Bargaining With a Rake (A Whisper of Scandal Novel) (27 page)

Seven different women in seven nights,
and not for one second had Alex’s thoughts turned from Gillian. At the sound of
her voice, he turned away from the parlor and headed in the opposite direction toward
the terrace, dragging Maria with him. Maria was his latest attempt to erase the
feel of Gillian’s lips under his, her soft skin beneath his fingertips and her
heartbeat against his palm as he had touched her bare skin. Gillian was
everything a woman should be and more than he would ever deserve.

“Why did you turn us, chéri?” Maria
questioned with a pout on her painted red lips.

“I need some air.” He glanced down at
the woman clinging to his arm. He had always thought Maria Moreti enticing. Perhaps
it was her lovely operatic voice and her stage presence, but more than likely,
it was her exceptional skills in bed. But as he looked into her slanted cocoa eyes,
he had no desire whatsoever to taste the charms he had once found so alluring. In
fact, he wished he had not brought her here tonight to Sally and Peter’s dinner
party. How could he have thought this wise?

Maria could never distract his
attention away from Gillian. Tonight, he would have to suffer through every
agonizing moment of Gillian sitting across from him and staring into Sutherland’s
eyes. Maybe she would touch Sutherland or laugh with him. Alex ground his teeth.

He wasn’t at all sure he could
contain his hands from wrapping around Sutherland’s throat if his friend played
the besotted fool. And choking his business partner would not be good for their
company or their friendship. Not to mention Sutherland had done nothing wrong.

He just had the fine fortune to be in
the position to whisk Gillian and her sister away from England. Sutherland
deserved a good woman. Alex deserved nothing. He proceeded past the study door and
the men’s voices raised in conversation and turned Maria toward the terrace
overlooking the gardens. Fresh air would clear his head and give him some
perspective and, with any luck, the ability to make it through the night.

This would be the last bloody night
he played chaperone to the two lovebirds, since Sutherland meant to propose
marriage tonight. The thought brought a bitter taste to Alex’s mouth, but he
was glad the deed would be done. Maybe then he could forget Gillian and get
back to his life.

He pushed the terrace door open and
swore. Rain poured from above, driven in a slanting motion by the wind. Looking
up at the overhang off the terrace, he judged it sufficient to keep them dry. He
stepped down the first step, but Maria held back. “We’ll stay dry,” he said,
pointing up to the ledge.

“No, chéri. My makeup and hair will
ruin from the spray. I’ll not stand out here. Take me inside to the other women,
or even better, let us join the men.”

He examined her face in the pale
moonlight. She was not a fresh beauty as Gillian was. Gillian wore no paint, nor
did she need to. Suddenly, he could not stand the thought of touching Maria or
her touching him. “Show yourself to the men in the study. I’m sure they’ll be
glad to receive you. But try not to get into too much trouble before dinner.”

As Maria left, he closed his eyes and
allowed the breeze to surround and calm him. The night wind howled and hissed
while rain splattered against the tiles of the terrace. He breathed in the
scent of wet dirt, trees and grass. Lissie would have loved this night. She had
always adored a storm. His throat tightened with her memory, and he opened his
eyes to find Sutherland staring at him.

“I brought you a whiskey,” Sutherland
said, pushing a glass toward Alex. “Thought you might need to be warmed out
here since you sent Signorina Moreti inside with us.”

“She is a rather useful blanket at
times, but I felt the need to be alone.”

“Is that a hint?”

“I suppose, but don’t take it the
wrong way. I’m just feeling nostalgic.”

“For what—or is it whom?” Sutherland
tapped his glass against Alex’s.

Alex turned up his glass and downed
the entire contents. Maybe if he drank enough, the ache in his chest would go
away.

“Have I done something?” Sutherland
asked.

Well, old friend, you stole the woman
I desire but have no right to.
Alex would keep that to himself. He
shook his head. “No. I’m just thinking of my sister. Her death has been on my
mind a great deal.”

“I understand.”

And he did. Alex knew he did, because
three nights ago he had told Sutherland all the details about Lissie and
Westonburt. Alex did not think it fair for Sutherland to walk blindly into the
situation with Gillian. Westonburt would likely be dangerous when provoked too
far, and there was nothing like taking away a man’s greatest hope to bring his
anger to the surface. The man was sure to lash out. Alex was prepared, but Sutherland
needed to be ready as well, especially to watch out for Gillian’s safety.

