Three Times the Scandal (2 page)

“
Giles, I swear I had no idea they’d been invited.”

“
Bloody marriage marts!’ Besides Clemencè Morton there was only one person he was less inclined to meet, her brother Andrew, who happened to be right behind his sister.

‘
I’ll head them off,’ said Darleston. He squeezed Giles’s arm. “Make yourself scarce for a while. Try the summer parlour.”

* * * * *

The thick sweet aroma of meats and jellies wafted up off the heavily laden supper tables in the deserted dining room. Fortuna’s heart gave a frightful little jump as Sir Hector closed the door. He turned to face her, and clasped her hands tight within his sweaty palms. The last time he’d adopted this position, he’d tried to kiss her, and she’d fainted dead away. A ploy she suspected wouldn’t work a second time. Really, she should have saved the swoon for this occasion.

“
Miss Allenthorpe,” he began.

Fortuna stared at the dark hairs that curled over the back of his hands, and prayed for strength. He had on too many rings, she thought. Six quite ludicrous rocks that forced his fingers wide apart, making them seem pudgy and even larger than they already were.

“
Fortuna.” The intimate use of her first name sent a lick of anguish through her belly. Only one means of escape remained to her. She’d have to go against her family’s wishes. “I wonder if you’d grant me the honour of becoming my wife?”

After the first burn of revolt, she felt surprisingly little, certainly not the soul-wrenching upset she’d anticipated. “I’m sorry, Sir Hector, but I find I can’t possibly,” she said quite calmly.

“
But, my dear, Miss Allenthorpe. I think you misunderstand.”

“
No, sir.”

“
I’m offering you all that I have. We’ll host the finest balls, and you shall have all the pretty things you desire.”

“
No. I cannot.” Having raised her voice simply to be heard, Fortuna took a wary step backwards at the lack of acceptance in his beetle-black eyes. It was as if her response counted for nothing. Pausing only for breath, he continued to placate her with meaningless endearments.

He blinked slowly, when she continued to shake her head. “Perhaps you misunderstand me, Miss Allenthorpe.”

“
No, indeed.”

His deep-set eyes further blackened with rage. “I think you should know that your father has already given his consent. He won’t be at all pleased with this. We have a gentleman’s accord.”

“
But it’s not my father’s promise you need to obtain, but mine.”

“
And I should have thought you were wise enough to give it. You’re a sensible girl, or so I’ve been led to believe.” His look suggested he doubted the truth of it. “You must realize this is a good match. Better than any other you’re likely to receive. So what have you against it? I trust you’ve not set your eye on some upstart dandy.”

“
Indeed, no. I simply find that we are incompatible.”

“
Incompatible,” he bellowed.

Fortuna flinched as he pulled back his shoulders and stuck out his enormous chest. There’d be no more presents from him, no more persuasion. Coercion was what she could expect if she married him.

A sneer contorted his ruddy face. “Tell me, Miss Allenthorpe, as I am a man and I desire you as a woman, in what way does that make us incompatible?”

She closed her eyes.
Please let the floor swallow me up.
“I don’t feel the same way,” she whispered.

“
I should pray not,” he spluttered.

A shudder ran down her spine.

“
Ladies don’t express base desires. They experience only the purest form of familial love.”

Too stunned to respond, Fortuna gaped at him. She was under no illusion that he was serious, and indeed his definition of what it was to be a lady wholly matched her mama’s. Still, she knew it to be a lie, and one she couldn’t perpetuate. Base desire. Oh heavens, yes! She’d felt it. Had revelled in it. She’d stupidly thrown herself at the Marquis of Pennerley for that very reason. Why hadn’t he loved her back? He would have made her content, complete. The memory of him, his muscular abdomen pressed against her, the scent of his body, sent a fizzle of arousal through her overly tensed body. She’d been naïve. Pennerley had taken what he wanted and discarded her. It was a secret no one could ever know. Waves of loss and anger swept over her.

