Duke of Scandal

by Adele Ashworth

  “Please, enjoy yourselves this evening,” the man said in French before turning his attention to the next guest in the queue.

  “Oh, and Olivia, darling,” the countess added as they took a step toward the dance floor, “your aunt should be here shortly. I know she was thrilled to learn you were back in town and with your husband.” She placed her gloved palm on Olivia’s shoulder. “And of course we all know she would never miss one of my parties.”

  Olivia groaned within. She very much disliked her late stepfather’s sister, a woman who enjoyed her drink as much as she coveted what was left of Olivia’s family inheritance. But then duty required that she pretend just the opposite, and she would never mention her disdain to anyone socially.

  “How wonderful,” she replied brightly. “I shall look forward to seeing her, Madame Comtesse.” She glanced up to Sam, who was looking at her with a peculiar lift of his brows. “Shall we get some champagne, darling?”

  He nodded once, smiling with an abundance of charm, as Edmund would. “Of course. And then, we dance.”

  Olivia placed a hand on his slightly raised arm and together they worked their way through the throngs of guests toward the far east wall where large oblong windows stood open, allowing the nighttime breeze to offer a bit of relief to the stuffy ballroom. Footmen in crimson livery stood beneath them, dishing out plates of hors d’oeuvres and pouring a never-ending supply of champagne. Sam led her toward the corner, where he reached for two freshly filled crystal flutes from a silver tray, handing one to her.

  Olivia took a sip or two to calm her nerves, savoring the taste that was nothing short of delicious. He, however, just held his glass, watching her closely, acting as if there were no one else in the ballroom.

  “Who is your aunt?” he asked after a moment.

  She was afraid he’d want to know. “My late stepfather’s sister. A nuisance of a lady who enjoys her wine and gentlemen too much for comment.” She sighed. “You’ll certainly meet her tonight, and”—she looked him up and down—”she’ll very much like you.”

  He raised his brows, smiling wryly. “Oh? Then I shall enjoy getting to know her.”

  She almost snorted. “No you won’t. On that you can trust me.”

  He chuckled again, and Olivia decided she thoroughly adored it when he laughed.

  Tipping his head to the side, he asked, “So why do you expect her to like me in particular?”

  She closed her eyes and pinched her lips together briefly. He was intentionally baiting her, but she supposed she couldn’t keep it from him. He would know soon enough. After another long sip of champagne, she replied lightly, “Because she blatantly flirted with my husband in the company of anyone, including me.”

  Such an admission embarrassed her, and Olivia turned her gaze to the north wall of the ballroom, staring without interest at the row of elegantly carved giltwood mirrors that reflected an array of color and the brightness of a thousand candles.

  “I want to dance with you,” he said after a moment, his tone deep and almost caressing.

  Relieved that he’d changed the subject, she planted a smile on her lips and inhaled fully as she once again looked up at his face. “You know I’d enjoy that.”

  The intensity of his gaze captured hers. “As would I, Livi.”

  She shivered inside from the silky smooth way he said her name, from the odd way he looked at her, as if they shared an intimate secret that was theirs alone and always would be. But it also reminded her of their shared interest in the ball this night, their sole reason for being here.

  She took a step forward, closing the distance between them, holding her fan in one hand, the stem of her champagne flute in the other. He didn’t move, didn’t take his eyes off her.

  “I have to tell you something that I probably should have told you before now,” she said, her voice carrying just above the din of the party, of the orchestra, which now began playing a minuet. “As much as I… enjoy hearing you call me Livi, Edmund refused to do so, and everybody knew it.” She cleared her throat. “You called me that in front of Normand the other day, though I doubt he would have noticed such a discrepancy since he wasn’t around Edmund all that terribly much. But you probably shouldn’t use the name when we’re around others. Just to be safe.”

  He didn’t react much, she observed, which meant he didn’t understand or perhaps was simply trying to. She shifted from one foot to the other, starting to feel uncomfortably warm beneath her agonizingly tight stays, then took another sip of her champagne.