“Have you seen Westonburt since the
card game?” Sutherland asked.

Alex rolled his empty glass back and
forth in his hands “I’ve not seen him, but I now hold the deed to his family’s
home, and my man was there yesterday to confirm they had cleared out.”

“What will you do with the house?”

“I’ve arranged for it to be torn down
starting tomorrow.” He had no idea what he would do from there, but he would
never step foot in the house where Westonburt once lived, breathed and plotted
to seduce Lissie.

“That’ll drive that man crazy. He’ll know
you never wanted the house.”

Alex pushed away from the wall. “That’s
the point. I want him to know I took his money simply to throw it all away. Simply
because I detest the air he breathes.” His stomach turned at the sound of his
own voice. He needed another drink and quick. Revenge made him ill. “I’m going
inside.”

“Wait a minute, would you?”

Alex forced himself to stand still. “What
is it?”

“Can you provide one more distraction
tonight?”

“Will felicitations be in order?” Did
he sound as angry as he felt?

“I sure as hell hope so,” Sutherland
replied. “It remains to be seen. Gillian is, after all, already betrothed, but we
both know she doesn’t love him.”

“Do you love her?” It was none of his
damned business, but he had to know.

“Well, not yet, but hopefully someday.
She’s everything a man could want in a woman. She’ll be the perfect wife for
me, and I know that everyone back home will love her. What’s not to love? She’s
smart, she’s beautiful and she comes from a good family.”

“You sound like you’re speaking of a brood
mare you want to buy,” Alex growled.

Sutherland elbowed Alex in the side. “Is
there a difference?”

There was a difference with her. Alex
struggled to control his anger. Gillian was life, breath and happiness for any
man who would be lucky enough to claim her. The fool didn’t see it yet, but
devil take it, Sutherland would have enough years to figure it out. The chance
was his for the taking. Not Alex’s.

“Good God, Alex, I’m just joking. I’m
sure we’ll get along fine. You act like she’s your damn sister or something, the
way you’re so protective.” Sutherland started to leave, then stopped and turned
back. “You don’t care for her, do you?”

Hell yes, he did. But he shouldn’t
. Alex forced a slight smile. “I care
for her as a friend.” For a moment, he actually felt good about himself. He had
given away the one thing he wanted more than anything in this world. He had
given Gillian to the better man.

Seated at the Primwitty’s dining
table directly across from Alex and the woman who clung to his arm, Gillian had
a hard time forcing herself to eat, let alone concentrate on the conversation
flowing around her. It required all of her willpower not to stare at Alex and Signorina
Moreti. If the woman would keep her hands off Alex for even a moment, perhaps being
able to swallow one bite of food without worrying it might come right back up
would be possible.

Gillian wished she could stop looking
at Alex, but his obvious enjoyment of the garish display of affection made her
want to scream. The least he could do was act like a gentleman, but she held
little hope that he would remember his manners. He seemed quite happy with
Signorina Moreti’s shameful groping.

Gillian had to look away. Really she
must. But just as she started to pull her gaze to Drake, Signorina Moreti
squealed with delight when the servant put a dessert down in front of her. As Gillian’s
lemon custard was placed before her, she studied the confection. Certainly, it
smelled delicious and the thick white cream on top looked inviting, but to
squeal over it? A million scathing remarks filled her head, but instead of
opening her mouth and getting herself into trouble, she dug her spoon into the dessert
and plopped a mouthful of custard in where a biting comment waited to come out.

She would get through this final
course, then excuse herself, claiming a stomachache. It was true enough, given
how her stomach turned each time Signorina Moreti put her hands on Alex. When
the woman drove her spoon into her custard with gusto then raised it to Alex’s
lips, Gillian frowned. Surely, he would not allow himself to be fed. When he
opened wide, Gillian set her spoon down with a clank. Alex’s gaze met hers, and
his right eyebrow shot up.

She returned Alex’s stare with what
she sincerely hoped was a look of disdain. “It seems you have forgotten how to
feed yourself.”

The hum of conversation around her
abruptly stopped. Why in the world could she not hold her tongue? Now that she
had said it, she refused to act remorseful. She held his cold gaze that did not
flicker from her. He quaffed down his wine, set his glass down and leaned his
elbows on the table. “Jealous?”

“Certainly not,” she bit out, though
heat flamed her cheeks, displaying her lie for the whole table.

