Lord of Scandal

by Nicola Cornick

  Lady Russell shook her head. “Outgunned, forsooth!”

  “We’ll see about that,” Catherine said.

  She moved forward. She had no choice. There was a press of people behind her, a huge crush who were starting to gossip about the reconciliation between Mr. Gideon Hawksmoor and his cousin, the notorious Lord Hawksmoor. They all wanted to see Ben with their own eyes, in case he did something outrageous. They wanted to see him in case he did not. They just wanted to see him.

  Their voices rang in Catherine’s ears. Their excitement was tangible.

  Gideon was wreathed in smiles, a contortion that he appeared to find difficult to sustain. Alice bore down on Catherine with suspicious warmth.

  “My very dear Miss Fenton! How glad we are that you could attend our humble soiree!” She dug Chloe in the ribs with her fan. “We are pleased to see Miss Fenton, are we not, Chloe?”

  Chloe shot Catherine an apologetic look. “Of course we are, Mama.” She gave Catherine a hug and whispered, “I am so sorry, Catherine. I do not know what has come over Mama! She is not usually so gushing.”

  “What can you two girls be whispering about?” Mrs. Hawksmoor demanded, with horrible archness. “Girlish secrets, eh, Lady Russell?”

  Lady Russell smiled thinly.

  “You must meet my uncle Samuel,” Chloe said, dragging forward a young man whom Catherine instantly recognized from Ben’s rather less respectable ball a few weeks before. He looked both uncomfortable and out of place, and his evening dress was a size too small. Every so often he would ease a finger around the collar as though it were choking him.

  “And,” Chloe continued, with the air of a magician producing a rabbit from the hat, “this is my wicked cousin Benjamin, Lord Hawksmoor.” She beamed. “Generally Papa refuses to let me meet him. He says he is a dashed scoundrel.”

  “Miss Fenton,” Ben said, as smooth as silk. “What a great pleasure to see you again.”

  Catherine caught Gideon and Alice looking at her with the indulgent gaze of relatives who have already bought the wedding presents.

  Ben took her hand in his and raised it to his lips. A concerted sigh from the ladies behind her in the receiving line whooshed past Catherine’s ears. She removed her hand from his grasp very quickly before he could feel her tremble.

  “Oh, you have met cousin Ben before!” Chloe was saying with delight. “Well, that is famous!”

  “Oh yes,” Catherine said. She smiled at the younger girl. “But I fear your cousin is overrated, Chloe. I believe he uses his dangerous reputation to hide a rather more dull reality.”

  “Miss Fenton,” Ben said, the amusement deepening in his eyes, “you wound me.”

  “Not yet,” Catherine said sweetly, “but I still have every intention of doing so soon.”

  Somehow Alice had drawn the two of them to one side behind a huge arrangement of ferns, away from the curious gaze of the other guests.

  “Miss Fenton,” she said, “Gideon and I heard about the disagreement between yourself and our cousin—” here she tried to give Ben an affectionate look, which did not quite work due to her total lack of sincerity “—and we are so very sorry to think that there is this misunderstanding between you when there could be fondness—”

  “A very deep fondness,” Ben said soulfully. He kept his eyes on her face. “You know how much I esteem you, Miss Fenton.”

  “You see!” Alice said quickly, as Catherine opened her mouth to demolish his pretensions. “Lord Hawksmoor has the greatest respect for you—”

  “And admiration,” Ben repeated. Catherine could see the glint of mockery in his eyes. “Dear Miss Fenton.”

  “Dear Lord Hawksmoor,” Catherine said with equal aplomb, “you have a brass-faced disregard for the truth.”

  “Excellent!” Alice cried. “An excellent start. A frank exchange of views. I knew the two of you would be able to settle your differences if you would but converse together.”

  “Of course we may,” Ben said. He bowed. “Miss Fenton, may I, before witnesses, offer you a full apology for the unintentional insult that led you to challenge me? It was entirely my fault. I withdraw my comments and apologize most sincerely.”

