When Love Leads to Scandal

by Sophie Barnes

  And she’d succeeded, until she’d turned to find him staring back at her. The light in his eyes and the slant of his lips had made her forget, if only briefly, that she would never discover how bright their spark might burn. Best then to stamp it out straight away which, according to Mr. Townsbridge’s current expression, had been neatly accomplished the instant Robert had announced she was his.

  Surprise had filled Mr. Townsbridge’s eyes for a second. The light there had flickered and dimmed before quickly returning, even brighter than before as he offered hasty congratulations to them both. Robert failed to notice the act, but Bethany didn’t. She saw the effort Mr. Townsbridge made to pretend he wasn’t affected. Perhaps because she too struggled to play the same game.

  Nothing had happened between them. They hadn’t even touched, except for that brief moment when he’d returned her bonnet. And that bit of contact was hardly reason for her to feel as though she’d done something wrong. And yet, as she stood here right now and faced both Robert and Mr. Townsbridge, guilt grew and expanded inside her. The two men were friends after all. But only one had managed to make her heart beat faster, and it was not the one she’d agreed to spend the rest of her life with.

  “Was New York as impressive as you believed it would be?” Mr. Townsbridge asked Robert. He’d schooled his features, making it impossible for Bethany to discern his thoughts any longer.

  “Absolutely,” Robert replied. “You should go and see it for yourself one day. There’s really no need to travel the world when every culture imaginable is represented in that one city. Here in London, all you hear spoken is English, but over there, there’s Italian, German, Spanish...I even saw people who appeared to have come from China. It was most intriguing.”

  “And did you manage to complete your business?” Mr. Townsbridge asked with interest.

  Robert nodded. “I visited the companies in which I plan to invest. All except one show promise.” He added a few additional details but kept it brief since discussing such matters in front of a lady was not deemed proper. “Then on my way back to England, I met the Earl of Pratchard and his wife, who’d been visiting family there together with their daughter.” He smiled in Bethany’s direction. “Being trapped on a ship together for a month allowed us to become better acquainted and, after some consideration, I decided to make her an offer yesterday.”

  “No wonder I hadn’t yet heard of your engagement,” Mr. Townsbridge murmured. He took a sip of his drink, his gaze fixed on his friend.

  “I plan to announce it this evening,” Robert said. “But before I do, there are a few other people I must greet. Can you please entertain Bethany while I do so? She loves to dance, and you’ve always been better at that than I.”

  “But she’s your fiancée.” Mr. Townsbridge’s voice was tight, his posture more rigid than one second earlier. “You should be the one dancing with her, Robert. Not I.”

  Robert sighed. “I know. And I shall. Later. But for now, I would appreciate your help. Bethany hasn’t been out in Society before. This is her debut, and you are the only person I trust to keep her safe besides her parents.”

  “Perhaps we should return her to their company,” Mr. Townsbridge suggested, still not looking at her, and talking as if she weren’t even there.

  Bethany pressed her lips together in annoyance. “I am not a child to be coddled or kept in a box,” she said, drawing both men’s attention. “If neither of you wish to dance, then I shall simply find someone else who’s willing to oblige, which shan’t be difficult since my dance card is already half full.”

  “Let me see.” Robert said, extending his hand.

  Reluctantly, she handed over the card and watched in dismay as he crossed out two of her partners. “Mr. Frost is a decent fellow. You may dance with him if you wish, but the others are scoundrels. Charles here will take their places.”

  Bethany stared at the man she’d agreed to marry. Would he always manage her like this, reviewing her decisions and vetoing them when he did not agree?

  “What about the rest of the dances?” Mr. Townsbridge asked as he peered down at the card Robert still held. “Should you not at least claim the waltz?”

  Bethany opened her mouth to speak but Robert cut in. “She does not yet have permission to waltz.” He glanced at the doors leading back inside. “The next dance is starting.” He offered Bethany his arm, and she dutifully placed her hand upon it so he could lead her forward. But as soon as they entered the ballroom, he handed her over to Mr. Townsbridge and quickly excused himself before disappearing into the crowd.

