A Scandalous Bargain

by Burke, Darcy

  Thomas wanted to understand. “In what way?” He thought of how she’d fought the footpad, of her ability to wield a pistol.

  She dropped her hands to her side and stuck out her chin. “We’re women. We were unprotected. We had to…fib to navigate our way here. It was always my hope to come to London, to find my father, to regain my family. I wanted to show him that I am an accomplished woman, that he can be proud of me.” Her hands curled into fists, and her shoulders tensed. “I am so close.”

  The fervent commitment—and hope—in her voice erased the remnants of his anger. He resisted the urge to go to her and take her in his arms. “I suspect there is more to it than what you’re telling me. If you ever want to unburden yourself, please know that I will listen. And I won’t judge.”

  She stared at him, her gaze inscrutable. He had no idea if she would ever tell him the truth. He also wasn’t sure she needed to. Who was he anyway?

  “Thank you,” she said tentatively. “What will you do?”

  “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “Will you expose us?”

  Ah, that. “As you so aptly pointed out when we met, we share secrets now. And we made a bargain to keep them. I would honor that. I won’t divulge that which you have worked so hard to keep private or that which you have overcome.”

  “I appreciate that. It was difficult not telling you the truth. You’re the only person I’ve ever told about my father, aside from Selina.”

  He moved toward her, curious. “Why is that?”

  She exhaled, her body relaxing slightly. “I don’t know. I suppose I just feel…comfortable with you. Perhaps it’s the way we met. You were in need, and I wanted to help.”

  “It was rather horrible, wasn’t it?” He stopped just in front of her. She was close enough for him to touch. If he dared.

  “Yes. Not exactly the way one hopes to meet…someone.”

  “No,” he murmured, wondering if “someone” meant the same to her as it did to him. He’d met a friend, certainly, but perhaps more. She had firmly wrapped herself around him and infiltrated his life so that he could scarcely contemplate not having her in it.

  “I really am sorry,” she said softly. “It wasn’t just my secret to keep. Selina and I are bound together, and I will protect her with every fiber of my being for all the days of my life. There is no one I love more in this world.”

  He could tell, and he understood the emotion. “That is how I feel about my daughter.”

  The moment lengthened as the space between them grew less, each of them edging forward. It would be so easy to hold her, to comfort her, to kiss her. He did none of those things.

  Keeping his hands disappointingly at his sides, he said, “You’ve been gone an awfully long time. You’ll have been missed.”

  She blinked. “Oh my goodness, yes.” She pressed her hands to her cheeks. “Are you coming back to the ball?”

  “Probably not. I came to see you, and I have.”

  She lowered her hands. “What about the dance? Never mind. You don’t have to answer that. I…understand.” She gave him a small smile. “Goodbye, Tom.”

  Then she walked past him and departed the library.

  Thomas silently swore. He shouldn’t have let her go. Not without telling her he would dance with her. Now she thought he’d changed his mind about her after learning that she wasn’t who she’d said she was.

  And shouldn’t he have? He’d already married a woman who’d turned out to be completely different than he’d thought. He’d hadn’t fallen in love with Thea, but he’d believed the potential was there. After the wedding, measure by measure, she’d shown him her true self. A spiteful, selfish harpy who hated motherhood almost as much as she hated being married to Thomas. Her chief complaint was that he was too staid because he didn’t give her enough money to gamble, and he frowned on her drinking too much. And he complained that she ignored their daughter.

  Was it too much for him to have hoped they would have a happy marriage? Apparently so. The worst part was there was nothing he’d wanted more. Like Beatrix, he’d worked for and anticipated something with passionate dedication. He hoped she would not be as disappointed or damaged as he’d been.

  But he wasn’t sure he would be there to find out. Now was the perfect time to end their association. There was truly no need to continue it, and she’d already shown him she was capable of misleading him. He didn’t need that in his life, not anymore, no matter how drawn to Beatrix he might be.

