Duke of Scandal (26 page)

Slowly, Claudette began to walk toward them, her eyes thinned to slits, nostrils flaring, her mouth turned down into an ugly little frown.

“Tell me, darling Sam, have you mentioned the love affair you and I had to Olivia?”

That came out of nowhere, causing gasps around the room. All except for Edmund, who actually chuckled.

“You're a pathetic excuse for a noblewoman, Claudette,” he whispered, his tone like ice.

That didn't faze her in the least. “No? Well, I think she deserves to know the truth.” She glanced around the room, arms wide. “We are revealing truths, are we not? And you have several dirty little secrets to share.”

Oh, God.
Sam felt his pulse begin to race.

“Stop this nonsense. Of course he's told me the whole sordid tale,” Olivia said in a shaky voice, trying to be blasé about the issue as she lied for him, though Sam felt her start to tremble tenuously beneath his hands.

Be brave, my sweet, beautiful Livi.

Marcotte immediately realized Claudette was pushing beyond the limits of decency. With firm resolve he maintained, “I'd like you to leave, Madame Comtesse. Now.”

Claudette fumed, rigidly set, glaring at him. “I'm not going anywhere until my niece hears about the baby.”

Brigitte, whom everyone had seemed to forget, suddenly shrieked from her position on the settee.

Marcotte turned pale. “What baby?”

“Leave now, madam,” Sam warned, his deep voice reverberating through the walls, “or you will forever regret the day you met me.”

“I already regret it,” she retorted. “You can't scare me, Samson.”

“What baby!” Marcotte bellowed.

“Samson and Claudette's baby,” Edmund drawled, a sly expression bathing his face.

Without a word, Olivia tried to pull away from him, but he clenched his hands hard on her shoulders, tightly reining her in.

“You've always been a bastard, Edmund,” he said, his voice a deadly whisper.

Claudette clapped her hands together in malicious glee. “Oh goodness, Olivia, dear, I see from your poor pale face that you didn't know Sam and I had a little one together.” Her brows rose as she looked at him again. “I wonder why he didn't tell you?”

Sam swallowed his rage. If he weren't so fearful of Olivia running, he'd let her go, take three steps forward, and kill the woman.

“Shut up, Claudette,” he warned, clinging to Olivia, who'd started to shake.

Claudette only blinked in feigned shock. “What? And not tell her everything?” She laughed. “It seems you've been keeping some secrets of your own, darling Sam.”

Marcotte seemed to quickly gather his thoughts. He straightened, arms at his sides, then walked to within inches of the countess.

“This has nothing to do with my granddaughter. I'm asking you politely, once again, to leave.”

Claudette glanced to Edmund. “Darling? I suggest you tell him everything.”

Edmund's features relaxed a little, and he gazed at the countess with nothing short of pity in his eyes. “I'm going to marry Brigitte, regardless of what I've done in the past, and regardless of why I came to Grasse to meet her.”

Claudette didn't say anything for a moment or two, then murmured, “No, you're not.”

“Yes, I am,” he countered brusquely.

Claudette looked truly confused, glancing around the room to each of their faces. And then fierce conviction returned; she lifted her chin to bitterly reveal, “Everything Olivia said is true. Edmund and I have been lovers for years, and we planned this ruse to woo the Govance heiress strictly for her inheritance. Edmund is only claiming love to keep his sniveling ass out of prison for fraud.”

Brigitte gasped.

“Why?” Sam asked Claudette. It was a simple question, but also the central issue upon which they hadn't yet touched in this horrid yarn. “What is the point of choosing perfume heiresses when you've never wanted for anything in your entire life?”

“Because I want control of the industry, the riches, the supply houses, to control what sells and what does not. I should have been given Nivan at my brother's death.
I
am the rightful heir. Edmund agreed with me, and we…we decided that by having him court and pretend to marry the heiresses of Nivan and Govance, though I may not get complete control, with the Empress Eugenie as
my
patron, I would be the one with status. I would be in charge of what should have been mine.”

Marcotte actually chuckled as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “That's the most ludicrous thing I've ever heard.”

Claudette turned scarlet again. “And yet it's the truth.”

