Scandal's Daughter

by Emma V. Leech

  "Good Lord, are things as bad as that?" Sebastian demanded, cutting into a thick piece of sirloin and beyond relieved that his stomach had decided to forgive him.

  Beau shrugged and sat back in his chair. "Not yet, but give it a month or two and it may well be."

  Sebastian chewed slowly and debated what tack to take first, knowing only too well how carefully Beau needed handling in this kind of mood and predicament. "Have you spoken to your father?" he asked, taking the safer option first.

  Snorting with a combination of amusement and disgust, Beau's bright blue eyes met his. "Aye, and my worthy father told me he would walk me to the gates of The Marshalsea himself before he handed over a groat to save me." Beau glowered and shook his head. "The miserable old bastard. What right he has to be so self-righteous over me when I know damn well he's every bit the spendthrift ... and worse. God alone knows what I'll inherit, if I ever do," he said with a dark expression glittering in his eyes. "Reckon the whoremongering old bastard made a pact with the devil, he's too damn wicked to die if you ask me."

  "Charles!" Sebastian exclaimed, startled into giving his real name instead of the habitual Beau, that everyone knew him by.

  Beau raised one elegant eyebrow. "Oh, Charles is it? Good Lord I must have shocked you."

  Sebastian sighed and shook his head. Even at his worst, Sebastian laid a great deal of Beau's bad behaviour squarely at his father's feet. He rarely spoke of his family at all but Sebastian knew his mother had died when he was born, and his father had never cared a jot for his increasingly wild son, ignoring him for the most part and abusing him for the rest. It was no wonder he'd run amok.

  "Beau, I hesitate to offer ... after last time ..."

  "Then don't," he replied, the blue eyes looking squarely at Sebastian. "I'd rather rot in gaol than take a penny from you and you know it."

  Sebastian smacked a frustrated hand down on the table. "Yes, I know it, damn you. What I don't understand is why. Why won't you let me help you?"

  Beau got to his feet, as languid and graceful as ever, stretching and yawning and grinning at Sebastian. "Sindalton, I have many faults my friend but I won't hang on your sleeve and that's a fact. So you may take your kind offer and go to the devil. I shall find myself a sweet little heiress, no doubt with a stammer and six toes and we'll go along quite merrily after I'm sure." He executed an elegant bow and turned to leave the room.

  "Where are you going, damn you, I haven't finished with you."

  "No," called Beau over his shoulder. "I don't doubt, but I've finished with you and I'm going back to bed to gather my strength for this evening."

  Sebastian huffed with annoyance as the door closed on him and then cast his eye over to the window. The slightest haze of blue sky was visible beneath a fast moving froth of thick white cloud. It looked like the rain would hold off for a few hours at least, and with that happy thought, Sebastian headed out to the stables.

  As he'd expected, John Jeffries, his head coachman was found in the stables. Jeffries had started life as a groom at Marlburgh House and when Sebastian's father had died and his mother succumbed to hysterics for what seemed like the next ten years, Jeffries had been the one solid, dependable person in Sebastian's life. A gruff middle aged man, with salt and pepper hair and an air of unshakeable calm, he was undeniably fond of the duke but would stand none of his nonsense if he felt Sindalton was getting too high in the instep. It had been Jeffries who taught Sebastian to ride his first pony and Sebastian never went anywhere without him.

  "Thought I might be seeing you this afternoon, your Grace," Jeffries observed with a grin, leading Sebastian's horse out into the yard.

  "It seems I need to add mind reading to your never ending list of skills, John," Sebastian replied, more than pleased to see the horse tacked and ready and that he wasn't to be kept waiting. His head ached and he needed to get away from the thick air of dissipation that seemed to hang over the castle and cling to him like cobwebs.

  "Aye, well, your Grace. I keep telling you, you don't value my worth like you ought," John quipped, just enough sparkle in his eyes to be clear that he was teasing as his manner was perfectly bland.

  "Of course I don't," Sebastian said, raising an eyebrow at him and adopting a haughty expression. "I'm a duke, it is my duty to look down my nose at you even if you are in every way my superior."

