Simply Scandalous (5 page)

Wrapping the reins around her wrists, she bore
down with all her strength, nearly sitting on the floor
of the car. The chestnuts naturally objected, and one
of them forgot his manners to the extent that he
reared up and pawed the air before coming to his
senses. Juliet's arms were nearly wrenched from their
sockets, but the chestnuts skidded to a stop. One
twisted its neck around to look at her reproachfully.
The other snorted and pawed the ground.

Swale could not believe his good fortune. He had
once shot and killed a six-point stag at a distance of
thirty yards, an impossible shot everyone in the hunting-box that year had agreed, but pulling ahead
of Cary Wayborn's chestnuts on the road to Southend would undoubtedly surpass even that sublime
moment. He drew a deep breath, a man on the
brink of history, and urged his horses to the right,
the better to take the inside of the turn.

Juliet saw the move and instantly released the chestnuts, turning them onto the Southend Road and
cutting off Swale's advantage so swiftly that Swale, who
was in danger of driving off the road entirely, overcompensated to the left, grazed her back wheels,
and nearly overturned.

The curricle righted itself, and Swale, cursing vociferously, backed his grays and turned them toward
Southend. But there was now no chance of him overtaking the chestnuts, let alone passing them. All that
could be seen of Wayborn and his chestnuts was a
cloud of dust. It was to his credit that he arrived in
Southend only five minutes after Juliet did.

Her back was aching, and her throat was full of
dust. A crowd had gathered in the seaside town of
Southend to see the finish of the race, and more were
arriving from London every moment. There could
be no quiet escape for the victor, she realized, almost
too tired to care. Undoubtedly, her deception would
be discovered, and she would be disgraced; however,
Lord Swale would also be exposed and humiliated, and
that was her main object. When his part in the shameful attack on Cary became known, every respectable
family in England would give him the cut. Marquess
or not, he would feel the wrath of the English Ton.

That would come later. What mattered now was
that she not be dragged bodily from the curricle
and carried away upon the shoulders of a half-dozen
admiring young men to the nearest tavern, as several in the crowd were threatening to do. The moment
the curricle was opened, her skirts would be seen, and
her secret would be out. On the whole, she preferred to expose herself in a more dignified manner.

Lord Swale himself provided her with the opportunity. Upon arriving in Southend, his lordship leaped
from his curricle, screaming, "You, sir, ought to be
horsewhipped! You damned near killed my horses,
you bloody cheat! "

The favorable impression he had made before the
race was gone entirely. Here, she thought smugly, is the
real Lord ,Swale. No friendly lion, no simple country lad
with a lopsided, innocent smile. Rather, an ugly, villainous barbarian-a Viking raider, in fact, hell-bent on
mayhem and bloody slaughter for all the world to see.

Alexander Devize tried to hold him back, but Swale
could not be held. His green eyes were blazing, and
his complexion, always ruddy, now appeared to be covered with a particularly nasty case of nettlerash.

"Wayborn! What the devil do you mean by coming
to a full stop in the middle of the road like bloody
Balaam's ass?" he roared. "I call it devious and underhanded, and by God, sir, you will bloody well
answer for it!"

At first shocked to hear such language, Juliet was
fortified by the sudden appearance of Bernard and
Mr. Calverstock, who had both ridden hard from
London, arriving just behind Lord Swale. Both men
gathered around her protectively. "How dare you, sir?"
Stacy shrieked back, and, despite the fact that he
sounded a bit like her aunt, Lady Elkins, Juliet was
quite proud of him.

Lord Swale seemed ready to drag Stacy Calverstock from his horse and beat him with his fists, but
Mr. Devize intervened. `Just give Wayborn his money, old man," he said reasonably, and it pained Juliet to
see that such a fine young gentleman from such an
impeccable old Suffolk family had been so completely taken in by a monster like Swale.

`Bloody cheat!" reiterated Lord Swale, shaking his
fist at the purple tricorn. "If there is so much as a
scratch on my grays, I shall rip your bloody arm off,
by God! So this is how you win your races, Wayborn!
I expect no one else has had the courage to accuse
you, but by God, I will!"

