Love With a Scandalous Lord (18 page)

“You’re very skilled at seduction, Rhys, but make no mistake—nothing that’s happened between us would have taken place had I not wished it to.”

“I could prove you wrong.”

“I wasn’t issuing a dare. Try to seduce me, and you’ll succeed because I want you. Why would I deny myself the pleasure of your touch?”

“Are you admitting to coming out here for the pur
pose of seduction?”

“No. I came out here because I was curious as to whether that hazy light in the distance is London. I thought maybe you would know.”

“It is.”

She laughed lightly. “It’s a much larger town than Fortune, then.”

“You will see things you’ve never seen. It’s possible you’ll hear things you would prefer not to hear.”

“What kind of things?”

“Things about my family. About me.”

“I’ve told you before that I don’t care about your sins. I’m drawn to you, Rhys. I feel like I’m caught in large waves, tossed toward the shore, then pulled back out to sea. You can’t tell me that you aren’t attracted to me at least a little.”

“My feelings are of no consequence.”

“They matter to me; they matter to me a great deal.”

“You’ve told me that you long for respectability.”

“I think all women do.”

“Precisely. That is the very reason I shall never marry.”

“Because you’re not respectable.”

“Because I’ve done things that cannot be respected. My mother, as you may have noticed, can barely tolerate my presence. She holds me accountable for Quentin’s death.”

She rolled her eyes. “Your brother got drunk and fell into the family pond. How can you be responsible for his carelessness and poor judgment?”

“I told you that I’d betrayed him, betrayed my family.”

Rhys had been standing here, pondering his past, wondering what he should reveal to Lydia. He had no
wish to harm her further. As far as he knew, Quentin had kept Rhys’s betrayal within the family. But there was always the chance he might have told someone during one of his drunken stupors. Rhys would prefer Lydia hear the truth from him.

“Are you trying to convince me you’re as cruel as he was?”

“Cruelty had nothing to do with it. Therein lies the irony. For I had not meant to be cruel, and yet I was.”

She moved closer to him and placed her hand on his arm. “You are anything but cruel. You made my family feel welcome. You rescued the horses that your brother treated badly.”

“But I could not rescue Annie.”

“Annie?”

“My brother’s wife. She possessed the disposition of an angel. She came to me one night, and I did not have the strength of character to turn her away. There in my father’s house, in the bedchamber beside my brother’s, I took my brother’s wife as though she well and truly belonged to me.”

“You slept with your brother’s wife?”

Her voice reflected the horror his actions deserved.

“At least your stepfather thought your mother was a widow when he visited her bed. I knew Annie was not. I knew she was to get herself with my brother’s child, to provide an heir. I knew she was not free. Yet I showed no restraint. Rather I revealed my true self. The weak man I am. The weak man you do not deserve.”

Lydia couldn’t help but feel a measure of revulsion. But Annie had gone to Rhys. He hadn’t sought her out. She’d believed the worst about him when she’d seen the scarred horses. She wouldn’t believe it now.

“How old were you?” she asked.

“Nineteen.”

Relief coursed through her. “You were so young. You’re no longer that man.”

“Am I not? Three nights later Annie took my brother’s straight razor and slashed her wrists.”

Lydia’s legs suddenly went numb and weak. She stepped to a tree and pressed her back against it to provide her with support. “Not because she slept with you?”

“She left a letter. ‘Darling Rhys,’ she wrote. ‘Forgive me for what transpired between us in your bed for I cannot forgive myself.’ You can well imagine my family’s reaction to her words, to the truth of my betrayal. That night I ran away. Only once in all the years before my brother’s death did I return to that house. I was turned away. But one cannot ignore the heir. And so here I am. Where I was never meant to be.”

She shoved herself away from the tree and cautiously approached him. “Rhys, her death must have been awful for you. I understand you’ve probably been riddled with guilt. But I know you. I know it was not your intent to harm her. My love for you does not lessen with this confession.”

“Confession? Lydia, that night was only the beginning of my sins. The others are buried so deeply within the shadows of London that I can only pray they remain where they are. It is not what I did with Annie that makes me unacceptable, but what I dared to do in the years since. Your opinion of me would change; your love for me would die.”

“Then tell me everything.”

“Nothing will be gained, and everything lost.” He walked away.

“I won’t stop loving you,” she vowed into the night,
determined to find a way to prove it.

