The Scandals Of An Innocent

by Nicola Cornick

  “I see,” Alice said frostily. “I cannot quite see how we come to be discussing this matter in public-”

  Miles turned and saw that Marigold and Jim had both emerged from the servants’ quarters and were tidying up their damp outdoor clothing whilst at the same time making no attempt to disguise the fact that they were eavesdropping shamelessly. He grabbed Alice’s arm and hustled her through the door into the parlor.

  “This was not what I wanted to talk about,” Alice said as Miles closed the door behind them. “I was broaching a different subject entirely-”

  “We’ll discuss that in a moment,” Miles said. “Miss Lister, I am aware that you have been in service and as such may have been unprotected and prey to the lusts of gentlemen-”

  “There is nothing remotely gentlemanly about making a servant girl the object of your lust,” Alice said sharply. Suddenly there was so much anger clear in her voice that Miles was shocked to hear it.

  “It is quite acceptable for a man of your stamp to seduce a housemaid for sport,” she said, “and yet you demand virginity from the housemaid you blackmail into being your wife.” She gripped her hands together. “You are all the same. You are all callous and selfish and think that a woman is fair game for your seduction-”

  “Wait,” Miles said. He grabbed her wrists. “Who are all the same?” he demanded.

  “You so-called gentlemen,” Alice said, and Miles could see that her eyes were suddenly bright with tears as well as anger. “You, with your blackmail and your wager on my virtue, and Tom Fortune seducing Lydia and then abandoning her, and every last despicable nobleman who forces himself on a woman be she maidservant or debutante-” She caught her breath on a sob. “I hate you all for it,” she finished starkly. Her frame was racked by sobs now.

  Miles put his arms about her. She stood quite still within his embrace, neither accepting nor repudiating him. Her misery was locked tightly within her and her eyes were screwed up, but a tear escaped from the corner of one of them to plop onto Miles’s sleeve. Miles, who normally hated women’s tears, drew her closer and pressed his lips to her hair and found himself uttering some words he had thought never to say in his entire life.

  “Don’t cry,” he said. “Alice, please…Sweetheart, tell me what this is about. Has someone hurt you?” The images were in his mind now, filling it with appalling and excruciating detail. He had never forced a woman in his life; it was not his way. But he knew there were plenty of men who behaved exactly as Alice had described. If one of them had hurt her he would have to seek him out and tear him limb from limb…

  “No,” Alice said. “Not me. Not like that. I am as innocent as you require.” She sounded furious. “But I hate your compulsion of me, Miles, and I am angry for Lydia and for all the girls I knew who suffered at the whims of men.” She beat her fists against Miles’s chest with a small impotent gesture. “Jenny had a child and was turned off,” she said. “Jane died because someone abused her-” she swallowed a sob “-and there was nothing that I could do!”

  Miles held her until her body softened in his arms and her sobs quietened and then he drew her down to sit beside him on the sofa. Alice scrubbed the tears from her face with shaking fingers and Miles captured her hands in his and held her.

  “I am sorry,” he said. “I am sorry for all the things that you describe. It would be stupid and pointless of me to deny that they happen or that they are not as terrible as you say.”

  Alice raised her head. “I did not think you would care,” she said.

  “I do have some basic humanity,” Miles pointed out and won a small smile from her.

  “I fight against the injustice because it is so wrong, but there seems so little that I can do,” Alice said. She looked up and her clear blue gaze met his. “I thought you were different,” she said, with the simplicity that always stole Miles’s breath. “Last year when we first met I thought that because you worked for justice and the common good…” She let the sentence fade away, shaking her head a little. There was an undertone of disappointment in her voice. “I made a mistake,” she finished. “You were merciless and selfish in pursuing what you wanted, just as you are now.”

  “I wanted you and I wanted your money,” Miles said. “I still do.” He knew he could not defend himself against her accusation. It was true.

