A Dash of Scandal

by Amelia Grey

  “No, I won’t leave until you reveal to us what you are hiding beneath your gown.”

  The viscountess’s eyes widened further. “How dare you disobey me.”

  “I felt something when I hit you. Lord Dunraven and your husband heard something. Now, take off your cloak and show us what you are hiding.”

  Lady Heathecoute’s face contorted into a mask of cold rage. “Of all the ungrateful chits in London, you are the worst I have ever encountered. You have no right to demand that I do anything, and I will not!”

  “Dearest,” her husband said in a voice that dripped with boredom over the whole event. “Just open your cloak and show them that you are hiding nothing, then they can apologize to us for being so ungodly rude and we can go home.”

  “I will do no such thing,” she exclaimed again.

  Millicent took a deep breath and said, “Lady Heathecoute, I’m afraid I believe you might be the Mad Ton Thief.”

  Gasps of surprise and horror sounded all around her, but Millicent didn’t take her eyes off her suspect. If she was wrong, she would have to leave London and never return—just as her mother had.

  Chandler put his arm around Millicent’s shoulder and said, “I agree with her. I can’t let you leave here until we know that you are not hiding anything.”

  The viscountess pretended to faint and fell back into her husband’s arms, almost knocking him over. She peered up at her husband pleadingly. In a weakened voice she said, “Tell her I don’t have to do this? I won’t do it. I must go home immediately.”

  Obviously finding a little backbone, her husband pointed his nose at Millicent and barked, “You accuse my wife of such a dastardly deed after all she has done for you. I’m aghast at your behavior. Have you no shame as well as no manners?”

  “It’s not just Millicent,” Chandler said. “It’s me, too, and now these people,” he said, pointing to the small crowd that had gathered.

  Sneering at Chandler, Lord Heathecoute looked at his lady and said, “You must prove the chit and the earl wrong, my dear, then I will take you home.”

  The viscountess clutched the front of his coat firmly with both hands. Her face was frantic with fear and rage. “I can’t, I won’t. I won’t!” She screamed and pushed away from her husband.

  She tried to scramble into the carriage by herself, but her foot slipped on the wet step and she fell forward, with the clinging and clanging of metal bumping together as she hit the ground.

  She tried to pull herself up, and the sound of metal rent the air again. Mutterings of outrage and surprise from the crowd filled the night air. Lord Heathecoute and Chandler hurried over to assist the helpless lady to stand, and there was more clanging.

  “What is this?” the viscount asked in horror as he felt down the front of her skirt.

  The accused wailed loudly and leaned against the carriage door. Her large eyes seemed to be staring straight ahead but not looking at anyone or anything in particular.

  Millicent was chilled by the screeching, pitiful sound that came from the older woman.

  “Dear, dear. What is going on?” her husband asked as stiffly as he moved.

  Lady Heathecoute started looking through the folds of her large skirt until she came to a long slit in the side that had been hidden in the fabric. She parted the material and reached into a large pocket and pulled out a silver tea pot and a silver tray.

  For the third time that evening, gasps of surprise rang out in the still air.

  Chandler looked at Millicent and something he had never felt before swelled in his chest. They had done it. Together they had found the Mad Ton Thief.

  The noise from the crowd grew louder.

  “Someone call for the authorities,” Chandler said.

  Eighteen

  “Love looks not with the eyes but with the mind, and therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.” Just ask Miss Donaldson. Her father accepted an offer for her hand from Sir Charles Wright.

  —Lord Truefitt, Society’s Daily Column

  The crowds were still thick around the Heathecoute’s carriage an hour later. The authorities arrived and after questioning the viscountess and her husband, they were taken away. Chandler and Millicent had talked to the officers at length and promised to be available later for more questions.

  As soon as the officer dismissed them, Chandler saw his chance to get Millicent away from the too-curious crowd. Wanting to be careful of her reputation, he eased around to the far side of his coach with her and helped her inside before climbing in after her. He took the seat beside her rather than opposite her.

