Bargaining With a Rake (A Whisper of Scandal Novel) (8 page)

“Why?”

“Because, Whit.” Gillian scrambled
onto her knees and stared into her sister’s eyes, hoping she would understand.
“According to the gossip sheets, he wants a wife with a brain, not a woman to
treat as chattel. I refuse to be stuck in an unhappy marriage like Mother and
Father’s, and I refuse for you to be stuck in that either. Is that what you
want?”

“No, but perhaps you could get out of
marriage to Mr. Mallorian and find someone here in England who would make you
happy.”

Gillian sighed. They couldn’t stay in
England. Not just because of the person sending the threatening notes, but also
because of Father. She certainly could not mention the notes to Whitney, but
she had to make her understand. “Father will not budge. I already tried to
reason with him, and he fairly shoved me out of his study. It’s pointless. He
was standing beside me tonight when Mr. Mallorian told me my future duties, and
Father didn’t even raise an eyebrow.”

“What did Mr. Mallorian say?”

“I’m to adorn his arm, silent and
smiling at every
ton
function, provide him with children, ask no
questions and run his household as he tells me to.”

“Oh, that is bad, Gillie. What are we
going to do now that Father has made this move?”

Gillian rubbed her temples, trying to
think clearly. “Father may have won the first round, but I intend to win the
match. I’ve thought about it, and I’m going to send a message to Sally with an
invitation to Auntie’s house party in honor of Trent.”

Whitney frowned. “How is that going
to help you avoid marriage to Mr. Mallorian?”

Gillian scooted off the bed, feeling
better by the second. “Sally can see that Mr. Sutherland attends the party.
Then I’ll have an entire week to get the man to agree to marry me.”

“Oh, yes.” Whitney nodded
with a smirk. “That sounds utterly reasonable. Mr. Sutherland will surely jump
at the chance to attend a week-long party for our cousin whom he doesn’t even
know.”

“I disagree. He’s an avid foxhunter
and Vingt-et-un player, so I’ll make sure Sally mentions both.”

“Shouldn’t you ask Auntie first?”

“I’ll send her a note straightaway
explaining the additional guests. You know how she detests Lady Westonburt.”

“And how she’s a firm believer in
marriages of love. Given her and Uncle’s.”

Gillian nodded. “She’ll help.”

“Father will never forgive us for
going against him.”

A lump formed in Gillian’s throat.
Did she want or care about her father’s forgiveness? Her heart squeezed. She
loved him. It was useless to try to deny it. No matter what, she loved her
father. “He may not, but we have to take that chance. To not take it…” Gillian
glanced at the jewelry box that held the threatening letter. “That’s simply not
an option.”

“So you say,” Whitney murmured. “But
I feel as if you are leaving out a piece of this puzzle.”

Gillian grasped her sister’s hands
and squeezed. The only piece she was leaving out was the piece of the past that
could irrevocably harm her sister and the piece of the present that would
definitely harm her. “I’m not,” she lied.

Cheapside

London, England

At the break of dawn, Harrison
Mallorian stumbled out of the whore’s bed to make his way to his parents’ town house.
Damn his mother for being an early riser
. He’d have slept till noon if
he didn’t need to go home before she awoke. She’d make his life a living hell
if he wasn’t there with all the details of how her plan had gone.

He staggered down the creaking steps
of Madame Lovelace’s small establishment and raised a hand to shield his eyes
from the first traces of sunlight streaming into the sky. Imbibing too much
whiskey to celebrate his success and dull the image of Allysia Trevelle had not
been his most brilliant idea. Cotton occupied the better part of his head, a
nasty acidic taste filled his mouth and the sun hurt his bloody eyes.

He tripped down the last step, only
maintaining his upright position thanks to his coachman quickly coming to grasp
his arm. He straightened to thank the man but caught his smirk. Anger replaced
any trace of gratefulness. “Need I remind you of the beating you took last
week?”

Hallsworth shook his head. “Ye need
not, sir.”

“Good. Mind you to remember not many
in London would employ a man dismissed on accusation of stealing from his
former employer.”

“I know it, sir.” Hallsworth touched the
fading bruise on his eye. “I don’t reckon I’ll forget yer generous nature after
yer last lesson.”

Harrison turned and settled into the
carriage, trying to get comfortable. He pulled his overcoat tight to capture
some warmth and blew into his hands. His breath swirled white into the air.

“Are ye ready, sir?”

“Yes,” he snapped, rubbing his aching
head. “I hardly want to sit here in the freezing cold.”

The carriage jolted to a start,
causing his head to jerk back with the force of sudden movement. He clenched
his teeth, gripping the edge of the cushion. Hallsworth hated him, but that was
perfect. The lower class often disliked their superiors. They begrudged showing
the proper amount of respect. It may have taken several beatings for the coachman
to learn his place, but the man knew it now and would not forget it. Everyone
had a place in Society, like it or not. And he’d learned years ago only the
strongest and smartest could possibly change their place. The coachman was mad
because he was too stupid and too weak to change his own life.

