The Birthday Scandal

by Leigh Michaels

  Lucien squared his shoulders and said, “I am still your heir, Father, and I do not believe you wish to see the estate suffer through my ignorance. But if you cannot find it in your heart to forgive me, then I must ask Chloe for her patience while I establish myself. I can learn estate management elsewhere—on some other gentleman’s land, as a steward or…”

  Chiswick snorted. “No one else would teach you properly.”

  Lucien held his breath.

  “I have conditions,” Chiswick said quietly.

  “So do I,” Lucien countered.

  “Yes, yes—larger allowance, freedom to come and go.”

  “No, Father. The most important condition is that my wife be treated well.”

  “Are you going to have a wife, Hartford?”

  “If she’ll accept me. Surely you cannot object, Father. If you considered Chloe an eligible bride for you, then she is more than good enough for me.”

  After a long pause, Chiswick said, “It appears we have a great deal to talk about tomorrow, Hartford—but nothing, I think, that we cannot negotiate. Sir George, you may announce a betrothal.”

  Triumphant, Lucien turned to smile at Chloe. She looked lost and scared, and remorse rushed over him. “I’m sorry, my dear. We’re doing everything backward, it seems—but will you marry me?”

  “You don’t mean it, Lucien.” Her voice was unsteady. “You can’t possibly see me as anything more than an interfering nuisance.”

  He reached for her hands and held them tightly against his heart. “I love you, Chloe.”

  She chewed at her lower lip. “Even after the way I blackmailed you?”

  Lucien started to cough, trying to drown her out. Chloe shot a guilty look at her father.

  Sir George bellowed, “Blackmail?”

  Chiswick’s lips twitched. “We might be wise not to pursue that line of investigation, Sir George. In fact, it would be a good idea to leave these two alone.”

  “Absolutely not,” Sir George said.

  “They are betrothed…and the sooner we put that word about, the less gossip will fly concerning how the two of them vanished from the ballroom.”

  As the two men walked off together, Lucien could hear Sir George grumbling for a long time. He waited till they went out of earshot and then tried without success to find his voice. He felt stiff—afraid to move, afraid to speak. Somewhere down the lane, a night bird called.

  Chloe looked at her hands, still firmly planted against his chest. “Do you really care for me, Lucien? Or did you say all that because you feel sorry for me—since I can’t even elope and get it right?”

  “It’s a good thing you can’t get it right, for I wouldn’t want to have to fight Captain Hopkins over you. Plus you’d still have to reimburse him for the cost of the post-chaise, since I haven’t that much money in my pockets.” He lifted Chloe’s hands to his shoulders and put his arms around her.

  Her breath was coming quickly. Finally she lifted her face to his, but she still looked hesitant.

  Lucien remembered what Aubrey had said about the chorus girl he’d been pursuing, on the night before Lucien left London for Weybridge Castle. Never let a woman know how interested you are.

  Well, what did Aubrey know about love, anyway?

  Lucien slowly tightened his hold, drawing her closer. Sometimes, he thought, words only got in the way. So he kissed her instead, long and softly.

  She was perfect. She ft so very nicely in his arms, and when she tilted her chin just the slightest bit, her mouth was at precisely the right angle.

  Chloe’s eyes suddenly seemed to refect the stars. “I didn’t know what it could be like, to be kissed. Oh, Lucien, I so hoped for this—but I thought you couldn’t possibly want me.”

  He didn’t know what to say, so he kissed her again.

  A long while later, she giggled and said, “How funny—someday I’ll be a countess after all!”

  For just an instant, Lucien’s gut clenched. Had he been correct from the start, and she was so intent on being a countess that she’d flung herself in his path?

  No. She couldn’t glow that way, or kiss him so sweetly, if she were pretending. In any case, she was the only one for him.

  “Not for a while yet.” A good many years, he hoped. He had a lot to learn before he was ready to step into the Earl of Chiswick’s shoes.

  Besides, he was beginning to have a sneaking suspicion that given the right conditions, he just might grow fond of his father.

