Scandalizing the Duke

by Leslie V. Knowles

  A glassed ceiling allowed the light and warmth to provide the climate needed for the exotic fruit to grow so far from its native Mediterranean homeland. Charlotte breathed in the sweet fragrance of oranges that permeated the air as did the rich earthy scents of mulch and loam. The trees had been arranged around the room in great wooden planters and a combination of wicker chairs and wooden benches provided resting places for guests to enjoy the room in comfort. A potting table stood near the end of the room and Charlotte moved toward it, needing to be as far from the inquisitive garden party guests as possible.

  Ironically, though it disturbed her that stories of her family’s less than conventional past were bandied about as entertaining party conversation, she resented the assumption that they were too absurd to be believed. Of the three examples Anne had cited, two were true.

  Their grandmother had, indeed, been declared a witch, but she had most certainly not cast a spell on Uncle Aubrey. The accusations had been the result of their grandmother's dreams, for Sarah was not the first of the family to receive the cursed gift of dreams and intuitions. But Charlotte’s other aunt had, in fact, married a traveler. Since her Aunt Lily had not taken part in a Season, few people beyond their home village knew or cared that the Longborough sisters had a second aunt.

  Yet Anne’s comments on the more salacious rumors about her family paled beside the horrible certainty that Lady Dalton had suffered a severe beating. Charlotte's stomach churned and clenched. She wondered what excuse Lord Dalton had used to justify his most recent mistreatment. Lady Dalton might deny it, and society might not believe it, but Charlotte had no doubts that the lady suffered regular abuse.

  A faint sound brought her out of her reverie, and she turned to see Lord Dalton enter the orangery. "Miss Charlotte Longborough, I believe?" he said as he strolled toward her. "I would never have recognized the wild child of Stedbury had you not performed the other evening."

  Time had not lessened his good looks in the ten years since she'd last seen him, but she knew his handsome face hid sadistic anger and no remorse. He stared at her with a blend of derision and male interest. "You are most definitely no longer a child—I wonder—are you are still a bit wild?"

  Blood drained from her face before it returned to fire her skin with anger. She raised her chin and stood stiffly. "I am a lady, though you should not need to ask."

  She prayed he did not see the tremors that chilled her hands and weakened her knees as she faced the man who had beaten his first wife so unmercifully. He didn’t know she'd seen what he did in the end, only that he had once caught her spying, and assumed his threats had ended it.

  "Does that mean I succeeded in teaching you not to spy on your neighbors?" he asked. His face darkened and his voice lost the pleasant, cultured refinement he'd used as greeting. "I had hoped I taught you to mind your own business." He took a step closer and his eyes narrowed. "But you felt the need to question my wife some days ago."

  Charlotte’s breath hitched, ice invaded her veins, and she swallowed hard.

  "I saw you sitting with her at the Winterstone's," he fairly growled. "Though she swears you did no more than discuss the evening's program, I know better. Musical selections do not leave one's wife agitated and wary.” He took another step, and his aggressive stance made the hairs on Charlotte’s arms rise. “Do not approach her again, Miss Longborough. I should dislike seeing you peering over garden hedges at me or my wife while we are in town.”

  His expression chilled. “I understand you have been the center of more than one fiasco in the park already. Put your nose where it ought not to be and you may discover that you are far more accident prone than you have proven thus far."

  "On the subject of your behavior,” he said as he closed the space between them, “a lady knows it is not wise to go off by herself—even at a respectable garden party. Nor does she slip away for a tryst in the middle of the day." He cocked his head and an unpleasant smile formed on his lips, but not in his eyes. Her skin crawled as she realized he looked at her with lust as well as fury. If only she had not come into the orangery alone.

  "Ahhh. I know... You liked to watch your neighbors as a child... did you come hoping to observe a tryst?"

  "You are impertinent, sir." Her alarm rose, chilling the heat of anger but she strove for calm. "I came only to see the orangery. I enjoy gardening and wished to see one firsthand." She disliked the expression in his eyes and the way he crowded her. "I expected to be alone." Charlotte quickly assessed possible escape routes from the situation.

