Scandal at the Midsummer Ball

by Marguerite Kaye

  Kael’s particular quarry slipped from the ballroom on to the terrace, cheeks flushed from the heat and maybe more. She’d been restless all night. He’d watched her at dinner; her eyes too bright, her laughter too forced. No one else would notice, it would be beyond their imagination to conceive of someone not wanting to be here. But it was not beyond his, especially now that he knew who she was. Miss Zara Titus. He’d asked around, discreetly of course. Haymore’s intended, or should he say ‘unintended’? Rumour had it, the split was mutual. But Kael had his doubts. What was politically correct was often not exactly the truth, but a polite rendering of it. The chit was beautiful, captivatingly so with intelligent hazel eyes, piles of satin-shiny coffee-coloured hair and a body that did a dressmaker proud. He’d seen her in two gowns now, each one showing her to be more stunning than the last. Haymore must have been out of his mind to let her go. Then again, he’d heard rumours about Haymore too. It wasn’t beyond the realm of possibility.

  Kael counted to five and began to make his way towards the doors, sidling out into the cool night. He found her easily in a far corner of the veranda, the silver of her gown giving her away in the moonlight although her posture clearly indicated she wanted to be alone. Ah, defiant and restless. A potent combination and one he understood. He’d been defiant and restless since he was twenty and Miss Ella Davison had informed him she was far above his reach no matter how much she liked his kisses. It had only become worse in the intervening decade.

  He leaned against the stone balustrade overlooking the gardens and gave her an assessing smile, letting his eyes hold hers with a brazenness that would have sent a shy miss like Ariana Falk running for the shelter of the ballroom. ‘So, you’re Miss Zara Titus, the jilt.’

  Her green eyes narrowed but held. Her response was even and neutral, but he noticed her gloved hands tightened almost imperceptibly on the balustrade. She didn’t like the term. ‘What a terrible thing to say.’

  ‘What an honest thing to say,’ Kael drawled. ‘It’s true, after all, isn’t it? You jilted Haymore. Why shouldn’t we speak plainly? The name’s Gage, by the way. Kael Gage.’

  She straightened, her eyes firing delightful little sparks of emerald flame. ‘You assume I want to know.’

  He chuckled. ‘Oh, you do.’ He flicked his gaze to the fan dangling from her wrist. ‘You all but invited me out here.’ He reached for her hand, drawing circles on her palm through the fabric of her glove as he gave her a smouldering glance through lowered eyelids. ‘I know what you want, Zara.’ He lowered his voice. ‘We were made to fly. Why do you think our “esteemed” host invited the acrobats? To set the mood rather blatantly, to stir our senses, to challenge our grasp of the possibilities that await us.’ He brought her palm against his cheek and placed a kiss at its centre, feeling her pulse catch in her wrist. ‘You want to fly. You were made to fly.’

  ‘With you?’ Her tone was aloof. Her body was not. There was interest in her eyes as she took him in and that interest betrayed the direction of her thoughts.

  ‘Absolutely with me, with a man who knows what you need.’ Kael raised his eyes to hers, his meaning naked in his gaze. She was already wondering what he might show her. Zara Titus had spirit.

  ‘What is it that you think I need?’ She angled her head coyly, the streamers of light from the ballroom catching the tiny diamonds at her ears, a subtle reminder that she was indeed a woman far above him in station.

  ‘To be kissed and perhaps more.’

  ‘By a man I hardly know?’ She made no move to pull her hand away, making it clear she was not challenging him, but daring him. Her body had inched slightly closer to his, her lips had parted and, by Jove, he was tempted to take that invitation, to prove himself. The night was quiet about them except for the crickets in the bushes. It was easy to forget there was a ballroom of people a few yards away. Their privacy was an illusion. He’d do well to remember that. If they were seen...well, it was far too early in the game to risk such a thing.

  ‘Don’t you think it’s better that way?’ Kael prompted, fuelling the flames of her defiance. ‘No expectations beyond the here and now, no plans beyond the week.’ He gave her a half-smile and released her hand, stepping away. It was always best to leave them wanting more and he was confident the seed was planted. He’d issued his invitation. It was up to her to accept it, to decide what she wanted to do with it. He gave her a last bit of encouragement. ‘To fly is your destiny, Zara. A woman such as you can hardly seek to escape it. You’ll see. Resistance is futile.’

