His Scandal

by Gayle Callen

  Could his smug smile make her face feel any hotter? She wanted to run from him—and yet there were Maxwell and Blythe, two people she knew should be together. She stiffened and tried to meet his gaze coolly.

  “It will not require much of you, Alex. Are you willing to hear me out?”

  His black eyes regarded her and she stared back. He would not defeat her, she vowed to herself, warming to the challenge of besting him.

  “Very well, my lady. Where do you suggest for our little…tryst?”

  “It is not a tryst,” she said crossly, looking toward the high windows. “Do you know how to reach the terrace?”

  He grinned and nodded, and she wondered how many secret places in Whitehall he knew about that she did not.

  “Very well, I shall meet you out there in a quarter of an hour.”

  “Must I wait so long?” he murmured.

  She resisted the pull of his voice. “I need to speak with you, not lure the rest of the party outside for curiosity’s sake.”

  He heaved a melodramatic sigh. “The minutes will drag like hours.”

  “For a poet, that is a highly unoriginal phrase, Alex.”

  He put a hand to his heart and leaned over her. “You wound me, Lady Emmeline.”

  She backed away. “You’ll meet me, then?”

  “Of course. How could I resist?”

  “Resist your baser impulses, sir, and think only to listen to my request.”

  He caught her hand before she could escape. “My baser impulses control me when I’m with you, Em.”

  She could confess to the same sin. She pulled away, trying not to remember the way he’d kissed her, held her, and stroked her. “Fifteen minutes,” she whispered, and let the crowd swallow her.

  To calm her wayward thoughts, she spent the next few moments discovering Blythe’s whereabouts, and then her father’s. Neither was looking for her.

  She began to walk the length of the chamber, staying near the wall. She wandered through archways and back, hoping to confuse anyone who might see her. Finally, with a last look over her shoulder, she slipped behind a marble column, then out the open doors to the terrace.

  The night was overcast and dark, and a slight breeze made bumps stand up along Emmeline’s arms. There were torches lit near the palace and guards on duty at the doors, but farther out into the gardens, where the ground dropped away into the next level of terrace, it looked like the end of the earth.

  She didn’t see Alex. She had not thought of an exact place to meet him, and she now realized she could wander the grounds for days before they found one another.

  She walked out toward the stone balustrade, hugging herself against the chill, wondering if she was acting stupidly. Should she have just invited him to the manor and met him in broad daylight? Before her doubts could escalate, he seemed to materialize out of the gloom at her side, his midnight velvet garments concealing him.

  She gave a little start of surprise, then sagged against the balustrade with a sigh.

  “Expecting someone else?” he asked calmly.

  She felt foolish and far too daring than could be good for her. She almost said he might be as good at spying as his brother, but she restrained herself. He had confided none of this to her, and she didn’t want to offend him just when she needed something from him.

  “I didn’t hear you coming, Alex. But thank you for doing so.”

  “How could I resist when asked so mysteriously?”

  He stood too close at her side, and rather than move nervously away, she looked out into the darkness.

  She should just ask him the favor; but how to sway him? She could not tell him Maxwell needed help to court Blythe, because surely he would see that as a challenge. She heard him chuckle.

  “My lady, did you just need a companion tonight? We could have found a place where even the guards wouldn’t find us.”

  She ignored his implication and decided to charge right in. “Alex, Lord Willoughby needs our help.”

  Whatever Alex had expected her to say, it wasn’t that. “What has he done, gambled away all his money?”

  She waved a hand. “Nothing so foolish. He needs a different kind of help, something more…personal.”

  He didn’t like the dark sensation that wound through his gut and made him want to bash in Willoughby’s face. Emmeline betrayed her fondness for the boy with every smile, and Alex couldn’t explain why it bothered him so.

  “I know I’m gifted at agriculture, but I can’t grow his grapes for him, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  She laughed, then quickly covered her mouth. “Oh, no, ’tis something else. Have you noticed how uneasy Maxwell is with young ladies?”

