She feigned a less than enthused laugh and slowly retrieved her hand, drawing it back onto her lap. “I wouldn’t worry about Remington.”
“Have you seen the size of his hands?”
She glared at him. She didn’t remember the man being this annoying.
He shifted, propping an elbow against the carved wooden edge of the sofa behind him. “It is an unprecedented honor. Proceed.”
She drew in a shaky breath. “The connection between Remington and myself was instantaneous. When it came to our words and glances, we were like children forever passing a ball back and forth with an amused, playful need to never let the ball fall. Needless to say, we grew very fond of each other, and the day he was leaving England, he asked me to marry him. Though I did not entirely submit, I eventually did during our time of correspondence.”
Lord Moreland let out a whistle. “And therein was your first mistake. Never put anything in writing. Much can and will go wrong.”
She sighed. “In that, Remington cannot be faulted. He never used my words against me. In fact, toward the end, he didn’t make use of my words at all. I lived for his letters. I truly did. They made me happy, gave me hope, and made me believe I was meant for the sort of relationship my parents shared. Then his finances disintegrated—or so he said—and in my desperation, I told my father everything, hoping he would allow us to marry and in turn mend Remington’s finances that way. My father threatened to disinherit me. Not that I cared. I would have done without everything for Remington. Only…Remington disappeared without bothering to offer me any words.”
She dropped her hand onto her lap. “And now, after five long years, he reappears and expects me to return to what we once shared.” She snorted. “Pardon me while I refrain from gagging.”
Lord Moreland’s brows came together. “Every man deserves a second chance.”
“This isn’t about second chances.”
He rolled his eyes. “Balderdash. Life is all about second chances. Who ever gets it right the first time? Or the second or third time, for that matter?”
She brought her hands together, clasping them. “In that, I will agree. No one ever gets life right, and no one knows that more than I. But there are times when a wrong simply cannot be righted. And this is one of those times. What little remained of the person he knew, he crushed. He filled an entire fountain full of his affection and promises that I grew dependent upon. Something I had vowed never to do, after I saw the way it destroyed my father. And when I truly did thirst, and I needed peace, he refused to even offer me a single drop. Which is why I…” She shook her head, unable to finish. She had never put so much into words. And it hurt. It hurt hearing them and knowing it had all once been real. Though no more.
Moreland sighed, slid closer and wrapped a muscled arm around her, pulling her toward him with a firm tenderness that didn’t make her feel in the least bit awkward. She allowed herself to be nestled against his warmth. The musky scent of cardamom drifted toward her from his clothes, further lulling her and making her feel less restless. He smoothed her hair with a gloved hand, the way a father would, and finally murmured, “Marry him.”
She stiffened and refrained from grabbing hold of his evening coat. “Marry him? Did you not—”
“Victoria.” Moreland released her and caught hold of her shoulders, squaring them firmly toward himself. “’Tis obvious he is still in great amours with you, and there is something to be valued in a flame that cannot be extinguished. If he is here, it is only because he is unable to move on with his life and will only suffer unless you forgive him and grant him peace. And I can tell you feel the same, though you may not realize it. Allow him to right his wrongs. Every man deserves another chance.”
Her eyes widened. “This has nothing to do with my inability to give him another chance. This has to do with my inability to become the woman I know he wants. The woman he has always wanted, but one I was never fully capable of being. Though I had once tried to be that woman for him, I only suffered for it, and will not suffer through it again. Remington is not like you or any other man. He never settled for less than the moon and the stars and always lived and breathed through his own emotions like a child unable to control what it is he feels and thinks.”
“Knowing what divides you is what will bring you together.” Moreland rubbed her arms affectionately. “It is with regret, I must withdraw my name.”
Her breath caught. “No. No, you can’t. Moreland. If you withdraw—”
“Yes. Exactly.” He released her and rose, his lean face tightening. “If you had allowed yourself to love him once, Victoria, you can allow yourself to love him again. Despite what you think.”
Victoria threw up her hands and let them drop in exasperation, wondering why she ever told him anything at all! It was as if he had purposefully asked for her entire history so he could better use it against her.
He crossed his arms over his chest. “You will love him as you once had. You will see.”
The scoundrel! Who was he to play God with her heart?
Victoria rose to her feet, leaned in and poked him in that solid chest of his, right below his cravat and between the buttons on his waistcoat, above his crossed arms. “You seek to subject me to misery.”
“Misery brings forth enlightenment.”
She glared at him. “Since when did you become a philosopher?”
He tsked. “Grow up, Victoria. Life isn’t about always getting what you want. And if you ever thought otherwise, you are not living in reality.”
She swallowed and stepped back. It stung to hear those words. It really did. Because he was right. She had never been one to get what she wanted. And that was indeed life. That was indeed reality. “You owe me an apology.”
Moreland dropped his folded arms to his sides and drawled with faint amusement, “I owe you nothing.”
“Oh, yes, you do. You promised that if I disclosed my history with Remington, you would set aside your misgivings and allow me to decide how I should proceed. Only now you are walking away!”