  And he was. Almost desperately. Her humor, her brightness, her care—all of it combined to make her incredibly alluring.

  Against his better judgment, he returned to the ball. Mask in place, he entered the ballroom. He looked out to the dance floor, where they danced a quadrille. He found Beatrix, the vivid blue of her gown standing out amidst the other women. It was more than her gown. She had a radiance that other women simply didn’t possess.

  She was dancing with the Earl of Worth. Thomas narrowed his eyes as he watched them. There was no cause to feel jealous. The man was her half brother. In fact, Thomas ought to pity him, for when he found out, he would be vastly disappointed. Poor chap.

  “Rockbourne?”

  Thomas turned his head at the familiar voice. North, rather, Jeremy Sheffield, the Viscount Northwood, and brother to the groom for whom this ball was held in honor, moved to stand on Thomas’s left.

  “How could you tell?” Thomas asked, looking at him askance.

  North’s mask only covered his eyes and the upper half of his nose. “I wasn’t sure, but there was something familiar about you and that was my best guess.” His mouth quirked into a wry smile. “It was a risky one, however. Aren’t you in mourning?”

  “Somewhat.” He saw no reason to lie. While he was officially mourning, there was no grieving involved. “I received the invitation…before, and I needed to get out.”

  “Can’t say that I blame you.”

  Thomas continued to watch Beatrix dancing. He tried not to laugh as she trod all over Worth’s toes. Apparently, she was employing the same tactics she’d done the other night.

  “Something amusing?” North asked.

  “Just watching the dancing.”

  “Are you watching Miss Whitford? I see she’s positively destroying poor Worth’s feet. I’ve never seen her dance like that before.”

  “Yes, the woman in the blue dress. That’s Miss Whitford?” Thomas pretended he didn’t know her.

  “She’s to be my sister-in-law. Her sister is Lady Gresham, who is marrying Harry.”

  “I see.” Thomas bit his lip as he saw Beatrix completely run into Worth. That had to have been painful for both of them. This couldn’t go on—she couldn’t keep hurting herself in an effort to dissuade him. “Perhaps it’s her partner.”

  “I’ve never known Worth to be a bad dancer. In fact, he’s quite celebrated for the opposite. It’s why the patronesses at Almack’s love him so much.” North made a distasteful sound in his throat. “I’m so grateful that isn’t me.”

  “I haven’t danced in ages,” Thomas said.

  “Then maybe you should.” North leaned toward him and whispered, “I won’t tell.”

  Thomas looked over at him. “I appreciate that. I would prefer to keep my presence quiet.”

  North pressed his lips together and inclined his head toward Thomas before taking himself off. Thomas watched the dance conclude and took a deep breath.

  He’d come here to dance, and he wasn’t leaving without doing so.

  Chapter 8

  “I’m so sorry,” Beatrix said, grimacing and then smiling as Worth offered her his arm at the conclusion of their dance. “I suppose I shall have to accept that I am not the best dancer. In fact, I think I suffer from dancing with someone so accomplished.”

  Worth chuckled. “I don’t know about that, but please don’t concern yourself. Perhaps next time, we’ll just take a promenade. You’re a decent walker, aren’t you?”

  Beatrix was
surprised to find herself laughing. “Yes, I believe so. But let’s not curse me.” She quickly sobered. Perhaps she was already cursed.

  She couldn’t stop thinking of what had happened in the library. What a tangle. She was so preoccupied that it hadn’t taken much effort to dance poorly.

  Scanning the ballroom, she saw Selina standing with Harry. They were speaking with Harry’s parents, the earl and countess. Selina looked so happy.

  Beatrix should tell her about Thomas, that he knew they were pretenders. But would it make any difference? Only if Thomas exposed them, and he’d said he wouldn’t.

  She should alert Selina—and Rafe—to the fact that someone knew their secrets. Or at least some of them. That there were still things Thomas didn’t know made Beatrix feel queasy. It was another reason she needed to stop seeing him. And she would. She’d told him goodbye in the library.