  “So you seek to blackmail me into marrying you,” Alice said, “which amounts to forcing me to your bed.”

  “I may be a fortune hunter and a rake,” Miles said, “but I have never forced an unwilling woman to lie with me. I would never do that.” He looked at her. There was no skepticism in her gaze and once again he was struck by how naturally open and honest she was. He had never met a woman like her.

  He did not deserve a woman like her. That was the truth.

  “Never?” she said.

  “I am being honest,” Miles said dryly. “I would never do that.”

  Something eased in Alice’s face and she smiled a little again, and her radiance hit him like a punch.

  “So you would not force me to lie with you even if we wed,” she said.

  Miles gave her a very straight look. “But I would not be forcing you, would I, sweetheart? You would come to me of your own free will. You know you want me as much as I want you.”

  “I…” Alice put her hands up to her scarlet cheeks.

  Miles took one of her hands away from her face and imprisoned it in her lap. “That is the thing that troubles you,” he said softly. “That you can dislike what I stand for and yet still desire me.”

  Alice sat looking at him, her lips parted, the troubled look still in her eyes. There was a flush on her cheekbones that was, Miles suspected, a compound of indignation and the deep desire that he knew he could arouse in her.

  “I will tell you what would trouble me,” she said. “I would hate it if we were wed and you were unfaithful to me. You are a rake, Miles. Can you be faithful, or would that be too difficult for you?”

  Miles thought about it. To be true to her as long as they both lived…That was a hell of a commitment to make, forsaking all other women. But since he did not appear to have any space in his mind even to think about any other women at present, let alone any desire to make love to one, it suddenly seemed less implausible than it might have done.

  “I don’t know,” he said slowly. “That is the truth. I have never attempted to be faithful to anyone. I think I can say that I would try my hardest.” He stopped. Once again a strange tenderness for her took him. To try his best seemed woefully inadequate and far, far less than Alice deserved. Damnation, he really was losing his grip now, striving to become a better man to please her. He had never had any urge to improve before. He was quite happy as he was. And now he found himself trying to change. He did not like it.

  “I suppose I cannot fault you on your honesty,” Alice said, “even when I might prefer a different answer.” She spoke lightly but Miles thought he could detect a hint of some emotion beneath. She freed herself from his clasp and moved away a little along the seat. “I am not at all clear how we come to be discussing this,” she said. “I was trying to tell you that I had misled you as to my fortune.” She looked at him, her eyes suddenly both wary and challenging. “I am not…quite…as rich as everyone supposes.”

  “You have misled me as to your fortune,” Miles repeated. He felt a rather chill sense of premonition as he looked at her pink, defiant face.

  “Well, not precisely misled,” Alice said. “The eighty thousand pounds is intact and safely invested.”

  Miles experienced a sinking sensation. “I sense a but,” he said.

  “But I have spent all the current interest and have borrowed against future interest, as well,” Alice said, “which I am entitled to do under the terms of my inheritance.” She took a deep breath. “So theoretically I am in debt.”

  Miles felt like putting his head in his hands. Alice was watching him and although she was trying to look nonchalant he could see that she was nervous of h
is reaction. Theoretically she was in debt? What the hell was a theoretical debt? He had yet to come across a debt that was not very, very real.

  “Your trustees should be shot for letting you do this,” Miles said. He tried to hold on to his temper. “How much?” he added softly.

  “Oh, a few thousand pounds to Lowell to buy modern machinery and livestock for the farm, and sufficient invested for Mama to live out her days in comfort, and then some for the workhouse children and other charities and…” She looked sideways at Miles as though to assess his reaction. “I also invested in the windmill cooperative.”

  “The windmill cooperative,” Miles repeated. He felt slightly dazed.

  “Yes,” Alice said. “A great many of us have invested as a way to encourage new businesses in the village.”

  A small silence fell between them.

  “What else?” Miles said.