Harrison was changing his life,
though having to rely on his mother in order to accomplish his goals grated on
his nerves. But that situation would change when he married Lady Gillian and his
father succumbed to his sickness.

He ran a hand through his hair,
trying to set it to rights. There was no need for his mother to know what he
had been doing last night. She’d not approve, but soon she’d learn who was in
control. As a matter of fact, his headstrong fiancée needed that same lesson immediately.
She’d offered him little regard at the Primwitty ball.

He would show her he
was more than a lowly baron’s son. The carriage jerked to a halt in front of
the town house. No lights burned in the window. Finally, things were going his
way.

If he could just get
a bit of sleep before facing his mother, he could tolerate her screeching. He
was damn sick and tired of screeching women. Though Allysia had probably had a
right to be so upset with him. He
had
used her to get back at her pompous brother just as she had
accused him of doing.

He still boiled with anger at the way
his attempt to buy into Lionhurst’s shipping company had been so easily crushed
by the man. Who was insignificant now? Not him. He’d bedded the pompous ass’s
sister. So why did he not feel better? Had he not made his enemy’s favorite
sister a whore?

His gut twisted on the thought. He
smashed his fist into the seat. She was a weapon. A means to an end. There was
no room for guilt. But it was there. Her pleading words rang in his ears. He
pressed his hands to either side of his head. She was wrong. And he was right.
Her pompous father would never have let her marry him. No, indeed.

He’d been right to
discard her. That would wound Lionhurst all the more. Harrison took a deep
breath and got out of the carriage. A lowly baron’s son needed a secret to
marry upward into the
haute
ton
. He paused in his steps, considering yet again how Mother knew the Duke
of Kingsley would consent to a match. It was a mystery she refused to unravel
for him. Yet another reason he despised her.

Inside the town house, he rounded the
corner to the stairs and cursed. The old witch had waited up for him.

“Hello, Mother.” He tried to sound
loving.

She cackled from the top of the
steps, her gray hair shimmering silver from the glow of the candle in her hand.
“I can smell a whore’s perfume from fifty paces.” She descended the steps, her
gnarled hands gripping the banister. “Harry, you’re a fool to risk your future
with Lady Gillian. Remember, my secret will only take us so far in Society. I
suspect the duke has his limits, and I’m not keen to test just where they might
be.”

“I’m sorry, Mother.” He felt ten again.
Damn woman
.

“I take it by your stench that you
celebrated your good fortune?”

He nodded and tried to quell the
hatred swelling in his chest. Soon he would rule a woman; soon he would be his
own master.

His mother pursed her lips. “The
apple never does roll far from the tree. But you seek out a lower class of
whore than your father did. At least his indiscretion made us rich. Weak fool. Go
say goodbye to your father. He’s finally dying.” She pushed past him,
sauntering along the hall as if the death of her husband did not affect her in the
slightest.

Harrison trudged up the stairs toward
his father’s room. The sickly sweet stench of death filled the air, and he
swallowed back the nausea threatening to erupt. He ambled over to his father’s
side. His eyes lay closed, but his raspy breathing filled the air.

Harrison dropped into a chair by his
father’s bed. Struck with an idea, he smiled and pressed his lips close to his
father’s ear. “Tell me your secret, Father. Tell me everything, and I’ll make
sure Mother knows who is in charge from here on out.”

His father’s eyes cracked open, and
his gaze flickered around the room.

“We’re alone, Father,” Harrison
whispered encouragingly.

His father nodded, then licked his
cracked lips. “Isabella Rutherford, Lady Kingsley, was my life.”

Two days later

Sheffield, England

Loxley Castle

Alex stood with the other mourners huddled
at the top of the hill and stared down at Lissie’s coffin. Everything was
wrong. The air refused to warm, though it was near noon. The day should have
been cloudless, but damnable clouds covered the sun. Shadows blanketed his
sister’s grave. She would have hated that. And if she had still been alive she
would have bemoaned the hint of rain to come that filled the air. She would
have disliked everything about this day, yet the conditions seemed fitting to
him. Her death had stopped life around the place just as Robert’s had years
before.

Alex tried to focus on what the
priest said about Lissie’s sudden and tragic death, but the word “tragic”
bothered him. The single word did not do justice to how his heart twisted. It
was more than tragic that he would never see his poppet again or experience her
smile or laughter. When in the blazes had she quit smiling? His head ached as
the priest grew quiet and nodded to the caretaker to throw the first shovel of
dirt onto his sister’s grave. The dirt hit the coffin and resounded like a
thunderclap inside his head.

