Earl of Scandal (London Lords)

by Gillgannon, Mary

  Anthony took a step back, eyes glittering. “Bedlington, you bastard, I’m not going to stand for this. Name your second. I’m calling you out!”

  Christian was aware that the card room had gone completely silent. It seemed the only sound he heard was the rapid thudding of his heart. He wasn’t afraid of Anthony, not by half, but he was very much afraid of what the consequences of engaging in a duel would be. Merissa! his inner voice screamed. What if you lose her over this damnable mess!

  “What do you say, Bedlington,” Lord Tewesbury drawled, “aren’t you going to respond?”

  “Give me a day. I’ll have my second contact you regarding the place and time.” Christian coldly spoke the words, then turned and stalked out of the card room.

  He was furious, but even more, he was heartsick. He could see all his dreams turning to dust. Merissa would be appalled when she heard. Not merely about the duel, but the reason for it. The gossip would be everywhere, that Anthony Averill had called out Lord Bedlington for having an affair with his wife. The story would confirm all of Melissa’s worst fears about him, that he was a dissolute, immoral rakehell and completely beyond redemption.

  He paused in the hallway outside the ballroom. How was he to face her? What would he say? The perfect night he’d planned had become a cruel farce. He could not possibly propose to her now, ask for the promise of her tender trust and then watch it shatter as soon as she heard the ugly rumors.

  He closed his eyes, fighting for control. After a few deep breaths, he felt the familiar mask fall into place again. Christian Faraday didn’t let trifles like a duel or a failed love affair bother him. Fact was, he didn’t care enough to have his heart broken.

  By the time he found Merissa, he was his old self once more. He spoke not a word of apology for his extended absence, but took her hand and led her towards the dance floor. “Come, sweetling,” he coaxed, “let’s waltz some more.”

  Merissa couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but there was something decidedly wrong with Christian. The man she had danced with earlier was not the same person as the gentleman now holding her in his arms. The two personas might share the same manly, handsome body, but they had little else in common. The Christian who brought her to the party was tender, attentive, sincere. This one was careless and cynical.

  He still held her tightly in his arms and whispered loving words in her ear, but something subtle and terribly important had changed. She no longer believed his words, no longer felt that connection, that breathless, helpless passion between them. This man was holding something back, pretending.

  It was baffling. Disconcerting. She had to stop herself from staring at him, from trying to figure out where the man she loved had gone. Something had obviously happened to Christian during the half hour or so they were parted. What was it? Had the beautiful redhead drawn him aside and reminded him how much he cared for her? Had one of his friends pointed out his absurd folly in spending time with a penniless country miss?

  But if either of those things had happened, why hadn’t he immediately taken her home? Why did he bother dancing with her, twirling her endlessly around the room? The only time he paused was to drink champagne. He’d had four glasses already by her count.

  That was another thing. She’d never before seen him drink spirits like this. He’d consumed wine with dinner when they ate together the previous evening, and presumably drank brandy now and then since she’d observed a decanter in the drawing room, but the way he gulped down the champagne tonight alarmed her. He appeared determined to become very inebriated.

  The latest waltz ended, and Merissa caught her breath. “Perhaps we should sit down,” she suggested.

  “But we’ve barely begun,” Christian answered as he led her from the dance floor. “How about some sherry, love? Wouldn’t you like a glass or two?”

  “No, no thank you.” She was growing alarmed by his behavior. Although she hadn’t noticed it as they danced, he now seemed unsteady on his feet, and his blue eyes appeared glazed.

  “Christian.” She took one of his hands in hers. “Perhaps we should go home. It’s getting rather late.”

  “But I promised I would show you a wonderful time, a night you would never forget.” He leaned over and nuzzled her neck.

  “Oh, but you have, you have, you have.” Merissa pulled away, both tantalized and disturbed. Dear heavens, somehow she was going to have to get him home! She very much feared what he would do if he drank any more. “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I’m getting a migraine,” She put her hand on her forehead and furrowed her brow as if in pain.

