Scandal of the Year (18 page)

“That’s my lovely girl,” Savoy said with a fond smile. “But be forewarned, royal or not, this Nicolai fellow will have to pass muster with your papa.”

“Of course,” Davina said smoothly. “However, I must point out that it is no small event for a lady to be courted by a crown prince. And rumor has it that Prince Nicolai is seeking a high-born bride to be his future queen.”

At the girl’s superior look, Blythe bit her lip to hold back a gleeful laugh. Everything was going according to plan. Davina had no inkling that the letter was a forgery written by a fictitious prince. Rather, she was vain enough to consider being singled out by Prince Nicolai as quite the feather in her cap.

Lord Kitchener held up his wineglass in a toast. “To your Royal Highness, Queen Davina of Ambrosia. I shall compose a poem on the grand occasion of your marriage.”

“I vow you are quite mad, Kitchy,” Davina scolded, though obviously pleased at the notion of becoming consort to a monarch. “There is no certainty that Prince Nicolai will make me an offer.”

“How could he not when you are the fairest of the fair?” The viscount cast a soulful look at the ceiling as if to seek inspiration from its plastered medallions. With his mop of golden-brown curls and earnest expression, he resembled the caricature of a romantic poet. “There once lived a lady and a prince / Whose great love has never been seen since.” He broke off with a frown. “What else rhymes with prince?”

“Wince, mince, rinse, quince,” Blythe said. “Or perhaps even hints, mints, flints.”

Kitchener took a gulp of wine, then continued to spew ever more wretched verses about the prince bearing gifts of quince while the lady hid a wince since she’d been hoping for mints.

While Davina was preoccupied with the viscount, Blythe took the opportunity to smile at the duke. “Do you like poetry, Your Grace?”

“Never did,” he said. “’Tis all blather and nonsense.”

“What do you like to read, then?” she asked, hoping to find an area of common interest. “Is there a particular topic in your library?”

“Books? Barely cracked one open since Eton. Sends me off into a doze every time. Kitchener, cease your prattling and play your turn.”

To Blythe’s frustration, the duke’s attention remained on the cards in his hands. He seemed to have little care for any other subject matter that she broached. As the foursome continued to play, she noticed that he and his daughter were exchanging cunning little finger motions, along with subtle facial expressions such as raising an eyebrow or tapping a chin.

In disbelief, Blythe watched them more closely. Was it possible they were
cheating
?

They must be, for they had a whole range of signals to one another. The shock of it stunned her. Nothing could be more dishonorable. Imbibing yet another glass of wine, Lord Kitchener fell too deeply in his cups to pay heed, and she herself could think of no way to stop them aside from creating a scene.

Mama would disown Blythe if she dared to humiliate the duke with an accusation of deceit.

She tried to reason away her aversion. What did it matter anyway? It was merely a casual game of cards. The wager she’d made with the duke would barely make a dent in her pin money. Nevertheless, his cheating disturbed her, for it revealed something of his character, something she didn’t care to ponder.

It also sparked in her the irrepressible desire to win.

She paid closer attention to the cards, counting the suits that had been played and calculating the odds. The task was difficult, hampered as she was by a partner who was more interested in guzzling wine and spouting drunken verses than playing whist. However, luck favored her and toward the end of the rubber, she had nearly managed to stave off their win.

At least until she glanced across the chamber and saw something that erased all other considerations from her mind.

Carrying a silver tray of empty glasses, James was walking out of the drawing room. At the same moment, Lindsey arose from her chair and glided after him.

Chapter 17

Blythe sat riveted to her seat. Heaven forbid, had her sister gone to question James? Was she intending to bully the information out of him about his role in the ruse? Would she interfere in a misguided effort to thwart Blythe’s plan to marry the duke?

Fraught with worry, she played the next few hands badly.

Savoy slapped down his last card and chortled. “There’s the win. You owe me one gold guinea, Miss Crompton.”

Blythe managed a rueful smile. “So I do. Alas, I seem to have forgotten my purse. Will you excuse me while I fetch it?”

The duke made an expansive gesture. “Go on, go on. We’ll play with a dummy hand in your absence.”

