by Reid, Stacy
She’d penned that little tattle of a engagement, and Mr. Bell had praised her for days. His paper that day had sold in record numbers as everyone seemed happy to wonder if their favorite duke might be hunting an heiress of immense wealth and unblemished breeding and reputation.
She had done her research and had not found much printed about Carlyle beyond humanitarian motions he supported in parliament, and the articles of support he penned to whichever causes he lent his credibility and reputation. He was seemingly loved by all of society, the rich, and the downtrodden.
No hint of scandal had been printed. Well, none that Pippa found. And that had surprised her considering the Duke of Carlyle seemed well spoken of by society. A man of his reputation should have one or two skeletons, surely.
Despite attending quite a few events for the season, Pippa had never met the duke. The rumors mentioned he had no time for frivolities, so he hardly appeared at any society functions, of which she could attest. Since she was unlikely to be asked to dance or take a stroll about the room, Pippa sought out her mother, and a few minutes later they departed the ball without the story Pippa had hoped for tonight.
A few days later, having just returned from another ball where she'd spied Lady Dunwood sneaking into the gardens with a known libertine. Pippa had started penning her story before even undressing from her gown, for Lady Dunwood was married to a marquess.
Lady W reports seeing a Lady D sneaking into the garden with Percival Gooden, at Lady Kasterlee’s ball…
Pippa paused tapping the quill on the desk impatiently. She was always careful not to be too evident in the names she mentioned in her tattle sheet, not wanting to lead anyone to ruin, but to create a stir of speculation and fodder to feed the throng. At times she crossed Mr. Bell with her refusal to be too specific, but he was quite happy with the sales of his gossip column since she had started working for him and did not grumble too much. His sheets were touted as golden, and many speculated that the ever-increasing famous Lady W was a member of the upper set of society. How it thrilled the consuming public to know that such a possibility existed. Rumor already abounded that there were bets at White’s about the author’s identity.
She dipped her quill into the ink pot only to release it as if she had been singed when her door shoved open without the courtesy of a knock.
“Miranda, you are home! What has happened?” Pippa asked, hurriedly shoving the sheaf of paper into the upper drawer of her writing desk. Despite their close friendship, she had not confided to Miranda of her Lady W identity.
Miranda covered her face with her hands, her blonde ringlets shaking with her distress. “Oh, Pi…Pi...Pippa, I've been such a fool!"
“Please Miranda, dry your tears and speak clearly,” Pippa cried, frightened by the copious amount of water work her dear friend shed.
“Something dreadful has happened over the weekend at Lady Burrell’s garden party, oh what a fool I’ve been!”
She hurried over to her friend, clasped her by the shoulder and led her to the bed where they lowered themselves onto it. “Dear Miranda, please tell me what it is so I may help you.” And I’ll help you, she vowed, owing much to her friend for the kindness she and her family showed to Pippa and her mother these last few months. “What is it?”
“I fear I am ruined,” Miranda whispered.
Ice congealed in Pippa’s heart. Ruined? Miranda was the most sensible girl she knew. How was this possible? “I don’t believe it!” declared Pippa, trembling with indignation.
Surely, no libertine had been foolish enough to turn their rakish charms on the daughter of Earl Leighton and then abandoned her. “Please let me see your face,” Pippa whispered.
Miranda lowered her hands, and took a bracing breath, before lifting her gaze to Pippa's. Miranda's eyes were vast pools of pain and shame, and Pippa almost cried.
“What happened?”
“Promise you’ll not tell a soul,” her friend whispered. “Vow it as we’ve vowed to be friends and sisters forever.”
Unease shifted through Pippa. “But the Earl and countess must surely know too—”
“No! Mamma and Papa cannot know. Surely I would be banished to the country.”
“Or they may force this bounder to do the honorable thing!”
Miranda’s lips pinched. “He has no honor. No heart. And no character. How deceived I was of his nature. I declare mamma and papa would not be able to sway such a man any more than I did.”
