Lady of Scandal

by Tina Gabrielle

  “What should I do?”

  “Tease him, my girl!”

  “Tease him?”

  “Resist his charms, yet tantalize him at the same time. Make him regret his ludicrous promise.”

  “I cannot. That would make me no better than a true mistress. My reputation may be in tatters soon, but deep in my heart I still have my dignity. I hope to marry someday, and the least I can give a future husband is my innocence.”

  “Marriage is not everything,” Samantha said. “I spent my youth in a loveless marriage under the thumb of a domineering, elderly husband and bound by society’s rules. Only in my widowed status am I finally free to seek out Justin—a man ten years my junior—a younger son with no inheritance who was expected to marry for title, money or preferably both.”

  “I envy your freedom.” Victoria realized that the death of the baron gave Lady Samantha the wealth and title Justin Woodward sought.

  “Don’t you see? You have the same freedom now.”

  At the look of confusion on Victoria’s face, Lady Samantha explained. “You have the opportunity to experience the man without binding yourself to his side for all eternity. It is the same type of freedom that a mistress has.”

  Giving Lady Samantha a skeptical look, Victoria asked, “Even if I secretly want to know Ravenspear, how do I give myself to a man I don’t trust? A man who may have already spread rumors of my ruin?”

  Samantha shook her head. “I attended Lady Cameron’s ball in London last week, and not a word has been uttered about you. The fact that he agreed not to coerce you into his bed tells me that he cares for you more deeply than he wants others to believe.”

  “But to tease and tantalize him? I don’t know how!”

  “He is a good man; you must trust him and your heart. When you are ready to be with him, I’ll tell you how to go about seducing an earl.”

  Chapter 13

  “None of this is necessary, my lord.”

  “Of course it is, my dear. You said yourself that your skirts were too tight to ride astride.” Blake’s face creased into a sudden smile as his eyes roamed down her skirts. “I spend a significant amount of time in the saddle when in the country, so new riding clothes are a necessity for your stay at Rosewood.”

  With a firm touch on her elbow, he guided Victoria inside Madame Fleur’s shop.

  She bit her cheek to keep from arguing that just because he enjoyed riding didn’t mean she did as well. He assumed she would join him outdoors whenever the inclination suited him, and that was the reason he had dragged her to the dressmaker this morning.

  Tiny bells chimed as the door opened and closed behind them, alerting the shop owner to their presence.

  A short, fashionably dressed woman approached them, a frown marring her features. “Do you have an appointment, monsieur? I have numerous fittings lined up for today.”

  “I am the new owner of Rosewood, and we’ve come to browse,” Blake said, his tone chilly.

  He measured the portly woman with a cool, appraising look that would alert any merchant to the presence of wealthy aristocracy.

  Upon learning the Earl of Ravenspear graced her shop, the dressmaker’s demeanor altered drastically. Stumbling over a nearby easel crowded with drawings of gowns, she rushed to assist them.

  “Lord Ravenspear, what a privilege. I had heard you renovated Rosewood to surpass even its former glory.”

  Blake nodded. “Madame Fleur, may I present my cousin, Miss Ashton.”

  The Frenchwoman’s mouth twitched, insinuating that she knew exactly what type of relationship the pair shared, but she quickly spoke. “I am honored to make your acquaintance, Mademoiselle Ashton. You are very beautiful.”

  Victoria stiffened, too startled by Blake’s comment to respond.

  His cousin!

  What a ludicrous explanation. Why in the world would he lie to the dressmaker? If the woman’s expression was any indication, then she already suspected they were not related. Besides, any matisse-maker worth her salt was skilled in discretion, from vast experience in dressing the mistresses of countless wealthy men.

  Blake stepped forward into the store, leading Victoria with him. “My cousin must be fitted for numerous dresses suitable for riding, Madame Fleur.”

  “Oui, my lord, of course. Please look at my materials, and I shall measure mademoiselle,” she said, rushing toward the back of the store for her measuring tape.

  Victoria spun to face Blake, her green eyes wide with astonishment. “Your cousin?”

