Bargaining With a Rake (A Whisper of Scandal Novel)

by Johnstone, Julie

  He ran a finger down the intricate mane of the lion, his anger throbbing within him. That little bit o’ muslin lived in a house with a nicer door than he had. Of course, he now owned no door, so that was not hard to accomplish. But that wasn’t the damned point. He raised the knocker and banged, beating iron against wood with the force of all his pent-up rage. He banged until a deep, satisfying dent appeared in the slick black wood, leaving an imperfection that a mere coat of paint would never fix. Whoever owned this house would have to buy a new door if they wanted it to appear perfect once more.

  He felt good. So good that he imagined doing the same sort of damage to Caprice’s face for wanting to leave him for another man, a richer man. It didn’t matter that he intended to give her up once he married Lady Gillian. Caprice did not know that.

  He reached to touch the mark in the wood, and as his finger caressed the jagged indentation, the door flew open to reveal a skinny, gaping man. One who peered at him with that same bloody look of disdain Kingsley’s butler had used.

  Shoving past the man, Harrison swept into the main entrance. The house may not be as big as the home he had lost, but inside, the white marble floor gleamed, silk chairs lined the walls and an enormous table filled with all manner of colored flowers stood in the middle of the room under a blazing chandelier. “Get your mistress, and get her now,” he snarled.

  “She’s not in, sir.”

  He eyed the older man. This butler may be haughty like the Kingsley’s butler, but he didn’t possess the same bothersome mettle that characterized that other old codger. He reached out, grabbed the front of the man’s black livery and jerked the bag of bones toward him until the servant’s face rested only inches from his own. “If you don’t get your mistress now, I’m apt to lose my temper. I cannot say for sure what may happen then, but I lost my temper last night and a man lost the use of two of his fingers.” Harrison held up the butler’s right hand and grabbed two long, bony fingers. “Fingers, especially ones as frail as yours, are quite easy to break. You simply apply enough pressure right to the bend.” The butler gasped.

  The man’s fear was a balm after this long week. “Let me demonstrate,” he offered, feeling a genuine smile pull at his lips. He added a bit of pressure to the man’s knuckle. Just enough to make him squirm, but not enough to break the bones. Not yet, anyway. “I can stop if you get your mistress, or I can continue if you persist on denying my request. Hurts, does it not? Where’s your mistress?”

  “Mistress Vicery is not in at the moment.”

  He shoved the man away, watching as the butler stumbled and flailed his arms out in an effort to right himself. The man had no chance. He reached for the table but grasped a handful of white cloth, which did nothing to stop his fall. The arrangement of flowers atop the table whipped through the air in a satisfying blur and landed on the servant’s head before crashing to the floor. Glass shattered and splintered, reminding Harrison of the sound of the man’s fingers breaking last night. The butler groaned and raised a shaking hand to his head, where a cut trickled a bit of blood.

  The scene pleased Harrison but not enough to wipe away the irritation of his confusion. He knew Bess Vicery was Lionhurst’s mistress, but what did she have to do with Caprice? Why was Caprice living here? Why would Lionhurst care to bring Caprice under his protection? There was no bloody reason. He stared at the shards of glass surrounding the dazed butler. The broken pieces reminded him of the punch glass Allysia had thrown at him the night of the Primwitty ball when he told her he would not risk his future with Lady Gillian for anything.

  Harrison curled his hands into fists. Lionhurst must know about him and Allysia. What was the marquess up to? Revenge? That was what Harrison would do if the situation had been reversed. His fury at being such a fool exploded inside him. He kicked out at the glass, wanting to break it more and break the man hovering on the floor. He had to hurt someone because he was hurting.

  Bending down, he grasped the butler by the arms, intent on pummeling the man’s face to a bloody pulp.

  “Lord Westonburt!” A strangled cry came from behind him.

  He dropped the butler and swung around. Caprice, dressed in the layers of a fine lady, flew down the stairs toward him. Her rounded eyes and her trembling mouth pleased him. She still feared him. He would get the answers he needed.

  She stopped in front of him, chest heaving from her running. “How did you find me?”

  He reached toward her and touched a lock of her silky hair. So smooth, just like Allysia’s had been. “You can’t hide from me, even with Lionhurst protecting you.”