  "I would not expect the wild child from your adventurous family to engage in so solitary a hobby–” He lowered a brow. "Though I suspect you still spy."

  Alarm sent another shiver of chills along her spine at his menacing words. He was not the first to believe her to be of wanton character because of her family's history. She took a step around him toward the entrance, but he stopped in front of her, blocking her path.

  She took another step away, wanting to push past him and escape, but sensed that he would react as any predator and chase her down. She forced herself to behave as though his words didn’t frighten her and reached to touch a still green fruit that hung nearby. "I prefer gardening because it soothes. One prepares and seeds the soil so that blooms may grow." She eased one more step away as though to inspect another fruit which had begun to take on the color for which it was named.

  He blocked her movement by reaching out to catch her arm and turning her back to face him. He leered and his voice roughened. "I prefer the expediency of plowing a woman’s body to grubbing in the dirt.”

  Charlotte gasped at his effrontery and tried to break away from his hold on her arm. "How dare you speak so to me?" She struggled, shock and panic escalating. “I am a virtuous lady. Let go of my arm and do not accost me in future."

  "I think not, m'dear,” He caught her other arm and pulled her against him. "You pretend innocence with gasps of outrage yet invite me to play with double entant phrases about how you like preparing the garden for planting seeds."

  His eyes gleamed and Charlotte struggled to break away when he pulled her closer and whispered against her ear. "I know all of your family history, Miss Longborough. My father regaled me often with tales of his youth and the infamous ladies of his day. The Longborough name played prominently among them. Did you know he nearly offered for your mother's youngest sister despite of your grandmother's infamy?"

  He leaned back and watched her face when he told her, "Of course that was before the little fool eloped to marry a gypsy." Disgust and derision filled his expression, and he gave Charlotte a sharp shake. "A gypsy, for God's sake– and you think yourself a lady and put on airs when you are no more than a commoner's child yourself. Your grandfather may have been a baron, but I am a viscount. My word against yours will still hold."

  Then his hand wrenched her face toward his and his mouth came down hard on hers. His assault forced her lips apart shocking her with the deep thrust of his tongue. At the same time, he pushed his leg between her knees and pressed her hard against the potting table behind her. Shock and revulsion made her gag at his invasion, then fury made her react. She bit hard and kicked him in the shin at the same moment. He jerked back, a speck of blood glistening against his lip.

  "So, you did like what you saw, did you? Rough it will be, then." he snarled and released her arm to swing his own back in preparation for a blow that never came. In a flurry of movement, she was suddenly freed from his hold and stumbled before catching her balance.

  Lord Dalton's face turned white and his eyes widened in shock as he was forced face down onto the floor, his arm twisted behind him.

  "Did he hurt you, Miss Longborough?"

  Charlotte caught her breath at the sight of Wolverton, eyes feral with fury, standing over Lord Dalton, his hold on the man's arm threatening to dislocate the socket.

  "Nothing that washing my mouth will not cure."

  Despite her attempt to appear in calm, her voice trembled. No
w that nothing restrained her, her knees nearly buckled and bright spots danced in her vision. Blinking hard, she fought to gain control of her body's reaction to her tumbling emotions. Her hands sought the support of the bench behind her and she tried to take slow deep breaths to no avail. She would not faint in front of him. She would not. Then the bright spots grew and turned black.

  CHAPTER 12

  The scents of starch, wool, sandalwood, and oranges teased at the edge of Charlotte’s consciousness before she became aware of the solid wall of muscle that supported her. Gentle fingers brushed her cheek, and she opened her eyes to see Wolverton peering at her in concern.

  "Miss Longborough—Charlotte—are you all right now? Do you need your sister or my mother to attend you?"

  Memory rushed to the forefront. She tensed, then sat up and looked around for Lord Dalton.

  "He’s gone." Lucien assured her. "I would have challenged him for behaving in such a manner, but to do so would have created a greater scandal and ruined your reputation. I warned him off. He won’t bother you again." His eyes glinted and narrowed. "Nor will he spread slanderous tales about you or your family."

