Scandal's Daughter

by Emma V. Leech

  "And?" The dangerous tone had grown and intensified and she experienced a moment's qualm before plunging the knife home.

  "Well it is just a grave disappointment to find your technique relies more on the brute force of a caveman than the clever and sophisticated flirt I had supposed you to be."

  For a moment she watched the emotions chase across his face. She was fairly certain that no woman had ever spoken to him so in his life before. Though she was only too glad to fill the gap in his education, she did admit to holding her breath as she awaited his response. It wasn't what she'd expected, as he tipped his head back and gave a hearty bark of laughter.

  "Why you little wretch!" he exclaimed, grinning at her. "Well, well, Georgiana Bomford. I'm more delighted to have met you than you know."

  To her astonishment he released her and stepped away, pausing for a moment to bestow a stroke to the traitorous Conrad, who wagged his tail happily in response.

  To further her astonishment he looked back at her, smiling broadly and looking for all the world like a naughty schoolboy rather than the villain who had just manhandled her so outrageously. "I'll be here again tomorrow afternoon, Miss Bomford, do say that you'll come and meet me?"

  Her mouth fell unwillingly open in a manner which would have had her aunt scolding her soundly and for a moment she felt quite incapable of giving an answer. It didn't last.

  "Are you quite mad or simply foxed?" she demanded, for drink or an unsound mind could be the only explanation for believing she would willingly meet him again!

  "Neither," he replied, sounding far too cheerful. "I'm stone cold sober and not at all unhinged I promise."

  "Spoken like a true madman," she replied with a sniff, as she made to turn her back on him, adjusting her bonnet as she went.

  "Wait!" he cried, grasping hold of her hand and disarranging the ribbons of her bonnet all over again.

  "Oh! Will you stop manhandling me," she exclaimed.

  "I beg your pardon," he replied, the dark eyes suddenly full of warmth though he didn't look the least bit remorseful. "But please, I meant what I said. I'm so pleased to have met you. Won't you come and talk to me again. I promise you, I will behave like a gentleman if you do."

  "Certainly not!" she replied with some heat, though she was aware of a growing desire to do as he asked in response to the soft look in those dark eyes. Happily it was a desire she thoroughly mistrusted and would certainly not be foolish enough to act on.

  "Oh, but you are cruel, little witch."

  "Stuff!" she replied succinctly, taking up her basket and heading out of the cave.

  "I'll find you again, Georgiana," he called, laughter in his voice as she strode away from him. "Just see if I don't!"

  Chapter 5

  "Wherein the fates toy with the future."

  It was five days before he saw her again. The day after meeting his little firebrand in the cave the weather closed in and no one in their right mind would have set foot outside the door. Ruefully, Sebastian had to wonder if the witch had been right and he was unhinged, for it was all he could do not to make the attempt no matter what the vagaries of this strange summer's weather could throw at him. The day after that was stormy and threatening but he went out nonetheless, returning to the cave, though he'd have been almost disappointed if she had been there, and then spending hours scouring every inch of the countryside.

  He repeated the exercise every following day and had to bite his tongue to stop himself asking for her by name in case he caused her trouble. He well knew his own, or rather Beau's reputation, and he wouldn't have her ruined for nothing but an enquiry. But the vision of the stunning red head with her sharp tongue and pretty brown eyes plagued him every moment that followed that stormy afternoon. So it was with an inward crow of triumph that he caught a flash of fox-coloured hair out of the corner of his eye as he rode out, uncharacteristically early, on a sunny autumn morning.

  He paused for a moment, admiring the bucolic scene before him. She sat on a picnic blanket on a high ledge of rock at the edge of a meadow, with a sketch book and pencil in hand. Her bonnet had been laid aside and her hair was all askew, tumbling in glorious red swathes down her back. Dismounting and leaving his mount to crop grass, he stole quietly closer to see more. The indomitable Conrad lay dozing beside her and Sebastian could see an endearing frown of concentration on her face as she struggled with the scenery laid out before her. He crept closer behind her, noticing the hopeless dog didn't so much as blink, looked over her shoulder and tried to smother his laughter. Taking a breath once he'd righted himself, he asked gravely, "Is that a cow or a horse?"