  * * *

  What was he doing, seducing an innocent under the duke’s matchmaking nose? Kael tossed back a healthy dose of Brockmore’s excellent and expensive brandy conveniently left in decanters in the gentlemen’s chambers. This was the height of madness and he ought to know. He’d been party to plenty of madness in his day. It was insanity enough to seduce Zara Titus; a virgin, a daughter of a peer, and a wealthy heiress. To do it at a party specifically designed to create marriages was a whole other level of crazy. This party would usually be off limits to him. This was rarefied air he was breathing to move in such elevated circles. He was a lowly horse breeder. These guests were the richest, the most powerful people in England. The girl was off limits too. She was the sort of woman who would claim everything a man had, body and soul, the sort of woman a man couldn’t afford to fail. He’d already failed one important woman in his life. The precedent was set. He couldn’t possibly make a woman like Zara Titus happy in the long run. It wasn’t in his scope of capabilities.

  He poured another glass and swallowed it down. And yet, even knowing better than to pursue her, he couldn’t resist the allure of her confidence, of her beauty. He couldn’t resist the temptation of waking her to passion’s joys. The curiosity behind her innocence drew him, appealed to him, even as the consequences for what he was about to do terrified him. But only, his wicked conscience reminded him, if he was caught.

  Chapter Three

  Sunday June 15th

  Brockmore Manor House Party

  Programme of Events

  A Tour of the Gardens for the Ladies

  Al Fresco Luncheon at the Lake Summerhouse

  Boating to Follow

  Cards and Conversation

  ‘Miss Titus, I believe this basket is ours.’ Richard Downing politely, decorously—compared to the other excited shouts around them as baskets were discovered—held up the picnic hamper bearing their names from the long table set up inside the summerhouse on the lake.

  Zara managed a tight smile. It wasn’t his fault. Richard Downing could not possibly know the amount of panic those seven simple words engendered. It appeared her mother’s instincts were right, or had her mother known all along? She was intended for Richard Downing, the new Lord Markham, or Jeremy Giltner and his parliamentary ambitions. She’d been seated between them at dinner last night and now Markham was being given a chance to stake his claim.

  What about her claim? It wasn’t that she hated Markham. What she hated was that no one had consulted her. It had been assumed she’d be thrilled with the match—either of them—as if husbands and wives were interchangeable parts; anyone would do as long as they had enough money and rank. Shouldn’t marriage be more than that? Shouldn’t she be more than that?

  The tender shoots of rebellion she’d nurtured for weeks began to put down roots. If she meant to rebel, she had to do it soon or it would be too late. She would end up married to Markham and leading the life her mother had planned for her since birth—a safe life, a secure life, lived under the gaze of the ton.

  Resistance is futile. Zara heard Kael Gage’s mocking laughter in her mind, as she took Lord Markham’s arm. She did indeed feel that way. Things were happening too fast. It was only the first full day of the party, but already it was clear the duke had matches in mind for his guests, herself included. Today’s picnic was an
opportunity to try out those matches and see how they suited.

  She and Markham wound their way through the throng of guests crowded about the table, all eager to find their baskets, and perhaps eager too to see what destinies the baskets held. Futures could be made or lost at this meal. Yours too, her conscience gave her one final push. Her decision was made. Rebellion had to start now. It wasn’t fair to Markham to lead him on, to create the impression she wanted to be his marchioness. Really, when she thought about it, she was doing him an enormous favour. Any other girl at the party would consider him quite a catch. She just wasn’t looking for a ‘catch’.

  Outside the summerhouse, small white canopies filled with picnic blankets to accommodate two or three couples dotted the shoreline, making for a very festive appearance that matched the spirits of the guests. There were bursts of surprised laughter and exclamations as people grouped up to claim spaces. Zara surreptitiously looked about for Kael Gage, wondering who would be sharing his basket and feeling an irrational twinge of jealousy. Would it mean anything? Surely, after last night’s conversation with her, he wasn’t here for a bride.