Rhys had never before presented his card. He did so now at the Earl of Ravenleigh’s London home, waiting in the entrance hall while Grayson’s family stood nearby. The butler had taken his card and was off to inform His Lordship of the Duke’s arrival.

It appeared to be a very nice residence, not as ostentatious as his own, but then not everyone possessed his mother’s garish tastes or her need to surround herself with clutter.

A high-pitched squeal emanated from the stairway. Rhys looked up to see a young woman rushing down the steps.

“Mama! They’re here!”

Mayhem and madness followed that pronouncement.

Lydia released an echoing squeal as she hurried across the foyer. Then she and the young woman were wrapped in each other’s arms while four other girls—completely devoid of decorum—were scurrying down the stairs.

A woman who greatly resembled Abbie in appearance hurried out of a distant hallway, the one down which the butler had recently traversed. She was followed by a man whom Rhys recognized as Ravenleigh.

That Abbie and her sister embraced did not surprise Rhys. That Ravenleigh was heartily shaking Grayson’s hand did astonish him.

Yet all he could think was that this welcome was the sort Grayson should have received upon arriving at Harrington. Shrieks of joy rather than shrieks of anger.

He couldn’t stop himself from smiling at the sight of Lydia’s happiness. She was again the hopeful woman
she’d been when she’d arrived at Harrington, before he’d disappointed her by not offering for her after she’d given so much of herself to him.

She and the other girl—Lauren, he remembered now—were no longer hugging, but swinging held hands as though they needed the touching to confirm each other’s existence. How natural they seemed. How unaffected.

He had little doubt Lydia could hold her own in London. He simply wasn’t certain if it would be better if she left without reaching for her dream, because the experience would surely change her in ways he had not.

“Your Grace, I was sorry to hear of your father’s passing.”

He jerked his attention to Ravenleigh, who was now standing before him. Under the circumstances he decided to overlook the slight not greeting him first had been. “It was not totally unexpected. Still, the passing of a parent does manage to take one unawares.”

“Exceedingly so, I’m afraid. The ladies are going to take tea in the garden. Elizabeth has a penchant for growing roses which I’m certain she wishes to show off. We’ll usher all the younger children upstairs for sweet cakes. Perhaps you’d like to join Grayson and me in the library.”

“I appreciate the invitation, but I’d merely planned to see that they were welcomed and then be on my way. I shall send my carriage around for them later.”

“I can’t believe you’re actually here!” Lauren said enthusiastically as she wrapped her arm around Lydia’s and led her through the garden.

Lydia could hardly believe it herself. She and Lauren had written to each other over the years expressing
how much they wanted to share the balls and London. And now here she was. Yet all she seemed capable of doing was wondering when Rhys would return.

Her mother and Aunt Elizabeth sat at a table beneath a tree, sipping their tea and talking. Lauren hadn’t bothered to ask if Lydia wanted tea. She’d simply ushered her into the garden.

“I wanted to get you away from them, so we can talk privately without ears listening,” Lauren whispered, when they were a good distance away.

She leaned close and touched her shoulder to Lydia’s. “What is going on between you and the Duke?”

Lydia’s heart jumped around in her chest. “Whatever do you mean?”

“My goodness, Lydia, the man barely took his eyes off you the entire time he was here. And the
way
he looked at you”—she fanned her face with her hand as though she were suddenly burning with a fever—“if a gentleman ever looked at me like that, I swear I’d marry him tomorrow.”

Lydia would marry Rhys as well if he wasn’t saying one thing and doing another. He loved her, but not enough to risk marrying her, for fear in marrying her, he’d hurt her. Yet she was certain their love was strong enough to withstand any storm. But a man who had never known love could not begin to fathom its power.

Lydia shook her head, but she couldn’t prevent the tears from forming. “He has no interest in marrying me.”

“Oh, my!” Lauren grabbed her arm and pulled her behind a trellis covered in vines and roses. “You love him?”

More tears surfaced as Lydia pressed her hands to her mouth and nodded.

“So much,” she rasped. “I’m trying to be a lady about it. I’ve read all these books on how a lady comports herself, and nothing explains how to act when your heart is breaking.”

Lauren put her arms around Lydia and drew her close. “What do your parents say?”

“They don’t know.” She wiped her eyes, sniffed, and pulled back. “And you mustn’t tell them. Rhys simply told them that since we were here, I should have a chance to visit London, attend a ball, and that he’s willing to help me find a suitable husband.”

