The Lady Loves A Scandal_Regency Novella

by Christina McKnight

  That only left one unmistakable fact: Sybil was indeed a fool.

  And Gideon was to blame for it all—her heartbreak, the gossip and scandal, and even Sybil’s courtship with Garwood.

  Footsteps sounded on the polished floor as someone with a long, heavy stride rounded a corner and moved toward her in the darkness. The hair prickled on the back of her neck. This was her home, and never had she been overcome with a sense of peril while in it. It could be anyone traversing the halls during the ball—a servant, a guest, or even a criminal bent on thievery.

  “Sybil.”

  Her pulse hammered, her blood rushing through her veins. It was the exact thing she’d longed to hear since the night she watched Gideon ride away: her name uttered in a breathless whisper crossing his lips. She could almost feel his breath cascading across her neck as he called to her again.

  “Sybil.”

  Belatedly, she realized he’d called her because, just as she could not see him in the darkened hall, she was also invisible to him.

  “Lord Galway.” Her clipped tone halted his movement. How long had it been since she’d spoken to him in such a formal way? He’d bid her to address him as Gideon since their second meeting, at least when they were afforded a spot of privacy. “What are you doing here?”

  “I—“

  “Where have you been? Why did you leave London? What reason did you have for not showing to sign the betrothal contracts?” Each question was punctuated by the stomping of her foot, which made little sound due to her soft slippers. Slamming her heel into the floor should have released a bit of her fury, yet only her words echoed in the cavernous hall. “The only explanation that suits is that you found yourself dead and unable to keep your promise. However, here you stand…over a year later. Can I assume you were gravely injured and unable to send word to me?”

  He exhaled, the sound barely audible where he continued to stand in the shadows. She wanted to bid him come closer, yet, she did not trust that she would suppress the urge to close the distance between them.

  “I sent a note,” he whispered.

  “Saying you would return as quickly as possible.” An image of the missive, nestled in her stationery desk, came to mind. The scant, simple words. “Do you think your return has been quick, my lord?”

  He stepped closer, and Sybil was shocked to realize he’d only been a few feet away. “I returned as soon as it was safe to do so.”

  “Safe?” She receded a few paces until she could hardly make out his face in the shadows. It would also keep Gideon from seeing the many emotions no doubt clouding her expression. “What does that mean?”

  Gideon followed her as she continued to step back. His gray eyes were filled with the desperation and longing that had held her heart in a viselike grip all these months.

  “I thought you dead, Gideon,” she seethed. “I convinced myself that you must have perished, or else you’d be by my side. Surely, that was the only thing that could keep you from me.” Her anguish seeped from her on a curt chuckle.

  He shook his head, and his shoulders sagged. “I am not dead, nor would I choose to spend even a second away from you if I could have prevented it.”

  Gideon reached out to her as her back pressed into the wall behind her.

  Music and the buzz of conversation floated from the ballroom on their other side.

  Her mind was screaming just as loudly. Sybil shouldn’t believe him. He was spinning a tale that would only serve to crush the small part of her that had survived his abandonment the year before. She could not risk allowing him close enough to hurt her again.

  “I am not a dullard, my lord, nor am I a lady in need of a scoundrel,” she hissed, ignoring his outstretched hand.

  His intense stare pleaded with her to listen, to believe him. “It was never my intention to leave you, Sybil. You must believe that.”

  “Then why did you?” It was the question she’d been burning to shout at him since she spied him in the ballroom; however, it came out as little more than a whisper. “Why did you abandon me?”

  “I can do nothing now but offer my sincerest apologies.”

  “But no explanation?”

  His hand fell to his side as his gaze moved from her face. “Perhaps one day. But for now, no, I have no explanation for my absence.”

  “Because, as you said, it wouldn’t be safe?” He’d used the word a few moments before. Said he planned to return to her as soon as it was safe.

  “I promise I will explain all as soon as everything is handled.”

