She shifted away from his body. She wanted to run and escape the intensity of his gaze, but that would reveal to him—and to herself—that he mattered. And he didn’t. Not anymore.
Remington lowered his chin against his red cravat. “Is it your intention to perpetuate my suffering with this silence? Is that it?”
Her cheeks stung. Perpetuate his suffering? His suffering? It was he who had left her to suffer all these years with his silence.
She clenched her jaw and refrained from smacking him. No. She was going to save all the smacking for Grayson. Her cousin had known all along, and for it, she was going to maim him. She was going to maim him, then bury him, so he might suffocate beneath the earth, and just as he was about to take his last breath, she’d dig him back up and maim him again. And then maybe, just maybe, it would make her feel better.
Regardless…she couldn’t stay here. Not with Remington still probing her face and her body with his eyes and a blatant disregard for the fact that nothing remained between them. She pushed off the wall and edged away, trying to maintain a sense of dignity given the situation.
Remington stepped toward her and reached out a gloved hand to help her. She jumped away, not wanting to be touched, and quickly rounded his towering frame.
He dropped his hand back to his side. “Victoria.”
Though she could hear the aching hurt in that pleading tone, how else was she to treat him? With reverence? With joy? After what he had done to her?
“Victoria,” he repeated, following close behind, “at least acknowledge me. Please.”
Dear God, she couldn’t stand it. She couldn’t stand hearing that tone and those words, which made her feel as if she were the one who had inflicted all the pain.
How dare he?
How dare he?!
Swinging back toward him, she pointed rigidly up at him. “I gave you fifty-three chances to prove yourself, Remington. Fifty-three. All of them came to you in the guise of letters, and you didn’t have the decency to respond to a single one. I will forever hate you for what you did to me. You will never be able to redeem yourself. Ever. Go back to Venice or wherever the hell you were frolicking all of these years, you—you…bastard!”
His eyes widened as he stepped back.
She swung away and bustled down the vast corridor toward…Grayson. Oooooh. Her eyes narrowed as she marched toward her cousin. Her heels clicked hard against the marble beneath her feet, and she wished it was his head she was pounding into.
Grayson hurried toward her, glancing over at Remington and her uncle and then at her. “Wait, wait. What is this? Where are you going?”
“Where do you think I am going?” she flung back, closing the remaining distance between them. “I am going home. Where I belong.”
“Oh, no, no. You have an obligation toward this family and toward your father.”
Oh, no, she didn’t. Not at this price.
Halting before Grayson, she glared at him, then lifted her hand and smacked him hard across the face, stinging her own palm through her satin glove.
Grayson’s flushed face jerked back toward her. He nodded, but refused to look at her. “Fine. Good. Yes. I suppose I deserve that.”
“I’m pleased to hear you think so.” She leaned toward him, too angry to think about what was happening. “First you tell me nothing and allow him to disappear from my life. And now you tell me nothing and allow him to reappear? Whilst you decide whatever it is you do or do not want for me, I am going home. Once I have regained a sensible amount of composure, I will return on the morrow to visit with my father and pretend none of this ever happened.” She swiveled away toward the stairwell leading to the entrance below.
Grayson grabbed hold of her arm and yanked her back.
She stumbled toward her cousin in disbelief. “Unhand me! How dare you—”
“You are not leaving,” Grayson growled, jerking her toward him until their noses were practically touching. “Smack me all you want, if it will better serve you, but your father orchestrated this all for you. You. At the very least be gracious.”
“Gracious?” she echoed into his face. “And to whom am I to be gracious? To the man I no longer know or wish to know? To the man who actually has the gall to show up after five years and think I would consider him fit to even spit upon, let alone marry?”
She feigned a laugh. “Someone keep me from castrating you and every man in this building!” She yanked her arm away from his pinching grasp. “Why didn’t you tell me what my father had planned? Why?”