“How damned English of him.”

Lydia released a small laugh. “Isn’t it, though?”

“So he’s willing to find you a husband, but not step into the shoes himself. Well, we’ll just have to see about that.”

“What do you mean?”

“As fate would have it, my friend Gina is hosting a ball the night after tomorrow. You remember her, don’t you? She lived in Fortune for a time.”

“I remember her. She worked in the cotton fields with us.”

“That’s right. She and I have remained friends over the years. When she came to London last summer for a visit, I took her to a ball, and she had a marriage proposal that very night.”

“You’re kidding?”

“Absolutely not. She married the Earl of Huntingdon, and they’re quite happily married now, as you’ll see. I’ll expect nothing less for you.”

L
ydia trembled with anticipation, shook with trepidation.

She felt as though she’d waited her entire life for this moment of walking into a London ballroom. Four crystal chandeliers with gas flares provided light for the room that was a colorful sea of men and women dressed in such finery that Lydia wished she’d had time to have a more fashionable dress sewn.

Although Lauren and Aunt Elizabeth had assured her that she looked lovely, she suddenly felt dowdy and ill-prepared. Where was Rhys when she needed him? Who would whisper in her ear with gentle encouragement and anticipate her mistakes before she made them?

She understood that he was in mourning, but for tonight, she dearly wanted him here. How was it she could so desire his presence when he refused to embrace the emotions that existed between them?

“Gina and Lord Huntingdon had a rough go of it when they discovered Gina’s father had left them with nothing except debt,” Lauren whispered behind her fan. “But now they are so madly in love that I think Huntingdon considers himself to be far richer than he would have been with the money Gina’s father had originally promised him.”

“Are you telling me that he married her for her father’s money?” Lydia asked.

Rhys had told her love wasn’t often a consideration for marriage, but she’d hoped his assessment of marriage among the aristocracy had been tainted by his cynicism and his own parents’ situation.

Lauren nodded. “Not at all unheard of. As a matter of fact, be grateful the Duke is willing to interview any gentleman who shows an interest in you. It’s often difficult to tell by looking when a man has fallen on hard times.”

“I’d just be grateful if one looked my way with something more than morbid curiosity,” Lydia mused.

“They will. It just takes a while for them to warm up to foreigners. Come on. Let me introduce you to Lord and Lady Huntingdon.”

Lydia took a deep breath. Within her tightly fitting kid gloves, her palms began to sweat, although she knew she had no reason to be nervous. She’d memorized the various forms of address. More importantly, she knew Gina.

Their host and hostess turned to them. Lydia wouldn’t have recognized the woman if Lauren hadn’t already told her whom she’d be meeting. Gina looked far prettier than Lydia remembered her as being. She wondered if love was responsible. Was it such a transforming emotion?

“Gina, you remember my cousin Lydia Westland, don’t you?” Lauren asked.

Gina gave Lydia the warmest, most welcome smile she’d ever received. “Of course I remember her. Although it’s been years since we’ve seen each other. How do you like London?”

“I’ve only been here a few days, but I think it’s wonderful,” Lydia admitted.

“I despise it,” Gina said, still smiling. “Devon’s almost finished up his business here. Then, thank goodness, we can return to the country next week.”

She squeezed the arm of the gentleman standing beside her. “Lydia, this is Devon, my husband.”

But in her voice, Lydia heard he was also her love.

He gave his wife an indulgent grin before bowing slightly to Lydia. “My wife is not one to stand on ceremony. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Westland.”

“It’s the ceremony I love,” Lydia admitted.

“I can barely tolerate it,” Gina said. “So many rules. I have better things to do with my time than memorize rules.”

Lauren laughed. “Ah, Gina, bless your heart, you never change.”

“Thank goodness for that,” Lord Huntingdon said.

Gina fluttered her hand. “Go on and enjoy yourselves. See if you can break as many hearts as Lauren has.”

Lydia followed Lauren as she made her way around the ballroom, occasionally stopping to make introductions.

“I can’t believe you’ve had this gaiety every summer while I’ve been picking cotton,” Lydia said quietly, more grateful than ever that she wore gloves to hide the tiny scars where plucking bolls had pricked her fingers.

“It’s an entirely different life, that’s for sure,” Lauren said. “It’s a shame Harrington couldn’t be here.”