  “Oh, in that case, by all means, let us go home. There’ll be other parties, won’t there?” There was a bitter tone in his voice that unsettled her even more.

  “I... I hope so, Christian.”

  Somehow they managed to find the butler and retrieve her pelisse. A footman called for the coach and helped them both into it Merissa collapsed in relief against the squabs.

  As the coach pulled away from curb, she stared at the man across from her. He appeared lost in thought, his expression distant. Merissa’s heart twisted inside her. The proposal, the impassioned declaration of love that she’d anticipated would not be forthcoming. They would return to the town house and go to their respective bedchambers. Her night in fairy-tale land was over.

  Her reputation was undoubtedly ruined. Dozens of people had seen Christian kiss her and treat her with scandalous familiarity. In the eyes of the London crowd, she was a fallen woman.

  But she didn’t care about that. She’d never worried what people thought, and she was not about to start with the vapid, shallow assemblage she’d met tonight.

  The only thing she cared about was her own broken heart and the thought that she’d never again be able to trust her instincts. She’d been so sure Christian was in love with her, that no painted strumpet like that coy redhead could make him forget what they shared.

  But she was wrong, obviously.

  Or was she? Christian did not behave like a man who’d come to his senses and decided to discard an inappropriate lover. He was behaving like a man... well, a man who’d lost all will to go on.

  Merissa stared at him, as if somehow that could help her see into his soul. Finally, he seemed to sense her intent regard. He smiled, an expression so weary and hopeless it made her blood run cold. “I’m sorry, Merissa. I know I’m wretched company.”

  “But what’s wrong? You... you don’t seem like yourself.”

  “Oh, but am. I’m exactly myself. Exactly what I’ve been all my life... all my miserable, pathetic life.”

  His self-pitying tone startled her. “It can’t be that bad, Christian. Tell me what’s wrong. Perhaps I can help.”

  “Nothing’s wrong.” He smiled again. “Must be the bloody champagne. It’s supposed to boost a man’s spirits, but it always makes me blue-deviled.”

  Merissa sighed in exasperation. He wasn’t going to tell her. She was going to have to find out what was wrong on her own. Perhaps after they reached the town house, she’d sneak out again, return to the party and question the people she’d seen him talking with.

  But most of them would have left by then. From the striking of the church bells it appeared to be after two o’clock in the morning.

  The coach stopped in front of the town house. Christian helped her out and guided her up the walk. Merissa’s feet hurt and her eyes felt gritty, but she knew she would not sleep.

  She made a great show of saying good night and going up to her bedchamber. Inside the room, she swiftly changed to a practical day dress and her oldest slippers. After taking off her eardrops and the net and flower ornament in her hair, she went to the door, opened it, and listened. With luck, Charles would be home and she could enlist his aid.

  She went a few doors down to the bedroom he was staying in and knocked softly. In seconds, a partially clothed Charles appeared in the doorway. “Merissa, what are you doing here?” He motioned for her to enter and began to button his
shirt. “Don’t tell me,” he said excitedly as he closed the door behind her. “Christian’s proposed and you’ve come to ask my blessing!”

  Merissa shook her head. “No, I’m afraid not.”

  Charles frowned. “Now, see here, he’d better ask soon. I’ve only tolerated his dallying with you because I thought he’d puff it off to the papers any day. Figured if he was going to make you his countess, things would be all right. But if he’s not, well that’s a different matter.” He balled his hands into fists. “I’ve just barely begun to learn, but Gentleman Jackson says I’ve got the stuff to be a prime miller.”

  Merissa rolled her eyes at Charles’ pugnacious stance. That’s all she needed—for her brother to get into a brawl with Christian over her honor!

  “I need your help, Charles,” she said, “but not that kind. I want you to see if Christian’s still awake. If he is, offer to share a brandy with him, try to get him to talk. Something’s wrong, and I need to know what it is.”

  “Wrong? How do you mean?”

  Merissa paced impatiently. “I can’t put my finger on it, but I... a woman can sense these things, especially about a man she cares for. Something happened at Lady Wentfield’s. He’s acted strangely ever since. I’ve tried to get it out of him, but he won’t talk to me. I thought, with you being a man and all, he might let down his guard with you.”

