by Kelly Boyce
A SCANDALOUS PASSION
Kelly Boyce
THE SINS & SCANDALS SERIES
Three gentleman friends are forced into marriages in recompense for their past sins and scandals. One must marry for redemption, the other for money, and the last for honor.
BOOK 2: A SCANDALOUS PASSION
In the aftermath of her father’s scandalous death, Lady Caelie Laytham has become a pariah, her hopes of making a suitable match beyond repair. With no prospects, she reluctantly sets out for Italy by ship in hopes of a better life. Lady Caelie has no better luck with the rough seas than she does with society and before she knows it, she is on her way back to London in the company of the disreputable Earl of Huntsleigh.
Spencer Kingsley, Earl of Huntsleigh, believes he has outrun his grandfather’s demand that he marry by sailing as far from London as possible. Spence has witnessed firsthand the damage wrought by marriage, and the closest he is willing to get to the institution is his regular trysts with the ton’s wives and widows. So when he finds himself put ashore with the lovely Lady Caelie and no proper chaperone, he is certain the desperate innocent will do anything to save her own reputation—including putting an end to his bachelor days.
But as scandal looms and an old lover’s revenge threatens to ruin them both, passion ignites. Can they work together to achieve what each believed they have always wanted?
Or will fate intervene—and give them what they truly need…
Chapter One
Lady Caelie Laytham stepped off the busy dock and onto the gangway leading up to the deck of the Windswept. The narrow stretch of wood wobbled beneath her feet and she froze.
“Come along.” Her mother shot a swift glance over her shoulder, her gaze and purposeful stride filled with impatience. Caelie looked down at the dank, dark waters beneath her and opened her mouth to question once again whether leaving London was truly the best course of action. Then she closed it just as quickly. What was the point? Mother had made her decision and Caelie had already received an earful from her first two attempts to change her mind.
There was no turning back.
Behind her, the noise from the dock rose up and pushed against her. Wagons and carts with their iron wheels clanged against the cobbled streets and echoed in her ears only to be over-powered by raised voices and the stench of fish mingled with salt air and a bevy of other aromas she could not pinpoint nor wished to.
She had spent her entire life in London, yet at three and twenty this was the first time she had ever seen this section of the city. To think her last vision of home was to be a jungle of spars and masts jutting upward into the grey morning sky didn’t seem right.
Caelie let out a breath and forced one foot in front of the other. The damp wood made for a slippery surface. Beneath her, the Thames churned and splashed between the ship and the narrow wharf. Her stomach roiled at the thought of falling into the disgusting waters below.
Then again, perhaps that would be a much more tolerable fate than the one that awaited her in Italy.
Her mother had informed her a month ago of the journey. Caelie’d had no notion her mother corresponded with a distant cousin, Mr. Beechum. Not that Mother shared personal information. Still, it had come as a shock when she announced they were leaving London and traveling to Italy, though Mother’s impending marriage to Mr. Beechum came as the bigger shock. She claimed the union would allow them to get out from under the embarrassment and scandal they had suffered these past two years. A feat, she made a regular point of mentioning, Caelie had failed dismally at.
She could not fault Mother’s motives. Society had been more than reticent in allowing them back into the fold after Father’s death.
“Caelie!”
She started at Mother’s harsh tone and reached out a hand to grab the rope strung alongside the gangway. “Coming, Mother.”
Mr. Beechum would be sorely disappointed if he expected a gracious companion to enjoy his later years with. Edythe, the Countess of Glenmor, was not known for either warmth or a genial manner.
Caelie cast the water below one last look, then stepped onto the ship’s deck. A bevy of activity surrounded them. Men of all shapes and sizes moved along the deck with purpose, heavy loads hoisted onto their shoulders. Profanity peppered their rough-hewn speech, enough to turn Mother’s normally sallow skin an almost pretty pink.
Caelie forced back a smile. Something she had grown accustomed to doing around her mother. Amusement belonged to the lower class, she often said. A lady comported herself in a much more sedate and dignified manner.
