Bargaining With a Rake (A Whisper of Scandal Novel)

by Johnstone, Julie

  Alex leaned back in his chair, watching Westonburt’s color deepen and the man’s hands curl into fists on the table. What must it feel like to lose your home? Bloody awful. Alex had a twinge of pity for a moment, but shook it off with Lissie’s memory.

  “I’ll have my man deliver the paperwork giving you ownership by noon day after tomorrow.” Westonburt’s words came out in jerky spats.

  “That’ll do nicely. I’ll give you a week to remove your belongings.”

  Westonburt shoved back his chair and stood. “I won’t forget what you’ve done, Lionhurst. I always repay my slights.” Westonburt turned to leave; then he stopped. Slowly, he faced Alex once again. “You already knew that, didn’t you?”

  Yes, Alex wanted to say and grind the man’s stupidity in his face, but it was far better to let Westonburt wonder. The doubt would eat at the man’s soul in a way the truth could not. And Alex had personal experience with what doubt could do. “Are you referring to trying to buy into my company?”

  “Of course.”

  “And how did you repay me for my supposed slight?” Alex asked, rising to face Westonburt. Would the man admit the truth?

  “Watch yourself,” Westonburt snarled, then stormed off.

  Alex slumped into his seat. He was tired of revenge, yet the game was not over.

  “Care to talk about it?” Sin asked while motioning a servant to bring two more drinks.

  “About what?”

  Sin took the two glasses from the waiter who now hovered at the table. “Why your revenge isn’t bringing you any joy?”

  Alex stared into the shadows of the ballroom. Why hadn’t his first success with revenge brought him pleasure as he had thought it would? “Damn,” he murmured. The only thing that had brought him any happiness tonight was when he had danced with Gillian. Not the game, nor the winning of it.

  Sin reached over and gripped Alex’s shoulder. “May I tell you what I learned in Paris?”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  Sin chuckled. “You know me too well.” His fingers curled tightly around Alex’s arm. His piercing gaze clouded. “Revenge is never as sweet as you imagine.”

  Alex studied his old friend. “What happened to you in Paris?”

  “Nothing I’d like to see happen to you. I have no doubt Gillian will have an offer from Sutherland soon.”

  Alex nodded, his heart constricting.

  “Don’t let her leave for America and take your only chance at happiness with her.”

  Was Sin right? Could they actually make each other happy? Could he be happy? He hadn’t thought so. But with her, things were different. He felt different. Like he had before Robert’s death. “I have to go.”

  “I hoped you might,” Sin said.

  Alex left Sin sitting there and strode out of the room toward the ballroom. He had to see her. He didn’t know what he would say or if he would say anything, but he had to see her.

  * * * * *

  Harrison pushed his way through the crowd, fixed on getting the hell out of there before he killed someone. Lionhurst would pay for what he had done. Or maybe the man would simply meet with a dagger in his back one dark night. As Harrison walked, he noticed people staring and snickering. Was it directed at him? He ran his hands through his hair, over his coat, straightened his tie, and then he finally let them drop to his sides where he clutched at the material of his britches.

  They couldn’t know what a fool he had been. Not yet. He paused midstride. How would he explain losing the house to Mother? What would he say? Damn her. That’s what he would say. She could go rot on the side of the road where she belonged.

  After all the years of making him feel less than worthless, she was now the worthless one. If she was very good and begged, he might let her come and live with him in the house Kingsley would be giving him. The marriage couldn’t happen soon enough. How many weeks? Four! Bloody hell. No, three. Three weeks. He sighed with relief.

  Three weeks. That left him two weeks to live where? Paying Lionhurst what he owed him would take everything. Kingsley was going to have to give him some money to live on until the marriage.

  All he had ever wanted was to be one of them, but these people in this room had never accepted him. But one person had. Allysia had accepted him, maybe loved him. He stopped, grabbed a glass of champagne off a passing servant’s tray and downed it. He wanted to drink her memory away. He had not killed her. Even so, he woke at night drenched in sweat, remembering how she had begged him to break off his engagement to Lady Gillian. He could not get Allysia’s desperate voice out of his head.