  Drafty though the great hall must be in winter, when it was filled with dancers and onlookers and candles and lamps, the room was unpleasantly warm. When Gavin finished a dance—his second with the elder Miss Carew—he would have given anything to wander outside for a breath of fresh air. Unfortunately, he suspected Miss Carew would be quite willing to go along with him, despite—or perhaps because of—the risk to her reputation, so he walked her around the perimeter of the room instead.

  “I suppose I should return to Lady Stone,” Miss Carew said with a dimpled smile. “Though she’s quite a lenient chaperone, she does like to hear that my sister and I have enjoyed ourselves. And I shall tell her what an excellent dancer you are, my lord.”

  That was a humbug and Gavin knew it—there were definite differences in an English country dance from what he was used to in Baltimore, and despite Emily’s instruction, he had trouble finding his place in some of the figures.

  Miss Carew peeked up at him through her lashes. “I know it’s not proper for a lady to ask a gentleman,” she whispered shyly, “but I should very much like to waltz with you later. I saved the supper dance.”

  Gavin was in luck, however, for just then they arrived in the corner of the great hall where Lady Stone was sitting next to a very tight-faced Lady Fletcher.

  “Lady Stone,” Miss Carew began. “We’ve had such a lovely—”

  “Not now, child. Run away and occupy yourself with something else.”

  Foreseeing that within seconds, Miss Carew would come up with an activity that involved him, Gavin bowed to the ladies and moved as far away as possible. Outside air sounded even more inviting.

  The Earl of Chiswick intercepted him. “Athstone, where’s Emily?”

  “Why should I know?” Gavin turned to look across the floor, where dancers had gathered in small groups as they waited for the orchestra to begin playing again. “I think she was dancing just now.” As a matter of fact, he knew she had been dancing, for he seemed to have a magnet inside him that was always drawn in her direction. But he wasn’t about to admit that to Lady Emily’s father.

  “I must talk privately with Lady Fletcher, and I need Emily to pry her away from the unrepentant gossip she’s sitting with, without causing a scene.”

  Gavin was barely listening. How odd that he couldn’t spot Emily’s rose-colored dress or her golden-brown hair anywhere in the room. His gut tightened, and he looked again—this time for Lancaster. But neither of them was in sight.

  It’ll all be settled tonight, Lancaster had told someone this afternoon. By tomorrow you’ll be wishing me happy.

  The cad must have made his move. But how much time had passed? How long had Gavin dawdled around the edges of the great hall?

  He almost blurted the news to Chiswick—but explaining it all to Emily’s father would take time that would be better spent in looking for her. Besides, Chiswick had spent the last year trying to marry her off, including negotiating with the very man who might have compromised her now. Emily wouldn’t thank him for adding that complication.

  “I’ll find her,” Gavin said, and only realized how harsh he’d sounded when he saw the Earl of Chiswick’s eyebrows draw together in concern. “Wait here. I’ll bring her to you.”

  And as he began to search the castle for Emily, he asked himself why he hadn’t made her truly his when he’d had the chance.

  By the time Isabel noticed the gleeful buzz which indicated a scandal in the making, whispers were surging from group to group around the great hal
l like an epidemic of yawns at a musicale. Usually Isabel tried to ignore that sort of excited chatter—but she had just finished a strenuous country dance with young Baron Draycott when she heard one of the Carew sisters whisper to the other, “Lady Fletcher…She fainted dead away when they told her about Chloe!”

  Isabel pulled away from the baron and hurried to the corner where she had last seen Lady Fletcher. She was still occupying the same chair, but her head was thrown back, her eyes were closed, her face was as white as Isabel’s dress, and her feet were stretched out almost to the edge of the dance floor. She looked as if she’d fainted while in the midst of a temper tantrum.

  Lady Stone waved a vinaigrette under Lady Fletcher’s nose, while Sir George hovered helplessly nearby.

  Isabel picked up more whispers from the people who had crowded around. “Chloe’s simply gone…” “Nowhere to be found…” “I wonder what Chiswick will do…”

  “Nonsense,” Isabel said loudly. “Miss Fletcher retired to her bedroom with a headache.”

