Bargaining With a Rake (A Whisper of Scandal Novel)

by Johnstone, Julie

  “I’ll do it. Why don’t you see if you can find us somewhere to take shelter?”

  She nodded and started up the path. About six or seven feet up, the path turned and the rocky cliff jutted down from above to overhang the trail on the side nearest to the woods. One overhang came out particularly wide, and if she and Lord Lionhurst scrunched together, they would probably remain dry, or drier than they were now.

  She wrapped her arms around herself. She was already starting to shiver from being wet. She raced back down the way she had come and met him halfway. “Shelter’s up there.”

  He nodded and gripped her around the waist to help her back up the slippery trail. She’d never been held so intimately by a man, and her insides swirled in response. Once under the protective covering, she dropped to the cold, hard ground and scooted as far away from Lord Lionhurst as the meager space would allow. She didn’t like the peculiar way he made her feel.

  The wind picked up in intensity, swaying the branches of the trees until the thinner ones looked as if they might snap. She had a sudden recollection of the night her mother had died. A storm had been brewing that night. Shivering, she rubbed her arms with her hands.

  Beside her, Lord Lionhurst shifted closer until his leg pressed against her hip. She was uncomfortably aware of the hardness of his leg and the strange pulling in her stomach. “Cold?”

  She nodded. She was chilled from the rain and her memories. “What are you doing?” She gasped as he took off his overcoat.

  He flashed a grin but didn’t respond. Once the longer coat was off, he pulled off a shorter coat. “Lean forward.”

  She quickly obliged when she realized he was offering her his dry jacket. She expected to feel the weight of the dark blue coat dropped onto her shoulders. The material did fall like a warm blanket across her shoulders, but then his arm came around her back and his fingers curled around her waist before drawing her near. She started to protest, but when she looked at him she stilled and stared in admiration at the picture of perfect ease he presented.

  His eyes were closed and a beatific smile lit his face. He was beautiful, masculine, and she wanted him to kiss her. How horrifying and wrong. He was the best friend of the man she intended to marry.

  Lord Lionhurst was not for her; he would never be for her. He could not take her far enough away from her problems, to a place her sister could never be harmed by the past. And even if she didn’t have the pressing need to leave here, she would never allow herself to fall for a man who clearly put marriage in a category with leprosy. Avoid at all costs.

  She should thank him for his coat and ask him to move his arm. The weight and strength of it pressed into her back. His eyes snapped open before she could utter a word.

  He turned his head toward her. “Did you want to ask me something?”

  “How did you know?”

  “People inhale sharply when about to speak.”

  She frowned. Had she drawn a sharp breath? How could he hear such a thing over the rain? “You’re very observant.”

  “Usually.”

  She leaned forward and glanced pointedly behind her at his arm.

  He slid it slowly out from behind her and smiled. “You’ll be less comfortable and colder.”

  She ignored his words, especially since he was right. “I bet your keen observations drive your sisters mad. I can just see you stalking their suitors at the balls.”

  He grimaced, scrubbing a hand over the black stubble of his jaw. “I don’t have a sister on the market anymore. The eldest is married, and the youngest—” He stopped talking and dug his hand deep into the dirt between them. “We buried her last week.” Dirt fell from between his fingers.

  “I’m so sorry for your loss,” Gillian whispered. “I had no idea. Was she very ill?”

  “No, she wasn’t ill.”

  She knew she should drop the subject, but the glint in his eyes prodded her to continue. “Did she have an accident?”

  “Yes. She fell in love with the wrong kind of man. The worst sort of accident a woman can have, wouldn’t you say?”

  His light blue eyes transformed to dark and gleaming. His grief filled the air between them. Her stomach twisted with his pain. She was not so sheltered that she didn’t know the implications of what he meant. His sister had fallen in love with a dishonorable man. Had she been compromised? Taken her life? “Alex.” She touched a hand to his shoulder.

  “So it’s Alex now, is it?”

