Whisper of Scandal

by Nicola Cornick

  “Joanna,” Alex began. He was not sure what he wanted to say. All he was aware of was that for a moment they had shared a powerful affinity and he wanted it back. He was astonished by how much he wanted it. But Joanna had turned away from him and, following her gaze, he saw that Lottie Cummings was hurrying toward them across the deck. She was wrapped in furs to the neck, looking comically like a man dressed as a bear in a theatrical performance. Alex stifled a curse. The moment was broken.

  “Lottie,” Joanna called, “what do you think of Spitsbergen so far?”

  “It is utterly ghastly, Jo darling,” Lottie said. She gave an exaggerated shudder. “I am beginning to wish I had not come!”

  The rest of the party, Alex thought dryly, had been thinking much the same thing for several weeks. Everyone, that was, with the exception of Devlin. It was impossible to keep secrets on a ship and Lottie’s rapacious appetite for young men was much debated by the crew, and with ribald hilarity.

  Joanna’s face was registering vivid disappointment as she took in her friend’s displeasure. “But you told me only a week ago that you were having an absolutely marvelous time!” she protested.

  “Was it only a week?” Lottie said crossly. “It feels like years! I thought that the Arctic Circle would be more congenial once we got here. It sounds as though it should be interesting, but what do I find? Nothing! Where are all the people, where are the towns?” She flung out an arm. “Where are the trees? God knows, I never expected to feel the need of a tree until I was without one!”

  For a moment Joanna’s eyes met Alex’s in a half-shy glance of shared amusement. He raised his brows and smiled at her.

  “You did not comment on the lack of trees when we were speaking just now, Joanna,” he murmured. He wondered whether she had the independence to express her own different views of the scenery when confronted by Mrs. Cummings’s disapproval.

  “No, I did not,” Joanna agreed. “I do think it is a pity there is little greenery to soften the view.” She took a breath. “But you must admit, Lottie, that it is spectacular. It is magnificent in its bleakness.”

  Alex smiled at her and saw her blush. That was Joanna, he thought suddenly, quick to smooth matters over, wanting to keep people happy. He remembered the way in which she had reassured Mr. Churchward over the matter of the will and felt a strange tug of emotion deep inside.

  Lottie was giving her a look of extreme disapproval. “I think that your recent sickness has turned your mind, Jo darling! It is the most barren and unappealing place that I have seen in my life.”

  “Which rather begs the question of why you came,” Joanna murmured. She slipped her hand through her friend’s arm. “Come, let us go below and Hudson can make us a nice pot of tea to cheer you up—”

  “Darling,” Lottie said dramatically, “Hudson jumped ship in Shetland. He was the one who ran away with Lester, my maid! Do you not remember my complaining of it to you at the time?”

  “I must have been too sick to hear you,” Joanna said with a look of apology. “I did wonder why it was Frazer who came to me to act as lady’s maid rather than Lester.”

  “Oh, Frazer has proved the most marvelous general factotum,” Lottie said, waving an expressive hand. “He is as skilled at helping me dress and arranging my hair as any maid could possibly be.”

  “He is certainly very adept with the curling tongs,” Joanna agreed.

  “Surely it is most improper for Frazer to see a lady in a state of dishabille?” Alex queried. “I am surprised that his straitlaced soul can cope with it.”

  “Oh, Frazer tells me that he has seen many ladies in a state of undress,” Joanna said with a wicked smile. “Before he joined the navy he worked as a tailor,” she added, seeing Alex’s look of blank astonishment. A little frown creased her brow. “Did he never tell you?”

  “No,” Alex said. “Frazer’s past has always been shrouded in mystery.” He wondered what else his dour steward had confided in his wife. “I hope,” he said, unable to prevent himself, “that he has not been talking about me as well?”

  “Why should he do that?” Joanna inquired lightly. “He is the soul of discretion.”

  “Of course,” Alex said quickly. “Of course he is. It delights me to see you so restored to health that you wish to take some refreshment, Joanna,” he continued, “but I am sorry to have to tell you that the china tea service broke in the storms. You will have to use a metal beaker. And,” he added, “you had better make sure that the cook has not disinfected it with vinegar to get rid of the biscuit weevils.”

