A Winter Scandal

by Candace Camp

  “’Twasn’t scandal I was thinking of,” the housekeeper retorted. “I know you’re not the sort to lose your head even over a man who looks like sin walking, which his lordship does.” She paused, then added softly, “It’s your heart I’m worried about, Miss Althea.”

  “Nonsense. I didn’t cut my eyeteeth yesterday, you know. I’m not likely to lose my heart to any man, much less an arrogant wastrel like Lord Morecombe. My heart is firmly under lock and key and has been for years.”

  Matthew chose that moment to let out a coo and reach up to pat Thea’s cheek. She looked down at his cherubic face, and the organ in question seemed to swell in her chest. She was lying, she knew. She could hold her heart secure from Gabriel Morecombe, she felt sure of that, but it had already been lost to this young man.

  Smiling at him, she bent to kiss his head. His soft curls tickled her cheek. What would she do if Matthew did turn out to be Gabriel’s nephew? She would have to do the right thing and let him take his place with his family. But how would she be able to give him up?

  Gabriel strode down the street, heading back to the inn where he had stabled his horse this morning. He had not really meant to ask Miss Bainbridge to accompany him tomorrow on his search for Jocelyn, but somehow the words had slipped out. He had already spent the better part of a day in her company, and in general he was disinclined to call on any lady two days in a row. It was not a wise practice to visit a woman frequently, for they (or their relatives) were likely to begin to have hopes about the possibility of marriage—and Gabriel had no interest in marrying, at least not anytime soon. Someday, of course, when he was older and ready to raise a family, to fulfill his duty as Lord Morecombe, he would find a suitable lady and ask her to marry him.

  But that day was far away still. There were still too many things to do and enjoy to shackle himself to a wife. Being a man who enjoyed the company of women, he certainly did not avoid them, but he was careful to keep his attentions to eligible girls brief and light. He might flirt and dance and escort women to a ball or a play now and then, but he avoided young girls just making their come-outs, and he made sure that he did not pay too much attention to any eligible woman. There were, after all, plenty of willing widows as well as actresses and opera dancers who understood the rules of the game and with whom he could spend all the time he chose.

  Althea Bainbridge was definitely not one of those women.

  He had to smile to himself. Althea was the daughter and sister of vicars, and she was unmarried. Not just unmarried, but a spinster of several years, a veritable ape leader. Such a woman was exactly the sort to stay away from, the kind who would start spinning dreams out of moonlight, turning a flirtatious exchange into an incipient proposal of matrimony.

  And yet … he had not been able to stop himself from asking her to spend the next day with him. It had been so easy with Althea today. Not awkward or boring. They had fit well together in the way they had questioned the innkeeper’s wife and the town gossip. It was odd how frequently she spoke the same thought he had or asked the question he wanted answered.

  When he had thought about riding over to Bynford by himself, the idea had not appealed. He liked her dry wit and her intelligence. She never seemed to fear offending him or to strive to please him. Being with her, he realized just how often other young women molded their conversation to his, echoing his opinions or asking what he thought instead of making a statement of their own. Not often could one talk with a woman who would give back as good as she got. And some who did, such as Rawdon’s sister, were far too icy for his taste. He could not imagine a woman like that reaching out to put a soothing hand on his arm and reassure him that he was not to blame for his sister’s fleeing her nuptials.

  Another thing was odd about his time with Miss Bainbridge. He had never told anyone, even his closest friends such as Ian or Myles, about his fear that he had pushed Jocelyn into marriage with Rawdon. Yet, after knowing this woman for less than two days, he was confessing the doubt that had ridden him for the past year. She did not seem the sort to whom he would want to tell his thoughts or secrets—she was starchy in manner and vaguely defiant in her speech. Nothing in her manner was especially warm or sympathetic. Indeed, she seemed more inclined to berate a man than to offer him comfort. Yet she had done exactly that, and her words had made all the more impression on him because of her no-nonsense manner.

