Silk and Scandal (8 page)

“Here is to you, my darling Park,” she whispered. “Handsome, biddable, and most importantly, dumb as a post. What fun we shall have bringing doom upon Nicholas’s head. As long as you let me do the thinking, we shall win in the end.”

Park Mansfield, cousin to Duke Weston, was a delectable, though slightly stupid, young man who possessed golden hair and a long, lean body. Several years ago, she’d been his lover until he left for the Peninsular War. Park had wanted to make his fortune, but it was not to be. Still, he loved women: wealthy, sophisticated women. It was the extent of his affairs with rich widows that gave him entrée to the best society had to offer.

Controlling Park would be simple, she thought. Fantastic lovemaking was a tool any intelligent woman could use to advantage, and she used her tools well.

“Sex will come later,” she murmured, licking her lips in anticipation. “We have other, more important matters to discuss, do we not? Primarily money and the best means to attain it.”

Park and Duke Weston were bitter enemies and should Nicholas fail to marry soon, Park would inherit. He might be slightly one spoke short of a wheel, but wealth was something he understood quite well. Yes, he would be easily controlled.

Pausing at a gilt-framed mirror, she admired her appearance, as she had done numerous times over the hour past. Re-arranging a black curl atop her head, she made a moue at her reflection. “I must look my very best today,” she said as she fiddled with her coiffure. “At my age one can never be too sure.”

Oh yes, Beatrice knew that her beauty was unquestionable. What gray hair she possessed was discreetly colored and her lush figure had remained almost as firm as when she was twenty.

It had been that very face and figure that had kept her late husband a slave to her beauty. It had also been those same attributes that had lured the senior Duke Weston, Nicholas’s father, to her bed.

A magnificent lover, Harold, the late Duke, was the father of her only son, Stephen. Sadly, her own husband, Lord Fitzgerald, had failed to sire an heir. Of course, when she’d given birth to Stephen, the fool had thought the child to be of his own true heir.

Had fortune been kind she would have been a Duchess!

Spinning from the mirror in a rare burst of anger, she grabbed a vase filled with white lilies and dashed it against the wall. “Bastard! What a stupid moron you were, Fitzgerald!”

Staring at the bits of broken glass and the puddle of water staining the highly polished floor, she huffed a breath. “Tilly!”

The nervous maid, mobcap askew, rushed to the doorway and gave an awkward curtsey. “Yes, mum.”

“Clean up this mess at once. Quickly.”

Tilly rushed off to attend the spill as Bea flopped onto the divan in a lazy sprawl.

Thinking she would be wealthy after Fitzgerald’s death, she’d learned just the opposite was true. He’d squandered his so-called-son’s inheritance and her future stability. Though few knew it, Stephen’s title was empty. The day James Fitzgerald cocked up his toes, she’d learned there was little left in the family coffers.

She and Stephen had managed, but it wasn’t enough just to get by. Stephen was a magnificent gambler, she admitted, and her own numerous lovers were generous men. But there was the matter of respect.

Most galling to her, however, was the fact that her son had been denied when his half-brother Nicholas seemed to all a golden child. Blessed in looks and money, he could do no wrong. Aside from inheriting vast wealth from his father, he’d gone on to double that amount with his own ventures. Everything the man touched became gold, but Beatrice remained convinced it was due primarily to the legitimacy of his birth.

Watching the maid finish her task and leave the room, Beatrice felt a bolt of fury lash through her. That Stephen was deprived of his heritage was a great source of rage and though she cared for few things deeply, she loved her son.

Stephen needed to marry a woman of good fortune, and he’d set his sights on Eliza Grayson. Lovely thing, Beatrice mused. Nearly a week ago, over drinks, he’d talked of the bet with Nicholas and his determination to have the spirited Lady Eliza . Beatrice wanted to ensure that Stephen’s wish came true. He would possess his new wife’s fat dowry and Nicholas would fail to live up the codicil in his father’s will. Park would inherit, become Duke Weston and she, Beatrice, would be his Duchess.