  "How did you know—? When did you—? Charlotte didn't know how to ask if he'd heard the terrible things Lord Dalton had said before he tried to force himself on her.

  "I didn't know you were here." He scowled and Charlotte realized that he would have blamed himself had he not arrived in time to prevent Lord Dalton from harming her. "This morning, before I left for Tattersall's, your sister Sarah asked me about orangery's, and I promised I would bring her some fruit from my aunt's. That I arrived before he could do you ruinous injury was a most fortunate coincidence."

  Those piercing blue eyes studied her and Charlotte tried to think of a response that would disguise the new flutter of entirely different emotions that filled her senses as he held her. Her voice trembled. "A most fortunate coincidence, indeed."

  The note of irony that laced her agreement made his gaze sharpen and his features reflected a grim approval that she had recovered from her faint. "Speaking of coincidence," he tapped the tip of her nose with his forefinger and smiled as though to lighten the mood. "Clarehaven nearly fell prey to the same trick your sister asked about yesterday. A new breeder had a pair of matched blacks that caught the Marquess's eye and I believe he might have purchased them had not a young stable lad tripped and spilt water onto one of the horse's forelegs. Shoe blacking melted away and revealed both a white sock and an inflamed fetlock. The breeder has been banned from future sales." He chuckled. "One would almost think Sarah’s reading matter is controlled by the fates."

  Far from reassuring her, his words gave her a moment of disquiet. For Sarah to have approached Wolverton with so timely a question could only mean she'd had one of her intuitions after Charlotte and the rest of the women in the household had departed. Bless Sarah and her intuitions. Bless the duke and his kindness to her sister. Bless the fates that he assumed both incidents mere coincidence.

  "Do you feel able to stand?"

  Charlotte blushed. As wonderful as it felt to lean against his broad shoulders, it would not do for anyone to enter the orangery and see them. "You must think me the most missish of ladies," she declared as she stood and smoothed her skirts. "I have never fainted before and do not understand why I did now—" she faltered, then spoke with determined calm. "I have never done so before."

  "You received a shock. Dalton's behavior was crude. And unforgivable of an honorable man."

  "Did you know Lady Dalton is not his first wife...?" Charlotte had known nothing of Lord Dalton's rise in rank and wondered how much society knew of his past.

  "I did not." Lucien peered at her in surprise. "How would you know such a thing?” He stopped abruptly. "How long have you known him?"

  "He was the estate manager for our neighbor when I was a child," she said. "I have not seen him since I was eight."

  "Then it was no accident that he spoke to you?"

  "I did not invite him, if that is what you mean," Charlotte protested. "I had hoped to avoid him. He held no title when I knew him, and I was surprised to hear him named Dalton."

  "But you recognized him at some function?"

  "I saw him first at Lady Anne's ball, but he didn’t recognize me until the Winterstone musical."

  "I find it difficult to believe he would accost you in such a fashion, and particularly if he had not seen you since you were a child." Lucien gazed at her, his eyes reflecting an unspoken question.

  Charlotte stiffened away from his support. "He did not like me as a child,” she informed him. "He merely found a new way to show his disregard for me as an adult."

  She stood abruptly and found the need to blink away the brightly colored dots that threatened to overwhelm her again. This time she succeeded in keeping the darkness at bay and she stepped away.

  He didn’t believe her claim that she hadn’t invited Dalton into the orangery– she could see his doubts clearly in those piercing eyes. It would do no good to tell him what she’d witnessed all those years ago. If he doubted her word as an adult, he would give even less credit to her childhood memory.

  "Thank you for coming to my rescue, Your Grace," Charlotte said with cool dignity. She turned away from the temptation to seek the security of his embrace again. "I must join my sister lest my absence be commented on."

