Once Upon a Scandal (14 page)

Grayson swiveled toward Victoria and snorted, waving a hand toward her. “She’s her own damn chaperone from this night forth. Go on. Take her. And use the carriage I arrived in. After you escort her home, if you’re up for it, I have a few snifters of brandy waiting.”

“I will require more than a few snifters.”

“Yes. So will I.” Grayson spun back toward Victoria and spread his arms apart wide. “Who is your favorite cousin who oversees your every need and desire?”

Victoria lowered her chin. “Grayson, I doubt you understand any woman’s needs or desires. Let alone mine.”

Grayson dropped his hands to his sides and huffed out a breath. “A more ungrateful, heartless creature I’ve never met.”

Jonathan smirked and refrained from agreeing aloud.

Sir Thorbert smoothed both sides of his curling gray mustache with a hand several times and sighed. “May my brother rest in peace when his time comes. All is as it should be.”

“Amen.” Mr. Parker slipped his watch back into his pocket and set his gloved hands together. “Lord Remington. Tomorrow morning, at exactly ten, you must apply for a special license from the archbishop. He will be waiting. A week has been allotted to allow for any complications in attaining said license. The moment your license is approved, we will proceed with an informal ceremony before the earl, as was his wish. You will still be mandated to record your marriage within a parish.”

Jonathan cleared his throat. “I will ensure it. Is there anything else?”

Mr. Parker shook his bald head. “No. All other obligations shall fall upon me.”

Jonathan nodded. “I thank you.”

Now all he had to do was survive the rest of his life being married to a woman who didn’t want to be married to him at all.

The moment a lady is engaged, she should conduct herself with even more dignity and grace than ever before. Above all, she must avoid gossip. For although an engagement provides security of a match, nothing is ever guaranteed. Which is why it is best to ensure there is no reason for a lady to find herself at the mercy of a broken engagement.
—
How To Avoid a Scandal, Author Unknown

JONATHAN DREW in a deep, soothing breath. Gritty coal smoke tinged the cool night air.

Steps approached from behind, forcing him to push that large breath back out. He swiveled toward Victoria, who bustled toward him, her white satin slippers peering out with every step from beneath the hem of her verdant skirts.

Damn her for always looking so delectable and making him weak in the head and the knees. He swept a hand toward the open door of Grayson’s black lacquered carriage. “Where to?”

“Twenty-eight Park Lane.” She tightened her shawl around her shoulders with the tips of her bare fingers. She had never fetched the gloves he’d earlier removed. “The longest route possible,” she added. “You and I have quite a bit to discuss before you apply for that license.”

His left brow went up. The woman was going to get herself into trouble. Setting himself against the side of the carriage opposite the footman who held the door open, Jonathan swept up Victoria’s hand. Fingering her warm bare palm, he assisted her up the small set of steps.

She paused, her slippered foot resting on the last step leading into the carriage, her gown spilling across the length of the steps. She searched his face from where she was perched slightly above him. “I hate to admit it, but you do still look well.”

Jonathan lowered his chin against his cravat, suddenly feeling as if she were the rake and he the virgin. “That sort of talk will bring the devil to your door. Be mindful not to excite him too much.”

She gripped the edge of the doorway with one hand, whilst her other hand tightened its hold on his. She leaned closer down toward him. “I meant nothing amorous. ’Twas an observation, is all. I haven’t seen you in five years.”

He tightened his own grip on her hand as those green eyes penetrated his soul, and though he knew he ought to move back, he couldn’t help but revel in the way his breath drew in that sensuous hint of lavender that drifted up from the heat of her skin. “Admit it. Captain Blue Eyes has seized the illusive mermaid and has at long last brought her ashore.”

A smirk curved her full lips as if the opposite were true. “Though a wolf may howl at the moon with never-ending devotion, it doesn’t mean the moon is going to fall from the sky. The moon knows its place, Remington. Do you know yours?”

Well. At least the witty banter remained.

She swung back toward the opening of the carriage, her heat and scent dissipating. Releasing his hand, she ducked and disappeared, sweeping into one of the seats inside.

Jonathan smoothed his bound cravat against his throat with the tips of his fingers, feeling unusually warm despite the cool night. An hour wasn’t going to be enough. He needed more time to dig into that head of hers and understand what the hell he was up against.