  Charles shrugged. “I’d be happy to try.”

  Merissa nodded. “He’s pretty well foxed, as far as can tell. Maybe that will loosen his tongue.” Charles tucked in his shirt, and then regarded his reflection in the glass. “Do I need to put on a jacket? Or will I do like this?”

  “Just go,” Merissa said. “I’ll be right behind you. I’m going to wait by the door and listen.”

  “You mean you’re going to eavesdrop?”

  Merissa gave a sigh of exasperation. “He may let slip a clue that you won’t recognize. This is important, Charles. I have a feeling that more than simply my happiness depends upon it.”

  Fifteen

  “Well, if it isn’t the young cub,” Christian said derisively as Charles poked his head into the drawing room. “Come in, come in. I’ve an exciting contribution to make to your London education. You might as well learn how it’s done, Charles, how the mighty fall to their doom.”

  “Sir?” The youth regarded him with a puzzled expression.

  “Have a drink.” Christian motioned to the brandy decanter. “I’ve already had several.”

  Charles poured himself a brandy and then took a seat across from Christian.

  Christian held out his half-empty glass to clink with the other man’s. “Cheers. Bottoms up.”

  “What are we drinking to, sir?”

  “Drinking to?” Christian felt the bitterness pour out. “To my demise, Charles. Or perhaps simply my banishment from polite society. Either way, I’m done up. Completely done up.”

  “You, sir? But I thought you were rich as Croesus.”

  “Not that sort of ‘done up.’ Give me credit for going out in style at least!”

  “I don’t understand, sir.”

  “Damn it! Stop calling me ‘sir’!”

  Charles flinched as if he had been struck and Christian felt an uncomfortable stirring of guilt. He’d become a sort of role model for the boy. A paragon of all it meant to be a well-bred sophisticated gentleman. It was going to break Charles’ heart to see the ugly side of his idol’s world.

  Christian rose restlessly. His stomach lurched with the movement. Good thing he hadn’t scheduled the duel for the next morning. He’d be too foxed to stand up, let alone shoot. On the other hand, since he had no intention of quitting drinking anytime soon, he supposed he would be in even worse shape by the time of his assignation the day after.

  “I’m going to need a second, Charles. A pity you’re too young for the role. Besides, I don’t think Merissa would thank me for getting you involved with this sort of thing.”

  “A second, sir? Why would you need a second? Unless...” Charles’s eyes widened. “A duel! You’re going to fight a duel!”

  “Delightful, isn’t it? Pistols for two. Breakfast for one.”

  “Well, I...” Charles suddenly looked crestfallen. “Merissa won’t like it. Not at all. She despises that sort of thing. Said she thought boxing was a foolish waste of time. Told me she had a mind to wring your neck for encouraging me.”

  “Sensible girl, Merissa.” Although he tried to fight it, there was a terrible ache in Christian’s throat as he said her name. He approached Charles and laid a hand on his arm. “Give you a bit of advice, cub. Women really are smarter than men, altogether much more reasonable and sound-witted. No women would ever commit the idiocy of standing in a field trying to shoot another woman over a matter of pride. Females are smarter than that, Charles. They don’t die for such stupid reasons.”

  “Stupid? You really think it’s stupid? Then, why are you doing it?”

  “Have to. Code of honor and all that.”

  “I know you’ll hit the other fellow first,” Charles said confidently.

  “What makes you think that?”

  Charles shrugged. “Figure you’re a crack shot with the pistol same way you’re a prime bruiser with your fists and a sure hand with the ribbons.”

  “Doesn’t matter.” Christian set down his brandy glass. “I’m not going to fire first.”

  Charles came up out of his chair. “Why the devil not?”

  “Because I’m the party who’s in the wrong.” Because I’d rather die than face Merissa’s disappointment in me.

  Charles digested this for a moment, and then asked. “What did you do, your Lordship, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  “Took another man’s wife to bed.”

