Far Beyond Scandalous

by Bethany Sefchick

  However, within the day, one of Lady Berkshire's infamous Gray Gowns had been hired to accompany Amy and Gibson while out at evening events, as was proper, of course. Otherwise, Dr. Blackwell, with proper daytime chaperonage in the form of a maid, was to act on Marcus Cheltenham's behalf, at least where Lady Amy was concerned. Not to mention that the letter had been very explicit that Amy was not to sit at home while her mother convalesced. She was to maintain her regular schedule in an effort to find a potential husband.

  For whatever reason, according to Michaels anyway, that last part had been extremely important to both Lord and Lady Evanston. Therefore, it became important to Gibson as well, even though the idea of Amy marrying another man left a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. Sill, he had made certain that the phrase was included in the note when he had paid a visit to his old friend, Lady Caroline Turner, under the guise of checking on her well-being after she had suffered a nasty break in her ankle only a few months prior.

  It was known only to a select few that Lady Caroline was not merely the only child of the powerful and esteemed Viscount of Redwing, but that she was also the infamous Lady X, author of the notorious, but almost always accurate gossip column, Society Tales, that was among the most popular in London. That she was also an accomplished forger was known by even fewer people, though Gibson counted himself lucky to be among them.

  Gibson rarely asked Lady Caroline for favors, not wanting to trade on their old friendship, but in this case, it was necessary. Caroline had, of course, understood the seriousness of the situation once she saw the original directive from Lord Evanston. She was also a long time friend of the Cheltenham family, particularly Marcus who had been her childhood best friend, and Gibson knew she would do anything to prevent his secret from getting out.

  Caroline had promised to both increase the mentions of Amy and Gibson in her daily columns, as well as make it crystal clear that she was decidedly in favor of the plan - not that she hadn't been already. For if there was one thing that Caroline possessed, it was a romantic heart, and she longed to see Gibson paired with a lady of society who was worthy of him. Caroline firmly believed that Amy was that woman and had told Gibson as much.

  Caroline had also warned Gibson that there had been rumors in the past about a potential scandal involving Lady Amy, though she wasn't certain of the details. Since Amy had earned the label of "The Paragon," it was likely nothing, but sometimes, even nothing had a way of becoming something. Caroline had advised Gibson to be on guard, both for his safety as well as Lady Amy's.

  He was doing just that as he led them to the box he had rented for the evening, using some of the funds that had been set aside to ensure that Amy continued her social whirl. It had taken scant little work on his part to convince Michaels to allow Gibson access to the money necessary to see to Amy's needs. The man might be an excellent steward but he was not very bright about other topics, at least in Gibson's opinion.

  Not that it mattered. What did matter, however, was how society would view his escort of Lady Amy to balls and other evening events, even with the letters from both Prinny and Marcus. Strolls in the park were one thing, but balls and the theater were quite another. That was something else that Lady Caroline had assured Gibson that she would address in her upcoming column, scheduled for publication the next morning. Thank God he had a wide circle of friends, including ones that knew how to turn potential scandal into heroic deeds.

  Tonight, however, was all about Amy, and allowing whoever was watching to see that she was, indeed, still out in society - just as that damnable piece of paper Michaels found had dictated. For Gibson was convinced that someone was watching. Several times over the last few days, he had felt the stare of hostile eyes on him and Amy, yet each time he scanned the crowd, he saw no one suspicious or out of place. He did not want to mention it to Amy, as she had enough on her mind already. Tonight was the first time he had seen her relaxed to any degree.

  She was resplendent tonight, he admitted silently as they walked together through the masses of people towards their private box, the one he had rented earlier in the day from the Duke of Coleridge, an old friend of his family's. Her pale pink silk gown was more of a dusty rose hue than the nearly white one she had been wearing at the Fairhill ball, and he thought that it suited her coloring better. The silken fabric made her glow and sparkle under the soft lights inside the theater, as if she was made of spun glass and dusted with a glittering sheen of diamonds.

  The overskirt of the frothy confection was dotted with clusters of crystals and pearls, which appeared, even to his untrained eye, to be hand-stitched into the sheer netting. The gown clung to her generous curves in all the right places, making her appear soft and feminine beside his larger and much more muscular frame. He could tell in an instant it was a Madame LaVallier creation. If the exacting detail hadn't given it away, the small bit of gold lace nearly hidden at the hem by her voluminous skirts would have. It was the modiste's own personal signature, and one that every woman of consequence looked for when studying the gown of another society lady.

  As a physician, Gibson appreciated the human body in all of its various and sundry forms, but he found few, if any, as perfect as Lady Amy's. She was nothing short of voluptuous, and while some men preferred a more lithe form, like Caroline's, he was not one of them. He would take all of the curves a woman possessed and then still more, if possible.

  A singular, pear-shaped diamond pendant hung at the base of Amy's elegant throat, calling attention to the creamy curve of her shoulders and tops of her breasts, which were showcased to perfection by the vaguely scandalous low cut of the gown. Until a few days ago, Gibson had known nothing of women's clothing or fashion, as Harriet had never lived long enough to need anything so fancy. However, stacks of bills from the esteemed dressmaker were in the papers provided by Michaels, giving Gibson a brief glimpse into the expense, and, as he was quickly coming to learn, intrigue that was women's fashions.