“Madame Comtesse,” Marcotte said with ease, looking at her directly, “nothing you could do would give you control of the perfume industry, and certainly not
the kind patronage of the empress. How can anyone guarantee what her tastes will be next Season? Boutiques and supply houses are bought, sold, or traded constantly, or they stay in families, as mine has, as Nivan has.” He shot Edmund an angry glance. “As for the part about stealing inheritances, I'd have to say that dear Olivia, who has obviously been greatly hurt by the two of you, could and should report you both to the authorities, though I suppose your titles give you more respect than you deserve.”

Claudette just looked at him; Edmund closed his eyes and slowly shook his head, clearly feeling the sudden loss of everything he'd tried to gain by cheating.

Brigitte started crying on the settee.

“I am in love with Brigitte!” Edmund fairly shouted. He looked at Olivia. “Regardless of what I've done.”

“You don't deserve her,” the old man said in reply.

At that moment Sam actually pitied his brother.

Then standing with rigid bearing once more, Marcotte looked hard at Claudette.

“You have done enough,” he said. “You will leave my estate and never step foot near Govance again, madame. You will leave now or I shall throw you out on your wicked, deceitful ass.”

Claudette took a step away from him, thoroughly appalled.

He grabbed her arm. “Now!”

And then with incredible strength that defied his age, Marcotte dragged her, hoops and all, to the door, opened it, and shoved her out, closing it behind him.

If it were any other circumstance, Sam would have applauded.

The silence became deafening. Brigitte cried quietly on the settee, Edmund glared at him again, though now looking like a wounded animal. And the greatest love, the greatest woman he had ever known in his life stood in front of him, still trembling, refusing to look at him, emanating raw emotions he thought might actually crush him. But he would not discuss it here, only to embarrass her even more in front of the Govance patriarch, in front of Edmund and Brigitte.

Drawing a deep, full breath, he stood erect and broke the silence.

“Monsieur Marcotte,” he said with regal stature, “I offer you my sincerest apologies for the unfortunate events of this night. But the fact remains that I refused to see my brother abuse another lady as he did my wife.”

Olivia tried to pull away from him again, but he held her fast.

“Especially one as lovely and innocent as your granddaughter.”

Brigitte sniffed, offering him a faint smile.

Marcotte regarded him with narrowed eyes, then nodded once as he simply replied, “Your grace. You are welcome in my house.”

Sam hadn't expected that, which made him wonder why the old man hadn't yet thrown Edmund out on his deceitful, wicked ass, either.

“Now,” Marcotte expelled through a forced breath, pulling down on his evening jacket, “it seems I have a decision to make.”

He strode with purpose to Edmund, who now actually looked sheepish and ridiculous in his expensive
black evening suit, probably paid for by Olivia's stolen money.

Without restraint, Marcotte asked, “Have you bedded my granddaughter?”

Olivia sucked in a breath; Brigitte jumped off the settee, her face as white as graveyard lilies. To his credit, Edmund appeared confused and a trifle shaken by the question.

“I beg your pardon?” he blurted.

Although Edmund stood nearly half a foot taller than the Frenchman, he shrank from the man's intensity.

Very slowly Marcotte repeated, “Have you bedded my granddaughter?”

Brigitte came to his rescue, moving to Edmund's side and taking his hand. “Grand-père, your question is
completely
inappropriate.”

The old man looked down at her briefly. “Stay out of this, child,” he warned in a whisper.

She swallowed, her eyes large as saucers.

He looked back at Edmund. “Answer me!”

“I love her,” he replied, his voice dangerously low.

“Does that mean yes?”

Edmund's eyes never wavered. “Yes.”

With that, Marcotte pulled his arm back, then shot it forward, ramming his fist into Edmund's jaw.

“Grand-père!” Brigitte screeched, her mouth hanging open as Edmund grunted and fell back, his shoulder slamming into the edge of the mantelpiece before he toppled to the floor.

Sam stared in astonishment. A man nearly eighty years of age had just bested his brother, something he'd
wanted to do for years. His admiration for Marcotte grew immensely at that moment.

