A Scandalous Bargain

by Burke, Darcy

  Beatrix wasn’t sure she wanted to continue with all this either. Today was different—she had the chance to see Tom. But overall, what was the point now that her father had rejected her? Was she hoping to make a marriage?

  Only if it’s with Tom.

  She pushed the thought away. That wasn’t an option right now, and it might never be.

  She noticed a gentleman walking straight toward her. Not Tom, unfortunately, but someone she didn’t know.

  Lady Satterfield, however, knew him. She smiled as he approached. “Good afternoon, Lord Sandon. How pleasant to see you. Did you just return to London?”

  “In fact, I did. My family’s estate in Ireland is lovely, but it does not compare to the land of my birth.” He laughed lightly, his gaze drifting to Beatrix.

  “Allow me to present Miss Whitford,” Lady Satterfield said, moving closer to Beatrix. Tall, with mostly dark hair that was just showing signs of silver at the temples, the countess was regally beautiful with a kindness that matched the warmth in her dove-gray eyes. “Her sister very recently married Mr. Harry Sheffield.”

  “North’s brother?” Sandon asked. “How pleasant.”

  Lady Satterfield gestured toward Sandon. “Allow me to present the Viscount Sandon.”

  There was something vaguely familiar about the viscount, but Beatrix couldn’t determine what. He was attractive, she supposed, about the same height as Tom and close to her in age, probably. His eyes were a mix of blue and green with a bit of a sleepy quality about them that made him look…romantic, she thought might be the best word. He possessed a square chin with a cleft. Also romantic. To some. To her, Tom was the romantic ideal.

  She remembered to curtsey. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, my lord.”

  “The pleasure is more mine, I assure you.” He took her hand and bowed slightly as she straightened.

  “You’re new to London this Season?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then it is my misfortune to have missed most of it.”

  Beatrix would have typically said something witty and flirtatious in return, but at that moment, she saw Tom walking along the path toward one of the groups of men. The one with Jane’s and Phoebe’s husbands, in fact.

  Forcing her attention away from him before she was caught, she flashed a smiled at Lord Sandon. “I haven’t been here the entire Season, if that helps.”

  He laughed again. “It does, it does. Perhaps you will save me a promenade later? I believe the picnic is about to be served.”

  “That would be lovely.” On the contrary, it would be torture. The only man she wanted to promenade with was Tom. Oh, this was miserable. She was most definitely in love with him, and every other man paled in contrast. It was even worse now that he was here, and she could so easily compare them.

  “I’ll look forward to it.” Inclining his head toward the rest of the ladies, he walked away with a lightness in his step.

  “Well, that was interesting,” Lady Satterfield said as she turned back toward their circle.

  “That was the Earl of Stone’s son?” Lady Kendal asked.

  Lady Satterfield nodded. “I didn’t think he was looking for a wife yet. Probably because he’s been gone most of the Season. Clearly I was mistaken.”

  Jane leaned toward Beatrix. “He set his sights directly on you. Perhaps you’ll find yourself wed like your sister before the Season ends.”

  “I’m not sure I’m ready for that, actually,” Beatrix murmured. She shot another look toward Tom. Had he seen her?

  “My goodness, is that Lord Rockbourne?” Lady Satterfield asked.

  “Yes.” This came from the Countess of Sutton. “I haven’t spoken to him since Lady Rockbourne’s funeral, but we planned to have dinner next week.” She did?

  “You know him?” The question leapt from Beatrix’s mouth before she could stop it.

  Lady Sutton, who was exceptionally cheerful, smiled. “He’s my cousin. Our children like to play together. Actually, his daughter likes to take my son by the hand and lead him everywhere. She is nearly two years older and adores playing big sister. It’s a shame she doesn’t have any siblings of her own. Of course, Peregrine will soon have one and then he can be the big brother.” She briefly stroked her round belly.

  “He will be no help to you,” the Duchess of Clare said wryly. “Not yet, anyway. I keep hoping Leah will manage her younger brother, but I suppose I could at least wait until she turns two.”

  “You might,” Lady Kendal said with a laugh.

