Lady of Scandal

by Tina Gabrielle

  The tight knot within Victoria began to ease, and she collapsed on the settee.

  Blake rushed forward and kneeled before her. “Are you all right? Did he harm you?” His brows drew together in an agonized expression, his features tense.

  “I…I’m fine now,” she said, her voice wavering.

  He reached up and brushed her swollen lower lip with the pad of his thumb. He withdrew his hand, stared down at the smeared blood on his finger, and his mouth clenched tight.

  “The bastard,” Blake hissed. He withdrew a kerchief from his waistcoat and dabbed at the bruised flesh.

  “Thank you,” she said, taking the kerchief from him to press it firmly against her lip.

  The floorboards creaked behind Blake. Victoria leaned aside to see Justin Woodward standing awkwardly by the door. She hadn’t realized he was in the room but assumed he had entered with Blake.

  What was either of them doing at Lady Devon’s home?

  Justin came forward to touch her hand, his kind brown eyes filled with worry. The familiar lock of blond hair fell on his forehead, giving him a youthful look despite his years.

  “Is there anything I can get you?” Justin asked. “Shall I summon Samantha?”

  Just then light steps could be heard on the hardwood floors, and Lady Devon burst into the parlor. She halted, shocked at the scene of the tumbled bookcase and dozens of books scattered across the floor. Her wide eyes traveled to Blake kneeling before Victoria and Justin holding her trembling hand.

  “Whatever happened?” she asked. “Where’s Mr. St. Bride?”

  Blake rose to his feet. “Gone for good, if the man has any brains.”

  Justin quickly stepped forward to stand beside Samantha. “We arrived just in time to find St. Bride mauling Miss Ashton. Ravenspear took care of the man.”

  “Oh, my poor darling!” Samantha cried and ran to sit beside Victoria. “Will you ever forgive me for leaving him alone with you?”

  Victoria managed a shaky, reassuring smile. “I’m truly fine. Nothing happened.”

  “Nothing happened, madam!” Blake roared. “I had to pry that groping defiler off your body, and you call that ‘nothing’?”

  Victoria was caught off guard by Blake’s flare of temper.

  Samantha’s hand flew to her mouth. The lady appeared as if she was on the verge of tears for placing her friend in such a vulnerable position.

  Justin’s lips thinned with anger as he gazed at Samantha in disapproval for her apparent role involving St. Bride.

  A tense silence enveloped the room, adding to Victoria’s uneasiness.

  “If you’d leave us,” Blake said, addressing Justin and Samantha, “I’d like a word in private with Victoria.”

  Lady Samantha opened her mouth to protest, but quickly shut it when Justin shot her a cold look of warning.

  The couple wordlessly exited the room, and Victoria was left alone with Blake.

  Immediately she rose, and sensing his bridled anger, sought to soothe his temper. “Thank you for your help. Neither Lady Samantha nor I could have possibly suspected his behavior.”

  Blake whirled around, towering above her. “It’s no wonder that dainty dandy behaved the way he did after the way you displayed your wares for him last night. A man can only stand so much taunting from a beautiful woman.”

  “What?”

  “I decided to accompany Justin to Lady Devon’s house to escort you back to Rosewood myself. Imagine my surprise when I found you reaping the rewards of your flirtatious efforts.”

  “You blame me?” she asked incredulously. “You think I somehow encouraged St. Bride to attack me?”

  “Didn’t you?”

  “You’re mad!” She turned her back quickly, her skirts swooshing around her ankles, fully intending to leave the room.

  His hand shot out to grasp her arm and spin her back around, his fingers steel bands encircling her flesh. “Had I not shown up when I did, you’d be lying on that couch”—he jerked his head toward the settee—“with your skirts up to your neck, and a fop fumbling with his breeches on top of you.”

  Victoria felt her stomach flip-flop as the horrible image his words evoked flashed through her mind.

  She tried to pull her arm from his viselike grip, suddenly desperate to be away from him, from his penetrating gaze. “Let me go.”