"Dammit, Geoffrey," said Mr. Devize in a tight, embarrassed voice. "Pay the man his money and have
done. You are making an ass of yourself."

Swale looked around. The crowd had fallen silent,
but here and there, he detected a lip curled in scorn.
The consensus seemed to be that he, Lord Swale, was
a poor loser!

"Swale is right," said a lone voice.

Swale, looking around for his supporter, was astounded to find that it was Wayborn himself.

"I did cheat," said the figure in the purple greatcoat.
"Swale wins by default."

A roar of shocked disbelief went up from the crowd.

Swale turned dark red with embarrassment. "I say,
old man," he protested. "I never meant to say you
cheated-dammit, I never meant to say-that is,
rotten temper! Rotten temper, old man! There is no
denying I've got a rotten temper."

Juliet coughed to clear her throat of dust. "Not at
all, old man," she croaked in her best imitation of a
man's voice. "Indeed, I owe your lordship five hundred pounds and a broken arm!" So saying, she flung
the purse containing five hundred pounds in the direction of the Duke's son. Her arm, weakened from
the strain of managing a pair of strong and willful horses, was inaccurate. Mr. Devize was struck in the
shoulder but did manage to catch the purse.

He looked at her, his eyebrows raised almost to his
hairline.

Swale's face was now the color and texture of blood
pudding. Recovered of his embarrassment, his lordship yielded again to rage. "You won the race, damn
you!" he roared. "Though I can't say I admire your
methods! "

"I did win, didn't l?" she said clearly. "You were
beaten fairly, Swale, whatever you complain. But you
were not been beaten by Mr. Cary Wayborn. You were
beaten by his sister!"

The return journey to London, despite the fact that
Juliet was resting comfortably in a well-sprung chaise
hired by Stacy Calverstock, proved more grueling to her
than the race to Southend. Every mounted swank in
Southend guessed at the chaise's interesting contents
and accompanied its progress with hoots, wild yells, and
occasionally, the ill-advised discharge of a pistol. Added
to this was the incessant drone of Mr. Eustace Calvetstock lecturing her on proper female behavior. He
seemed to think that no one would ever marry her now
and that he should be obliged to do it himself.

"Don't be such a gudgeon, Stacy," she said irritably,
rubbing first one sore shoulder, then the other. "Really,
there is no need for you to make such a sacrifice.
You know I have no more than ten thousand pounds."

"I assure you, my dear Juliet," he said gallantly, "it
is no sacrifice."

"Then, pray do not make a cake of yourself!" she
snapped, for her head was aching.

"You do not understand the way of the world," he told her sadly. "My dear girl, I am afraid this must put
you beyond the pale. No respectable lady of the Ton
will receive you now. That being so, you cannot hope
to make a respectable marriage."

"You talk as though I'd eloped with an Italian dancing master or ... or tied my garter in public! Anyone
but an idiot can see I did exactly right, and I don't
choose to marry an idiot, I assure you."

"How can you call it right," he objected, "when it
destroys all hope of a felicitous marriage?"

"Then, if I were to marry you, it would not be felicitous?" she countered. "Perhaps you are right, and
it is well for me that I don't wish to marry you."

"And you were such a favorite with the Patronesses
of Almack's," Stacy lamented. "Your name and reputation were such that other young ladies looked to
you for an example. What evils will proceed from this
childish stunt, I don't know."

"Perhaps curricle races will become the fashion,"
Juliet said, laughing it off.

"I assure you, it is not in the least comical!" he
snapped. "What will Cary say?"

"Cary will understand that at times, one must be a
Wayborn first and a female second!" she answered
smartly. "If I were a man, you would not be talking
such fustian to me!"

"Well, you're not a man," he said sharply. "And it
is not fustian! You'll see that soon enough when you
are given the cut! It will be bitter for you, Juliet. You
were so well liked before. Your manners were admired! But this dreadful, unladylike behavior-what
will Sir Benedict say to this?"