  She scoffed. “Oh, my lord, I have witnessed firsthand how much you value your promises.” Sybil crossed her arms, her fingers tightening on her upper arms to keep from reaching out to him. Even in her fury, she longed to touch him, to know he was real and unscathed. “Besides, I cannot guarantee I will be available to hear your explanation once the time presents itself.”

  Even as she uttered them, each word was like a knife to her stunted heart.

  From the anguish clouding Gideon’s stare, he was as deeply wounded by the words as she.

  With a sigh, Gideon rubbed the back of his neck. “I have wronged you, Sybil. I know that. I will work every day to make amends, but you must understand, I had no choice but to depart London.”

  “And I cannot bring to mind a single reason that you could not have at least written me during all those—“

  Gideon stepped closer, running his finger down her cheek to her neck as he leaned ever nearer. “You are, perhaps, more beautiful than that night outside my townhouse,” he muttered, his gaze on her lips.

  His warm breath caressed her skin, and she longed for his hands to do the same.

  “Do not attempt to distract me, Gideon.”

  “My name has never sounded so sweet.” His lips almost brushed hers with the final word, sending a strong shiver coursing through her. “May I kiss you, Sybil?”

  “No,” she murmured, but her denial was weak.

  All he needed was to ask again, and she would agree, give him everything he longed for because she desired his kiss, as well.

  But he didn’t push her, only held his place, their lips so close his breath became hers.

  She stared up into his face…a visage as familiar to Sybil as her own; yet his eyes were ringed with dark shadows, his face slimmer than before, and his cheeks hollowed. He’d lost a significant amount of weight since she’d last seen him. He did not just appear exhausted, he obviously was weary, as evidenced by the dip of his shoulders, his waxen complexion, and the grim set of his mouth. He was bone-tired—on the brink of collapsing. Not even newly tailored evening garb and a fresh razor could hide the fact that Gideon was drained.

  “You haven’t been sleeping well.” She reached up and ran her fingertip along his face, his jaw tensing at her intimacy. “Are you in trouble, Gideon?”

  She knew even without his answer that he was—in grave danger if his haunted look told her anything.

  Over the last year, Sybil had endured near societal ruin. She’d been fodder for the gossips and all but crucified by Lady X’s scandal sheet. However, Gideon’s pleading stare told her that he’d been through much worse…yet, he returned to her.

  The uptick of her heart spoke volumes.

  Surely, Sybil could trust her heart, for if not, she had little hope she could survive should Gideon disappear again.

  She loved him. And the soft pleading in his eyes said he felt the same about her.

  Nothing had changed between them over the last year despite their hardship.

  A door slammed, and Gideon stepped back, pivoting to face the sound, putting himself squarely in front of her. Peeking around him, Sybil spied a shadowy figure as it crossed the corridor and continued down the hall Gideon had traversed earlier.

  “I should go.” Even before the words had left her mouth, she was inching down the wall toward the door that would return her to the ballroom. “We cannot be seen here…together.”

  “May I call on you tomorrow?” H
e knew as well as she the power and destruction that could be caused if they were discovered alone in a dark corridor—the gossip sheets would not allow the indiscretion to go unnoted.

  “You can do as you please, Gideon, but I must return to the festivities before anyone questions my absence.” She stared up at him, her eyes begging him to make her stay; however, good sense won out for both of them. “Goodbye, Gideon.”

  “Goodbye, Sybil.” He took her gloved hand and pressed his lips to it in farewell.

  She pulled her hand from his hold, grabbed her skirts, and hurried toward the ballroom.

  “Farewell, my love.”

  His words floated on the stale air, a crushing reminder of the last time Gideon had uttered that exact phrase. This time, she prayed it would not be so long until they met again.

  Chapter 3

  25 March 1816

  It is with the utmost curiosity that I must share with you all that was seen on the night of Lady Lichfield’s birthday celebration. Namely, Lord Galway and Lady Sybil in an embrace most intimate and scandalous in the darkened halls of Lord Lichfield’s townhouse. I must say that this sighting comes rather unexpectedly, as this author was preparing to announce the long-awaited betrothal of Lady Sybil to the Duke of Garwood. Is this pair—Galway and Lady Sybil—fated to be, or will the viscount disappear once more, as quickly as he returned?