  “Well,” Alice excused. “There are a few other small things. Mama, for example, is very extravagant and does like the trappings of luxury. I did not like the money, anyway,” she added defiantly. “It was making me unhappy.”

  “Lack of money has been making me unhappy for quite some time,” Miles said. “Why did the possession of it have the opposite effect on you?”

  “Because I had been a servant and I am accustomed to working,” Alice said. “Sitting around sewing or reading or drinking tea and gossiping…” She shrugged. “Once the novelty of having leisure had worn off, it seemed like a monstrous waste of time to me. Oh, I love some of the things that money can buy,” she added. “I love that I am not obliged to work until I drop with tiredness. I love buying clothes. But I was bored, I am afraid. I needed to be active.” Miles saw her steal another look at him under her lashes. She looked scared and defiant. He wanted to shake her. He wanted to kiss her.

  “And I have made over the house in Skipton to Miss Cole as a place where she and her baby may live in future,” she finished.

  Miles was shaking his head. “Alice, you really are the most infuriating woman-”

  “It is my money,” Alice argued, “and I can do with it whatever I like until I am wed.” She looked at him. “You are angry.”

  Miles looked at her. “I would be less than human-or lying-if I denied it.” He ran a hand over his hair. He was aware of feeling furious and frustrated but at the same time of a perplexing admiration for her and what she had done.

  “Devil take it, Alice…” He ground out. “We shall both end in the Fleet at this rate.”

  “Well, I was not to know that you were so desperate that you would want all the eighty thousand and all the interest, as well,” Alice pointed out. “Blackmailers deserve a few unpleasant surprises,” she added trenchantly.

  Miles reached out and pulled her angrily into his arms. “I am furious with you,” he said, his cheek against hers.

  She glanced up at him, and the softness of her cheek moved against the rough stubble on his skin. “You are greedy,” she said huskily.

  Miles shook her a little. “I want everything.”

  “You cannot have it.” She slanted her head and gave him a look of challenge. “Are you going to jilt me now that I am not as rich as you thought?”

  A wave of desire took Miles so hard it almost floored him. “No,” he said. “I will have you, Alice. Perhaps you are not quite as rich as I had hoped but I will have you all the same.”

  She sat back, out of his arms, and gave him another look of challenge that made him burn. “You forget that there are still two months of our courtship to run,” she said. “Free me from the blackmail,” she added suddenly. “Let me make my own choices.”

  Miles thought about it. Surprisingly he found it more difficult to refuse her than he had expected. There was something about Alice’s shining honesty that demanded an equal integrity in return. But the risk was too great. He could not gamble on losing Alice or her money and anyway, it was a long time since he had prided himself on his integrity.

  “No,” he said. “I cannot.”

  Her expression did not alter. She did not even look surprised, rather as though she had not expected it of him anyway. He supposed that he had not disappointed her because by now she had no illusions about him.

  “I do not like to be coerced,” she said evenly.

  “None of us do,” Miles said. He drew her close again and tilted her face up to his. She met his gaze fearlessly but he could feel the tension in her. “I am not going to risk losing my advantage,” he said, against her mouth. He kissed her, parting her lips with his tongue, delving into the sweetness of her mouth, demanding a response. She was still beneath his touch as she had been before when he had comforted her, neither withdrawing nor engaging. He closed his teeth about her lower lip and bit down just hard enough to force a gasp from her.

  “Respond to me,” he said, taking her mouth again, his hand coming up to palm her breast. The rough silken slide of the velvet bodice skimmed under his fingers and she gasped again at the friction.

  “That is one thing you cannot make me do,” she whispered. Her lips were damp and parted, tempting him unbearably. He wanted to kiss her senseless. “You said earlier that I would come to you of my own free will,” she said. “You were wrong. You may be able to blackmail me into marrying you, but you cannot force me to respond to you.”