  More than anything, he was acutely aware this evening of Amy as a fashionable, desirable woman. He could not allow even the slightest indulgence of public admiration where she was concerned, but if he could? He would stake his claim to her here and now, no matter how unsuitable of a suitor he appeared to be on the surface.

  He, of course, wore the same all black evening attire, topped with a snowy white cravat. It was the same clothing that he had donned for the museum gala, the Fairhill's ball, and any other formal event he was required to attend. Unlike the men around him, Gibson only owned one set of evening clothes, though at this point, he was making enough coin to buy himself another set should he so choose. A part of him reasoned that he needed something else in the way of evening attire, that as one of Prinny's private physicians, he now had different, more scrupulous standards to uphold, and that the single diamond and onyx stick pin in his cravat alone would not do. Perhaps some formalwear with a nice hunter green waistcoat, perhaps?

  Another part of his mind, however reminded him that spending money for appearances' sake could lead to problems, just as it had for his father. While Gibson knew he would never follow in his father's footsteps in that regard, there was no real reason to be wasteful either, not when he had one perfectly serviceable set of formal clothes. Then he looked down at the woman beside him, and he was suddenly seized by a need to be worthy to stand in her company. At present, he was afraid that everyone who looked at them would know immediately that he was a pretender simply by the way he was dressed.

  As he and Amy moved through the theater, Gibson could almost feel the rumors swirling around the two of them as they finally arrived at the private box he had reserved, the gray-gowned Lady Isabelle having already been seated in front of the red velvet curtain a few moments before. However he did his best to ignore them all. He was doing this for Amy. In fact, he would do anything for her.

  Gibson might be viewed as a strong man by many. Others, particularly the women who wished to trap him into marriage, might prefer to say that he w
as cold. Especially when he put them off with a charming smile coupled with a firm refusal of their company. But around Amy? He was a complete idiot who often times made foolish decisions and lost all notion of common sense. She was his weakness. All Blackwell men had one, it seemed.

  "Am I that dreadfully boring of company that you cannot find anything witty to say to me, Dr. Blackwell?" Amy interrupted his thoughts, and he was startled to find that they had reached the theater box already. There was a hint of hurt in her eyes and he hated that. He never wanted to cause her undue pain. He would spare her from everything distasteful if he could.

  Quickly, he summoned his usual charming smile. "My lady, you know that is not true. I find your company quite scintillating." He was careful to keep any conversation completely above-board while they were out in public. The last thing he wanted was for anyone to suspect that he might have feelings for Amy. That would only lead to disaster.

  She gave him a mumbled "hmmm" as he pushed aside the curtain and allowed her to enter, but offered nothing more.

  They had, of course, repeatedly gone over the rules for their public outings in the carriage. No one, of course, could know that they shared a far more intimate relationship than was proper. That was implicitly understood by both of them. In addition to following her father's directive, they were being granted a rare and magical opportunity to be together. However, like the afternoon in the summerhouse, it would be nothing more than a moment out of time; it would not last. However, Gibson had the feeling that Amy cherished this opportunity as much as he did, though she would not speak of it. Then again, neither would he.

  They had made a pact that, above all, they would each keep their hands to themselves, touching only when necessary. The reason for that was not spoken of, but it was clear to both of them. One touch could easily spark passion between them, and that could lead them down dangerous paths best left unwalked.

  Still, at that moment, Gibson wanted nothing more than to pull Amy into his arms and show her just how interested he still was in her. No matter that they had promised to keep their hands to themselves. Every step they took out into society together was risky, but he would risk it all for her. He cared for her that much.

  He also longed to see her naked again, just as she had been in the summerhouse, but that would never happen, either. So, he would settle for what he could have and attempted to make his body behave. It was more than he had dreamed of a few months prior when she had turned away from him at the museum.

  Once they were seated, Gibson allowed himself a moment to relax and reached for his quizzing glasses. They were one of the few possessions from his father's estate that he had managed to keep, and they meant a great to him. Using them, he made a slow but exactingly thorough perusal of the crowd. The theater was packed that evening, as few balls were being hosted, and, of course, no one in the ton spent an evening at home if they could help it.

  He had been within these walls before, of course, but never as a guest. Instead, he was usually called in for emergencies, such as when Lord Chilton had taken a nasty fall down the stairs after being pushed by an unknown assailant. The opulence never failed to impress Gibson, the gold gilt, red velvet wall hangings, and massive chandeliers making him think of hot, sultry nights spent pleasantly naked with a willing woman in his bed.

  That was part of the seduction of the place, he supposed. For no one really came here to watch the performances unless they were a randy young lord hoping to bed an opera dancer. They came for the assignations and scandal, the chance to meet someone in secret and do all manner of wicked things society would condemn if only they knew about them.

