Silk and Scandal

by Carlysle, Regina

  Nicholas was not Edward.

  To even compare the two in a single sentence was reprehensible and did dishonor to her betrothed.

  Sighing deeply, Eliza looked down at elaborately carved planters lining the walking leading from the gardens to the manse. They were filled with white roses that tempted her to stop and breathe in their scent.

  Suddenly another fragrance filled the air, and she glanced over her shoulder to see a flash of red from a darkened corner of the garden.

  A cigar.

  In a wild arc, the cheroot took flight and landed on the ground as the man strode into the light.

  Gleaming golden, he was a tall, slender man dressed in the height of fashion. Nicholas’s cousin, someone had said. She searched for a name to match the face, but was saved when the man took her hand and bowed low.

  “Park Mansfield, my lady,” he murmured quietly. “I’m sorry to impose, but as no one has yet offered introduction, I thought to do it myself. Not quite the thing, but I hope you will forgive my impertinence.”

  “Nonsense,” she replied. “Polite society often entertains silly rules.”

  He grinned, showing even white teeth. “You would, of course, be Lady Eliza, my cousin’s betrothed.”

  “Yes.”

  “Congratulations and welcome to the family.”

  She glanced down uncomfortably then back at him. She was not used to being engaged under duress, but it served no purpose to embarrass Nicholas in front of his family. “Thank you. I am surprised we’ve not been introduced as yet.”

  “Yes. Well, Nicholas and I had a falling out I’m afraid. Nothing very important. Just a matter of character differences.”

  Eliza stared, curious. What did he imply?

  “You seem confused, my lady.” Park smiled and gave her hand a consoling pat. Conspiratorially, he leaned close enough that she smelled a hint of peppermint and tobacco on his breath. “Everyone in town knows about Nicholas’s Chinese mistress. I assumed you knew as well.”

  Eliza gasped. “I beg your pardon.”

  Mr. Mansfield’s face wore an expression of sympathy. “Oh, my dear lady, I am so sorry. You haven’t heard the gossip then?”

  “No.”

  He stepped away as if preparing to leave. “I’ve said too much. You must ask Nicholas for the details.”

  Shock tore through her, lending a shrill note to her voice. Reaching out, she grabbed his coat to stop him. “Please. Please. You must tell me what you’re talking about.”

  He sighed and turned. “Very well.” His eyes were filled with remorse. “As you know, Nicholas spent nearly ten years building an empire in the Orient. Lord only knows what foreign ideas he learned there. The only thing known for certain is that he returned with a Chinese slave girl on his arm.”

  “A slave girl!”

  Park shook his head woefully. “A nasty business, slavery. She currently lives in his Berkeley Square mansion as his mistress, but surely, once you have wed, he will buy a little house for her somewhere. Not to worry.”

  Eliza stumbled back as the implications struck her with intense force.

  She could not believe this. Not of Nicholas. Her Nicholas.

  “Please ex-excuse me. I must go.” She stumbled backward, but righted herself. Turning in a whirl of ivory skirts, she walked quickly toward the back of the garden and the gate waiting there.

  Never could she imagine what a fool she’d been to believe the murmurings of a man. Would she never learn? Tears of fury and pain stung her cheeks as her mind reeled from shock. She only knew that at this moment she must get away. Now!

  Rushing through the back gate and down the empty side street, she spotted a lone hackney. Within moments, she was on her way home.

  On the steps at the edge of the garden stood Park Mansfield. He’d done well this evening, he thought, as he watched Eliza stumble through the foliage and into the street beyond.

  Perhaps it was time to retire from the party himself. Time to see about tracking down his new friend, Edward. Who knew what juicy tidbits he might relay regarding his relationship with Eliza?

  Adjusting the lapel of his black coat, Park followed her direction. His plan was working beautifully. Before long, the world would know Park Mansfield as the Duke, and Nicholas would be just another disinherited noble.

  A good night’s work. He climbed into his carriage and gave directions to his driver. Vaguely he wondered how Eliza would handle this tantalizing bit of news. That she was shaken was evident. Vividly, he recalled the disbelief, the sharp, hunted look on her face. She had turned paler than milk; her lips had tightened. Tears swam in those huge violet eyes. He almost felt sorry for her. Almost.

