Duke of Scandal

by Adele Ashworth

  That should suffice for a moment, he decided.

  Silence reigned among them once more as music from the ballroom drifted into the enclosure.

  “Grand-père Marcotte,” Olivia began seconds later, “I believe there are some things we need to inform you about your granddaughter’s betrothed.”

  Sam noticed that for the first time since he’d made his appearance, Edmund turned his attention away from him as he shifted his gaze to Olivia, his skin tone changing from ghastly white to red in a second’s flash.

  Marcotte crossed his arms over his chest and replied, “I’m waiting.”

  Olivia drew in a deep breath for confidence and dropped his hand, taking a step forward, partially blocking his body, arms at her sides. “I met Edmund last summer, in Paris. My aunt Claudette introduced us.”

  They all glanced to the Countess Renier, whose face had grown as pink as her gown. “I—That’s not entirely true—”

  “Of course it’s true. Stop lying, Aunt Claudette,” Olivia ordered, her poise completely returned to her.

  Claudette gasped, looking her up and down. “I’m not lying.”

  Olivia scoffed. “You’ve lied from the beginning.”

  Marcotte rubbed a palm harshly down his face as he began to grasp the complexities of the relationships, and certainly dreading the outcome.

  Brigitte had started to realize it, too, for she dropped her tight grasp of Edmund’s arm and took a step back and away from him.

  “Is… is he your husband?” Brigitte asked Olivia in a timid, low voice, her eyes widening to round pools of shock.

  Claudette flung an arm in dramatic flair, then slammed her hands down on her hips. “Of course he’s not. That’s a ridiculous notion.”

  “Actually, I am,” Sam replied through a sigh of annoyance, the prevarication coming as easily and naturally to him as breathing.

  Nobody did or said anything for a moment or two, then Edmund straightened his shoulders and pulled down on his lapels in an effort to redeem his questionable honor.

  “She’s not married to him, Ives-Francois,” he said, at last speaking, directing his attention to Marcotte. “She’s lying, he’s lying, and knowing my brother, he’s come all the way to Grasse to purposely ruin my plans to marry your granddaughter by repeating half-truths and nonsense to confuse everybody.” He looked back at Sam, his gaze spilling over with intense hostility he couldn’t hide. “It’s just part of his nature.”

  Sam stared at him from across the carpeted floor, his rage increasing with every beat of his pounding heart. “Why don’t you explain to your bride-to-be and her grandfather exactly how you came to know my wife, brother,” he charged, his voice hard and coarse. “Enlighten them.”

  “Yes, enlighten them,” Olivia repeated, tipping her head to the side and placing her hands on her hips. “I’d adore hearing your telling of the events.”

  Tension, thick as day-old gravy, surrounded them, igniting the air.

  “Edmund?” Marcotte exhorted.

  Edmund stared at Sam with narrowed eyes of undisguised fury, his jaw flexing as he warned, “Don’t do this, Samson.”

  It was a defining moment for all of them. Then, in a grating tone of sheer disgust, Sam countered, “The lying stops here, Edmund. Now. All of it.”

  For a second or two Edmund’s face grew so red with frustration and ire, Sam thought he might lunge at him.

  “I am marrying Brigitte Marcotte,” Edmund asserted in a dark whisper, hands tightly fisted at his sides, nostrils flaring, lips thinned to one long slit. “That is the only truth to say.”

  Olivia suddenly bristled, and Sam placed his hands on her shoulders for reassurance.

  “Grand-père Marcotte,” she stressed, her voice surprisingly steady, “your future grandson-in-law lied to me from the moment we met. He said he loved me, he courted me and arranged a fake marriage—”

  “Olivia!” Edmund thundered.

  “—and then the night of our contrived wedding,” she went on, her determination undaunted, “when I was waiting to consummate that marriage, he left me. He took a fabricated marriage license, went to my banker, and withdrew the sum of my inheritance as only my husband could, then left the city, apparently traveling here to begin the process once again, courting the heiress of the Govance fortune.”

  Brigitte let out a whimper of shock, looking as though she might actually faint. On unsteady legs she moved farther away from Edmund, then collapsed on a velveteen settee in a heap of purple skirts.