At last she would have what she deserved.

Straightening her posture, she reached for the decanter again and poured herself another drink. Settling back, she considered the tangled affair. Eliza Grayson was the catalyst of it all, the key to making her wildest dreams come true.

Earlier today, her son had been rather blasé about the entire matter of marriage. Wedding Lady Eliza was necessary but his primary motivation remained his lack of money and his need for revenge against Nicholas.

Moments later, Park Mansfield was shown into the parlor and Beatrice greeted him by moving sinuously forward, her fingers outstretched. “Ah, Mr. Mansfield, how good of you to come.” By design, her voice fairly purred with sexual invitation.

Gallantly Mansfield kissed her proffered hand and allowed his gaze to dip to the low décolleté of her yellow satin gown. She moved closer on a cloud of expensive perfume and sensing her invitation, he licked lightly at the palm of her hand.

“Ooh. What a forward man you are.” She brushed against him and gave him a brazen kiss that lasted long enough to make young Park hard enough to pound stone.

Finally drawing away, she allowed her gaze to wander the length of his rangy body. Noting the evidence of his desire, she grinned like a cat licking cream. This would be so easy, she thought, purring in anticipation of her victory.

“But please, I forget myself. Do sit while I fix you a drink. Brandy?” She lifted a brow.

“Yes, thank you.” Park sprawled on a settee and crossed his legs at the ankle. As she poured his drink, Beatrice watched him covertly, careful to keep her movements blatantly seductive. It was surely no great secret they would have sex and she smiled slightly as he gave her a direct stare.

Park was just vain enough, she thought, to know that the size of his erection appealed to lonely and beautiful widows. When she returned with the brandy, he smiled and patted the place beside him.

“Wonderful to see you again, Bea,” he murmured, leaning closer. “It has been long time since I bedded you. What a delightful interlude!”

“Mmm. Yes, and what a darling man you are to remember.”

“You are, without doubt, the most unforgettable woman in England. I’m dying to have you.”

“Soon, darling, soon, I promise. But first we have business to discuss.”

“Go on. Please let us get to the heart of the matter.” He set down his drink and proceeded to lift her yellow skirts above her knees. Bea smiled as he brushed his fingers over her bared flesh. Manipulating this man would be easily managed. As he took liberties, touching and stroking her thigh, she reached out to tease the ends of his hair with her fingers.

“We must talk about your cousin, the duke.”

Park looked up, a sullen expression on his face. “What about him? The bastard! Would that he’d stayed in China, I would be Duke and have everything.”

“Yes, I know, dear. I know. It is his fault entirely but now he wants to marry Eliza Grayson to meet the demands of his father’s Will and all shall be lost. You do know about the Will, do you not?”

“Of course, I do. I’m not an idiot.”

Bea highly doubted that but held her tongue. “We know he must marry by midnight of his birthday which grows closer as we speak. It appears he edges closer to wedding one Lady Eliza Grayson if the local wags are correct. Just a week ago, he saved her from death and the ton will not stop talking about it. He practically has a ring on the girl’s finger.”

“Then we must stop it.”

“Indeed we must, my darling man. My son wishes to marry the chit and I would see that happen to ensure our family fortunes…and yours. We must find a solution to this dilemma, hm?”

“Yes, we must,” Park stood and walked to the decanter and held it aloft. “I am quite sure we can discuss this further somewhere more comfortable.” He grinned and held out a hand to her. “Shall we, madam?”

Delighted that her manipulations would bear fruit, she laughed, stood, and slid toward the doorway with a beckoning smile. “Come.”

“Together once more.” Park said as he followed her up the stairs to her chamber. All was going according to Beatrice’s plan.

Looking over her shoulder, she took in his raw, masculine beauty already anticipating the pleasure she’d have with him. “Yes, dear, in every way. Just be a good lad and listen well. I will tell you what must be done.”