  “Children are so delightful,” Lady Satterfield said. She’d told them at a recent Spitfire Society meeting about losing her daughter to illness when she was young and then being fortunate to become a mother to her stepson, the Duke of Kendal. “This is why I am so thrilled we’ve decided to open an orphanage.”

  Beatrix suddenly recalled what Tom had told her about Kendal. She wanted to ask if he was really called the Forbidden Duke, but realized that might be rude in front of his wife and stepmother. She suddenly remembered the Duchess of Clare was also married to one of those Untouchables. Beatrix decided to leave that subject alone. Perhaps she’d ask Tom’s cousin about it later. Or, preferably, she’d just ask Lady Sutton about Tom. Had she known him as a child? Had he been happy, or had his experience with his father made him wretched?

  He couldn’t have been happy. Certainly not after his mother had died. But somehow she doubted he’d allowed his father’s treatment to affect him completely. He hadn’t let Thea’s awfulness do that either. He still managed to be an adoring father and a charming gentleman.

  She glanced his direction once more. He was magnificent.

  And she was disgustingly lovesick.

  It was time to be seated on blankets and partake of the fare Lady Exeby had provided. Beatrix sat with Jane and Phoebe and their husbands while footmen delivered plates of food containing fruit, cold meat, bread, and cheese. There was also wine and ale aplenty.

  “Well, good afternoon!” The Earl of Daventry, with whom Beatrix had danced at Almack’s and at the masquerade, arrived at their blanket. “It seems Lady Exeby has arranged for six to a blanket, and you appear to have an open space. May I join you?”

  Damn. Beatrix would have much preferred to save it for Tom. She’d lost sight of him when they’d taken to the blankets and deeply regretted it. She looked wildly about in search of him, but it was no use. Lord Daventry was here, and to refuse him would be rude.

  Damn again.

  Daventry was dazzlingly handsome with wavy blond hair and piercing blue eyes. He also possessed an easy smile and charm to spare. She’d enjoyed dancing with him. But she didn’t want to share her picnic blanket with him when Tom was an option.

  Except Tom wasn’t an option. For all she knew, he’d already left.

  Ripley gestured to the open spot next to Beatrix. “Afternoon, Daventry. Please join us.”

  “Thank you.” As soon as the earl was seated, a footman brought a plate and asked if he preferred wine or ale.

  “Ale, thank you.” Daventry looked to Beatrix. “I am so pleased to see you here, Miss Whitford. And I am particularly grateful for the chance to enjoy your company for such a long period while we dine.”

  Beatrix forced a smile, then took a drink of wine. This was going to be a very long picnic.

  * * *

  Daventry was sitting too close to Beatrix.

  Thomas finished his ale and tried not to glower in the direction of Beatrix’s blanket. He sat several blankets away with his cousin, Aquilla, the Countess of Sutton, who’d invited him to join her and her husband. The Duke and Duchess of Clare were also seated on the blanket, as was Aunt Charity, who’d made it a point to seek out her niece and nephew and was delighted they were all seated together.

  “Do you know Miss Whitford?” Aquilla asked.

  Thomas turned his attention to his cousin. Her mother was Thomas’s mother’s younger sister, and Aunt Charity was the youngest of the three. “We’ve met.”

/>   “I’ve just noticed you keep looking in her direction.”

  Bollocks.

  Tom said nothing. What could he say? Besides, she hadn’t asked a question.

  “We’re both in the Spitfire Society,” Aquilla said, her bright blue eyes shining beneath the rim of her straw bonnet. “I like her and her sister very much. They have so many wonderful ideas about the orphanage we’re founding.”

  “You’re founding an orphanage?” Thomas asked.

  “How does one gain membership in this Society?” Aunt Charity interjected.

  “It’s nothing formal. We keep inviting friends and relatives, so we are growing all the time. If you’d like to attend our next meeting, we’d be delighted to have you come.”

  “Oh, I would, thank you. An orphanage is a marvelous endeavor.”

  Thomas could imagine that Beatrix, and Selina in particular, might be rather passionate about helping orphans. “Where will this orphanage be located?”