  “He is rather clumsy in his speech. I thought the ladies found that endearing.”

  “But it bothers Maxwell, and I fear he’s quite given up on the idea of courting an appropriate young lady.”

  Appropriate? What the hell did that mean? Did she think Willoughby wasn’t moving fast enough for her? Hellfire, it was enough to make him want to shake her—or hold her tight and prove with his mouth that Willoughby wasn’t right for her.

  “So if he puts his tail between his legs and hies off for Sussex, what does it matter to me?”

  Her face was a pale smudge in the darkness. “Alex, do be civil. You—you’re very good at charming the ladies. You know what to say, what to do.” She took a deep breath. “Do you think you could tutor Maxwell? His shyness would disappear if he but knew what to say, what was expected of him.”

  He could only stare at her in astonishment. She wanted her newest suitor trained? By him? Were there only parts of Alex she tolerated, and these she would graft onto Willoughby and make a new man of him?

  His brain was muddled, his chest constricted, and he felt a violent need to slam his fist against the stone balustrade. Never had a woman made him feel so at a loss, so desperate to make her see reason.

  All of a sudden he saw himself clearly, and was appalled. Why was he so upset? He could find a way to use this to his advantage, to make Emmeline see that Willoughby would never be the right man for her.

  She stepped closer and looked up at him. “Will you do it, Alex?”

  “I’m not sure I can, my lady. Such skills might be something a man is born with. No one needed to teach me.” He dropped his voice lower, knowing it made her come even nearer.

  “But surely you can try?” she pleaded prettily, even putting a hand on his arm.

  She should be the one giving lessons, he thought.

  All for that fool Willoughby.

  He knew in that moment what he would do. “You would need to help me.”

  A little frown creased her forehead. “But I know nothing of such things.”

  “Without you, I won’t have the first idea of what to teach him. You must be with us every moment, guiding us with your common sense.”

  “Oh, but I couldn’t possibly journey to your lodgings. My presence might be misinterpreted.”

  “Then Willoughby and I could come to you. Is there a private room where we could work?”

  “Well, yes, but—”

  “Then that is settled. Now, I am to teach him what, exactly?”

  “What to say to young ladies, how to—to—flirt with them.” She blurted out the last part quickly, and he knew her blush must be scarlet by now.

  “Flirt? I never think of calling it that. I pay women the respect they deserve, treat them the way they want to be treated.”

  “Well, that might be going too far, Alex.”

  “Really? Then you do not like things like this?” He caught her hand and brought it up to his mouth, letting his lips learn the smooth feel of her skin. When he didn’t release her quickly, he felt a slight tremor run through her hand.

  “I—I’m sure other ladies enjoy…such things.”

  Still holding her hand, he glanced up at her. “Does Maxwell do this?”

  “No.”

  “Ah, then this is a skill I can teach.
”

  “Yes, I guess so. Now that you grasp the idea, let us go back inside.”

  “Wait, my lady, I’m not sure what else I can teach him. What about…this?”

  He caught her arms and drew her forward to where he leaned on the balustrade. Her full skirts pressed into his legs, and with just a little more pressure, he would feel her hips against his. But there was time for that yet. He leaned down toward her, hearing the catch in her breathing, feeling her hands clutch the fabric covering his chest. Her lips glistened, and it was only through sheer willpower that he turned his head and pressed his mouth to her neck. God, he wanted her, needed her in his bed, and his frustrated desire was maddening.

  Her gasp sounded loud in his ear. “Surely this is going too far,” she whispered.

  He trailed his lips to the edge of the ruff at her throat, then back up. His tongue traced the shell of her ear and she shivered. “But ’tis effective, is it not?”

  “But…but it’s not what a gentleman would do,” she answered breathlessly.