Her cousin huffed out a breath and eyed her. “Because of how you are responding right now. Your father knows you and your damn pride better than you know yourself.”
“I see. And how long did you know about Remington being one of the three? Hmm? How long?”
Grayson cleared his throat and shifted from boot to boot. “About a year. Give or take a few weeks.”
Her eyes widened. “A whole year? And you said nothing?!” She sucked in a savage breath, stepped toward him and smacked his shoulder. She lifted her hand again, gritted her teeth and then smacked his shoulder again, harder, in case the first one hadn’t hurt.
Grayson shoved her hands away from himself and stepped back, glaring at her. “Are you done? There is no need to make everyone think you are irrational and daft.”
“I hope they think that and more!” she boomed, her voice echoing all around them, waving her hands about for a more lunatic effect. “How dare you do this to me? How dare my father do this to me after I have devoted every breathing moment of my life to him? I was willing to fulfill my duty as a daughter without questioning whatever worth I had left. But to bring Remington back into my life when I have buried him is the last thing I will ever submit to. Ever. My life is not a game to be played with.”
A figure loomed behind her cousin.
She stiffened.
With gloved hands locked behind his back, Remington rounded on them. He eyed her and paused directly beside them, hovering well over not only her head but also Grayson’s.
That crisp scent of mint lingered, annoyingly making her even more aware of his presence.
In a low tone, Remington finally announced, “I wish to be removed from consideration. I will not permit the loss of her inheritance due to my involvement.”
Victoria drew her brows together and snapped her gaze to her cousin. “The loss of my…inheritance?”
Grayson seethed out a breath. “As always, there you go being a bloody Jack Adams, Remington. I told you, she doesn’t know anything. It was supposed to be formally and graciously announced by Mr. Parker.”
Remington leaned toward her cousin and growled, “Yes, well, now she knows. Remove me from the goddamn list. I have my pride, too. Let her marry one of the other two and retain the estate that way.”
Her heart pounded as her brain pieced together the horrifying reality of Remington’s words. Her father was forcing her to decide between a complete stranger whose name she had yet to learn; Lord Moreland, whom she’d always considered more of a brother; and Remington, whom she had known once upon a dream.
She stared at Grayson. “Are you informing me that if I do not marry one of these three men, my father will disinherit me?”
“Yes.” Grayson’s tone was hard but patient. “I realize this is going to be very difficult for you to accept, but with your father’s mental capabilities progressively dwindling, we have decided to accelerate all plans, lest your father be unable to attend your wedding at all. Which is why you only have until midnight tonight to decide which of these three men you will marry.”
She gasped. “What?!”
“Based upon your decision—” Grayson coolly went on as if they were discussing daisies “—you will then be joined by special license within the week. If you choose not to marry, that is your right. But if your father dies, and you are unwed in the manner as was set by him when he was still of sound mind, the entire estate will pass on to a list of charities. You will have no
thing. If poverty is what you desire, I will graciously extend my own home to you.”
Victoria closed her eyes and could actually feel her soul shriveling. Though money had never mattered to her, she still needed a bed, clothes and food, and had no intention of living with Grayson like some orphaned child he had to take pity upon.
She opened her eyes and asked in an overly calm tone that rang strange in her ears, “Has my father not arranged even the smallest of annuities for me?”
Grayson breathed out through his nostrils. “No. Nothing. There is no negotiating what has been set, considering his mental state. The solicitor will not allow it. Which means you receive all or nothing. You will be expected to marry one of the three or lose everything.”
She swallowed. In some way, she deserved this. She deserved this for rising against her born duty as a daughter. Her father had pleaded with her throughout the years, again and again, that she accept an offer for her hand. Any offer. She, in turn, had denied him, wishing to only stay at his side, all because she knew no one would ever measure up to Remington. So now, her father was laying out the final command with his last challenge of, “You want Remington? You can have him. Secrets, lies and all.”
