To Love a Scandalous Duke (Once Upon a Scandal)

by Rosa, Liana De la

  In truth, she herself hardened under the weight of the scandalous truths she’d learned.

  March 1802

  He’s proposed, and of course I’ve accepted. I shall be the happiest woman in the world to call Alastair Swinton, Earl of Rockhaven, my husband.

  Only one thing tempers my good cheer. When I learned Lord Rockhaven had come to call on Papa, I hid across the hall from his solar and saw their faces when they exited. Papa’s face had been red and sweat rolled down his brow.

  The earl had looked…pained. His lips had been pursed in displeasure.

  Perhaps they’d argued over the settlements?

  June 1802

  I’m officially titled the Countess of Rockhaven.

  I could almost pinch myself, I’m so happy. The kirk at Aboyne was packed with nobles from around the Highlands and beyond, and I was almost like a fairy princess as I was escorted to my prince’s side. And in his expensive wedding attire, Alastair had been sinfully handsome.

  He smiled as he took my hands during the vows, and yet…I noticed his gaze seemed distant. Perhaps he was as overwhelmed as I was. A wedding and a marriage is no small feat.

  July 1803

  After losing two babies, you would think I would no longer feel pain. But after this last pregnancy, which lasted longer than the others, I had hoped.

  Hope

  And when I lost that babe, too, after five months, and had to deliver her like she was still alive and hale…well, I lost a piece of my soul.

  The look in Alastair’s eyes as I cradled our stillborn daughter in my arms and wept will haunt me until I join her in the grave.

  September 1803

  Alastair encouraged me to invite my sister to visit after we buried our daughter.

  I’m eternally thankful Alastair suggested I invite Cait. Her company has been a tonic.

  February 1804

  As my maid styled my hair before our long ride to Aberdeenshire, she asked how I was feeling. I know the question was mundane. A polite inquiry.

  I longed to shout, “Destroyed!”

  How else was one to feel when they learned their sister was pregnant with their husband’s child?

  They told me Alastair had loved her for years. Since he’d first set eyes on her. He’d asked my father to marry her, but somehow the marquess had convinced him to marry me, his eldest daughter instead, as if I were the consolation prize at the town carnival. I am the Leah to her Rachel and I despise it.

  The betrayal feels like a poison that slowly maims. Cait was my dearest friend. My beloved sister. She offered words of love and encouragement to me, even as she slept with my husband. The man I loved.

  And every time my husband looked into my eyes, words of admiration falling from his lips like false diamonds, he’d been imagining my sister. Wishing for my sister.

  Alethea dropped her head into her hands, her mother’s heartfelt plea ripping her asunder.

  Finlay found her this way, sitting under the window in her chamber, her face buried in her knees.

  “Good God, what’s happened?” He scooped her into his arms and carried her to the bed.

  She knew her face was swollen and red from her tears, but she didn’t care. With her chin, she gestured to the book that lay on the floor where she’d sat. “Read it.” She gulped in a lungful of air before she continued in a rush. “It’s mother’s diary.”

  Finlay opened his mouth but nothing came out. After a moment, he looked at her and said, “Where did you find it?”

  She licked her lips. “In a safe behind her portrait in the sitting room. There’s a note under the back cover.”

  Her brother lifted the book and extracted the piece of parchment, and her breath stuttered when he read it aloud.

  Dearest Finlay and Alethea,

  Please do not judge me too harshly for the words contained in this diary. Love can blind us to a multitude of sins, until we suddenly find ourselves stuck in mire so thick and unending, it becomes our reality.

  Life may have dealt me bitter blows, but the two of you were never counted in that number. I’m sorry if I ever made you think otherwise. You both deserve so much better than the father you have and the mess you were born into. Please, I beg, have a care in how you use the secrets these pages contain.

  With love,

  Margaret Gordon Swinton, The Countess of Rockhaven

  “What does she mean?” Finlay demanded, a muscle jumping in his neck.