“I know,” Lydia said, looking around wistfully. She wanted to share this moment with him. “I feel like something’s missing.”

“What could possibly be missing?”

“I’m not sure. I’ve anticipated this moment for so long that I suppose it has no choice except to be disappointing.”

“You won’t be disappointed once the gentlemen start asking you to dance.” Lauren wiggled her finger toward a corner. “Do you see that tall gentleman over there?”

“How could I miss him?” Lydia asked. He was at least a head taller than the tallest man standing near him. And so incredibly thin as to be gaunt.

“He always stands out in a crowd. He’s the Earl of Whithaven. And over there, do you see the very petite woman with the blond hair?”

Lydia nodded.

“That’s his wife.”

“What an odd pair,” Lydia mused.

“I would think so as well except that she is so obviously in love with him. You should see the way she looks at him when they dance. For all they say that the aristocracy does not marry for love, I sense there is a change afoot. Marrying for property or political alliance is giving way to matters of the heart. It’s been ever so romantic to watch.”

“My goodness, Lauren, you almost sound British.”

Lauren laughed lightly. “I should hope so. Nine years in this wretched country, trying to fit in.”

Lydia was taken aback by her statement. “I thought you loved it here.”

“I adore certain aspects of it. But there is so much
ceremony that sometimes it becomes a bit much. You can see that Gina doesn’t care. She introduces people like she was still in Texas. Upon further consideration, hers might not have been the best ball to start you off with. I love her dearly, but she has no interest in conforming. And look at us. We’ve been standing here for the longest while the music plays and others dance. Young men stand along the walls like fossils. Have you ever seen even the homeliest of women in Texas sit out a single dance?”

Lydia smiled with remembrance. “I suppose you have a valid point.”

“Of course, I do. Everything is so proper here. There are times when I consider it all splendid, and other times when I wish for something more. Oh, listen to me. This is supposed to be your night. We really must find you a dance partner.” Lauren’s jubilant smile enhanced her beauty. “And here comes a possibility now.”

But the Duke of Kimburton, while polite to Lydia, was obviously interested only in Lauren and promptly escorted her onto the dance floor. Lydia glanced around at all the glitz and the glamour and suddenly wished what she’d never expected to wish at this moment.

She wished she was anywhere but where she was.

The Earl of Whithaven stood in a distant corner, away from the maddening throng, and studied every man. Daring each to meet and hold his gaze, making a mental note of those who looked away too quickly, too guiltily.

His height gave him a decided advantage. He planned to make the most of it this evening, and during every other evening while he was in London. His gaze
darted to his wife. His lovely, treacherous wife.

“Whithaven, what’s wrong, man? You look as though you found your dinner disagreeable,” Viscount Reynolds said.

He shifted his attention to Viscount Reynolds and the Marquess of Kingston. Trusted friends both. He stepped farther back into the corner, and they promptly joined him, sensing that discretion was in order.

“I believe”—he swallowed hard and forced out the detested words—“I believe my wife is having an affair.”

“Daphne?” Kingston asked.

“She is the only wife I have,” he responded tartly.

“But she adores you, man. It’s always been quite obvious,” Kingston assured him.

“No longer. I’m certain of it.”

“How can you be so sure?” Reynolds asked.

To no one else, other than these two, would he confess the truth. “A few nights ago, I joined Daphne in her bedchamber. To, of course, exercise my rights as her husband.”

“Of course,” Reynolds murmured.

“Quite so,” Kingston mumbled.

“She suggested things—” He stopped, unable to continue as the memories bombarded him.

“What sort of things?” Kingston asked.

“Things I would do with my mistress but never my wife.”

Both men’s eyes widened and their mouths dropped open.

“Where would she learn of such things?” Reynolds asked.

“As I said. She has obviously taken on a lover.”

The gentlemen glanced around the room.

“And you think he is here?” Kingston asked.

“I would not be at all surprised. He must be a peer. I cannot expect a lesser man to attract the attention of my Daphne. Certainly he would not be worthy of it.”

“Have you considered,” Reynolds began, “that she has perhaps visited the infamous Gentleman Seducer?”

Whithaven scoffed. “He is but a myth.”

“Perhaps grounded in truth. There has been much whispering going about.”

He shook his head. “She has no need to pay for a man’s services. Good Lord, look at her. She is lovely beyond description.”