  Blake shrugged nonchalantly, his gaze lazily roving the store’s merchandise before coming to rest on a specific dress. “It’s hardly any of the woman’s business who she serves. All that seems to concern her is profit.”

  Victoria turned her head to look at the gown hanging on a nearby rack that held Blake’s attention, and she knew he was basing his opinion on more than just the dressmaker’s attitude.

  Gazing at the dress, she noticed the high waist, but plunging neckline and tight-fitting sleeves, which a woman of loose morals might wear. The gown confirmed her earlier suspicions of the shop’s customers.

  She looked up from the gown to find Blake watching her. “Your money can’t buy everything, my lord.”

  His expression stilled and grew serious. “I’m quite aware of that fact.”

  His steady scrutiny was unnerving, and Victoria walked away to study the vast array of materials Madame Fleur offered.

  Bolts of fabric stacked on shelves soon seized her attention. Silks, brocades, crepes, satins and velvets in every color of the rainbow vied for space on the shelves and spilled onto the floor of the crowded shop. Every shade was represented, from bright jewel tones to pale pastels.

  On impulse, Victoria reached out to touch several swatches and was instantly awed by their texture and softness. She had never been obsessed with fashion and clothing like many females of her acquaintance, but at the same time Victoria did enjoy shopping for new gowns. The thought of a custom-made outfit thrilled her.

  So engrossed did she become that she nearly tripped over a bolt of fine black silk. She grasped at air to catch herself, but a strong hand caught her elbow, steadying her.

  “What is it about women that makes their heads spin whenever they shop?”

  Rising to her feet, she ripped her arm from Blake’s grasp. “This may shock you, but not all women are brainless creatures.”

  He gave her a smile that sent her pulses racing. “I was only teasing, Victoria.”

  Heavy footsteps behind Victoria alerted them to Madame Fleur’s return.

  “If you would both please follow me to the fitting room, we can begin measuring mademoiselle.”

  The dressmaker led them into the back of the store, past more bolts of fabric and dresses crammed onto racks, and finally into a narrow chamber.

  A round pedestal was positioned in the center of the room before a cheval glass mirror, and mounted brass hooks lined the perimeter of the walls. Mounds of sewing cluttered the corners of the fitting room, attesting to the shop’s large volume of business.

  Madame Fleur walked behind Victoria. “Mademoiselle, I will unhook your gown so that I may take your measurements.”

  Victoria whirled around. “Wait!” Her eyes darted nervously back and forth between the woman and Blake. “I want Ravenspear…I mean I want my cousin to leave. It’s not appropriate for him to see me undressed.”

  The woman’s eyes widened in astonishment, and she stared, speechless. The dressmaker’s response reaffirmed Victoria’s beliefs that she had never believed her customers were cousins.

  Blake arched an eyebrow, and his eyes sparkled with humor. “It appears my cousin is prudish.”

  Victoria felt her skin grow hot, and she wanted to fly across the room and smack the mocking expression from his handsome face.

  Prudish!

  What did he expect? That she allow a strange woman to strip her naked in his presence so that he may ogle her?

  Blake spoke up before
she could respond. “Is there a place I can wait in comfort?”

  “Of course, my lord. I’ll have my assistant bring a chair outside the fitting room.”

  The woman clapped her hands and called out for help. Almost immediately, a young man appeared and Madame Fleur gave instructions to him in rapid French.

  To Victoria’s enormous relief, Blake followed the assistant out of the room, through a set of red curtains into the hallway.

  The dressmaker watched Victoria with a keenly observant eye. “Now I can measure you, oui?”

  Victoria turned her back, and the woman unfastened her gown and hung it on one of the brass hooks on the wall. Returning to her customer, Madame Fleur was all business as she handled her measuring tape.

  Victoria squared her shoulders, straightened her spine, sucked in her stomach and stuck out her chest at the dressmaker’s instructions.

  “I have walking dresses in your size on the rack that you can try on now, mademoiselle. For any others you desire, I have sketches you may select from.”