  He spotted Lady Gillian across the ballroom floor, dancing in the American’s arms. Anger surged through him, and he quickened his pace to reach her. The little fool did not understand the power he wielded over her family. His secret made him invincible. There was no better moment than now to remind his forgetful fiancée exactly who she was engaged to. And he knew from experience just how to teach a woman a lesson she would never forget.

  Too late, Gillian saw Lord Westonburt approaching. If she turned and fled, it would be obvious she was running from him, which did not bother her, except for the fact that she did not know where her father was. For all she knew, he could be watching her at this very moment. There was no sense in alerting him to anything being amiss. That would only make her plan for escape more difficult.

  Drake, as he had reminded her to call him, continued to talk to her, unaware her doom was walking their way. Gillian nodded and watched Lord Westonburt weave through the crowd, or rather push through the hapless people. His unwavering gaze held hers.

  She squared her shoulders and made a quick decision. She had to face him and try to reason with him. If Lord Westonburt would just listen and see that they did not suit, they could end this engagement. Then her father would be spared the public humiliation of her running away from her fiancé. He would be humiliated enough when she and Whitney fled England.

  Despite his lack of love for her, she owed him for his sacrifice in letting everyone think he had murdered Mother. He could have cleared his name, but he had chosen to protect Whitney, just as Gillian had.

  She put a hand on Drake’s arm. “I’m afraid you should take your leave.”

  “Don’t tell me I’m boring you?”

  “No,” she hastily replied, though she had been halfheartedly listening long before she saw Westonburt coming. Try as she might, her mind kept drifting to Alex.

  “What is it, then?” Drake pressed a kiss to the back of her gloved hand.

  “You shouldn’t do that,” she chided, suddenly irritated with his American obliviousness. But that was unfair. He had no idea about her father or the constraints he could place on her. She smiled faintly, hoping her concerns did not show on her face. “I’m sorry. It’s just my father is watching me, and my fiancé is approaching, and he looks less than happy.”

  “Do you care? I was under the impression that you didn’t want to marry him. Am I wrong?”

  “No, but I have to be careful. I’ve no doubt my father would force me to it if he knew I was challenging his wishes.” Talking about this in the middle of the ballroom made her uncomfortable. She found her father across the ballroom near the gaming room door. Just knowing he was nowhere near, where he could overhear or read her lips, made her breathe easier.

  Drake reached out and lightly caressed her arm before letting his hand fall. “What do you want, doll?”

  Such a simple question. One that she had asked herself for years and years. What she wanted—truly wanted—hardly mattered, because the past could not be relived and her choices mapped out her future. “I want to flee England and start a new life.”

  “A lofty goal for a woman. You may need a man to help you.”

  She breathed in his offer of redemption. It floated on the air between them. “Probably I will need someone,” she murmured, distracted by the thought that she did not know Drake, not really. The realization caused her to break out into a sweat.

/>   “Gillian, do you think it’s possible we will run into each other again? I would very much like to see you.”

  “Yes, more than possible,” she said in rush and pushed him away from her. “Just ask Alex where to find me.”

  “Alex?” Drake frowned. “Why would he know?”

  “Because I’ll tell him where to find me so that you may be where I am.” She curtsied and came up to meet the dark obsidian gaze of her intended. “Lord Westonburt.” She inclined her head. “Mr. Sutherland was just telling me all about America. Fascinating, really, but I’m afraid I need some fresh air. Would you join me on the terrace?”

  “I wasn’t aware I needed an invitation.” He clasped her arm and dragged her away from Drake and toward the terrace door.

  “Wait a just a damn minute,” Drake protested.

  Gillian threw a glance over her shoulder, silently begging him to cease his protest. His gaze narrowed, but he nodded his agreement. Lord Westonburt did not pause. Either he had not heard Drake, which she doubted, or her fiancé deemed Drake unworthy of his time—the more likely choice.