  "Oh!" Squealing in shock she dropped her pad and looked up at him in horror, while Conrad awoke and began to jump up at him with excitement. "You!" she uttered, managing to infuse the word with such fury that he couldn't help but grin.

  "I told you I would find you, Miss Bomford."

  "How dare you?" she hissed, looking around her in alarm.

  "Oh don't worry, we are quite alone," he added, grinning at her. "No one for miles as I'm sure you know. Oh and how dare I? Well as I kissed you last time we met I don't see why you should think me incapable of a little excitement."

  "Abominable creature!"

  He laughed and sat down beside her, shaking his head.

  "Pax, Miss Bomford. Please, I beg you, let us at least try to be civil. I swear I will if you do. Surely we can speak a few words without insulting each other at every turn?"

  "I sincerely doubt it," she remarked, those brown, no they were green eyes, flashing. She reached to pick up her pad again but he was too fast for her and snatched it up. Frowning he looked out at the scenery and back at the pad and then at Georgiana, one eyebrow raised. She huffed, her pale skin flushing in the most becoming manner.

  "I know I can't draw," she replied, sounding miffed and intensely embarrassed. "I never have been able to, only ..."

  He smiled at her, hoping his expression was as warm and friendly as he wanted it to be. He didn't want her to run away again. "Only?" he repeated.

  She huffed and tried to snatch the pad back. "Only I enjoy trying. It never looks how it should but ... but I find it absorbing."

  He tugged the pad from her reluctant grasp once again, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth? "Is that a cow?" he asked, unable to keep the laughter from his voice.

  "You know very well that it's a horse, my Lord," she replied with dignity, though he held onto a suspicion that there was mirth in her eyes, lurking just out of sight.

  "What else do you enjoy?" he asked, genuinely curious now, allowing her to tug the pad from his grasp.

  Frowning at him he watched as she warred with herself, wondering whether she would be as brave as he suspected she was.

  "I-I like to read," she said, and her eyes drifted he suspected unwillingly to the wicker basket.

  "What do you like to read?" he asked, wondering if she would admit to a love of novels or imply she read something far worthier and dull. It was frowned upon by most for young ladies of quality to rot their mind with such nonsense, though he himself could never fathom why, having been just as diverted himself. He had been accustomed to being given a list of far more serious titles while strongly suspecting the lady in question was more inclined to read a sensational romance, though none would ever admit it to him. He was surprised then when she reached into the basket and withdrew a tattered copy of A Sicilian Romance.

  "Mrs Radcliffe," he said, his tone approving.

  "You've read her?" She looked so astonished that he had to chuckle.

  "Did you think I would scold you and tell you to apply yourself to something more serious?" He turned the well loved copy in his hands, smiling. "I suppose I've been cast as the Duke de Luovo?"

  He saw the corner of her mouth twitch though she managed to repress the smile that threatened. He determined he would make her smile yet.

  "Perhaps," she admitted, her green ... no they were brown eyes glimmering. "I'm not sure yet." />
  "You mean I still have a chance at being the heroic Hippolitus?" he demanded.

  "Certainly not!" she replied, holding out her hand in an imperious manner. He handed the book back to her and was charmed when she cast him a shy look, adding, "Though I have to say, I think Hippolitus is the most ridiculous name for a hero."

  He nodded, picking a strand of grass that was bobbing in the breeze beside him. "Quite unsuitable," he agreed with all seriousness.

  Silence stretched between them while he found himself lost in deciding exactly what colour her eyes were. She coughed, and looked discomforted by his scrutiny and he pulled himself up, startled to discover he'd been staring like a fool. "It's nice to finally have a little sun, isn't it?" he said, hurrying to fill the gap.

  One, delicate, red tinted eyebrow quirked upward. "Oh dear. Really? The weather?" She tutted at him and began to pack her pencils and pad back into the basket.

