The Birthday Scandal

by Leigh Michaels

  He could not bear to see her smothered by the Earl of Chiswick’s rules.

  But if he was to help her, Lucien must not give his father cause to draw out this discussion. Lucien simply had to escape, and soon, if he was to meet Chloe as they had arranged. He could not leave her waiting for him, and he could not risk his father deciding to ride out with him as some strange form of discipline. If swallowing his rash words was the price, then Lucien would eat them, instead of ham and bread, for breakfast.

  He met Chiswick’s cold gaze straight on. “Nothing important, sir.”

  Chiswick held his gaze for a long moment. “Do not think this is the end of the matter, for we will discuss the question of estate management, and soon. It is high time for you to learn how to preserve your heritage for future generations. I have indulged you for far longer than I should have done—”

  Indulged? Lucien’s jaw dropped. How his father could call his pittance of an allowance an indulgence…

  “—by allowing you to spend so much time with your friends in London. However,” Chiswick added dryly, “I believe your stay there has achieved the main purpose, which was to illustrate for you how large an income it will take to pay for the sort of life you seem to want. I believe you must agree with me that it will require a great deal more blunt than you currently command.”

  Chiswick had never put it quite that way before. Instead, he had always made it sound as though Lucien was to be imprisoned on the estate, condemned to the sort of pointless exercises he’d hated as a child when the governess and later his tutor had ruled over him. But when it came down to guineas and shillings—well, that did put a different color on the matter. And he might not be absolutely tied to the estate.

  Still, as Lucien made his escape, he thought wryly that only a discussion with Chiswick could make a man look forward to the meeting Lucien would soon have with Chloe—especially since there was no guessing what she might cozen him into doing this time.

  In the dim light of early morning, Isabel woke slowly, stretching luxuriously against the crisp linen sheets. Though she would never admit it to Maxwell, in the last few days she had become aware of her body in ways she had never known before. The way he touched her seemed to have sensitized her to every sort of stimulus. She felt an entirely new sensual enjoyment of fabrics, for instance—not only the texture of linen and lace against her skin but the sheen of fine muslin when light played across it, and the scent of lightweight wool snuggled around her throat when she rode. And every touch made her feel more alive somehow, as if she had grown more sensitive in every way.

  “Hello,” Maxwell murmured.

  She gave a little shriek and turned her head so fast she almost cracked her neck. He was lying on his side, watching her, and his eyes were bright and not in the least sleepy. But why was he here? How was it possible that she had actually slept with him there beside her? Why hadn’t her instincts warned her that unlike the previous nights, when he had simply gone away after he finished with her, this time he had stayed in her bed?

  “But it’s morning!” she protested.

  “Amazing that the sun came up as usual.” He didn’t move. “I was just lying here with nothing to do but think, Isabel, and I find myself wondering…why did you demand Kilburn? Why not something else? Maxton Abbey, for instance?”

  She wriggled farther away from him and higher in the bed, sitting up against a stack of pillows. “The ghosts of three hundred years’ worth of earls would haunt you if you tried to break the entail on the abbey.”

  “There are other properties—the London house, for instance. You do so love London.”

  She shrugged. The sheet slid down from her shoulder. She grabbed for it, but too late—she saw his gaze focus on her breast, and heat swept over her. “That was simply practical. The London house does not produce an income.”

  “There’s the hunting lodge.”

  She tucked the top hem of the sheet tightly under her arms to hold it in place. “Same problem—no income.”

  “You could have rented it out.”

  “I wouldn’t know where to begin. And as for living there—well, the truth is I don’t like hunting all that much.”

  “I thought you were eager to join the Beckhams—party last week.”

  That was when you were due to come back to the abbey, and I’d have seized any opportunity to leave. “I didn’t see hunting as the main attraction of the Beckhams’ party.”

  “You’re suggesting one of the men there is the one you long for.” He seemed only mildly interested.

  She was on dangerous ground. He could easily find out exactly who had been on the Beckhams’guest list…Not that he would bother, Isabel reminded herself. Her flirtations, such as they were, could not matter to a man who felt not the least inclination to jealousy. Still, she reached for a safer subject. “I told you from the beginning, Max—since Kilburn was my dowry, it was the natural choice.”

  “I suppose so. But is that the only reason you asked for it? I have larger estates. More lucrative ones.”

  “I like Kilburn—I always have. But I asked for it because it seemed only right that I benefit from the property I brought into the marriage. Is that so hard for you to understand?”

  “Yes, it is. I wondered…” Maxwell broke off and moved his pillows around to achieve a better angle to watch her. “How did you learn to like it so much? You never lived there, did you? Despite the fact that your father is a shrewd negotiator, I got the impression he never gave that estate much more than a cursory thought.”

  “He found it a nuisance,” Isabel admitted. “Because it’s located so far from Chiswick, it was difficult to manage.”

  “So my instinct was right—it wasn’t such a sacrifice after all for him to give it up. Why did he own it, if the estate was such a problem for him?”

  A better question, Isabel thought, was why Maxwell cared. “Kilburn was my mother’s dowry, too—or, rather, her inheritance. She grew up there.”

  “And that is how you came to like it so much?”