  That made her feel worse than queasy.

  “What say you?”

  Beatrix blinked and glanced over at Worth as they made their way off the dance floor. He’d clearly said something before the question, and she had absolutely no idea what it was. More troubling was the way he was looking at her—with unabashed delight and something else…anticipation maybe. She nearly blurted right then that she was his half sister.

  Thankfully, however, she was saved by a tall, masked gentleman who stepped in their path. Tom.

  He bowed to her and inclined his head toward Worth. Addressing Beatrix, Tom asked, “May I have the next dance?”

  He was asking her to dance? She’d thought he left. She’d told him goodbye. She also knew that it was impolite to refuse a gentleman when he asked you to dance. And in this case, she didn’t want to refuse.

  “It would be my pleasure.” She withdrew her hand from Worth’s sleeve. “Thank you, my lord.” Then she put her hand on Tom’s proffered arm and felt the connection all the way down to her knees, which turned to water.

  As Tom led her back to the dance floor, she cast him a sidelong glance. “You didn’t leave.”

  “I was going to, but then I saw you ‘dancing’ with Worth.”

  She heard the sarcasm he infused in the word dancing and giggled. “I must appear the worst dancer here.”

  “Perhaps, but I admit I wasn’t watching anyone else.” His confession did nothing to help the liquid state of her bones as he took her into his embrace. “It’s a waltz.”

  “So it is. I haven’t waltzed with anyone yet. Unless you count that moment on your balcony.”

  The connection between them seemed to sizzle, like a spark leaping from a fire to start a new conflagration.

  “Do you have permission?” he asked silkily.

  “Er, yes?” She looked up at him. “Who would give me permission?”

  “Your father, but in the absence of one, perhaps your brother or your sister.” He looked over her head, and some of her enthusiasm at dancing with him evaporated.

  “Are you still upset with me?”

  His gaze snapped to hers. The music started, and he swept her into the dance. The press of his palm on her back and the feel of his hand entwined with hers sizzled through her with a delicious heat. They were the barest of touches, but it was the slightness that was so inviting. She wanted more. So much more.

  “No. You explained, and I think I understand. At least, I hope I do.”

  Yes, she’d explained. Partially. What would he do if he knew she stole things? And not only when she wasn’t aware of doing so. She’d developed a skill for picking pockets—and sometimes not even pockets, for she could remove a bracelet from a lady’s wrist without her realizing—and stealing into locked chambers. Sometimes that had been the only way she and Selina had been able to survive. There had been plenty of nights, especially when they were younger, that they went to bed hungry or when they were behind on payments for their lodgings and were forced out into the street. Theft had started as a last resort and then they’d relied on it when their other schemes failed to provide the income they needed.

  Their other schemes included Selina working as a fortune-teller, pretending to raise money for a charitable cause, or Beatrix feigning an illness that could be treated with medicine they couldn’t afford. How could she ever tell Tom about any of that? She’d seen how devastated Harry had been when he’d learned the truth and how broken Selina had been as she’d tried to explain the life she’d led to the man she loved.

  Seeing them now, happy, about to be married, gave Beatrix hope for her own future. Especially if her father was open to rekindling their relationship. However, that seemed unlikely given he hadn’t even recognized Beatrix. Between that and the disaster in the library, she realized she wanted this evening to be over.

  Except for this part. This wonderful, dazzling, beguiling dance. “You’re an excellent dancer,” she said, sounding—and feeling—rather breathless.

  “And you’re, thankfully, better than I expected.” The twinkle in his eye made her laugh.

  “You flatter me, my lord.” She batted her lashes, and he grinned, moving her in time to the music, their bodies gliding together as one.

  She gave herself over so completely that she misstepped. “You spoke too soon,” she murmured, jerking herself into the proper position. The movement made her feel something against her thigh, something in the pocket of her gown.

  Oh, God, she’d done it again.