  Catherine glared at him. “There was nothing unintentional about your insulting proposal, sir!”

  Ben smiled. “I was overcome by a desire to wed you, Miss Fenton, overwhelmed—”

  “By my fortune, sir.” Catherine snapped the struts of her fan together with a sharp crack. “I appreciate that.”

  “It was a mistake,” Ben said, shamelessly smiling into her eyes. “I am sorry.”

  Catherine bit her lip. “If you make a full apology and withdraw your proposal, does that mean I cannot challenge you?” she asked.

  Ben’s gaze was wicked. “I fear not, Miss Fenton.”

  Catherine sighed. “How very provoking.”

  She felt irritated to be so neatly manipulated but she also felt a certain relief. If she was to have revenge upon Ben Hawksmoor, then perhaps spoiling his physical form was not the right way to do it. She would need to think of something else.

  Alice had clearly assumed that the matter was settled. She made a shooing gesture with her hands. “Benjamin, take this delightful young lady away and dance with her now, and Miss Fenton—” her sharp brown gaze fixed reproachfully on Catherine “—do please give Lord Hawksmoor a fair hearing!”

  Ben offered her his arm. Catherine glanced across at Lady Russell but she had struck up conversation with an ancient general whose medals indicated that he had served in India. She made a flapping movement with her fan that Catherine interpreted as permission to accept Ben’s offer to dance. Catherine thought that she was looking at Ben with entirely too indulgent a gaze.

  “A fair hearing,” she said softly, as he escorted her onto the floor. “This is a conspiracy of thieves! Until this moment I would not have believed that you would throw in your lot with your cousin, Lord Hawksmoor, even to gain eighty thousand pounds.”

  Ben covered her hand with his own, a gesture that thoroughly confused her senses. “Both Gideon and Sam felt they were honor-bound to try to effect a reconciliation between us, Miss Fenton.” Ben smiled. “Naturally they cannot possibly be aware just how low your opinion of me is, or they would never have imagined such a thing would be achievable.”

  “At least they have saved your worthless skin,” Catherine said sweetly, “for now.”

  Ben smiled. “I appreciate that you are still angry with me.”

  “How perceptive of you! I do not think that this—” Catherine struggled to frame her words and keep her anger within check “—this concerted attempt to persuade me of your honorable intentions will achieve anything other than to make me entirely furious that you will stoop to any depth to achieve your aim!”

  “You should take it as the measure of how much I want you, Catherine,” Ben said gently. “I would enlist the help of the devil himself to help me win your hand in marriage.”

  Their eyes met. Catherine was the first to look away.

  “You want no more than my fortune,” she said stubbornly.

  Ben’s hand tightened over hers, compelling her to lift her gaze to his again. His hazel eyes were brilliant. “That is not true. I do want the money—I have admitted that from the start—but I want you as well. You know how much.” He made a slight gesture. “I do not lie to you,” he said. “I am a fortune hunter, but an honest one.”

  The music was striking up now for a waltz, not the decadent whirl that had been playing in the house in St. James’s but a stately and respectable dance that not even the patronesses of Almacks could have taken in disapproval. Ben held out a hand to her and, after a moment, Catherine rested her other hand gingerly on his shoulder and they started to circle the floor, keeping an irreproachable distance from one another.

  “I have another reason for wishing to persuade you into a betrothal and away from a duel,” Ben said. “I confess it freely. I watched you practice at Colonel Acheson’s. You ar
e a fine shot.”

  Catherine raised her gaze sharply to his. She slipped slightly on some candle grease and his grip on her waist tightened. When she regained her footing, he resumed his previous distance.

  “Are you afraid of me then?” she asked lightly.

  “I am afraid of what you might do to me,” Ben said dryly. “Was it your grandfather who taught you to shoot, Miss Fenton?”

  “He arranged for me to have lessons,” Catherine said. “He felt it was important for a female to be able to defend herself.” She looked at him. “Do not forget, my lord, that I was born in India. Life was a great deal less certain there than it is in London.”

