Summer of Scandal

by Syrie James

  “No one other than the family.”

  “Pray, allow me to remedy that.” His hand at her elbow, Lord Saunders guided Madeleine around the room, introducing her to neighbors and friends disguised as Pierrot and Pierrette, Titania and Oberon, assorted Highlanders, and a monk and a nun. They had just finished making small talk with a gentleman dressed as a Bedouin sheik when Lady Trevelyan appeared, stunningly attired as Marie Antoinette.

  “Charles! Madeleine! There you are.”

  Lady Trevelyan was beaming, clearly in her element. Her gown, fashioned of rose-and-gold satin with a blue velvet train embellished with gold fleurs-de-lis, was one of the prettiest in the room. A white wig adorned by high feathers added to the ensemble. Giving her son’s hat a sharp twist to set it right atop his head, she said with an affectionate smile: “I forgot we had this old uniform. How well it fits you.”

  “You look absolutely magnificent, Mother. Happy birthday.”

  “Thank you, darling. Miss Atherton, you take my breath away.”

  “As do you, Your Ladyship.” Madeleine curtsied.

  Lady Trevelyan’s notice fell on Madeleine’s hair. “Charles! You made Miss Atherton a hairpin?”

  “I did,” Saunders admitted matter-of-factly. “It felt remiss that every other lady in the household had one.”

  “It is lovely.” Her Ladyship cast a studied look at her son and went briefly quiet. “If I did not know better, I should think you two had come as a couple.”

  “A complete coincidence,” Madeleine responded quickly. It was true. So why were her cheeks suddenly warm?

  “Does Father plan to come down this evening?” Lord Saunders asked.

  “He has assured me that he will make an appearance.” Lady Trevelyan smiled at Madeleine. “That new diet may have put him in a surly mood, but I believe it is working, Miss Atherton.”

  “That is music to my ears,” Madeleine replied with delight.

  “Speaking of which.” Lady Trevelyan tapped her son on the shoulder with her fan. “You and Sophie are to lead the first set. Let us go and find her.”

  “Forgive me, Miss Atherton.” Saunders gave Madeleine an apologetic glance and moved off with his mother.

  Madeleine’s sense of loss was fleeting, for Helen and Anna dashed up and slipped their arms through hers.

  “Miss Atherton!” Anna smiled up at her. “Mother said we could watch the dancing as long as we stay on the perimeter of the ballroom. Will you walk in with us?”

  “It would be my honor.” Madeleine suddenly became aware of three young men who’d been approaching from different directions, and who now paused with disappointed faces.

  “You look so pretty,” Helen commented as they began moving with the promenade. “I am sure you will get a great many offers to dance.”

  “We shall see about that,” Madeleine replied.

  There was only one dance that mattered to her. If it would even happen.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Charles whirled Sophie around the floor, his eyes searching the crowded ballroom for Miss Atherton.

  At last he caught sight of her, dancing halfway across the room. She looked radiant in that white, filmy gown, free of the heavy petticoats that every other woman in the room was wearing. It made him wish that women’s garments would turn back to the fashions of the Regency. The fabric of Miss Atherton’s dress was so thin that when she turned at a particular angle to the light, he could see the outline of her legs beneath her skirts.

  They were beautiful, shapely legs.

  Her gown was cut so low that her breasts seemed to be a breath away from escaping the tight confines of her bodice. He’d heard the phrase to take one’s breath away, but never had he experienced it as personally and literally as he had tonight, when he’d seen her coming down that staircase. His heart had nearly leapt from his chest.

  Much like the first time he’d set eyes on her.

  Since then, so much had changed. He had come to know her. To discover that beneath that vibrant smile and enticing body was a bright and curious mind, a warm and sensitive heart, and a passion that flamed like fire. She—

  “You make a handsome Nelson,” Sophie said.

  Guiltily, he forced his attention back to the woman in his arms. “You make a lovely butterfly,” he responded sincerely.

  “Thank you. It was Maddie’s idea. She is so clever.”

