Scenting Scandal (Scandalous Siblings Series Book 2)

by Suzi Love

  “Your lordship,” the burly sod said with unusual deference, startling Richard into imagining his manners had finally improved. “Oh, dearie me. ′Tis not good,” the footman said, as he frowned and caused plough-deep furrows across his enormous brow.

  “Ah, what isn’t good?” Richard’s head was already spinning, and he hadn’t yet confronted Laura, or her family.

  “Well, I can see that milady left you high and dry. Again. Don’t show ye any sorta respect, does she?”

  The man’s grin wiped out Richard’s momentary hope that the servant might have developed a respectful attitude. He bit back his reprimand, despite the galling realization that the man was correct, and followed the noise towards the gathered family. All eyes turned to him as he strode into the morning room, mainly displaying their interest, yet Laura’s managed to burn straight through to his soul, blast her. He needed to resolve the situation with the shooter and retreat again.

  Michael stood near the mantle, recounting his movements for the last three hours for the benefit of his sisters and aunt. “I coerced Jonathon into returning to university. But only by promising, on your behalf, that you will not put yourselves in danger again. Even if it means refusing all invitations for a time.”

  Michael pointed at Laura. “Do not roll your eyes at me. I’m as worried as Jonathon about leaving you. Neither of us would go if we didn’t believe Winchester,” he waved towards him, “and his friend, the firearms expert, will keep after the shooter.” He shuddered. “So, if you wish to leave this house, you’ll need to ask Winchester to escort you. He promised Sherwyn he’d escort you and keep you safe. ”

  Winchester walked across to shake hands with Michael. “I swear I’ll protect them with my life.” He looked at Laura. “And discover who tried to kill your sister this morning.”

  Unsurprisingly, she jumped to her feet, her face tight with anger. “Untrue. You’ve no proof I was the target.” She strode across to him and, unheeding of her enthralled family, stabbed her finger on his vest button. “You, my lord, have far more enemies than I.”

  He caught her finger and held it still. “Perhaps you should take a seat while we discuss the shooting.”

  “Why?” She gave an exaggerated eye roll. “Do you believe I’m the type to swoon?” He might have believed her bravado if he’d not glimpsed that same fear in her eyes. “Besides, this morning’s events may still prove incidental to the wedding.”

  Richard shook his head. “Stop pretending. Every person in this room believes Lady Hetherington paid someone to shoot at us. Mainly at you.” He walked to Laura’s empty chair and picked up her shawl, waving it aloft. “Exhibit A.” He scowled at her. “That bullet almost went straight through your obstinate noggin.”

  With a swirl of muslin, Laura turned and went to stand beside her aunt’s chair. “Aunt Aggie refuses to cower in her bed, and so do I.”

  Ignoring Laura, he turned to Michael. “I believe all the ladies, but most especially Laura, must retire to the country. If not your estate, then one of mine. Whichever provides the best protection.”

  Laura stalked across to stand before him, hands on her hips, and her glare alive with defiance. “Leaving is out of the question. Now, more than ever, I need to visit the banking district. Unhampered by glowering men. Becca regularly meets her informants at the coffee-houses on Threadneedle Street, and I’m going to continue her routine.

  “Now that, my reckless friend, is out of the question.” Winchester bent closer to her. “All sort of reprobates loiter about those areas, waiting for plump pigeons to pluck.”

  “Don’t be daft. As if I cannot avoid pickpockets and thieves.” She waved a hand towards Lottie and her aunt, who followed their conversation in mesmerized silence. “How do you think we’ve survived all these years?”

  “I shudder to think.”

  “Despite your worries, my lord, I shall speak to our jobbers at the Stock Exchange. They will know which men are spending the most money at the auctions.”

  Even Richard couldn’t do his own bidding on the Exchange and had to employ jobbers, because many of his peers still considered it low trade for an earl. Ridiculous, when everyone knew estates needed more than a wad of capital sitting in a bank to support families and titles these days.