  His teeth flashed white in the gloom of the carriage, and his rich, dark laughter laced the chill air.

  Chapter Eleven

  Dreams made one foolish!

  Despising her stupidity in falling for Nicholas’s tempting words, Eliza flew into her chamber and dashed her sapphire engagement ring across the room where it settled with a soft ping upon the hardwood floor.

  Her shoes followed the path of the ring as she kicked a damp slipper off each foot. Known for her wild temper as a child, she reverted to form and whirled toward her wardrobe, mindless with fury.

  Dashing open the door, she reached into a bottom corner and grabbed the garments she needed.

  “My lady!” Pandora stood in the doorway and dabbed at her nose with a square of material. She sneezed violently. “Whatever are you doing? Why are you home already? Something is wrong, isn’t it?”

  “Considering a man is involved, of course something is wrong. Wretchedly wrong!”

  “Surely His Grace has not done anything to upset you? Why the man is besotted and so eager to marry you, it is a wonder he hasn’t already swept you off to Gretna Green.” A fit of coughing followed Pandora’s words.

  Eliza huffed at the little maid and fisted her hands upon her hips. “Oh, please do sit before you fall. You should not be out of bed.”

  “But I had to come. You made enough noise to wake the dead. Now, here I find you all red-faced and furious, ready to kill if I don’t miss my guess.”

  “Oooh!” Eliza moved to Pandora and presented her back. “My tapes, if you will. And please do hurry.”

  “Mmm.” Nimble fingers went quickly to the task. “There now, m’lady. Shall I fetch your night rail?”

  “No, I am going out again.”

  “You cannot go out like this.”

  “Whatever do you mean? Of course, I can.”

  “M’lady, you are crying. Are you so upset that you did not know?”

  When Eliza sank to the foot of her bed, her ivory gown drooping from her shoulders, the tears began in earnest.

  “Oh, please, you must not. Take this.” Pandora drew another handkerchief from the pocket of her wrap and pressed in rapid little pats along Eliza’s cheeks.

  “I told myself I would never believe in a man,” she choked. “But I did. How could an intelligent woman forget such an important lesson?”

  “I’ll kill the rotten bastard!”

  “No. Do me in instead. I am too ignorant and naive to live, Pandora.”

  She patted Eliza’s back and murmured soothing phrases. “Tell me what he did, m’lady.”

  Eliza shook her head violently. “I cannot speak of it. I have no notion of what to do. Nicholas and I are bound by our betrothal, but there must be a way to rid myself of him!”

  “I just do not understand. What did he do that was so foul as to hurt you so?”

  “Let me simply say that evidently he is no better than any other man, save Father.” Eliza stood and separated the garments she’d taken from the wardrobe, and Pandora’s eyes widened.

  “My lady. No!”

  Eliza took out a rumpled pair of breeches and laid them carelessly on the bed. “I must. Tonight I met the infamous Lord Bailsworthy, and he is every bit as vile as Kathleen said. There is little moon tonight, which shall help.”

  Pan
dora coughed into her cloth as a spasm seized her. Gamely, she straightened and faced her mistress. “Give me but a moment and I shall be ready.”

  Stepping out of her gown, Eliza tossed it upon a chair and continued to disrobe. “Heavens no! You shall not come, Pandora. The night is chilly and damp, and you must stay indoors and follow doctor’s orders. Bed rest in a nice warm room is the place for you, not traipsing about London’s alleyways.”

  “Why must you go tonight?”

  “Because I am angry and want—nay, demand—retribution for Bailsworthy’s actions.”

  Pandora helped Eliza button the sleeves of her man’s shirt and gave her a sly look. “Do you not mean retribution for whatever His Grace has done to upset you?”

  “Hush,” she mumbled, unwinding a long woolen scarf of darkest gray. “My reasons are none of your concern.”

  “As you wish, m’lady.” Pandora sniffed.

  Realizing she took out her bad temper on her companion, Eliza softened her voice. “I must do this. Please understand.”