  He reached the yard of the inn, and the ostler hurried to saddle and bring out his mount. Gabriel tossed the boy a coin and swung up onto his horse, turning him down the road toward the Priory. As he rode, he continued to think about Althea.

  He felt sure that any of his friends would be amazed to find he had any interest in her. But, given that he had given in to impulse and kissed her three times now, he could scarcely deny that he was drawn to her. She was not beautiful, it was true. But he found something in her looks intriguing. The unruly curls that kept pulling free of her pins and tumbling around her face tugged at him. They were neither red nor brown but something in between, the color of glossy mahogany, warm and inviting. He wanted to reach out and touch them, to feel their softness, to coil them around his fingers. Nor could he keep from wondering what she would look like with all her hair hanging loose around her shoulders. A man could sink his hands into that mass of curls. Bury his face in it and drink in the sweet scent of her. He had thought of doing exactly that thing more than once today as they went about their business.

  She was thin and spare and tall, not a woman to cuddle, but he could not keep from picturing her long legs wrapped around him, her slender form beneath him. Beauty was in the lines of her long body. And beauty was in the solemn depths of her gray eyes. Althea Bainbridge was not soft and winsome; she had no dimples and flutters and soft sighs. But something in the sharp, high lines of her cheekbones and the stubborn set of her chin appealed to him. And something more was inside her, some heat that glimmered now and then in her glance, like the wildness in her curls … and the passion of her kiss.

  Gabriel smiled sensually as he recalled kissing her this morning under the mistletoe, the way she had risen up to him, wrapping her arms around his neck. Without artifice or guile, she had kissed him back, the desire pure and sweet in her mouth. She had obviously been inexperienced, but the passion had flared hot in her, as swift and intense as a flame.

  The response in his own body had been equally fiery. Gabriel shifted a little in his saddle as he thought of the moment. An affair with the vicar’s sister in a small village was unthinkable. He could not give in to the temptation—he would not only be acting the cad but also embroiling himself in a scandal. There would be no hope of her behaving as a sophisticated London woman might. Still … he was no longer a raw lad. He could spend time with a woman, enjoy her company, and not give in to temptation. Althea seemed to be a sensible woman; she was mature and not at all fanciful. She would not assume that he was courting her just because he asked for her help in regards to the baby.

  A little warning voice sounded deep in his brain, pointing out that he was lying to himself. He was mad to even think of spending any more time with Althea Bainbridge. Gabriel grinned, kicking his horse into a trot. He could not deny it. Perhaps he was mad. But if he was, he intended to enjoy his madness to the fullest.

  Eight

  Thea frowned at the three dresses she had laid out on the bed before her—one dark blue, one brown, and one gray. They were all hopelessly dull. How, she wondered, could they be so uniformly dark and plain? She had once worn sprig muslin dresses, white as befitted a girl and patterned in pretty pastels. But that had been years ago, and those gowns had long since been consigned to the rag bin. Still, it did seem that she could have replaced them with something a bit … prettier.

  Why hadn’t she purchased some ribbons or lace from the traveling draper the last time he had come through town? Perhaps when she was in Bynford she could pick up a length of pale blue ribbon for the dark blue wool or a bit of blond lace to perk up the neckline of the br
own serge. While Lord Morecombe was talking to the tavern owner, she could slip away and—

  Thea turned and sat down on the bed beside her dresses. What in the world was she thinking? That would be an entirely vain thing to do, running off to buy such fripperies when he was engaged in the serious matter of searching for his sister. Besides, he would be bound to consider it foolish for a spinster such as her to be thinking of dresses and trims and such. It was one thing for a young girl, but quite another when it was a woman of her age and station. That was the very reason, after all, that she had stopped purchasing girlish materials and colors years ago. When one was twenty-seven years old, it hardly seemed appropriate to be concerned with ornamenting oneself, particularly if one was the vicar’s sister. And most particularly if one had never been a beauty to begin with.

