To Love a Scandalous Duke (Once Upon a Scandal)

by Rosa, Liana De la

  She knotted her hands over and over again in her lap as she recalled the look on her father’s face when he’d stood in the foyer. She’d forced herself to hold his gaze, even though she’d wanted to run to her room and throw the latch.

  The earl had regarded her intently, even as two maids dried the puddles she’d dripped onto the marble floor behind him. “What happened?”

  “I fell in the lake.”

  “Were you injured?”

  She’d lifted her sodden skirts. “Just my pride.”

  “Were you seen?”

  Her throat had suddenly been as dry as his tone. She had forced down an uncomfortable swallow. “Considering the hour, I’m sure.”

  He’d said nothing else before he walked away. But he didn’t need to. His disappointed expression said it all. She could follow every social norm to the letter, be propped up by the ton as an example of ladylike behavior, but one misstep earned her censure from her rigid father that usually reduced her to tears.

  “Pray tell, how does one find herself in the Serpentine?”

  Finlay’s voice startled her, and she scowled at him where he stood in the doorway of her chamber. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  He approached and tugged on one of her curls. “In spite of a lifetime of evidence, you still seem to think you can lie to me.”

  She raised her chin stubbornly. “Did Father tell you?”

  Finlay plopped down on the end of her bed and adjusted the sleeves of his dark-blue superfine coat. “My valet heard talk belowstairs. Did you really fall in the Serpentine?”

  “Lady Banbury’s horses spooked while I was conversing with her, and as I tried to save myself from their flying hooves, I stumbled into the water.”

  “Norris said Declan escorted you home.” Despite Finlay’s casual tone, his eyes narrowed speculatively.

  Feigning interest in her appearance, she stood and walked to the full-length mirror on the other side of the room. In truth, while she registered the stunning combination her mother’s emerald jewelry made with her slate gray ball gown, the glow in her cheeks could only be laid at Declan’s feet. And when she’d found him scrutinizing her as she attempted to wring water from her soaked habit, his appreciative gaze had warmed her better than any roaring fire.

  She caught Finlay’s expectant look in the mirror. “Yes, he did.”

  He exhaled. “How did you come to be in his company?”

  As she recounted her experience in the park, first with Flora, later with Declan, and lastly with Lady Banbury and her coven—as Declan had called them—Finlay’s expression grew darker and darker.

  “I can only imagine the look on old Lady Banbury’s face when she saw you standing there with Declan. She must have been in a tizzy.”

  “Of all the people I could’ve encountered on the afternoon Father decided not to ride out with me, it would be those three.” She sank onto the bed next to him and laid her head on his shoulder. “Did you see who Father met with this afternoon? Do you know what they discussed?”

  “I don’t. When I questioned him about it later, he said the man oversaw the watchmen at the warehouse by the docks.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “I suppose that makes sense.” But something about the stranger’s presuming gaze still left her unsettled.

  He rose to his feet and adjusted the fit of his waistcoat. “The carriage will have come around by now. We’d better hurry.”

  The oppressive heat and cloying scents of patchouli and perfume that filled every ballroom Alethea entered that Season never became easier to endure. She discreetly wiped a bead of sweat from her brow as she inched closer to the open terrace. At least the Carltons had the good sense to open the windows and doors that lined their cramped ballroom, or she was confident she’d have swooned into a pile of gray silk.

  Studying her dance card, she breathed a deep sigh when she saw Finlay’s name scribbled next to this waltz. He sometimes reserved dances with her so she’d have a break from her suitors. But now that she’d found some relief from the heat, perhaps she’d simply watch for Declan. If she could find him in the crush.

  “Alethea, there you are. I’ve been searching for you.”

  Apparently, her break was not to be had. Plastering a welcoming smile on her face, she turned in the direction of her father’s voice. Her smile stretched as she took in the elderly gentleman standing next to him.

