Lady of Scandal

by Tina Gabrielle

  Victoria slapped away his hand and leapt down, careful not to brush against his hard body.

  The line of his mouth tightened a fraction more. “Dinner is at seven, my dear.”

  This time, she knew better than to argue with him about sharing every meal. Tossing her hair behind her shoulder, she sauntered past him with the regal bearing of the Queen of England.

  Chapter 10

  Blake strode into the library, his booted feet muffled by the thick Aubusson carpet.

  Justin’s head snapped up, and his hands clenched the sheath of papers he had been studying at Blake’s desk. “You startled me.”

  “Not my intention, Woodward.”

  Dropping the papers, Justin stood and moved away from the desk. “You look bloody miserable. I take it you didn’t have a pleasant ride with Miss Ashton?”

  Blake fell into the chair Justin had vacated. He leaned back and rested his boots on the edge of the desk. “Things were progressing nicely, until our pasts interfered.”

  “That serious?”

  “She’d rather become a prostitute than spend the year with me.”

  Justin burst out laughing. “That qualifies as quite dastardly.”

  Blake sat forward. “She feels something for me. I can see it in her eyes, the softening of her facial expressions, every time she recalls a childhood memory. And there’s sexual attraction too. I’m no longer an inexperienced boy, and I clearly recognize it.”

  Justin picked up a crystal decanter resting on an end table and poured two glasses of brandy. He placed the drink before Blake. “She is very beautiful.”

  Blake swirled the amber liquid in his glass. “She is, isn’t she? Who would have thought?”

  “Send her back to her father, Ravenspear.”

  Blake’s eyes snapped to Justin’s. “Let her go? I can’t.”

  “Then you are torturing yourself.”

  Blake laughed bitterly. “If the thought of Victoria under my roof makes Charles Ashton lose even one night of sleep, then any suffering her presence causes me will be well worth it.”

  “Have you thought of the lady’s feelings?”

  “Too often. However, I promised myself a long time ago that I would allow nothing to get in the way of my vengeance.”

  Blake swallowed the last of the brandy and then slammed the glass on the desk.

  Justin shrugged and said offhandedly, “Samantha likes her. It puts me in an awkward position.”

  “Since when have you allowed your cock to rule your brains, Woodward?”

  “Don’t worry, Ravenspear. My loyalties lie with you. I wouldn’t be here today if not for your actions.”

  Blake raised a hand. “Please spare me any gratitude.” His eyes dropped to the papers on his desk. “What are these?”

  Justin strode to the desk and jabbed his forefinger at the papers. “These are a way to trick Charles Ashton into doing business with you.”

  “Why would I want to do business with the whoreson?”

  “We need something he has. Your investment in the latest technology, high-pressure steam engines, requires steel pistons that can handle enormously high temperatures. The only company that produces such pistons in England is co-owned by Charles Ashton and Mr. Jacob Hobbs.”

  “I’ll be damned,” Blake said. “Neither will ever willingly sell me the parts.”

  “Not to you, but they will sell them to Illusory Enterprises.”

  “And whose company is that?”

  “Your new subsidiary. I’ve already spoken with your solicitors. It’s perfectly legal.”

  Blake hooted with laughter. “Your genius never ceases to amaze me, Woodward! I’ll be buying the equipment I need right under Ashton’s nose. And I approve wholeheartedly of the company name.” He rubbed his chin with his thumb and forefinger. “Give the lawyers permission to proceed, but tell them to keep our actions strictly confidential.”

  Justin touched his forehead in a mock salute. “Yes, sir.”

  Over the course of the following week, time passed at a snail’s pace for Victoria. A pattern was established where Blake and Victoria would share two meals a day: breakfast at sunrise and the evening meal at seven sharp.

  In addition to dining together, Blake insisted she accompany him during the majority of his daily tasks, whether he rode out to inspect his property and visit his tenants or studied his papers in the library.