  She quickened her step to keep up with Lord Westonburt’s clipped pace. The rigid set of his shoulders and the viselike grip on her arm made his anger clear. This was not a good time to try to reason with him, but this was the only opportunity she had left.

  He jerked the terrace door open and shoved her out the door. Thank God the night was cool. The veranda was deserted and that suited her intention of speaking plainly. Before she could turn to face Lord Westonburt, his hand clamped on her arm once again, and her body twisted toward him.

  Her heart raced, but she forced herself to breathe slowly. “I wished to speak to you.”

  He leaned toward her, his face moving out of dark shadows and into the red light shining from a blazing torch. The anger in his eyes blazed as fiercely as the torch beside him. She moved to step back, but his fingers curled tightly into the sensitive flesh of her arm. “What a coincidence, sweeting. I, too, wished to talk with you. You seem to forget you are betrothed, and I brought you out here to help you remember.”

  * * * * *

  Pausing in his pursuit to find Gillian had been Alex’s first mistake. But he had needed a fortifying drink to wipe out the guilt of destroying a man, even if Westonburt was his enemy. His second mistake was responding to Lord Staunton’s polite greeting, which had caused his colossal failure to see Lady Staunton lurking behind the potted palm. He would have ignored Lord Staunton and marched past them both if he had been paying close attention.

  “Lord Lionhurst, won’t you dance with my wife? She’s complained all night about my inability to dance. My health has declined rapidly, I’m afraid.”

  “I’m sorry to hear it, Lord Staunton.” Alex glanced at the man who appeared to have lost a good deal more flesh since Lissie’s funeral, if that was possible. “If there’s anything I can do for you in the future…”

  “You can dance with my wife.”

  Lady Staunton smiled like the cat she was—cold, cunning and likely to pounce on any prey with a lofty title. And now that her husband was on death’s door, it was clear to Alex that he was her new prey. Funny that his title, or rather Robert’s by rights, now brought him the woman he had wanted so long ago. Staring into her maliciously intentioned gaze, he could not recall why he had ever thought he loved her.

  She grasped his hand as she led him away from her dying husband to the dance floor where the waltz played. He followed, but only because he did not want to create a scene.

  They glided in a way that was at once familiar yet different. He had waltzed with her many times before in public and when they met clandestinely at his parents’ stables. But alone, they had danced to a very different tune of lust while dressed simply in the skin God gave them.

  She pressed her head to his shoulder with a sigh. “I’ve missed you.”

  He remained silent.

  Lady Staunton raised her head and peered up at him as they circled the room. “Did you not miss me?”

  “No.” If she intended to ask blunt questions, he was happy to give her direct answers.

  Her hands gripped his arms. “Liar. I know you have at least missed how we were when we joined.”

  “Our joining was no different than all the other women I bedded. The real difference was that I was foolish enough to think I loved you.”

  She threw her head back and laughed as they twirled. Unlike Gillian’s joyful melody, Lady Staunton’s laugh was cold and brittle. “I see you’ve developed a taste for cruelty, love.”

  He tensed. Had he become cruel?

  “After all these years, you still refuse to see what we really were to each other.”

  “I know what we were,” he snapped, irritated that he had not been paying closer attention as he searched for Gillian.

  Lady Staunton’s eyes narrowed. “Do you still think I was the only one using someone? You used me too. You could have walked away from me after I became betrothed to Robert, but you slept with me once more to get back at him.”

  Alex swung toward the middle of the ballroom. He could not deny what she said. How he hated himself. Bile rose in his throat. She was right, he had used her. Robert had hurt him and Alex had retaliated without hesitation. There was no way to make up for his sin. He would pay for the rest of his life. He would make sure he did.

  He did not need to see Gillian. He could never deserve her. He had to get out of the ballroom. He needed to be alone and get some air. “We have no future, Lady Staunton,” he said simply, before releasing her and making his way toward the terrace.