  Bethany held on to the arm now resting beneath the palm of her hand in much the same way as she’d done with Robert’s. The only difference was that with Robert she’d felt nothing, while now...a slow pulse beat through her limbs, fanning out until her whole body hummed with awareness. She glanced at Mr. Townsbridge and found his jaw clenched. He was staring at the dance floor as if it were an arena in which he was expected to fight to the death.

  “We do not have to do this,” she said, half hoping that he would agree. The other half – the part she had to resist – longed for the experience.

  He inhaled, his nostrils flaring as a frown creased his brow. Slowly, he dropped a glance in her direction. His eyes met hers and Bethany sucked in a breath. Even now, looking almost angry, he had the power to make her toes curl and her knees turn to jelly.

  “One dance, my lady, possibly two. Because it is Robert’s wish.” And with that declaration he led her forward with elegant poise so that they could take their positions for the country dance about to begin.

  CHARLES’S JAW HURT from clenching too tightly. Of all the women in the world, why did Robert have to announce his engagement to the only one who’d caught his own interest?

  It would be fine, he told himself as the dancing began and she stepped toward him. He barely knew her, which meant his attraction was purely physical, and that was something he could easily vanquish.

  She placed her hand in his and a jolt of awareness passed through him.

  He’d simply find some other woman to whom he could pay his attentions.

  His stomach twisted slightly in response to that thought. At six and twenty he’d already met all the other marriageable women. But you only just met Lady Bethany, he reminded himself. Perhaps there are others who’ve yet to make themselves known.

  He held on to that hopeful prospect as he guided Lady Bethany between a row of other dancers. If he refrained from meeting her gaze, perhaps he’d forget it was she? The rapid beat of his heart and the way his skin tingled in response to her touch said otherwise.

  But no. She was Robert’s fiancée for God’s sake. They’d known each other for weeks. Had most likely enjoyed a grand romance while crossing the ocean together, kissing each other beneath the stars every night and... He closed his eyes briefly, forcing that though aside. It was wrong of him to feel jealous. Whatever this was, this fierce attraction, it had to stop. This instant.

  He dropped a look in Lady Bethany’s direction, prepared to address the issue, only to find himself wondering if he might be the only one feeling this way. After all he knew, she was madly in love with Robert, and Charles was an idiot for imaging there’d ever been a spark between them. The more he thought on that, the more he believed it must be the case. It was, in fact, what he hoped for by the time the dance ended with neither of them having spoken one word to each other. Robert deserved to be happy. He deserved to be loved for the wonderful man he was. And when he and Lady Bethany married, Charles would be thrilled on Robert’s behalf, because the alternative would be to pursue his friend’s fiancée, and that would be both dishonorable and utterly unthinkable.

  Chapter Two

  SIX DAYS HAD PASSED since Bethany met Mr. Townsbridge, and while she’d hoped to spend those days with Robert in a serious effort to establish the same kind of connection she felt with his friend, he’d apparently been too busy. This had not gone unnoticed by Bethany’s mother.

&
nbsp; “He ought to call on you more often,” she declared over breakfast. “During our crossing, he gave the impression that his interest in you went beyond your dowry. He was so attentive as I recall.”

  “He was on a ship, my dear,” Pratchard mumbled while reading the paper. “There was little else to divert him.”

  Bethany sighed. She believed her father was right and was further convinced of this later in the day when she met Robert at a garden party hosted by the Duke and Duchess of Hollowgate.

  “Delightful to see you again,” he said, addressing not only her but her parents as well. “You must forgive me for staying away this past week but there’s been a lot for me to catch up on after returning to England.”

  “I understand,” Pratchard said. “Perhaps evenings are better than days? We would love to see you for dinner if you can find a vacant spot in your schedule. Your parents are welcome too of course.”