  He knew taking her to his home was dangerous for more than one reason. If anyone saw her going in or out of his town house, her reputation would be ruined, but he needed a few minutes alone with her. He’d missed being able to spend time alone with her this past week. He would take extra precautions so no one would see her entering his house.

  “How is your head?” he asked as soon as the vehicle started moving.

  “I think the bleeding has stopped and the pain is almost gone now.”

  “Good. Let me have a look.” He placed his fingertips under her chin and turned her face toward the lamp perched outside the carriage. It wasn’t the best light, but he could see enough to know the cut wasn’t deep, but it was long. He guessed about two inches. He could see that it was swollen, too. Anger at the viscountess for hurting Millicent rose up in him. The thief deserved whatever punishment she received.

  Chandler’s eyes drifted past Millicent’s cut to her fan-shaped brows and long, full lashes. Her cheeks were glowing from the excitement of the evening. Her lips were moist, parted, and beautiful. He was tempted to place a kiss on her lovely eyelids, her flushed cheeks and move down to her enticing mouth and completely cover it with his. He bent his head to do just that as the carriage lurched, stopping him.

  He cleared his throat and said, “I’m having my driver take you to my house so I can clean your wound and see to it before I take you home.”

  “That’s nonsense,” she said and moved her head away from his touch. “I’m fine.”

  “Lady Beatrice wouldn’t think so if she could see you right now. You look like you’ve been in a carriage accident, with dried blood in your hair and on your face, even your dress didn’t escape the blood.”

  She turned away from him and glanced out the window. “I’m sure my maid will assist me in cleaning the cut and the dress doesn’t matter.”

  He took hold of her hand and waited until she looked up into his eyes before saying, “It does matter. I want to do this for you. Lay your head back and rest. It will be only be a short ride.”

  But she didn’t lay her head back, instead she continued to look at him in the dim, shadowed light and said, “A gentleman would offer me his shoulder to rest against.”

  His chest tightened at her offer. “Then allow me.” He put his arm around her and drew her back into the curve of his shoulder. She nestled there as if she had always belonged beside him. He softly placed his cheek upon her hair. “Oh, yes, this is a much better idea. I’m glad I have you to remind me how a gentleman is supposed to behave.”

  “There are certain areas where you need to be coached.”

  “I’m at your disposal to be taught whatever you wish.”

  “That could be a challenge.”

  “You are up to the task.”

  “Yes, but I very much like it also when you are a rake.”

  “I know.”

  Chandler liked the way she snuggled down in the seat and fit herself tightly against him as if she wanted the safety of his arms. He liked the way she didn’t hesitate to tell him that she wanted to be held or how she never got truly angry with him when he went beyond the pale. He had no doubt that she was where she belonged—in his arms.

  “You proved tonight how brave you are. I was impressed by how you stood up to Lady Heathecoute.”

  “It wasn’t so much bravery as determination. I wouldn’t have been so forceful if I had
not been certain the viscountess had something under her skirt. But, she would have laughed off my demands had you not agreed with me.”

  “You give me too much credit.”

  Millicent sighed into the warmth of his coat. “I still find it hard to believe that she turned out to be the Mad Ton Thief. I’ve spent so much time with her since I’ve been in London.”

  “It’s really sad that the poor woman felt she had to resort to stealing to supplement their income.”

  “Do you believe the viscount was as innocent as he claimed to be?”

  “I think so. He was ashen when she pulled the silver teapot out of the pocket she had sewed into the folds of her skirt. And, after all, he kept insisting she show us she had nothing to hide.”

  Chandler pressed her to him and kissed the top of her head while the carriage moved along at a brisk pace. He wanted to turn her into his arms and devour her with kisses and caresses, but he knew she must have a pounding headache from the wound, so he remained still.

  “I hope she told the authorities the truth and that they find all the things she stole where she said they would be. I know how desperately you want to get the raven back.”