Sir Hector, his face pulled into a horrific attempt at benevolence, reached out to her. “A simple misunderstanding,” he said, clearly misinterpreting the glitter of tears in her eyes. “You’re young, and have undoubtedly had your head filled with the romantic nonsense that fills our novels. Don’t despair. Such pure love will grow in your heart, particularly as your belly swells with our children.”

“
No!” The tears spilled, but Fortuna rapidly blinked them away. She arched away from him. Every word he uttered further convinced her that her decision was the right one. He was an unbearable tyrant. She wanted passion at least, if not love. “I won’t marry you,” she swore. “Not ever.”

Her face blotchy with tears, Fortuna ploughed into the crowded ballroom, seeking only to distance herself from Sir Hector. She aimed first for the restroom, only to realize that it would be full of gossiping ladies, who would secretly crow in delight at her distress, while pretending to help.

A little closer than the restroom, she found refuge behind a row of potted ferns, which concealed a glass door leading into a darkened room.

Fortuna let herself into the chilly parlour, to find the furniture draped in dustsheets. At least she wouldn’t be disturbed. She slumped onto one of the sofas and gave a loud sniffle, before dabbing away her tears. There wasn’t time to cry. She needed to compose herself, prepare for the next assault, which would surely come. She doubted many people said
no
to Sir Hector, and he wouldn’t accept it from her. He’d march straight to her father and demanded he talk sense into his ninny of a daughter. Mr. Allenthorpe would acquiesce and then defer to her mother, which meant she could shortly expect a lecture.

Too tense to remain seated, Fortuna paced to the French windows and found that they led onto a small roof terrace. Arms crossed to ward her against the cold she paced to the heart of the ivy-shrouded sanctuary, then closed her eyes and willed herself still. The clamour of the musicians was faint here, the chattering voices like the buzz of insects on a summer’s eve.

Fortuna searched her fingers over her hair and removed the comb Sir Hector had presented to her. She turned the fragile piece over and over, aware that she should have given it back immediately. There were some who’d wrongly assume from her keeping the present that she simply meant to test his constancy by refusing him, and that she would accept at a later date.

The odds were stacked unfavourably. Her parents, her siblings would all attempt to change her mind. But she had to think of herself. She couldn’t live with Sir Hector, couldn’t tolerate his presence, or the control he’d have over her. Just recalling how he’d spoken to her made her want to lash out. But she needed to be rational and calm. Her arguments to the match needed to be reasoned. Hysteria would gain her nothing.

Fortuna closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Flakes of snow tickled as they landed on her upturned face. It was only then, in that moment of absolute stillness, that she realized she wasn’t alone.

The figure perched upon the stone balustrade like a gargoyle, his outline partially masked by the tendrils of snow-dappled ivy. “Who’s there?” she demanded.

The man returned his feet to the ground, and with a shrug that dislodged the snow from his broad shoulders, moved into the dim light cast by a single hanging lantern. “Miss Allenthorpe.” Pleasingly full lips curved into a familiar smile. He inclined his head causing a forelock of brown hair to fall over his high forehead and to dust the ridge of his nose “We meet again by moonlight.”

“
Mr. Dovecote,” she said, recalling his particularly gravely voice from their previous meeting. It had been in late October, at the Marquis of Pennerley’s house party, on the same night that Pennerley had rejected her.

Dovecote grinned in an endearingly lopsided manner. “The very same. I trust you’re more lucid than when we last conversed.”

Whatever did he mean by that?

“
Well, I can see you’re no more gentlemanly.” She shot him a haughty glare, which he immediately returned. A palpable ripple of tension flowed between them, making her feel hot beneath her stays. What had passed between them on Hallowe’en night that made her feel such tension?

She’d fallen ill that night, and all she recalled was a muddied blur of lights and sounds, real and unreal phantasms sliding across her field of vision. Then from the stream of images, she plucked one clear vision of Giles Dovecote bending down to offer her his support. His dark eyebrows furrowed in concern. They’d been in the garden, beneath the shelter of the well roof.