  “You’re a bit behind the times, Lady Isabel,” Lady Stone said mildly. “Lady Fletcher, sit up now and smile. A betrothal is good news—even if Sir George was a bit clumsy in how he broke it to you.”

  Lady Fletcher groaned and blinked owlishly up at her husband. “You can’t have understood what happened, Sir George. Chloe has ruined herself—hasn’t she?”

  “No, no,” Sir George said hastily. “It’s just that she’s betrothed to Hartford instead.”

  Isabel felt the floor lurch under her. “Chloe—and Lucien? But that’s outrageous. Where’s my father? Does he know?”

  “Oh, yes.” Lady Stone didn’t look up. “Chiswick went off looking for Lady Emily so she could break the news gently to Lady Fletcher. But Sir George couldn’t wait, so he blurted it out.” Lady Stone patted Lady Fletcher’s hand. “Men are sometimes so annoying.”

  The music started again, and the dancers in the crowd drifted away onto the floor.

  Maxwell strolled up to Isabel. “I believe this is our waltz.”

  She frowned. “No, it’s not. You claimed the supper waltz, not this one.”

  “Have you been keeping track? Counting until the next dance we can share? I talked a friend into giving me his dances with you.”

  Her fear for Lucien already had Isabel balanced at knife’s point, and Maxwell’s easy assumption that she was eager for his attentions pushed her over the edge. “Why?” Her voice was low, but hard. “Because Lady Murdoch is already out there? I suppose if you can’t dance with her, at least you can be close to her. Is that it?”

  Maxwell’s eyes narrowed. “Isabel, one would think you might be jealous.”

  “One would be wrong. After the ball is over, we will discuss your mistresses—all of them. I will not talk to you until then—and don’t think I’ll allow anything more than talk.”

  She turned her back on him. Somewhere in this crowd, she thought, there must be someone who could tell her the truth about Lucien and Chloe. She only hoped it wouldn’t be the Earl of Chiswick that she had to ask.

  Chapter 17

  Panic would get him nowhere, Gavin knew. Searching the castle’s countless rooms could take hours, but he didn’t have that sort of time. Emily might have mere minutes before her life was forever changed. He needed to think like the quarry he was hunting. Where would Lancaster go? Where would he feel confident and safe?

  Gavin took a few seconds to ponder. Of the half-dozen possibilities that came to mind, which was the right choice? He might not have the opportunity for a second try, so he must make the correct call the first time.

  He closed his eyes for an instant to concentrate and then set off, walking as quickly as he could without drawing attention to himself. At least he hoped no one would notice—though he was certain the Earl of Chiswick wouldn’t stand in the ballroom and wait for him to return. With any luck, however, Gavin would have found Emily long before her father caught up with her.

  Nothing in the new wing of the castle seemed out of place, and all the rooms were quiet. For once, Gavin would have been pleased to catch a glimpse of a servant, but tonight every one of the castle’s massive staff was busy in the great hall or down in the kitchens. The main door had been locked so the footmen who were normally on duty there could assist guests at the entrance to the great hall instead. The new wing was deserted, which made it a perfect spot for seduction—forcible or otherwise.

  He walked straight to the smoking room and flung open the door. It banged against the wall, and across the room, on a settee facing the fireplace, Lancaster raised his head to check out the disturbance.

  An instant later, Gavin reached over the back of the settee, intending to grab the man’s collar and drag him off Emily. But his fingers closed on air as Lancaster rolled away, howling as he curled up on the carpet in a fetal position with his hands clutched over his private parts.

  Gavin braced both hands on the settee and looked down at Emily just as she lowered her knee and began to smooth her skirt.

  “Thank you for the lesson, Gavin. It came in quite handy just now.” Though her words were calm, her voice shook a little.

  Gavin said dryly, “I’m happy to provide a distraction so you could make your move.”

  In the firelight, he could see that her dress was askew and tendrils of hair straggled around her face. He thought she had never been more beautiful than in this moment of defending herself.