  “My lord, here’s my daughter, Lady Alethea.” Her father inclined his head at the gentleman. “And you remember Lord Connington, do you not?”

  Of course Alethea remembered Viscount Connington. He’d been a friend of her father’s from her earliest memories, and with his slight frame, perpetually white hair, and tremulous hands, he’d always reminded her of a little old bird.

  “Lady Alethea, how lovely you’ve grown to be.” He took her hand in his frail one, bowing over it properly. “I see Scotland was kind to you.”

  “Thank you, my lord. I confess it was hard to leave.”

  Lord Connington leaned close, as if sharing a secret. “I don’t blame you. I have to work up the energy to come to town for the Season every year. I find I’d much rather take walks with my hounds than attend one more ball.”

  “And yet here you are,” Alethea said, giggling when the older man grinned.

  While Alethea attempted to smooth away her smile, the earl cleared his throat. “I believe you expressed an interest in dancing with Lady Alethea for this waltz, Connington.”

  Without glancing at her father, the older man nodded. “If you are free, my lady, I would be honored to share this dance with you.”

  A voice sounded behind her. “Actually, she has already promised this dance to me.”

  Her heart stuttered at the sound of Declan’s deep tone, and just when she thought the room couldn’t get any hotter, he appeared and incinerated all her good sense.

  Turning, she met his twinkling onyx eyes as he said, “Did you forget you saved this dance for me? My pride is wounded.”

  “Darington, I hadn’t realized you were here.” Rockhaven offered Declan a curt nod and motioned to the viscount with his chin. “I don’t believe the two of you have met, especially considering you’ve only recently returned, and Connington here eschews London.”

  Declan offered the elderly man a friendly nod, bowing courteously. Alethea was surprised, however, when Lord Connington’s lip curled ever so slightly before he returned Declan’s bow.

  Lord Rockhaven clapped his hands together, his gaze darting between Declan and Connington in obvious speculation. “Well, since Alethea and Darington are already engaged for this dance, perhaps she can save you a later set, Connington?”

  The viscount shook his head. “Unfortunately, I will be leaving for another engagement.” Meeting Alethea’s eye, he chuckled. “I only came to steal a dance with you.”

  She mumbled an apology when the earl raised a brow at her. Her father and the older man took their leave, and her attention finally settled on Declan.

  Her face must have worn a pained look, because he frowned and took a step back. “I apologize for lying. I didn’t want to lose the chance to share a waltz with you. You needn’t worry you’ll be embarrassed.”

  “No…no, I…I…” She snapped her mouth shut and breathed a gulp of tempered air into her lungs. “After today, I’m more concerned with embarrassing you.”

  His irises widened a fraction and a wave of dizziness assaulted her when his heart-stopping mouth stretched into a grin. She reached out her hand to him. A dance with Declan was unwise. Lady Banbury had surely spread the on-dit of their almost betrothal, and the knowledge her father had once disapproved of a match between them would cause their every interaction to be closely scrutinized. The earl would despise the talk. Nevertheless, like waves along a rocky seashore, Alethea was helpless to pull away. At that moment, she seemed destined to crash and splinter against Declan and the potential scandal he represented.

  “I’d love to dance,” she said softly,
willing to gamble the gossip, and her father’s censure, for a few moments in his arms.

  Chapter Eight

  September 1801

  My mother believes waltzing is scandalous. I find I agree with her. Which is exactly why I hope to dance it.

  -The Diary of Margaret Gordon

  Air rushed fast and heavy into his lungs. He’d almost say he was panting. But dukes would never do anything so uncouth…would they? Declan wondered at his reaction to Alethea’s lean but surprisingly firm arm on his own, and its mysterious ability to throw him off balance.