Leaning toward the young footman, he announced, “Twenty-eight Park Lane. Allot two hours from departure to arrival. No more. No less.”

The footman offered a civil nod. “Yes, my lord.”

He pulled himself up and hopped into the carriage, settling into the seat across from Victoria. He leaned back and blew out a heavy breath, setting his gloved hands onto his knees.

“Two hours?” Victoria drawled.

“What? Did you require more time? I can offer you the rest of the night, as well. All you need do is put in your request.”

She glanced away and said nothing.

Jonathan smirked and shifted in the upholstered seat as the footman folded the steps and secured the door. Nothing kept him from touching and kissing Victoria now. Nothing but his own pride. He dug his fingers into his knees to distract himself from his need to grab her and prove to her that since he’d last seen her, he’d grown far more artful in the ways of love.

The carriage clattered forward into the night, causing them to sway against its movement. The dim light of the lanterns set outside the carriage illuminated the small upholstered space that now confined them.

She smiled and patted the small space beside her. “Come. There are a few things you and I need to discuss.”

He eyed her. She was being unusually amiable. Which meant the woman wanted something from him. And he doubted it was the same something he wanted from her. “I would rather sit here and ensure we not complicate this.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m not seventeen anymore.”

“I did not insinuate that you were.”

“You might as well have, with those words and that tone.” She sighed, fingering the ends of the shawl gathered in her lap, and eyed him. “I do not foresee either of us surviving this. You would forever be twisting your stubborn blade, expecting me to yield, while I would forever be resisting. It would never end. So I need to know. If we marry, would you agree to separate lives in separate households?”

His breath hitched. She might as well have ripped his heart out through his nostrils and then waltzed about with a bottle of champagne in honor of the insult. “A husband may mean nothing to you, bella, but a wife means everything to me. Whatever your reasons for wanting this marriage, I can assure you I will not allow us to lead separate lives in separate households. I intend to be a devoted husband and expect you to be a devoted wife.”

“Surely you don’t intend to bind me to a marriage I am being forced into out of my duty as a daughter?”

“Welcome to the world of being a woman. Though I should probably point out that I am not by any means binding you to anything. If you have objections to this marriage, which clearly you do, I suggest you take a more practical approach. I suggest we not marry at all.”

She shook her head. “No. That would mean relinquishing what is rightfully mine.”

He snorted. “I ask you cease imposing your pathetic notion of matrimony on me.”

“Gifting you my fortune along with the freedom to do whatever it is you want for the rest of our lives is not exactly what I would call pathetic or imposing. In truth, I think it generous.”

“Generous?” He shifted against the seat, growing all the more agitated. Why was it everyone seemed to think all he needed to sustain himself was money? It was degrading. “I have my own money, Victoria. More than enough to live comfortably. That said, even if I didn’t have a single farthing, I could never marry for a worthless sack of coins. I already played the part of a whore and will never play that role again. Not even to you. I want a relationship. I want to return to what we once shared and will not agree to anything else.”

She gestured toward him in exasperation. “You cannot reappear in my life and pretend five years haven’t passed. I am too disillusioned to entertain the sort of relationship you seek.”

“A loving relationship can offer opportunities to heal. Do you not want to be healed? Do you not want to be loved?”

“I know nothing of love. And clearly, neither do you, if you insist on imposing it on me.” She was quiet for a long moment, her features tightening. “So you aren’t willing to discuss the possibility of a separation?”

It was as if he hadn’t said a goddamn thing! He pointed rigidly to his own face. “Do I appear willing? Do I? I beg your pardon, but it appears you need me far more than I need you. Because I do not need to marry you to secure an inheritance. You, on the other hand, need me to secure yours. So if we are going to do this, it will be done my way. Not your way. My way. Which means no separation. You and I will live together, the way a husband and wife should. Do you need me to repeat that for you?”

She muttered something to herself as if it was insulting to have her situation pointed out to her. “I cannot imagine going through this angst with you day in and day out for the rest of my life as to what I should and should not feel. I would rather lose everything and live with Grayson.”

He fisted his hands, digging them into the upholstered seat beneath him, wishing he could somehow dig them straight into the heart she apparently no longer had. “I didn’t realize you loathed me enough to toss aside a hundred thousand pounds.”

“Better a hundred thousand pounds than my sanity.”