  Joanna shuddered. “Could this voyage be any more unpleasant, Alex darling?”

  “A great deal more,” Alex said a little grimly. His wife, it seemed, was slipping away from him again, back to her London persona, changing before his very eyes. He was determined to claim her back.

  “Joanna—” he caught her hand as she made to sweep past him and drew her close “—a moment of your time…”

  He dismissed Lottie with a polite nod and kept his gazed fixed on her when she seemed reluctant to depart. Eventually she flounced away, the bearskin coat flapping in the breeze.

  “Alex?” Joanna said interrogatively.

  “Yes,” Alex said, his fingers tightening on hers. “Don’t call me darling,” he added. “Unless you mean it.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “It is only a form of words,” she said defensively. “It means nothing.”

  “Precisely,” Alex said. He looked down to where Max in his bright red coat was squashed between them. “And don’t use that dog as a shield,” he added. “He is too small to be an active combatant.”

  He leaned forward and kissed her. He sensed her surprise, but she made no move to withdraw from him and he felt fiercely glad. She parted her lips beneath his and she tasted delicious, sweet as honey, fresh and cold as snow. After a moment he took Max from her arms, placed the dog firmly on the deck and drew Joanna closer so that he could kiss her properly, long and deep, his arms tight around her. The huge red bonnet was getting in his way, so he unfastened the ribbons and cast it aside, running his fingers into Joanna’s hair, undoing all of Frazer’s careful pinning and curling. He heard Joanna give a muffled protest beneath his mouth and kissed her all the more insistently until he felt her yield again, her body softening against his, her fingers clutching his lapels to keep him close. His world contracted until it comprised Joanna and nothing else: her touch, her scent, her taste and his own driving need. He felt as though he could never get enough of her.

  A gust of wind caught the ship, sending it heeling to starboard and shaking them apart. Alex caught Joanna’s arms to steady her. She was breathless, her cheeks stung pink and bright by the cold northern wind, her eyes alight, her hair in blown curls wild about her shoulders. They stared at one another and Alex saw in Joanna’s face stunned surprise and something else, something passionate and elemental that made his heart race. He felt a surge of power and possession so intense it shocked him. He raised his hand and touched her cheek tenderly and then he saw that they were not alone and allowed his hand to fall back to his side.

  “There is no privacy on a ship,” he said regretfully, smiling at her.

  Dev had come up the companionway and had caught the red bonnet, which had bowled along the deck and almost gone flying over the side. He presented it to Joanna with an elaborate bow.

  “Lady Grant…”

  Joanna took the hat with a gracious word of thanks and a smile. She seemed to have recovered her poise, but when she gave Alex a quick, sideways glance of farewell he thought she still looked shy and a little stunned. She picked up Max and hurried away down the steps to join Lottie.

  “I came to let you know that I will be traveling with you as far as Bellsund,” Dev said, “and will take a party of men from there to Odden Bay to hunt for Ware’s so-called treasure. It is only a short distance across the sound.”

  Alex nodded. He studied his cousin’s face keenly. “You have told no one about the map, I hope,
” he said.

  DEV LOOKED SHIFTY. “Of course not!” He sighed as gales of laughter wafted up from the deck below. “I had best go and remind the crew that it is not part of their duties to entertain Lady Grant. They are so charmed by her that they have quite forgotten that it is supposed to be bad luck to have a woman aboard.” He laughed. “You’re a lucky fellow, Alex. There isn’t a man on this boat who doesn’t envy you.”

  “Except you, I imagine,” Alex said dryly.

  Dev pulled a face. “Oh, Mrs. Cummings is very…accommodating…but Lady Grant is…” He paused, and Alex was astonished to see his cousin was actually blushing.

  “Lady Grant is—what?” he inquired.