“And you’d best bring some extra coins in the event you’re unlucky again,” Lady Davina said with a smirk.

Wishing she dared to make a clever allusion to cheaters, Blythe pushed back her chair and headed for the arched doorway. Courtesy demanded that she speak a few gracious words to some of the guests on her way. At last, she escaped into the grand corridor and abandoned her polite smile. Only a few servants scurried here and there, readying the formal dining chamber for the midnight supper.

James was nowhere to be seen.

Had Lindsey pulled him into a deserted room? Was she even now grilling him, forcing him to admit that he would play Prince Nicolai?

Picking up her skirts, Blythe walked faster. She made haste down the passageway, glancing into the rooms right and left. When at last she found him, a disaster nearly ensued.

He was emerging from a doorway with a silver tray of full champagne flutes balanced on his open palm. She came to an abrupt halt within an inch of bumping into him. “Oh!”

James reacted swiftly. He lifted the tray high to keep from spilling its load of crystal. “Devil take it, slow down.”

A whiff of his spicy scent caused an immediate tension inside her. She stood close enough to feel the heat of his body, close enough to arch up on tiptoes and brush her lips over his mouth.…

How absurd! She would never again be so foolish.

Craning her neck, she looked past him into a small, lamp-lit antechamber filled with wine bottles and glassware arranged on tables. “Where’s Lindsey?”

“Your sister? She was playing cards when last I saw her.”

Relief poured through Blythe. “Praise heavens, I was mistaken.” Seeing his quizzical look, she explained, “Lindsey left the drawing room directly after you. I thought … well, you see, a few days ago I had to tell my sisters about the plan to trick Lady Davina.”

“Had to?”

“The Countess de Lieven came to ask questions of Portia … but never mind, it’s a long story.”

An ominous frown descended over his face. James glanced past Blythe down the deserted corridor. With a slight jerk of the head, he indicated that she was to follow him. “Come,” he said. “I can spare a few minutes. Especially when it involves the exposure of something I believed was a sworn secret between us.”

They went into the antechamber, where James set down the tray and then closed the door. He folded his arms and pinned Blythe with a hard stare. “I must ask you to remember that I could lose my position here because of this game you’ve ordered me to play.”

His forbidding look daunted her. So did the reality of being alone with him again, with the soft glow of the lamp and his masculine presence filling the small room. But she wouldn’t be intimidated.

“It isn’t a game,” she said. “I’m paying you well for your participation. And I certainly
didn’t
reveal your identity to my sisters.”

“Then what precisely did you tell them?”

“Only the essential facts.” Gripping her fingers at her waist, she paced restlessly back and forth. “When I first spread the rumor about Prince Nicolai, I had to make up a plausible reason to explain how I knew about his impending visit to England. So I said that Portia had learned of it when she received a letter from her friend, Arun.”

“The Maharajah of Mumbai, her childhood sweetheart.”

Blythe nodded, remembering their conversation about India when James had brought her breakfast. “Yes. You see, Arun also happens to be a friend of Prince Nicolai. You’ve visited his palace on your travels.”

“Amazing,” he said dryly. “To think I’ve been to India and I didn’t even know it.”

She tapped her chin with her forefinger. “Remind me to describe Arun’s palace to you in case Lady Davina questions you about it.”

His expression inscrutable, James handed Blythe a flute of champagne from the tray. “I must say, this hoax is becoming more and more complex by the day. Now, go on with the business about your sisters.”

She sipped at the fizzy wine, remembering how he had also given her champagne on the night they’d met. James seemed to have an uncanny instinct for knowing when she needed liquid courage.

“I was at Almack’s when I first told the story to one of the biggest gossips in society. I swore him to secrecy. But apparently when the Countess de Lieven heard the rumor, she wormed the information out of him about Arun and Portia.”

“This countess sounds like a formidable woman.”

Blythe took a larger swallow, letting the bubbles burst on her tongue for a moment before finding the pluck to speak. “She’s one of the patronesses at Almack’s, as well as the wife of the Russian ambassador. Besides which, she’s a quick wit and well known for her political salons.”