  “My life would not have been so certain if you had exacted your revenge,” Ben said feelingly. “What else did Sir Jack teach you, Kate—other than to cheat at hazard?”

  Catherine glared. “I do not cheat!” She met his speculative gaze and her frown softened into a reluctant smile. “That is, he did teach me how to cheat, but on the occasion that you saw me play against Lady Paris, I won fair and square.”

  Ben laughed. “I never cheat either.”

  “And you never lose.”

  “Never before now.” She saw his face go still. “But I do believe, Miss Fenton, that in you I may have met my nemesis.”

  There was a note of humor in his voice and when Catherine looked up and met his gaze, the smile he gave her was, for once, devoid of mockery. It gave Catherine a scandalous sensation of intimacy.

  “I know you have spiked my guns with your apology,” she said slowly, “and now I cannot shoot you. I think I would not feel so angry if I thought that a single word you had spoken was sincere.”

  For a second, his hands tightened on her body and she felt the heat through the thin muslin of her gown.

  “You misjudge me,” he said. “I made a mistake in attempting to persuade you to wed me the way I did, and for that I am truly sorry.”

  “A man of your stamp should never marry,” Catherine said. “With you, there will always be other women, will there not, Lord Hawksmoor? And there is very little that binds us together.”

  She saw, from the sudden and shocking flash of expression in his eyes, that he was thinking of the time she had been in his bed and of the pleasure and intimacy they had found there. For a short while they had been bound together as close as true lovers and she had thought it might last forever. The memory still stirred her soul.

  “Do you really believe that?” he asked.

  “That you would be unfaithful?” Catherine stubbornly avoided his eyes. Her tone was bitter. “Of course. You can scarcely flaunt the most notorious courtesan in London as your mistress and expect me to believe otherwise.”

  Ben inclined his head. “Touché. Yet you were betrothed to Withers and you cannot have thought that he would be faithful to you.”

  “I did not think it for a moment,” Catherine said. “That betrothal was none of my choosing and I broke it as soon as I could. It is another reason why I would never accept another forced match.”

  “So in marriage you demand the man of your choice and that he love you and be faithful to you?”

  “Exactly, my lord,” Catherine agreed. “And I do not believe that you fit any of those conditions, do you?”

  Ben laughed. “Two out of three would not be bad. I can promise to be faithful.” He bent his head so that his words were for her alone. “With you in my bed, why should I wish to stray? You are all I want. You must know I burn for you.”

  Catherine’s breath caught in her throat. Her whole body ached with awareness. She wanted him, too. “Do not—” she whispered.

  “And I could be the man of your choice. You know you are tempted.”

  Another couple circled close and Catherine bit back the retort that had sprung to her lips. She wanted no one else to be party to this conversation. But it was dangerous. Ben was right—she was tempted. He made her want things she had sworn to forget. That night in his bed, and the tangled sheets, and the taste of salt from his skin and the scent of him…She closed her eyes against the memories.

  They danced for a little in silence. Catherine was all too conscious of the brush of his leg against the thin muslin of her gown, the warmth of his hand on her waist, the sudden, shocking contact of his cheek against her as he fleetingly and most improperly held her very close for the final turn of the waltz. The music ended. A ripple of applause ran around the room. The dancers split, mingled, chattered. Catherine felt Ben steer her away from the crowds toward the relative privacy of the window alcove.

  He leaned down and spoke in her ear, his breath stirring the tendrils of hair that escaped her ribbon.

  “Come into the library with me. I want to talk to you properly.”

  Catherine looked at him. She shook her head. “A young lady does not step aside with a gentleman on so flimsy a pretext, my lord.”

  “Very well.” Ben smiled a challenge. “Come into the library with me. I want to kiss you improperly.”

  Catherine laughed. She could not help herself. “You have a boundless conceit, my lord. And the answer is still no.”

  “Conceited or not, you would miss me were I no longer a part of your life. Marry me, Kate. It is what we both want.”

  The words, softly spoken, stung Catherine because they were so painfully close to the truth. She turned away from him to look blindly through the steamy panels into the dark fog of the garden. The chill from the window matched the chill in her heart.