Beneath her, the strong sway of the ship did nothing to settle the anxiety tossing around inside of her. She did her best to ignore it. Nothing could be done about their departure. Mother had made her decree and Caelie, as was her duty, followed it. Her cousins had asked her to stay, but pride was a funny thing. She loved Benedict and Abigail dearly, but she would not be a burden to them.
Water lapped against the side of the Windswept hard enough to be heard over the chaos on board. Her stomach rolled and each wave mocked her choice.
Caelie glanced about the deck in search of Mr. Marcus Bowen. The ship belonged to a fleet owned by the Marquess of Ellesmere. Mr. Bowen, his man of business, had agreed to ferry them to Italy, though the ship’s final destination lay somewhere well south of that.
The ship wasn’t generally meant for passengers, but Mother had no intention of backing down from her plans to leave England. Caelie’s new cousin, the Earl of Blackbourne, had therefore spoken on their behalf and ensured their passage. He wanted them to travel with someone he trusted, and Mr. Bowen was a close friend.
Unfortunately, Mr. Bowen was nowhere to be found.
“This is indefensible.” Mother’s sharp eyes searched the deck. Caelie glanced down at the small bag her mother held in her hands. Her gloves creased where she gripped the handles as if her life depended on it. A marvel the wood didn’t snap from the pressure. Mother did not tolerate tardiness.
“I’m sure Mr. Bowen will be along promptly.” Mother would take a strip off the gentleman if Caelie didn’t intervene. It would not get their trip off on the right foot.
Always the peacemaker. Abigail’s voice sounded in her head and a lonely pang pierced her heart. She blinked back the tears that pricked her eyes. Her cousins were the closest things to siblings she’d ever had. Her own brother, her twin, had not survived their birth. A fact Mother never failed to remind her of, as if she were somehow responsible.
Being an only child, and not a son, had proven a very lonely existence until her aunt and cousins arrived to live with them ten years ago. They’d brought a welcomed warmth into an otherwise cold home. She would miss them fiercely. But Abigail had married, and Benedict had his hands full as the new Earl of Glenmor upon her father’s passing. They had their own lives and, as Mother reminded her, there was nothing left for her there. Her father’s suicide following his scandalous affair with the famed courtesan Madame St. Augustine and her own broken engagement to Lord Billingsworth had ensured that.
Abigail’s marriage to Lord Blackbourne had improved the situation nominally, but it hadn’t been enough. Though she could show her face in public once again, no one went out of their way to repair old friendships or court new ones.
She remained a pariah amongst the ton. The dream she harbored of finding a husband to love, children to care for, a place to belong—all gone.
“You there!” Mother barked at a burly man with a large sack of something resting on his shoulder. The man stopped and shifted the burlap sack as if it contained nothing more than a load of feathers.
“Ma’am?” He looked her up and down and Mother’s beady eyes widened in revulsion. She recoiled and held her gloved hand
to her nose in an apparent effort to ward off the stink of sweat wafting off the large bear of a man.
“I demand you take us to Mr. Bowen this instant.”
The large, bushy, black moustache above the man’s upper lip twitched. “Might be ’ard t’do, seein’ as he ain’t har.” His voice rolled with the thickness of an accent Caelie couldn’t place. Northern perhaps?
“I beg your pardon?”
“He isn’t here,” Caelie translated. She smiled as she addressed the man in front of her, an attempt to soften the effect of Mother’s strident tone. “Has he not arrived as yet?”
“Nah. Won’t be either, lassie.”
Caelie swallowed the rush of hope, afraid to let it bloom. Had she been granted a reprieve from Mother’s forced exile? “Mr. Bowen will not be sailing today?”
“Not accordin’ to ’is majesty.” He jerked his head toward the opposite end of the ship then continued on his way without so much as a by your leave. Mother let out a huff filled with self-righteous indignation. She did not care to consort with the lower classes, but Caelie did not see how she could avoid it on this voyage. It appeared they were the only ones of high birth on board.