James cocked an eyebrow. “Ah. Then if her husband is a diplomat, she will be entertaining doubts about the existence of the sovereign nation of Ambrosia.”

“I’m afraid so,” Blythe said, ducking her chin to look up at him through her lashes. “She told my sister she’d never heard of such a country. Which is why when you play the prince, we must keep you out of sight as much as possible. It’s imperative that you never encounter the countess.”

Nervous of his reaction, she ran her fingertip over the rim of the flute. Would he be angry at her for embroiling him in such a tangled web? What if he refused to go through with it? What if he called her bluff and banked on her not tattling that she’d seen him leaving the house late at night?

“Leave the countess to me,” James said. “There’s nothing for you to fret about.”

“Fret? She could unmask you by asking pointed questions.”

“I’ll dodge them. But if you’re that worried, perhaps it’s best to abandon the whole charade.”

“No! The plan is working; I need only iron out a few wrinkles.” Clutching the champagne glass, Blythe resumed pacing. James looked entirely too confident. And no wonder. He had spent his life in the servants’ hall and couldn’t fully fathom the ins and outs of society. It was up to her to protect him from danger. “When the prince arranges a meeting with Davina, it must be in a garden somewhere, away from people. Under no circumstances are you to enter any ballroom or party in full view of society.”

“That might work for the first assignation. But Lady Davina is certain to suspect something is amiss if Prince Nicolai behaves as a total recluse. Besides, she seems a vain sort who’ll be eager to show off her prize suitor.”

Blythe found the prospect worrisome, too. “We’ll solve that problem as it arises. The matter depends upon how swiftly I can convince the Duke of Savoy to make an offer to me.”

Her words had an immediate effect on James. His amiable expression turned cool and his jaw tightened. The easy camaraderie between them vanished as he turned away to pick up a glass of his own.

“To your success.” He stepped forward to clink his flute against hers. “That
is
the point of all this skullduggery, is it not? For you to land the biggest fish in the matrimonial sea.”

An undercurrent of mockery to his voice belied his smile. He made Blythe feel defensive about her plan to secure her future—and that of her parents. Who was he to deride her choices?

“By the by,” she said stiffly, “I’d like to know why you were at my table a little while ago. That was an unnecessary risk. If Lady Davina had taken a close look at you, the ruse would have been over before it had even begun.”

“Come now, no one notices the servants. I was merely performing my required duties.” He took a swallow from his glass. “Drink up, Miss Crompton, it’s time for you to return to your card game. Perhaps you could save us both a lot of trouble by making a wager with the duke in which he might win your hand in marriage.”

“Don’t be absurd.”

“It’s no more absurd than having me skulk around in the bushes for the sake of your ambitions.”

Watching him finish off his champagne, Blythe was more disturbed by his actions than by his bold disdain for her aspirations. Surely he knew that any member of the staff who was caught imbibing spirits would be dismissed on the spot.

But James was no ordinary footman. He had the air of a privileged gentleman rather than a lowly servant. If not for the powdered wig and blue livery, he would fit in as a guest in any great house—although she didn’t trust him not to make mistakes. Was he merely a good mimic? Or was it his upbringing as the companion of a gentleman that lent him such careless self-assurance?

One fact was certain: Blythe had the distinct impression of secrets behind those masculine features, hidden truths that he didn’t allow her to see. And the notion of discovering them intrigued her far more than it ought.

Blythe tilted her head back and drained the rest of the bubbly wine, only to find James watching her intently. It had the immediate effect of making her heart trip over a beat. Caught in the throes of desire, she felt exposed and self-conscious. “Why are you staring at me?”

“How can I not? You have the most beautiful hazel eyes.”

His husky compliment sent tingles over her skin. It transported her straight back to the moment when they’d fallen into each other’s arms. She had a sudden awareness of how alone they were, of how much she craved an encore to that wild, splendid encounter. Was he, too, remembering the blazing glory of their kiss?

She set down her glass with a sharp click. “You oughtn’t say things like that.”

“Quite the contrary. I must learn to become the charming prince. Who else would you have me practice on but you?”