had when she’d given up Clifford Roswald: lost and frightened of the future? Did men merely hide their feelings beneath bravado?

  His grin turned wolfish. “Ah, you study me so thoroughly, my lady,” he murmured. “I feel quite…ravished.”

  She wanted to groan. His arrogance only hid even more arrogance—and salacious thoughts. “Alex, you really should learn to control your tongue.”

  He laughed outright. “Em, you can attest to how well my tongue obeys me.” He lowered his voice and leaned nearer. “And there are so many interesting places on your body it wants to delve, to taste. I want to part your thighs and—”

  As she felt her face blush hotly, she was glad that the dance steps drew her to another man. But her vivid imagination expounded on Alex’s implications until she was breathless and yearning for the secrets he hinted at.

  Yet Lady Boxworth’s words rose again in her mind.

  When the dance brought Alex back to Emmeline’s arms, he couldn’t help staring down at her, wondering at the subtle change in her. She seemed pensive, and he wondered if it was because of the intimacies they’d shared—or the ones he’d just implied.

  Or was it due to Maxwell Willoughby? He’d seen Maxwell’s hand on her arm, seen her touch him. Feeling a primitive jealousy, Alex had wanted to break off his dance with Blythe and drag Emmeline away.

  So she was the next woman he’d danced with. And the only woman here he wanted to dance with.

  Thankfully, Emmeline spoke before he could dwell on such a ridiculous thought.

  “Ale
x, did you just arrive at the palace?”

  “No, I’ve been here for a time. You just didn’t see me.” He saw the curiosity in her eyes, watched her bite her full lip to keep from questioning him. “I was with the Queen.”

  They were swept apart again for several minutes. When they returned together, she repeated, “With the Queen?”

  “My, aren’t you the curious one?”

  Emmeline couldn’t help it. For a man so looked down upon by much of the nobility, he seemed to have the Queen’s attention and companionship. How did he do it? What made him so good with women, even women who knew they should not be attracted to him—like her?

  Just dancing with him made most women swoon; why couldn’t Maxwell dance like this with Blythe? There must be some secret; maybe all Maxwell needed was guidance.

  And who better to teach him than Alex?

  A plan began to form in Emmeline’s mind, and she shivered with the daring perfection of it. Could she persuade Alex to teach Maxwell what he knew about courting women?

  But how to explain her plan to Alex? She needed privacy, but not enough for him to work his magic on her.

  When the dance ended, they bowed to one another.

  “Alex, would you lead me to the refreshment table?”

  He raised one eyebrow as he eyed her suspiciously. “You don’t wish to run from me as quickly as you can?”

  “Certainly not. You must be as thirsty as I am.”

  He inclined his head, then led the way through the milling crowd. At a table laden with sweets, he poured her wine from the elaborate fountain, then sipped his own as he studied her.

  Emmeline knew she must be blushing. After all her attempts to get him out of Blythe’s life, how could she ask a favor? But she must—for Blythe’s sake.

  “Emmeline, what is this all about?” he asked softly.

  She wet her lips and forced herself to meet his gaze. “I need to speak with you…privately.”

  For a moment he looked incredulous, then his eyes smoldered. “It seems our last private moment was interrupted too quickly for you.”

  “N-No!” she stammered quickly. “It is…nothing like that. I need to ask a”—she lowered her voice—“a favor of you.”