“Well, I’m certainly jealous,” Auntie
commented, poking her spoon in her custard and then shoving it into Alex’s
gaping mouth. The tension around the table died away, replaced with laughter
and comments from men and women alike that they all wanted a chance to feed
Alex. Everyone roared with laughter except her and―she noted with grim
satisfaction―Alex.

He scowled at her, and she forced
herself to smile widely. Her cheeks ached from her effort to pretend merriment.
Let him think she did not care.

When her aunt cleared her throat,
Gillian drew her gaze away from Alex and met Auntie’s probing look. Auntie
tilted her head and tapped her fingers against her glass as if in deep thought.
Gillian got the feeling her aunt was about to embark on another of her blunt
shows.

“Mr. Sutherland, do tell us all about
America. I wish to know every little detail about your home and the culture.”

Gillian slumped in her chair with
relief.

“My home”―Drake leaned back, a
wistful look on his face―“is on one of the busiest streets in New York. All
hours of the day you can hear carriages rumbling by. The city is alive and
noisy. I love it.”

“Sounds dreadful,” Auntie remarked.
“But I’m a country lady at heart. Tell me about the culture. What do you do for
entertainment?”

“Much the same as here. We go to the
opera, balls, dinners, horse races and picnics. Do you want me to categorize all
of our pastimes and give you a detailed description?”

Gillian suppressed her grin. Drake was
on to her aunt’s mechanisms. Gillian sat forward on the edge of her seat to see
what would happen next. She welcomed any distraction that would take her mind
off Alex.

“Well, certainly you can,” Auntie
chirped. “I’m sure Gillian and Whitney would love to hear all about America.” Her
aunt smiled directly at Whitney. “Don’t you want to know all about America,
dear?”

“Not particularly,” Whitney said,
apparently borrowing some of Auntie’s bluntness. “I’ve no interest in hearing
about a land I’ll never see.”

“You never know,” Drake said, turning
to face Whitney. “You may end up there yet.” When he winked at Gillian, she
nearly groaned aloud. She had planned and plotted to catch this man, and now that
she had his attention, she was finding it hard to be happy.

“I don’t mean to sound rude,” Whitney
said, giving Gillian a sharp look, then turning her attention back to Drake, “but
I will never end up in America. I’ve quite made up my mind. I love England and
couldn’t imagine living anywhere but here.”

Gillian spit out the sip of wine she
had just taken. The red liquid flew all over her plate.

“Heavens, Gillian.” Whitney plucked
Gillian’s wineglass out of her hand. “I’d say you’ve had quite enough of that. Here.”
Her sister shoved a glass of water into her hands. “Drink this.”

Gillian took a gulp of the water.
“But of course if I were to go”―she could not believe she was being so
bold as to actually act as if Drake would certainly propose―“you would
go. You would have to.”

“I certainly would not go. I’ve quite
made up my mind.”

“Does anyone know what Martha is
planning for her costume fete?” Auntie asked. The conversation around Gillian
buzzed with speculation of the costume ball to come. Gillian stared at Whitney,
ignoring the meaningless chatter.

She had never asked Whitney what she
had wanted to do. She had told her and not given her sister one chance to voice
how she felt. And now that Whit had been given the chance to speak, she was
taking it.
Dear God
.

She leaned toward Whit’s ear. “What
do you mean you won’t go to America? What of our plan?” she whispered.

Whitney moved her
head enough so that her mouth pressed against Gillian’s ear. “
Your
plan. It was always your plan, and
I’ve decided I simply cannot go through with it. I don’t want to leave England,
I don’t want to live with you and Drake and I doubt you want to marry him. I
won’t go. Nothing you say will move me to reconsider.”

Gillian’s world shifted. Whitney’s
voice dripped with stubborn defiance. There was no one more obstinate than Whit
when she set her mind to it. Gillian sat back in her chair. Conversation continued
to swirl around her, but she did not hear a word. She no longer had a plan or a
way to protect her sister if she refused to leave.

She was dreadfully afraid for Whitney.
There was no way to force her sister to go unless she told her the truth, but
that might not even do the trick and it could seriously harm Whitney.

Across from her, Alex raised his
glass and downed his wine. “Three cheers for good old Mother England.”

As everyone raised their glasses to
toast, Drake touched Gillian’s shoulder. “Would you walk with me in the
garden?”