  Stifling a little sigh, Thea picked up the gray dress. She held it for a moment against her breast, picturing for an instant going downstairs in the light blue merino wool that had once been her favorite. It had been a sweet dress with a soft ruffle around the neck and cuffs and a flounce just above the hem of the skirt. It was hopelessly outdated, of course, and she had stopped wearing it several years earlier, but she had been unable to give it away or put it in to be torn into rags. It still lay, folded, in the bottom of the cedar chest at the foot of her bed. No doubt it was some sort of sin to be so attached to a material thing, but Thea had always thought the color looked quite good with her skin and hair and gave her gray eyes the faintest bluish tinge.

  With a shake of her head, Thea dismissed the mental image and stood up to pull the gray dress over her head. She hooked it up the back and looked at herself in the mirror. This gown, of course, made her gray eyes look, well, gray. And the color did little for her skin. But it was silly to be concerned with how she looked. It was not as if she were accompanying Gabriel on a pleasure jaunt. Her cloak would cover up her dress most of the time, anyway. Still, she took down the better of her two bonnets from the shelf. After all, a woman had some pride.

  Downstairs, Thea ate breakfast with her brother. He did not ask how she intended to spend her day, and she did not offer the news. She would not have lied to Daniel, but it was just as well that he did not know she was riding in Lord Morecombe’s curricle to the next village. It would only worry him, and with any luck no one would see them and comment on it to Daniel. If they did—well, it would be all over by that time and nothing to be done about it.

  After breakfast Thea went into the kitchen looking for Matthew. Lolly had taken charge of the baby as soon as she arrived this morning, carrying him off to change and dress and feed him. It had been easier getting ready and eating without the baby, but Thea had missed him, and it made her heart swell with happiness when he grinned and raised his arms to her as soon as she stepped into the kitchen.

  She picked him up and carried him to the sitting room, where she sat down to play with him on the rug in front of the fire. Last night she had made a rudimentary doll for him out of pieces she’d found in the rag bag, and she had also dug out an old set of wooden blocks that had been tucked away in a chest in the attic. When the maid let Lord Morecombe into the house an hour later, that is how he found them, with Thea “walking” the doll across the rug toward Matthew and bouncing the doll up to “kiss” him as a finish. The “kiss” never failed to elicit a round of giggles from the baby.

  Thea did not hear Gabriel enter, but the baby turned his head and, catching sight of him, let out a little shriek. Thea turned to see Gabriel standing there watching her, and she felt suddenly warm all over. She scrambled to her feet.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t see you there. You should have said something.”

  “I enjoyed watching.”

  “Oh. Well.” Thea wasn’t entirely sure what he meant by that statement, so she made no reply, just busied herself with brushing a bit of lint from her skirts. “I, um, let me give Matthew to Lolly, then we can leave.”

  “Certainly.” Gabriel crossed the room in a few easy strides and swooped Matthew up, raising him high above his head. Matthew let out another shriek of sheer glee, so Gabriel lowered and raised him once more before he settled the baby into the crook of his arm.

  Watching them, Thea could not keep from smiling. “He likes you. You’re quite good with him.”

  “Am I?” He glanced at her with an expression of faint surprise. “I would not have thought so. I have never been around babies, really. But this one seems an easy chap to entertain.”

  “He’s quite happy,” Thea agreed. “And very healthy, too, it seems to me. He must have been well cared for. That makes it even odder …”

  “That someone left him in the church? I agree.” Gabriel nodded, a frown forming between his eyes as they walked back into the kitchen to turn the baby over to Lolly.

  A few minutes later, they were in the curricle and headed down the road away from the village. The day was cool and gray, without the pale sunshine of the day before, but, as promised, Gabriel had provided a heavy, fur-lined traveling rug and even a wrapped warm brick for her to put her feet on. With her bonnet and gloves, as well as her cloak, Thea was toasty warm. She brushed her hand surreptitiously over the soft fur; she had never seen a lap robe this luxurious. It would keep her warm even if it were a good bit colder.