  “Don’t ask me to put it into words,” Dev said, blushing harder and stumbling over his thoughts like a youth suffering the pangs of calf-love. “You know I’m not good at expressing myself.” He frowned. “There is something untouched about Lady Grant, for all that she was a widow before she wed you.” His frown deepened. “Perhaps I mean something unawakened.” He shook his head. “Just now she looked like a princess in a fairy tale. And don’t tell me not to be fanciful,” he added as Alex opened his mouth to speak, “because I know you feel it, too. I saw the expression on your face.”

  “You see too damned much,” Alex said. He did not particularly want to share that moment with anyone else. He was still trying to work it out himself. He had never felt like that before in his life.

  “You know Purchase cares for her, don’t you?” Dev continued. He shot Alex a look. “By which I mean that he is genuinely in love with her.”

  Alex narrowed his eyes. He thought back to the conversation that he had had with Owen Purchase in London. He was certain now that his friend had never been Joanna’s lover, but that did not mean Purchase might not wish it to be so. Alex found that he did not like the idea. He did not like it at all, and his feelings had nothing to do with the need to be certain that his heir would be his own flesh and blood.

  “Purchase would never play me false,” he said, trying to ignore the primal instinct that made him want to go and find the man and kick him over the side of his own ship. “He’s been my friend for years. And Joanna—” He thought of his wife, so warm and passionate in his arms, and of the look of shock on her face after they had kissed, as though she could not quite believe that what she was feeling was real. He had recognized that emotion—for he had felt it, too. “Joanna would not deceive me,” he said slowly.

  Dev was looking at him quizzically. “Why did you marry Lady Joanna, Alex?”

  “From anyone else,” Alex growled, “I would take that as an impertinent question.”

  “I’m curious,” Dev said, unabashed. “You do not strike me as the sort of man to covet either Ware’s fame or his wife, so…” He let the sentence hang.

  “Is that what people think?” Alex was startled. “That I wish to take Ware’s place?” He never paid attention to the on dit, but now he could see that the gossip might be that he wanted to step into Ware’s shoes as society’s hero explorer—and into his bed, too.

  “This isn’t about Joanna,” he said, “Or about Ware, for that matter. It is about providing for Ware’s child and giving Balvenie an heir.”

  He saw an odd expression come into Dev’s eyes. “An heir?” his cousin said, and there was a note in his voice Alex could not quite place.

  “You advised me to it yourself when I first returned to London,” he said, frowning.

  “So I did,” Dev said. He avoided Alex’s eyes. “Excuse me, Alex,” he said abruptly. “Purchase will be needing me.” And he walked off, leaving Alex wondering what on earth it was that he had said.

  Chapter 12

  “I AM NOT PRECISELY SURE,” Joanna said after supper, sipping her tea from a metal beaker, “what one does on a ship to pass the time?” She and Alex were alone in the mess room, for Dev and Owen Purchase were up on deck and Lottie had disappeared to sort some clothes that required laundering. Joanna had been surprised to discover that she had developed an appetite again after so many days subsisting on a few mouthfuls of gruel and dry biscuits. That was until she had seen the meal that the cook had prepared for them, which had apparently been a beef and pease stew that resembled no meat Joanna had ever seen before. Mindful of Alex’s gaze on her she had forced down a few mouthfuls without complaint and washed it down with some of the ship’s beer. The drink had tasted vile, but something was needed to take away the flavor of the food.

  “You could read,” Alex said. “What about those books your sister gave you?”

  “I find Dr. Von Buch’s travel memoirs very dry,” Joanna said. She had already started to use the pages as curling papers.

  “And Captain Phipps’s account of his expedition?” Alex asked.

  “Full of tedious detail on ship’s rations and information on reinforcement with beams and scantlings, whatever they may be,” Joanna said. “I expect that you found it riveting, my lord?”

  “Not in the least,” Alex said. “Alas, poor Phipps should have stuck to sailing and left the writing to someone else.” He toyed with his brandy glass, watching her with a keen look that made her skin prickle. “We could play chess if you wish,” he murmured. “Or we could talk.”

  Talk.