  Caprice pulled back from him, eyes narrowed, chin raised in defiance. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  Anger flooded Harrison. How dare Caprice give his enemy loyalty? The tide of fury would drown him if he did not find release. He grabbed a fistful of her hair, bringing Caprice to her knees where she belonged. Fear blossomed in her eyes. It wouldn’t take much for her to betray Lionhurst. He pushed her delicate pinkie back until it touched the back of her hand and a scream ripped from her lips. Smiling, he released her finger and cupped her chin. “Do you know what I mean now?”

  She nodded, tears streaming down her face.

  “Excellent. You can tell me everything upstairs.” He scooped her into his arms and carried her up the stairs to the first bedroom he came upon. Laying her gently on the bed, he came down beside her, rubbing away the tears on her cheeks. When she quieted, he kissed first her lips, then her neck. She didn’t respond, but she would. Soon, she would.

  He undid her dress and pushed it off her shoulders to bare her glistening skin. She was lovely. Not as lovely as Allysia or Lady Gillian, but lovely. “Tell me why Lionhurst helped you, and I promise I’ll be gentle from this moment forward.” He could see her gaze flickering and wavering as she tried to decide what to do.

  She needed more prodding. Quite a shame. He picked up her hand, and she winced, a hiss of breath escaping from between her clenched teeth. “I’d hate to break another one of your delicate fingers,” he said.

  “No need,” she replied, cradling her hand protectively.

  He lay back and brought her into the crook of his arm to cuddle her as she spoke. When she finished, he smiled, ripe with the knowledge of just how to destroy the man he hated.

  One more moment of watching Sutherland court Gillian, and Alex might very well go insane. Had it only been two weeks since he had agreed to this ludicrous bargain? It felt like forever. Two blankets over, Sutherland sat in the shade of an oak tree. Gillian sat opposite of Alex’s partner under the brilliant blue sky that matched her dress. Sutherland reached into the picnic basket, procured a bottle of wine and poured Gillian a glass, which he handed to her, taking his bloody time letting go of her hand.

  Alex groaned. He wanted to look away, but he had to see Gillian’s reaction. She smiled, brushed a discreet finger—one would only notice if staring as Alex was—over Sutherland’s hand, and then she brought the glass of wine to her lips.

  Her pink tongue darted out to lick her lips before she took a long swallow of the wine. She lowered the glass, her dark lashes rising as her gaze met Sutherland’s. Something she said caused Sutherland to laugh. Alex hated his partner. That was not going to be good for their working relationship. He had to get over this jealousy. It was eating at him, just as it had the day Robert had stolen Lady Staunton. Where was the resolve that had carried him through the almost five years since Robert’s death?

  Thou shall not covet. He’d rebuilt his life on this command and had promised until his dying day to try to make amends.

  He squeezed his eyes shut, and Gillian’s face filled his mind. His wanting her had everything to do with her and nothing to do with trying to best Sutherland. It was completely different from what had happened years before between Lady Staunton, Robert and himself, yet it was still wrong.

  He breathed deeply. Was he no better now? He clenched his teeth together and opened his eyes to find Sally standing ov
er him. She gazed down at him with a furrowed brow. “May I sit?”

  “By all means.” He straightened the blanket for her.

  Sally lowered herself and faced him. “Darling, do you mind if I speak frankly?”

  “If I did, would it stop you?”

  “Probably not.” Sally gave him a cheeky smile. “I’ve known you too long to mince words.”

  “I suppose that’s true. What do you want to say?”

  “Don’t you think you’ve punished yourself for what happened between you, Robert and the witch long enough?”

  “I assume the witch is Lady Staunton?”

  “Don’t be obtuse.” Sally frowned at him. “You know it is.”

  “Then no. I’ve not punished myself long enough.”

  “Darling.” Sally grabbed his hand and squeezed. “I’m going to tell you something you won’t want to hear.”

  “Then don’t say it.” He was not in the mood for one of Sally’s well-meaning attempts to get him to forgive himself and forget the past.

  “I wish it were that simple. I’d hoped you’d eventually snap out of this, but it’s almost been five years.”

  “I don’t want to talk about Robert,” he snapped.

  “I know. But Peter, Cameron, Dansby and I discussed it, and we decided there are some things that must be said.”

  He stared at her astonished. “You four sat around and discussed my personal life?”