Juliet, who had reason to dread her older brother's
reaction, remained silent, hoping Stacy would do
the same. But, no, he buried her beneath the weight of a thousand sermons on feminine decorum, and,
by the time the chaise reached Park Lane, Juliet was
so richly annoyed with him that she did not even
thank him for his excellent generalship in extricating
her from Southend.

Lady Elkins was in the Apricot Salon wringing her
hands. "Oh, my dearest love," she cried weakly at
the sight of Juliet. "I have been so worried. I was so
frightened you had eloped!"

Juliet responded with a scorn unworthy of her.
"Elope!" she scoffed, flinging her brother's tricorn
onto a table. "I? After what I have seen today, Aunt
Elinor, there is not a man in England that an Act of
Parliament could induce me to marry!"

Her ladyship, already naturally pale, became ashen.
"Why, my love?" she wailed. "Why, what have you
seen? Why are you wearing my nephew's coat? Why
are you so dusty? What has happened? Mr. Calverstock, what has happened?"

"I beg your pardon, Aunt Elinor!" Juliet cried,
giving her excitable aunt a quick, reassuring kiss.
"I've the most dreadful headache, that's all. Will you
entertain Mr. Calverstock while I go and wash?"

As Juliet faded from the room, Stacy bowed correctly over his hostess's hand. "Mr. Calverstock!" Lady
Elkins said fondly. "If my niece was in your care, I have
no more worries."

Stacy was scarcely gratified by the compliment.

"I won't ask you to sit," Lady Elkins said nervously.
"Indeed, I must ask you not to sit. Parker informs me
that my nephew's clothes left a black mark on one of
the sofas. No one must sit until I have heard from Mr.
Soho. Pray, don't be angry."

Stacy smiled warmly. "Indeed, my lady, I prefer to
stand."

"He was brought home last night in a state of collapse!" cried her ladyship.

"Mr. Soho?" Stacy asked hopefully.

"My nephew! My poor, dear Cary. But you are not
to worry-I know you are his friend, but you are
not to worry. Mr. Norton tells me it is only a touch
of influenza."

"Ah," said Stacy.

"Do you think it will be necessary for us to remove
to the country?" her ladyship inquired anxiously.
"Mr. Norton tells me it is a very mild case-very
mild. But I am no longer young, you know, and even
a mild case of influenza might carry me off. I had
better retire to Surrey. Still, I do hate to take Juliet
away from London at the top of the Season. Did she
tell you she danced twice with the Duke of Auckland?" A spark of vicarious ecstasy entered Lady
Elkins's watery eye. "The Duke of Auckland!Only
think if his Grace were to marry my niece!"

Stacy thought but found the notion unpalatable.
"Perhaps," he said cautiously, "it would be a very
good thing for Miss Juliet to accompany your ladyship
to Wayborn Hall."

"I will ask my nephew when he comes. Dear Sir
Benedict always knows what is right and best."
Stacy swallowed hard. "Is Sir Benedict coming here,
Lady Elkins?"

"Why yes," she replied innocently. "He is coming tomorrow. He will know what to do about dear Juliet.
I shall put it to him."

Juliet, still smarting from Stacy's reproaches, had
crept into her brother's room, and dismissing the
nurse, she availed herself of his sympathetic ear. Cary did not open his eyes once throughout her version
of the morning's events, but she would swear his eyelids fluttered and a smile touched his pale lips as she
related Lord Swale's humiliation.

"He is the laughingstock of the world," she told
him proudly. "A duel with Stacy would have been too
good for him, don't you think? But now he has been
beaten by a female and exposed as a coward. I could
tell his lordship dearly wanted to strangle me, but
what could he do? The world was watching." She took
his hand and kissed it. "When you are better, you
may shoot him if you like, but I hardly think it necessary

"Well done, Julie," Cary whispered. "You're so
clever-I knew I could count on you."

"At least someone appreciates me," she murmured,
stroking his dark hair. "Stacy has been dunning me
all the way home. He thinks that no one will marry
me now and that he must do it himself or I shall die
an old maid. How would you like him for a brother?"

She laughed softly, but Cary had slipped away again.