Three Times the Scandal (10 page)

He still had trouble accepting her as his new mama. He supposed he could have snubbed her, refused to acknowledge her as his kin, but actually, he rather liked her, and since the whole estate was entailed upon him anyway, he didn’t stand to lose out financially, even if by some miracle she produced a child.

The ferns by the summer parlour door were looking decidedly droopy. He flicked at one serrated leaf and frowned. Did plants get hangovers? He knew a few bloods that surreptitiously poured away their drinks in order to appear less like the greenhorns they were. The result—ill ferns.

Leaving the ballroom to the brace of maids, he headed on through the music room towards his own suite where he quickly changed into a buff-collared ensemble. Macleane was leaving the winter parlour as Darleston arrived there.

“
Milord,” the obnoxious bore grunted.

Darleston acknowledged him with curt nod, and waited until he was certain the man had left before he swept through the double doors and into the parlour. Three smiles greeted him. The countess and her two companions sat around a low circular table, set with the second best china. He paused, sorry to find the countess accompanied, but nevertheless closed the doors and bowed.

“
Good morning, ladies. Countess.”

“
Why Robert, you’re home. How
fortuitous
.” Lucy loosed a high-pitched cackle, and waved him towards the circular table as if she were the actual hostess.

Choosing to ignore his wife, Darleston remained by the doors. “Did Sir Hector forget something?” he asked.

The countess rose and extended her hand towards him for him to come and take. He stepped forward at the summons and placed a kiss beside her sapphire engagement ring.

Somewhat Amazonian in proportion, the new Countess of Onnerley was certainly a striking woman, if a little past her prime; her hair six shades more fiery than his and her skin as flawless as freshly fired porcelain. Nor did the few patches painted onto her cheeks didn’t detract from her natural beauty.

“
He came to offer his congratulations on the success of my ball. Are you going to afford me a similar courtesy?” She smiled at him, her gaze curiously narrowed. Only a few inches shorter than him, she hardly needed to look up to meet his gaze, but she still adopted an imperious tilt of her chin.

“
You were a triumph, as always.”

“
And you’re a liar. Why, you, Neddy and Mr. Dovecote left early. Extremely early. I’m most put out. Barely gone midnight, wasn’t it?” She resumed her seat and patted the coil of coppery hair piled upon her head. “Punishment may be in order.”

Darleston glanced at the two other ladies.

Clemencè Morton merely sipped her tea, while his wife nodded her head in simpering agreement.

The countess smiled, showing her less than perfect teeth. “Perhaps, I’ll let it go, this once, Robert. Actually, ‘tis fortunate you’ve just arrived. Miss Morton was only just enquiring after Mr. Dovecote. It seems they missed one another last night. I’m sure you can tell her how he fares better than I.”

He met Clemencè’s gaze with a stiff smile. “He fares admirable well, as I believe I told you last night.”

Not a whisper of her chestnut hair moved out of place as she lifted her chin, but the set of her mouth showed grim determination. “You also told me that he wasn’t in attendance, which I realize now was clearly an untruth.”

Darleston held her unfriendly gaze. He refused to be rattled by a mere snip of a girl. “He’d left, by the time you asked after him.”

Clemencè continued to eye him sceptically, but didn’t press the point. The other two women twittered disapproval into their teacups. He let the matter stand. They might not see it, but it was in everyone’s best interests to keep Giles and the Mortons apart. There was bad blood there, had been ever since Emily’s death. Who knew what grisly details might spill out if it were pressed?

“
It’s our charity dinner tomorrow night,” Clemencè said, shifting tack. She poured a cup of tea, into which she stirred two teaspoonfuls of sugar, before holding it out to him. “He’s always attended in the past. Perhaps, you might prevail on him.”

He most certainly wouldn’t, even if he hadn’t been occupied with this lark with Fortuna Allenthorpe. “I believe he’s already mentioned a prior engagement, Miss Morton, but what say I promise you Neddy and myself instead?”