  “We haven’t decided yet. There is much to do first.” Aquilla glanced toward the Duchess of Clare. “Ivy and her sister Fanny, the Countess of St. Ives, have been leading an endeavor to found a workhouse that will teach women skills and help them find employment. They are much further along, and the Ladies’ School for Betterment will be opening later this summer. Once that is running, we will focus our full energies on the orphanage.”

  “My goodness, I had no idea,” Thomas said, impressed. “You never asked me for a donation.”

  Aquilla blushed slightly. “My apologies. If you’d like to donate, we’ll happily take your money.”

  “Yes, happily,” Lady Clare said with a grin.

  Thomas was glad the conversation had moved from his, apparently obvious, interest in Beatrix. For the remainder of the meal, he worked diligently to keep from looking in her direction.

  It was deuced difficult.

  Not just because he was eager to speak with her—he’d thought of little but her since the night before last—but because he was aware of Daventry and the man’s proximity to Beatrix. And before that, bloody Sandon had made a point of going over to her. If Thomas didn’t make a claim, he risked losing her to one of them. Or someone else.

  As soon as the footman removed his plate and cup, Thomas excused himself. He meandered to the outer rim of the blankets so as not to blatantly walk straight to Beatrix. After lingering for a few minutes, he walked a path that took him close to her blanket. He moved slowly and, certain she saw him, made eye contact. He half smiled, not wanting to draw attention, and just barely inclined his head toward a copse of trees away from the picnic.

  As he strode past the blanket toward the trees, he hoped she understood the silent message. Hiding himself away from view, he waited.

  Thankfully, it wasn’t even a quarter hour before she found him.

  The moment she stepped out of sight from the picnic, Thomas grabbed her by the hand and pulled her fast against him. Her arms wound around his neck just as his lips met hers.

  The kiss was ardent, passionate, the perfect expression of everything he was feeling—longing, desire, jealousy, and a thousand other things he wasn’t sure he could name. Beatrix had awakened every emotion inside him, things he’d buried and abdicated, never believing he would have cause to experience them again.

  She cupped his face and pulled back slightly, her lips curving into an alluring smile. “I’ve missed you. Seems you’ve missed me too.”

  “It feels like it’s been a month instead of a day.”

  “And a half. A day and a half.”

  Thomas kissed her cheek and jaw, nibbling along her flesh. She shivered against him as her hands slipped to his shoulders.

  “I wanted to throw Daventry off your blanket.”

  “He’s not a bad sort.”

  Thomas pulled back and looked down at her. “Is he courting you?”

  “Not yet, but he intimated that he’s interested in doing so.” She exhaled. “And I’m supposed to promenade with some fellow called Sandon.”

  Jealousy speared through him again, along with envy and distress. He couldn’t lose her.

  Before he could speak, she said, “I would have preferred it was you on our blanket. I was afraid you’d left.”

  He relaxed, hugging her to him. “I was trying to keep my distance.”

  “Why?”

  An answer didn’t immediately come to him. He held her waist but pulled slightly back. “I don’t know. I suppose I didn’t want people to gossip.”

  “They will always gossip.” She brought her hands down to his chest. “I don’t know how much time I’ll spend in Society in the future. There’s no reason for me to do so—I’m not trying to make an advantageous marriage, and I’m certainly not trying to impress my father any longer. I’ll be focusing my energies on the Spitfire Society.”

  “My cousin Aquilla was just telling me about your endeavors. I am donating money to your excellent cause. I imagine the orphanage is of particular concern to you and Mrs. Sheffield.”

  “It is. She is an orphan, and while I’d never thought of myself as one because I believed I had a father, I now realize that was foolish.” She smoothed the lapels of his coat. “Thank you for supporting our cause.”

  They couldn’t stay here much longer without their absences being noted by at least a few people. “Beatrix, I want you to know that I can’t stop thinking about the other night, about you—”

  A sound to Thomas’s right made him freeze. She heard it too, for her head turned in that direction, her lips parted.

  “Go,” he whispered urgently, taking his hands from her waist.