  Miles knew it was true, but all his frustration at her damned independence and her refusal to break suddenly went into the kiss, and he pushed her down on the sofa and plundered her mouth until she was helpless and quiescent in his arms. She offered no resistance to him but neither did she return his embrace, which only angered him the more. The need to command a response from her, to make her acknowledge her desire for him, roared through him. He held her head still so he could take her mouth in kisses that were deeper still and loosed the gown from about her neck to expose her tender skin to the questing exploration of his lips and hands. The demands he made on her were merciless; the pale skin of her throat and shoulders was pink and ravished from his touch and her nipples peaked hard against the velvet of her bodice. And at last he felt the answering desire in her and the triumphant masculine possession flared in him-until he drew back, saw the look in her blue eyes and knew her spirit was far from broken. For a moment they stared at each other like gladiators, and then Miles remembered all the things Alice had said about taking by force. It was like a shower of icy water. He let her go with a savage oath, gathering her close in his arms, feeling the instinctive resistance in her and hating himself for causing it.

  Gradually her tense breathing eased and she relaxed against him and he pressed his cheek against hers in apology and penance.

  “I am sorry,” he said. “My desire for you almost made me a liar.”

  She moved against him a little, her body soft and yielding against his now. “And I would be lying, too, if I pretended I did not want you,” she said, “but I will not give in.” She put a hand up and touched his lips gently. “Miles. I hate what you are doing to me. I cannot concede.”

  “I know,” Miles said softly. “You cannot capitulate but neither will I.”

  He was wrenched with a sudden deep regret. He could not risk losing her and yet more than anything he wanted her response to be freely given. The conflict tightened deep within him.

  “Do you know what happens when you deny yourself something that you want very badly?” he murmured.

  Alice’s eyes met his, deep lavender blue in the lamplit room. “You develop exceptionally good self-discipline?” she said.

  Miles smiled. “No,” he said. “You just want it all the more.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  “W AS IT YOU?” Lydia, panting and crying, threw herself into Tom Fortune’s arms. “Did you do it, Tom? Did you try to kill Alice?”

  She had run all the way from Spring House across the snowy meadows to the ruins of the old priory where Tom was currently encamped. She had been waiting all day for word from him, growing steadily more anxious and upset, and now she could
not seem to stop the tears or stop the shaking in her body.

  Tom swung the cellar doors closed behind them and drew her into the shelter of his arms. He held her close, soothing and petting her and speaking softly to her, Lydia thought, much as he would calm a skittish horse. And surprisingly, it was comforting. The sobs that racked her body died away and she felt strangely at peace. Except that he had not answered her question.

  “Well?” she demanded. She could not see his expression clearly because the wick on the candle had already burned so low, but she thought that he was smiling at her.

  “Of course not,” Tom said. “Why would I wish to kill Miss Lister?”

  “I don’t know,” Lydia said, shivering, “but someone did.”

  Tom drew her down to sit beside him on the floor. The cellar was surprisingly warm in comparison to the frosty night outside but it was scarcely welcoming. Tom’s pitifully small collection of possessions were scattered about: a bag, a cloak, a pistol. Lydia shuddered to see it.

  “Whoever shot at Miss Lister had a rifle,” Tom said, following her gaze. “I heard the tales in the tavern.” He unstoppered a bottle and tilted it to his lips. “Elder-flower champagne,” he said. “Mrs. Anstruther keeps her wine down here. Would you like some?”

  “I don’t think you should steal it,” Lydia said primly.

  Tom’s lips twisted. “It is only one more thing to add to the list against me. I know they will be looking for me twice as hard now they think I tried to kill again.”

  “It isn’t safe for you here,” Lydia said. “Dexter Anstruther is a bare hundred yards away in the Old Palace, and Miles Vickery is staying at Spring House.”

  “I know,” Tom said. He leaned forward and kissed her. He tasted of champagne and smelled of musk and leather, and Lydia shivered at the memory of his skin against hers.

  “I like the danger,” Tom said, his words muffled against her lips. “I cannot help myself. It excites me.”