  ~Lady X

  Gideon glanced up from the drying wax on the folded paper before him, long enough to nod at the servant standing at the edge of his desk, before turning his focus back to the note. Another moment, and the black wax with the Galway crest prominently displayed would be hardened and the missive ready for delivery. A large part of him was surprised that it had come to this, while a nagging thought remained that it was exactly as he deserved.

  Holding the note out to the servant, Gideon instructed, “Deliver this to Oliver’s Bookshoppe off Bond Street. Hand it directly to Mr. Oliver and no one else. Understood?”

  His servant collected the note and tucked it into his jacket pocket. “Of course, my lord.”

  When the servant fled the room, closing the door soundlessly behind him, Gideon reclined in his seat, rubbing his face with both hands.

  Two days.

  Two bloody long days.

  He’d promised to call on Sybil the day following Lady Lichfield’s birthday celebration.

  What Gideon hadn’t counted on was Lord Lichfield, Sybil’s brother, turning him away.

  And now, he was forced to send a note by way of Sybil’s favorite bookseller. Gideon wasn’t even certain the man would remember what to do when the servant arrived at his shop.

  Gideon had failed Sybil. Again. At least this time, it wasn’t his fault, though that made it no less reprehensible. Perhaps he should have appeared on Lichfield’s stoop and pounded on the door instead of sending word requesting an audience with the earl.

  Scanning his desk, he grabbed Lady X’s gossip sheet and skimmed down the page until he spotted the vile woman’s latest on dit. Someone had indeed taken note of his and Sybil’s meeting two nights prior, and they’d been kind enough to report it directly to London’s most notorious scandalmonger. It wasn’t the story on his and Sybil’s intimate moments in the hall that angered him most, however, it was the fact that Lady X knew something Gideon didn’t…something he never would have guessed.

  Sybil was all but betrothed to another man.

  A bloody duke, no less.

  She hadn’t breathed a word of it the other night. Not that he’d given her a chance to tell him. He read the name again, the Duke of Garwood. Gideon didn’t know the lord, had never made his acquaintance and knew naught of him in general. Yet, he already disliked the man.

  Perhaps he was unfairly judging the duke.

  He certainly had superb taste in women if he’d set his sights on Lady Sybil.

  He pushed to his feet, the chair beneath him groaning in protest as Gideon walked to the hearth and tossed the scandal sheet into the flames. Satisfaction filled him as he watched the words disappear as the paper burned, the edges curling in as the cream parchment turned black and then gray as it dissolved to ash. The words were not so easily forgotten, however, nor would the duke be banished just because Gideon threw the paper into the fire.

  Everything had become clear once Gideon read the scandal sheet.

  Lord Lichfield had no reason and, as a matter of fact, had a very good motive for turning Gideon away and denying him an audience. Sybil was all but betrothed to another. And Lichfield was likely quite pleased with his sister’s ability to secure the notice of a duke as opposed to a mere viscount. Gideon had been foolish enough to think it had something to do with his disappearance before the contracts were signed for his and Sybil’s betrothal.

  Did Sybil love the duke?

  If she did, Gideon would not stand in the way of what she wanted for her future or her happiness.

  Yet, neither would he end his pursuit to gain back her affection so easily.

  He’d slept in the hull of a pirated merchant vessel, eaten table scraps collected on the streets of Dover, and barely escaped before the hunters overtook him, Giles, and Charles in a tavern on the outskirts of Manchester. He had never been one to give up easily without a fight.

  And Lady Sybil Anson was worth a thousand battles.

  She was the one thing that had kept him going all those months as they pushed from one place to the next. Outrunning the men who searched for them had been paramount, and he’d like to believe he did it to keep Charles safe, but the truth was, he kept going each day, knowing the time would come when he’d be able to return to London…and Sybil.

  That day had come, but was he too late?