  Maddie. Did everything always come back to her? “Yes. She is clever.”

  Sophie started to say something else, but then seemed to change her mind. He sensed an odd vibration coming from her and wondered at it. Generally, Sophie was so calm and sensible. It was one of the things he liked about her. Yet for some reason, she seemed tense. He caught her darting a curious glance at him, then glancing over his shoulder distractedly.

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “Yes, thank you.”

  They danced on. As ever, Sophie was an accomplished dancer and did not miss a step. Which reminded him of her recent injury. And that he had forgotten to ask about it. “How is your ankle?” he inquired.

  “Fine, thank you. Dr. Hancock says I am completely healed.”

  “I am pleased to hear it. And your hand?”

  “Much better. Dr. Hancock says it will take some time to regain the strength in my grip. So it still may be difficult to write to Mother for a while.”

  “I am sorry.” Sophie wrote more letters to her mother than anyone Charles had ever met. They spoke no further until the waltz ended.

  “Was that three dances or four?” Sophie inquired.

  “Four.”

  “Our limit, then? I believe we are obliged to seek other partners now?”

  “I believe so.”

  Sophie smiled. “Thank you, Charles.”

  He kissed her hand. “It was my pleasure.” He was about to escort her to a chair, when Dr. Hancock strode up dressed as Robin Hood.

  “Lord Nelson,” Hancock said, “you are in fine form this evening.”

  “And you look quite the rogue,” Charles told him with a grin.

  “That was my aim.” Dr. Hancock gave Sophie a graceful bow. “Lady Sophie, may I have the honor of the next dance?”

  “You may.” Sophie took the doctor’s hand and they walked off together.

  Relieved to have Sophie taken care of, Charles scanned the room for Miss Atherton, but he had lost sight of her. The musicians began to play the next song.

  As the dance began, his father entered dressed as Louis XVI of France, a counterpart to his mother’s Marie Antoinette, and apparently a surprise. His mother burst into tears of joy and they embraced, after which the marquess moved through the room, shaking hands.

  Charles finally spotted Miss Atherton. To his disappointment, she was now partnered on the dance floor with someone else. He heard his father’s voice at his elbow. “Charles. Why are you not dancing with Sophie?”

  “I did, sir. She is now otherwise engaged.”

  “Not for long, I hope.” His father readjusted the gold crown atop his wig. “You know how she adores you.”

  “So you are always telling me. You look well, sir.”

  “Thank you. Feeling rather spry this evening. I do hope you will not disappear again tonight to God knows where, as you did at last year’s Christmas ball.”

  “I would not think of it, sir. It is Mother’s birthday.”

  “Good boy.” He studied Charles a moment. “Lord Nelson, eh? Interesting choice. In light of what that Atherton woman is wearing.”

  His innuendo offended Charles. “Why do you call her that Atherton woman?”

  “It’s her name, isn’t it? Watch yourself with that one, son. You almost ruined your life once with an American heiress. All the money in the world, and they think it can buy them a title. Do not make that mistake again.”

  Irritation speared through Charles’s chest. “I have no intention of making a mistake. And may I remind you, Miss Atherton is here at Mother’s invitation.”

&n
bsp; “She cannot leave too soon, in my opinion. Putting her nose where it does not belong, dispensing medical advice as if she were a doctor herself.”

  “The information she shared just might save your life.”

  “Nonsense. It is this diet Hancock put me on that will kill me! What, am I to never have beer again? Or bread or cake?” His father blew out a disgusted breath. “Now look here, Charles: your mother and I have been waiting all summer for you to make your engagement official. Charlotte suspects that Sophie is expecting you to pop the question tonight.”

  “Is she?” Charles glanced away with a stab of guilt, struggling to keep his features calm. Sophie had mentioned something of the kind, the day they drove to the village. That would account for her odd demeanor.

  “It is as good a time as any to follow through on your promise.”

  “I will ask for Sophie’s hand when I am good and ready, Father, and not a moment sooner.”