  Because he often worked at home, she spent a significant amount of time in the library, surrounded by the finest collection of books she had ever seen, and read as he silently buried himself in mounds of paperwork.

  She frequently pretended to read, watching him unobserved beneath lowered lashes. His appearance fascinated her, and she marveled at how much he had changed from a good-looking youth to a darkly handsome man.

  There was no trace of boyish softness in his face, rather all hard and chiseled angles, and blue eyes so compellingly direct she shivered. He was the most handsome male she had ever seen, and her unbidden physical response to him was immediate and overwhelming.

  At times she was so absorbed with watching him work that she had no idea of the title or author of the novel she was reading and wouldn’t have been the least bit surprised if she was holding the pages upside down.

  On one instance, he glanced up from his papers, caught her staring and grinned.

  Swiftly averting her eyes, she had the uncanny feeling that he knew her thoughts.

  He was a rare type of male, one that possessed an irresistible combination of masculine confidence infused with a streak of dangerousness. Such an amalgamation in a man could easily lure a woman to her doom.

  Victoria had always considered herself a practical female, but Blake Mallorey seemed to cause all common sense to fly from her head.

  Her frustration mounted daily because he did not speak out loud of his business transactions and, because she was rarely alone, she had no opportunity to rummage through his business documents. When he did meet with Justin Woodward to talk business, she was excused.

  Blake’s behavior added to her exasperation. He never mentioned the cross words they had exchanged during their first tour of Rosewood. He was polite, suspiciously so, and she wondered at his change in tactics. Yet he continued to find excuses to touch her—acting the gallant gentleman.

  When he held out her dining chair, his fingers would brush the sensitive skin of her collarbone above her neckline. As he escorted her from a room, he would stroke her elbow. Lifting her like she weighed no more than a grain of salt to place her on her horse, his strong hands would hold her close to his hard body and linger on her waist.

  The time they spent together brought forth unwanted memories of her childhood infatuation and made her mindful of her sensuality.

  She recalled his kindness to Maggie and her son, Simon. Blake was respected and admired by his tenants.

  Both instances softened her anger, and her feelings toward him became confused.

  She feared for her sanity, wondering how she would survive the year. She wanted to hate him and tried unsuccessfully to suppress her girlish crush. Yet she was physically attracted to and sensually aware of the attractive man he had become.

  Just when she thought she would scream from frustration, the Baroness of Devon paid a visit to Rosewood.

  Lady Devon swept into the parlor, took one look at Victoria’s ashen face, and said, “Has he treated you that badly?”

  Victoria’s smile did not reach her eyes. “I’m glad for your visit, Lady Devon.”

  “It’s Samantha, darling.” She approached Victoria and touched her shoulder. “We will have time to talk after dinner.”

  The evening meal progressed much like the last she had shared with Justin Woodward and Lady Devon. The food was plentiful and delicious, the sherry expensive and selected to enhance the flavor of the dishes.

  After dinner, the women retired to the parlor. The men did not keep them waiting long, instead choosing to drink their port in the ladies’ prese
nce.

  Victoria’s agitation surfaced at not having any time to speak with Lady Devon in private.

  She grit her teeth when Blake and Justin entered the parlor. “We expected you would take longer,” she said, a note of impatience in her voice.

  Blake, ignoring her tone, smiled merrily. “Do you enjoy playing cards, my dear?”

  Victoria knew society was obsessed with gambling. Every successful party, ball or masque ended in the card room these days. She hadn’t thought Blake shared the fascination.

  “I’m familiar with the rules of whist,” she said.

  “Good,” Blake said.

  He walked to a dainty end table, opened a slim drawer and pulled out a deck of cards.

  Lady Devon’s blue eyes widened and she sat forward. “Whist is my favorite, but it requires four players, two against two as partners, so we seldom play.”

  Rising from her seat, Samantha rubbed her hands with excitement. “Let’s play gentlemen versus ladies!”

