Wickeds Scandal (The Wickeds) (24 page)

“Are you sure, Cam, there is no possibility
that this Alexandra just
prefers
Runyon to you?  He promised her an
estate she covets, and possibly they share common….interests.” He knew some
women shared the same depravities as Archie, and enjoyed the sexual games he
and his cohorts played.  “Women are shallow, vapid creatures as well you
know.  I personally have dozens throwing themselves at me regardless of my
faults.” Nicholas waved a large hand across his frame.  “The Dunbar
fortune and the possibility of being a Duchess is enough to entice any woman of
the
ton
to spread her legs. Even if she is afraid of me.  Perhaps
Alexandra is no different, though possibly you wish her to be.”  Nicholas
watched as his friend’s face contorted into rage. 

  “I shall beat you to a bloody pulp
for that remark.  She is a
badger
!” Cam turned and swallowed the
entire contents of his glass, gesturing to the attentive Cobbs for more. 

Nicholas wondered what Alexandra had in
common with a large rodent.  Certainly the lady in question could not find
it flattering. 

“I want her.”  Cam said
stubbornly. 

Nicholas was sure it was more than
wanting.  He’d bet his life on it.  He attempted to twist himself
into a more comfortable position.  Impossible.  The chair was simply
too small.  Damn.  Wasn’t it enough to be cursed with his freakish
eyes?  Must he also look as if he’d descended from giants?

A curious sense of déjà vu floated over
Nicholas as he finally threw one leg over the arm of the chair.  In his
mind’s eye, he saw three young men, misfits of the
ton
, tormented relentlessly
by the other youths at Eton.   The gypsy.  She’d made a prophecy
for each of them.  A sense of unease filled Nicholas as he remembered what
the old woman foretold for Cam.  It was a coincidence, nothing more. 
Nicholas snorted, thinking of the prediction the hag had made for him. 

 “You want her, so have her. 
Cuckolding Runyon certainly could not cause you to lose sleep, besides you’re
likely to make her a widow soon at any rate, if I’m not mistaken.”

“But she is innocent.  She is a
badger
.”
 Cam spilled whiskey onto the dark leather of his chair.  Cobbs
rushed forward like an industrious mouse to mop it up.

“But yet, your paragon is willing to
marry Runyon?”

Cam nodded, looking very despondent.

Nicholas wondered how long Cam had sat at
White’s nursing his whiskey and his illusions.

“Cobbs? How long and how many?” 

Cobbs held up one finger.  “He
finished the first bottle completely before you arrived.  He’s been here
since before tea.”

Nicholas stood and pulled at the cuffs of
his jacket to straighten them over his wrists.    The chair
creaked in relief as his form left it.  Nicholas shot the offending piece
of furniture an exasperated look.

The drunken idiot grinned before Nicholas
smiled and closed his eyes. 

  “Cam, you realize you are in love
with her?” 

A drunken snore answered Nicholas’s
question.

Nicholas waved an arm at the helpful
Cobbs. “Help me get him to his carriage.  I’ll see him home.

Jeanette Runyon Reynolds, the current,
and forever Marchioness of Cambourne if she had her way, surveyed the ballroom
of Gray Covington with a militant eye.  She adored Gray Covington, the
Cambourne estate just outside London.  The building and grounds bore a
vague resemblance to the gardens of Versailles, the grand palace built for the
French kings.  Jeanette thought herself a queen so there was no finer
setting for her beauty.

Mentally she checked off the myriad of
decorations ordered earlier, making sure all was
just so
.  The
staff of Gray Covington complained that what Lady Reynolds wished was
impossible
. 
They could not complete the Herculean tasks given them to her
satisfaction.  Jeanette replied that it had better be done to her exact
specifications, or she would find a staff capable of handling her
instructions.  Did they all wish to sleep on the streets of London
tonight?  The entire staff ran around her skirts like rats after that,
anxious to serve her.  She shrugged her silk clad shoulders.  Threats
were necessary when dealing with underlings. 