  If their brief time together at the ball was any indication, he wasn’t too late.

  After he’d left the ball, he developed a plan. He would speak privately with Lichfield and tell him as much as he could without putting the earl in danger, and then he’d spend the rest of his life making amends for his disappearance.

  Was it too much to hope that Lady X’s latest gossip sheet would put an end to the Duke of Garwood’s courtship?

  Gideon hoped it would; however, he would only blame himself if it were at the expense of Sybil’s reputation.

  The shuffling of boots and the thump of a cane announced Charles’ arrival long before he made it down the hall to Gideon’s study with the help of a footman.

  Turning from the fire, Gideon suppressed his own troubles as he called for his friend to enter.

  “I hadn’t knocked yet,” Charles laughed as he walked across the threshold, assisted by only the cane. “How did you know it was I?”

  In response, Gideon only lifted a single brow.

  “Oh, this damned thing?” Charles lifted the cane and shook it. “If I weren’t a burden before, this cane certainly makes my infirmity all the more obvious.”

  Gideon strode across the room and helped Charles to the large, overstuffed chair closest to the fire. If Gideon thought the last year was difficult, he could only imagine the horrors heaped upon his friend after being taken and forced into service nine years ago.

  Gideon had given up one year of his life and returned whole. Charles, on the other hand, had forfeited nearly a decade and escaped, only to be crippled. Both in his mind and in his body.

  “At least you no longer have to contend with the swell and dip of the ocean currents.” Gideon sat in the chair beside his friend, savoring the comfort of having Charles back in his life. “I think, all things considered, you are luckier than most men.”

  Charles tossed his cane, and it skidded across the wooden floor until it hit the wall beside the hearth. “A damned inconvenience, I assure you. And a burden to you.”

  “That couldn’t be further from the truth,” Gideon said, staring into the flames. So many times, Gideon remembered that fateful night: two friends in London for the first time as men—drinking, carousing, and merriment. They’d been several ales in when the recruiter joine
d their conversation in the tavern. Gideon had known the area was unsafe, yet, he’d been convinced he was invincible in his youth. A turn about the docks had sounded like jolly fun. The man, a British naval recruiter, had tricked both Gideon and Charles that night. “You will remain here in London until I gain word from the Admiralty Court.”

  “And after that?” Charles asked, pinching the bridge of his nose. It had become a habit for the man, and he’d told Gideon it was the only thing that could stave off the headaches that assaulted him day and night.

  Gideon clasped his hands in his lap. “You are free to remain with me in London, or retire to our childhood home in Northumberland.” Neither of them would be traveling anywhere until Gideon had proof that no one searched for them. “Once I have word that there is no longer a bounty being offered for your return, it will be your choice what comes next.”

  Charles chuckled. “My choice? I’m the son of a steward—a commoner—with not a shilling to my name and a damaged leg. My choices are limited, to say the least.”

  “What is mine, is yours,” Gideon retorted. “Everything. My homes, my coffers, even my stables.”

  “What happened wasn’t your fault, Giddy,” Charles said with a sigh. He leaned his head back against the chair and closed his eyes.

  Gideon had always loathed the nickname his mother had bestowed on him during his infancy, and once he’d moved to London permanently, he’d thought the moniker forgotten. However, if it gave Charles some semblance of normalcy, then Gideon would gladly answer to Giddy for all his remaining days.

  “We both know it was I who begged you to accompany me about town that night. And we also know that if I hadn’t gone on and on about my status as a viscount’s son, you would not have been targeted by the press gang because of your status as a steward’s progeny.” It was what he’d told himself all these years, and why Gideon had lost the need for boastful proclamation. His friend had been taken because the man at the docks discovered that Gideon was of noble birth, and therefore, out of reach. The British Navy needed sailors to fight in the colonies and against Napoleon, and they hadn’t been against taking their own countrymen to fill the vacant ships. “It was because I dragged you to the tavern by the docks. Because I was an arrogant man in my youth. Because I drank too much and therefore couldn’t fight off your captor.”