  He frowned when he spotted Sutherland across the dance floor smiling like a besotted fool at Gillian’s younger sister. Why the devil was Gillian not with Sutherland? Alex dodged around the outer edges of the dance floor and grabbed Sutherland’s arm just as he was leading Gillian’s sister to the dance floor. “Sutherland, sorry to interrupt.”

  Sutherland stopped and faced him. Alex bowed to Lady Whitney and gave Sutherland a nod.

  “It’s amusing how formal you are here, Lionhurst.”

  Alex returned his friend’s smile while trying to control the impatience building with each second. “Glad I can amuse you with my manners. Have you seen Lady Gillian?”

  “Why do you ask?” A mischievous smile twitched at Lady Whitney’s lips. What the devil was the chit smiling at him like that for?

  “I need to speak with her.”

  “I just left her,” Sutherland supplied. “Or rather she was dragged away from me.”

  “What do you mean?” Whitney grabbed Sutherland’s arm. “Who dragged her away?

  “Her fiancé.”

  “Which way?” Alex demanded.

  Sutherland pointed toward the terrace doors. “Out there.”

  Blood rushed in his ears as he raced through the crowd toward the terrace. He wanted to run, but how the devil would he ever explain himself? He had to make sure she was fine. And then he would leave her alone and keep his distance as much as possible.

  He grasped the handle, eased the door open and stepped out onto the darkened terrace as the smack of a hand against skin filled the silence. A woman’s cry punctuated the air. For one stunned moment, he stood, squinting into the darkness. His eyes adjusted. Gillian’s back was to him, her hand raised to her cheek, and Westonburt loomed in front of her.

  Without hesitation, Alex charged, intent on killing the man.

  Gillian’s anger exploded the second her shock wore off, but before she could react, Alex barreled past her and straight into Lord Westonburt. They flew backward and hit the stone wall with loud grunts. In the dark shadows near the ground, the men were nothing more than blurs, their grumbles and shoes scuffling against the tiles joining the roaring of blood in her ears. She raced toward the men and reached them just as a fist flew through the air and connected with a sickening crunch against bone. A guttural roar filled the space where the men crouched.

  She lunged into the fray and grabbed blindly in
front of her. She pulled back on the powerful arm she clutched. “Stop it,” she demanded, unsure who she was pleading with.

  Before she could take another shaky breath, she was propelled onto her feet and stood facing Alex. His eyes burned in a way that made her shiver. Gone was the trace of the gentleman he was born and bred to be; a dark and dangerous man bent on vengeance stood before her.

  Her heart twisted painfully. She wanted to throw herself into his arms and kiss him senseless for wanting to rescue her. Instead, she gathered her control and her wits. “Stop this. A scene is the last thing that will help me.”

  Alex jerked his head in a nod. She could see the effort the self-control was causing him. His hands were bunched by his side into tight fists. Lord Westonburt lumbered to his feet, groping the wall.

  Gillian’s heart rose and plummeted, caught between a strange joy at Alex’s display of concern and a wariness of her fiancé. “Please, Alex.” She pushed him toward the door. “I need a moment with Lord Westonburt.”

  “I’m not leaving you alone with that sorry excuse for a man, no matter how prettily you plead. I’ll stand over there.” Alex pointed toward the terrace door before he brushed past her and advanced toward Lord Westonburt.

  He grabbed the front of the man’s shirt and jerked him up and away from the wall. “If you so much as breathe wrong, I’ll be back at her side in a flash, and this time, so help me God, when I finish pummeling you, you won’t recognize yourself in the mirror.”

  Lord Westonburt shoved at Alex’s chest. “Leave go, you bloody bastard. You’re insane. You interfere where you are neither needed nor wanted.”

  Gillian prayed Alex would just walk away, and when he finally moved toward the terrace door, she exhaled the breath she had been holding. Alex’s shoes tapped against the tile, and as he walked past her, his gaze met hers. “If you need me…”

  God, did she ever, and that was a problem. She nodded, and he brushed his fingers against hers as he passed. The man was scandalous, even now. Had he been unable to resist touching her or did he simply want to annoy Lord Westonburt as much as possible?