  "I'm sorry, that was shocking wasn't it?" he said, his expression rueful. "But I suspect if I'd told you the truth you'd be even more disgusted."

  "Oh?" He was delighted to see curiosity in her expression, a slight frown over her eyes, and she paused with Mrs Radcliff's novel suspended over the basket.

  "I can't stop looking at your eyes," he admitted, quite truthfully this time. "I can't decide if they're green or brown."

  She snorted in amusement and dropped her novel into the basket. "Neither," she said, a prosaic tone to her voice. "They're hazel, and please, I beg of you. Don't go writing an ode or some such nonsense."

  "Why ever not?" he retorted, taking the basket from her hands and placing it behind him so she couldn't reach it. "No don't go, not yet," he begged, giving her his most charming smile. "Tell me why I shouldn't write you a poem. You deserve a poem, I think."

  She flushed and shook her head. "I will go if you keep speaking in such a ridiculous manner. You have no business flirting with me and well you know it, so please stop."

  He sighed and stretched out on his side, looking up at her. "Very well. If I promise not to flirt will you stay and talk to me?"

  She hesitated, but for such a short time he was relieved of the idea that she still found him as obnoxious as she'd first thought. "For just a little while then," she said, and he saw the first real glimmer of the smile he had been hoping for. His breath caught and let out a huff of laughter.

  "My God," he whispered, staring at her. Frowning she began to get to her feet. "No!" he exclaimed. "That was involuntary, I swear. I didn't mean to," he said, half laughing, half pleading as he discovered he would be bitterly disappointed if she ran now.

  "Last chance," she said, her tone fierce as she wagged a finger at him.

  "Cross my heart and hope to die," he replied, making the cross over his heart as he spoke.

  Apparently satisfied, she sat down again and he began to draw her out. He didn't ask her all the usual inane questions about her family and where she was born, but they spoke about books and poetry and music and horses - she loved to ride, he discovered, and had ambitions to drive a phaeton, which he secretly hoped to help her with. They talked through the remainder of the afternoon and through lunch. She insisted on sharing her picnic with him, and made encouraging noises as he climbed an apple tree in the hedgerow after she discovered the biggest and shiniest red one was right at the top. So it was with an exclamation of alarm that she looked up some hours later to discover the sky was growing dim.

  "Oh my word!" she said, gathering up her belongings as she got to her feet. "It's so late, wherever has the afternoon gone."

  "It has been spent in the most delightful fashion," he said, with complete sincerity, finding himself truly disappointed that it had come to an end. He reached out and took her hand, enclosing it within his much larger ones. "Say you'll come back again tomorrow." She opened her mouth and began to shake her head. "Please?" he said, quite alarmed to hear the pleading note in his voice.

  "I-I shouldn't. You know I shouldn't," she said, avoiding his eyes and trying to pull her hand free.

  "I'll be here," he said, smiling at her. "I'll wait all day, and all day the next and the day after ..."

  "Oh stop, you absurd creature!" she said, laughing, though her expression was troubled. "I-I don't know if ... if ..."

  "Yes you can, I know you can, if you try." He gave her fingers a gentle squeeze. "I'll be here," he repeated. "Until tomorrow, Miss Bomford."

  She gave a little huff of exasperation and curtsied to him. "Count Luovo," she said, with a smirk.

  He dashed his hand to his heart with a wounded cry. "Oh, infamy! After all we have been to each other."

  He watched as she scurried away, her cheeks flushed and her red hair escaping her bonnet as she ran, laughing at him with the dog gambolling at her feet.

  He let out a breath, feeling that he had been holding it all afternoon in case she decided to change her mind and run away from him. But she hadn't run, she had stayed, and he had never been more glad of anything in all his life.

  He made his way back to the castle, quite unable to shake the ridiculous smile from his face, a fact that was remarked on by Jeffries as he handed his horse back into his care.

  "A good day, I take it, your Grace?" he asked, a quizzical expression fixed on his master from under his thick, grizzled eyebrows.