  A pretty brunette waved in their direction and Markham acknowledged her with a nod. ‘Perhaps we might join my sister and Jeremy Giltner, Miss Titus? Unless there are others you’d like to sit with?’ Markham added, picking up on her distraction. Unfortunately, she had not been as surreptitious as she thought. But Markham was too much the gentleman to mention her inattention. She should not be looking for Mr Gage. He was wicked and he would tempt her to wickedness too if she allowed it. Should she allow it? It would certainly be one way to rebel and wasn’t that the point? Her rebellion wouldn’t get very far if she didn’t start thinking beyond the rules.

  ‘Sitting with your sister would be fine.’ Zara favoured Markham with another smile to make up for her lapse. A lady never gave a gentleman the impression she’d rather be somewhere else, or with someone else. Just because she was rebelling didn’t mean she had to be rude. She had a plan, after all. She would be polite, but not encouraging.

  They had no sooner settled themselves under a canopy with a rather unusually rigid Jeremy and a quiet Catherine when a voice booming with bonhomie intruded. ‘Giltner! Old man, there you are. Might we join you?’

  Jeremy rose and beamed, looking relieved at his good fortune. Apparently the notion of eating alone with two potential brides and one of their older, titled brothers, had sapped some of his typical savoir faire. But one man’s saviour is often another’s devil. Kael Gage ducked beneath the canopy and helped a blushing Ariana Falk find a space on a blanket as a blush of her own began to haunt Zara’s cheeks. Just because she’d been looking for him didn’t mean she wanted to sit with him. Gage could have sat anywhere. How dare he come over here after the way he’d importuned her on the veranda last night!

  How was she supposed to sit through lunch giving Lord Markham a polite cold shoulder while Kael Gage sat across from her, his eyes conjuring hot reminders of his mouth on her palm, his words vivid and provocative in her mind? But there was no way out now. Baskets were being unpacked, conversations begun, introductions made and her mother was sitting one tent away with other matrons at tables, keeping a discreet but close eye on the proceedings. The viscountess was pleased over Markham’s attention.

  Lunch was delicious—cold chicken sandwiches, wheels of cheese and apples, with chilled lemonade for the ladies and ale for the men, the perfect summer menu for a warm afternoon. Conversation flowed easily between the six of them, moving from Jeremy Giltner’s politics to Markham’s estates, the men politely, discreetly, auditioning themselves. Except for Gage. He contributed to the conversation, but made no effort to put himself on display. Then again, he didn’t have to.

  It was rather hard to concentrate on civil conversation when there was Kael Gage to look at. Today, he wore tall boots and tan riding breeches, a full-sleeved white shirt with stock under a patterned waistcoat the colour of summer grass. He was dressed much like the other men and like the other men, he’d discarded his coat out of deference for the weather. So what set him apart? What kept her eye wandering in his direction? Maybe it was the broad shoulders, unleashed from the confines of a coat, the long legs shown to muscled perfection in well-fitted breeches. Or maybe it was the hair, gathered once more into a dark fall, pulled back from his face to reveal those eyes with their secret laughter, as if he found them all amusing and showed it the way she wished to but didn’t dare.

  ‘Miss Titus? Do you have a question?’ Kael leaned forward, a wry grin on his face, suggesting he knew she was staring even if the others didn’t.

  She hated being caught out, but she would make him pay a little for his poor manners. ‘I was wondering, Mr Gage, where do your interests lie? Are they in politics with Mr Giltner or with your estates like Lord Markham?’

  ‘Only two choices, Miss Titus?’ He speared her with a hard gaze. He understood what she had done. It hadn’t been particularly nice of her. If it had been anyone else, she would have felt guilty. ‘If so, I would choose neither estates nor politics. I prefer investments.’

