Scandal of the Year (27 page)

She patted his hand. “Don’t be cross, dearest. I need your help. If you would just have a word with Prince Nicolai, perhaps you can persuade him to accept our dinner invitation.”

“He’s already turned us down. And what is this sudden interest in him, anyway?”

“Blythe was very taken with the prince last evening, as he was with her. Did you not notice the way they kept gazing at each other?”

“Frankly, no. However, she’s stated several times that her wish is to marry the Duke of Savoy.”

“But she can do better.” Edith gripped his hands hard. “Only think, George. No one among our acquaintances has a daughter who has married royalty. Not Lady Wargrave, not Lady Grantham, not even the Duke of Savoy himself.”

“What? I won’t have my daughter going off to live in a remote country where we’ll never see her again.”

“But they’ll be able to visit from time to time. Imagine, darling, our grandson could be a king.”

George shook his head decisively. “Absolutely not. I forbid it. Your ambitions are taking you much too far this time.”

“But dearest—”

“No, Edith. That is my final word on the matter.”

Lips pursed, she watched him wheel around to leave the boudoir. She had to concede the issue. Once George made up his mind, it was difficult to convince him otherwise. Blythe would have to wed the duke.

At the doorway, George turned back around. “By the by, did you ever find that letter?”

Nothing could have been better designed to distract Edith from her matchmaking scheme. “No. It’s still missing. I’ve searched everywhere.”

“Well, see to it that you keep looking. I needn’t warn you of the consequences should it fall into the wrong hands.”

As he left, a cold fear settled in her bones. Yes, she knew that all too well. They could lose everything: the house, their wealth, their standing in society. And in a court of law, possibly even their very lives.

She had queried the maids, moved every piece of furniture, but to no avail. Where had that blasted letter gone?

Chapter 24

After the drive in the park, James directed the coachman to deliver Savoy and his snooty daughter to their house on Albemarle Street. Then he let off Blythe in the mews behind Crompton House so that she could slip the rescued dog in through the garden.

James wanted to accompany her. Unfortunately, his disguise as Prince Nicolai required him to return the coach to Lindsey’s house, where he changed back into his footman’s livery. There was a further delay as Blythe’s sisters grilled him about the progress of the ruse. By the time he’d arrived home, Blythe had already washed and brushed the little mutt.

He found the two of them downstairs in the laundry room surrounded by several maids. Blythe wore a damp apron over her pale green gown. Minx was curled up on a towel in her lap. Wielding a pair of scissors, Blythe clipped a mat out of the dog’s fur.

Amazingly, the dark gray dog was now a pale cream color. James refrained from commenting on the transformation, since he wasn’t supposed to have ever seen the animal before.

Blythe looked up at his entry. Given their audience, she wore a polite smile. “James, you’re just the person I’d hoped to see. Are you fond of dogs?”

“I am, indeed.”

“Excellent. Mama won’t permit animals upstairs, so I’d like for you to watch over Minx for me. You’ll need to see to her meals and let her out when necessary.”

He bowed. “You may depend on me, Miss Crompton.”

Their gazes locked as she rose and walked toward him to hand over the dog into his arms. “See to it that you do an excellent job. Prince Nicolai rescued Minx from a gang of ruffians, which makes her very special to me.”

Mirth—and something else—danced in Blythe’s eyes. A deep, mysterious warmth. It made James feel as tongue-tied as a callow lad. While he held the tail-wagging mutt, she disappeared out into the corridor. A moment later, he heard the light patter of her footsteps going up the stairs.

James didn’t see her again until after dark, when he was assigned to accompany the family coach to a ball. Under Godwin’s sharp-eyed supervision, James held the door for the Cromptons when they arrived at the party in Grosvenor Square. His gaze met Blythe’s for an eloquent moment; then she looked ahead to the torch-lit doorway and disappeared into the house.

After that one warm glance, the evening turned cold and lonely. He waited long hours out in the chilly night air, listening to the boasting and jesting of the coachmen and footmen, watching them play dice beside the long line of carriages. Having always had a distaste for gambling, he declined to join them.