  “I’ll be sure to let them know,” Robert said. “Thank you, my lord.”

  Bethany attempted a smile. “It is my understanding that a new museum displaying Viking artifacts has recently opened just outside London. I’d love to see it one day.”

  “It sounds intriguing,” Robert said. He glanced around and then suddenly raised his hand in the air as if gesturing for someone’s attention.

  Bethany sighed. He clearly hadn’t gotten her hint. Or perhaps he had and he simply did not wish to spend the day looking at archeological findings with her. Perhaps he no longer saw a reason to romance her now that she’d agreed to marry him. The disheartening thought dampened her spirits and made her want to return home instead of staying.

  But then the person Robert had gestured to joined them, and Bethany sucked in a breath. It was him again: Mr. Townsbridge, handsome as ever in a navy blue jacket and fawn-colored breeches. His expression, however, as he glanced at her briefly, was utterly inscrutable. And then he gave his attention to her parents, greeting them both politely and exchanging a few brief comments on the weather, the turnout for the party, and his longstanding friendship with Robert.

  “You recall my fiancée, of course,” Robert said next, directing Mr. Townsbridge’s attention back to Bethany.

  “Of course,” Mr. Townsbridge murmured, his eyes like burnt umber meeting hers across the distance between them. His expression revealed nothing of what he was thinking, and yet Bethany’s pulse leapt with undeniable fervor in response to his gaze.

  “Perhaps you’d be good enough to keep her company for a moment while I finish my discussion with Mr. Harlowe?” Robert suggested. He turned to Bethany’s parents. “He was apprising me of some land available for sale – a grand opportunity I’d hate to pass up.”

  Bethany’s mother flattened her mouth as if doing her best not to argue. It was clear that she believed any land the earl hoped to purchase could not be of greater importance than spending time with her daughter. For which Bethany only loved her more, even though she was glad that her mother refrained from voicing her thoughts.

  “Of course,” Bethany’s father said with a tilt of his head. “If it’s not an inconvenience to you, Mr. Townsbridge?”

  All eyes turned to him and Bethany could not help but think that he looked like a rabbit, snared in a trap. “It would be an honor,” he said after too long a pause.

  “Excellent,” Robert declared. “I will see you again soon then.” He walked off quickly, as if their joint agreement supported his inattentiveness.

  In Bethany’s opinion, it did not. But then again, they had only been back in England a week. Perhaps she was being too hard on Robert.

  “Oh look, Henry. Baroness Fintley and her husband are over there,” Bethany’s mother said. “Shall we go and greet them?”

  Pratchard nodded. “Certainly, my dear. It’s been far too long since we had them over for dinner and cards.” He gave his attention to Bethany. “Care to join us?”

  Bethany glanced at Mr. Townsbridge. “Of course,” he said. He did not offer Bethany his arm, though he did walk beside her as they followed her parents to where the Fintleys were standing. They were keeping company with another couple who were introduced as Mr. and Mrs. Matthews. Bethany nodded and thanked them politely when they congratulated her on her recent engagement. And then the conversation turned to the prospect of a railway line being built between Stockton and Darlington and the problems caused by the fact that the proposed route would pass over Viscount Barrington’s land.

  Bethany tried to listen with interest, but since she had no information to add to the conversation and did not care overly much about property rights or the need for additional iron and steel manufacturing, she found her attention wavering. It was far more easily drawn to Mr. Townsbridge, who stood by her side, to the rich scent of sandalwood emanating from his person and how the space between them seemed to be hotter than that between her and anyone else.

  Discreetly, she glanced up at him. His tall frame was perfectly poised, his head tilted slightly as if to convey his attention to what her father was now saying. Sunlight spilled across his cheek, adding a handsome glow to his masculine features.