Her forced smile wrinkled her pert nose. “That would be some compensation.” She rose to her feet. “I have to go now, Countess. Lady Darleston. Milord.” She curtseyed to each of them. “If you could pass on my regards to Mr. Dovecote the next time you happen to see him, I would be most grateful.”

“
Of course.” He skimmed his lips over the air above her knuckles, and bowed.

“
I also have appointments,” the countess said. “Will you join me, Lucy?”

“
Not today, thank you.” Lady Darleston replied.

The countess rose, and swished elegantly towards the door, trailed by a yard of sumptuous fabric, leaving the Darlestons together.

Lucy smiled serenely at him from over the rim of her teacup once the door shut. Darleston returned his cup and saucer to the table and poured himself port instead.

“
I expect you’d like to know why Sir Hector was really here.” Lucy said.

“
Not to bestow compliments, I assume.” He circled the table and took the chair the countess had previously occupied.

“
Of course he was looking for your little runaway. Although, I have to say, he was remarkably obtuse about it. Do you think they’re going to try to hide the fact that’s she’s missing? I suppose it’s their only choice with so many daughters to dispose of.”

Darleston stretched out his legs and lifted his booted feet onto the low table. “What do you want, Lucy? I’m not in the mood for games.”

“
I want you to stay away from that little tart. I’m your wife. I won’t sit back and watch you fawn over some chit. I won’t be embarrassed by you.”

He clasped her arm, and curled his fingers into the flesh. “Don’t threaten me.”

She met his gaze with an aggressive smile. “Stay away from her, or I will tell Sir Hector where to find her.”

“
How dare you?” He rose to his feet. “Do you forget your own position in this marriage? How many times have you cuckolded me with my own brother? Don’t you dare tell me whom I can fuck. I can revoke all the freedoms I’ve granted you like that.” He snapped his fingers under her nose.

Defiantly, she faced him, though her head barely reached his shoulder. “I’m serious, Robert. Don’t you touch her.”

“
Madam,” he growled, “There is little likelihood of that. Giles is playing her savior. I’m merely the devil’s advocate.”

“
She is taking away what is rightfully mine.”

Darleston raised his hand, but instead of slapping her, he stormed away, slamming the door in her face. She was mistaken, if she believed he would tolerate her shackles. Not that he had any intention of attempting to ensnare Fortuna’s affections. He’d just anticipated a few pleasant diversions. Giles had been mooning over her for months, ever since Hallowe’en. He wasn’t about to get in the way of his friend’s happiness.

As for Lucy, she maddened him. Taking away what was rightfully hers! She had no right to him, let alone the affections of his friends.

* * * * *

Giles Dovecote stood on the threshold of his library and did his best to resemble the seasoned reprobate he purportedly was, but his mouth continued to fall open with the arrival of each successive guest. Piss and hellions! How had he managed to forget that he was hosting the monthly tête-à-tête of the Free Lovers society?

So far, there were nine men, three women and a lap dog occupying his library, and he could expect a few more. Oxbury hadn’t arrived, and he always brought at least a brace of bobtails with him. Then there were the twins. Darleston and Neddy were both conspicuously absent. Likely they’d forgotten about the meeting too.

Giles bit his tongue. He needed to get Fortuna out of the drawing room and upstairs into his locked bedroom before the political debate went the way it inevitably did at these gatherings and descended into rampant debauchery. Hell, if Oxbury or Littleton got wind of her presence, a minor scandal over her absence from home would be the least of his worries. Both men were dire rogues and enjoyed making sport out of the seduction of innocents. Not that Fortuna was entirely innocent, but he wasn’t going to have her ruined by those reprobates.

“
Poem,” someone shouted. The call echoed around the room.

“
Dear God in heaven,” Giles prayed. “Please deliver me from this hell of my own creation.”

The others roared and stamped in approval. Charles Aubury took to the floor, his cheeks as flushed as a tart’s pudenda. Aubury flapped to subdue the noise and slowly unfolded a sheaf of papers. “The Honeybee” he announced.