  John's mouth twitched just a fraction as he handed the reins over to Sebastian. "Just as long as that's clear, your Grace," he replied, utterly serious.

  Sebastian vaulted elegantly onto the horse and grinned at him. "Oh, always, John. As if you'd ever let me forget it."

  He clattered out of the yard and on down a narrow, winding path out into open countryside. The castle, more of a folly in truth, was built on a high outcrop of stone and the views across the countryside were spectacular. A chill wind howled across the open ground but Sebastian relished it, sucking in great lungfulls of clean, cold air as though they could purify him from the inside out. It seemed to work on some level at least and his head felt clearer, the future a little less tangled than it had after his conversation with Beau.

  He wouldn't let his friend rot in gaol, that was for sure. If it came to it he'd pay the fool's debts off, even if it meant he never spoke to him again, though he hoped it wouldn't come to that. Sebastian had never made friends easily. It was too difficult to figure out who truly liked him for himself, and who just wanted to ingratiate themselves with a wealthy and powerful man for their own reasons.

  He tended to adopt his haughtiest and most disobliging demeanour in company in an effort to keep the toad eaters and flatterers at bay. It worked, to an extent, though it also alienated most everyone else. Not that it affected his success with the ladies. An accomplished flirt, he had a dangerous reputation and it was a gamble for any mother to place their daughter in his path. The stakes were high though, when you were playing for a duke.

  The circus, as he referred to it, appalled him. Almack's, or as most people called it, the marriage mart was worst of all. He felt the young women were paraded in front of him like cattle, waiting for him to bid on one that took his fancy. In turn their eyes on him were avaricious and it made him hate them all and hold them in contempt, though he knew at heart that this was as unfair on them as it was on him.

  For a moment he envied Beau, and not just for his looks. Women wanted Beau because he was beautiful and charming and fun to be with. Oh he came from an ancient and dignified line, one of the oldest families in the country in fact. And that he was a Marquis and would one day be a Duke didn't hurt obviously, but his father was still a virile and active man and showed no signs of relinquishing his title any time soon, and everyone knew Beau had pockets to let. Any woman who wanted Beau wasn't after his money at least.

  With a sigh he reined in and took a moment to survey the countryside. It was beautiful, harsh and rugged and windswept, quite unlike the lush green, fertile lands around his own estate. Looking up at the sky and the clouds that scudded fast overhead he judged that he had time enough yet before he needed to head back, and carried on to farther explore the countryside.

  Chapter 4

  "Wherein mischief is made."

  Georgiana looked down at her measly haul and huffed with annoyance. What on earth was Aunt Jane thinking, making Dandelion and Burdock so late in the year? The leaves were bound to be bitter and so late in the season the dandelions were hard to see, covered as they were by so many other taller grasses and flowers. Grumbling to herself she picked up her basket and called Conrad to heel. The big black mongrel came running back to her, tail wagging merrily and with every manner of burrs and seeds stuck to his coat.

  "Oh really! Look at the state of you," Georgiana tutted with disapproval. "Aunt will give us both a scold if you go home looking like that, you wretch." She looked up at the sky and frowned. "But we'll both be wet through too if we don't hurry; I don't like the look of that sky."

  Looking around her Georgiana made a quick decision. It woul
d take hours searching out enough dandelions here, but if she was to head over to the Gower estate's four acres field where she usually gathered, she could be done within an hour at most. And no one any the wiser.

  "Come on, Conrad," she called, stepping out. It would take her at least an hour to walk over there but better that than breaking her back in the meadow at Longbarrow.

  Her instincts proved to be right on reaching the Gower estate and her basket was almost full when the heavens opened.

  "Oh blast!" she cursed, squealing as a freezing drop of rain made its way down the back of her neck and made her shiver. Picking up her basket in one hand and her skirts in another she ran down the hill to the smuggler's cave. It was no longer used by smugglers of course, or at least rarely as it was too well known by all to be a safe hiding place.

  But it was a good place to sit out the rain storm. She sat on a ledge just inside the shelter of the cave and looked out as a storm boiled overhead. Heavy bruised looking, indigo clouds tumbled together, blocking out the daylight and casting an eerie and melancholy light over the countryside.