  She whispered, “Read the entry from May 1804.”

  Finlay lifted his head after skimming the entries, his mouth gaping. “Is it any wonder she hated him?” His voice was hoarse. “God, I hate him for her.”

  She hated the lot of them. Her grandfather for keeping her father and Aunt Cait apart. Her father for proceeding with the wedding when he loved another. Aunt Cait for betraying her sister. But all Alethea could do was nod, certain sobs would escape if she tried to talk.

  He turned to face her, eyes bleak. “Her distant behavior makes sense now.”

  “We were living reminders of the betrayal,” she gritted out. “And with my red hair, I looked just like Aunt Cait…or rather, our m-mother. I know it’s not our fault, but my whole chest feels on fire when I think about it.”

  He cleared his throat. “What happened to Aunt…do I still call her Aunt Cait?”

  “Read the next entry.”

  Cait’s fever hasn’t broken and seems to grow worse. The midwife is worried. So am I. A part of me may hate her for what’s she done, but she’s still my sister. My prayers for her have been unceasing.

  She’s gone. After the turmoil of the last seven months, I find I’m still not numb enough to withstand this blow. She may have cut me deeply, but I loved her. And her children will never know what a wonderful woman she was.

  And if Alastair has his way, the children will never know she was their mother. He wants us to return to London with them, as if I spent my confinement in Scotland and gave birth to them here. He says since I cannot have children, this is the best solution. He would have his heir, and his children would be raised as if they are legitimate.

  Her whole life, Alethea strived to be the ideal daughter. She threw herself into mastering her various lessons, perfected whatever ladylike skill her mother set before her. She behaved exactly as she was told an earl’s daughter was supposed to. Through it all, she hoped to gain her mother’s approval, but it always seemed an impossible task. Now she finally understood why.

  “Fin, there’s more.”

  “I’m afraid to ask.”

  Alethea waited until he met her eyes. “You should be afraid, because even if no one learns the truth of our births, this news could destroy us.”

  “What could be worse than utter ruin? What could be worse than losing your good name? Your position in the line of succession? Your legitimacy?”

  “Learning our father was the mastermind behind the investment scandal that led to the death of the Duke of Darington,” Alethea whispered roughly.

  Finlay went still. “You can’t be serious.”

  “Turn to the entry from January 1816.”

  The sound of rustling pages met her ears, followed by a long silence. A string of curses filled the air.

  “It was him all along.” She curled her hands into the coverlet, rage making them shake. “He framed the Duke of Darington, his friend, and let him take the blame. He told us the Vicomte de Viguerie was the real culprit and fled the country with the money.”

  “Anything to deflect blame from himself. How could we have been so deceived?”

  She shook her head. “Even without proof, I suppose we saw what we wanted to see.”

  Declan. If he discovered evidence existed of the earl’s treachery, he would stop at nothing to absolve his father’s legacy. She doubted their newly discovered feelings for each other would prevent him from exposing the truth, even if she were ruined in the process.

  When it came to the heart of the matter, most men would do what they wished, re
gardless of how the women in their lives felt or would be impacted by such actions. Hadn’t her grandfather betrayed her mother by forcing the earl to marry her, knowing he wished to marry Aunt Cait instead? Hadn’t her father betrayed her mother? Hadn’t he promised her in marriage to Lord Connington to settle his debts? And while Declan was an honorable man, he was also in search of his own absolution, regardless of how the consequences might ensnare her.

  She absently watched Finlay read their mother’s diary, as her mind wrestled with the question of whether she had the fortitude to do what she must, consequences be damned.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  September 1819

  So many times I’ve wondered why I have recorded these things. Should such truths, such torment be written, where they can haunt me in another form? But perhaps someday they will be read, and someone will finally understand me. Will understand how I came to be this…shell.