  His father sighed again. “Well, then, at the very least, do not neglect the girl tonight. She has few acquaintances here. Dance with her, Charles, and often.”

  “How often is enough for you? As I recall, a gentleman is limited to four dances with a particular partner. Or has the rule changed?”

  “Are you quoting ballroom etiquette at me? You, who look down your nose at rules? If you will not dance again with Sophie, there are other single ladies present who would be glad of your company.”

  “I shall keep that in mind.” The music came to an end and people on the dance floor began switching partners. Charles noticed Miss Atherton across the way, unengaged for the moment. This was his chance. “If you will excuse me, Father,” he began.

  But he turned back to discover that the man had ushered over Miss Gordon, a spoiled, self-important woman who stood before him costumed as a shepherdess.

  “Miss Gordon would be delighted to dance with you, Charles,” his father ordered.

  “It would indeed be my honor, my lord,” said Miss Gordon with a ready smile.

  Glancing back at the dance floor, Charles saw Miss Atherton moving into position with another man. Damn it. He gritted his teeth.

  “Your wish is my command, sir,” Charles said, taking the young lady’s hand.

  The night dragged on. Madeleine danced with a cheerful King Arthur, a sweaty King George, a bearded Merlin who kept tripping on his robe, and the man dressed as a champagne bottle. Although she attempted to make conversation, the men seemed more interested in staring at her cleavage than anything she had to say.

  All the while she found herself continually scanning the ballroom for Lord Saunders, hoping he would ask her to dance. But he never did.

  The first four dances he had given to Sophie. Which was only right and proper. Although Madeleine herself had been engaged for those same dances, she’d been unable to prevent herself from glancing now and again at Saunders and Sophie, whirling across the floor in each other’s arms. The sight had made her ache with envy and longing—foolish feelings, she knew—but inescapable nevertheless.

  After that, every time she had caught sight of Lord Saunders, he’d been dancing with someone else. Madeleine wondered if he had found a private moment and made his declaration to Sophie. When she noticed him again now, however, their behavior suggested that it must not have happened. At least not yet.

  Lord Saunders was bringing Sophie a glass of punch. Although they were conversing, Madeleine detected no particular warmth in the exchange. If anything, both seemed to be working hard to smile, like people trying to act happier than they actually were. Madeleine felt bad; she knew Sophie had been hoping for a proposal tonight. At the same time, Madeleine wondered if she were being blinded by wishful thinking, and misperceiving them this way.

  At half-past ten, Lord Trevelyan raised a glass of champagne in a birthday toast before the entire assembly, enumerating his wife’s many good qualities, and praising her for putting on such an elegant affair. He looked to be feeling well, which Madeleine was glad to see.

  When the applause ended and the music started up again, Madeleine sighed. She had no wish to dance any more. She considered retiring to her room for the night, but the birthday cake had not yet been served. It would be rude not to be present for that event. Madeleine decided instead to retreat to the library, find a book, and hide within its pages for a while.

  The library was halfway across the house, a beautifully appointed room with innumerable volumes filling the shelves. Due to the warmth of the summer evening, all the windows were open, and music from the ballroom was still subtly audible as Madeleine entered.

  After a brief perusal, Madeleine selected a novel and sank down onto a leather sofa positioned beside a glowing lamp. She’d been reading for a while and had lost track of time, when a masculine voice broke the stillness.

  “I believe you owe me a dance.”

  Madeleine’s heart skipped a beat. She looked up to see Lord Saunders standing not ten feet from where she sat. He was so ridiculously good-looking in his naval uniform, the amber light from the gas lamps flashing over the strong planes of his face.

  “Here I thought I’d been so discreet,” Madeleine said. “How did you know where to find me?”

  “I recalled you saying that you sometimes got bored at a party, and retreated to the library.”

  “Impressive that you remembered such a tiny detail.”

  “It seemed to me an important detail.”