Chapter Six

White’s took on a subtle difference during the morning hours, and Nicholas couldn’t help but appreciate the quiet of the room as he entered. Though raucous groups of men drank and gambled with great abandon every night, mornings brought a decidedly sedate bent to his favorite club.

Surprisingly busy for such an early hour, he stopped to address acquaintances as they breakfasted or simply conversed quietly.

“Ah, Your Grace, sorry to learn of the death of your father. You have my condolences.”

“Thank you, Lord Simons. Good to see you again,” Nicholas murmured politely as he continued on.

He nodded then to His Honor, Barton Wills, to which the judge called out, “Good day to you, young man. Do join me for a cup and fill me in on your travels.”

“Of course, but another time, Your Honor.” He bowed slightly and flashed his most charming smile. “I am searching for Lord Grayson. We have some business.”

Bushy gray brows rose as Wills gestured to the reading room. “In there, nose buried in The Times, no doubt.”

Thanking the man, Nicholas made his way in that direction and spotted Lord Henry immediately. He was settled in a deep leather chair, a cup of steaming tea at his elbow, perusing not The Times but The Public Ledger. The Ledger was a business publication filled with information on shipping and the prices of foreign merchandise on the London market.

As he moved closer, the gentleman must have sensed his presence. Gazing over the top of the paper, he smiled at Nicholas.

“Well, Your Grace,” Henry said. “Fancy seeing you here, as I was just reading about your coup.”

“My coup?”

Henry gestured to a chair. Nicholas obliged and ordered a cup of strong coffee from a manservant. Relaxing in the comfort of deep, soft leather, he crossed his riding boots at the ankle and regarded the older man with a lift of his brow. “My coup, Lord Henry?”

Henry laughed. “Yes, dear boy. I have just been reading with interest the financial success you’ve had with your last shipment of goods from China. My, what adventures you must have had there.”

“It is an exciting place, but still, it is good to be home.”

Turning serious, Henry looked him in the eye. “Once again, The London Museum thanks you for the generous gift. As a member of the board, I am sure I speak for all of us.”

“Ah, the silk and jade artifacts.”

“Quite. It is a superb collection and very generous.”

“I was delighted to make the donation.”

Nicholas’s coffee was served, the aroma adding to the scents of leather and tobacco that permeated the room. He took a bracing sip of the brew. Sighing with pleasure, he leaned back and studied the man who would, if matters worked out, become his father-in-law. Though Eliza was a model for everything feminine, her resemblance to Lord Henry was readily apparent. Both possessed proud, aristocratic features and blue eyes that could turn fierce at a moment’s notice.

“I am sure your time in the Orient was fascinating,” Henry was saying.

“Yes, it was. I shall be sure to tell you all about it one day, yet there are other more fascinating things which I should like to discuss with you.”

When Lord Henry gave him a knowing look, Nicholas smiled and continued. “More precisely, sir, I wish to discuss a rather fascinating young woman.”

“Ah, I see. I assume you speak of my daughter. Once again, I must thank you for what you did for Eliza last week.” Henry shook his head. “The mere thought of losing her, too, quite simply terrified us both. In fact, Lady Grayson took to her bed after the accident occurred.”

“No accident.”

Henry’s hand fisted on the table, and Nicholas noted the flush of red on his cheeks. “Quite right. No accident, but the evil doings of Stanhope. If only I could prove it was he, yet for all anyone knows he hired the deed done. Blast it! Will our family ever be rid of him?”

“Not if Eliza does not learn to curb her loose tongue.”

“Damnation! I know what she is about and I have warned her repeatedly not to taunt him further with her accusations. You must understand, though. Eliza’s feelings run very deep.”

“Tell me. I would know her better.”

“Not much to tell really, but the truth. Having convinced all of us that this was a love match, Edward married Charlotte. How could it have been otherwise? Charlotte was a sweet, darling innocent, who had her choice of any young buck of the Ton. A diamond of the first water, as is Eliza.”

A diamond of the first water. Oh, yes. Most definitely.

“How did Eliza feel about their marriage?”