  “You should have told me this before,” he replied seconds later.

  She exhaled a fast breath. “I know. It’s just that I…” She swallowed. “I—”

  “Enjoy it when I call you that,” he finished for her, repeating her own acknowledgment.

  The uncomfortable heat rose to her face, and she opened her fan for the first time that evening, gently swishing it in front of her. “Yes, I admit I do. It’s what my mother called me, my father, very close friends. Edmund simply didn’t like it. But when you say it, it’s…” She glanced around to see if anyone watched the awkward moment between them, noting with relief that the ballroom guests carried on as if they weren’t even present in the room. “I don’t know. I can’t explain it.”

  “I can. It’s intimate.”

  Her eyes shot back to his face. Shaking her head, she explained, “No, it’s simply more… informal, familial, and where you and I are… relations, it only makes sense that you would use it.”

  He smirked. “But it’s also more intimate, and I like it. For that reason.”

  “I think I would like to dance now,” she said, forcing a pleasant smile.

  “However,” he continued, ignoring her subject change, “per your gracious request, I will refrain from calling you Livi when we are in the company of others. Just as from this moment on you will never again—anywhere—call me ‘brother.’ “

  That completely confused her. He was her brother by law.

  “Agreed?” he prodded.

  She bit her bottom lip, then acquiesced. “Agreed.”

  “And,” he added, lowering his voice and stepping close enough to her that her skirts draped his legs and his head angled above hers, “when we are in any intimate situation where I shall be able to call you Livi, you will call me Sam. Not ‘brother,’ not ‘sir,’ not ‘your grace,’ and never Edmund. Just Sam.”

  She couldn’t help but gape at him.

  “Unless,” he amended with a shrug, stepping back a bit, “you’d prefer to call me by some other endearment, in which case I would be most… pleased.”

  An endearment? Pleased?

  Suddenly he smiled—a breathtakingly gorgeous smile that made her knees weaken.

  “Let’s dance, my beautiful Lady Olivia,” he said in a near whisper.

  Without giving her an opportunity to object or comment further, he took her champagne glass and placed it along with his, which he hadn’t touched, on a buffet table two steps to his right. Then he offered her his arm and she placed her palm on it without thought.

  He moved toward the center of the ballroom floor as she closed her fan. Then she was in his arms and twirling to the sound of an expertly played and beautiful waltz.

  Vaguely, she became aware of others watching them, and she supposed they had to make a striking pair, especially with his enormous height, which, thankfully, she matched without feeling too overwhelmed. He kept his eyes on her, leading her perfectly in time to the music. He was a marvelous dancer, and again the differences between this man and her husband became apparent. Edmund could dance as well as anyone, but Sam remained focused, seemingly absorbed in her; Edmund’s mind often seemed to be elsewhere, as if he’d rather be mingling. The more she knew this man, the more her relationship with her husband troubled her.

  “Tell me of your family,” he murmured, lowering his mouth to her ear.

  She pulled back a bit in surprise. “My family?”

  He smirked. “Let’s
just say I’m more interested in your past than the perfume flavor of the season.”

  She grinned. “They’re not flavors, dear man, they’re scents.”

  “Ah. Yes, of course.”

  He twirled her in time to the music, though Olivia noticed that he was gradually moving them toward the balcony doors, for which she was quite glad. She desperately needed the breeze.

  “Well then, since we’re discussing it, which scent are you wearing tonight?” he asked moments later.

  She realized he couldn’t care any less, but thankful for the mundane topic, she yielded to his desire to know. “I’m wearing a vanilla-based spice with just a hint of citrus for color.”

  “Hmm. Sounds edible.”

  She giggled, throwing her head back a little, and with that he pulled her tighter against him, her torso in contact with his so that her hoops pushed out behind her. Being so close was positively indecent, and yet she refused to back away from his powerful embrace. She simply didn’t want to move.

  “Tell me, darling Olivia, do you…bathe in these fragrances as well?” he asked huskily.