  Two chairs were pulled up to the table. Justin sat next to Victoria on the settee, Samantha moved to a chair across the table, and Blake took the chair across from Victoria.

  Blake shuffled the deck with nimble fingers, and Lady Devon cut the deck. He then dealt the cards with the faces down to each player in clockwise rotation, until he came to the last card, which he placed with the face up on the table.

  “Hearts are trump,” Blake announced.

  Samantha placed a sharp pencil and a piece of paper next to the cards.

  Realization dawned on Victoria. “I have nothing to wager.”

  “Please forgive us if we made you uncomfortable, Miss Ashton,” Justin Woodward said. “It’s true we usually play for stakes. But we may play purely for pleasure tonight.”

  “Yes, of course,” Samantha agreed.

  “Forget the money,” Blake said tersely.

  A sudden daring thought occurred to Victoria. Lifting her chin, she met Blake’s hard gaze straight on. “A side bet between me and Lord Ravenspear, then. If I win, I’ll wager fifteen thousand pounds, my father’s entire debt, on one hand.”

  A hush descended, and Jacob and Lady Samantha turned toward her.

  “Assuming the fifteen thousand is yours to begin with, what will be my prize if I win?” Blake asked.

  The couple’s heads swung toward Blake.

  Victoria’s hand rose to her throat, fingering the diamond necklace she wore. It had been a gift from her parents when she was a debutante. Hardly worth fifteen thousand, it was still an expensive piece with exquisite workmanship. Loath to give it up, her fingers trembled as she reached behind her neck to unclasp the gold hook.

  Setting it on the table between them, Victoria took a card and threw it with the face up on the table. “I believe I go first.”

  She held her breath as she watched Blake, afraid he might reject the bet outright.

  Blake picked up his cards, glancing at them in a cursory fashion before looking back at her and nodding. “First team to earn seven points wins.”

  The game progressed in silence, the tension in the room palpable.

  Blake played casually, Justin more seriously and the women intently. The teams earned tricks, or points, in an alternating fashion, until they had six each. The next hand would determine the winner.

  Excitement mounted within Victoria as she studied her cards. The Queen of Hearts, her remaining trump card, seemed to quiver in her hands.

  The probability of her and her partner winning the game was good. The only two cards that could beat her trump card were the Ace of Hearts and the King of Hearts.

  Victoria struggled to remember if either card had already been played, knowing that if they both had, the women were certain to win.

  But counting cards was Spencer’s forte, never hers.

  “Queen of Hearts.” She smiled as she placed the card down.

  When it was Justin’s turn, he bit his lip and said, “I’m sorry, Ravenspear. I can’t beat that.”

  Lady Devon discarded her unwanted card in a trice. “I don’t need to defeat my partner!”

  All eyes turned to Blake, waiting for him to discard the card that would break the tie.

  There was a lethal calmness in Blake’s eyes, and with a flick of his wrist, his card landed on top of hers.

  She stared in disbelief at the King of Hearts that had won him the game. The irony was not lost on her that her submissive Queen of Hearts was beaten by none other than his dominant King.

  “Congratulations,” she whispered huskily, biting back tears of disappointment. A heaviness centered in her chest as she slid her treasured necklace toward him.

  He made no move to take the necklace but sat motionless, his flat, unspeaking eyes watching her and prolonging the moment. “You should have agreed to play for fun.”

  Not trusting herself to speak with the lump that lingered in her throat, she did not.

  Samantha must have sensed Victoria’s inner turmoil, for she stood abruptly and broke the awkward silence. “You have the Devil’s luck, Ravenspear. You play like a professional gambler.”

  Victoria smiled weakly and rose from her seat on shaky legs to join Lady Devon by the dying fire.

  The urge to flee to the privacy of her room and succumb to the sobs she held in check was overwhelming. But she refused to give Blake the satisfaction of seeing her cry.

  She wasn’t a child but a woman full-grown, who made a wager in a card game and lost, knowing full well the consequences of gambling.