  At Victoria’s nod, the woman hurried from the room and returned with the clothing.

  Victoria donned a dress and stepped onto the pedestal before the mirror to view her reflection. The dress was lovely, made from a spotted muslin fabric, with three rows of frills at the hem, and was accompanied by a green spencer. Satin frogs clasped across the bosom on one side and buttons on the other. A matching satin bonnet with a plume of green feathers shading one side of her face completed the ensemble.

  “Oh, what a beautiful dress,” Victoria whispered.

  Her female vanity bubbled up inside her, and she spun around admiring her reflection in the cheval glass.

  “Mademoiselle wears my clothing well. You are a stunning woman with your dark hair and green eyes. No wonder monsieur fawns over you.”

  Victoria stood still, unsure how to respond to the Frenchwoman’s comments.

  Madame Fleur walked around Victoria, tucking, pinning and smoothing her skirts, and fussing over her like a mother hen would a chick.

  “I shall go and get the sketches now,” the woman said as she hurried out of the fitting room.

  Once alone, Victoria turned again on the pedestal, more slowly this time, enjoying the brush of the airy muslin against her legs. Smiling to herself at her impulsiveness, she stopped before the cheval glass and ran her palms down her skirts.

  She looked at her reflection, only to discover herself being observed in the mirror by Blake.

  He stood tall and proud in the doorway, his one hand pushing aside the curtains, the other resting on the doorframe. Their eyes met and held, and she shivered beneath the intensity of his gaze.

  How long had he been standing there watching her? Had he witnessed her spin before the mirror like an excited schoolgirl?

  His eyes lowered to her body, missing no detail, as she stood poised like a prized statue before an art fanatic. Tilting her head to a flattering angle, causing the plume of feathers on her bonnet to bounce saucily, she posed for him. She found herself flattered by his unwavering attention.

  His eyes raised and swept over her face approvingly. “You are a beautiful woman, Victoria.”

  A warm glow flowed through her. She lowered her thick black lashes, trying to mask the pleasure she felt from his compliment. She dared not let him learn how much his opinion mattered to her, or how attracted she was to him.

  In a respectful tone she said, “Thank you. The dress is flattering.”

  He took a step into the room, and the curtains closed behind him. “It’s not the dress but the woman that wears it that attracts me.”

  Blake walked forward, stopping in front of her, until he could reach out and touch her should he wish to do so. Standing on the foot-high pedestal, they were eye level.

  He reached up to lightly touch a green plume, then lowered his hand to finger a loose curl at her nape. “The clothes are enchanting, but the essence of you is what is so compelling, what draws me inexorably.”

  Taking her hand, he spread her fingers open and kissed the sensitive flesh of her palm. He looked into her eyes and asked, “What are you thinking behind those emerald eyes?”

  Victoria swallowed, her throat suddenly gone dry like ashes in the wind. Emotions coursed through her with startling intensity. The grazing of his lips on her hand disarmed her, and she struggled to grasp her senses. She lowered her gaze, trying to gain her composure.

  Whatever did he mean that her essence drew him to her?

  She wanted so much to believe that he cared for the woman she was and not the daughter of the man he held responsible for his demons.

  He had yet to release her hand, and his thumb now rubbed her palm with slow, circular strokes, causing her body to tingle from the contact.

  “The essence you speak of is nothing more than what attracts all men—the conquest,” she said. “Because I reject your advances, you are compelled to continue your pursuit.”

  “I may have thought so in the beginning, but no longer.”

  Victoria held her breath, waiting for him to explain, wishing feverishly he would confess his feelings were of love, not revenge.

  The rustle of skirts alerted them to Madame Fleur’s return to the fitting room.

  The trance broken, Victoria pulled her hand from Blake’s grasp.

  The dressmaker dropped a pile of drawings on a nearby table. “These are the latest fashions. After mademoiselle selects the dresses she likes, we can choose the fabrics and accessories.”

  Victoria stepped down from the pedestal and approached the pile of sketches. The dresses were all in good taste and many appealed to her.