His mother moaned beside him, her
soft sobs filling the quiet. He stared at the smattering of dark brown dirt now
covering Lissie’s pale wood coffin. The air around him smothered him with the
moisture beginning to fill it. He swallowed, every breath a struggle. Lissie
could feel nothing, but he had the insane desire to jump into the grave, throw
open the lid and allow fresh air to flow around her. The wind picked up and
pushed a cold, invisible hand against his body. He stepped forward, only to be
stopped by a firm grip around his arm.

Alex’s gaze locked with Cameron’s. Did
Cameron feel the same? A sense of being smothered? They gripped arms until the
final shovel of dirt was thrown. He clenched his teeth to suppress the bellow
of rage in his throat. He could not think on what had befallen her now in front
of all these people.

If Mother had not insisted on her
family’s bizarre tradition of inviting everyone who knew them to the graveside,
he would have simply left the grave and be damned if his family got angry. But
he would not embarrass Mother or Father in front of all the prying eyes surrounding
them. It baffled him, his Mother’s notion that a funeral was a time everyone
should come together to say their goodbyes to the person. This was not a damned
celebration. Lissie was not off to boarding school. She was dead, and she sure
as hell was never coming back to them.

Someone coughed to his right, and he
looked up to meet the slanted violet eyes of Lady Staunton. Her bold,
flirtatious smile made him ill. Did she have no decency?
Stupid fool. You
know the answer to that one
. He glared and pointedly fixed his gaze on her
husband to remind the wretched woman she was still married.

Dear God, but Lord Staunton had
declined
. The man
didn’t look as if he would make it past this day alive. His gray skin and dull
eyes did not bode well for his future. Alex’s gaze flickered back to Lady
Staunton and the small smile tugging at the corner of her lips finally
disappeared as he stared. Within seconds, she brushed a few tears off her
cheeks. He wanted to shake her to get her to cease her act. She had not changed
a bit in the years since Robert’s death. The need to be the center of attention
was still at her core.

He refused to give her what she
wanted. He glanced around the circle of people gathered to say goodbye and
fought the urge to turn on his heel and walk away from the onlookers.

“Alex.” His father spoke behind him. “Will
you walk your mother down the hill, please?”

He didn’t need any further prodding.
Getting away would be a blessing. He threw his arm around his mother’s tiny
shoulders and supported most of her weight. As they descended the hill, she
began to cry in earnest, and it took all his will not to let loose the emotions
swelling inside him and join her.

* * * * *

Alex stepped onto
the dark balcony, shutting the door firmly behind him. As the door clicked, the
hum in the dining hall abruptly stopped, and he allowed himself to relax as he
leaned against the railing. The bright moon filled the sky.
Funny that the
moon would be so vivid on the night they buried Lissie
.
Maybe she’d get
those good things in the afterlife she swore a full moon brought
. The
little dreamer. He smiled. He could still picture her
staring up at the sky, a look of
intense preoccupation on her face. He’d sneak up on her, and she’d dissolve
into fits of laughter before promptly telling him what was on her mind. Except
lately he’d been too busy to notice if anything was on her mind.

He gripped the glass tighter and gulped
down the last of the whiskey. Lissie would never see the places she had dreamed
of exploring. And all because she had been afraid to tell any of them she was
pregnant. He still could not believe it, but the hysterical servant who had
helped her gather the pennyroyal and watched her ingest the oil until she was
vomiting and doubled over in pain said it was so.

The voices in the dining hall erupted
behind him once again. He tensed at the intrusion on his solitude. An elbow
brushed his arm then Cameron leaned beside him against the balcony. “You have a
murderous look on your face.”

Alex nodded. “I was thinking how I’ll
find the blackguard who seduced Lissie and kill him.”

“You’re not a murderer.”

“I know.” He met his brother’s gaze.
“It’s damn annoying. I’m not too good for revenge, though.”

Cameron smiled. “I suspected as much.
But you have a more pressing problem at the moment.”

“What might that be?”

“Lady Staunton is looking for you. She’s
acting like a dog in heat. I bet she thinks you’ll ask her to marry you once
her husband keels over.”

Alex could not raise his usual amused
chuckle. “Ever direct, little brother.”

“Everything I am I learned from you.”

“God help you, then. I’d sooner marry
old Lady Burrows than marry Lady Staunton.”

“Really?” Cameron looked appalled. “You’d
marry that wrinkled old bag before the delectable Lady Staunton?”

“Certainly. Lady Burrows may be old
and wrinkled, but at least she has a heart.”

“Good point. See, you are wise, and I
can learn a great deal from you.”

“Are you trying to lighten my mood?”

All playfulness left Cameron’s face.
“Well, when you walked out here you did look as if you might fling yourself off
the balcony.”