“I know when to walk and when to stay.” He leaned in and dabbed at her nose. “And you, my dear, need to learn the art of staying, for you have already perfected the art of walking away. Good night.” He casually rounded her and strode toward the door.
She honestly didn’t know whether she was to be impressed by his unprecedented understanding of her as a person or whether she should start screaming in overwhelmed paranoia at the fact that she was being thrust back into Remington’s arms.
Pulling open the door, Moreland paused and swung back toward her. As if sensing her confusion and misery, he sighed and strode back, pausing directly before her. “Victoria.”
She glanced up to meet his dark gaze.
He softened his voice. “You will thank me in time.”
“Not in this lifetime,” she grouched. “May you come back a woman, Moreland, and may you be subjected to the vile passions of a man such as Remington.”
He let out a laugh, shook his head and gathered her into his arms, squeezing her tightly against himself. “Men don’t have it any easier, despite what you think. Man. Woman. We all suffer. We merely suffer in different ways.”
She pinched her lips together at the unexpected words and affection, her right cheek forcefully mashed against his waistcoat. She instinctively tightened her hold on his waist, desperately needing some form of assurance that everything that was happening to her could somehow be righted, and that she would somehow survive.
The open door banged hard against the wall behind them, causing Moreland to release her. Victoria choked back a yelp as she scrambled back and away.
Remington loomed in the open doorway as the clock on the mantel of the hearth started chiming. He narrowed his icy blue gaze, flexing his gloved hands at his sides. “I thought I would announce myself,” he said in a strained, clipped tone. “Considering the both of you were far too occupied to notice that your time is up.”
Mr. Parker leaned
in from behind Remington.
Victoria cringed.
Moreland cleared his throat. “Remington. I can assure you—”
“I would rather not hear it.” Remington met Victoria’s gaze. Vivid anger bubbled within that piercing look. “Victoria.” His voice was rough. Almost breathless. “I wish to address Lord Moreland. Alone.”
And leave the poor man to die? This was exactly what she didn’t want! Endless complications brought on by Remington’s insufferable idea of what passion was, that blind, raging passion he couldn’t control, which had made her life so damn unpredictable and miserable.
Victoria set her hands on her hips. “I suggest you not overreact, Remington. This isn’t what you think.”
“No. I dare say it is probably much worse.” Remington stalked into the room, heading toward Lord Moreland. “I will not relinquish her. Not to you. Not to anyone.”
Moreland glanced back at Victoria, his brows rising. To her surprise, he winked. He then smirked, swung back to Remington and drawled saucily, “I do beg your pardon, but she just promised to have all ten of my children.”
Victoria’s eyes widened in disbelief, before she altogether burst into laughter.
Remington paused, then turned and stared at her, his lips parting. “Do you find my situation amusing? Is that it?”
She straightened and cleared her throat, trying to regain an ounce of composure. But it was no use. “No, I—” She laughed and shook her head in disbelief that she was actually still laughing at something so stupid. “Forgive me, I—” She laughed and laughed, wishing she could stop. “I can’t seem to—” She gasped and pointed at Moreland. Repeatedly. “Drat him!”
A muscle flicked in Remington’s shaven jaw. He half nodded, turned and stalked out, shoving past Mr. Parker.
Victoria’s laughter died within her throat. She eyed Moreland in complete exasperation. “You ought to be hanged.”
Moreland slowly grinned and jabbed a quick thumb toward the door. “I recommend you save your inheritance. Convince that fool. Not this fool.”
She drew in a ragged breath, disgusted to no end by all the men trying to manipulate her, and whisked past. She paused in the corridor and turned.
Remington was already at the far end. He veered toward the staircase and out of sight.
Why did he always, always have to allow emotion to rule every aspect of not only his life but the lives of those around him? It was what she hated most about him. He couldn’t let anyone live in peace. Not even himself. And to think, he was her security. It was either marry him or live with Grayson. Dearest God, her father had given her a choice between hell and hell.
To the devil with trying to catch up to legs as long as Remington’s. She cupped her hands to the sides of her mouth and shouted, “Remington! I am not done with you!”
Her voice echoed across the length of the corridor. She was being exceedingly rude and to the point. But then again, that was exactly what the man deserved. She lowered her hands, set her chin and waited for him to reappear.
Within moments, his large frame edged back into the corridor. He turned and faced her, his stance rigid as he stood there, staring her down. Waiting for whatever she had to say, but stubbornly unwilling to move.
He really should have been an actor.
Seeing he had no intention on coming over to her, she supposed she had no choice but go to him. She lifted the hem of her skirts and closed the seemingly enormous distance between them, her shoes echoing rhythmically. She eventually paused before him, her gown rustling around her body. It appeared the bastard was getting everything he had ever wanted: her.
Remington stepped back, as if she stood too close for his liking. “I have nothing more to say.”
“There is nothing more to say.”
He angled toward her and gritted out, “You truly seek to perpetuate my suffering, don’t you? Damn you, Victoria. Damn you for always making me crawl. I have been crawling and crawling ever since you and I first met.” He really should have been an actor. “This isn’t about making you crawl. Right now you represent an inheritance I am unwilling to part with.”