  ‘You’re in luck then, Farthingale has a prime opportunity cooked up and word has it, he’s here looking for investors.’ Jeremy Giltner contributed excitedly. ‘I was thinking of buying in myself.’ Jeremy shot a look at the tent where Farthingale sat with the duke and duchess, turned out in eccentric splendour. ‘The man can’t dress, but he’s got a Midas touch when it comes to money.’ He cleared his throat. ‘But enough about business. I am told there are to be berry parfaits for dessert in the summerhouse. Miss Downing, would you like to accompany me?’

  Ariana Falk looked wistfully at the summerhouse, implying she’d welcome an invitation to dessert too, but Gage made no move. Lord Markham shot Kael a questioning glance in an attempt to prompt him into action. None was forthcoming. Finally, Markham got to his feet. ‘Miss Titus, Miss Falk, perhaps you would like to come with me for parfaits?’

  ‘Or perhaps, Miss Titus,’ Gage drawled, his eyes on her, ‘I could persuade you to take a turn around the lake with me? I know I’m too full to eat another bite without some exercise.’ He was daring her with his gaze. She ought to say no. The old Zara would. She caught herself. Think beyond the rules. She’d not come to this party intent on doing what she ought, but what she wanted. Her mother would have a fit. That decided it.

  Zara got to her feet and shook out her skirts. She was going to do it—she was going to go walk about the lake with a man the duke and her mother didn’t want her to meet. Still, this had to be managed with more finesse than Kael had managed his request or people would talk. ‘If it is acceptable to Lord Markham, I should enjoy the exercise.’ Markham seemed to hesitate, torn between honouring his invitation to Miss Falk and leaving her with Kael Gage, who might be suitable company for other men but was perhaps questionable company for the Miss Tituses of the world. ‘Please, you and Miss Falk go on,’ Zara urged. ‘I wouldn’t think of denying either of you the treat on my account.’

  ‘Neatly done, Miss Titus.’ Gage spoke quietly from behind her as Markham and Ariana moved out of earshot, his nearness surprising her. She hadn’t heard him rise. ‘You’ve dispatched the last of them so now we can be alone.’

  ‘How dare you put me in that position!’ Zara hissed.

  ‘What position would that be?’ His hands closed over her arms where the puff of her sleeves ended and her skin was bare, his voice low at her ear. ‘Missionary? Woman on top? Stallion to mare? Do you have any idea what I’m talking about?’

  ‘There’s no way a lady can possibly answer that, Mr Gage, without impugning herself one way or another.’ His hands on her were giving her delicious shivers even in the heat.

  ‘Touché, Miss Titus. I see your tongue is a sharp weapon. Perhaps I might teach you some other, more pleasant uses for it besides cutting a man down to size.’ His hand dropped to the small of her back. ‘Shall
we? The lake awaits.’

  The exercise Gage referred to turned out not to be a walk, but a boat. Several other guests had availed themselves of the rowboats and the lake was full of merrymakers as gentlemen showed off their talents with the oars, yet another opportunity to audition themselves as potential mates. ‘It’s to be Markham for you, then?’ Gage asked as he manoeuvred their boat through the busy traffic of the lake. He was quite good with the oars, his skill evidencing the muscles of his arms. Too bad he couldn’t row with his shirt rolled up, or even off, came the forbidden thought. It was not the thought of a well-bred young lady. But maybe it should be. Perhaps the duke should consider that in his auditioning process. Estates and finances were only part of what made a good match and arguably not the most important parts. A girl didn’t have to go bed with those.

  ‘It’s to be no one for me,’ Zara responded sharply. ‘Coming here was my mother’s idea, not mine. I have no desire to throw myself into a hasty marriage just to prove I have one up on Haymore.’ It felt incredibly cleansing to say the words out loud.

  Gage chuckled. ‘You’d better tell Markham that. I think he missed the polite hints at lunch.’ He turned their boat, veering towards the little island in the centre of the lake. ‘It won’t work, you know, your little plan to encourage but not encourage. Markham is too much the gentleman. He’ll think your coolness is part of your virtue.’ She’d come to that conclusion over lunch, but that didn’t mean she liked Kael Gage throwing it in her face.

  Gage laughed. ‘Rebellion is harder than you thought, isn’t it? It has to be an outright declaration of independence and that makes it risky. There’s no going back once it is done.’