“No,” Alex assured his brother,
understanding Cameron’s concern. Between Robert’s suicide and Lissie’s
accidentally killing herself, Alex had the desire to draw his remaining
siblings close and put them under lock and key. “I was thinking about throwing
Lissie’s seducer off a balcony. Not myself.”

“Good.”

“Now, on to more important matters.”

“Lady Staunton?”

Alex shook his head. “She is not
important. Where are Mother and Father?”

“Mother’s upstairs with a migraine,
and Father is locked away in his study drinking barrels of whiskey.” Cameron
frowned down at his empty glass. “Catherine is in the dining hall playing the
hostess. She’s twittering around the room, smiling and laughing. It appears
she’s forgotten the occasion is our sister’s funeral.”

Alex pushed away from the rail and
circled his shoulders, trying to work out the knots in his neck. “Don’t be too
hard. That’s just how Catherine copes. Now how do you know Father is imbibing
in a good deal of whiskey?”

“Because, old man, I watched the
servant take a full bottle in, and just now when I came looking for you, I saw
my good man Smitty bring out the same bottle, now empty. Smitty says Father is
foxed.”

“That should give the guests
something more to tantalize them.”

“They’re tantalized enough,” Cameron
said. “I overheard someone whisper that our family is cursed.”

“Did you, now?” Alex looked at his
brother. “What else are the guests saying?”

“They say two grown children dying
out of five is a bad omen, a curse.” Cameron pushed off the rail. “I hate how
people are so inconsiderate as to whisper loud enough for me to hear.”

“Yes, they should take care to
whisper more quietly.” Alex glanced at Cameron. “Maybe we are cursed. First Robert’s
death, now Lissie’s.”

“Lissie didn’t mean to kill herself.
Her girl said so.”

“True. But Robert did. The fool. And
no one knows that better than me.”

Cameron flinched.

“Sorry.” Alex sighed. “I didn’t mean
to bring Robert up now.”

“No, I’m glad you did. You never talk
about him. Do you want to?”

“You want me to lay my betrayal out
nice and neat for you?” Alex growled.

“That’s not what I said nor, for the
record, is it what I think.” Cameron took a swig of his drink. “Let’s forget
it.”

“Forgotten.”

“How do you propose we find the fiend
who seduced Lissie? And when we do, what are we going to do to him?”

“Since murdering him is out, I’ll
settle on heinous revenge.”

“I’m helping.”

“We’ll see.” Alex didn’t want Cameron
to get into any trouble.

When Cameron looked as if he were
about to protest, Alex said, “I propose we start in Lissie’s room. Maybe we’ll
discover something to point us in the right direction.”

A few minutes later, he stood on the
threshold of his sister’s bedroom. He and Cameron slipped quietly into the space.
The pungent odor of mint and sickness surrounded him, nearly gagging him.

“What the devil is that smell?” Cameron
held his arm to his mouth as he rushed to open the window.

“That’s the smell of death.” Alex walked
over to the dresser and opened a drawer. They worked in silence for close to an
hour until they stood surrounded by scattered clothes, books, shoes and enough
feminine trinkets to boggle the mind—but no clues.

“I don’t know, old man. Maybe she
didn’t leave a clue.”

Alex surveyed the room. There had to
be a clue. His eyes burned as he swept his gaze over the room repeatedly.

Cameron walked toward the bedroom
door. “Maybe we should get some sleep. Come back tomorrow.”

It would be so easy to agree. In sleep,
the pain would be forgotten, but when he woke it would still be there,
consuming, throbbing and never really a memory. Just like Robert.

He shook his head, blinked and glanced
around the room again. The old doll he had given Lissie on her eighth birthday
still sat on a small green child’s chair in the corner of her room. The decor
of pastels and flowers could not have fit his sister more perfectly. He studied
the dresser, cluttered with brushes, perfumes and hairpins. Nothing there that
could help him. What kind of clue was he even looking for? Who was his sister? A
dreamer, a writer. Perhaps a diary? Where would she hide a diary?

He walked over to the wooden jewelry
box he’d given her for her birthday last year and tried the lid. Locked. He
sifted through her belongings on her vanity, looking for the key.

“What are you doing?” Cameron asked, coming
to stand beside him.

“Looking for a key.”

“Why?”

“Maybe there’s a diary in here.” Alex
tapped on the lid of the wooden box.

“Lissie didn’t have any dark secrets
to hide!” Cameron protested.

“Really?”

“Sorry. Stupid thing to say.”

Alex picked up a letter opener and
wedged it into the lock until it clicked satisfactorily. His hands trembled as
he opened the lid and picked up the small leather-bound book. He ran a thumb
over the cover of his sister’s diary as he walked to the bed and sat. Cameron sat
beside him. Opening the diary, Alex flipped toward the back.

March 20, 1818