  She turned and fled. He went to one of the trees and peered around it to watch her return to the picnic. He looked about for whoever—or whatever—had made the sound, but saw nothing.

  Dammit. He hadn’t said what he’d wanted to. And what was that?

  That he loved her. That he hoped they could have a future together. Could she promise she was the woman he thought her to be?

  Thomas turned and leaned back against the tree, knocking his head against the bark in frustration. Damn Thea for filling him with doubt and fear. He had no reason to think Beatrix was anyone other than the caring, witty, charming, and utterly wonderful woman he’d come to know. That he couldn’t trust that—trust her—made him furious.

  It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her. He didn’t trust himself. He’d chosen so poorly the first time. What if he did so again?

  He pushed away from the tree and left the copse. As he approached the picnic, Aunt Charity intercepted him. Her face was lined with concern, her eyes shaded with agitation. She wrapped her hand around his forearm. “I’m afraid there is a terrible rumor racing through the picnic since the meal concluded.”

  Thomas braced himself. “I assume this is about me?”

  “It’s an…exaggeration of the one I mentioned to you before. Now, people are saying you pushed Thea to her death and that Bow Street is investigating you for murder.”

  Bloody fucking hell. “There is only one person who would make that publicly known.”

  “Thea’s mother.” Aunt Charity pressed her lips together and made a low, dangerous sound in her throat. “It’s too bad that woman isn’t here. I might call her out.”

  Thomas laughed. “That is too bad.”

  She looked up at him in distress. “This isn’t amusing!”

  “What else can I do but laugh? I can’t control a single bit of this. Thea is holding all the power, even from her damned grave.”

  “She can’t possibly. You didn’t do what that horrid woman is saying. The truth will come out.”

  Thomas wished he possessed his aunt’s conviction. As Dearborn had plainly stated, without an eyewitness, his version of the event could not be corroborated. Furthermore, Thomas had demonstrated to Bow Street his ability to lie.

  “I’m going home.” Thomas wanted to hug his daughter and forget about everything for a while.

  “All right, dear. Give Rega
n a kiss from me.” She tried to give him an encouraging smile, but wasn’t entirely successful.

  “I will.” He bussed her cheek before walking toward Cumberland Gate.

  He didn’t even pause to look for Beatrix. She was probably promenading with Sandon anyway. And, frankly, Thomas had no desire to see that.

  Chapter 16

  As she escaped the copse of trees, Beatrix saw a squirrel dart away. She narrowed her eyes at the wee beast and silently chastised it for cutting short her time with Tom.

  Even so, it was probably for the best since her absence was likely due to be missed if she’d been gone much longer. Society and its rules were so annoying.

  She didn’t particularly want to stay and promenade with Lord Sandon. Making her way back to Jane and Phoebe, who were standing near where their blanket had been, Beatrix wondered if they were ready to leave. The fact that she couldn’t just go home by herself was another stupid rule.

  “That is not true!”

  Beatrix turned to look at who had said this rather loudly. It seemed to have been Lady Sutton—Tom’s cousin—who was speaking to an older woman. Lady Sutton looked angry, her cheeks dark pink and her eyes slitted.

  Phoebe looped her arm through Beatrix’s. “Come, we must leap to Aquilla’s defense.”

  “Do you know what’s going on?” Beatrix asked as they strode toward Lady Sutton.

  “Not the slightest idea,” Jane said.

  “I would expect you to defend him,” the older woman said. “However, Mrs. Chamberlain would not lie about such a thing. The poor woman has endured unimaginable tragedy of late.”

  Phoebe gave the unknown—at least to Beatrix—woman an acid-filled smile. “Please excuse us.” She let go of Beatrix and took Aquilla’s arm. The four of them marched away.

  “You’re shaking,” Phoebe murmured.

  “Did you hear what that awful woman said?” Lady Sutton threw a glare back over her shoulder.

  “No, we were too far away,” Jane replied.

  “Apparently, it’s all over the picnic. Lady Rockbourne’s officious mother is saying my dear cousin actually pushed his wife to her death.”