  -The Diary of Margaret Gordon

  “My trip to Scotland was fruitful.” Torres crossed the study in Darington Terrace to pour himself a snifter of liquor from the sideboard. “I wasn’t able to get all the particulars, but I do know that whenever I bring up the year 1804, the year your sweetheart and her brother were born, every damn Scot in Aberdeenshire suddenly suffers a case of memory loss.”

  Declan raised a shoulder, not altering his comfortable position in the overstuffed armchair near the fireplace, despite how his curiosity flared. “Loyal lot, I suppose.”

  “From what I could piece together, the Earl of Rockhaven and his countess arrived at Aboyne Castle, the seat of the Marquessate of Huntly, around Christmastide of 1803. Her sister, Lady Caitriona Gordon, accompanied them. But this is where the details get fuzzy.”

  Declan couldn’t stop himself from leaning forward expectantly.

  “The countess apparently returned to her family home to convalesce during her pregnancy. Word was she’d miscarried several times, and the trip to Scotland was to allow her to carry the pregnancy to term.” Torres took a sip and placed his glass on the sideboard. “Lady Rockhaven and her sister retired to a small manor on Huntly’s grand estate. I don’t know what occurred during the countess’s confinement because no one could tell me, but at the beginning of June, the countess returned to Aboyne castle with two babes and no sister. It was said Lady Catriona died of a fever while they were away.”

  “That is definitely…odd.” Declan’s mind raced with possibilities, none of which were positive. Secret scandal, indeed. “Was there anything else?”

  Torres’s gaze turned speculative. “I’ve collected more information on the Vicomte de Viguerie. He’s been traveling frequently between St. Petersburg and London for years. And despite the earl’s claims to the contrary, he’s conducted business with Rockhaven on a regular basis. Textiles. Vodka. A gaming hell in Seven Dials.” Torres leaned his hip into the sideboard. “Considering how long he’s been affiliated with the earl, I don’t see how he wasn’t involved in the investment scandal.”

  “How so?” Declan bit out, excitement making the muscle in his jaw tick.

  “I’m not sure. The Frenchman is as elusive as an aparacíon. But,” Torres accentuated the word by pausing to take a sip of his drink, “I think Rockhaven somehow fell into debt to the vicomte, which isn’t hard to believe considering his history with the man. Desperate to settle his debt, he orchestrated the shipping venture and stole the money invested. No doubt the vicomte helped channel the funds into various fictitious accounts. When the crime was brought to light, the Frenchman helped him frame your father.”

  Declan’s heart lurched at the possibility of seeing his father exonerated. He’d never thought the man capable of such a crime.

  “I suspect the vicomte has had Rockhaven under his thumb ever since,” Torres continued. “And I think the desperation the earl must have felt to escape the vicomte somehow played a part in your brother’s murder.”

  “Yes,” Declan agreed, rising to stare into the fireplace. “Now we have to find out who sent Albert that note and whether they’d be willing to arrange a meeting with me.”

  …

  How did midnight become the witching hour?

  Alethea considered this as she watched her clock, impatience creeping up her spine and along her scalp like fingers. Finlay still had not returned from whatever entertainments had drawn him from the house. Her father, however, had retired hours ago.

  Still, she hesitated.

  What if he wasn’t there? Would she just wait for him like a loon, hoping he didn’t bring anyone home with him?

  It was the height of foolishness to leave Rockhaven House at night, unaccompanied, only to then sneak into a bachelor’s home. If she were caught, she would be completely ruined. Or worse. She’d contemplated sending Declan a note through Flora once again, but was too impatient to wait for her friend, and then him, to act. She cursed for not allowing herself more time to plan an assignation.

  But the urge to see Declan had been swift and crippling. As she read through her mother’s diary, her eyes skimming over words that reflected the countess’s despair, anger, and heartbreak, she experienced each emotion like a punch in the gut. When she remembered the moment she’d overheard her father discussing how he’d sold her off for personal gain, Alethea knew she needed to see Declan. It was imperative he knew that her blinders were off and she could finally see just the sort of man the Earl of Rockhaven truly was.