  The way he was looking at her made her pulse beat even faster. What did it mean that he’d sought her out this way? Shouldn’t he be with Sophie? It wasn’t a question she was about to ask. Instead, she held up the novel she’d been reading. “A book often proves to be an excellent companion.”

  “True. But tonight is meant for dancing.” He moved closer and stopped immediately before her. “I have been wanting to ask you to dance all night. But every time I looked for you, you were dancing with someone else.”

  Had he truly been looking for her? She was almost afraid to stand, lest she give in to a trembling urge to throw herself into his arms. “Only because you were otherwise engaged.”

  “Not by choice.” He removed his hat, set it on a table, and then extended a hand to her. “Will you do me the honor of dancing with me, Miss Atherton?”

  “Here? In the library?”

  He gestured toward the instrumental strains emanating from the ballroom. “We can still hear the music. The room is large enough. And here, there is no chance of colliding with anyone.”

  “We might collide with the furniture.”

  “We might.” His hazel eyes twinkled.

  Madeleine found herself rising to her feet. “What about our pact?”

  “Our pact be damned.” His voice was like a low growl that simmered in her belly, making her feel weak in the knees.

  “Well, a lady at a ball may never refuse the invitation of a gentleman to dance, or she will be guilty of an incivility.” Madeleine placed her gloved hand in his, a thrill running through her at the firm pressure of his grip.

  “Is that a rule?” Lord Saunders’s other hand slipped around her waist as he drew her to him in waltz position.

  “It is indeed a rule.” Their bodies were separated by mere inches, so close that she could feel the heat emanating from his. “One drilled into me since I was a child.”

  “I have never been fond of rules. But I like that one.” He began to move in time with the music and she instinctively followed his lead. He spun her around the room with skill and grace. “You are an excellent dancer, Miss Atherton.”

  “As are you, my lord.”

  “Only because it has been drilled into me since I was a child,” he quipped back at her. “Ballroom dancing is a vital part of a lord’s training.”

  “So I discovered during the Season. Even if a peer had no aptitude for conversation, he could generally dance.”

  “Let us hope my conversation lives up to my dancing.”

  “Time will tell.”

  They smiled into
each other’s eyes as they moved in time to the music. With every step, Madeleine was vividly aware of his hand holding hers, the feel of his other hand at her waist, the heat of his gaze. It didn’t escape her that once again, despite her best intentions, they were alone together, far from the eyes of the crowd.

  “No late-night cravings lately?” he asked softly.

  Madeleine wasn’t about to tell him the truth, of the many nights she’d had to resist the temptation to sneak down to the kitchen, in the hopes of finding him there. “No. You?”

  “I have spent most evenings at my shop this week.”

  “Have you made any headway?” She felt enveloped by his scent, a pleasing blend of heat and perspiration and cologne that felt as intimate as an embrace.

  “A bit. How is your book coming?”

  “I finished the first draft last night.”

  “Outstanding.” The music came to an end. They stopped along with it. He didn’t release her. Instead, his arms swept around her, holding her captive against his chest. “What will you do with it?” He spoke just above a whisper, his eyes smoky as they glanced at her lips and stayed there.

  Madeleine’s arms slid up around his shoulders. Her blood thundered in her ears. What were they talking about? She couldn’t remember. All she could think about was his nearness, and how close his mouth was to hers.

  Did he mean to kiss her? They had agreed that it could never happen again. Yet Madeleine hadn’t stopped dreaming that it would. He lowered his head until his lips were mere inches away and paused, as if anticipating the contact. Her senses reeled. It might be wrong to want this man. But she did want him. Oh, how she wanted him. Through a fog of desire, Madeleine heard a sharp intake of breath rise from his chest. A word presented itself like a warning beacon at the edges of her mind, then issued from her throat.

  “Pineapple.”

  She realized they had both uttered it aloud at the exact same moment. For a long beat they stood there, frozen in each other’s arms. He began to laugh softly, his warm breath fanning her mouth.

  “You were right,” he said, chuckling. “It is an excellent reminder word.”