My bee alights on gossamer wings, a lady’s things, to me she sings.

Upon the flower, this midnight hour, my stamen in her power.

Her quick and silver tongue, collecting dew, I am undone.

My nectar she needs, but honey to me feeds, no sweeter than her sting.

While the poem captivated most of the audience, Giles inched his way out of the room.

“
Fortuna.” He scuttled across the hall and into the drawing room, taking care to close the door behind him. How long ago had he left her? Forty minutes, perhaps? An hour? She had her nose buried in his newspaper. Giles paused with his back to the door and took in the graceful lines of her body. Wisps of golden blonde hair framed the slender bones of her face, and fell like tendrils of honeysuckle across her back. Her skin smelled of honeysuckle too. She raised her head, and her smile lit her pale face.

“
Have your guests departed?”

He crossed the room in a three strides and swept her up into his arms, so that her lithe slender body pressed close to his. Startled, she gasped at the embrace, then relaxed against him.

“
I’m sorry. No they haven’t. But you need to go upstairs. We can’t risk somebody stumbling upon you in here.”

She blinked at him, before nodding. “Is the passage clear now?”

Giles led her to the door. He stuck his head into the hall. All his guests remained in the library, but he had made the mistake of leaving the door ajar. “Quickly,” he prompted.

Heedless of their footsteps on the creaking stairs, Giles hurried them upwards. At the top they jerked in opposite directions, Fortuna towards the guest room, and he towards the master bedroom.

“
My room.” He tugged her right. “No one will attempt to enter there without permission.”

Her smooth brow immediately crumpled. “Do your guests routinely come upstairs?” Wariness washed further hint of blue across her irises. “Has someone come seeking me?” she asked nervously.

“
No, no, Fortuna.” He squeezed her hand tight. “It’s not that. It’s simply that there are rather a lot of people here. I’d completely forgotten, but I am hosting a poetry recital today.”

He couldn’t tell if she doubted him. Truthfully, he had no wish to lie; he only wished he had time to properly explain.

Free love—love without restriction. Not sex without restriction. Most of his ‘guests’ failed to comprehend the difference, but she would understand, assuming he could keep her out of sight. The failure of his friends to perceive the difference generally meant these meetings ploughed to the depths of orgiastic devilment once the political talk was done.

“
Dovecote. Where are you hiding, man?” Oxbury’s deep voice rumbled up the wide staircase. “Show yourself. I’ve a nice leg o’mutton here and I thought you might like a bite.”

“
Poetry?” Fortuna mouthed, but despite the lack of sound, her disbelief rang in his ears. “This is no recital. You’ve a whore awaiting your pleasure.”

“
No, Fortuna. I swear it.”

“
Liar!” Pain streaked her expression. She drew her hand from his and crossed her arms across her chest. He wanted to explain, but there was no time. Oxbury’s footsteps thudded upon the stairs. Giles bustled her into his room. He shut the door between them and turned the key in the lock. He winced at her shriek of outrage, but hurried towards the landing, reaching Oxbury as he mounted the top step. “There you are, sir.” Oxbury clapped a pudgy hand upon his shoulder. “Miss Rosie’s awaiting.”

Giles glanced back at the solid white wood of the door of his bedchamber, seeing Fortuna’s image as if it were burned into the paintwork. Disappointment shone in her unbearably blue eyes, and in the vexed press of her pink lips. He tore Oxbury’s hand from his shoulder. “I am not interested in your whores. The aim of this society is to pursue the ideals of free love, emphasis on love. It is not an excuse for an orgy.”

Instead of backing away, Oxbury foolishly stood his ground. He gave Giles a toothy grin. “Aye, of course it is, lad. We all know that.”

Giles clenched his fists so hard his knuckles throbbed. Several other faces appeared upon the stairs, seemingly drawn by their voices.

“
Whatever is going on?” asked Edward Littleton. He propped his elbow on the top of the banister and beamed at them from beneath his mop of brown curls, clearly intrigued.