Three Times the Scandal (Georgian Rakehells)

by Madelynne Ellis

  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.

  He leaned into the touch. “Or not close enough.”

  Their breath misted in the air between them, warming her cold skin. He was almost close enough to kiss. Was it worth the risk? No man wanted what another had already taken. She’d been repeatedly told that since her schoolroom days.

  She felt his heart, thudding hard against her palm. Her own pulse beat at the apex of her thighs. Breathless, she stared at his lips. What would they feel like against hers? Pennerley’s kiss had been demanding and aggressive. He’d been hard in every sense. Dovecote, she anticipated, would be softer.

  He traced a gentle s-shaped pathway down her throat. “Are you begging me for a kiss, Fortuna?” They were just inches apart. She could taste the champagne on his breath.

  “I...” she stuttered, her lips parting in expectation, but to her surprise he turned away, leaving a void beside her that the cold air rushed to fill. Baffled, Fortuna shivered as she watched him stride to the edge of the terrace, where he rested his elbows on the stone balustrade. Snowflakes caught in the tips of his sandy-brown hair. His ears were reddened by the cold wind, but his expression she couldn’t fathom.

  Had she made it too easy for him? Perhaps he felt no attraction to her.

  A frown creased her forehead. Still, she joined him by the barricade, placing her hands beside his upon the stone. For several moments they stared out over the moonlit garden, watching the flurries of snow in silence. She moved only when her nose began
to tingle, and she looked down to find her fingers were blue.

  “You should go inside,” he said.

  “I can’t. Not yet.” She cupped her hands and blew warm air onto her frozen digits. She’d rather risk frostbite than face her family and Sir Hector.

  “All right.” He clasped her hands within his and rubbed warmth into her fingers. “Why are you really out here?”

  Fortuna stared at the point of contact between them, avoiding his gaze. The state of affairs between her and Sir Hector would come out soon enough. High society thrived on such gossip, but spilling her troubles to a notorious rakehell still seemed rather unwise.

  Giles laced his fingers between hers and squeezed. “I’ll keep it between us.” The small reassurance leant her some strength. She blinked and looked up into his beautiful green eyes, and the admission simply rolled off her tongue.

  “Sir Hector proposed and I refused him.”

  A cloud passed across the surface of Giles’s eyes. He cocked his head and considered her carefully, all traces of his smile vanished from his face. Like a subtle caress, his concern washed desire to all her most tender parts. He cared, she realized. Not only that, he was angered by her hurt.

  “Are you hiding from him, or your family?”

  “Both, I suppose. They’ll demand I reconsider.”

  He snorted. “Demand an acceptance, you mean.” She watched him stride across the terrace, his back broomstick straight and his motion jerky. His hand punched through the air, and landed with a smack against his other palm. “Emotional blackmail, oh, yes—the family’s most developed weapon. It’s sickening, but then society is very sick.”

  “They won’t persuade me.” She darted towards him, shaking her head.

  Giles sagged a little from the shoulders. “Strong words. I wish you strength in holding to them.”

  “You’ve no faith in my resolve?”

  Giles shook his head. “I’ve no faith in society, Miss Allenthorpe. Too often parents arrange what they consider a suitable match, only to condemn their offspring to abject misery. Look around the ballroom here tonight and you can see them hiding behind their haughty facades, barely speaking because they despise one another.” He squeezed his knuckles tight then slammed his fist into a stone urn.

  Shocked, Fortuna jerked forward, not sure if she intended to catch the rocking urn or stay his hand before he struck again. “Don’t,” she pleaded and closed her hand around his arm. He seemed to calm at her touch. The tension drained from his limbs and he peered down at her with an anxious smile straining his lips.

  Fortuna smoothed her thumb over his bruised knuckles. Come morning, they’d be swollen, and mottled with purple and green contusions, now they were merely red and scraped. On instinct she raised them to her lips and pressed a kiss to their tender surface. Both his sudden passion and his words disturbed her. She knew he spoke the truth. He described their society with unflinching accuracy, but what scared her was his clear desire to destroy the status quo.

  “Run,” he said, drawing his hand from hers. “It’s your only chance of freedom. If you stay the marriage will go ahead.”

  Frightened, she gaped at him. In truth she could refuse Sir Hector many times over, but in her heart she knew that since her parents were set upon the match, eventually it would go ahead. Little by little, they’d wear her down. But what he suggested was foolish. “Run. To where? Away with you?”

  Giles responded with an eloquent shrug.

  “Why would I do that?” Desperately cold, and starting to feel numb on the inside, Fortuna hugged herself tightly.

  “It’s just a suggestion.” He drew her forward into his embrace, and one hand pressed possessively into the small of her back.

  “Mr. Dovecote.”

  There was a streak of something in his eyes—determination, desperation. Then he knocked her thoughts sideways with the press of his lips.

  The kiss was soft and insistent. His tongue pushed into her mouth, his heat surrounded her. Stars danced behind her eyelids, as her whole sense of reality tilted. When the press of his hand against her back urged her to give more, she couldn’t refuse.

  The hot spear of his tongue clashed with hers, intensifying her groans, which then softened into tender mewls. She heard and felt his arousal too. A low growl of hunger that tightened upon her senses as he ground his body against her.