“
I see your memory’s clouded,” he said, clearly interpreting her silence. “You supped Pennerley’s brew of laudanum. I’m the one who scooped you off the lawn.”

Yes. She remembered that now, the heat of his body against her, and the gentle support of his arm. “Then I take back my previous remark.”

Dovecote shook his head and chuckled. “You shouldn’t, my intentions were far from honourable.”

Fortuna paused in the process of offering him her hand. He grasped it anyway, which sent a wave of shock up her arm. What had he done? Had they done? She recalled only walking with him. They must only have been together a few minutes. Questioningly, she looked up and met his eyes. God—his eyes. She remembered them. They’d haunted her dreams. Green like chips of polished jade. Deep. Knowing.

Far too knowing.

He took another step towards her, still holding onto her hand. A flush crept up her neck, and spread across her pale skin. Giles Dovecote was the wrong sort of man to end up alone with. She’d heard of his reputation.

“
Why are you out here?” she demanded, finally wrenching her hand free of his grasp. She took two hurried steps backward.

Giles eyed her retreat with raised brows. “Well now, that’s hardly a suitable topic for sensitive ears, and yours are already burning.”

Fortuna narrowed her eyes. “I’m not a child. Tell me.”

Giles flicked his tongue across his lips. “Well as a matter of fact I was looking for Darleston’s wife, but she seems rather attached to him all of a sudden.”

“
You’re trying to cuckold him?”

“
There ain’t no trying about it.” He flashed her another disarming smile, this one showing his teeth.

Disgusted, Fortuna folded her arms across her chest and turned her back on him. She wasn’t sure if he was actually serious, or just trying to shock her. “I thought you and Lord Darleston were friends.”

“
We are. Friends share.”

Fortuna’s jaw dropped. She spun to face him again, unable to stop herself gaping; though heaven knows she shouldn’t have been so surprised. He was one of Pennerley’s closest friends, and that set were all rogues to a man. Hadn’t that been what attracted her to the little group? She’d begged to be allowed to attend Pennerley’s house party, naively assuming she could ensnare the marquis. Of course, she’d failed, but she still longed for the excitement, the unpredictability of those men. The tales of their exploits and conquests were legendary. Their skills as lovers, reputedly unparalleled, and in honesty she couldn’t refute them, though her one shameful glimpse of passion was a secret she kept close. Their rudeness, their lewdity made them contrast so brightly with the staid formality of the men seeking wives, and particularly with Sir Hector Macleane. Oh, she would take a marriage to one of them out of preference to Macleane any day.

“
Now you.” Giles circled, until she felt his presence like a warming balm all down her back. His breath stirred against her hair. “Why are you embracing the cold instead of parading yourself before the city’s finest?”

A crazy thought entered her head, but he would never help her.

“
I needed to catch my breath,” she said, her voice a defensive little bark.

“
Oh, truly? Isn’t it typical for ladies to retire to a chaise or the restroom to recuperate, rather than a snowy balcony?” His thumb caught beneath her chin, and tilted it upwards, bringing their mouths perilously close together. Giles touched his tongue to his lip. “No. I’m not fooled. You’re out here for a very different reason. I don’t think you followed me. So, what is it?”

“
Sir,” she snapped, jerking away from his touch. “You’ll afford me some courtesy.”

“
Will I, indeed. And what if I don’t? Will you call out? I assure you, it won’t be my reputation you damage by doing so.”

“
And what if I don’t care for my reputation?” She did, of course, she did. Her actions would reflect upon her whole family, but what did she owe them at this moment, when they were about to force her into a loveless marriage? If she were caught here now, would Sir Hector see her as damaged goods and break his agreement with her father over the engagement?

Giles’s gaze pinned her with its sudden intensity.

He could save her. He might not realize it, but he could.

“
You’re too close,” she gasped, placing a hand flat against his broad chest, but not pushing him away.