  He’d only agreed to attend the Carlton ball because he’d learned Rockhaven would be in attendance. The fact the earl continued to avoid him frustrated Declan and did nothing to alleviate his growing suspicions that more than scheduling difficulties prevented them from meeting. So he’d allowed himself to be at his competent valet’s mercy for the occasion and affixed his most amiable smile onto his face, determined to charm the ton. He may have decided to largely be an absentee duke, his urge to build a life in England diminished with his brother’s death, but winning favor with the beau monde would benefit him. Albert had worked hard to return respectability to the Sinclair name and the Darington title, and he would do nothing to compromise it. And until he was able to solve the mystery of his brother’s death and return to the Caribbean, he would make pretty with the very people who’d so often turned up their noses at him as a child.

  Suddenly Declan found himself battling the urge to tug at his too tight cravat, longing for the lightweight madras shirts that used to be his uniform.

  He’d managed to maneuver through his first ton ball, in spite of the whispers and assessing glances he garnered. Little doubt, word of his encounter with the old dowager Lady Banbury had been bandied about, and he could only guess what they made of his near engagement to Alethea. Let them say what they want, for he had more important things to consider.

  Like questioning the Earl of Rockhaven. However, when he’d finally located the earl, instead of demanding answers, he’d commandeered a waltz with his daughter. He bit back a sigh at the realization his ironclad discipline fled him once again as soon as Alethea was near. It was an alarming weakness, for he feared it could make him forget all the reasons why she could never be his.

  Still, the most beautiful woman of his acquaintance consented to dance with him. The evening suddenly showed more promise than he’d expected just a quarter of an hour before.

  Gripping her hand, he led Alethea toward the center of the dance floor. He circled her, his gaze discreetly admiring her hourglass figure, until they faced each other. Her eyes held his captive as he stepped forward, his other hand sliding along her side to encompass her slim waist, his fingers spreading wide. Heat seemed to radiate from the places where their bodies touched, and Declan reveled in the sensations of holding a very grown-up Alethea in his arms.

  He had danced the waltz on three continents, with numerous partners, some more beautiful and memorable than others. But the fluidity with which Alethea moved erased all memories of his previous partners. She swayed gracefully, her gray silk skirts swishing around her ankles, her shoulders and arms held perfectly aloft, her neck arched in a manner that displayed her elegant build. Her every movement was with a natural ease that made her appear weightless. As if the music alone held her upright.

  As they twirled and stepped around the room, she watched his face, and the heightened color of her cheeks and the luminous quality of her large jade eyes caused his lungs to seize. Despite the numerous women he’d held in his arms, it was the girl next door who stole his breath.

  He forced his gaze away and glanced around the room. The anonymity he sought at the center of the dancers had instead made them the epicenter of the room’s attention. He imagined the fevered conversations taking place about what their waltz meant and what Lord Rockhaven would say about it. Looking down at Alethea’s lovely face again, he decided it was she, more likely, who held them all transfixed.

  “Have you been home?” she inquired after a silent moment.

  “Just last week. After I learned the news, I headed straight for Darington Manor.”

  The ducal seat in Herefordshire was much as Declan remembered it. His brother had made changes to some of the facilities, expanded the stables, and upgraded much of the tenant housing. However, the sprawling manor, with its oversize red-brick facade and climbing ivy, was the mirror image of what he’d clung to on the nights when homesickness descended over him like a black cloak.

  “I miss Herefordshire.” A fond smile lit her face.

  “I’m surprised to hear that.” Declan laughed when Alethea’s lips twisted into a scowl.

  “Whatever is so funny?” she demanded quietly.

  “You.” When her expression didn’t change, he hastened to add, “If I recall, you couldn’t wait to come to London.”

  “Yes, well, that was before I got here. Before my every movement was splashed across the broadsheets.”

  Declan stroked his thumb over her knuckles. “You’re quite popular, I take it.”

  Her rhythm faltered for just a moment before she corrected herself. “Now more so than before I left for Scotland.” Tiny lines appeared around her mouth, and Declan wondered if she was annoyed with her dancing misstep or the circumstances of her return.

  “I’m sure our…adventure in the park did not help.”