  "Oh dear, now we're in for it," she muttered, pulling Conrad's silky ears distractedly as the first fork of lightening crazed the skies and ended with a sharp crack before thunder rumbled through the landscape. Conrad whined and fidgeted beside her and she hushed him, thankful for his companionship. She was in no way a fanciful creature, despite her love of lurid Gothic novels and unsuitable romances, but the storm was unsettling and she would be glad to be safe back at home beside a warm fire. The wind turned and rain lashed into the opening of the cave, driving her farther back into the darkness where she lingered with unease whilst the storm raged.

  She was just beginning to think the worst of it had passed when there was a commotion at the mouth of the cave and she stifled a scream of alarm as the shriek of a horse could be heard and she saw the great creature rear up, the black shape highlighted against a luminous white strike of lightening. A moment later and she saw a man leap down, pulling the terrified animal into the shelter of the cave and murmuring soothing words to it.

  With her heart beating in alarm she took stock of the man, not a local man that was for certain, for she would have been well aware of having seen those broad shoulders and powerful legs before, had she but glanced at them in passing. The man stripped off his soaking wet jacket and waistcoat and laid them down over a rock to dry.

  Very much alive to the impropriety of her situation, alone with a man in the middle of the countryside in a thunderstorm, Georgiana kept well back in the dark and prayed she wouldn't be noticed. But she had of course forgotten her recalcitrant hound.

  At first slightly cowed by the spectacle of man and beast fighting each other and the elements, Conrad had hidden, quaking, behind his mistresses' skirts. Now that everything had calmed down, however, he was feeling rather braver. Stepping boldly forward, he offered a sharp yip of disapproval to the newcomer before Georgiana had the wit or the time to stop him.

  The man swung around and she was obliged with a view of thick brown hair, rather fierce dark eyes under thick eyebrows and a strong, square jaw.

  "Who's there?" he demanded.

  Quite unable to do anything else, Georgiana stepped forward, out of the darkness into the purplish shadows cast by the storm that was finally showing signs of abating, much to her relief.

  "Good God," the man breathed, as she emerged from the gloom of the cave. It seemed to take him a moment to remember his manners, or at least, Georgiana assumed the next time he opened his mouth he would introduce himself and put her mind at rest that he meant her no harm. He did not. "Are you a witch?" he demanded, amusement glittering in his eyes as he looked her over, an openly appraising look that made her blood boil.

  "Indeed I am not, Sir," she replied, with as much froideur as she could muster. "For if I were I would conjure myself at home by the fire, instead of sheltering from a storm in a damp cave."

  The man gave a bark of laughter, apparently delighted. "Well, I'll be damned. If you aren't just the thing to brighten a tedious afternoon."

  She looked back at him in appalled silence while he continued to look her up and down in approval.

  She gave him a disgusted sniff and glared back at him. "I'm sure I find myself relieved to have afforded you some entertainment," she replied with cool dignity. "For you amuse me, not at all."

  "Mercy!" he replied, laughing, holding his hands up in mock surrender. "Come little witch, I think we have set off on the wrong foot. Will you not come and introduce yourself to me?"

  "As you seem to have a lack of manners that is beyond anything I have had the misfortune to encounter until now, no. I shall not."

  "Ah," he replied, the glittering amusement in his eyes darkening as he took a step forward. "Then perhaps I should introduce myself?" he said, his voice soft now.

  "Please do not trouble yourself," she snapped in response. "If you will only stand aside I will bid you good day. It appears the storm is over and I can continue on my way."

  "Alone?" he asked, quirking one eyebrow.

  "Yes, alone!" she replied, any last vestige of patience long since vanished as this odious creature seemed determined to torment her. "I was born and raised here and everyone knows me. It is no great scandal for me to walk alone."

  "On your own lands perhaps?" he acknowledged with no little scepticism. "But this isn't your land."

  "Nor yours!" she retorted, trying to push past him and gasping in shock as he caught her by the arms. "Let me go!" she shouted, trying and failing to pull out of his grasp.