  “Only since we’re partners,” she lied, moved into letting down her guard by his grief. Grief she understood. She would have tried to comfort anyone she saw who had as much pain as was reflected in Alex’s eyes.

  “Does this mean I can call you Gillian?”

  She pulled the soft material of his coat tighter around her. She really should say no, but that didn’t seem right. “All right. I hope the blackguard who hurt your sister pays with his life.”

  His eyebrows shot up, and for a moment he stared at her, unblinking. “He’ll pay. Don’t worry. Lord Westonburt will never harm another woman again.”

  “Lord Westonburt?” The implications of what Alex said chilled her blood.

  He nodded. “My sister is why I want revenge.”

  She scrambled onto her knees and faced him. “If there’s anything you could tell me I might use to convince my father to release me from the engagement, I would forever be in your debt.”

  He shook his head. “My sister’s good name would be ruined and that would kill my mother.”

  “No one need know the reason for my broken betrothal.” Things would be so much less nasty between her and Father if she didn’t break her betrothal and flee to America. Maybe he would forgive one transgression, but two seemed insurmountable.

  “You’re being fanciful,” Alex replied. “If your father didn’t give a reason, then your reputation would be compromised.”

  “I don’t give a whit for my reputation,” she said, slapping her hand against the dirt. “I don’t plan on being here much longer, and Mr. Sutherland hardly seems the type of man to be influenced by gossip. I wish to ease the tension between myself and my father.”

  Alex grasped her arm. “You may not care about your reputation, but what about your sister’s? Would you ruin her chances for a good marriage?”

  “No,” she replied, brushing his hand away from her arm. She would never do anything to hurt Whitney. “Whitney’s going to come with me when I marry Mr. Sutherland and leave.”

  “You may think you have it all planned out, but what if you fail to capture Sutherland’s heart, and you and your sister are both stuck here? What then?”

  “I thought you had faith in me,” Gillian snapped and scooted away from him.

  His gaze moved slowly down the length of her body, pausing for a moment at the décolletage she had taken great pains to display this morning. His stare meandered back to her face, a wicked smile parting his lips. “I’d say it’s probable you will make Sutherland fall in lust with you and that will do for your purposes.” He sounded angry, but she had no idea why. She pressed her lips together. Let him be angry. As long as he helped her, he could act unaccountably grouchy.

  She stared out at the rain, the slanting sheet of white wetness reminding her, as it always did, of the night her mother died.

  Alex shifted beside her, his leg brushing hers, and then moved quickly away. “Does the river rise quickly here?”

  “Why?” She tilted her head to look at him. She’d been thinking of how the river had risen so quickly the night her mother died, but there was no way he could know her thoughts. Still…

  “It seems like it would, based on what I’ve seen of the property so far.”

  “It can rise very rapidly. And become very cold.” Her mother had been tinged blue when pulled from the river.

  “Swim here much? I mean, when the weather’s warm.”

  “Never.”

  “Too ladylike to swim, are you?”

  “No.” She glared at hi
m. “The river holds bad memories.”

  The smug smile slid from his face. Small satisfaction for her stupid mistake. It wasn’t her habit to remind people of the rumors circling her family name.

  His eyes met hers. “I don’t believe the rumors, you know.”

  “I hardly think if you did, you’d agree to help me capture the attention of your friend.”

  “You’re wrong.” He reached out and tucked a drying strand of her hair behind her ear. The intimate gesture made her stomach clench. She barely knew Alex, yet this was the most personal conversation she’d ever had regarding the rumors.

  “Even if I believed your father killed your mother, I wouldn’t treat you differently. Murder is hardly catching.”

  She swallowed the thick emotion making her throat constrict. “You hold a minority opinion.”

  “I may, but most of the ton is filled with nitwits and popinjays.”

  She laughed until tears came to her eyes. “I’ve never laughed or talked to anyone about this.” She took his hand and squeezed it. “Thank you.”

  “Are the rumors why you want to leave?”

