“I am sorry, Emma, but I still do not understand what all of this has to do with Dorothea.”
“She has fallen in love with him!” Emma declared.
“And now she has gone to him. In the middle of the night. As we speak, they could be preparing to run off to Gretna Green together!”
Gwendolyn hung her head to hide her smile, wanting to spare Emma’s feelings. At times such as this, it was important to remember that Emma was only fifteen and despite her intelligence and maturity was still given to bouts of girlish imagination and dramatics. A steady diet of romantic and suspenseful stories by Miner va Press only fed into that imagination. Running off to Gretna Green. What a truly ridiculous notion. Gwendolyn’s smile widened.
“Why would you ever think Dorothea was eloping with the viscount?”
“She left a note.”
The smile disappeared from Gwendolyn’s face. It was then that she noticed Emma clutching a scrap of paper in her hand. She snatched it away from her sister.
“Hold the candle higher so I can read it.”
My Dearest Sisters,
When you awake, you will find me gone. Do not worry, I have gone to Moorehead Manor to be with my one true love. Please, at all costs, you must wait until morning to follow me there and make certain that you bring Aunt Mildred and Uncle Fletcher when you come. Again I say, do not worry. I do this willingly and with a joyful heart.
Dorothea
“Now do you believe me?” Emma asked.
“Yes,” Gwendolyn whispered. She stared down at the parchment she held in her hands and noticed they were trembling. Gracious Lord what a bloody mess!
Emma might naively believe this to be a hasty elope-ment, but Gwendolyn knew it for what it was—entrap-ment! If by some miracle the viscount and Dorothea had instantly fallen in love, there would be no need to hide it. More than likely, Dorothea was instead plotting to force the viscount into a situation that would demand he make her an offer of marriage.
It was no secret that Dorothea had long despaired over finding a husband wealthy enough to take her away from this countr y life she found too restrictive and boring. Dorothea was a beautiful girl, spirted and fun, and at age twenty should have had her pick of suitors.
But the number of men that called upon her sister was small, and Gwendolyn felt a deep sense of guilt, knowing she was the reason. The scandal that had made, and kept, her an outcast from this closed society four years ago had also tainted her sisters. Loyal and protective, they had defended her actions and her character and had suffered for their support.
Yet that scandal would pale in significance beside this latest escapade of Dorothea’s. If Gwendolyn could not successfully rescue her before morning, Dorothea’s reputation would be torn to shreds and life would become unbearable for them all.
“Help me dress,” Gwendolyn instructed as she leapt out of bed. “I need my grey muslin gown, walking boots and dark blue cloak.”
“I want to come too.”
“No!” Gwendolyn whirled around. She grasped her sister’s hand and gave it a quick squeeze. “I need you to stay here, Emma, in case Aunt or Uncle wake up.”
Emma’s chin jutted out mutinously. Worried, Gwendolyn added, “Please, no arguments and no following me after I have gone. Promise?”
Emma seemed to think it over, but she clearly knew she had no choice. “I do not want to, but if you insist, then I will stay behind. But you must tell me everything.”
Gwendolyn mumbled what she hoped Emma would believe to be a positive response. Then she wretched her night rail off and began to dress. With Emma’s help, she was soon ready. After repeating her warning to her sister to stay behind, Gwendolyn quietly slipped out the side entrance of her aunt and uncle’s house.
It would be faster on horseback, yet impossible to saddle a horse by herself and then hide it once she reached the viscount’s estate. Gwendolyn thought briefly of asking for Emma’s help, then discarded the idea. She would have to walk.
Moorehead Manor lay two miles to the east. Gwendolyn set out on a route she was familiar with, through the open fields. There was little chance of encountering anyone at this time of night, but she stayed near the border of trees edging the fields, just in case.
The night smelled different from the day. It had rained briefly at sundown and the air was thick with the smell of mossy trees and damp earth. The low, mournful call of an owl sounded, repeating in a series of short bursts.