She gripped her friend's hand and cradled them between hers. "Tell me."
“Vow it first,” Miranda cried.
Pippa nodded. “I vow I shall keep your confidence.”
“It…it was the Duke of Carlyle. He has used and embarrassed me most abominably.”
“The Duke of Carlyle!” There must be some mistake. But if dear sweet Miranda who is far too good-natured to abuse people has named the duke as a libertine of the first order, there must be some truth to the matter. “What has he done?”
Miranda’s lips trembled. "Oh, Pippa. I…we were in a room together. Alone. I…I was bared to him. He saw me naked and has refused to make me an offer.”
Shock almost felled Pippa, and she dropped Miranda’s hand. “Naked? No shift or chemise?”
A flush burned Miranda’s face bright red. "Yes," she said in a hushed whisper. "He has seen things…only a husband should see, and he has refused to see mamma and papa. In fact, he laughed."
"Oh, the heartless cretin!" Pippa could not credit he would act with such dishonor. Everyone thought the duke a dreadful bore. He was…spotless, his reputation unblemished by scandal. He was even mockingly referred to as the Duke of Saints. And he would do this?
Based on what she’d heard and read about the duke, she had never thought him a man with little regard for the conventions governing gentlemanly conduct. Admittedly, a gentleman would have offered marriage to Miranda immediately! But this ghastly beast merely took advantage of her innocence and left her to face the shame of her actions alone. What if someone had seen them together? What if he spoke about her dear friend as if she had been a conquest? Miranda would be irrefutably ruined. Worse, the shame she must be feeling now to have been so vulnerable before the duke to have him act with such rank dishonor. “He is abominable,” she said softly, her heart breaking for her friend.
“I fear he has deceived all of society of his true nature,” Miranda said on a sob. “I cannot credit he would act so callously…that he would discard me without a hint of caring for my reputation.”
Pippa stood and strolled toward the fire, hating the chill worming its way through her entire heart. Were there no honorable men? Her Papa, Nigel, and the Duke were sterling examples of what a gentleman ought not to be! Yet their dastardly facets were hidden from society. No one knew her father lived in sin and had children out of wedlock. No one knew Nigel made false promises and now he was wed to an heiress. And now the duke…a man she had never met but had heard so many honorable things about was a cad and libertine! The injustice of it burned through her like molten lava.
“Miranda,” Pippa said, facing her friend who remained huddled into herself.
“Yes?” she asked tremulously.
Pippa hated to ask, but she had to. “How…how did you end up in the room with the duke, naked?”
“Oh Pippa, I am mortified to reveal it.”
“Did he force…force his attention on you? You must tell me.”
Miranda closed her eyes as if pained. “Does it matter?”
“It does!”
"He did not force his regard, but I was led to believe we had something between us. He has treated me in the worst manner, and I am now ruined. I trusted in his reputation and his honor. I thought…I thought he might have feelings for me, but I was wrong. Oh, I cannot think or speak of it anymore, or I shall die!”
“Miranda—”
Miranda shook her head fiercely. “No. I collect you mean to reproach me, and I cannot bear it. Not from you, Pippa!”
Miranda launched from the bed and into her arms. They hugged fiercely. Pippa took a deep breath. “Might…might there be unforeseen consequences?”
They pulled apart and stared at each other.
“Whatever do you mean?”
Pippa blushed, vexed with her reaction when she wanted to remain unflappable for her friend. “Might there be a child?”
Miranda delicately cleared her throat. “Dear me no! We...I…nothing happened like in that book we read.”
They both blushed, recalling the very naughty book they had mistakenly discovered in the earl’s drawers and read. The content had been mortifying, and the words an education. They had hurriedly put it back and had been too embarrassed to discuss the material with each other.
“We must convince him to do the right thing,” Pippa said with firm resolve. “I’ll visit the duke—”
Miranda gripped her hand tightly. “He is unmoved by my pleas and desperation. He is the most unfeeling man! And I am ashamed when I think how I pleaded with him!”