Instead, he walked up and down the street in an effort to stave off irritation. He’d never been one for idling away the time; he vastly preferred to be active. The faint strains of music drifted from inside the house. He craved to be in there with Blythe, at her side, staking his claim on her. Not as Prince Nicolai, but as himself, James Ryding Crompton.

He wanted Blythe to know the truth about him. He wanted to peer into the future and be assured that she would understand he’d had no choice but to expose her parents as frauds. He hungered for the certainty of her forgiveness.

Damn, he was a fool! Hoping for the impossible would accomplish nothing. It was far more likely she’d hate him forever.

But what else was he to do? He couldn’t let the false Cromptons’ crime go unpunished.

Long after midnight, the noble guests began to trickle out of the house. The coachmen jockeyed their vehicles into position. Blythe emerged with her parents, and when James held the door for them, her gaze sought his. But this time, the playful warmth had vanished. Her eyes held a serious, almost troubled look.

Had something happened to upset her at the party? Perhaps Lady Davina had made another verbal jab. It frustrated James to be so removed from Blythe’s life that he could neither protect nor defend her.

Once back at Crompton House, Godwin did the honor of letting out Blythe and her parents at the front door while James remained on his perch at the rear of the coach. He had one last glimpse of her before the coachman drove around back to the mews.

Godwin held a lantern to light the gloomy path through the garden. As they entered the house through the servants’ door, a ball of fur barreled out of the darkness. The head footman yelped and nearly fell.

Minx planted her paws on James’s legs, wagged her tail, and yapped for attention. “I see you’ve learned how to push open the door,” James said, reaching down to scratch her long ears. “Were you looking for me?”

“That creature should be kept in the stables,” Godwin said, wrinkling his fastidious nose. “There will be puddles all over the floor.”

“Miss Crompton gave orders for the dog to live in the house.”

Leaving the head footman to stew, James led Minx out to the grassy area of the garden. While she sniffed and explored, his gaze was drawn upward to the glow of candles in Blythe’s window. He peeled off his white gloves and stuffed them into his pockets. What was the cause of that distressed look she’d given him?

The question nagged at him like a sore tooth.

Minx completed her business and ran back to him. “Good girl,” he said absently. She trotted alongside him as he went back inside. The corridor was dim and deserted at this late hour. Godwin was gone, presumably having retired to his attic bedchamber.

James paused at the shadowy entrance to the servants’ stairs. He was supposed to take the dog back down to the cellar kitchen.

But she provided him with the perfect excuse to visit Blythe.

It took no more than an instant to make the decision. Reaching for Minx, he tucked the dog under his arm and started up the stairs. “You’re to be very quiet,” he told the pup, giving her head a rub. “No yapping or whining. Is that understood?”

Minx gave him an adoring look and licked his hand. Then she looked ahead, clearly excited at the prospect of accompanying him on an excursion into new territory.

A shuttered oil lamp at the landing enabled him to see the narrow wooden steps of the servants’ stairwell. James continued up until he reached the floor where the family bedchambers were located.

There, he peered cautiously out into the passageway. An encounter with George or Edith would be a disaster. They’d want to know why he’d brought a dog up here. Such an incident would draw attention to James when he needed to remain unobtrusive, just another anonymous servant performing his duties.

Happily, their suite of rooms lay at the opposite end of the floor from Blythe’s. And it was, after all, the middle of the night. By now, everyone should be in bed.

Was Blythe?

A keen sense of anticipation spurred James onward. He felt lust, yes, but something more. He enjoyed being in her company, teasing her, making her smile. While playing Prince Nicolai, first at the party and then on the drive through Hyde Park, he’d had the freedom to live in her world. That was the root cause of what had been eating at him all evening. He despised being relegated to the lowly status of a servant. He craved for her to view him as an equal.

Damn! How the devil was he to persuade Blythe to run off to Gretna Green to be married? He didn’t doubt she felt an attraction to him; their hot kiss in her father’s office had proven that. But the Duke of Savoy had the clear advantage. The old coot possessed a pedigree no footman could ever match.