“I daresay there is not a gentleman in attendance who does not wonder if the rumors about this mysterious roué are true. I, for one, have been more attentive to my wife in hopes of keeping her from visiting this fellow, should he be flesh and not myth. I’ve even heard it rumored he has a penchant for chocolate,” Kingston told them.

“You don’t say?” Reynolds murmured.

“Where did you hear this?” Whithaven asked.

“My wife,” Kingston admitted.

“How would she know?”

Kingston looked uncomfortable but revealed, “She said she overheard a lady mentioning she’d paid him a visit.”

“Not my Daphne.”

“No, of course not,” Kingston hastened to assure him. “I’ve no doubt it was a woman of little consequence.”

Whithaven once again began a slow perusal of the guests. “By God, when I do discover who her lover is, I shall kill him.”

Sitting beside the window in the front parlor, Rhys thought the constant ticking of the clock on the mantel might drive him stark raving mad. Through the open doorway, he had a clear view of the entrance hall. For the past hour he’d expected Lydia to return home at any moment.

His gaze continually jumped between the doorway and the book resting on his lap, continually jumped from the doorway to the single word on the page he seemed unable to move beyond, jumped in rhythm to the damned ticking of the clock.

It did not help matters that Grayson and Abbie were also in the room. Apparently they
were
reading, because he occasionally heard the soft rasp of pages being turned.

He should have attended the ball. He’d even contemplated going to Huntingdon’s residence and creeping around to peer in windows until he spotted the room in which the dance was being held, until he caught sight of Lydia and could rest assured she was enjoying herself.

He’d often listened distractedly while Camilla had gone on and on about how important it was to be considered part of the Marlborough House Set. Lydia was attending a ball hosted by an American, being introduced by an American. She would no doubt be seen as a tourist. He did not think she would be shunned, but the possibility existed that she would not be welcomed with open arms.

He could only hope he was making much ado about nothing. She was lovely, graceful, and so full of life she was bound to draw a gentleman’s fancy, and in so doing, her evening would be victorious.

Blast it!
Knowing the peerage as he did, he should have taken greater measures to ensure she had the type
of evening she’d always dreamed of. But he’d feared revealing himself in a public forum, of causing unwarranted harm.

His little dreamer would do well. Her poise and charm would win over the finest of gentlemen. He was certain of it. She would be the toast of London. He would be interviewing possible suitors in the days to come.

Perhaps that was where his worry initiated, from deep within his secret yearnings. He truly didn’t want her with someone else. Walking on another man’s arm, kissing another man’s mouth, sleeping in another man’s bed, opening herself up to another man’s passions.

He heard a loud pop. He looked down at his lap to discover he’d somehow managed to crack the spine on his book. As a rule he valued books and treated them with utmost respect. He would have to find a binder to fix this one.

“How long do these parties go on for?” Abbie asked.

Her twang was more pronounced than Lydia’s. Strange how he’d never noticed before. He could well imagine Lydia practicing until she sounded more like Grayson than her mother.

He glanced up at the clock. A little after two. “I should think she will be arriving home at any moment.”

Home
. It had been years since he’d thought of this house as his home. Although it was well and truly his now, the ghosts from his past continued to haunt him. And he had no desire for them to inflict themselves on Lydia.

Outside, the clatter of hooves and wheels neared and came to a stop. He discreetly slipped his fingers between the curtains, separating them enough so he could peer through the window. He saw Lydia alight from Ravenleigh’s carriage.

He could hardly describe the joy that the sight of her brought to him. How lonely it would be when she was another man’s wife and no longer visiting him.

“She’s arrived,” he said quietly.

He heard the front door open, and the butler murmur a greeting. While Grayson and Abbie immediately rose, Rhys schooled his features not to reveal how desperately he wanted to know exactly how her evening had gone. She was not his to care about as he did. To express any sort of outward interest was not to be done.

He caught a glimpse of her strolling past. He attributed the lack of a spring in her step to weariness from dancing all evening.

“Lydia!” her mother called out.

Lydia came back into view, peeking into the room. “Mama, I didn’t know you were going to wait up.”

“Of course, we would! We’ve all been anxious to hear about your evening. Come tell us about it.”

She hesitated before entering the room. Her dance card and ivory fan dangled from her wrist. She looked like a wilted rose, one plucked and left without water—not one that had blossomed and then faded as it should.