  For some reason the raven didn’t seem so important anymore. “I’m sure she wouldn’t have told them she had the things if she didn’t.”

  “Imagine, her stealing the jewels, the painting, your golden raven, and then realizing she had no idea how to go about selling them to anyone.”

  Chandler gave a short laugh. “It’s our good fortune that she never made it to the moneylenders to find a trader.”

  “Yes.”

  The carriage stopped, and Chandler opened the door and jumped out. He looked up both sides of the street before he helped Millicent down, then held his cloak over her head so if anyone were around they couldn’t see her. He told the driver to wait at the coach for him so he could take Millicent home later.

  Winston opened the door to his town house, and they quickly stepped inside. A light burned in the front parlor so Chandler ushered her into the room and helped her take off her cloak.

  “Winston, Miss Blair has been injured.”

  The valet stepped forward. “What can I do, sir? Should I get a physician?”

  “No,” Chandler and Millicent said in unison, then Chandler added, “I don’t think it’s serious enough for a doctor. Bring me water, some cloths, and ointment.”

  “Yes, sir,” Winston said and left immediately to get the items.

  “Here, sit on the settee.” Chandler turned up the lamp that burned on a table by the small sofa. He then walked over to the sideboard and poured two glasses of brandy.

  He handed her one of the glasses. “Drink this. It will make you feel better.”

  “Thank you.” She took the drink and sipped it.

  “Are you cold? I can build a fire.”

  “No, I’m fine. Really, there was no need for you to bring me here to your home, but I’m glad you did. If only for a few minutes. I must go soon. I would hate for news of this evening to reach Lady Beatrice before I get there.”

  He remained standing, looking down at her. “That won’t happen, I’m sure.”

  “Here you go, sir,” Winston said, carrying in a silver tray containing a bowl of water, cloths, and a jar.

  The valet set the tray on the round rosewood table beside the settee.

  “Thank you, Winston.”

  “Yes, sir. Can I do anything else?”

  “No. I can take care of everything from here. Good night.”

  “Very well, sir. Good night.” Winston walked out and closed the door behind him.

  “He seems very capable,” Millicent said.

  “He is.” Long ago Chandler had told Winston when he said the words good night that meant he was not to be disturbed again that evening.

  “Is the brandy making you feel better?” he asked as he sat down on the settee beside her.

  “Yes.” She smiled. “For the third time I will tell you, I am fine and I am calm. Even my headache is better. Don’t ask me again.”

  “All right. Let’s clean that cut.”

  Chandler dipped the cloth in the cold water and gently washed the blood away from her wound and face. His face was very close to hers, and he was tempted to kiss her lips, but he silently, tenderly cared for her. When he asked her if it hurt, she merely shook her head and remained quiet until he had rubbed the ointment over the broken skin.

  “There. All done. Thankfully, it’s not as bad as I thought. There shouldn’t even be a scar after it heals. Go on and finish your brandy.”

  “Thank you,” she said as he picked up the tray of water and moved it to a table by the window.

  “It’s comforting to know that I shall live.”

  Chandler walked back to the settee and sat down beside her, much closer than he should have, and picked up his drink and took another sip of the amber liquid so much the color of Millicent’s eyes. He didn’t know if it was the brandy that warmed him or the fact that Millicent was in his house. Suddenly he had a great desire to embrace her. He shouldn’t have sent Winston to bed. Being alone with Millicent was just too damn tempting.

  “Yes, you will live to tell your grandchildren all about how you discovered the Mad Ton Thief. Now that I think about it, maybe you should have a scar so you can show them how heroic you were.”

  She laughed. “Oh, you do make the event sound much more dashing than it was, and don’t forget you are the one who first noticed that the Lady Heathecoute’s skirt didn’t look right.”

  He smiled and ran the backs of his fingers down her cheek. “No, no. You deserve all the glory, and you have the wound to prove it.”