  “She took us there to visit our grandparents in the summers, when we were little.”

  “Your father didn’t go?”

  “Never, that I recall. Just Lucien and Emily and me, and our mother. We didn’t even take a governess. Because it was so long a trip, we would stay for weeks. Grandpapa made up stories for us and taught us to fish, and Grandmama fashioned dresses for our dolls, and told us about being a lady-in-waiting to the queen, and taught us to curtsey. I remember my mother lying in a long chair on the terrace—just lying there, smiling—while we played on the lawn.”

  “You were happy at Kilburn,” he said softly.

  She nodded. “I suppose I was. I didn’t know I even remembered so much from those summers. By the time I was ten years old, my grandparents had died. Mama took us only once after that, but she was very sad—and already ill, too, I think, though I didn’t realize it then.”

  “Very touching,” he said softly. “No wonder you remember it fondly. I’m glad I asked. And I’m glad you will have it one day.” He leaned over her and took a long, deep kiss—the sort of kiss, Isabel knew, that always led to other things.

  “You can’t,” she said firmly.

  “I assure you there’s no law against making love in the morning. But if you feel strongly about the matter, very well.”

  She was wary. “You mean it? You’d stop because I—”

  “All you have to do is show me that you don’t want to.” He kissed her again, and then lazily began stroking her, from the sensitive patch of skin under her ear to the arches of her feet. The sensation of cool sheets against her skin had been stimulating, but the mere brush of warm hands was arousing. And when he shifted from touching her to tasting her earlobes and her breasts, Isabel moaned despite herself.

  “I wish you’d go back to thinking,” she muttered.

  He smiled and whispered, “Are you certain you don’t want to make love?” His voice resonated through her, and she shi
vered.

  Isabel fumbled for sanity, as well as for an excuse he might accept. “Martha will be coming in at any moment with my morning chocolate.”

  “No, she won’t. I instructed her that from now on she is not to disturb you in the morning until she is summoned. So if preferring not to shock your maid is your only objection…” He didn’t wait for an answer but slipped a finger inside her. “As I expected—and I like this answer much better.”

  He moved over her, and though she had no conscious intention of helping him, Isabel opened her legs. He smiled and slid inside her, so deeply that he seemed to stretch her more than ever before, and slowly began to thrust.

  Long minutes later, when he was finished and she was still shivering from the force of her own climax, he did not withdraw but settled himself more firmly inside her, rested his lips against her hair, and went completely still.

  “Maxwell,” she said finally. “What are you doing?”

  He didn’t open his eyes. “I’m following the directions we were given on our wedding day. With my body I thee worship.”

  Annoyed, she struck back. “It goes on after that, you know. With all my worldly goods I thee endow.”

  “All part of a single bargain, Isabel—one that you are finally living up to. As soon as you’ve fulfilled your end of the deal, I will honor mine, and Kilburn will be yours.”

  “Fine.” She wriggled a little in irritation. “Are you finished?”

  He raised his head and looked down at her. “No, I don’t believe I am.”

  Even as he spoke, she felt him growing hard again, stretching and thickening inside her. To her surprise, she was so aroused that before he even began to stroke her once more, she clenched around him in her own release.

  He took her slowly, and left her panting and dizzy and almost whimpering with satisfaction. When he left her, she sank into the mattress, too luxuriously relaxed to move.

  “Sleep,” he told her. “I’ll instruct Martha that your hot chocolate can wait. By the way, I like it when you call me Max.”

  Isabel’s eyes few open. “I didn’t!”

  “Yes, you did.” He paused beside the bed as he tied the belt of his dressing gown. “Thank you for telling me about Kilburn, and why you asked for it.”

  “That again?” she murmured. “I told you…”

  “Because it seemed to me when you made your proposition that your goal must be to present me with a bargain I could not possibly accept.”

  Her almost-boneless state of relaxation gave way to tense wariness. Maxwell’s conclusion was perfectly correct, which meant he knew her far better than she had counted on. But why was he bringing this up now?

  “If that was the case, however, why did you not ask for Maxton Abbey, my dear? Why didn’t you suggest trading my heir for my largest estate?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Maxwell. It’s the family seat. You couldn’t—”

  “Exactly, Isabel. That would truly have been a bargain I could not have agreed to.”

  The bottom fell out of Isabel’s stomach. Why had it not occurred to her to raise the stakes even higher? She had been so certain he wouldn’t give in to any demand that she hadn’t even considered asking for more. Besides, there were limits to what was credible.

  “Instead,” he went on softly, “you asked for Kilburn, an estate you love and one to which I feel no personal attachment. I am left to wonder why you chose to make your terms so palatable to me. Did you want this to happen? Do you—despite all your denials—want to give me my heir?”

  Looking as though he owned the entire stock of patience in the world, Benson stood beside the big gold-draped bed holding the tea tray and waiting—exactly as he had every morning since they had arrived at the castle—for Gavin to prop himself up against the headboard, ready to take his tea cup in hand.

  Emily made a noise that was just short of a screech and dived under the blankets.

  Gavin punched a pillow, but the move did not lessen his frustration. “You didn’t see anything, Benson.”