  Because of her naivety in dealing with Pennerley, she was no untouched virgin, but still the way Giles’s hand crept down her back to grip her bottom made her heart thud.

  Wet heat gathered between her thighs as she clove to him, her whole skin flushed as the hard heat of his staff pressed to her hip, tempting her with the promise of something greater than a kiss. “Dovecote,” she gasped. He released her, and she staggered backwards thoroughly shaken. Not even Pennerley had kissed her as intensely at that. “I don’t understand.”

  He brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “What is there to understand?”

  “But you can’t seriously expect me to run away with you. I hardly know you. I’ve no more wish to marry you than I have Sir Hector.”

  Giles shifted his feet and the movement briefly brought their hips into contact again. A dart of excitement leapt through her insides as a result. It fizzled within her womb, made her breasts ache within the tight confines of her stays. Perhaps, he did rate marginally higher than Sir Hector, but that didn’t stop it from being a nonsensical suggestion.

  Giles gave a loud sniff. “That’s as well, since I wasn’t offering.” He scowled and the expression transformed him into the gargoyle she’d mistaken him for when she’d first come outside. “Marriage, pah! Nothing but the chains of convention, especially for a woman. I can’t see why you’re all so keen to sell yourselves into slavery. No, it’s an adventure I’m offering, nothing more. A chance to be free.”

  “Free,” she repeated, weighing the measure of his words, and finding only a hollow ring of disappointment. Was there such a thing as freedom? “What sort of freedom will I gain by running away with a rakehell?”

  Giles shrugged, but still they remained pressed close, neither seemingly quite ready to break the strange bond they’d formed.

  “Why are you really out here?” Fortuna eventually asked. “And don’t repeat that nonsense about Darleston’s wife.”

  Dovecote considered her through the strands of his long fringe. “I thought it was plain. I’m in hiding too. There’s someone within I’ve no wish to meet.”

  “Then why don’t you leave?” Unlike her, he wasn’t constrained by his family. He could come and go as he pleased.

  “That was my original intention.” The ghost of his earlier smile flickered into being again. “Alas, the countess is guarding the main door, and one doesn’t like witnesses to their undignified escapes. It gives a bad impression. Of course, now we’re properly acquainted, I don’t think you’ll hold it against me.”

  He swung his legs over the balustrade, so that his feet were braced against the bracket holding the black drainpipe in place. Fortuna faced him on the other side of the stone barrier, her heart in her mouth. It was long way down. “Please,” she begged. “What are you doing? You could fall.”

  “It’s quite sturdy.” Giles gave a little jump, and her heart gave an enormous one. “And I’m quite practiced. You could come.” She shook her head. “Farewell then, Fortuna.” He blew her a kiss, and winked. Then he was gone, a spindly shadow creeping down the side of the building. He gave a salute once he reached the ground, then scuttled off across the lawn towards the bordering trees.

  “Don’t go,” she sighed, feeling she’d just lost her only friend.

  “Fortuna!” The irate smack of her mother’s voice split the frozen air. “Come inside at once.”

  Dear Lord, she was found. Fortuna pressed her hands to her face and let out a weary sigh. Her head bowed low, she crossed to her mother’s side. “I can’t do it, Mama. Truly I can’t.” Tears wet her eyelashes.

  “Come inside.
Look at your dress, your shoes,” remarked Mrs. Allenthorpe. “Whatever have you done to your hair? Where’s the comb?”

  Fortuna looked around and found it covered by a light sprinkling of snow in the centre of the terrace. She’d not even noticed its loss.

  “Of all the absurdity, fancy standing outside in the dark on a night like this. Are you trying to catch your death?” Her mother gripped her tightly around the wrist and dragged her towards the ballroom. “We know what’s best for you, Fortuna. I won’t have any of this nonsense. You’ve had two seasons and not a sniff of interest from anyone but Sir Hector. Frankly, I’m shocked at your behaviour. I expect it of Mae, but not of you. You’re the eldest now Sarah is wed. You should set a good example.”

  “I mean it, Mama. I won’t have him,” Fortuna said, before being shoved back into the throng of revellers. She had no desire to set a good example. In fact the appeal of Giles Dovecote’s outrageous plan suddenly seemed perfectly rational. She should have flown with him, and risked being daubed very bad indeed.

  Chapter Two

  He couldn’t just abandon her. Giles realized that almost the moment his feet touched the ground, but he held the thought back until he was well into the tree line. There were enough loveless marriages being endured, without forcing Fortuna into another one. He had to at least attempt to help. Maybe he could speak to Sir Hector. Pure lunacy governed the whole business of marriage among his class, but there were few who shared his views, and fewer still who spoke openly of alternatives. As much as he wanted to change the world, Giles wasn’t even sure if it were possible.

  But Fortuna... He couldn’t stand back and watch. Yet what could he do? His nerves were already frayed, and the prospect of running into the Mortons filled him with horror. Months of bitter resentment towards them threatened to dislodge his civilized veneer. He couldn’t risk the scene that would result if Clemencè managed to corner him. There were too many truths he’d feel compelled to reveal.