  “Are you all right?” Despite his best efforts, his voice cracked.

  She stood up, shaking out her dress, and made a face. “A little rumpled, as you can see. Nothing more.”

  Relief flooded him, followed a bare instant later by a tidal wave of anger. “Why the hell didn’t you believe me? I told you he was plotting something!”

  Over the whimpers still coming from the hearthrug, Gavin heard voices and footsteps in the hall. Chiswick, no doubt—and here was Emily all mussed and manhandled. Even though her attacker hadn’t succeeded and was now mewling on the floor, Lancaster had still managed to compromise her—and in the eyes of society, the only remedy was marriage.

  Gavin hadn’t even realized he’d been in a sort of fog—for days, he suspected—until the mist suddenly cleared. His future unrolled before him, as pristine and lovely as the view from his bedroom window of the sweeping hills and lakes and fields and rivers of Weybridge.

  Gavin reached over the settee, seized Emily’s wrists, and dragged her around and into his arms. He smothered her protest with a long, deep, hungry kiss—an embrace more passionate than anything he’d allowed himself in the two nights they’d spent together.

  And a good thing, too, or he would never have let her out of his bed.

  From the corner of his eye, Gavin saw two men appear in the doorway, but he didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was the woman in his arms. No. The important point was saving the woman in his arms. No matter what it took—even if she was likely to turn him into mincemeat later.

  He went on kissing her until he was reasonably certain that her voice was out of commission, and he was very careful to keep her pressed so tightly against him that she couldn’t move her knee.

  Behind him, one of the men cleared his throat, and Gavin slowly released Emily’s mouth and turned his head.

  He didn’t have to pretend to be dazed; his head was swimming with lust. But he was genuinely startled, because the man next to the Earl of Chiswick was the Duke of Weybridge—and he was standing.

  “You’re walking, Your Grace?” Gavin congratulated himself. Considering the circumstances, his voice sounded pretty normal.

  “When Chiswick told me you seemed to think Emily was in danger, riding around in a chair was a waste of valuable time.” The duke folded his arms across his chest, and his index finger tapped out a rhythm on his elbow. “I hope you can explain yourself, Athstone.”

  “I don’t believe I actually said she was in danger,” Gavin said. “And she wasn’t.”

  Chiswick moved closer and
peered over the settee. “Why is Lancaster sniveling on the hearthrug?”

  “That was a misunderstanding.” Gavin looked the earl straight in the eye. “He overheard us and thought Emily was…reluctant. When he interrupted, I may have overreacted.”

  “Remind me not to get into a misunderstanding with you, Athstone,” Chiswick murmured. “At least not until we’ve reviewed the rules of the boxing ring.”

  “Yes, sir. I need hardly add that the reason for the enthusiastic embrace was that Emily has just made me the happiest of men.”

  Emily, who seemed not to have been breathing, gasped and began to squirm.

  Gavin held her a little more tightly. “I apologize for not asking for your daughter’s hand ahead of time, my lord, but I’m sure you understand that we were—uh—carried away by the moment. Shall we talk in the morning about arrangements for the wedding? Emily, you might just nod to your father now—assure him that everything is all right.” He paused. “Emily?”

  The duke grunted. “And what about my permission, Athstone? I seem to recall you were to consult me about your choice of a wife.”

  “Yes, sir. I regret that I cannot do as you asked. No doubt you are correct in believing that Emily will make my life hell—”

  Emily gulped. “You said what? Uncle Josiah, how could you—”

  Gavin raised his voice to drown her out. “But it is my life. So—with all due respect, Your Grace and your lord-ship—since Emily and I are now betrothed, would both of you please just go away?”

  Everything had happened so quickly that Emily’s head was spinning. Had she really nodded her agreement to marry Gavin? She must have done something of the sort, or surely her father and uncle would not have left her there with him. It wasn’t that she minded being held, but he was clutching her so tightly, with his body wrapped almost around her, that she could barely breathe. She wriggled a little.

  “Emily,” Gavin said quietly. “If you promise not to put me on the floor next to Lancaster, I’ll let you go now.”