Duke of Scandal (25 page)

S
am felt his blood rushing through his veins, his senses immediately alert, realizing the moment of revelation had arrived.

He gently pushed Olivia to his side, reaching down to squeeze her hand once before letting her go.

He hadn't seen Edmund yet, but he noted how most of the party guests surrounding them were staring, some of them gaping, and he knew with certainty it wasn't because they'd been dancing so closely.

A hush fell upon them, and with it came the greatest villain in the terrible play that had been his life before Olivia, scooting out from among the crowd in a river of pink satin skirts to stand before him. Funny, but he wasn't a bit surprised that she'd come for the festivity of exposing him.

“Samson,” Claudette said brightly, smiling, though her eyes betrayed her rage.

After all these years, he had no idea what to say to her, especially here in front of a crowd of the Riviera's elite. Olivia saved him from response, however, as she took a step in front of him, in a manner of protection or possession, he supposed, hands on her hips as she stared at the countess.

“Aunt Claudette, what are you doing here?” she asked in a low, surprised voice.

Before the woman could summon a reply, an aging gentleman Sam didn't know cleared his throat from behind a group of ladies and came forward, his bearing regal, his expression drawn. He tried to smile congenially but his gaze emitted his stone cold anger.

Sam realized at once that this man had to be Brigitte's grandfather and guardian, undoubtedly confused and enraged to see him and not know a thing at all about what might be happening at his granddaughter's betrothal ball.

“Monsieur,” he interrupted pleasantly, “would you and Olivia kindly come with me?”

Thankfully, Olivia answered for him. “Of course, Grand-père Marcotte.”

The man gave her only the slightest glance before turning his back on them, expecting them to follow without incident.

They met his quick pace through a gathering of people who parted easily for them, and Sam could feel Claudette's sharp scrutiny on his back as she walked closely behind, animosity seeping from her like a river of ice.

The music started playing again and dancers gradually returned to the floor as the four of them neared the ballroom doors. Murmurs and eye-popping still ensued, but grew fainter as guests returned to their conversation and liquor, engaging themselves once again in the party atmosphere.

Silently, they strode down the corridor toward the front of the estate, then took a turn for what Sam assumed to be the drawing room. He heard Edmund's voice from within before they entered.

His moment of truth had arrived, and although his head ached from tension and his mind still reeled from Olivia's confession of love, he felt remarkably calm.

Marcotte entered the drawing room first, followed by Olivia, himself, and lastly Claudette.

“Out,” the old man ordered a simple parlor maid, who offered a quick curtsy and left, closing the doors behind her.

Edmund had been in the far corner, standing next to the cold fireplace, speaking to a blond woman who had to be Brigitte, the heiress of Govance his brother had come to court and swindle. But the moment he heard Marcotte's sharp voice, his head popped up and he looked at Sam for the first time in ten long years.

A macabre silence enveloped the room. Nobody spoke for several long, anxious seconds, and then Marcotte moved to a central position, shoved his evening jacket aside and placed his hands on his hips.

“Would someone please tell me what the
hell
is going on?”

His voice shook the beams. Sam reached down and
instinctively grasped Olivia's hand, though he never moved his gaze from his brother.

Edmund had blanched as his mouth opened in shock, his eyes darting to each of them as sweat beaded on his forehead and temples.

Brigitte merely gaped, clearly stunned as she shot a fast glance to her betrothed's face and then back to Sam.

Claudette, naturally, recovered herself first as she lifted her skirts and began a slow saunter toward the center of the room where the old man stood waiting for explanation.

“Monsieur Marcotte,” she purred haughtily, “there has obviously been a complete misunderstanding—”

“Misunderstanding?” the old man bellowed.

The harshness in his voice stopped her in mid-stride, her hoops swinging out in front of her and then back again from her sudden halt.

“Who the devil are you?” he directed to Sam.

“Edmund's twin,” Claudette said, carrying on as if she were the center of attention, her accounting the only one that mattered.

Marcotte grimaced. “I believe everyone is already aware of that, Madame Comtesse. It appears to be self-evident.”

She looked stung, her eyes widening as her cheeks turned even pinker beneath her rouge.

Marcotte exhaled a forced breath, eyeing Sam skeptically. “And so I ask again, monsieur. Who are you?”

Without pause, he replied, “I am Samson Carlisle, Duke of Durham, in France to confront my younger brother, Edmund, whom I haven't seen in a decade.”

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.