  She blinked at him, shocked that he would imagine such a thing, smacking his shoulder lightly with her fan. “That, good husband, is certainly none of your business,” she returned altogether too coyly, utterly enjoying his company, a grin still upon her lips. “And I refuse to allow you to nibble at my skin to find out.”

  It took her seconds to realize what she’d said, and then it hit her with the force of a windstorm. She stiffened against him, her eyes widening with concern. She’d gone too far.

  “I’m sorry—”

  “Just dance with me, Olivia,” he cut in, his tone thoughtful, even remote.

  His smile had faded as well but he didn’t loosen his grip. If anything he held her tighter against him, his gaze traveling across her face, her hair and shoulders, then pausing briefly at her lips before returning to meet her eyes once more. He felt unbelievably powerful in her arms, his muscles large and solid, harder than she’d imagined, his facial features defined and ruggedly handsome. Irresistible. Such observations made her remarkably breathless.

  They slowed their movements to a standstill as the waltz ended only minutes later, though she couldn’t bring herself to pull away from him. Not yet. She inhaled deeply to calm her speeding heartbeat as she continued to hold him in her grasp, as she felt his arm behind her at her waist, her gloved palm in his as he held it against his chest, noting how he’d worn the fragrance she’d selected for him and that it suited him divinely.

  “Would you like some air?” he asked, interrupting her thoughts of him with a delicate hint of reality.

  Immediately, she took a step away from him, her cheeks flushed, her body hot, her senses heightened to levels she didn’t at all comprehend. He released her and she blinked quickly, lowering her gaze to her gown, fluffing her skirts, more for something to do to escape the awkwardness she felt than for any other reason.

  Then, as if the lights had been dimmed for hours and were suddenly raised to blaring extremes, she realized they stood on the parquet floor surrounded by party guests who attempted to dance around them.

  “Shall we walk, darling?” she asked, her mind whirling even as she lifted her shoulders to express a regal composure never lost, squeezing her fan at her bodice with both hands.

  She could have sworn he wanted to laugh. She saw it in his eyes.

  “To the balcony, Lady Olivia?” he asked with consummate charm.

  Her senses gradually returning, she gave him a tight smile. “Wonderful.” Lowering her voice, she added, “My aunt will be here shortly—she always makes a grand entrance—and I would prefer to delay your introduction as long as possible.” It was a weak excuse, but he seemed to believe it.

  He smiled, a truly engaging smile full of genuine humor. “Afraid I might not live up to a husband’s expectations?”

  She took his arm and they turned toward the large French doors in the distance. “I refuse to even answer that.”

  He laughed aloud as he escorted her to open air.

  Chapter 10

  Sam had no idea what the hell was wrong with him, though he hoped a walk in the outside air would clear his head enough to enlighten him. After a week of suffering periods of complete boredom saved only by Olivia’s vibrant personality and desire to keep him engrossed in the day-to-day operations of Nivan, for which he possessed almost no interest at all, he was truly looking forward to this night where he could begin to do something, or at the very least learn something that would lead him to Edmund. He should be speaking to those who knew his brother, both socially and professionally as the husband of Nivan’s proprietor, gauging their reactions, their responses, hoping for a slip of the tongue. Not dancing. He loathed dancing, which made his desire to waltz with her even more suspect in his mind. Instead of being rational and taking this night seriously, he’d thus far behaved like a schoolboy with an infatuation to match the best of them. And considering his experience with women, and the fact that he now neared the age of thirty-five, he really did know better. Even now he should be inside, mingling, talking, even separating from Olivia for a good portion of the evening to learn what he could without her interference, innocent though it might be.

  But he had to admit that his brother’s wife had left him speechless on more than one occasion these last few hours. First when she stood before him in her apartments, dressed to elegant perfection, stunning him with a profound beauty enhanced by a poise unmatched; next when she laughed at something he said as if she truly enjoyed him; and of course nothing could compare to the rush of sensations he felt when she mentioned the notion of him nibbling at her skin. He tried very hard to rid himself of the vision of her coming to him dripping wet from a scented bath, then letting him taste her warm, soft body over every curve and under every delectable hidden inch of her.