  Marcotte simply gaped at Olivia, stunned beyond words; Edmund raged inwardly, knowing the pretense had finally been exposed; Claudette appeared as her imperious self, swishing her fan in front of her face.

  Olivia ignored it all, pursuing her revelation without pause.

  “Once I realized he’d left me,” she continued bitterly, “taking my funds for Nivan to places unknown, I went searching for him, assuming he’d returned to England where he could live a lavish lifestyle spending my fortune. That’s when I met his brother Sam, who, unbeknownst to me, was Edmund’s twin.”

  She laughed with a lingering anguish she couldn’t hide, then turned her attention to the man who’d scorned her.

  “Imagine my surprise, Edmund. Imagine my humiliation when I thought he was you because I had no idea you had a twin.” She shuddered, drawing in a sharp breath. “He, however, was a gentleman to me, offering to help me find you and expose you for what you really are.”

  Directing her diatribe solely to Edmund now, she ignored the others as if they weren’t even present in the room.

  “You used me,” she charged through clenched teeth. “You used me, lied to me, and cheated me, and I simply cannot allow you to do that to another naive lady, especially one I personally know and care for.” She straightened and glanced to Claudette at last. “The only thing I have yet to learn is whether this despicable scheme was your idea or my aunt’s—”

  Claudette gasped.

  “—a woman I thought loved me as family. A woman who I’ve since learned has been your lover for years.” She paused, then said with solid disgust, “You and she belong together.”

  For long hours, it seemed, nobody said a word. The anger from everyone present pervaded the room to heights Sam didn’t think possible, charging the air to levels of unreality.

  “You little bitch!” Claudette spouted, throwing her fan at Olivia, only to hit the hem of her skirt.

  Startled by the animosity, Sam pulled her against him, tightening his grip on her shoulders. “Speak to her again like that, madam,” Sam warned in a resonant, controlled fury, “and I’ll slap that smirk right off your face.”

  His tone was so cold, his manner so direct and intimidating, Claudette actually staggered back a step, stunned into speechlessness.

  Marcotte stared at Edmund, his posture rigid as steel. “Is this true?” he asked tautly.

  “Of course it’s true,” Olivia piped in, exasperated.

  The old man cast her a fast glance. “I need to hear it from Edmund, Olivia.”

  Edmund looked at Sam, his features overflowing with hatred, his lips curled into a sneer so tight his lips had whitened.

  “I love Brigitte,” he said forcefully through closed teeth.

  “I know you’re trying to be convincing, but that’s not an answer,” Sam remarked.

  Edmund slowly shook his head. “You’ve always managed to ruin everything I’ve ever cherished in my life. Why do you do that, brother? Because I’m gentle with the ladies? Because they’ve always taken to me more?”

  Sam’s eyes narrowed. “Everything that’s ever gone wrong in your life, Edmund, has been your doing.” He quickly glanced to Claudette. “Yours and hers.”

  “My doing?” she blurted.

  “Yes, yours, too, apparently,” Olivia drawled. “Tell me, Aunt Claudette, why are you here? What made you decide to come to Grasse this week as opposed to any other?”

  Claudette looked confused for a moment, then brushed the questions
aside. “I went to visit Nivan, and Normand mentioned where you’d run off to.”

  “Normand?” Olivia repeated, incredulous.

  Claudette shrugged. “He happened to comment on it in passing, that’s all.”

  Sam heard her suck in a breath, and he gently kneaded her shoulders to lend his support, feeling her stiffen beneath his fingers anyway.

  “Well, then,” she charged, in complete command, “Normand is no longer under my employ. And you, dearest Aunt, are never to step foot in my boutique again.”

  That enraged Claudette anew, though Sam couldn’t be certain whether it stemmed from Olivia’s determination and denial of her aunt’s right to enter the store her brother had owned or from Olivia’s shift in manner, so forthright and swift.

  Slowly, Claudette began to walk toward them, her eyes thinned to slits, nostrils flaring, her mouth turned down into an ugly little frown.

  “Tell me, darling Sam, have you mentioned the love affair you and I had to Olivia?”

  That came out of nowhere, causing gasps around the room. All except for Edmund, who actually chuckled.