  Could it only be a mere few weeks since she had first met Ben Hawksmoor? The notion seemed absurd, for somehow his presence was knit so tightly into the fabric of her life now that she did not see how she could banish him without it tearing away some part of her existence. She wrapped her arms about herself. This was ridiculous! In the beginning she had imagined herself in love with him but she was past that folly now; older, wiser, beyond a craving for the love and intimacy she had so foolishly sought in his bed. And no matter what he said, and the strange sense of recognition she felt for him, there was no deeper bond between them. Their worlds were oceans apart. He wanted her for her money first and her body second and love came nowhere. So she could never marry him.

  And yet…And yet if Ben were to walk away here and now, and she were never to see him again, then her life would be somehow darker, less rich and exciting, less full of promise. She need not marry Algernon Withers now, of course; she could find a good man, the sort of man Lady Russell assured her was still left in this world, and she could wed him and be content. But she would never see Ben Hawksmoor again.

  A sudden knot of tears caught in her throat and she swallowed it, angry with herself for such weakness. She had to speak, and quickly, had to tell Ben that if he left she would never miss him, that he could walk away now and she would rejoice, that she would never marry him. The idea was absurd, insulting.

  But she had thought not long ago that if she married Withers, she would barely be alive, living only in the half light. She had thought that the rest of her life would be dull and flat and lifeless, and she might as well be dead. But she could never imagine feeling like that with Ben. Never.

  He was standing behind her and he put his hands on her shoulders, and she felt warm and secure and at the same time fearful and elated.

  “Kate?” His question was a whisper.

  She was so close to agreeing. She knew all his faults. She knew he did not love her. He had apologized to her for it on the day she had so painfully told him of her own feelings. If she accepted him now, it would be with her eyes open and in the knowledge that she would never be able to change him. But he did not love her. And that was an end to it.

  “I am sorry,” she said. “I cannot.”

  Ben had been so wrapped up in Catherine’s response to him, so certain she was going to agree, that he had not even countenanced the possibility of refusal. All his attention had been focused on Kate and the fact that he wanted her to accept his proposal. He wanted it unbearably. He ached for her to agree.


  He had felt the slight trembling in her body, had seen the hesitancy in her eyes, seen her lips part on a breath and known in his deepest being that he was within a second of achieving his heart’s desire. And then the light had gone from her eyes and she had spoken, and the frustration and the misery slammed through Ben so hard he could not speak.

  Frustration he could understand. He had just failed to secure a fortune. It had slipped, tantalizingly, through his fingers yet again.

  His misery was less explicable and he was afraid to analyze it.

  His gambling instincts prompted him to one last throw of the dice. He caught her hand. “Then there is something that I must say to you before we part. I beg you to step aside into the library with me.”

  He could see she was reluctant to do so. She did not trust him. The thought made him feel even more heartsore. But why should she? He had given her precious little reason to do so.

  “Please,” he said. “I promise not to touch you, Kate, but I must speak.”

  She nodded slightly, turned away and picked a path through the crowded ballroom, pausing to speak to Lady Russell as she passed. Ben watched. He knew she was telling her chaperone everything so that Lady Russell would know where she was going and exactly when to interrupt them. His lips twitched. He admired her strategy.

  He waited five minutes before he followed her. It felt like an hour. When he entered the library, she was standing before the fire, very straight, her arms folded in a gesture that dared him even to draw near to her.

  “Well, my lord?”

  Ben stopped. He had been intending to do precisely what he had promised he would not—take her in his arms and overcome her resistance with his desire. He knew she was scarcely indifferent to him. It was a weakness and he could use it against her.

  Yet when it came to it, he did nothing of the sort.

  “Kate,” he said. “I have never told you how sorry I am for the way that I misjudged you.”

  He stopped. She was looking at him with a mixture of incredulity and suspicion, and suddenly it seemed imperative if he were never to see her again that she would think him not completely lost to a sense of honor. He cleared his throat.