  “But it’s what a man would do.” He lifted his head and looked down into her eyes, feeling her breath against his mouth, wanting desperately to kiss her. “Very well, so that’s not what I’m supposed to teach him. What do you wish of me?”

  Her eyes were dazed, and he could almost see her try to rally her thoughts. He wanted to gloat in triumph, to tell her that Willoughby would never make her feel this way. But he would bide his time.

  “You’re supposed to teach him what to say to a lady,” she finally answered, her gaze on his mouth, “how to amuse her.”

  “Ah. I know quite well how to amuse a lady.”

  He waited, allowing her imagination to expand on his words.

  Chapter 19

  Whatever Emmeline imagined made her suddenly push Alex away. There would be no kiss this night, no temptation of her body pressed to his. He was aroused enough that he almost took it from her anyway.

  “Alex, this is not amusing. I have requested a favor. Will you help me?”

  He hesitated just enough to make her nervous. “I shall help you—but only because you’ve asked me so nicely. When shall we begin? Shall I talk to Willoughby tonight?”

  “Oh, no, I haven’t even asked him yet.”

  “He doesn’t know you’ve come to me for help?”

  “I could hardly put such a thought in his mind, and then have you refuse us.”

  He hated the way she said “us.” “Very well, let me know what the two of you decide.” 237

  She nodded and slowly backed away.

  He forced himself to grin. “You’d better watch what you’re doing Em, before you trip.”

  With a little side step, she just missed a bench, but still she didn’t look away from him, as if she were afraid he’d chase her. So he just stared after her until he finally saw her illuminated by the torches near the palace. Then she slipped inside, leaving him to decide how best to work this to his advantage.

  Emmeline knew that persuading Maxwell Willoughby to accept help would be almost as difficult as persuading Alex to help. She sent a missive to Maxwell, asking him to come see her on a day when Blythe was out visiting friends. When she finally had him alone, she explained her idea, and though he was mildly offended, he did not summarily dismiss her plan. He admitted that he rather admired Alex’s easy ability with women.

  So it was settled. Her father left for Kent, and it was almost too simple to persuade Blythe to accompany him to visit friends back home. Except for the servants, Emmeline had the mansion to herself. She immediately issued invitations to both Alex and Maxwell for dinner the following day, a Friday.

  Alex was early by half an hour. Emmeline was informed of his arrival while in the kitchen overseeing preparations for their meal. The steward beamed as he delivered the news, then disappeared back into the front of the mansion. Bless him, he was always assuming there was still a man out there for her.

  Well, Alex would just have to wait. She was not about to have her plans turned inside out because of him. She didn’t want to make small talk, all the while remembering the things they’d done together. Just as she was about to escape up to her chamber by the back staircase, Alex appeared in the kitchen door.

  “Lady Emmeline?” he called.

  The maids all let out giggling gasps, while Mr. Horatio, the cook, glowered at them. But even he, ever one in control of his domain, had an encouraging smile for her.

  “You see to your guests, my lady,” Mr. Horatio said, ushering her forward, ignoring the fact that she was quite unwilling.

  Alex grinned at all the women before eyeing Emmeline herself. “I knew I’d find you here. Always working too hard, isn’t she, ladies?”

  They all bobbed their heads in agreement, and she was forced into a stiff smile. “Sir Alexander, please wait in the parlor. As soon as I finish, I’ll—”

  But he swept into the room, towering over the servants, smiling so charmingly that Emmeline could see the girls sigh as they gazed up at him.

  “Ladies, might I steal Lady Emmeline from you?”

  There was really no help for it. She was almost pushed out the door by the cheerful kitchen servants, and then Alex was pulling her to the parlor. When she heard the door close, she whirled to face him.

  “Alex, please open the door.”

  Slowly he walked toward her and she held her ground.

  “Now, Em, your father and your sister are gone, am I right?”

  “How did you know that?” she demanded, feeling giddiness flutter in her stomach and up into her throat. “Have you been spying on us?”