  It was why he wasn't surprised to find a great many quizzing glasses already trained on their own box. A good number of people were watching them, as he had expected, though he couldn't read their lips to see what they were saying. Most were careful to keep their mouths hidden behind hands, fans, or programs. Clever. Very clever. He would have to remember that, as his experience in attending the theater was rather limited.

  "Spying a bit, are we, Doctor?" Amy knew precisely what Gibson was doing. He might not have attended plays and operas as frequently as she had, but there were some activities that were universal to all of the social classes. Spying on others was one of them.

  Gibson raised an eyebrow in response. "I have no idea what you mean, my lady. None at all." Then he graced her with a cheeky smile. That earned him an indelicate snort from the gray-clad chaperone seated at the back of the box, and not even a dark glare from him could quell the humor that lit the other woman's gaze.

  Amy returned his look with a saucy one of her own. "More's the pity then, as I had planned on doing precisely the same thing." With a flourish, she opened her reticule and produced both a fan and her own pair of quizzing glasses. "What fun is the theater if you do not bother to see who is behaving indecently?"

  Then she sniffed indignantly, and he saw a smile that she did her best to conceal behind her fan. "I may be viewed by many as the paragon of society, but I think you of all people know that is an illusion." The last words were whispered softly and for his ears alone.

  If the chaperone heard that last bit of conversation, she gave no reaction, much to Gibson's relief. Then again, Amy's headstrong ways were not completely unknown to society, and yet, she still earned the title of Paragon. He was curious as to why, though it was not his place to ask. It was yet another facet of her that intrigued him far more than it should.

  "Why is that?" he asked, unable to keep silent, knowing he was skirting close to a line he should not cross. "Why does the ton place you on this unreachable pedestal when they know of your sometimes rash behavior?" There had to be a reason, and, had he been a true member of society he would know it. As it was, he had to humble himself to ask.

  Flipping open her fan a little wider before replying, Amy drew back a bit into the darkness to make it more difficult for someone to read her lips. She was as skilled at this game as any debutante out there and she had played it for far longer. "There are any number of reasons," she finally admitted, once the fan was securely in front of her face. "Mostly, any missteps I make are forgiven because of my blood ties to the royal family. A great deal that they do wrong is overlooked, and I am, by blood association, afforded much the same leeway."

  "Has it always been thus?" Gibson hadn't known Amy during her come out season, but he could easily image her as a beautiful young debutante, eager to please.

  She seemed to ponder that for a moment. "To some degree. Marcus has always been ill, ever since he was a child and the whispered rumors and innuendos that he was not quite right in some way has dogged my family for years. My parents were terrified that they would be pressured into sending him away to Bedlam for any number of reasons. Therefore, when I had my come out, I attempted to be perfect, not wanting to give society any more reason to whisper ill about my family. Or me."

  "And then it went to far." Gibson understood quickly that Amy had tried to be perfect to help protect her family's reputation, but had only succeeded in trapping herself in a role she no longer wished to play.

  "At first, it was enjoyable. Truly. I was praised and petted, and was named an Incomparable during my first season no less." Amy swallowed hard and fluttered her fan again. "Then, it all went rather wrong."

  Deciding to be daring, Gibson reached out and stroked the back of her hand lightly. They had promised no touching, but the moment seemed to call for it. She needed comfort and he needed to give it. "It is not your fault."

  "To some degree it is. I encouraged them, after all." She glanced around, her eyes roaming the crowded theater but not really seeing anyone or anything. "On the other hand, though I can be strong-willed, little that I do is truly scandalous. I may speak my mind, but in comparison to other young ladies who are catty and love to gossip, I am fairly tame. I rarely make a true social blunder, and when I do, I have found that a coquettish smile and a fluttering of eyelashes, combined with a pretty blush and sincere apology do
much to easy any transgression I may have committed. By the time I depart an event, everyone thinks I have been nothing less than a proper lady, the most perfect creature imaginable. Even when I deliberately try to misbehave, I am still forgiven."

  Then Amy sighed in obvious disgust. "Thus, I have been labeled 'The Paragon,' much to my dismay. I am human and do make mistakes. Others do the same with some frequency. I only wish I was afforded the same luxury and not placed on a pedestal."

  Gibson mulled Amy's confession over as the theater darkened and the performance began, a soprano with a soaring voice beginning a song that he had no real interest in hearing. Amy and her tangled relationship with society was much more fascinating, at least to him.

  During that long-ago afternoon, she had said that with him, she didn't need to pretend, that she could be who she truly was. All of the rest, he now realized, was an act, a role that she played, allowing people to see exactly what they wanted - whether she waned to play that part or not. By this point in her life, it was expected of her. So if society wanted The Paragon, then that was precisely what Amy would give them, hiding her true self away, partly to protect her family and partly because society, as always, saw only what they wished to see. In that, the two of them were not so very different, he mused. At heart, she truly was the brazen beauty who had begged him to strip her naked and give her pleasure.

  But why hide now that she was so much older? Why not be who she truly was since she was no longer a young debutante? That part made no sense, but then, her reasons were her own. He would not question them. It was enough to know that she allowed him to glimpse who she truly was because she trusted him to keep her secret. She trusted him with a part of herself that she granted to no other.