  No one died. No one was bleeding. She would survive the loss of her necklace.

  Lifting her chin, Victoria straightened up with dignity. She talked with Samantha for the remainder of the evening, careful to avoid eye contact with Blake.

  To her relief, the men conversed and drank their port in the corner of the room, away from the fireplace.

  A quick glance at the table revealed her necklace still lying upon the surface. The brilliant diamond sparkled in the firelight, teasing her.

  So close, yet no longer hers…

  Her head ached from the effort of holding her rioting emotions inside. She lost track of the conversation, unsure what Lady Devon was speaking about.

  Samantha looked at her with understanding. “We’ll talk another time, Victoria. I see you are preoccupied with your thoughts.”

  Victoria nodded and excused herself. She held the banister tightly as she climbed the stairs to her room.

  Closing the bedroom door, she leaned heavily against the frame before the first blinding tear rolled down her cheek.

  Chapter 11

  It was no use. She was never going to fall asleep, no matter how comfortable the four poster or how soft the coverlet in her rose-colored room.

  Throwing off her blankets, Victoria swung her legs over the side of the bed, stuffed her feet into slippers and impatiently donned a silk wrapper. Then she took a candle from the mahogany night table, lit it, and carried it with her from the room.

  She tiptoed along the second-floor hallway to the top of the grand staircase leading down to the main floor. As her slipper touched the last step, she paused to look around.

  Lamps glowed faintly, casting eerie shadows on the satin wallpaper, but all was silent.

  Confident the residents of Rosewood had retired for the night, she ventured forward.

  Thoughts of the night’s card game flickered through her mind for the hundredth time.

  She had behaved like a fool.

  What had seemed like a flash of genius was in hindsight nothing more than sheer lunacy.

  She should never have wagered her necklace. She had succeeded in putting Blake in a position of superiority over herself once again.

  Seeking solitude, she wandered past empty rooms until coming to the music room at the back of the house. Slowly opening the door to ensure no one was inside, she crept forward. Carefully, so as not to make a sound, she closed the door.

  The dying embers in the fireplace radiated little light. Her sing
le candle was not sufficient to illuminate the length of the room, but she remembered a long window in the back overlooking a portion of the gardens.

  A full moon dominated the night and beamed a ray of light through the window across the polished hardwood floor.

  Victoria walked to the window and pressed her hand against the cool glass, mesmerized by the luminosity of the moonbeams streaming from its mass.

  She turned away from the lunar sight to study the instruments in the room.

  A glossy black pianoforte with its stark white keys rested in one corner, a violin and music stand close by. Sheets of music lay open on the stand in disarray, and a bow rested across a chair.

  A musician must have practiced recently, for Victoria found it difficult to believe Rosewood’s servants would overlook any lack of order in the immaculate manor.

  Setting her candle on top of the pianoforte, Victoria wondered which occupant of Rosewood played the instruments.

  Surely not Blake Mallorey? When he entertained, he probably hired musicians to amuse his guests.

  An intricately carved harp caught her eye. The gold ornamentation on the arched neck and post was breathtaking.

  She flitted to the instrument, her nightgown and wrapper flowing about her ankles, and ran her fingers upon the harp’s design. Smooth to the touch, the craftsman’s work was exceptional, and she wondered the cost of the magnificent piece.

  Gently plucking the strings, a harmonious lyric penetrated the silent room.

  She sighed, enjoying the soft melody, and touched the strings again. The night’s tension eased from her shoulders, and she knew she could relax here amongst the moonbeams and instruments such that she could not in her own room. After an hour or so, she would be able to fall asleep, problems temporarily forgotten.

  “I wasn’t aware your talents included music.”

  At the sound of the masculine voice, Victoria spun around. She had heard the voice, more specifically his voice, yet she saw no one.

  Her stomach clenched tight. “Where are you?”

  “Here,” he said, stepping into the room. “It wasn’t my intention to interrupt, my dear.”