  “I must also assist at the Women’s Society,” Laura said. “It’s not that long since Peggy was murdered and the women feel vulnerable. When they hear that Lady Hetherington may have returned, they’ll be terrified. They can’t afford any more threats to their financial security.”

  “Face the facts. It’s more than likely that madwoman has already organized another consortium to bleed those women dry.” He pushed the shawl closer to her face. “Isn’t this enough proof that these people will do anything for money.”

  Laura scowled. “It would’ve been better if that bullet had hit your head instead of my beautiful shawl.” Ignoring her aunt’s shocked gasp and her brother’s loud objections, she added, “Because your skull is too thick for a bullet to penetrate.”

  “Oh, my goodness, Laura,” Aggie said, waving her fan before her flushed face. “You’re embarrassing us all. Winchester, please accept my apologies. My niece is overwrought after such a harrowing morning. We shall retire for luncheon and leave you two alone for a few minutes. During which time, Laura, I expect you to reach a compromise with the earl.” She pointed a finger at her niece, who had the grace to at least look slightly uncomfortable. “There will be peace in this household while Baca and Sherwin are away. Do I make myself clear?”

  Laura nodded. “Yes, Auntie, I shall speak to Winchester.”

  “No, young lady, you will apologize for disbelieving him. The next few months will run much smoother if you accept that in these matters—our personal safety and railway investments—the earl’s experience and knowledge is far superior to ours.”

  Aunt Aggie spun turned towards the door, her ample form rushing in the direction of more sustenance.

  Winchester halted their departure long enough to say, “If Laura insists on venturing out, I shall accompany her wherever she wishes to go. So, Michael, feel free to leave as soon as you need to.”

  “As soon as we’ve eaten,” Lottie said, “Auntie and I shall go to Bond Street.” She smiled at her brother. “Don’t fret. We shall have two footmen accompanying us. If Lady Hetherington is in the City and gathering her old servants and cohorts, we’ll know as soon as we speak to the owners of the shops she used to frequent.”

  “Quite right,” Aggie said. “No matter how much a Lady wishes to remain hidden, one thing remains certain. She will always revisit her favorite dressmakers. And buy her gloves from the shop that stocks her preferred colors and sizes. We shall find her.”

  “Good Lord.” Michael raised a brow and looked at Winchester. “Did you realize women were such creatures of habit with their shopping?”

  “I can see the truth in that, having been dragged from shop to shop by ladies —”

  “Ladies?” Laura flashed him a wide-eyed look. “We’ve all seen you prowling Bond Street. Apart from your sisters, the females who cling to your arm are not ladies. They’re pro—”

  “Laura!” Michael held up a hand, palm outwards. “Do not utter that word in front of our aunt. Or your sister.”

  “But you’ve no idea what I was going to label Winchester’s…” she smiled with exaggerated sweetness, “friends.”

  “No,” Michael muttered, “but I can well imagine.”

  She smiled again. “Pretty women?”

  Michael groaned aloud. “Winchester, good luck. You’ll need it with Laura.” He was still shaking his head when he escorted his aunt and sister from the room.

  ***

  Winchester had plenty of time to reflect on Michael’s parting comments later that same afternoon while he sat in his carriage outside the Women’s Society. He was waiting, with growing impatience, for Laura to reappear. As he twiddled his thumbs, he recalled, word for word, how his cousin, Sherwyn, had described Bec
ca’s early treatment of him. As if Sherwyn, the Duke, was her lackey; a boot scrubber in Becca’s own personal army.

  Richard’s fists clenched. His teeth ached from grinding them. Damn all the irritating Jamison woman to hell and back. He was the Earl of Winchester. His afternoon hours entailed more than trailing behind the skirts of a commanding chit who had, as per usual, had refused to apologize to him that morning. Instead, she’d given him a sketchy itinerary for her afternoon’s outings and lectured him about being ready to leave when she was, and had completely ignored his persistent questioning over the contents of the note she’d received at the church.