  “Very well, but do not tarry long in relieving this lord of his valuables. I shall not sleep a bit until you return safely.”

  Impulsively, Eliza hugged her and sent her off to bed. Tonight was not the time to have a deep discussion of the evening’s events. No, the details were too humiliating to be shared with anyone.

  After arriving at her front doorstep, she’d entered and paused by her parents’ room. She started to knock. Thinking to unburden herself to her mother, she noted the silence within. They were sleeping and surely tonight’s disappointment could be saved for morning. Sometimes it was best to be alone in one’s misery.

  Determined to vent her anger in a more productive direction, she walked to a space near the bed and bent to pick up the ring she’d discarded. How lovely it was and how very meaningless. Any man who traveled about with a slave girl in tow did not deserve her love or admiration. She could never marry a man like that. Marriage was meant to be sacred. Though she wasn’t naïve enough to believe men were faithful to their wives, she’d hoped Nicholas might be different. His compassion to the women of Charlotte House was no doubt a ruse to lull her into marriage.

  All her wishes were naught more than a childish dream; something one might read in a fairy tale. But life was not a fairy tale, was it?

  Eliza dashed away indignant tears and put the ring away until she could return it to Nicholas.

  Checking her appearance in the mirror, she adjusted the lapels of her black coat, and then stuffed her hair beneath a black woolen cap such as a seaman might wear. She bent to tug tall black boots into place and wound the gray scarf around her neck. Though London days were warm, the nights were cold, and she would ride Majesty rather than take a carriage. Adjusting the heavy scarf, she used it to conceal the lower half of her face.

  Satisfied she was quite unrecognizable, Eliza placed a silver-handled sword into the sheath attached to her belt. The discharging of a gun would attract notice on the city streets, but as an extra precaution, she tucked a small firearm into the coat pocket.

  From gossip, she knew Lord Bailsworthy regularly frequented the gaming hells of St. Giles. She would seek him out and deal with him. Walking to the window, she stared at the view below. It was a busy night during the Season and though she wouldn’t be in the finer sections of town, without a doubt the stews and hells would be just as crowded. Moving about in the seedier part of London wasn’t safe for a man, much less a woman. Eliza preferred her work take place in the country rather than here, outside gambling hells and in dank alleyways.

  A shiver of unease raced through her, despite the warm attire she wore. Misgivings reared up, full of menace, and for the first time, she had doubts about her mission tonight. Perhaps it was because she wasn’t as cool-headed as she might be.

  Drawing away, as if movement could dispel the aura of gloom, she rushed downstairs and into the night.

  * * * * * * *

  Nicholas sat in his carriage and stared at the silent house. A lone light flickered in an upper window only to be extinguished moments later. Seething, he cursed his folly in leaving his betrothed alone for one single minute. The chit was making him mad with her flighty ways.

  After entering the ballroom, waiting for her return from the garden, he’d unfortunately been waylaid by friends offering congratulations. She must have slipped by him, he thought now. Something had happened to cause her disappearance. No, she hadn’t been taken forcibly, for there were too many people milling about. Hiding his fury in public had been extremely difficult, but he’d managed to extricate himself from the affair without raising suspicion.

  Now he sat alone in the dark, contemplating the slow dismemberment of his lady.

  Eliza had more secrets, of that, he was sure. Learning about Charlotte House had been a shock since most ladies of quality saw no more of the world than a dressmaker’s shop. Yes, he’d known there was something different about Eliza, but it had been surprising to learn of her altruism.

  Still there was more. More secrets she kept from him. He knew it and raged that she still didn’t trust him enough to share them with him.

  Drawing a deep breath to calm himself, he reasoned there was nothing to do but wake Lord Grayson and find out what had happened to his betrothed to send her running from his side. He settled a hand on the door of the carriage, prepared to undertake the task, when he saw a flicker of movement.

  A darkly clad form, sitting atop Eliza’s horse, moved from the shadows of the Grayson’s garden.