  “You’re a pathetic excuse for a noblewoman, Claudette,” he whispered, his tone like ice.

  That didn’t faze her in the least. “No? Well, I think she deserves to know the truth.” She glanced around the room, arms wide. “We are revealing truths, are we not? And you have several dirty little secrets to share.”

  Oh, God. Sam felt his pulse begin to race.

  “Stop this nonsense. Of course he’s told me the whole sordid tale,” Olivia said in a shaky voice, trying to be blasé about the issue as she lied for him, though Sam felt her start to tremble tenuously beneath his hands.

  Be brave, my sweet, beautiful Livi.

  Marcotte immediately realized Claudette was pushing beyond the limits of decency. With firm resolve he maintained, “I’d like you to leave, Madame Comtesse. Now.”

  Claudette fumed, rigidly set, glaring at him. “I’m not going anywhere until my niece hears about the baby.”

  Brigitte, whom everyone had seemed to forget, suddenly shrieked from her position on the settee.

  Marcotte turned pale. “What baby?”

  “Leave now, madam,” Sam warned, his deep voice reverberating through the walls, “or you will forever regret the day you met me.”

  “I already regret it,” she retorted. “You can’t scare me, Samson.”

  “What baby!” Marcotte bellowed.

  “Samson and Claudette’s baby,” Edmund drawled, a sly expression bathing his face.

  Without a word, Olivia tried to pull away from him, but he clenched his hands hard on her shoulders, tightly reining her in.

  “You’ve always been a bastard, Edmund,” he said, his voice a deadly whisper.

  Claudette clapped her hands together in malicious glee. “Oh goodness, Olivia, dear, I see from your poor pale face that you didn’t know Sam and I had a little one together.” Her brows rose as she looked at him again. “I wonder why he didn’t tell you?”

  Sam swallowed his rage. If he weren’t so fearful of Olivia running, he’d let her go, take three steps forward, and kill the woman.

  “Shut up, Claudette,” he warned, clinging to Olivia, who’d started to shake.

  Claudette only blinked in feigned shock. “What? And not tell her everything?” She laughed. “It seems you’ve been keeping some secrets of your own, darling Sam.”

  Marcotte seemed to quickly gather his thoughts. He straightened, arms at his sides, then walked to within inches of the countess.

  “This has nothing to do with my granddaughter. I’m asking you politely, once again, to leave.”

  Claudette glanced to Edmund. “Darling? I suggest you tell him everything.”

  Edmund’s features relaxed a little, and he gazed at the countess with nothing short of pity in his eyes. “I’m going to marry Brigitte, regardless of what I’ve done in the past, and regardless of why I came to Grasse to meet her.”

  Claudette didn’t say anything for a moment or two, then murmured, “No, you’re not.”

  “Yes, I am,” he countered brusquely.

  Claudette looked truly confused, glancing around the room to each of their faces. And then fierce conviction returned; she lifted her chin to bitterly reveal, “Everything Olivia said is true. Edmund and I have been lovers for years, and we planned this ruse to woo the Govance heiress strictly for her inheritance. Edmund is only claiming love to keep his sniveling ass out of prison for fraud.”

  Brigitte gasped.

  “Why?” Sam asked Claudette. It was a simple question, but also the central issue upon which they hadn’t yet touched in this horrid yarn. “What is the point of choosing perfume heiresses when you’ve never wanted for anything in your entire life?”

  “Because I want control of the industry, the riches, the supply houses, to control what sells and what does not. I should have been given Nivan at my brother’s death. I am the rightful heir. Edmund agreed with me, and we… we decided that by having him court and pretend to marry the heiresses of Nivan and Govance, though I may not get complete control, with the Empress Eugenie as my patron, I would be the one with status. I would be in charge of what should have been mine.”

  Marcotte actually chuckled as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “That’s the most ludicrous thing I’ve ever heard.”

  Claudette turned scarlet again. “And yet it’s the truth.”