“Quite thrilled actually. She wanted Charlotte to be loved, to have her heart’s desire, and Edward seemed to be just that. Almost immediately after the marriage, Lottie changed. A strange shyness overtook her personality, a melancholy, if you will.” Henry, eyes glazing in memory, absently rubbed at his temples. “It soon became obvious to everyone in the Ton that Edward kept mistresses, saw other women. This was not a love match, but Edward’s need of a rich dowry and an important family connection.

“At Charlotte’s death, I thought the entire family would join her in the hereafter, so distraught were we. Yet, Eliza, her twin, took it even worse. In many ways, I believe she felt guilt for encouraging the match. Never would she cry, at least not around my wife and me. No, hate filled her, took the place of her grief.”

Nicholas’s memory flashed at the sight of her facing Edward Huntley, Lord Stanhope, that first night. The glitter in her eyes told the tale to anyone with the good sense to notice.

Fear shook him.

“We cannot let this continue, My Lord,” Nicholas vowed. “I foresee grave danger for her if she continues on this course.”

Lord Henry looked shaken. “I have done everything to rein her in. After the incident in Hyde Park, I forbade her to leave the house for the rest of the week. I told her, as well, that she must have an escort at all times. She fought me like a lioness, not literally, yet she was furious.”

“I can imagine.” Nicholas could easily envision the tirade, imagined crystal vases and such smashing violently into walls. “Someone must take her in hand, Lord Henry, and though I know you do your best, she needs a husband.”

Lord Henry studied him with quiet intensity. “What are you proposing, Your Grace?”

“Marriage. To me. I have spoken with Eliza and know her desire to remain unwed, yet, if you will pardon my saying so, she courts danger that could very well cost her life.”

“Have you feelings for her?”

Nicholas had some inkling of how the man might feel. He had lost a beloved daughter to a disastrous choice in marriage partners. Fear of losing another child as well must paralyze him with terror.

Staring Eliza’s father straight in the eye, he spoke the truth. “With all due respect, I know little to nothing of love, yet I know that I need your daughter. Not for money because as you well know, I do not need to wed an heiress. Marrying, and doing it quickly, is imperative for reasons I’m not inclined to detail at the moment, but I find your daughter’s fire and spirit irresistible. She is remarkable and I wish to offer for her.”

Eliza’s father frowned. “After the attack, my first instinct was to carry her off to our country estate, yet I agree with you, Nicholas. Whether she wishes it or no, Eliza must marry. I want grandchildren to bounce on my knee. I need to know that she is safe and with a man who cares for her. I could not abide her unhappiness and I have already lost one daughter to a ruthless cad.”

“I give you my word, sir, I would never hurt Eliza.” He laughed ruefully. “Should I ever do so, I would fear to close my eyes at night. The girl is a veritable tigress.”

Lord Henry laughed. “Just so.” He turned serious once again. “I know you to be a good man. A bit of a reputation with the ladies, but you know they say a reformed rake tends to make the best husband. You’d best not rush her, however. Eliza is not a woman to be pushed.”

“How well I know it. I assure you I will have a care how I approach her, but heed me well, I intend to have her and soon. As for her safety, I plan to follow, most carefully, her every move.” Nicholas grinned. “Without her knowing, of course.”

Lord Henry laughed wickedly. “How delightful! I do believe you and my Eliza will be a good match. Come at teatime, my boy, and I will make certain my daughter is present. Might be interesting to view the fireworks.”

Slapping his hand on the table, Henry stood and called out to a passing waiter. “Champagne, my good man, your best!” Henry looked down at Nicholas, giving him a wink. “A bit unconventional, but I suspect yours might well be an unconventional sort of marriage.”

* * * * * *

“Your first try at the job, and you have failed. Damn you, Mott! I want the bitch dead, and all you managed was a toss from her horse.” Edward stood carefully and rapped his cane on the floor. Beset with fury since the night of their confrontation, he’d thought of nothing but the death of his former sister-in-law, Eliza Grayson.

She had ruined him and by heavens, she would die for it!