Jeanette’s gaze lingered over the beauty
of the ballroom.  The walls and ceiling of
her
ballroom were hung
with yards upon yards of gleaming blue silk, dyed so dark it gave the
appearance of a midnight sky.  Brilliants sewn into the silk represented
the stars and the constellations. The designs took a staff of six seamstresses
nearly two months to complete.  Orion hung just above her head and, to her
right, Andromeda.  She didn’t remember the names of the rest.  She
found astronomy to be a dull subject that was best suited to unattractive, old
men.

 The candlelight flickering in the
crystal chandeliers shone against the brilliants, making them wink and sparkle.
She adored brilliants. The dazzling stones set off her hair and complexion
perfectly.  Even a giant silver moon hung in the corner. She had been born
at midnight.  She wished all of her guests to experience the magnificence
of the sky at the time of her birth.

She sniffed the air, enjoying the perfume
of her special roses.  Moonlight Rose was a rare and difficult variety of
rose to cultivate.  Her cousin Archie loved them as well.   The
pale white flowers glowing against the dark wall hangings sat in large vases in
every corner of the room.  The most exclusive florist in London had balked
at the large order, explaining to Jeanette that he could not possibly provide
so many flowers.  She offered him three times his normal fee to deliver
the flowers on time.  The roses had arrived by the cart-load just this
morning.  She smiled and allowed the delicate scent to invade her nostrils
again.  Her birthday ball and the house party following were
the
events of the Season. The
ton
would talk of nothing else for
months.  Possibly, even years.  The cost of her celebration was
staggering.  Jeanette didn’t care.  Her dear stepson, Sutton, was
paying for it. 

Just the thought of Sutton caused a surge
of hatred so clear and precise one could cut veal with it.  But her face
did not betray her thoughts.  Jeanette spent years perfecting a smooth,
cultured look that never gave anything away.  A frown or a wrinkled brow
never crossed her countenance.  The ivory porcelain of her skin remained
unmarred and smooth.   Thoughts of that
bastard
, that
usurpe
r
to the Cambourne title, could not be permitted to damage her looks.  The
women of the
ton
routinely commented on her youthful appearance, in
spite of the fact she was mother to a son of Sutton’s age.  Jeanette
gritted her teeth. 
Stepson
, she would remind the mindless twits
who said such things to her.   How could anyone possibly assume she
gave birth to him?  The thought made her feel soiled. 

She had been so
hopeful
he would
do the correct thing and die while he was traipsing around the Far East. How
that man survived pirates, filthy disease, Chinese warlords, a slight opium
addiction and the assassins Jeanette dispatched, was anyone’s guess. 

“You there!”  Jeanette’s scalding
voiced touched on a manservant carrying a tray of wine filled goblets.

The manservant quivered like a frightened
rabbit startled by a hunter. His gaze met Jeanette’s.

Jeanette crooked a finger.  “Bring
the tray.”

The manservant lowered his eyes and
carefully approached.

Jeanette surveyed the frightened man
before her.  He displayed the appropriate amount of servitude.  She
waved him away without taking any wine.  She could not afford for her wits
to be dulled this evening. 

 The return of Sutton
.  She blamed Archie.  If only
her cousin hadn’t been so greedy. The business with Elizabeth had caused
Jeanette to lash out at her cousin in anger.  Oh, not for Elizabeth’s
sake, another dull daughter when what Jeanette needed was a son. No, her anger
at Archie was for his sheer
stupidity
in putting her in a most delicate
position.   Robert, her deceased husband disliked her, but after the
“incident,” he actively despised and distrusted her.  Robert had beaten
her beloved Archie so severely, Jeanette had to spirit Archie away to the
Continent.  Archie’s father soon learned of his son’s behavior, courtesy
of Robert, and disowned him.  Jeanette cajoled Archie’s father, as sweetly
as she could, but the pair remained estranged.  But she had her
revenge.  Robert had collapsed in a fit of apoplexy.

Her daughters whined endlessly for their
father and prayed daily for his recovery.  Jeanette sat dutifully by his
bedside, hoping each time he wheezed it would be his last.  He clutched
that ridiculous miniature of Madeline in his hand, speaking to the dead woman
as if it was she who sat next to him.  No matter. Jeanette planned to
marry Robert’s cousin as soon as Robert died.  Herbert and Sutton remained
the only heirs to Cambourne. Then Donata, that meddling battle-ax, intervened.