It was obvious what needed to be done. She needed to rise to the challenge of her duty like the grown woman she was, and take the inheritance that was rightfully hers. But that didn’t mean marrying Remington. “Out of respect for my father and my duty, I will abide by whatever rules have been set and will choose a husband knowing I will be disinherited if I do not. Lord Remington may choose to stay or leave. It matters not to me.”
Annoyed with her evening shawl, which kept sliding from her shoulders, she removed it and whipped it toward Grayson.
Grayson fumbled to catch it. “Assure me you don’t intend on removing anything else.”
She rolled her eyes. “Once a libertine, always a libertine, I suppose. Even toward his own cousin. Let us be done with this. I am not waiting until midnight to collect what is rightfully mine.” She smoothed her hair away from her face with a gloved hand, set her chin and swept past everyone, hoping to demonstrate that despite the situation, she was still very much in control of what was and wasn’t going to happen.
Upon entering the vast adjoining room, she slowed and eyed Mr. Parker and the other two men, who stood on the far side of the room.
The more dashing of the two had kind, soulful dark eyes, chestnut hair and defined cheekbones—Lord Moreland. She had never realized he wanted to marry at all. He rarely associated with people and led a very quiet life.
The other man, whom she did not know at all, had sharp, blue eyes and blond hair that was almost shockingly white. His pale features were a bit too regal and eerily reminded her of a porcelain doll. She had never liked dolls, even as a girl. She had always stuffed them into trunks because she hated the way they looked at her. Especially at night.
Victoria knew by the tension in their stances that they were both nervous. Which she could readily understand. It was every man’s aspiration to marry into a fortune of a hundred thousand pounds. Her father, in fact, had acquired his fortune by marrying her mother.
But what was Remington’s reasoning in all this? Why would he reappear after five years of silence and openly vie for her hand? Was it money he sought? Money he still did not have? Or was it her he sought?
Whichever it was, it didn’t matter anymore. She would rather marry Lord Moreland, a longstanding, honorable family friend, than attach herself to a man she would never trust and certainly never love again.
SCANDAL SEVEN
’Tis best to avoid any man with a tainted past. For such men carry tainted hearts not meant to last.
How To Avoid a Scandal, Author Unknown
JONATHAN’S PULSE thundered as he beheld the stunning and alluring curve of Victoria’s body as she whisked away, her verdant evening gown accentuating her poised, self-assured movements. All of those soft, blond curls that were gathered and pinned atop her head swayed, each sway exposing the erotic pale length of her neck beneath. By God, she had grown so beautifully into that body. She had also grown into full womanly pride.
“Romeo,” Grayson drawled, leaning in from behind, “Your Juliet is waiting to be serenaded.”
Still watching the sway of Victoria’s corseted hips as she moved farther into the room before him, Jonathan reached out and slid her shawl from Grayson’s shoulder, bringing the silk up to his nose and mouth. The soft scent of soap and lavender caused his grip on the silk to tighten as he momentarily pressed its softness against his lips. She still smelled the same. It was achingly bittersweet to vividly remember so much about her, and to physically want her all the more because of it.
Even the lavender scent that clung to her shawl was enough to make his body stir. Though his pride told him to walk away from this and her, considering all that she’d just said, his body, mind and heart chanted for him to fight. This was his Victoria, for God’s sake. Of course she wasn’t going to submit easily. She had never been one for submitting easily to anything. He owed it to her to fight for them. To fight for what they’d once had. Damn whatever was left of his pride.
He folded and refolded the long strip of silk and tucked it into his coat pocket to keep as a memento. He strode into the room after her, and after several long strides, settled in beside her. He slowed when they both reached Mr. Parker and the other suitors.
Victoria rounded him, setting a notable distance between them, and set her chin. Other than the rigid squaring of those slim shoulders and the setting of that stubborn chin, she didn’t even look at him, let alone acknowledge him.