  “Madame Comtesse,” Marcotte said with ease, looking at her directly, “nothing you could do would give you control of the perfume industry, and certainly not the kind patronage of the empress. How can anyone guarantee what her tastes will be next Season? Boutiques and supply houses are bought, sold, or traded constantly, or they stay in families, as mine has, as Nivan has.” He shot Edmund an angry glance. “As for the part about stealing inheritances, I’d have to say that dear Olivia, who has obviously been greatly hurt by the two of you, could and should report you both to the authorities, though I suppose your titles give you more respect than you deserve.”

  Claudette just looked at him; Edmund closed his eyes and slowly shook his head, clearly feeling the sudden loss of everything he’d tried to gain by cheating.

  Brigitte started crying on the settee.

  “I am in love with Brigitte!” Edmund fairly shouted. He looked at Olivia. “Regardless of what I’ve done.”

  “You don’t deserve her,” the old man said in reply.

  At that moment Sam actually pitied his brother.

  Then standing with rigid bearing once more, Marcotte looked hard at Claudette.

  “You have done enough,” he said. “You will leave my estate and never step foot near Govance again, madame. You will leave now or I shall throw you out on your wicked, deceitful ass.”

  Claudette took a step away from him, thoroughly appalled.

  He grabbed her arm. “Now!”

  And then with incredible strength that defied his age, Marcotte dragged her, hoops and all, to the door, opened it, and shoved her out, closing it behind him.

  If it were any other circumstance, Sam would have applauded.

  The silence became deafening. Brigitte cried quietly on the settee, Edmund glared at him again, though now looking like a wounded animal. And the greatest love, the greatest woman he had ever known in his life stood in front of him, still trembling, refusing to look at him, emanating raw emotions he thought might actually crush him. But he would not discuss it here, only to embarrass her even more in front of the Govance patriarch, in front of Edmund and Brigitte.

  Drawing a deep, full breath, he stood erect and broke the silence.

  “Monsieur Marcotte,” he said with regal stature, “I offer you my sincerest apologies for the unfortunate events of this night. But the fact remains that I refused to see my brother abuse another lady as he did my wife.”

  Olivia tried to pull away from him again, but he held her fast.

  “Especially one as lovely and innocent as your granddaughter.
”

  Brigitte sniffed, offering him a faint smile.

  Marcotte regarded him with narrowed eyes, then nodded once as he simply replied, “Your grace. You are welcome in my house.”

  Sam hadn’t expected that, which made him wonder why the old man hadn’t yet thrown Edmund out on his deceitful, wicked ass, either.

  “Now,” Marcotte expelled through a forced breath, pulling down on his evening jacket, “it seems I have a decision to make.”

  He strode with purpose to Edmund, who now actually looked sheepish and ridiculous in his expensive black evening suit, probably paid for by Olivia’s stolen money.

  Without restraint, Marcotte asked, “Have you bedded my granddaughter?”

  Olivia sucked in a breath; Brigitte jumped off the settee, her face as white as graveyard lilies. To his credit, Edmund appeared confused and a trifle shaken by the question.

  “I beg your pardon?” he blurted.

  Although Edmund stood nearly half a foot taller than the Frenchman, he shrank from the man’s intensity.

  Very slowly Marcotte repeated, “Have you bedded my granddaughter?”

  Brigitte came to his rescue, moving to Edmund’s side and taking his hand. “Grand-père, your question is completely inappropriate.”

  The old man looked down at her briefly. “Stay out of this, child,” he warned in a whisper.

  She swallowed, her eyes large as saucers.

  He looked back at Edmund. “Answer me!”

  “I love her,” he replied, his voice dangerously low.

  “Does that mean yes?”

  Edmund’s eyes never wavered. “Yes.”

  With that, Marcotte pulled his arm back, then shot it forward, ramming his fist into Edmund’s jaw.

  “Grand-père!” Brigitte screeched, her mouth hanging open as Edmund grunted and fell back, his shoulder slamming into the edge of the mantelpiece before he toppled to the floor.

  Sam stared in astonishment. A man nearly eighty years of age had just bested his brother, something he’d wanted to do for years. His admiration for Marcotte grew immensely at that moment.

  The old man rubbed his fist, then shook it out, gazing down at the two of them, Brigitte mortified as she bent down and lifted Edmund’s shoulders off the floor, Edmund shaking himself, bewildered and in pain.