  Gabriel drove a matched pair of grays, and the well-sprung carriage and the smooth gait of the horses was far different from bouncing along in her brother’s trap or even the Squire’s roomy, old-fashioned coach. It was immediately apparent that Gabriel was an excellent driver—as well as a swift one. Thea felt a thrill of excitement as they moved down the road, the cold air rushing against her cheeks. She glanced over at Gabriel and grinned. He caught the look and returned her smile.

  “You don’t mind the speed?”

  “No! It’s exciting,” Thea answered honestly.

  “Ah, a girl after my own heart.”

  He turned his attention back to the road to neatly maneuver past a farmer’s slow-moving wagon without breaking the rhythm of the team. But after a few minutes, he pulled the pair back to a slower pace.

  “How is Lolly doing with young Matthew?” he asked.

  “Very well, so far. Matthew seems to like her. He is a pleasant child, I admit, but still, I think that speaks well for her. And she seemed quite competent at feeding and diapering him. She even brought some diaper cloth from her house, which I must say was sorely needed. I searched our attic the other day and came up with a few little dresses for him, but no diaper cloth.”

  “We should purchase some cloth today. Is there a draper’s in this village?”

  “It is rather too small for that, but there is a haberdashery there, and he carries a small selection of cloths and some sundries.” It was where she had thought of going to purchase the ribbons and lace, though she did not add that.

  He nodded. “Very well. We shall add the haberdasher’s shop to our list of stops.”

  The trip passed quickly, for they talked all the way over to Bynford. It was, Thea discovered, amazingly easy to talk to Gabriel. He asked her questions about Chesley and made her laugh with his observations about the town and its citizens. He told her about the village near his own estate and the people with whom he had grown up. Thea found herself revealing far more about her family and her life than she would ever have imagined telling someone she had known for only days. Their conversation strayed to books and from there to plays, and Thea was both surprised and elated when Gabriel related to her his most recent visits to the theater.

  He glanced at her and laughed. “I think I should be insulted by your look of astonishment. I am not completely a barbarian.”

  “No. Of course. I mean, I did not think you were. It is just, well, I have always heard that gentlemen …”

  He raised a brow, waiting, then prodded, “What? That gentlemen attend the theater only to ogle the actresses?” When color filled Thea’s cheeks, he let out a whoop of laughter. “Really, Miss Bainbridge, I thought you were a naïve vic
ar’s daughter. That seems a remarkably cynical viewpoint.”

  “Just because I have been in Chesley all my life does not mean I haven’t read anything about the world at large.”

  “Mm. Sounds to me as if you’ve been reading London scandal sheets.”

  “Certainly not.” She gave him a look of disdain.

  “Well, I confess: I have gone precisely to ogle the actresses a time or two. But I have been known to actually attend a play for the play itself. I have even been to the opera to listen instead of eyeing the opera dancers.”

  “Really, Lord Morecombe, it is scarcely appropriate to be discussing your conquests.”

  “How unkind—I was discussing the times I was not looking for conquests.”

  “It’s an inappropriate subject altogether.”

  “And yet you brought it up.”

  “I did not! I stopped before I said anything.”

  He chuckled. “You thought it.”

  Thea shot him an exasperated look. He was watching her, laughter lurking in his dark eyes, and she realized that she wanted, quite badly, to kiss him. She remembered the way his mouth had felt on hers, the honeyed heat, the fierce hunger. She froze, suddenly breathless, her nerves tingling all over with memory and anticipation. Something changed in his face, and his eyes went to her mouth.

  “You are excessively tempting.” His voice was low and soft, no longer laughing. He shifted the reins to one hand and reached out to hook his forefinger under her chin. “How is it that that Quakerish bonnet makes me want to pull it off and kiss you?”

  Thea sucked in a quick breath. “Lord Morecombe …”

  “Miss Bainbridge …” His smile was slow and did peculiar things to her insides. “Don’t you think we could address each other a bit more informally? Is it your custom to call a man you’ve kissed Lord Morecombe?”

  “Only when that is his name,” she tossed back.

  He roared with laughter.

  “Oh!” Thea clapped a hand to her mouth. “I should not have said that. It was most … most …”