Her heart skipped and Gwendolyn was relieved to realize the night rustling was one she recognized. Moonlight guided her way as she walked swiftly, praying she would arrive in time to prevent a real tragedy.
She let out a soft cry of relief when the manor house at last came into view. Bathed in the glow of moonlight, it stood tall and proud, dominating the grounds around it. The windows were dark and shadowed and all was quiet. The household was sleeping.
She quickened her pace as she crossed a wide expanse of manicured lawn. Gwendolyn’s boots made a loud crunching sound as they tread along the gravel path through the south gardens. She safely reached the back of the house, then paused, staring at the French doors, bemused. What now? How could she possibly reach Dorothea without awakening the entire household?
Perhaps Mr. Ardley could help? Gwendolyn gnawed her lower lip as she considered the possibility. She had visited Moorehead Manor on several occasions, thanks to her Uncle Fletcher’s friendship with Mr. Ardley, the estate steward. She did not know him well, but felt kindly toward him, since Mr. Ardley was one of the few gentlemen in town who did not cast a frown of disapproval her way whenever they happened to meet.
She believed he could be trusted, but was fearful to test the theory. If her assumptions were correct, this would prove to be a most indelicate matter. The less that others were involved, the better. It was safer to somehow solve this problem on her own.
It was at times such as this when she missed her parents most. Their gentle guidance, loving support, and optimistic belief that any wrong could be put right would have been a real asset at this difficult moment. Though truthfully, if they had been alive, this situation would not have even occurred. Their deaths a few months apart eight years ago had left all three sisters unsettled and fearful. Uncle Fletcher and Aunt Mildred had done their best, but it was not the same.
Gwendolyn shoved the memories of her beloved parents and happier times out of her mind. It did her no good to remember the long-gone past. Her problem existed very much in the present and if she did not find a satisfactory solution soon, it would escalate to unbearable levels.
Gwendolyn stood at the back terrace, her hands on her hips, pondering her next move. She had a vague knowledge of the layout of the manor house. If Dorothea was already in the viscount’s bedchamber Gwendolyn felt confident she could locate it. But how would she possibly gain entry to the house and keep her presence a secret from the staff? Break a window?
Gwendolyn shut her eyes tight and tried to remember if the estate dogs slept in the house or in the stables.
They were placid, friendly animals when one met them in the light of day, eager for a pat on the head or a scratch behind the ears. Yet she was fairly certain she would receive a far different greeting if the dogs heard her break a window and suspected she was an intruder.
Unfortunately, there was only one way to find out. She searched among the flower beds for a large rock. Brushing off the dirt, Gwendolyn held the stone in her right hand and planted her feet, poised to hurl it at the window. She drew her arm forward, then back, practic-ing the motion several times, took a deep breath and . . . nothing.
Darn! Frustrated at her lack of nerve, Gwendolyn an-grily dropped the stone, stalked up the terraced steps and reached for the handle of the French door. To her utter amazement it opened quietly and without any resistance.
With a pounding heart and a small smile of satisfaction, Gwendolyn silently entered the house. It was the middle of the night and Moorehead Manor was as quiet as a tomb. Hoping against hope
, she made a hurried dash around the formal rooms on the first and second floors, disappointed, yet not surprised to find them empty.
Letting out a deep sigh, Gwendolyn crept up the main staircase to the next floor, then down the long corridor of the east wing, thankful the tall window at the end of the hall allowed in so much bright moonlight. She was thankful also that she had always been able to see well in the dark.
Gwendolyn paused as she reached the first chamber door. She had no idea which bedchamber belonged to the viscount, but since there were no other guests in residence, the other rooms should be unoccupied. Approaching the problem in her usual, thorough manner, Gwendolyn started at one end of the hall and began quietly opening each of the doors, knowing eventually she would locate what she sought.
As she finished one side, she turned and started on the opposite side, wondering how many wings of the manor held bedchambers. But her diligence was at last rewarded when she opened the next door. It was obvious the moment she stepped inside that there was something different about this chamber.