  “Jealous?” she teased.

  “I would take any wound for you. I don’t want you hurt.”

  Her lovely face turned serious. “Chandler, may I ask you something?”

  “Of course. Anything.”

  “Will you make love to me?”

  Anything but that!

  Chandler’s chest tightened at her words. Surely she didn’t know what she was saying. It was best to keep the evening playful. He was far too aware of how much he wanted her to allow the evening to turn serious.

  “Let me look at that cut on your head again. I fear it’s worse than I thought.” He pretended to examine the cut more closely.

  Millicent reached up and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. “You said you would do anything,” she reminded him, looking as serious as he had ever seen her.

  His smile faded. “Anything except that. You are a lady of quality, Millicent. I wouldn’t change that. No matter how tempting your request.”

  He took the empty glass from her hand and placed it on the table in front of them. It was a mistake to give her the strong drink. It had gone straight to her head and had her saying things she would never say otherwise.

  “Time to take you home,” Chandler said.

  She touched his arm and kept him from rising. “I am serious, Chandler. It’s not the bump on my head, or the brandy. It’s what I feel here inside my heart. I want to be yours tonight.”

  His lower body immediately rose at her words. “You don’t know what you’re saying.” His voice was so husky with anticipation he could hardly speak. Never in his wildest dreams did he think Millicent would offer herself to him. Even though he was light-headed at the thought of being inside her, he couldn’t accept. It wouldn’t be right to do that to her. She deserved to be pure on her wedding night.

  Millicent picked up his hand and with both of hers placed it open-palm over her heart. She looked up at him with imploring eyes. “Feel how my heart beats for you.”

  His throat ached to tell her yes. He had long felt unfulfilled. His body was rigid with desire for her, but all he could say was, “Millicent.”

  She moved closer to him, pressing her thigh against his. “You have pursued me from the moment we met. Why would you refuse me now that you have caught me?”

  It was difficult to deny the ache in
his loins, but he managed to whisper, “I didn’t pursue you to violate you.”

  She smiled and lifted one arm to cup the back of his neck with her hand and bring his face even closer to hers. “What a harsh word for what I am asking of you. How could your touch, which pleases me so much, dishonor me?”

  Chandler’s breaths were so shallow he could hardly get his words out. “You are an innocent and should remain that way.”

  “No. Do not deny me, Chandler.”

  He moved his hand from her breast and cupped both sides of her face in his palms. He dipped his head toward hers so that their breaths mingled in heated passion that stirred inside them. His body was painfully betraying him.

  “Don’t tempt me this way, Millicent.” It’s not fair. “I want you too badly.”

  “I know this is what I want tonight.”

  She sounded so earnest, so sincere, so natural. “No. You are a lady. I told you my reputation was far worse than my behavior. I’ve never taken a virgin to my bed. Yes, there have been unmarried ladies I have taken, but only after I was convinced that I would not be the first.”

  He looked deeply into her eyes as his desire for her mounted fiercely. He didn’t know how much longer he could refuse her.

  Chandler knew instinctively that she was an innocent, but his need for her was so strong he asked, “Be truthful with me, Millicent, would I be the first for you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I will not presume on your wedding night.”

  Her eyes glistened and Chandler knew his words wounded her. He thought she would be pleased he’d had the courage to resist her bold offer. It was killing him to do so.

  “Why did you pursue me if you didn’t want me? Was it only a game?”

  “A game? No,” he answered with all honesty. It had been a game in his younger years when he’d pursued other young ladies into gardens and in Town, but with Millicent he had done it because he had wanted to see her and be with her. He still did. “Of course I want you. How can you doubt that?”

  “Now that I want to be yours for a night, you don’t want me?”

  “Damnation, no.” He took her lips in a long, hard, savoring kiss that left them both breathless and him mad with desire to forget the foolishness of trying to talk her out of what they both wanted and take her now. “I want you more than ever, but I don’t take virgins to my bed.”