  But what disturbed him most of all was the way she clung to him when they danced, the way she fit so splendidly in his arms, the way she looked at him, her eyes full of confusion and desire, probably all beyond her awareness, or so he preferred to think. He wasn’t used to a woman being at one moment innocent and inviting, especially when he’d never met a woman who didn’t want something from him. It occurred to him that Olivia might want him, or more correctly need him, in her attempt to find Edmund and save her business, but only in a strictly naive, brotherly relationship. No wonder she felt confused.

  The warm night air caressed his skin, helping him relax, to come to terms with this new awareness, to bring his mind back to the reality at hand. She walked silently beside him now after stopping twice, very briefly, to speak to couples she knew socially as they exited the ballroom. He’d followed her lead and acted exactly as Edmund would have, and he had to give her credit for helping him along by saying, “You remember Monsieur Levesque, don’t you, darling?” or “I think we had dinner at Madame Valois’s estate last September, isn’t that right?” To which he replied with all of Edmund’s false charm, “Of course, Madame Valois, and aren’t you looking as lovely as ever.” Yes, quite the actor, he was. He just wished he didn’t have to pretend to be the brother who had ruined his reputation and stolen his lover all those years ago. And now he had Olivia on his arm, Edmund’s wife, or so she believed. God, what to do with her—

  “What are you thinking?”

  She’d asked the question softly, her voice cutting into his irritating reflections as she paused by the balcony’s edge to glance up at his face, brushing a lock of breeze-blown hair from her forehead with gloved fingers.

  He leaned against the iron railing, resting his elbows on top, clasping his hands together as he turned his head to regard her. “I’m thinking I’m a marvelous actor. I should work on the stage.”

  She laughed quietly, rotating her body so that she, too, faced the floral array and grassy hillside that stretched out for miles to the east toward the rising moon. “In some very perverse way it is fun, isn’t it? Pretending to be married to sni
ff out your brother, and what might remain of my inheritance.” She inhaled deeply and lowered her gaze to the fountain, lit up by torchlight and gurgling just beneath the balcony. “We’ll probably need to socialize more if we’re to learn anything at all tonight.”

  He thought they’d learned a lot already, though not a bit of it had to do with Edmund. “I think I’m up to the challenge,” he maintained, rubbing his palms together in front of him.

  “Are you,” she stated rather than asked, a note of amusement creeping into her voice again. “Even so,” she carried on affably, “I don’t think you should leave Durham for a life with a traveling company.”

  He slapped his hand against his chest in feigned shock. “Madam, you wound me. You think I lack talent?”

  “Oh, I know you’re quite talented.” She gave him a sideways peek, grinning slyly. “I only mean that your… best talents obviously lay elsewhere.”

  “Indeed, they do,” he agreed, watching her closely.

  After a brief pause, she relaxed into her stays and looked away, her face half hidden in shadow. “I think your best talents are in teasing unsuspecting ladies.”

  Her keenness intrigued as much as it surprised him. “I’ll have you know, Olivia Shea, formerly of Elmsboro, that I have never, in all my years, been accused of teasing a woman in any flattering manner. I’ve been accused of being far too serious to entertain them, or of ignoring them altogether. But never flattery.” He very slowly moved closer to her, feeling her skirts brush against his shins. “So I suppose, in that regard, you are my first.”

  “Your first?” She smiled, but didn’t look at him. “I rather doubt that, Sam. I’m sure you attract the ladies no matter what you say or do. Your personality is far too magnetic. That’s the tease, and where your individual charm lies.”

  Sam couldn’t recall a time when a compliment warmed him as this one did, and she’d said it as if it were merely a passing thought. “I’m very different from Edmund,” he murmured, feeling an urgent need to stress what they both knew was obvious.