  Dragging her close instead, his face was mere inches from hers. His eyes were black and dazzling with fury. “You belong to me, Victoria. You’re bought and paid for this year, and no one will touch your body but me.”

  She felt her face drain of color. How dare he! Her mood veered sharply from fear and anxiety over escaping rape to fury over Blake’s cold remarks.

  “You are insane!” she screeched. “You’re angry because a man treated me like a woman of loose morals when that is exactly what you set out to accomplish from the beginning. It would destroy my father to have society learn that his daughter had become a whore.”

  He released her arm, and glared at her with burning, reproachful eyes. “Not a day goes by, my dear, that I don’t reconsider my strategy and have my justice swiftly by challenging Charles Ashton to a duel. No matter what weapon he chose, I could end it instantly once and for all.”

  The hair at her nape rose on end at the finality of his tone. “Then why don’t you issue your challenge?”

  “I prefer to prolong his suffering.”

  Like a pair of scorpions with their tails raised ready to sting, they circled each other dangerously.

  “You unfairly blame my father for everything done to you,” she said, “yet no jury or judge has ever issued a guilty verdict.”

  “You defend him like a doting daughter, blinded by loyalty to his true character, never considering the possibility that he is capable of betrayal.”

  Victoria felt like laughing at that. Her a doting daughter?

  Never. More like a child whose behavior vacillated between defiance and fear while growing up with such a disciplinarian for a father.

  “You cannot possibly hold Charles Ashton responsible for your father’s…your father’s…”

  “Suicide?” Blake finished, his voice curt. “I know full well that my father put a pistol to his head and blew his brains out. That is a fact I have to live with all my life. But what you don’t understand is that a man can be forced into such dire circumstances where he truly believes there is no other alternative.”

  “I find it difficult to believe my father could push yours into taking his own life.”

  “What could you, a mere woman, know of business dealings?”

  It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him she knew more than most men, that she, a mere female, was a talented investor, who, with enough time, hoped to support herself in style one day without a man’s assistance. But she bit her lower lip to stay quiet.

  Her knowledge was an ace up her sleeve, one she may need to protect herself from the ruthless men threatening her way of life.

  At her silent glare, Blake continued. “You refuse to believe the possibility that Charles Ashton is capable of evil.”

  “Whether he did what you say is irrelevant,” she snapped. “Perhaps your anger is misdirected at my father instead of at yours for killing himself and leaving your family alone. You should consider that possibility.”

  A shadow of grief crossed Blake’s face before the familiar mask of bitterness descended once again. “That does not excuse the fate that befell my remaining family thereafter. I can forget what I endured, but I can never forgive my mother’s and sister’s suffering.”

  Some of the fight left Victoria at the mention of the demise of the Mallorey women. Though Blake tried to conceal his sorrow, she clearly recognized the fleeting emotion on his face.

  His grief was deeply buried beneath layers of hatred, which over the years had seeped into his bloodstream, spread like pestilence and poisoned his being.

  “I am sorry. I had heard your mother died of consumption from the workhouse’s poor cond
itions, but I never knew what happened to your sister, Judith.” His sister had been the eldest child in Blake’s family, and from what Victoria remembered Judith had been softly feminine and reserved.

  Blake exhaled through clenched teeth. “The specific facts of her death are of no consequence.”

  Sensing she evoked painful memories, Victoria touched Blake’s arm. “It was long ago. Perhaps it’s best if we all forgot.”

  Blake’s head snapped up, his nostrils flaring like a provoked beast. “There is no doubt in my mind that Charles Ashton is responsible, and I will see justice done. Our short discussion today has reminded me that I have been dallying from achieving that goal. Simply put, my dear, you have distracted me. But no more.”

  Victoria stood stunned as he dropped her limp hand from his sleeve and turned and strode away.

  Chapter 19

  “Fill it to the brim.”

  Justin raised the crystal decanter once again and filled Blake’s glass with the expensive brandy. “At the rate you’re drinking, why not bring out the cheap liquor?”