“Lady Reynolds, felicitations on your
birthday.”  Lady Thomlinson, her round face wearing a beggar’s smile,
curtsied low to Jeanette.

Lady Thomlinson’s voice forced Jeanette
back into the present, away from Robert’s sickroom and the mother-in-law she
detested.  She focused on how much her dear, unlamented, husband would
detest the fortune spent on her birthday.  Jeanette looked down her nose
at Lady Thomlinson and nodded, accepting the woman’s fealty. 

A couple stood to Jeanette’s left,
politely awaiting notice. 

Jeanette turned, flashing a regal smile
to hide her dislike. Lord Witherstone and his featherbrained wife. Jeanette
found Lady Witherstone particularly tiresome.  The woman bore a striking
resemblance to a horse. And her voice! High-pitched with a slight lisp, like a
child, Lady Witherstone’s speaking annoyed everyone within hearing. 
Jeanette wondered how Lord Witherstone stood to listen to his wife. 
Perhaps he was deaf?

“How lovely, my lady. I don’t believe I
have witnessed such a glorious display!”  Lady Witherstone lisped. 
“Your taste rivals Lady Halston’s!” Lady Witherstone tried desperately to curry
Jeanette’s favor.  She needed the patronage of the Marchioness of Cambourne. 
Something about war orphans, Jeanette thought.  
As if I care
. 
Children are tedious, especially orphans
. 

“The roses are simply
divine!
” 
Lady Witherstone fawned. 

Lord Witherstone bowed deeply.  His
polite gaze rested a bit longer than necessary on the swell of Jeanette’s
bosom.

Jeanette sent them both an icy
grin.  She noted with distaste that she could see down Lady Witherstone’s
bodice.  Lady Witherstone, it appeared, padded herself quite aptly. No
wonder Lord Witherstone searched out greener pastures.

As Lady Witherstone raised her head from
her mewling curtsy, her nostrils flared like the startled mare she
resembled.  Her eyes bulged. Lady Witherstone’s features held a hint of
attraction mixed with fear.  The way patrons at the zoo looked at tigers.
Lady Witherstone’s gaze seemed fixed on something just beyond Jeanette’s
shoulder.

Jeanette gritted her teeth.  She had
seen the look on Lady Witherstone’s face many times.  Bracing herself for
the inevitable, she turned.

“Mother,
dear
, there you
are.”  Sutton’s deep baritone resounded like a thunderclap.  The
cur!  How dare he call her mother! She despised the words from her own
children’s mouths.  Jeanette wondered if it would be bad form to poison
Sutton during the house party. 

Sutton Reynolds bore down on her, more
handsome than any bastard should be. He bowed low, kissing her hand.  The
resemblance to his father, Robert, was so strong, for a moment Jeanette was
propelled back in time.  Robert, the handsome, rich, Marquess who courted
her during her first Season.  Jeanette had been envied by every unmarried
woman in London, a deciding factor in marrying Robert besides his outrageous
wealth.  At parties she watched her reflection as she and Robert walked by
mirrors, entranced by the portrait they created. She looked simply
divine
on Robert’s arm.  Robert was the perfect setting for the
jewel
of
her beauty.  Pity he had turned into such a bore. 

“Sutton, there you are.”  The words
spilled from her lips smoothly, without a hint of the dislike she felt for her
stepson.   She turned to Lord and Lady Witherstone. “May I present
Lord Reynolds, Marquess of Cambourne.”

Lady Witherstone gave a girlish giggle
but shied from Sutton, as if he would fall on her like a mad dog.  Lord
Witherstone clutched her arm in a possessive manner obviously afraid the
depraved Satan Reynolds would abscond with Lady Witherstone.  The couple
nodded politely and hastily walked away.  Lady Witherstone peered
discreetly over her shoulder at Sutton as her husband led her away.

Jeanette stifled a laugh.  She hated
Sutton but the thought of him pouncing on the horse-faced Lady Witherstone was
truly laughable.  

“I see you are as charming as ever,
aren’t you darling?”  She threw him an icy glance.  “Why poor Lady
Witherstone nearly burst a Bible from her reticule to ward off the
evil
Satan
Reynolds.”