  Alex’s sudden interest in her company outside of the marital bed seemed extraordinary, Joanna thought. Earlier on that day he had as good as told her that his only interest was in producing an heir. She had assumed that he would be extremely attentive to her in bed and practically ignore her out of it. And indeed, she knew plenty of couples whose marriages subsisted on the basis of the less conversation, the better. Yet now it seemed that Alex wanted to talk to her as well as make love to her.

  “I expect that you would prefer to be working,” she said, watching him set up the chessboard. “You do not strike me as a man who likes to be idle.”

  He smiled at her and she felt warmed by it. “You are correct, of course. I dislike inaction. But this evening I would rather be with you.”

  Extraordinary. Joanna could not imagine why he would wish for such a thing. She could feel herself blushing. She picked up one of the carved chess pieces in an attempt to cover her confusion. It was a deep cream color, smooth against her fingers. “Are these carved from bone?” she asked incredulously.

  “Only whalebone, not human bones,” Alex said. “Spitsbergen is a hunting ground for whalers.” He looked up. “Where did you think all those fashionable accessories you love came from, Joanna?”

  “I didn’t think about it,” Joanna admitted. “You mean things like handles for umbrellas and parasols, and stiffening for gowns—”

  “And oil, and soap,” Alex agreed.

  Joanna shuddered. “I shall refuse to wear stays from now on.”

  Alex looked at her, a smile glinting in his eyes. “You shall not hear me complaining.” He sat back, looking at her. “Wait until you see a whale, Joanna,” he said, and once again Joanna heard in his voice the same pride and pleasure with which he had spoken of Spitsbergen itself. “They are the most magnificent and awe-inspiring creatures in the universe. A blue whale could overturn a ship with a flick of its tail if it chose.”

  “And who could blame it,” Joanna said, “if man hunts whales to turn them into umbrella handles? Will we see blue whales here?” she asked.

  “Rarely,” Alex said. “Bowhead whales are hunted in these waters. You are a country girl,” he added. “Surely you grew up accustomed to hunting.”

  “I did not care for it,” Joanna said. “It is willfully cruel.” She put the chess piece down. “It was not an opinion that found any favor with my uncle, I fear. He was a hunting parson of the old school.”

  Alex laughed. “Hunting, fishing, swearing and sermonizing?”

  “Something of the sort.” Joanna opened the play, advancing her pawn. “I learned to play chess because the alternative was to read his books of sermons.”

  The mess room settled down to quiet as they started the game. Jo
anna watched Alex’s fingers as he moved the chess pieces around the board, long, strong, tanned fingers that she remembered against her skin with a little shiver. She forced herself to concentrate on the game. She did not want him to beat her. The light in the cabin had changed now from the bright white of day to the softer light of evening. Owen Purchase had told her that in these northern latitudes the sun never set in the summer. The paler light cast Alex’s face into shadow, emphasizing the line of his cheekbone and jaw and the dent of frowning concentration between his brows.

  Joanna won the game and she could see from the look in Alex’s eyes that he was surprised.

  “Another game?” she asked, smiling demurely. “I should like to give you the chance to even the score.”

  Alex sat up straight and moved his chair closer to the table as she reordered the board.

  “You are competitive,” Joanna said, giving him a sideways look. “You did not expect me to win.”

  Alex laughed reluctantly. “All right. I’ll admit that I did not think chess would be your forte.”

  “Because you think that I am stupid.” Joanna gestured to him to open, then moved her knights to flank his pawn.

  “An aggressive ploy,” Alex said. He looked up from the board. “And no, I have never thought you stupid.”

  “Shallow, extravagant and irresponsible,” Joanna said. She took the pawn.

  “I thought you all of those,” Alex agreed, “but then I was judgmental.”

  “And arrogant,” Joanna said sweetly.

  The shadow of a smile touched his mouth. “I’ll give you that.”

  This time she noticed that Alex paid her the compliment of concentrating very hard on the game. When she castled, he narrowed his gaze on the board and renewed his attack.

  “Check,” he said, moving a bishop to take her king. His hand captured hers and she looked up to meet the brilliant gray of his eyes. She shook her head; freed herself.