Mr. Parker cleared his throat and held up a gloved hand. “On behalf of Lord Linford, I extend appreciation for your attendance, gentlemen. I ask that you all arrange yourselves side by side, so that I may commence the evening with a simple set of instructions.”
Jonathan stepped toward the other two men and settled himself between them. He paused, glancing toward each man, and realized that both were notably shorter than he was. A whole head shorter.
Mr. Parker settled before them and held up three sealed parchments in his gloved hand. He wagged them. “Each parchment bears a name and contains questions the earl felt would best represent each suitor. They are questions Lady Victoria will read aloud and questions you, as gentlemen, will individually answer during a private, one-hour session. We all recognize that these are very unusual circumstances. But we must also recognize this is a man’s last will and testament, and, as such, we are humbly appointed to abide by what was set almost a year ago.”
As Jonathan half listened to Mr. Parker’s words, he stared intently at Victoria, hoping she would look at him at least once. She didn’t. She merely lingered between Sir Thorbert and Grayson, her eyes fixed somewhere in the distance. She hated him. She really—
Her jade eyes suddenly met his, causing his stomach to flip. The last time he’d felt his stomach flip in response to a mere glance, he’d been nineteen. He never thought he’d feel that again.
He smiled.
Victoria looked away and reset her chin.
Jonathan’s smile faded as he flexed his gloved hands and continued to study her profile. Her face had thinned, but that seventeen-year-old was still there in those arched blond brows, that sharp little nose and the pale, soft skin his hand had once intimately grazed.
The visible tops of her pale breasts appeared fuller than he’d remembered, and she wore her hair in looser, larger curls, as opposed to the tighter ones that had once framed her face. It was torture to be standing only a few paces away and realize he had lost five years of his life with her.
“Allow me to present your designated set of questions.” Mr. Parker stepped toward them and handed out the parchments. “Each seal remains intact until your appointed hour with Lady Emerson.”
Jonathan slipped the parchment from Mr. Parker’s gloved hand and turned it over to reveal TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE VISCOUNT REMINGTON scribed in black ink.
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br /> Mr. Parker briefly met each of their gazes. “Lord Stanford, Lord Remington and Lord Moreland, at midnight, Lady Emerson will tell me the name of the man she intends to wed, which I will formally submit and announce. That man must then wed her by special license within the week. For those men not chosen, a thousand pounds will be gifted in appreciation of their participation. Now that you have all been informed of the earl’s intent, is everyone still willing to vie? Rest assured, your name can be removed from the list at any time.”
Jonathan fingered the parchment in his hand, wondering if he was doing the right thing. Though it appeared Victoria did not want him and would prefer to marry her own uncle over him, he’d be damned if he was going to allow misfortune to continue to rule his life. He was going to prove his worth to her. He was.
Lord Stanford stepped forward and ripped his parchment in half. He tossed it to the floor with a sigh. “Forgive me, but I am not in the least bit comfortable with these rules. As such, I prefer to leave. May God bring peace to the earl.” He offered everyone a curt nod and strode past, his heavy steps thudding out of the room and fading.
Jonathan drew in a breath and let it out, tucking the parchment into his pocket alongside Victoria’s folded shawl. This was good. This was very good. With only one man left to compete against, he actually stood half of a chance.
Although…
Jonathan eyed the regal profile of the gentleman on his left. Lord Moreland. Christ. It was the same damn Lord Moreland whom Victoria’s governess had tried to intimidate him with years ago. All of this was really too eerie, and a bit too metaphorical to swallow. It was as if his entire life was rounding backward.
Mr. Parker huffed out a ragged breath and rubbed the back of his bald head, eyeing the torn parchment left behind. Dropping his gloved hand back to his side, he continued, “Judging by your silence, gentlemen, you are agreeing to vie. I will be allotting an additional thirty minutes to each of you, seeing as Lord Stanford has renounced his involvement.
Once Upon a Scandal Page 9