  “Yes.” She told the partial lie without guilt. She refused to feel guilty about protecting Whitney.

  “You know your lower lip quivers when you lie.”

  She snatched her hand away. “I am not lying. I just don’t care to go into detail about all the sad reasons I want to leave.”

  “That’s fine. Disliking personal conversations is nothing to glare about.”

  “You’re one to talk.”

  “Me? Ask me anything you want. I’m honest to my detriment.”

  “I doubt that,” she said with a snort.

  “Try me.”

  “All right. Why are you afraid of marriage?”

  “I am not afraid of marriage. Is that what they say about me in the ton?”

  “No. I drew my own conclusions. They call you ‘the heartbreaker.’”

  “That’s bloody unoriginal. Like I said, nitwits and popinjays. If I’ve broken anyone’s heart, it was her own fault. I tell any woman I become involved with exactly what they can expect from me, and marriage is never a choice.”

  “Because you’re afraid,” she said triumphantly. What was it about Alex that made her want to needle him? She’d never felt this way before.

  “No, Gillian. Because I don’t repeat the same mistake twice.”

  “You’ve been married before?” She couldn’t seem to keep the surprise out of her voice.

  “No, never married. But I was close until the woman told me she’d rather marry my brother.”

  “Oh, Alex. I am sorry.” She took his hand again and squeezed it. How cruel and simple-minded she’d been. Just like all the people in the ton had been to her. She’d not even allowed for the possibility that a woman had broken his heart. “She loved your brother?”

  His bitter laugh made her heart twist in response to his pain. “No.” He pulled his hand away from hers. “That would have been bearable. She wished to marry my brother because he was in line to be the next duke. It had nothing to do with love.”

  “But you can’t avoid marriage all your life because of one horrid woman. Not all women are like that.”

  “Aren’t they? Do you want to marry for love?”

  Heat scorched her cheeks. She couldn’t say yes, and he knew it. She hated him for making her feel ashamed of something she had to do. She looked away toward the rain, surprised to find it had stopped. “We can go now,” she said coldly.

  “Anxious to capture your quarry?”

  “You know how we women are,” she snapped, meeting his steely gaze. “It’s one thing, as you well know, to capture a man’s lust, but it is quite another to entice him into marriage.”

  “True. If you do not make Sutherland a good wife, I’ll make your life miserable.”

  She didn’t doubt him for a moment. “I swear I’ll be devoted.”

  * * * * *

  Alex looked away from her shining eyes. He believed she was sincere. And it angered him. Why the bloody hell would that anger him? He should be glad she wanted to make his friend a good wife.

  He had to snap out of this. The first part of his revenge was within his reach. Westonburt would be deprived of Gillian as his wife—a goal Alex knew the man coveted above all else. All he had to do was help Gillian capture Sutherland’s attention enough to get the man to marry her.

  The task would be simple. Sutherland wanted a beautiful wife who could brave America. Gillian was the perfect match, the answer to all his problems. Alex stared at his hands and tried to order his thoughts. Why was he so bothered that Gillian was the answer to all Sutherland’s problems? Simple selfishness.

  He glanced her way. She stretched her arms out to the side, parting her jacket and revealing thin white material stretched across her swell of breasts. An emerald broach pinned above her right breast caught his eye. Without consideration, he reached out and touched the cool stone.

  She drew back, a frown marring her beautiful face. “What are you doing?”

  “Obviously not thinking.” He smiled, trying to lighten the moment, but she did not return his smile. “I’m sorry. Your brooch caught my attention. It’s beautiful.”

  “Thank you. It was my mother’s. It’s the only thing I have left of hers.”

  A slow, dull anger mounted in his gut. “The only thing?”

  Gillian nodded. “My father got rid of everything but this. He wanted to wipe her memory away, but of course fate had the last laugh.”

  “How?”

  “I look just like her. And he couldn’t rid himself of me.” She touched the brooch. “Until now.”