Caelie set her gaze to where the man had nodded and quickly realized the error of her assumption. She recognized the identity of the man referred to as ’is majesty.
“Oh dear.”
* * *
“We ’adn’t expected you, m’lord.”
Spencer Kingsley, Earl of Huntsleigh, smiled as he took the two steps leading up to the helm in one leap. His black Hessian boots smacked against the deck and slipped a little where the spray from the water below had dampened the wooden planks. Under foot, he could feel the familiar swell and roll as the waves pushed against Windswept. Of all of Grandfather’s fleet, he favored this one. It reminded him of freedom. Even the name evoked the sense of being swept away from it all—which he planned to be.
“Captain Moresley, my good man.” He clapped the old sailor on his shoulder and grinned. “I am afraid Mr. Bowen has been detained. I will be taking his place. Are we set to pull anchor?”
The thinly built shipmaster nodded slowly, one eye narrowing. How a man so lightly built had not blown away on rough seas and wind remained a mystery, but the captain had been at sea for longer than Spence had been alive, first with the Navy and now as shipmaster of the Windswept. Time and again, the old man had proven to be the most adept sailor. And not once had he been swept off the deck. Spence suspected the old sea captain glared into the wind and scared it off, much as he glared at Spence now. Suspicion riddled his weathered expression.
“And should I bother askin’ on the whereabouts of Mr. Bowen?”
Spence offered the man his most charming smile but the old goat wasn’t fooled for a minute. “Mr. Bowen is occupied with other business.” He didn’t bother explaining he’d been the one to send his good friend off on a fool’s errand; a tactic meant to delay him long enough for the ship to launch and be well on its way before Bowen could arrive and summarily eject him.
Grandfather had given his former ward and now man of business strict instructions that Spence was, under no circumstances, to set foot on the Windswept. His grandfather had other plans for him. Hideous plans such as marriage and procurement of an heir.
Spence shuddered involuntarily.
“Might I hazard a guess as to who sent Mr. Bowen on this other business?”
“You may hazard and guess as much as you wish, Captain Moresley, but I do outrank my grandfather’s man of business, do I not?”
He tilted his head to one side. “Aye. I ’spose as Earl and heir that would be the right of it. But I am master of this ship, laddie.”
Spence’s shoulders drooped. Neither pulling rank nor charm would help him in this instance. Which left him a little out of his depth, as charm was how he attained most of the things he wanted. He would have to apply to Captain Moresley’s sympathies, if the old salt hound had any.
“You know as well as I do, Mr. Bowen despises sea travel.”
“Aye, he’s a land lover, I’ll give you that.”
“And you do not need him for this trip, truly. Do you?”
“No,” the captain allowed. “Not me personally.”
“And it is imperative that you sail on time to meet the tides and Mr. Bowen’s delay could potentially endanger this.”
“I’m certain we can manage.”
Spence sighed. He was wasting time. Bowen possessed a quick mind, too quick in Spence’s estimation. It would not take long before he figured out the supposed errand for the Marquess of Ellesmere was in truth nothing but a ruse.
“Captain Moresley, would it not be better for Mr. Bowen to stay behind? Why the man lost nearly a stone the last trip and was green around the gills for weeks. I am willing and able to take his place. I concede that it is fully up to you who comes aboard your ship, but I am pleading—begging, even—that you allow me to replace Mr. Bowen in this instance.”
The captain stared at him for a long moment with eyes an even paler blue than Spence’s own—as if the salt air had leeched the color right out of them. Finally he gave a curt nod. “Fine then, but make yourself useful.”
“Useful?” Did the man expect him to haul crates or sacks? Swab the decks?
“See to our guests. They’ll be stayin’ in Mr. Bowen’s cabins. You’ll be bunkin’ with me.”
“Guests?” When had the Windswept become a passenger vessel?
Captain Moresley lifted his chin toward mid-ship where two well-dressed ladies who had no business being in such surroundings stood frozen in one spot.