She nodded and blindly reached for
her glass to get a fortifying drink. Cool water slid down her throat, making
her frown. Blasted meddling sister. Glaring at Whitney, Gillian pushed back
from the table with a pounding heart.

How could she refuse Drake if he
offered her marriage after she had plotted and schemed just for this? How could
she not refuse him since her sister had just declared she would not leave?
Gillian’s stomach rolled with queasiness. Lord, she was a coward. She threw one
last searching glance over her shoulder before stepping out of the room. No one
noticed them, especially not Alex. The curve of Signorina Moreti’s shoulder was
too enticing for him to take note of Gillian’s departure. As he leaned in to
whisper something in the signorina’s ear, Gillian bumped into the door jamb.

“Ouch.” She rubbed her shoulder and
forced herself to turn away from the scene.

Giving her a queer look, Drake took
her hand. “Doll, if you actually look where you’re walking, it will help you to
avoid doors and walls.”

Gillian nodded, feeling more alone
than ever.

* * * * *

The moment Gillian and Sutherland disappeared
out of the dining room, Alex slumped in his chair, exhausted from the effort to
keep his mouth shut and his desires to himself. It took all his reserves, but
he’d done it. He let her go. He didn’t need to worry about dying and going to hell
for his sins, because he was already in hell. The next time he saw Gillian she
would be engaged to not one, but two men.
Neither of them him. Bloody hell
.
He was not drunk enough for this night.

“Alex,” Maria purred, sliding her
hand up his leg under the table while leaning toward his ear. “I want to come
home with you to your bed.”

He shoved her searching hand away, unable
to stand his charade any longer. “No. I’ll be going home alone tonight.” And
every night for the rest of his life. He wanted no woman but the one he
couldn’t have. He stood and clutched at his chest. The aching pain he was
getting used to shot through the center of his heart, making him wince. Could
longing kill a man? Peter motioned toward the door, and Alex nodded, following
his friend out of the dining room toward the main entrance.

“I take it the lovely Maria will not
be escorting you home?”

“No.” Alex offered a slight smile. “Will
you see she gets home safely?”

“My coachman can. If I tried to even
put my big toe into a carriage alone with Maria, Sally would throttle me.”

“Yes, she’s rather possessive of you,”
Alex said, shrugging on his overcoat.

“We’re all possessive of those we
love.”

Waving the footman away, Alex opened
the front door. He wanted to possess Gillian. He wanted to wrap his arms around
her and never let her go. Did that mean he loved her? Or did that mean he was a
fool? Perhaps it meant both.

As Alex’s driver scrambled to open
the carriage door, Alex stepped into the rain. He stood for a moment, letting
the cool water drench his coat and seep cold into his skin. In the gazebo to
the side, candlelight cast shadows on Sutherland and Gillian. They stood
face-to-face. Alex forced his legs to move and get into the carriage, then he
signaled his coachman to go.

As his carriage pulled away, a sweat
broke out against his scalp, despite the frigid air. He had thought nothing
could feel worse than knowing he was to blame for Robert killing himself. Damn
it if he had not been grievously wrong. Not fighting for Gillian was the worst
pain he had ever experienced.

* * * * *

Dim and fairly deserted, White’s was
perfect for Alex. He didn’t want to make conversation or play cards or even
pretend to be happy. He wanted to get bloody sopping foxed and by the swimming
in his head, he had a damn good start.

Several hours later, he was sure he
had perfected the art of feeling sorry for himself. “To Robert,” he mumbled,
turning up his glass of whiskey. As the liquid slid to his stomach, he closed
his eyes, savoring the oblivion only truly good whiskey could bring.

A chair scraped beside him, and he
growled in response. “Go away,” he commanded, not caring who he might be
offending.

“I can’t do that, Lionhurst.”

Unsure if his ears
betrayed him, Alex opened one eye. Nope. His head may be soggy, but his ears
still worked. He slowly opened the other eye and focused both on Sutherland. “There
are two of you.”

“No. Just one.”

“What the hell are
you doing here? Shouldn’t you be celebrating your impending wedding with your
intended?” If
he
had just proposed
to Gillian, he would first kiss her lips, then her neck, then perhaps her
shoulder or that little hollow place between her shoulder blades where she had
a tiny scar. He shook his head with a groan.

Sutherland eyed him but said nothing.

“Go celebrate,” Alex hissed, closing
both eyes.