  “Your steward told me when I came in.”

  “Please don’t ask my servants personal questions.”

  “He volunteered the information.”

  Alex stepped closer until Emmeline would have to back away or touch him. But he stopped before her, and she arched her neck to look up at him. The air was charged with their breathing, his as rapid as hers, she was amazed to see.

  “So we’re alone,” he murmured.

  She was frozen with indecision, wondering what he’d do, wanting—

  He suddenly turned away and sprawled on the settle. “So tell me about your plans for Willoughby’s teaching.”

  The space around her was suddenly so empty. She gripped the back of a chair to keep from falling over. She had wanted to help Maxwell and Blythe, but had not realized how Alex’s presence would torture her.

  Or had she? Was she unknowingly doing anything she could to be with him?

  No, it couldn’t be true—she wouldn’t allow it to be true. She forced herself to smile and sit across from him. “I just want Maxwell to feel at ease in the company of women, to have a fair chance to compete with other men. Anything you feel would be appropriate, I wish you would teach him.”

  He rested his elbows casually on his knees. “You’re trusting me to choose.”

  She nodded.

  “You seem to have much faith in me.”

  “I certainly have faith in some of the things you’re competent at.”

  “Only competent?” His smile was so knowing that she blushed. “All right, I’ll accept competent, although I imagine it is not the first word ascribed to me. I have so much faith in my…competence that I propose a wager.”

  Emmeline shook her head, hiding her trembling hands in her skirt. Where was Maxwell? This unbearable tension, this feeling of intimate invasion, was becoming more than she could bear. “A lady does not gamble, Alex. Regardless, I don’t see what we could possibly wager on.”

  “I wager on a lot of things you might never imagine,” he said slowly. “But I don’t propose we use money. I’ll wager that I can turn Maxwell Willoughby into the most sought-after gentleman in all of England.”

  She blinked at him for a moment, wondering if he jested.

  “This is foolish,” she finally said. “He does not need to be the most sought-after gentleman in all of England. It only matters to—to one woman,” she finished, rel
ieved that she had not said Blythe’s name. He would go storming from her home if he knew he was training his competition.

  Although Alex’s posture didn’t change, he almost seemed to stiffen. “And who is the woman?”

  She smiled brightly. “Whomever Maxwell chooses.”

  They both heard a sudden knock echo through the front hall, then the steward’s footsteps. They continued to stare at each other, until Alex finally said, “After you’ve seen a demonstration, we can discuss the wager.”

  “Demonstration?” she whispered, knowing Maxwell must have entered the mansion by now. “Behave yourself. And there will be no wager!”

  Alex watched Willoughby being shown into the parlor. The other man bowed toward him, a little stiffly, perhaps, but when his gaze landed on Emmeline, his smile relaxed.

  Hellfire.

  “Lady Emmeline, Sir Alexander,” Willoughby said politely.

  Alex grinned. “Since I’m to be your teacher, you might as well call me Alex. And I’ll call you Max.”

  Willoughby cleared his throat. “Although no one calls me by that name, it would not bother me to have you do so.”

  “I think we can start right there, Max,” Alex said, standing up.

  “I thought we might have dinner first,” Emmeline interrupted.

  “In a moment, my lady. Max, the first thing you must do is lose this stiff attitude of yours.”

  Alex heard the groan Emmeline tried to suppress, and watched Willoughby blink at him silently.

  “When people or situations take you off guard,” Alex continued, warming to his task, “like my calling you by a different name, don’t act uncertain or hesitant.”

  “I didn’t mean to imply—”

  “Just relax into it. If you don’t know what you’re going to say, just smile or laugh while you’re thinking, instead of stiffening.”

  “And is this how you deal with every situation?” Emmeline asked, her probing eyes seeing more than he meant to show her.

  “It is quite natural for me not to take anything people say to heart. Why would I allow them that kind of advantage over me? Max, make a joke of things when you need to.”