Inside there was an intangible feeling of life, a vibrant air of breath and bodies. Gwendolyn allowed a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness before taking another step farther into the room.
A shaft of moonlight slashed through the room, cutting across the bed. Gwendolyn could discern two distinct shapes among the bed linens and then, to her horror, noticed a bit of movement beneath the covers.
Gwendolyn stared at the image and a rush of intense warmth came over her, but she had come too far to lose her courage before the final confrontation.
She had only a split second to consider the appalling consequences if this was not the viscount’s room, or if one of the occupants in the bed was not her sister.
Gwendolyn cleared her throat.
“Psst, Dorothea. Dorothea.” She heard the breathless-ness in her own voice and tried to cover it by lowering the pitch of her tone. “Dorothea, I have come to bring you home. Get out of the bed. Hurry, before any of the household awakens.”
As dreams went, it was a fairly erotic one. Someone was stroking his hair, with a light even touch that made Jason relax even as his body began to tighten with a stirring of desire. Next, the kisses began; sweet, tender, plump lips pressing quick kisses to his cheeks, his forehead, and then finally his lips. Still drifting in a dream-like state, Jason moved closer to his phantom lover, breathed in the scent of lemon soap and felt his lower body come alive.
He reached out instinctively, cradling the warm, fem-inine softness. He could feel the smoothness of this lovely apparition’s skin under the thin gown she wore, but it wasn’t enough. The contact, though part of a luscious dream, sparked something deep and primal within him. He wanted more, he needed more.
His last love affair had ended months ago and there had been no dalliances since that time. He knew now that he had been too long without the physical company of a woman, especially if his body’s needs were torturing him as he slept. Tilting his head, Jason swept his tongue across his partner’s lower lip. She gasped, and when she parted her lips, he plunged inside, stroking, exploring, needing.
The glorious fantasy continued. He deepened the kiss and tugged on the soft fabric of her night rail, pulling it higher and higher until it bunched in his fist. With his other hand, he stroked the bare skin of her upper thigh and hips, then slid his fingers up her back. She shivered and wrapped her arms around him.
Fearing he would wake up too soon, he anxiously ground himself against her, rubbing his arousal against her sweet belly. She gasped, flexed into him, then moaned softly.
A buzzing noise invaded his conscience, an annoyance that distracted him from his pleasure. Jason frowned in his sleep and tried to ignore it, but the noise persisted.
Dorothea. Dorothea. What? Someone was calling for Dorothea. Who the hell was she? The dream lost its edge of delight, turning quickly into a nuisance. An irate husband barging in just when things were starting to get interesting was hardly the stuff of an erotic dream. It was more like a nightmare.
“Dorothea! Dorothea!”
Mentally grinding his teeth, Jason tried one final time to recapture the fantasy, but it was lost. The disappointment of the moment faded sharply in the next few un-counted minutes as he realized two things simultaneously.
This was most definitely not a dream or a nightmare and he was not alone in his bedchamber. His eyes slowly opened.
“Merciful heavens, is that you, Gwendolyn?”
The lovely female who lay beside him in bed spoke, her voice a hissing whisper.
“Were you expecting someone else?” came the dry reply from the shadowy figure standing near the doorway.
“You know very well that I was. Didn’t you read my note?”
“How else would I have known where to find you?” The shadow sighed. “You have made a colossal blunder, Dorothea, but there is no time to explain. You must come with me at once. Hurry, before the viscount awakens.”
Though he tried, Jason could not let pass this golden opportunity to insert himself into this most bizarre drama. “Too late, ladies. The viscount is already awake.”
His voice echoed through the room, a deep booming baritone. The woman in his bed shrieked.
“Quiet!” He and the shadow commanded at the same time.
Eyes narrowing, Jason stared sightlessly ahead into the darkness, wishing the shadow would move closer to the shaft of moonlight in the center of the room so he could see her, could distinguish her features.