He stared. “A certain word comes to mind for women like you.”
As if he could hurt her anymore. “Let us be done with this. You wish to marry me? Fine. Marry me. You win. I lose. La la la.” She dug into her bodice pocket and retrieved his ring. It slipped from her fingers and made a tink against the floor as it rolled off to the side.
Victoria held up a finger and then scurried off toward the ring. Plucking it back up, she straightened and huffed out a breath, preparing herself for the inevitable. Veering back toward Remington, who continued to watch her silently, she grabbed his gloved hand and shoved the ring into it. She then presented her hand to him and boldly met his gaze, praying no other words were necessary. Because in that moment, she didn’t have any more words to offer, knowing she was committing herself to matrimony. But just because she was marrying him didn’t mean she was handing everything over.
For this time, things would be different. This time, she wasn’t going to hand over her heart, her mind, her soul and her entire life. Oh, no. This time, she would be setting all of the rules. This time, she would ensure she never suffered again.
SCANDAL NINE
The manner in which a gentleman offers matrimony will deeply reflect the sort of husband a lady can expect. If there are no flowers and no effort gifted during the proposal itself, she should not expect flowers and effort to be gifted during matrimony. It is as simple as that.
How To Avoid a Scandal, Author Unknown
JONATHAN OPENED his fist, revealing the ring Victoria had placed into his palm, and eyed the hand she held out to him. A fool he was not. Only moments ago she had been in the arms of another, her entire cheek pressed against Lord Moreland’s chest. A cheek that had never once been pressed against his own chest. “You appear to be confused about the amount of men you can involve in your life.”
“Lord Moreland and I are friends. That has always held true.”
“Friends? So what does that make us?”
“Engaged. Because I am obligated to the duty set upon me by my father. Now, I am asking you to place your mother’s ring back onto my finger. ’Tis mine and the only thing of worth ever given to me by you.” She pushed her hand closer.
The floor beneath him swayed. “You chose me?”
“Yes. I would like to point out, however, that my submission does not denote love. Because that emotion has long flown and I assure you it will not return. This would merely be a marriage of convenience for which I will be setting all the rules.”
He lowered his chin. “I do not engage in anything for mere convenience, and I most certainly do not abide by anyone’s rules.”
“I am not about to start arguing another one of your pathetic points about what you want. There are other people living in this world aside from you, Remington.” She rattled her hand. “Now be done with it. I’m tired and wish to go home.”
Her continued indifference toward him and their union choked him. He didn’t want her to be indifferent. Not about him. It was as if Victoria had truly murdered the last of whatever softness she was capable of.
Although…she was giving them a chance. That was worth something, was it not? Yes. Yes, it was.
Jonathan clasped her soft hand and lifted it, pressing his lips against her skin, willing her to feel that her disdain brought on by pride would never triumph over the tenderness and the love he had to give. Closing his eyes, he gently breathed in the tantalizing scent of soap and continued to hold his lips against her hand, wanting to believe that in time, she would learn to love him again. The way she once had. But before he could earn such love, he knew he had to earn her trust by telling her everything.
Opening his eyes, he lowered himself onto one knee before her, still tightly gripping her hand. He held up his mother’s ring by the tips of his fingers. “This will always be yours. Whatever becomes of us.”
She
stared down at him coolly, showing him about as much emotion as a corpse before it was laid to rest.
Jonathan clenched his jaw in an effort to control his overwhelming regret, bitterness and agony. To think that the Victoria he’d once known and loved could be this emotionless was as evil as it was heart wrenching. He had abandoned her for too long. He only hoped he could right this. He only hoped he could right her and reattach her emotions to her soul.
Jonathan lowered his gaze to Victoria’s left hand and focused on slipping the ruby ring onto her third finger—a finger believed by Venetian superstition to lead straight to the heart. His ring slid into place effortlessly, as if it were always meant to be there.
He brushed his lips against the stone, and in honor of his mother, who had insisted he always carry her ring in his pocket until he found a wife worthy enough to wear it, he whispered against the ruby, “I have found the one I wish to wed. Give me your blessings, Mother, and may nothing ever come between us. Not even the words I am about to speak in an effort to illuminate the secrets that remain between us.”
Jonathan glanced up at Victoria, remaining on his knee, and tightened his hold on that soft hand, hoping she would finally understand and forgive him for abandoning her all these years ago. And he didn’t care if Mr. Parker, Lord Moreland or the rest of the world bore witness to his shame and testimony. All that mattered was revealing who he really was and what he had really become.
“Victoria.” For some reason, damn his soul, he could only manage a hoarse, low tone. “Five years ago, I commenced service as Cavaliere Servente in return for amnesty against all of my debts. I was approached by a Venetian widow who was set to remarry a powerful nobleman, who agreed to her taking a cicisbeo. With debtor’s prison hanging over my head for my debts of ten thousand lire, I was desperate enough to agree to anything. I signed a five-year contract that bound me as their servant.”
He lowered his gaze to her hand, unable to look at Victoria, who stared intently down at him, no longer appearing quite so indifferent.
Once Upon a Scandal Page 12