The old man rubbed his fist, then shook it out, gazing down at the two of them, Brigitte mortified as she bent down and lifted Edmund's shoulders off the floor, Edmund shaking himself, bewildered and in pain.

“Now that we've settled that,” Marcotte continued as he straightened his collar, “I will say this. You're a spoiled bastard, Edmund, but I believe you love my granddaughter as she loves you. You
will
marry her, and legally, with me at your side to witness the event, and then you two will make babies and live on my estate until I inform you that you may leave. You will
not
live a life of lazy days; you will work at Govance as I order you to. You will never mention your sordid past to anyone, for if you do, if I learn you've hurt my granddaughter the way you've hurt Olivia, I will have you arrested and will spend every penny of my vast fortune to make certain you die in prison.” He huffed, then added, “Or I will kill you myself.”

He stepped back and dusted off his coat sleeves, apparently expecting no reply from the man he'd only just floored.

“Now, Brigitte, dear, you will dry your eyes and clean your face this minute,” he ordered, pointing his finger at her, his tone growing louder with every word, “and then you and the idiot you're going to marry will walk arm in arm into that ballroom and present yourselves to my guests, who've come to a party that will cost me for the next ten years, as the betrothed couple you are, happy and joyous and in love!”

Sam shook his head in wonder, in keen enjoyment of watching Edmund squirm.

Marcotte turned as Edmund finally stood, trying like hell not to look humiliated or rub his aching jaw, clinging to Brigitte's arm while she coddled him.

Sam remained where he was, Olivia still in front of him. He reached down and lifted her hand, his heart skipping a beat when it felt limp and cold as ice. God, they needed to get out of here, to talk alone. To make love and forgive.

“I'm sure you would have enjoyed that almost as much as I did,” Marcotte said lightly, eyes sparkling as he walked toward Sam and Olivia at last.

“You were splendid,” Sam remarked with a wry grin. “I enjoyed it just to watch you.”

Marcotte nodded, then gazed at Olivia, his smile fading as he clearly witnessed the pain on her face, a pain Sam couldn't yet see because she'd been in front of him the entire time. Suddenly, it scared him.

“My dear Olivia,” he said gently, grasping her shoulders and kissing both cheeks. “Thank you.”

“Grand-père Marcotte,” she whispered, her tone gravelly and choked.

The old man breathed deeply and stood back, clasping his hands together behind him. “You're both more than welcome to stay, but it appears you have much to discuss. Your grace, I love your wife, as I loved her mother, just like my own family. You have chosen well.”

He nodded once. “Thank you.”

Marcotte bowed, then strode to the door. Placing his hand on the latch, he glanced back at Edmund and Bri
gitte. “Out to the party quickly, both of you. And Edmund, if anyone mentions the bruise on your face, tell them your brother hit you. Everyone should believe that.”

He opened the door and quit the drawing room, closing it once again behind him.

For a moment nobody did anything, Sam still clinging to Olivia's lifeless hand, desperate now for privacy.

“You're…identical,” Brigitte murmured as Edmund stood facing Sam, his eyes defiant.

“Enough, Brigitte,” Edmund cut in with annoyance.

Sam started walking toward his brother, pulling Olivia along because he was suddenly terrified of letting her go.

“My congratulations to you,” he said, his voice once again chilling the air.

Edmund sneered. “Go away, Samson.”

“I intend to.” He cocked his head to the side. “And I never want to see you in England again unless you come to apologize to my wife.”

Edmund snorted, rubbing his jaw, chancing a glance toward Olivia. “You really married her, eh?”

Sam's eyes turned black. “Be careful, Edmund, or I will knock your teeth out. You've done enough damage for one lifetime.”

Brigitte grew immediately incensed. “That's enough, both of you.”

Sam looked at her and chanced a smile. “Mademoiselle Marcotte, please keep the money Edmund stole from Nivan as my wedding gift to you. I will pay Olivia back for her trouble with my own funds.”

Brigitte blinked, then looked at Edmund. “I can't
believe you did something like that, Edmund. It's despicable.”

“We'll discuss it later,” he groused, never taking his eyes from his brother.