Mott, a burly man with a pock-marked face and large bulbous nose, sniffled like a snot-nosed child and lowered his head. “Just a wee bit o’ bad plannin’, yer lordship, but I’ll see ’er done, I will.”

Edward sneered at the filthy hireling and sank into his chair again. “And just how do you propose to complete your job?”

Mott drew a relieved breath and grinned through rotted teeth. “Gotta hire me an associate, gov. Got just the bloke in mind. We’ll catch the lady all alone and stick ‘er good.” For emphasis, he withdrew a long, wicked blade, which he caressed as sweetly as he might a lover. “Within the week, the twit won’t be no problem to ye. Ye have me word.”

Edward downed a shot of strong whiskey and snorted. “See that you do not disappoint me.”

* * * * * * *

Stephen Fitzgerald, Lord Darlington, rapped sharply on the door of Nicholas’s home and casually tapped a hand to his breast pocket. Signed, sealed, and now delivered, the papers outlining the bet in minute detail waited to be handed into Nicholas’s care.

Leaving nothing to chance, he had seen his solicitor and had everything put in order. This was no simple wager, but a costly one involving the very last bit of wealth he owned. Stephen smiled and eyed the façade of the Weston mansion. Something like this would belong to him soon. Confidence, being one of his finer points, would serve him well in courting Eliza Grayson.

Recalling the last day he’d seen her, it was impossible not to notice the irritability she felt in Nicholas’s company. The woman virtually seethed around him while she’d treated himself with a polite, yet flirtatious, attitude.

Yes, it should not be hard to win her as long as he managed to keep his mother away. Beatrice was far too pushy for his taste. A master at manipulation, she wanted a fortune and she wanted it now. He had managed to care for her with his winnings, yet she was never satisfied. Though he knew she loved him, there were times that he wished her a continent away. Her meddling would only serve to damage his cause.

The afternoon was sunny and a bit breezy. A gust nearly dislodged his high-crowned beaver hat. Removing it to tuck lazily under his arm, he smiled as the front door opened.

“Lord Darlington,” Nicholas’s longtime butler said, smiling. “What a pleasure to see you after all these years.”

“Still remember me, do you, Pembrook?” Stephen had not seen the man since he was a youth, yet the old butler remained vivid in his memory. Those years, those days of riding and adventuring with Nicholas, had been the best of his life. Old Pembrook had been a fixture during those years.

“How could I ever forget such a scoundrel, young sir?”

Moving closer, Stephen grasped the old man’s shoulder and smiled. “Quite right. I must say you have not changed a whit. You still have all that gray hair, though I daresay you’ve lost a bit. Still taller than a man should be.”

“You are quite tall yourself, Lord Darlington, though I might still manage to take you down a peg or two. Are you calling for the Duke?”

“Yes. Is he in?”

Pembrook frowned. “I am sorry, but I do expect him soon. Should you like to wait?”

Stephen stepped forward and gave Pembrook his hat and walking stick. “If you are sure he wouldn’t mind?”

“Please, come in and let me show you to the drawing room. I shall have tea sent straightaway.”

Pembrook left him in the formal drawing room, and Stephen couldn’t help admiring the tasteful air of the room. Works of art by Dutch painters of the past caught his eye, and casually he wandered the room. A servant brought tea and poured for him. Dashing in a bit of lemon, he took his cup and strolled through the house.

With avid interest, he studied every detail of Nicholas’s home until finally he stumbled upon the study. Eyeing the room appreciatively, he sank into the chair behind Nicholas’s desk and breathed deeply.

Just being in Nicholas’s home made him recall the years past. Lord, they had been the best of friends. Almost like brothers.

Hell! They were brothers. Perhaps, he’d known it for years. While young enough to be easily manipulated, he’d allowed his mother to poison his mind against Nicholas, yet now, as a man, he knew what a shrew Beatrice could be. He was no longer young and foolish. She was resentful on his behalf, but she was also an adulteress. Though he loved her, he despised her selfish vanity and all out bitchiness.