  Making a mental note of how much each garment would cost, she realized she could afford to purchase one dress, plus the one she was wearing. She had brought money with her that she had earned from her investing activities, but she knew it was not sufficient to buy the amount of clothing Blake insisted she order.

  Selecting her favorite sketch, she presented it to the dressmaker. “I like this one the most.”

  Madame Fleur looked puzzled. “Does mademoiselle find nothing else to her liking?”

  “The others are lovely, but I must consider the cost, madam.”

  The woman glanced at her in utter disbelief.

  Blake stepped forward from where he stood behind Victoria’s shoulder. “Nonsense, my dear. I insist on paying for your clothing while you are staying at Rosewood. In fact, while you are looking at the drawings, you should purchase new evening gowns as well.”

  “I prefer to pay myself,” Victoria insisted.

  “I will not hear of it. Your cousinly companionship is worth much more to me,” Blake said, a glint of humor in his eye.

  He was teasing her again, affectionately, not maliciously, and Victoria felt a ripple of mirth.

  He insisted on continuing the charade that they were related, even though it was obvious Madame Fleur knew otherwise. Victoria had a good deal of pride and wanted to pay for her own dresses, and she didn’t want to feel obligated to him in any way. But his jesting manner was contagious, and there was more than a grain of truth to his logic.

  If the reason she needed new clothing was because he insisted she accompany him everywhere, then shouldn’t he pay to dress her?

  She brought her hand up to stop him from arguing. “All right, my lord. Just a few dresses.”

  The next hour was a whirlwind of activity as sketches Victoria liked were studied and others tossed aside. Materials were selected and adornments of silk flowers, ribbons, laces, feathers, fringes and furs chosen. Chemises were ordered from bolts of superfine muslins and linens to wear beneath the new clothes. Matching shoes and gloves of kid leather were picked for the evening gowns and boots, bonnets and parasols for the walking dresses.

  Initially hesitant at the large amount of items Madame Fleur encouraged her to purchase, Victoria looked to Blake to gauge his reaction.

  He appeared relaxed at the dressmaker’s suggestions, and nodded his approva
l for everything.

  Victoria hadn’t expected him to be so free with his money, and the fact that he was spending it on her, his sworn enemy’s daughter, was indeed stunning.

  “You have excellent taste, mademoiselle,” Madame Fleur said. An expression of satisfaction at making such a large sale showed in her eyes. “You will have to return for your final fitting in two weeks.”

  On the way out of the shop, Victoria felt compelled to acknowledge his generosity. “Thank you, my lord.”

  He stopped suddenly, looking down at her. “It is I who should thank you, Victoria. You believe it’s the conquest—the chase—that attracts me, but I’m certain it is not. I have come to look forward to the time you spend with me. As for the clothing, it’s a small gift in exchange for your companionship.”

  Her breath caught in her lungs at his admission. For the second time that day, he had surprised her.

  Weaving their way through the country folk that crowded the streets and shops of the small town, Blake led Victoria to a tiny store nestled between an apothecary and a jeweler.

  Victoria was perplexed at the goods displayed in the window, and she stopped to read the sign. “Children’s Toys,” she read out loud.

  “That’s right.” Blake nodded with a grin and led her into the shop, crammed from floor to ceiling with toys.

  He chose a hand-carved wood train with colorfully painted railroad cars and held it up for her inspection. “Do you think Simon will like this?”

  A picture of the small boy with unruly red hair hiding behind Maggie’s worn skirts flashed through her mind.

  Victoria stepped forward and took the toy from Blake. Running the tiny wheels back and forth on her palm, she studied the train’s workmanship. She raised her eyes to find Blake watching her, a boyish look on his face that increased his attractiveness.

  “It’s a wonderful little toy. I’m sure Simon will love the gift.”

  Blake smiled broadly and, train in hand, turned to pay the merchant.

  During the transaction she observed Blake’s broad shoulders from behind, and was once again amazed at his attention to the destitute boy that came with Rosewood.