  Frustration and anger tore through her. When would she stop? Could she stop? Focusing on the last few hours, she vaguely recalled taking something earlier—a bracelet with a single pearl. Perhaps she could return it. Except she had no idea from whom she’d stolen it. She’d find a place to leave it later so that someone would find it.

  She made another error, this time stepping on Tom’s foot.

  “Does this mean you want to be rid of me too?” he asked with a hint of humor.

  She should say yes. More than that, she should want to be rid of him. She was going to disappoint him. If not tonight—and it was a miracle she hadn’t—then sometime. Perhaps soon. He would learn the truth about her because if she didn’t find a way to control her impulses, her shameful behavior would be exposed. Not only would she be cast out from Society and most certainly spurned by him after, she could very well find herself imprisoned.

  The risk of stealing on purpose never bothered her. She was confident in her abilities and in her reasons for thieving. But this was different. When she took things without realizing, it was as if she were another person. A person she didn’t know.

  The music built to a finish, and the dance ended.

  Tom looked at her in question, his brow furrowed. “What happened there, at the end?”

  “I was just thinking how lovely it was to dance with you. Because I don’t know when I’ll see you again.” Her throat tightened.

  “You’ll come visit—we’ll sort it out.”

  They could, probably, but she wouldn’t. She put her hand on his arm and gently pulled him away from the dance floor. “Tom, you shouldn’t trust me. I haven’t been completely honest with you…and I can’t be. I’m not asking you to understand.”

  His brows were still knotted in confusion. “Good, because I don’t.”

  She made sure no one was nearby and then spoke in a quiet tone. “I will disappoint you again. Just like I did tonight, only worse.” She hated the flash of confusion and dissatisfaction in his gaze, but there was nothing to be done for it. Not here, not now. Not ever.

  She needed to get out of there before she completely broke down, something she hadn’t done in a very long time. It was far easier for her to be positive and enthusiastic. This sense of failure and dread was much, much harder.

  “Goodbye, Tom,” she said for the second time that night. Taking her hand from his arm, she hurried away, heedless of where she was going. As she left the ballroom, she ran straight into the one person she really didn’t want to see: her half brother.

  “There you are, Miss Whitford. I’ve been waiting for your dance to
finish. Might I say you are better at the waltz than the quadrille? I will remember that in future.”

  “Er, thank you. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” She continued past him through the adjoining room where ballgoers were gathered with refreshments.

  Unfortunately—and irritatingly—he went along with her. “I plan to call on you tomorrow. And I’ll be speaking with your brother later.”

  Beatrix stopped short. She turned to face him, her eyes wide as anger overtook her earlier despair. She gave his sleeve a tug and jerked her head toward a doorway. Spinning about, she stalked into a smaller room.

  He followed her, and once they were clear of the threshold, she turned. His lips curved into a pleasant smile. “Should we move somewhere a little more private?”

  “What?” The word shot out of Beatrix’s mouth like a pistol firing.

  He moved close to her, his lids drooping over his too-familiar hazel eyes. “We should find a more secluded location—to kiss.”

  For a moment, Beatrix couldn’t speak. And during that moment, he leaned toward her. She put up her hands and pushed at his chest while taking a step back. “No. I don’t want to kiss you.”

  His features crinkled into a state of utter bewilderment. “You don’t?”

  She gaped at him. “Has no one told you no before?”

  He seemed to ponder her question. “No? Not in this instance, because I’ve never attempted to kiss someone like you. But I’m generally well-liked by the fairer sex.”

  Someone like her. She nearly laughed. He had no idea what she was like.

  Instead, she made a very unladylike sound in her throat. “I do like you, but not in that manner. For heaven’s sake, I’m your sister.”

  After blinking once, he swallowed. He blinked again. Then he opened his mouth only to snap it closed again.

  “Half sister,” she clarified. “I’m sorry, but I couldn’t allow you to continue to pursue me. That’s why I pulled you in here. Not so we could…kiss.” She made a face.

  Worth stared. And stared. Finally, he recoiled, taking a step back. “How is this possible?”