  He’d made a new resolution. Now, if only he could follow through on this one and not let Laura either argue or coerce him out of it. He roused his footman from the game of cards he was playing with the coachman, and waved the man towards the pathway leading to the front door of the old house. Richard refused to lower himself to the indignity of knocking this second time, so he prod the footman ahead of him up the path. He’d only taken a few steps between the neat rows of colorful flowers lining the walkway when the door swung open.

  The Lady he’d been waiting for emerged in a rush and that same startling flurry of purple skirts. She waved a gloved hand in a goodbye gesture to the group of women watching from the doorway as she sped past him on the path. He instinctively stepped backwards and almost toppled into one of the low gardens, only recovering his balance when the footman grabbed his elbow in support.

  “Hurry along, Winchester,” Laura called over her shoulder. “We’ve much to accomplish. And I’ve news you will wish to hear.”

  Only that carrot, cunningly dangled before his nose, forced him to cut short his non-complimentary retort. He merely muttered a couple of words, before hauling in a calming breath and following her to the carriage. His carriage. He watched her instruct the driver and ascend with the assistance of the footman. His driver and his footman. Once they were both seated and the coachman — his coachman — rocked them into motion, she tugged off her bonnet and tossed it onto the seat.

  He followed the flight of the hat, a winsome straw arrangement with sprigs of violets and numerous dangling lavender ribbons well-suited to her capriciousness, and watched it slide, unheeded, into the corner. Though he winced, he suppressed his urge to rescue the neglected item. Best to avoid irritating Laura by mentioning such a trifling matter, for they argued enough over his nit-picking on her household accounting. Not to mention their all-out wars over taking more care with her personal safety.

  Although Laura placed fashion-following lower on her list of interests than the distillation of herbs, he took a far greater interest in her accoutrements, especially adoring the sight of her ballroom-gowned as Lady Laura Jamison in her preferred colors of amethyst, ruby, and burgundy. Darker colors highlighted the glimmer of banked fire in her eyes and complemented the loose curls dropping over her slim neck and down to her—

  Heaven help him!

  No, his mind mustn’t be allowed to wander there. For them, unmarried and unchaperoned, to even be out and about in a carriage was unseemly. Though with her sister and aunt fully occupied, and Laura’s missions of an urgent nature, they’d been compelled to take the risk.

  Dammit, he regretted this outing already. Regretted his compulsion to guard her whenever she mingled publicly. Under his breath, he counted backwards from fifty, a practice he’d adopted when dealing with four impetuous younger sisters. The same rigid self-control he called on often when trying to deal with Laura, a female who considered herself well outside his reach and yet was within his extended family.

  “We agreed,” he said, trying to appear amicable despite his clenched jaw, “you would not walk out the door of the Society alone. You would wait until I’d first secured the area. Yet… yet you hurtled out--” His control slipped, and he stopped. “You tore down that path as though hell’s fires burned your tail. And if you recall, only this very morning you cheated death by a hair’s breadth. And not once, but twice.” He nodded several times. “My constitution cannot withstand any more shocks today.”

  “Fiddlesticks.” She flicked a gloved hand through the air between them. “Your constitution’s sound as an ox. Nothing disturbs your complacency.”

  He glared at her. “You’d be surprised how shattered my nerves have become in recent weeks.”

  She waved another imperious hand, again dismissing his troubled nerves as a matter of insignificance. Ha! If only she knew. His latest stresses, all to do with the Jamison family, had stopped him from following his normal regime and prevented him from doing anything but worry about her. Including seeking out or seducing any new conquests. His cousins would tease him, as they had Sherwyn, over his forced state of celibacy. Though for him, to be truthful, it wasn’t forced, as much as self-inflicted.

  If taken in small doses, he enjoyed the high-class social whirl. He escorted his sisters to balls and soirees, checked the credentials of every man they danced with, and took advantage of those stuffier occasions to keep his hand in by flirting with a refined lady or two. He didn’t even mind, not too much anyway, dancing with a succession of pink-cheeked debutants or grateful wallflowers. Though for reasons he’d yet to fathom, none of the women had tempted him in the least, and that included the handful of brazen widows who’d flung themselves in his path.