  The effect was dazzling, and in spite of herself – even though she knew perfectly well she could not risk showing her interest – she could not make herself look away. The temptation to reach out and touch him, to provoke some reaction from him, turned almost unbearable. How could he stand there so seemingly immune to her, when he made her skin come alive by simply being? It fairly tingled in his presence, reminding her too acutely that any intention she’d had of forgetting about him, of denying the effect he had on her, of ensuring he never affected her again, was futile.

  As if sensing her perusal, he lowered his gaze and stared into her eyes.

  Bethany caught her breath on a sharp inhale, and her cheeks grew uncomfortably hot. She glanced away, heart pounding in her throat at the keen realization that Robert would never incite such a visceral reaction from her. With this piece of knowledge came fear and guilt. Robert was a good man, albeit a bit distant and perhaps with other priorities than her at the moment, but he was an excellent match, and even if he weren’t, she had accepted his offer of marriage. There could be no regrets since breaking off such a prominent engagement would only end one way: in scandal.

  “Would you like a reprieve from this discussion?” Mr. Townsbridge inquired.

  His voice was low, intimate, seductive. It curled around her, banishing her better judgment and causing her to nod. “I confess I do not have much interest in the subject.”

  The edge of his mouth lifted, but before it became a smile, he interrupted the conversation briefly to ask her parents if he had their permission to escort their daughter over to the refreshment table. They agreed and unlike earlier, Mr. Townsbridge offered Bethany his arm.

  She placed her hand tentatively upon it and became instantly aware of the hard, well-defined muscle that existed beneath the sleeve of his jacket. Forced to steady herself, she curled her fingers into his arm and sucked in a breath. Butterflies had now taken flight in her belly and her legs felt too weak to stand on, which wasn’t normal at all. None of this was.

  “What are your interests, if not in railroads?” Mr. Townsbridge asked as they started to walk.

  You was the first thought that came to mind.

  Instead, Bethany said, “Houses.”

  Mr. Townsbridge’s eyebrows rose. His eyes widened and his lips parted just enough to convey what could only be described as astonishment. But then, as if he was certain he must have misunderstood her, he schooled his features and nodded. “Of course. Now that you are to be married to the Earl of Langdon,” his name was pointedly spoken, “managing large households must be at the front of your mind.”

  She smiled, because she simply couldn’t help it. “That is not what I mean.” When he frowned at her, she explained, “I enjoy designing them. I’ve many sketches at home, from modest townhouses to grand estates. I’ve even considered building small homes on top of each other for the sake of saving
space, though I’m not sure such an idea will ever have much success. But I like exploring different possibilities – especially those no one else has thought of.”

  He stared down at her as if she was some sort of curious puzzle no one could solve. And then he said, “You’re quite different from other young ladies.”

  She couldn’t help but grin. “I believe it’s my mother’s American influence, Mr. Townsbridge.”

  A spark of amusement lit his eyes, causing warmth to seep under her skin. Having reached the refreshment table, she glanced at it and, apparently believing she wanted a drink, he quickly provided her with a glass of lemonade. She thanked him and took a sip, savoring the tartness.

  “Do you have plans to sell some of your favorite designs?” Mr. Townsbridge asked. His voice was devoid of all humor, suggesting he meant the question in earnest and not in jest.

  Slightly startled that he, an aristocratic gentleman, would take such a dream of hers seriously, Bethany blinked. “I...um...” She took another soothing sip of her drink and tried to meet his gaze directly, only to find that she couldn’t. “I fear that will not be possible.” She attempted a laugh to brush aside her discomfort, but to her chagrin, she produced a miserable sound instead. “Countesses occupy themselves with charity work, watercolors, and embroidery. They do not involve themselves in building houses.”

  Mr. Townsbridge didn’t respond. Instead he allowed a moment of silence to fall between them, and then, as if inspired by some sudden thought, he caught her by the elbow and started steering her toward the other end of the garden. “Did Robert tell you that?” There was something in Mr. Townsbridge’s voice, a hint of tightness that caused Bethany to shiver.