He recognized one of them instantly. The fiery red hair was hard to disguise even with the bonnet tied securely beneath her chin. A few thick strands had escaped and wafted in the air with the wind. “Is that—?”
“Indeed it is, m’lord. Lady Glenmor and her daughter will be sailin’ with us as far as Italy. Mr. Bowen made the arrangements at the behest of your dear friend, Lord Blackbourne.”
Spence turned back to the captain. “This is Nick’s doing? He said nothing to me about it.” Damn Nick. What foolish notion led him to putting two gently bred women on a cargo ship?
“Still want to usurp Mr. Bowen’s position on the ship, m’lord?”
This was a most unwelcome turn of events. One to be remedied immediately.
“Not at all.” Spence straightened and turned. “I will see to our guests.”
Spence set his most charming smile in place, the one that had ladies of all ages bending over backward to do his bidding. He only brought it out on special occasions where his usual charm did not suffice. He’d heard stories from Nick about Lady Glenmor’s frigid demeanor. He would need all the ammunition at his disposal if he intended to get her and her daughter back on dry land.
Lady Caelie had recently been jilted by her former fiancé, and given the scandal around her family, her prospects at finding another were dismal, at best. He would be an all too attractive—not to mention captive—target on board the ship. No matter what arrangements had been made between Bowen and Nick, neither lady was making this trip.
Spence stopped in front of Lady Caelie and her mother and saluted them with a curt bow. “Ladies. Good day. May I escort you from the ship?” He waved a hand in the direction of the gangway. Perhaps not the courtliest way of dismissing them, but he did not have the time for such niceties. He needed to set sail before Bowen caught wind of his ruse.
Lady Glenmor’s gaze slithered down her straight nose and landed on him with all the warmth of a winter’s wind blowing off the Channel. Lady Caelie, on the other hand, let hers drop to the deck, her hands clasped in front of her.
Such a shame a lady so lovely to look at lacked even the smallest hint of spirit. She reminded him a little of a damp rag, really. It had been his experience that red hair often coupled itself with a feisty personality, but, if so, Lady Caelie had not been informed. A pity, really.
“What you may do,” Lady Glenmor said
, “is show us to our quarters.” Her voice did little to soften her hard countenance, which Spence suspected had been chiseled from stone by an unskilled hand. Not that she was necessarily ugly, but it did beg the question if the lovely Lady Caelie had been a foundling passed off as blood.
“I am afraid there has been a mistake. We cannot convey you to Italy. Much too dangerous and far too…far. Now, if you would be so kind as to follow me.” He held out an arm to Lady Caelie. For a brief second, she glanced up at him with a mixture of relief and hope in her eyes before she bowed her head once more.
But in those few seconds he’d had the loveliest view of eyes so green they rivaled any emerald. Good heavens. He had danced with her on occasion at the behest of Nick; how had he not noticed such eyes? Likely because she kept her gaze averted, much as she did now.
He gave himself a mental shake. Bloody hell, man. What did the color of her eyes matter?
It didn’t. The only thing that mattered was getting them off the Windswept so the ship could set sail before Bowen discovered his deception. Friend or no, as Grandfather’s man of business Bowen would brook no interference in the Marquess’s plans. It mattered not that he loathed being onboard a ship or leaving England. Bowen never considered his own wants and needs, but forever put others’ first. Which meant Spence must ensure someone looked out for his friend’s best interests.
That his own were served at the same time only sweetened the pot.
Interests that would not be met if a certain unmarried miss decided to set her cap for him. When women with nothing to lose grew desperate, anything could happen.
Besides, the trip to Italy took weeks and he had never been very good at avoiding temptation. Despite her dullness, Lady Caelie possessed a fair and rather enticing countenance. Too enticing. One did not wave a red cape in front of a bull and not expect it to charge.
A charge that would end in disaster. He did not chase after innocents as a rule, but…well, it was a long trip and he was a man with needs and…