  Alex wanted to hit the duke. The duke had tried as best he could to rid himself of Gillian—devil take the man. That explained why Gillian was forced to eat alone. The duke had wanted her out of his sight. And now she was trying her hardest to give her father his wish.

  How could he make her pain better? He didn’t know any way but the physical one he’d been relying on to wipe away his own pain for years. Without hesitation, he laced his hands through her hair and brought her lips close to his. She gasped and tried to pull back, but he held her firmly.

  “Sometimes,” he said, by way of a preemptory apology against her anger, “it’s better to ask forgiveness than permission.” He swooped down and claimed her mouth, releasing himself to the kiss and the small tug of strange need her soft lips awoke in him.

  Alex’s gentle kiss shocked Gillian more than his earlier plundering one. His lips brushed over hers, teasing, leading and showing her the promise of how he would be as a lover. A lover? Dear Lord above, what was she thinking? She shoved him back and scrambled to her feet. “I’m sure everyone must be looking for us.”

  “I doubt it,” Alex said as he stood to face her.

  “You swore you wouldn’t kiss me again unless I asked.”

  “I’m a rake, my lady. Don’t believe a word I say.”

  “I’ll second that,” a voice said from behind her.

  She whirled around at the familiar voice. “Trent!” she exclaimed, her gaze going immediately to the coat she wore. “I can explain.”

  He cocked his eyebrow up in a way that could only mean disbelief. “This should be interesting.”

  “It’s not,” Alex said blandly. “We followed one of the foxes, lost its trail and then got caught in the thunderstorm.”

  “You expect me to believe that? I may have been gone for a year to Paris, but I didn’t leave my memory there.” Trent yanked Alex’s coat off her shoulders and threw it at Alex. He caught it mid-air and slowly put it on before facing Trent with the casual air of someone about to discuss the weather.

  His ability to appear so blasé about Trent’s anger impressed her. Her heart thundered in her ears. Trent could ruin everything. She cast Alex a pleading glance, which he returned with a wink. “I’m not trying to seduce your cousin.” Alex flicked a grin her way, which made her breath catch. “Well, not anymore, anyway
. She informed me rather blandly that she wished to be married and not seduced. A desire I’m afraid I cannot change nor fulfill.”

  A smile pulled at Gillian’s lips. Lord Lionhurst was full of surprises.

  The material of Trent’s jacket, which pulled tight across his shoulders, relaxed as Alex’s words took effect. Gillian breathed a sigh of relief.

  Trent rubbed his hand over his brow. “So you two weren’t just—”

  “No!” Gillian interrupted, scrambling forward. “We were not just anything.” She slanted her eyes at Alex, daring him silently to contradict her white lie.

  “I may have had designs on your cousin―after all, who wouldn’t?― but she―”Alex waved a hand toward her― “has her sights set on my partner.”

  Gillian groaned at Alex’s admission, but he took little heed of her annoyance, choosing instead to keep spouting her secrets like water bursting from a busted dam.

  “In fact”―Alex rocked back on his heels, surveying her―“she means to marry Sutherland. Believe it or not, which you may not since I’m still having a hard time believing it, I’ve agreed to help her with her suit.” He appeared proud as a peacock as he finished his sentence. Did the man actually think he’d just done her a favor?

  “Men are obtuse,” she grumbled before turning to Trent. “Before you think to unleash the tirade on the tip of your tongue, let me tell you something. Father has gone and betrothed me to Lord Westonburt against my loud protest. I’ve tried to reason with him, but he won’t listen. Now, I’m forced to drastic measures.”

  “Good God, that is awful, since Lord Westonburt is already married,” Trent replied with a snicker.

  “It’s not funny,” Gillian snapped, irritated that Trent was not taking her seriously. “The former Lord Westonburt has passed away, and his son―you may remember him as Mr. Mallorian―now carries the title.”

  With a frown, Trent turned to Alex. “Is this the chap who tried to worm his way into your shipping business?”