  Blake laughed and leaned back in his chair. “Because there isn’t any inexpensive alcohol in Rosewood’s cellars.”

  Justin rested his elbows on the table and studied his longtime friend and employer. After they had returned from Lady Samantha’s, Justin had followed an irate Ravenspear directly to his rooms.

  Victoria arrived home much later, insisting on having the coachman drive her back separately to Rosewood—a wise choice, in Justin’s opinion.

  Both Justin and Samantha had overheard the loud row between Ravenspear and Victoria that had obviously put Blake in such a foul mood. The master of Rosewood had immediately requested a glass and decanter as soon as he stepped foot in his house. He was determined to drink himself senseless. It wasn’t beyond Justin to provoke his friend when he believed it was deserved.

  “I take it that this afternoon you destroyed the headway you had worked so hard to achieve with Miss Ashton?” Justin asked, a mischievous glint in his eye.

  Blake frowned. “Don’t be so cocky, Woodward. From the looks of it, you and Lady Samantha weren’t getting along very lovingly.”

  “Checkmate,” Justin said, raising his own glass in mock salute. “I wasn’t pleased with Samantha’s involvement with Nathan St. Bride. If I know my scheming woman, she arranged to have Victoria and St. Bride alone to prick your jealous nature. But then when things spun out of control, she did regret her actions.”

  Blake drummed his fingers beside his glass on the table. “We argued about her father. I suppose you overheard. She had the audacity to insinuate that my anger is misdirected at Charles Ashton instead of at my own father for committing suicide.”

  Victoria’s words continued to replay in Blake’s mind. The truth was, she had touched a nerve, and Blake did not want to consider any possible accuracy behind her statement. If it wasn’t for Ashton’s betrayal, his father would not have been driven to take his own life, and his mother and sister would be alive.

  Blake made a look of disgust, then said, “She blindly defends him.”

  “Do you blame her?” Justin asked.

  “Her opinion matters naught to me,” Blake said tersely. “As I told her, I can forget the hell I went through, but never that of my mother and sister.”

  “Does she know?”

  “Of my mother’s sickness only. Not Judith.”

  “Perhaps you should tell her about Judith,” Justin suggested.

  “What good would it do? The details would sicken her, and in Victoria’s naiveness she may misunderstand, or worse, compare herself with Judith.”

  “Then you are back to the beginning of your wooing.”

  Blake tipped his head back as he drained his glass and then slammed it on the table. “Damn, I’ve been a fool. I’ve allowed her to weaken my resolve, to distract me from the one thing that has burned in my belly and kept me alive all these years.”

  Justin shrugged a shoulder. “She is a very beautiful woman. And she’s living under your roof, sleeping across the hall. As a further temptation, even a blind man can see that she is drawn to you.”

  Blake cursed in frustration. “I should be able to break down her bedroom door, strip her naked and throw myself on top of her. Then, after I have sated this damnable hunger, I should feel no remorse in using her humiliation to destroy her father.”

  “Ah, but you must not be the savage you thought you were. And I don’t think you can use her as casually as St. Bride intended himself.”

  At the mention of Nathan St. Bride, Blake’s gut clenched. His mind burned with the memory of the eager fop straddling Victoria.

  A blinding fury had nearly knocked Blake off his feet at discovering the pair. Then a stark fear that Victoria had been hurt, or worse, violated, panicked him into violent action. Both emotions were unwelcome and frighteningly unfamiliar.

  What had come over him?

  Yes, he wanted her in his bed, wanted to make love to her. He imagined daily every position and way he could take her. How much longer could he bear having her near, sleeping mere yards away, without tossing her on the bed and burying himself deep within her?

  But what would his lust cost him?

  Cockiness had made him swear not to force her into his bed, so confident was he that he could resurrect her childhood infatuation and inflame her woman’s sensuality. That vow now taunted him—as if when he promised never to treat her as a mistress, then knowing he was forbidden to touch her, she had become the woman he must possess.

  Each night as he lay in his large bed alone, he desired to go to her. It would be so easy, to cross the hall and unlock her door. But his damnable pride would not relent.