  Lately, he’d found all females as boringly similar as the leaves on an oak tree. Their conversations were distressingly repetitious, and the ladies so vain they copied each other’s turnouts to the last ribbon. They’d over-practiced their ballroom demeanor before mirrors until, in the midst of a conversation about weather, he’d cough to smother his yawns and silently beg his partner of the moment to stop pontificating before he slid down the wall and snored. They should have berated him for his lack of interest, rather than smile so hopefully up at him. At least speaking to Laura always kept him awake and on his mettle. Though he had just missed what she’d said.

  “—and we’re being talked about again for mixing with women who are idealists. Many of our friends are speaking publicly against the Queen and the strict rules she encourages for governing women in their own homes.”

  “Oh, please,” he muttered, although he couldn’t help his grin. Laura’s conversations never bored him. “Spare my ringing ears. Not another of your lectures on why women should have the same rights as men. None of that is possible until all men have equal rights. You know that.”

  She sighed, her wonderful breasts rising and falling like the daily arc of the sun across the sky. To his mind, the movement of her breasts was far more fascinating than any of nature’s other wonders.

  “Yes. I do know that. Laugh at me if you wish, but one day, there’ll be radical changes. And I, for one, want to be a part of it.”

  He reached across and took her gloved hand in his. So small, her bones so fragile. Yet, underneath the strength of steel.

  “I don’t laugh, pet. I wouldn’t dare to, not when my sisters preach the same ideas to me. Day and night. And if it’s any consolation, I hope that I’m standing up with you the day women earn the right to represent themselves in the ′Change. The idea that you must hide behind initials, scribble illegible names on your stock certificates--it’s a blight on the name of progress. If Prince Albert wants to see England become the greatest financial power in the next ten years, he must see that low-class men, and women, are included in his plans.”

  Looking across, he noticed Laura laughing.

  “Now who sprouts radical teachings?”

  He grinned, shrugged. “What does that make us? Two of a kind.”

  For a long moment, the air charged again with those same turbulent currents, and once again, he felt the arc, the sparks, leap and dance between them. If he touched it, he’d burn as it glowed with fierce heat.

  She looked down at her lap, twisting the tips of her gloves into knots as she did when nervous. “Heaven forbid we admit to being alike in any way.”

  He swallowed, hard. �
�And heaven also forbid we admit to liking how the other thinks. Or the sort of person the other is.”

  “Yes.” She drew a long breath, another nervous habit. He knew her well. “Far too late to change our opinions of each other now. So, let’s concentrate on finding Lady Hetherington and her motives for returning to London. Find out if she’s forming another syndicate. And, if I’m to keep to Becca’s investment schedule, we need to mix with our peers. Hear if anyone has given permission to lay railway tracks across their estates.”

  “I’ll speak to my man of affairs and send him to the stock auctions.” When she went to speak, he held up a hand, palm out. “No, hear me out. “He’s used to acquiring that sort information for me, and I swear I’ll pass on everything he learns. There’s no need to put yourself out in view. Far too risky.” He raised his brows. “And, if you promise to not leave my sight, you may accompany my sisters to Bentwood’s ball this evening.”

  Her eyes widened. “You intend playing out the role of protector in front of a room full of people? Pretend you’re Michael?”

  “I’ll be glued to you as closely as the soles on your pretty little dancing slippers throughout the entire evening. As I was at the church this morning.”

  She huffed, the sound dripping with sarcasm. “Oh, yes, look how that turned out. I was shot at. Twice. Though now that I think about it, it’s a wonder you even noticed.”

  “What do you mean? Of course I noticed. I was with you.”

  “Not all morning. You appeared from the back row only after you’d managed to escape the clutches of your countess.”

  He groaned and threw back his head. “Not that again. When are you going to forget that man-eater, as I have?”

  “Perhaps when she stops gobbling you up with her eyes. Not that I care what happens between you in private. It’s only in public, I feel embarrassed. On your behalf, of course.”

  “Of course. You’re thinking of my welfare. Always.” He sneered. “Will this evening be easier to bear if I promise to not look at the countess? Not even once.”