Pippa stared at her helplessly. The situation called for more influential intervention, namely from Miranda's parents, the earl, and countess. "Miranda, you must consider informing your parents—"
“You promised,” she said fiercely, tears pooling in her eyes. “Only you, the duke, and I know that I’ve been compromised and we shall keep it that way. I’ll not die from it, but I’ll learn not to be so stupid with my trust and affections ever again. Please, Pippa, do not betray my confidence. I just…I needed someone to speak to, I needed your shoulders to cry on.”
Pippa nodded. “I promise you I shall make him pay for his repulsive behavior.”
Miranda’s eyes widened. “No, Pippa! Please do not approach the duke. You vowed not to tell anyone."
“I will not tell—”
"Please, Pippa. Let it go. I daresay it will take many months for me to look at the man and not swoon. But I must bear it and endure. He is powerful and very influential. His family is one of the oldest, and every mother wants him as a son-in-law. I do not want him to be an enemy of my papa, for he said he will not marry me no matter the cost, and I believed him,” she ended on a sob.
Pippa hugged her once more, silently vowing to do away with the dastardly duke. The public adored and scrutinized the aristocracy and nobility, and that was how she would get the dratted man. As Lady W.
Chapter 5
An oddly placed sound in the night had Christopher lowering the paper he’d been reading on early experimentation with electricity. The riveting article was forgotten as another sound rode the air. He glanced to his left and stared at his windows. The scratching sound came from there. There was a nudge, a grunt, and he belatedly realized someone was attempting to break into his townhouse through the windows by the side gardens leading to his library.
The sheer shock of it flummoxed him for precious seconds. Who would dare?
A cold chill of warning darted through him. He fleetingly considered outing the gas lamp and plunging the library into darkness. The idea was dismissed, for though the blue and silver drapes covering the windows were quite heavy, the sudden dousing of the light might shed a different hue and alert the intruder. But he carefully turned down the wick until the library was painted in more shadows than anything else. Then he moved from behind the desk, collected the poker by the dying fire, and positioned himself by the wall of bookcase far from the windows, a place with more shadows than light.
The heavy drapes parted, and a small booted foot slipped through the window with surprising stealth. The other foot came, then the firmly rounded buttocks, and slim shoulders. The hair and features were hidden by a cap and a handkerchief, which was tied around the intruder's lower mouth and knotted at the nape.
The intruder glanced around the room carefully, his gaze lingering within the dark pockets. Christopher could sense the nervousness of the lad. The burglar moved with impressive stealth over to his desk, opened the drawers and carefully searched the contents.
Christopher's heart jerked when the intruder picked up his book of erotic drawings. The pages were flipped open, and a breathy audible gasp rode the air. A sound which he’d heard a few weeks past, had been hearing in his head ever since, and now replacing every gasp he would hear. He knew what had been seen. That first page had a lady splayed on a divan, and a man knelt before her with his mouth pressed to her quim. The erotic drawings were done by him, and it was not something he made public. Instead of putting it back, a few more pages were skimmed.
It was slammed shut with such speed he almost chuckled. But he raised an eyebrow when the boy slowly opened it back - peeking at another drawing, and then several more.
Why was this person in his study…looking at his erotic drawings? Another audible gasp echoed in the room, and he could all but feel the young boy’s blush and mortification. That book held some of Christopher’s most lustful fantasies, some realized, and others were hungry dark urges he would wish to sate one day. Preferably with his duchess.
Taking another deep breath, the boy put back the book. A quick search of the other drawers revealed nothing, and the boy even took the time to glance at the article Christopher had been reading. It was interesting it did not seem as if he looked for money or valuables.