  Reaching for a weapon beneath the carriage seat, he prepared to accost the thief when something about the way the rider sat the animal caught his attention. Perhaps it was the stately set of shoulder and head, or the slender limbs that riveted him, but when he saw the gaslight catch the shine of a long length of red hair, he cursed violently.

  Eliza!

  It could be none other, and if he could have, he would have pulled her from atop the horse and spanked her soundly. What the devil was she doing?

  Dressed in manly garb, the length of hair fell from beneath a cap to brush just behind her shoulder. This was no innocent moonlight ride, to be sure. Sneakily, she peered behind her shoulder before looking straight ahead and riding off at a rapid clip. His carriage, hidden by an overhang of elm and lodged in partial darkness, remained unnoticed.

  Eyes narrowed, he tightened his jaw and let her move a pace down the lane before tapping his cane on the roof of the carriage. When the hatch opened minutely, he bade the driver follow the black horse and his runaway betrothed.

  “What the devil is she doing?” he muttered beneath his breath. She left the better part of town and was heading toward the stews. Good God! The twit was going to get herself killed.

  Closing his eyes briefly, he vowed no one would touch her. Not before he could kill her himself! If he had doubts about pressing a quick marriage, tonight’s incident disavowed him of that notion. Tomorrow would not be too soon to drag her before a minister. The woman needed to be kept on a leash.

  The fine hairs stood up on the back of Eliza’s neck as she slowed, searching deep within the stews. Already, she’d researched Bailsworthy’s usual haunts and as luck would have it, she spotted his crested carriage just outside the Cock and Bull. A gaming hell of the worst repute, it was a favorite among the Ton’s young bucks. It seemed the perfect, filthy establishment in which to get drunk and lose inheritances.

  The sounds of curses and shouts, mingling with the bawdy laughter of coarse women, rose into the air and made Eliza’s nose wrinkle in disgust. Backing Majesty farther into the alleyway, she dismounted. Already nervous beyond belief, tonight she sensed a presence watching her and, for the first time in her nefarious history as a robber of wealthy scoundrels, she continually looked over her shoulder. Seeing nothing but the occasional hackney, she’d proceeded, but with a hint of caution.

  Robbery in the city was extremely dangerous, but, as was her nature, she was cautious. With the roaring sounds of the s
tews, no one would notice a lone rider garbed in black. The rattle of carriage wheels sounded nearby. She fought a shiver, but held herself motionless in the shadows as she watched the front door of the Cock and Bull.

  Ignoring the rank scents of the alleyway, she heard the rustle and squeak of rats as they plundered garbage and other unknown and, no doubt, filthy things. A furry creature raced across the toe of her boot. She jolted and stifled a feminine squeal. Withdrawing her sword, she poked it about the ground, satisfied when she heard the beasts scatter.

  Beads of sweat dappled her forehead to trickle down the sides of her face, and the woolen scarf made her itch, but she was determined to have this night’s work done.

  Nicholas stood just around the corner of the alleyway, appalled and baffled, as he waited for Eliza to do something. Anything. Obviously, she was on some kind of mission, and his mind rebelled at the danger into which she put herself.

  Drawing the collar of his greatcoat up as protection against the dank cold, he narrowed his eyes and speculated. Curiosity warred with outrage as the minutes became an hour. Reaching into a pocket, he fingered the weapon hidden there.

  Just when his patience had worn needle-thin, Eliza stiffened as she leaned toward the end of the alley. Though her lower face was hidden behind a bulky scarf, he swore he caught the violet glint in her narrowed eyes.

  A man laughed, standing within the open doorway of the gaming hell across the street. He caught a bawdy woman within his arms and gave an ample breast a harsh tweak. Nicholas thought the man vaguely familiar.

  As the prostitute stepped back into business, the man turned and made his way straight toward the alleyway, not knowing Eliza stood waiting, sword drawn. He began to turn down the sidewalk when she stepped from the gloom and pressed the steel tip against his throat.

  “Hold there, sir,” she hissed, her voice an octave lower than normal.

  Nicholas froze, hand going to his pocket to withdraw his pistol. Shock roared through his brain at her actions. Barely breathing, he sank farther into the alley, but ready to save her at the first hint of danger.