The silence that followed was so strange it could not even be labeled awkward. Jason was a sophisticated man, with jaded tastes, who had experienced many surreal events in his lifetime, especially when women were involved. Hiding in wardrobes, leaping off balconies, even once dressing as a serving wench to avoid being caught by his lover’s husband. But this moment entered an entirely new realm.
“I know there is some sort of explanation for all of this,” he began in a calm tone of voice. “And I confess to being very interested in hearing it.”
“I have been compromised, my lord.” The woman in his bed started to tremble. “And I expect that as a gentleman, as an honorable gentleman, you will set things to right.”
Bloody hell! Entrapment! Ever since he was a young man, many had tried, and failed, to wring a proposal from his lips. He was an old hand at avoiding the marriage trap, an expert many would say. It took a moment for Jason to realize he was not breathing. Were all the years of chas-ing women, having brief, torrid affairs and successfully avoiding anything that even hinted at a relationship going to end now?
The shadow shifted and he thought he saw her shake her head. “He is married. Do you understand, Dorothea?
Lord Fairhurst already has a wife.”
His bed partner made a strange choking sound and even in the dimness of the moonlight he could see her face drain of all color. “Is that true?”
He sensed the eyes of both women upon him. “There is indeed a Lady Fairhurst.”
Though a rake and rogue and a mostly unscrupulous fellow, Jason had never been much of a liar. He avoided the entire truth when it suited his advantage, omitting details that were not specifically asked. But this was the truth. There was a Lady Fairhurst. His brother had married a few months ago and only recently undertook a second wedding ceremony so his bride’s family could bear witness to the union.
Jason, who had supposedly compromised this innocent female, was unmarried, but that was not the query.
His breathing slowly took on a normal rhythm as he realized he was safe. There would be no outraged father insisting he must save his daughter’s reputation by marrying her, because these women believed he was Jasper.
“He is married!” The female at his side let out a withering cry and pressed the back of her hand to her forehead.
“Steady, Dorothea,” the intruder commanded. “You will make even more of a muck of things if you faint.”
The lithe creature in his bed shifted away from him and p
ushed herself into a sitting position. Her face briefly fell into the shaft of moonlight and Jason sucked in his breath. It was the blond beauty from this afternoon’s tea, the woman who reminded him so much of Elizabeth.
“I shall not faint, Gwendolyn,” the blond said, tossing her glorious hair over her shoulder. “I promise.”
“Nor scream?”
“Nor scream.”
A rustle of sheets told him she had successfully slid out of the bed. Her footsteps made no noise on the carpet as she ran to the woman. The shadow she called Gwendolyn.
Jason’s eyes strained in the darkness, trying to see what they were doing. He heard a clanking noise and supposed the blond was putting on her shoes. And then what? Would they quit the room, leave the manor house and melt into the night?
“We are going, my lord.”
He coughed in shock.
“Was there something you wished to say?” the shadow demanded.
Jason blinked at her. There were few females who managed to catch him by surprise, but this pair had done an admirable job.
“I have nothing to say, madame,” he answered in a priggish tone. “Frankly, I am struck dumb by the bizarre events of this night.”
The shadow huffed. “Then I suppose I must wait for your wits to return, my lord,” she replied in a sharp tone.
“Though I fear that will take more time than we have at present. Come along, Dorothea.”
“Wait!” Jason reached over and fumbled for the flint he knew was on the bedside table. He struck it, then lit the candle that was perched in the brass candlestick on the same table.
Though only a single candle, it provided the necessary light for him to examine the pair closely. The blond was disheveled and shivering in a thin cotton night rail that left little to the imagination. A beautiful woman, to be sure, and Jason was stunned by his complete lack of interest in her. Her resemblance to Elizabeth was uncanny, but his earlier reaction of excitement and dread was gone.
It was the shadow who captured his attention completely. She was as dark as the other was fair, with raven hair and deep, chocolate brown eyes that were fringed with long, lush lashes. Her nose was pert, with a slight upturn on the end and her unfashionable full lips looked perfect for giving and receiving kisses.
How to Enjoy a Scandal Page 3