The intruder glanced about the room, his regard stopping on the ongoing chess game displayed before the sofa. He went over and bent low, assessing the placement of each piece. His clothing drew taut about his derriere as a delightful aroma filled Christopher’s nostrils. This wasn’t a boy. Only an imbecile would believe that those lovely curves, and that fragrant scent of roses belonged to a young man. It was not in him to define a woman solely by her physical charms, but Christopher would never in his lifetime forget that delectable backside—round, lush, pert, one of a kind, and he swore edible, and the breathy sounds of her gasps. After all, they’d been his companion for several weeks.
His intrepid burglar was Miss Pippa Cavanaugh. Or so the delightfully curved backside declared. He needed to confirm immediately, but he would have to tread with care. This smacked of a looming scandal of the unrecoverable type. And he felt protective of the damn, stupid girl. Her actions overwhelmed the bounds of propriety. Why would she take such a risk with a reputation already damaged?
She bent even lower, her lush backside arching even more. The handkerchief slipped, revealing the elegant curve to her jaw, the jut of her pointy chin, and those succulent lips. It was indeed Pippa Cavanaugh! A brutal shock of arousal arrowed through his body. Christopher swallowed. He hadn’t taken a lover in more than a year, but still, the quick reaction of his cock as if he were a randy lad was unpardonable. Mastering his response, he smiled without humor. It would serve her right if he kissed her senseless before the night was out.
“Oh, how clever!” she cried softly shifting to assess the board from another angle. “I wonder who your partner is. Each play is equally brilliant.”
With a low chuckle, he leaned the poker on the bookcase and stepped silently closer to her.
What she would do when he revealed himself, he could not anticipate. And he was almost startled by the mild amusement rushing through him. A slow curl of desire sped through his gut, hardening his length. He could ravish her here and now, and the world would be none the wiser.
Foolish, Miss Cavanaugh. Utterly silly and reckless.
* * *
“I play myself,” a voice drawled.
Pippa froze, the brilliance of the chess match forgotten. She didn’t dare breathe. She couldn’t breathe. The voice belonged to the duke! For no other would have a chess set in the library. Why was he at home? All research had said he would have been at his club, a place he visited every Tuesday evening for port and cigars with his cronies.
Bracing herself resolutely, she straightened and faced the voice. The sound of booted feet drifted closer, and her heart beat with such fright she almost fainted. Pippa could not believe, on her first-midnight adventure she'd been caught. Miss Tilby who'd beco
me her friend and mentor would be sorely disappointed.
Pippa was painfully aware she was alone with the man in his home. Rumors said he lived as a bachelor at his opulent townhouse, for his mother, the Duchess, had her own lavish abode in St. James’s Square. Pippa was frozen, trying her best to find the appropriate excuse. What would he believe?
“I believe I am in the wrong house,” she said with low huskiness, desperately hoping to disguise that she was a lady.
The man’s approach faltered, and she all but felt his amusement.
“So you meant to thieve from someone else, did you?”
“I’m not a thief,” she snapped indignantly, an odd shame burning through her.
"Just a burglar? Now, why does that make little to no sense?"
She frowned at the familiar tones.
The wick of the lamp was turned up, bathing the library in a bright, warm glow. She gasped as his features were revealed. “You!” she cried before she caught herself. She was so astonished that for a full minute she could only stare at him, her thoughts mush.
“Oh?” A mocking brow was arched. “Do we know each other?”
“Of course not,” she hurriedly said.
Her midnight stranger and the duke were the same, a circumstance which she regarded with mixed feelings. How could this man who had been so kind to her, despite the wickedness which had glowed in his eyes, be the one to seduce and discard Miranda callously?
“Who are you and why are you in my home?” he demanded softly.
Pippa was scared and doing her best not to act rattled. He was not behaving as how one should upon discovering an intruder in their home. There was no evident anger, nor was he attacking her. No cavalry had been called to make an arrest. And that scared her even more.
There was a tightness across her chest that made it difficult to breathe.
“I believe I shall take my leave,” she said inching toward the way she came.