  "Easy, love," he said, grinning at her. "If you want to pass you'll have to pay the toll."

  She didn't have a moment to utter the bewildered question that came to mind as he answered it for her very neatly by pulling her into his arms and kissing her.

  By now far more angry than frightened she struggled to pull away but found his grip on her more than she could counter. He released her mouth and looked down at her, his eyes darker still and somewhat devilish in the dim light of the cave.

  Belatedly, aware that perhaps his mistress was not enjoying the stranger's attentions, Conrad began to bark, leaping forward and back between the entrance of the cave and the stranger.

  "Oh, thank you, Conrad!" Georgiana exclaimed in exasperation. "Just a little too late, you idiotic creature."

  "Perhaps not," the man whispered, his breath hot and damp against her neck. He looked up, those devilish eyes sparkling with mischief. "Perhaps I have further nefarious plans for you?" he suggested, waggling his eyebrows in imitation of a theatrical villain.

  "I will thank you to take your hands off me this instant!" Georgiana demanded, wriggling once more in the brute's ridiculously strong arms. The man looked down at Conrad whose barking was becoming ever more alarmed as the stranger did not do as he was bid and release his mistress.

  "Be silent!"

  Conrad jerked in surprise, clearly recognising the voice of authority and lying down with meek obedience at the sound of a man's voice.

  "Oh you faithless creature!" wailed Georgiana. "Of all the idiotic, disloyal ..."

  "Hush yourself, little witch," the brute said, though his voice was soft as he returned his attention to her. "Now then, tell me your name and where you come from and I swear I'll let you go. I'm not going to hurt you, you have my word."

  "Oh yes," she replied with asperity. "The word of a gentleman," she infused that last part with all the scorn she was currently feeling, adding with venom. "How terribly reassuring."

  "Oh, ho, little cat," he laughed. "Now, now, show me your claws and I may change my mind and keep you here."

  "Of all the odious, vile, detestable ..."

  "Loathsome?" he added helpfully.

  "Yes, loathsome!" she repeated, stamping her foot. "And abhorrent, repulsive ..."

  "Oh no!" he interrupted her stream of adjectives. "Repulsive I won't have." he shook his head, his eyes holding a faintly mocking gleam. "I have it on very good a
uthority that I am not in the least bit repulsive."

  "Whose authority?" she demanded. "Not mine I collect. Oh, and now we can add disgustingly arrogant and prideful!"

  "Tell me your name, witch!"

  "Oh!" In utter fury she bit back a very unladylike curse and replied. "My name is Georgiana Bomford and I wish you joy of it for you will never have cause to speak it again. Now. Let. Me. Go!"

  "Oh but I have yet to introduce myself to you," the stranger replied, all mocking politeness.

  "Then get on with it so I can make haste to forget it," she muttered furiously.

  The man seemed to hesitate for just a second, his dark eyes full of something she could not decipher. "Charles Stafford, the Marquis of Beaumont, at your service, madame."

  Georgiana froze and blinked up at him, disbelieving. She had long wanted to see for herself the dangerously beautiful Beau Beaumont, and while this man was very handsome indeed, and certainly a danger to her - or any other woman who had the misfortune to cross his path - he wasn't what she expected. She frowned at him.

  "You're Beau Beaumont?"

  She thought he looked faintly annoyed by the question which pleased her.

  "I am," he replied, sounding a little defiant. "What of it?"

  She pursed her lips and shrugged before replying, "Nothing."

  "What?" he demanded. "What do you mean nothing?" She was intrigued to find he looked really rather ruffled, which tickled her enormously and decided her to fluff his upset feathers a little further - for his own good; for the devil was clearly in dire need of a set down.

  "Well, my Lord," she murmured. "I suppose I'm a little ... disappointed."

  "Oh?"

  There was a dangerous note to that single utterance that didn't escape her, but she was too angry to deviate now.

  With another eloquent shrug she simply added. "Yes. Well, I have read much about the dangerous Beau Beaumont, that he is devastatingly handsome and charming and that women melt into puddles at his feet and ..." She paused and looked up at him from under her thick lashes for effect.