It was one thing for James to charm Blythe with witticisms and gifts. It was quite another for him to convince her to abandon wealth, family, and status. To give up her luxurious world for marriage to a nobody.

A common servant.

But he had to succeed. His need to expose the crimes of her parents depended upon him luring her north to Lancashire.

As he approached Blythe’s chamber, his footfalls barely made a sound on the plush carpeting. With any luck, her maid would be gone by now. It would be best if there were no witnesses to his visit here.

He raised his hand to knock. But before he could do so, the door opened. Blythe started to walk out, then stopped and stared.

So did he. All the blood in his brain rushed to his loins. The candle in her hand illuminated a pale cream dressing gown tied at her slim waist. Her hair was piled on her head in a careless knot with a few coppery strands hanging loose on her shoulders.

She had never looked more alluring.

“James!” Her startled gaze softened as she looked at the mutt. “Oh, you’ve brought my sweet little darling. I was just now going to visit you, Minx.”

Blythe retreated to set down her candle on a table just inside the bedchamber. Then she took the animal from James and cuddled it to her bosom. Minx squirmed with delight, licking Blythe’s chin.

Laughing, Blythe tilted her head back in an attempt to evade the washing. As she did so, her bodice stretched taut over her breasts.

Her unbound breasts. In the uncertain light, he could just see the outline of her nipples through the thin fabric.

James tried not to gawk. He wanted to be the one held in her arms, pressed to that luscious body. Damn, he was jealous of a dog. Nothing could be more pitiful.

“I thought you might wish to see her,” he said inanely.

“That’s very considerate of you.” Nibbling her lip, Blythe gave him a soulful, serious look. “James, I’m very glad you’re here. I’d like to talk to you. May I bother you to come in for a few minutes?”

Bother him? He held back a strained chuckle. Little did she know, he’d follow her anywhere, even into the fires of hell.

Chapter 25

Leading the way into her shadowy bedchamber, Blythe hugged the sturdy little dog. The animal’s warmth and unconditional love were a comfort. And Blythe needed support after what she’d learned at the party. The news had festered inside her, making sleep impossible.

James closed the door. The welcome surprise of discovering him out in the corridor had been the best moment of her evening. He couldn’t know it, but at that very instant she’d been wondering which of the bedchambers in the servants’ garret belonged to him, and whether she dared to go look for him. She was that desperate.

He was the only one in whom she wished to confide. Not her mother, not her father, not her sisters. Only James.

When had he come to be so important to her?

A hopeless longing enveloped her as she watched him move through the gloomy bedchamber. He took the candle from the table and touched the flame to a branch of tapers. Then he picked up the poker and stirred the dying embers on the hearth, adding more coals from the hob until a cheery blaze danced in the fireplace.

Hugging Minx, Blythe wished instead to feel James’s arms surrounding her. As much as she liked the dog, she felt a great need for human warmth—
his
warmth. James was everything she admired in a man—kind, witty, strong, honorable, courageous. And he made her laugh, though she didn’t feel much like laughing at the moment.

But the vast gulf of rank separated them. A footman and a lady. It simply could never be. Still, she would rather have James here with her than any high-born gentleman.

He replaced the poker and turned to face Blythe. “I took her out to the garden just now,” he said, nodding at Minx. “So she ought to be good for the night.”

“Oh … thank you. She can sleep here with me.”

“Lucky dog.”

James’s devilish gaze shifted to the bed, then back to her. The half-smile on his lips caused a pulse of heat inside Blythe. She had spoken without thinking, but now she imagined the two of them lying together under the covers, kissing and touching.…

To hide her hunger, she walked away to make a nest out of a spare blanket at the foot of the bed. She placed Minx there, and the pup turned around several times, then plopped down with a contented sigh, resting her chin on her paws.

“What breed do you suppose she is?” Blythe asked.

James came to stand beside her. His faint scent drifted to her, something exciting and spicy combined with the freshness of the outdoors. “Part spaniel, from the long ears. But her small size and coloring would suggest a terrier of some sort.”

“I’d have to concur.” Blythe continued to idly pet the dog as she glanced at him. “That’s two you’ve given me, all in one day.”