  LUCIEN WATCHED THROUGH the window as Charlotte crossed the garden and accepted a glass of lemonade from one of the circulating footmen. Her face still had a slight pallor– and she had been truly struggling to get away before Lucien intervened. Every instinct in him wanted to give Charlotte support rather than let her return to the garden alone, but to do so would only spur gossip as damaging as the circumstances he'd interrupted.

  Certainly, he could not be seen leaving the orangery with her. He had to wait until her presence was noted in the normal course of events before he could join the rest of the party. He would have to make a public show, later, of coming back to the orangery to gather oranges for Sarah and Rowena lest his attention to the orangery be linked with Charlotte's.

  What did he know of Dalton other than what he had just witnessed? He vaguely remembered some story that Dalton’s title had come to him via a most convoluted and exhaustive search for heirs some six or seven years ago. Equally vague was his recollection of Dalton marrying his current wife, an orphaned heiress, a year or so later. He remembered nothing about a first wife.

  Why would a grown man dislike a child? Why would he attempt to assault her after... ten years? It made no sense. Yet he didn’t believe she lied. She approached life with a directness that he found disconcerting at times, but he knew did not include deception. He didn’t think she‘d told him everything, though.

  When she crumpled to the floor after being manhandled by that despicable—vile enough words failed him in his fury—he’d been ready to kill the swine. Instead, he’d hauled the man up by his twisted arm and taken great satisfaction in the cry of pain Dalton made when the shoulder slipped from the socket.

  He had ordered Dalton off his aunt's property, warning him to stay clear of Charlotte in the future, and that no malicious rumors be bandied about or Lucien would personally see to his ruin... at dawn. For if Dalton spread scandalous falsehoods about her family, a challenge would be the only way to end it. Then there would be another taint of scandal attached to the Longborough name—and his own. As it was, he wouldn’t be able to give the man the cut direct when next they attended the same event.

  Thank God Charlotte's sister Sarah had taken to reading about greenhouses and orangeries recently or Charlotte might have come to greater grief than fainting from shock.

  CHARLOTTE SIPPED HER lemonade in a vain attempt to settle her nerves. She checked the various groups of guests to be sure the Daltons had left, and her pulse finally slowed when she overheard someone say Lady Dalton had become ill again and Lord Dalton had hurried her home. She looked around for Elizabeth and saw her sitting with the duchess
and the ladies she'd been introduced to earlier.

  She wasn’t ready for light conversation, so she wandered toward a narrow bench tucked in a visible but less crowded corner of the garden. Fissures of heat and cold still alternated along her spine and her hands shook. She didn't feel she could ask to leave early without raising speculation, but after being trapped in the orangery, she needed the comfort of knowing people were nearby until she could seek the sanctuary of her room.

  She sat on the secluded bench and set her lemonade beside her, then folded her hands tightly in her lap. She was used to the fact that people talked about her family and that the highest sticklers of society considered associating with them to be a bit suspect. She didn’t like it, but she was used to it. But for someone as despicable as Lord Dalton to sneer, fury rose, and she wanted to howl her frustration to the world. How could a man of his ilk feel he was somehow superior to Aunt Lily’s husband whose only supposed sin was to have been born a gypsy?

  Did an unconventional background make her or her sisters any less ladies worthy of respect? It most certainly did not. Nor did the fact that Elizabeth liked working with wood or that Sarah had stronger intuition than most. Charlotte vowed she would prove to all those doubters that lack of convention didn’t mean lack of character.

  To do that, though, she must continue to pretend she didn’t notice the subtle probing that sometimes entered conversations with new acquaintances. Questions with innuendo and promiscuous hints she now realized they tested. Was that why Dalton's renewed threats had taken a lecherous form?

  She breathed in and savored the scent of fuchsias, iris, hyacinth and, was that cardamom? Charlotte heard a soft giggle followed by a sigh and a man's low whisper followed by another muffled giggle. Who? The giggles assured Charlotte that their private time was mutually desired in contrast to her own upsetting encounter. In the past, curiosity would have tempted her to peer through the hedge to see who indulged in a bit of flirtation. But heat and chills still skittered along her spine and she took another calming breath. She was finished with spying forever.