  The cub’s eyes grew huge. “But...”

  “Oh, it was mistake. She wore a mask. I was foxed to the eyeballs. I had no idea what I’d done until the next morning. Doesn’t change a thing, of course, but it certainly wasn’t intentional.” Damn right, it wasn’t. As far as he could tell, Honoria had deliberately seduced him, then thought better of it when she was caught. But the man was always to blame in these matters. Christian sighed. “This all happened weeks ago. I’d truly thought the matter had blown over.”

  “What if you went to the man and explained that it is was a mistake?”

  Christian shook his head. “Don’t you think I tried that? Averill’s a stiff-necked, pompous sort. Determined to have his satisfaction at any cost.” But why? Why was Anthony willing to risk his life over his wife’s indiscretions? He’d never acted the fool before.

  Doubts nagged at Christian’s throbbing brain. Something wasn’t right about the whole incident but he couldn’t put his finger on what. He was too inebriated, too weary, and too miserable over losing Merissa. He’d been so close to knowing happiness, so very close. Then, his wicked past had caught up with him. He’d been wrong. A man his age couldn’t change. He was what he was. Once a wastrel, always a wastrel.

  Well, he might as well go down true to his reputation. It would make a scintillating headline in The Post: Earl Shot By Jealous Husband. He’d probably end up a hero. His memory idolized by giggling misses who would find his demise romantic, and foolish cubs like Charles who’d see his futile death in a noble light.

  Damn! That was the last thing he wanted, to lead other unsuspecting youths down the path to ruin!

  He turned to glare at Charles. The young man’s face wouldn’t seem to focus. “Now, see here, Charles. I meant what I said. This is a stupid thing. A futile waste. Try to learn from my mistakes, not emulate them. Dueling is an absurd waste of time.”

  Charles nodded. Christian sighed. He was not at all certain he sounded convincing.

  ~ ~ ~

  Merissa stood outside the drawing room door, her mind reeling. Christian was going to fight a duel. It was possible he might be killed. Indeed, from the gloomy, fatalistic way he spoke of the confrontation, it seemed very likely he would be.

&nbs
p; The idea made Merissa furious. How dare Christian accept such an ignoble fate. Who cared about his wretched notions of honor! He had too much to live for!

  She thought of bursting into the room and telling him that, giving him a tongue-lashing that he would not soon forget. But she knew Christian, knew how stubborn he was. Very likely he would put her off and pretend to agree, then go ahead with the duel anyway.

  She had to stop him somehow. She had to.

  Stepping back from the doorway, she frowned in concentration. It took two for a duel to take place. If she couldn’t convince Christian to forego his hen-witted plan, perhaps she could influence the other party. Anthony Averill—that was the name of the man he intended to meet. But how would she find him? And how would she make him listen to her?

  What about the woman? Surely she cared something for Christian. She’d gone to bed with him, after all.

  The very idea made Melissa’s vision blur with jealousy. But Christian had said it was a few weeks ago, before he came to Derbyshire. She couldn’t really take him to task for what he’d done before he met her.

  Yes, the woman. She was the one she must persuade. If she could convince Mrs. Averill to intervene between the two men, it might be possible to prevent the duel from taking place.

  Merissa turned and started for the stairs. She waited in her room for Charles. He came up a short while later, shaking his head. “It’s a damned shame,” he said. “But you have to admire his bravery. Even if it was the only decent thing to do, I’m not sure could face the prospect of death so calmly.”

  Merissa shook her head. “Don’t be a bacon brain. Christian’s not going to die. I don’t intend to allow this duel to take place.”

  “How do you mean to stop it?”

  “You’ll see,” Merissa said. “I have a plan.”

  Merissa woke early with an awful anxiety hovering over her. Christian! She sat up in bed, her heart pounding. It was up to her. Christian had saved her brother. Now it was her turn to help him.

  She rang for the maid. Yvette dressed her in a green-striped muslin day dress and arranged her hair. Merissa cast one glance in the glass and sighed. At least she looked respectable. Perhaps Mrs. Averill would listen to her.