  She went rigid ever so slightly in his arms. “No one has said anything to me directly, but I’ve heard there’s been talk.”

  “The sight of you fresh from the water is something even the most conservative members of society would be hard-pressed not to comment on.” The memory of her habit, clinging to her every curve, made his mouth run dry.

  “I didn’t deserve to fall into the water. That hateful Mrs. Pottinger did.”

  Declan didn’t argue her assertion.

  He led her around another couple, allowing them both to concentrate on the music for a time.

  “Have you learned anything new regarding Albert?” Her question was breathless, as if she’d feared asking it. But he’d expected her to return to the subject. Had known she would. Alethea’s curiosity had always been indomitable.

  “I have not.” He twirled her around the edge of the dance floor. “I had hoped your father might be able to tell me about Albert’s business associates, but we have not had a chance to speak. I don’t know much about Albert’s life here in London.”

  “I’ve discreetly asked a few people tonight, but he was notoriously private. I wish I knew something, but I only saw him on occasion, and then he never encouraged an acquaintance.”

  “I would say I hope he was never rude, but I know Albert would never be so ill-mannered.” He glanced at her and shook his head. “He’s left quite the shoes to fill.”

  “He was always polite,” she whispered, “but we never exchanged more than simple pleasantries.”

  A long silence elapsed and Declan thought on how he could better direct his efforts to discover what happened to Albert, when her voice cut through his thoughts.

  “How did you get the scar on the side of your jaw?”

  “It’s not the sort of tale that should be shared in Mayfair ballrooms. As much as I delight in making your cheeks turn pink, I don’t want to scandalize you,” he said, his head dipping to whisper in her ear. He pulled back and smiled when he noticed her blush. “It wouldn’t do for me to behave scandalously so soon after my arrival.”

  “I’m sure you could get foxed at this ball and fall asleep on the stairs leading into the gardens, and people would still think you dashing.”

  “Do you think I’m dashing?” His lips curved slowly into a smile.

  “I think you look dashing. I also think you’re insufferable.”

  He smothered a snort. “I wonder if you’d think me dashing or insufferable if I wore my Jip attire instead of these ridiculous garments English men cram themselves into. I daresay you wouldn’t have consented to this waltz.”

/>   “Nonsense. I’d love to see what attire you’d wear in St. Lucia.”

  “Truly?”

  “Of course. You’ve seen things and places I’ve only read of. I envy you.”

  The absurdity of her comment made him laugh.

  The corners of her eyes crinkled. “I used to feel like I’d done something wonderful when I was able to make you laugh.”

  “And yet you frequently made me do so.”

  Alethea scoffed. “I also made you grind your teeth in frustration.”

  “Indeed, and you haven’t stopped.” Her alluring smell, the feel of her lush curves moving under his hand to the music, and the beauty of her face were currently causing his body no small amount of frustration. Her green eyes fixed on a spot over his shoulder, her mouth pressed into a frown. He spun her around another couple and darted his gaze in the direction she had been looking.

  The Earl of Rockhaven stood on the edge of the crowd bordering the dance floor with several gentlemen, a snifter in his hand of what was definitely not the watered-down punch the other guests were drinking.

  “What is it?”

  “He said the Foreign Office was investigating you for privateering.” Her voice was gentle, as if she were afraid of offending him.

  He snorted. “Is that all?”

  “Are you in earnest? Isn’t an investigation heinous enough, without belittling the charges?” Her pretty pink mouth warped into a grimace.

  “There is no investigation. There never was.”

  “But why would my father make that claim?” She stopped, licking her lip. “He said you were suspected of being…” She looked askance at the couples around them. “…a pirate.”

  “Just because I’ve traveled extensively”—Declan hesitated dramatically and lifted his brows—“and look like this, doesn’t mean I’m robbing from king and country on the high seas. Do you remember my mother’s family owned several large sugarcane plantations in St. Lucia and neighboring islands?”