He squinted at her, trying to understand her better. “Why are you not giving me an opportunity to redeem myself? Do you think me incapable of making you happy? Is that it?”

She observed him with a lethal calmness that was reflected in her tone. “Yes. I do. And I do not say it to be unkind, for I have no doubt you could make other women very happy.”

“I do not want other women,” he ground out. “I only want one. I have only ever wanted one. And yet, cursed as I am, she is forever outside of my grasp. Why? Answer me that. Why are you forever outside of my grasp, even though you now sit before me?”

She sighed. The sort of sigh a parent would bestow upon a child before a lecture. “I will tell you why. Because you have failed to recognize that we have never been alike. Ever. For heaven’s sake, you fall upon your knee when you speak, wanting the entire world to fall upon its knee right along with you. Have you ever considered that perhaps the world does not revolve around you? Do forgive me, but I will not lead my life according to your interpretation of passion. I already tried that once and it nearly destroyed me. I am not doing it again.”

He narrowed his gaze. So. She wanted to wage a war against his passions and his ability to fall upon his knee in earnest, did she? So be it. He’d wage his own war, and in turn, gather all spoils, including every last shard of that heart. A heart that had clearly forgotten its purpose in life. Because a life without love and without any passion was a life without breath. “So you will only marry me if I agree to us leading separate lives? Is that what you are informing me of?”

“Yes.”

“And this has nothing to do with you despising me?”

“Of course not. I could never truly despise you, Remington. I will always harbor a certain fondness for you. Always.” A fondness? Bloody hell, there was the death knell to their relationship if he ever heard one. “So you will not marry me under any other circumstance?”

“No.”

He’d endured worse.

He nodded, fully accepting this amorous war she had set between them. He was going to convince her she was wrong. He was going to convince her that he was the man for her with every last breath left within him, and by the end of it, she would be the one falling upon her knee. Not him. “Very well. I will marry you and agree to the separation you seek.”

She straightened, shifting toward him. “You will?”

“Yes. Though only under two provisos. Are you prepared to meet them? Or am I wasting my time?”

“I will oversee whatever you set. I will also ensure you receive half the estate. You will never want for anything again.”

“If that much is true, then you might as well hand yourself over to me now. For you are all I want out of this.”

“Remington, please. Learn to respect what it is I feel and what it is I think. You cannot force someone into loving you merely because you want them to.”

He shrugged, knowing she was right. “I am acknowledging what you feel and what you think, Victoria. But that doesn’t mean I have to accept it.”

She huffed out a breath. “What are the provisos? Do you intend to name them? Or am I supposed to guess?”

Little did she know that by agreeing to his conditions, she was already agreeing to be his. He spaced his words evenly. “One. The moment we are wed, you will travel with me to Venice. Two. Once there, you will remain at my side and play the role of a dutiful wife for a month. When your month is over, if you still wish to live a life apart from mine, I will remain in Venice whilst you travel back to London. We will do so and there will be no further contact. Any questions?”

She blinked several times, then whispered hoarsely, “You cannot expect me to leave. Traveling to Venice, even on a private steamship, will take at least two weeks. My father may not live to see my return.”

He leaned farther back against the seat. “For this to be fair, Victoria, sacrifices will have to be made on both sides. I will be destroying any chance of taking a wife if I marry you and then agree to a separation. I will also be sacrificing you against my will. What do you intend to sacrifice? Money? That is not a sacrifice. That is a donation. Your father has had you at his side for two and twenty years. I am only asking for one month of your life.”

Her eyes widened. “What if my father were to die whilst I am abroad? What then?”

“I would never ask you to leave his side, Victoria, if I believed he was on his deathbed. I have already visited with your father several times and have spoken extensively to his physicians. They assure me that despite his mental lapse, he is still physically very strong and will last for at least another six months. Which is why I am only asking for a month. From what I was told, your father doesn’t even know you exist and therefore you can easily excuse yourself without affecting him mentally or physically.”

Her gaze narrowed. “The Remington I once knew would have never demanded this of me.”

“Regrettably, the Remington you once knew was drawn and quartered back in Venice.” Being in service to the Casacalendas had certainly seen to that. But the one good thing to have come of it was that unlike the old Jonathan, who forever submitted to defeat in the name of what was right, the new Jonathan didn’t know how to accept defeat. He’d choked on enough defeat.