  How could he beg any woman, let alone his enemy’s daughter, to have him?

  Blake jerked his fingers through his hair, pulling the roots away from his forehead until his scalp stung. Exhaling slowly, he dropped his hand. “She is ruining my plans.”

  Justin chuckled. “Hardly. You may have temporarily lost your head by a pair of pretty emerald eyes, but I assure you, as your bookkeeper, everything is precisely on schedule. I reviewed the ledgers yesterday, and you will sleep soundly when I tell you how successful Illusory Enterprises has become. Who would have thought that high-pressure steam engines would have become England’s most valuable technology, and that thanks to Charles Ashton, your investment would become your most lucrative so far.”

  Blake cocked an eyebrow, his interest clearly piqued. “I had thought our luck had run out when you told me the only company in all of England that manufacturers the steel pistons that can handle such enormously high temperatures was co-owned by Charles Ashton and Jacob Hobbs.”

  “Ah, but our subsidiary has been quite successful. Illusory Enterprises has been buying the parts we need directly from Ashton and Hobbs for two months, and the high-and-mighty commissioner has been none the wiser.”

  “Hah! Freeing you from that workhouse was the wisest decision I’ve ever made. Ashton would choke on his own bile if he knew.”

  “There’s more,” Justin said, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Our spy on the Treasury Commission says Charles has been ‘borrowing’ money from the Treasury for personal use and replenishing the ‘loan’ before the accountants have noticed.”

  Blake’s pulse pounded as he leaned forward. “Just as we expected—his greed shall be his downfall.”

  Long before Blake set foot in London, he had carefully concocted Charles Ashton’s ruin. Blake knew that his enemy’s avaricious nature would result in his own demise. By stealing from the Crown, Charles Ashton had committed treason and had cinched the rope around his own neck.

  “Deceiving the old bastard thrills me,” Blake said with a hard, cold-eyed smile. “Invest more money in Illusory Enterprises’ activities. Increase our orders from Ashton. After all, how will he ever know?”

  I must do this. He leaves me no choice.

  Victoria’s hands trembled as she fumbled with the locked desk d
rawer. Scanning the surface of the crowded desk, she spotted a shiny silver letter opener. The handle was engraved with a fancy R for Ravenspear, probably a costly trinket from one of his admirers, but the sharp tip was what interested her.

  Grasping the device with a sweaty hand, she inserted the tip into the lock and gently tried to pry open the desk drawer. A bead of perspiration dripped down her forehead into her brow, and she wiped it away impatiently with her free hand.

  After a minute of twisting and turning, it became evident that the letter opener would not work unless she broke the lock, which was not an option.

  If the slightest suspicion was raised, all would be lost.

  She glanced nervously at the closed library door. She prayed Blake and Justin were long into the bottom of their brandy glasses and had no intention of visiting the library tonight.

  After returning to Rosewood from Lady Devon’s, Victoria had overheard Mrs. Smith talking to Cook about the master’s unpleasant mood and coarse demands for alcohol and privacy. Victoria had seized the opportunity, knowing that after their heated argument in Samantha’s parlor, she must act to protect herself.

  Despite Blake’s past kindness and quizzical behavior, he had made no declarations of love. To the contrary, he had been brutally honest with her this afternoon about his goals of vengeance and her usefulness in attaining them.

  So she had snuck past the servants unnoticed and shut herself in the library.

  If she had learned anything from growing up beneath her father’s roof it was that information was power, which could be used to hurt an adversary or to defend yourself. With no other means at her disposal, she concluded that she had to learn as many of Blake’s secrets as possible. What she did with the information afterward was an entirely different dilemma she would worry about later.

  But her plans would fail if she couldn’t open the file drawer containing Blake’s most sensitive documents.

  Feeling overheated, not knowing if it was from the sun beating down on her back through the large window behind the desk, or from her nervousness, Victoria pushed damp tendrils of hair behind her ears that had escaped the knot at the base of her neck.