  "I should say so," Sebastian replied, grinning at him. His smile dimmed a little as he remembered that Lord Gower's entertainments awaited him for the night. He wondered if he could find a way to excuse himself without being thought inexcusably dull. He had a reasonable idea that the truth, that he had a pressing urge to go to bed early with a copy of Mrs Radcliffe's - A Sicilian Romance, would not be met with approval. The idea amused him so much that he couldn't help but grin and it was with a contented air that he entered the castle, whistling as he went.

  Chapter 6

  "Wherein our heroine steps upon a perilous path."

  To Georgiana's dismay, she awoke the next morning with a sore throat so severe that she couldn't speak and was ordered immediately back to bed by her aunt, despite her protests that she was really quite well. In point of fact she wasn't well at all, but the idea that Beau might believe she had stood him up without so much as a message of apology made her feel even more wretched.

  The next moment had her scolding herself. Whatever was she thinking! Even to be considering the idea of going and meeting the most notorious rake in England, alone. It was beyond anything. Her chances of finding a suitable husband were dim enough in such rural parts but at least she would come out this year. There were the assemblies at Truro to look forward to and perhaps that wasn't as glamorous and exciting as a come out in London but plain old Miss Georgiana Bomford wasn't due such distinction and well she knew it.

  It was perfectly clear to her that Lord Beaumont was just enjoying a flirtation to while away a pleasant day or two. She wasn't such a ninnyhammer to believe that there was anything more to it than that. Neither was she foolish enough to believe that any time spent in his company wasn't dangerous to her ... in more ways than she could count. In point of fact the idea of being discovered was the least of her concerns. She knew the area like the back of her hand, she knew where she could spend the day and never see a soul and she thought, if she put her mind to it, it would not prove difficult to meet him without arousing suspicion or being found out. What was less likely seemed to be the idea that she could spend more time in the man's presence without becoming ... interested in him.

  Although he was not at all what she had expected, he was undoubtedly interesting. He was well read and engaging, charming in fact. He made her laugh, often at his own expense but also liked to tease her. His mind was quick and lively and he enjoyed her sense of the ridiculous ... which she had discovered was a rare thing indeed. And all that was without ever even considering those deep brown eyes and that astonishing smile that seemed to entirely change his rather severe countenance into something far more approachable and appealing.

  He was also, s
he reminded herself as she brought to mind their first encounter in the caves, ill-mannered, rude, provoking and perfectly outrageous. To her chagrin those particular deficiencies only made her smile.

  It was another three days before Aunt Jane agreed to let her out of the house. It was a fine autumn day, an astonishingly rare event after the past months of cold and rain. Georgiana had never known a summer like it, nor apparently had anyone else and there was much talk of trouble in the towns as crops failed and those less fortunate people scratched about, struggling for survival.

  But for today at least it was mild, with a teasing wind that skittered the leaves that had begun to fall around her feet and tugged at the ribbons of her bonnet. Conrad bounded ahead, turning every so often to bark at her, admonishing her to make haste. Indeed she needed no such urging, though she told herself over and again it was the height of folly. In the first instance, the very idea that Beau should actually be waiting for her still was ridiculous. A man like that did not return day after day for some silly country girl with neither title nor fortune.

  Although she was well aware of her own worth she wasn't one to view the world in any way other than that of reality. She knew in this tiny corner of England she was considered a beauty, but she never doubted for a moment that if put against all the lovely young women at Almack's or some other elegant London affair, her own charms would be eclipsed.

  Georgiana had no doubt in her mind that she would end up marrying some local squire who she met at the assembly rooms. She expected the courtship and subsequent marriage would be dull and comfortable and that was as much as she could hope for. She came from a good family, very respectable except ... she was aware that there was some shadow over her own parent's death.

  Her aunt and uncle never spoke of it and had always become so agitated if she broached the subject that she had never tried. She knew how much she was in their debt for taking on a child that wasn't theirs and would do anything to save them from distress. It would no doubt affect her chances of marrying well and put that with the modest sum that she imagined her uncle might be so generous as to provide for her ... well it was hardly likely to turn the head of the Marques of Beaumont.