  “Certainly not, sir.”

  Emily’s voice was muffed. “We were only talking!”

  “Indeed, my lady,” Benson said. “I didn’t doubt it for a moment.” He set down the tray on the bedside table, poured tea into the single cup, and handed it to Gavin. “If I might make an observation, sir…It would seem you and the young lady are in a bit of a pickle.”

  “Noticed that, did you?” Gavin said dryly. “Despite not seeing anything?”

  “I assume you intended for Lady Emily to return to her room before the household began to stir. Since that time is past, I believe I can be of some service.”

  “Benson, if you can fix this one, I’ll double your pay.”

  “An increase in remuneration would be most welcome, sir, but it is not necessary. I am simply doing my duty. I shall—reconnoiter, I believe they would say in the army, and return in a few minutes. The young lady might be ready to depart at that time.” Soft-footed, he crossed the bedroom and went out.

  “Emily,” Gavin said. “Time to get up.”

  “I’m never coming out. Benson hates me, and I don’t trust him. He’ll probably tell everyone he sees and gather a crowd in the gallery.”

  “If he hated you, that’s the last thing he’d do.” Gavin tugged the blankets back and handed her the teacup. “Drink. It’s hot and sweet—good for you when you’ve had a shock.”

  “Why?” Her hand shook as she took the cup. “I mean Benson.”

  “Because if he passed the word, your father would come down on us with the force of all Napoleon’s cannons and you’d find yourself married before the day was out.”

  Without seeming to notice what she was doing, Emily sipped. “That is hot. How does he…Never mind. It would mean he’d never be able to get rid of me, yes—but are you certain he understands that?”

  “Oh, I think he grasps the major points,” Gavin said dryly. He took the empty cup out of her hand and set it back on the tray, then retrieved her nightdress from where it had landed on the carpet. “I don’t know how he’ll manage it, but I have confidence he’ll slide you back into your room as slick as…”

  Benson reappeared just as Gavin was tying the belt of Emily’s dressing gown. “Lord Hartford is stirring,” he said. “Lord Chiswick has gone downstairs. There is, as yet, no sign of Lady Isabel, and of course no movement around the duke’s chambers. I shall look out into the gallery once more to be certain. Then if all is clear, I will signal you, Lady Emily, and walk with you back to your room.”

  “And how is that supposed to help the situation?” Emily asked suspiciously.

  “If anyone appears, or if we hear voices, you must simply stop walking and turn to face me. I’ll do the rest.”

  Emily rolled her eyes.

  “Remember Napoleon’s cannons,” Gavin said softly.

  “Well, I don’t want to end up married,” she snapped, and took a deep breath. “All right, Benson—let’s go.”

  Chapter 13

  Chloe was already in the linden grove when Lucien’s gelding picked his way between the trees. She seemed lost in thought, and Lucien was almost into the sunny glade when she heard his approach and swung around, plainly startled. A tinge of fear in her face quickly gave way to anticipation, and she hurried toward him. “Tell me—did all go as planned?”

  Lucien swung down from his saddle, trying to find an answer that was both truthful and honest. He supposed it would be accurate to say that indeed everything had gone as she had planned it. All she had asked of him was to put her letter directly into the hands of the captain, and Lucien had done exactly that. But would it be honest to say that much and nothing more?

  Should he tell her about his suspicions? Should he confide the nagging ache inside him, which warned that Captain Hopkins had no intention of acting on the request she had made in her letter?

  A request, he would be wise to remember, that Lucien himself was not supposed to know about in detail.

  “L
ucien,” Chloe said slowly, “if you didn’t do as I wanted…”

  The threatening note in her voice would have amused him had the matter been less serious. “Your letter has been delivered, exactly as you asked.”

  “You saw Captain Hopkins yourself? You didn’t leave my message with his batman, or…”

  “I laid it into his hands, and I watched him open it.”

  She closed her eyes and released a long breath. “That’s all right, then.” She sat down on the log and patted the spot beside her. “Now tell me what he said—exactly—after he’d read my letter.”

  Why, Lucien wondered wearily, did lovesick girls always want precise details? He couldn’t remember every word the captain had said. Not that there had been many of them, for the captain seemed to be a man of few words. But Lucien could hardly tell Chloe that her beloved had grunted rather than speaking.

  Was that why Lucien had come away from the army encampment with so many doubts? Because Captain Hopkins hadn’t regaled him with poetic phrases of love about Chloe? If that was all that was bothering him, then Lucien was being a bit of a clunch to suspect that the captain might not be the knight in shining armor that Chloe plainly pictured.

  After all, why should the captain confide in a stranger? Chloe, who knew Lucien a great deal better than the captain did, had not gushed out her feelings or trusted him completely with her plans.

  Of course Chloe and her captain felt strongly about each other. Girls simply didn’t arrange elopements with men they didn’t love—or with men who they weren’t certain returned their feelings.

  Lucien knew he should dismiss his doubts, tell Chloe what she wanted to hear, and get himself back to the castle before the day was too far advanced. He’d done everything she asked; if she had wanted him to be more involved than that, she would have come straight out and told him what she planned to do. He could—he should—walk away now.