  With another glance at the clock, Alethea groaned. Two minutes had gone by since she’d last checked. How was that possible? It was as if she’d relived the last words she’d spoken to Declan over and over for an eternity.

  She crept out of bed, donned her slippers, and threw her dark wool cloak over her shoulders, pulling the hood over her curls. She opened the door, looking first one way and then the other down the hall.

  It was empty. A lamp remained lit on a small table at the far end, and in its weak light she inched toward the stairwell. She descended as quietly as possible, breathing a sigh of relief she encountered no one on her way down. On the ground floor, she paused at the back entrance, her every sense tuned to the rooms around her. When nothing stirred, she opened the door and slipped through.

  Alethea inhaled and peered at the sky. A quarter moon provided just enough light for her to see the outline of the mews and the path that led to the alley behind Rockhaven House. Squaring her shoulders, she disappeared down the lane.

  Two blocks. Two blocks was what she repeated to herself as she dashed from shadow to shadow, determined to reach her destination unseen. A handful of minutes later, she peered at it from around a tree in Berkeley Square. A soft glow could be seen through the curtains on a first-floor window that faced the square, and she sent up a silent prayer it meant he was home.

  Darting around to the back of the townhouse, Alethea glimpsed two footmen chatting near the servants’ entrance. Surely their presence must mean their master was home, for wouldn’t they be in bed if he wasn’t?

  Or they could be waiting for him to return.

  When the men entered the house, she hurried after them, determined to make it inside before the door was locked. She pulled on the handle. It gave under her hands, and she dashed through undetected.

  It shouldn’t be this easy to enter a duke’s home. She gave herself a moment to gather her bearings. Alethea slinked up the back stairwell to the first floor and paused. Raising her chin, she advanced down the hall and soon she found herself standing in front of a heavy oak door, a glimmer of light slanting under the wood. Before she could talk herself out of it, or a servant came along and noticed her lurking presence, she pulled the handle and glided through the door.

  Alethea leaned back on the wood as her pulse slowed its frantic beat and scanned the room. Her heart felt lighter as she spied him sitting at a small table beneath the large windows that dominated the wall across from her, his eyes glued to a piece of paper in his hands.

  He looked tired. The skin under his eyes was bruised, and ti
ght lines of worry fanned out around his mouth. Her heart squeezed at the sight, and remorse spread through her blood anew at the thought she could be the cause.

  “Please leave the tray here,” he said, gesturing to the small table beside him without looking up. “I’ll pour.”

  She padded closer, coming to a stop in front of him. Her feet almost met his where they stretched out from under the table. It really was too small for his large frame. Whyever would he work at it? “I’m afraid I didn’t bring tea.”

  Declan’s gaze snagged hers. It reflected surprise and a fierce longing that weakened her knees. He blinked, and the look was dispelled. He rose and reached out to grasp her shoulders. “Whatever are you doing here?” He glanced to the closed door and clenched his jaw. “This is unwise.”

  It was imprudent. Daft even, but she couldn’t stay away.

  “I know. But…well, I’ve missed you.”

  His face softened, and without relinquishing his hold on her, he came around the table to draw her into his arms. “I’ve missed you, too, love.”

  She buried her face into his neck and breathed deeply of his familiar, and comforting, scent. “I’m sorry I didn’t give credence to your claims about Albert and my father. I want to trust you…and I do because…I love you.”

  Declan went eerily still. Alethea hadn’t intended to reveal her feelings, but she wouldn’t take back the words, either. She did love him. Being separated from him this last week, the stress and pain of keeping dark, dreadful secrets from him, had reinforced how deeply she loved him. Even knowing he had the power to ruin the life she’d crafted for herself, and that she intended to provide him with more ammunition to do so, did not lessen the strength of her emotions.

  When he pulled back to look at her face, she boldly met his eyes.

  “You love me?” he asked, his expression doubtful. She noticed, however, that his grip tightened around her waist.