  “We love you, Alex.”

  “Don’t do that,” he said, squeezing her hand back. Her eyes were filling with tears. “If you’re the appointed messenger, I promise to be good and listen. Just don’t cry.”

  Sally nodded and swiped at her eyes. He expected her to start with a lecture on how he was really a good person. How everyone makes mistakes. How he’d grown. How he had been under Lady Staunton’s spell. He’d heard it all before. He leaned back on his elbows and crossed his legs. “Well?”

  “It’s like this, darling. Robert was mean, jealous and impulsive to a fault.”

  Alex gaped. Of all the things he had been expecting, an attack on his brother had not been one of them. “You’re wrong.”

  But as he denied what she said, he thought of the countless women he had been interested in that Robert had taken from him. The horse races Robert had cheated at to win. Robert cheating in school to get better grades than Alex. Robert drinking all the liquor in their father’s study and blaming it on Alex. He had taken the blame and the disapproval from their father because he had loved Robert. He had worshipped his older brother. “I slept with his fiancée. I drove him to kill himself,” he said. He would not take the easy way out.

  Sally pursed her lips at him. “Yes, you slept with his fiancée after he stole her from you by dangling his title in front of her greedy little eyes. But, darling, I swear none of us believe Robert was driven to kill himself.”

  “He shot himself in the heart,” Alex said drily.

  “He loved himself too much, darling. He was impulsive and reckless. I don’t think he meant to kill himself. I think he meant to make you feel horrid for the rest of your life by wounding himself, but for once he fired too true.”

  Robert had never possessed good aim with a gun. But that didn’t change what had driven him to such drastic measures. “He shot himself because of me,” Alex said stubbornly.

  “Wake up,” Sally demanded. “He shot himself to get back at you. He was jealous of you. Everyone knew it. Robert had the title, but, darling, you always had the brains, the looks and the personality that drew everyone to you. Robert couldn’t stand it, and that’s why he was so horrid to you. That’s why he always used his title to snatch away the women you were interested in. And you―” She rolled her eyes. “Such a typical man. You always chose women who could be taken. All fluff no substance. Gillian has substance. Don’t let her get away.”

  With a sublime effort, he controlled his surprise at Sally’s words. “I don’t know what you mean. I have a bargain to help Lady Gillian and nothing more.”

  Sally shook her head. “You’re lying and you know it. You’ve come to care for her. I see it in your eyes. We all do. You’re afraid. If you let yourself be happy, you can no longer punish yourself. You’ve done your penance.”

  Havoc reigned in his head. Was Sally right? No. He had vowed to atone forever. He could not take the easy way out. Besides, the lady did not want him. “She wants Sutherland,” he denied.

  Sally waved a hand at him. “She wants to escape London; I just wish I really knew why. I believe she really wants you. I’ve seen her watching you when you’re not paying attention.”

  He immediately glanced across the space to where Gillian sat with Sutherland. Their heads were close together, as future lovers’ would be. He pushed away his desire for her. “Whatever her reasons, she has chosen Sutherland, and she’s made the right choice.”

  “You’re wrong. I know you’re afraid. I know you don’t want to quit punishing yourself, but what if she truly does not want to marry Sutherland? What if she’s in love with you?”

  Alex jerked his gaze away from his wineglass toward Gillian. Their eyes met a moment before she jumped up and walked away from the picnic and toward the stream. His heart thudded against his ribs.

  “Go now, while everyone is preoccupied and talk to her. Take a chance, Alex, before it’s truly too late.”

  Alex glanced around the group. Sally was right―everyone’s attention was elsewhere. Sutherland was now deep in conversation with Lady Whitney, and Cameron appeared to be regaling Peter and Dansby with some story. Alex jumped up and brushed a few pieces of grass off his breeches. “I’ll just go see if she is feeling all right.”

  Sally raised her eyebrows. “Whatever you have to tell yourself to make yourself go, then by all means, do so, darling. Just go.”

  Was Sally right? Had Gillian fallen in love with him? Was it possible he could forgive himself and claim some happiness? He was not sure, but he knew he wanted to be certain she was doing what she really wanted. He strode across the grassy knoll and paused just as he neared her. If she left tomorrow and he never saw her again, this moment would be forever in his head, putting him to sleep every night. Her face was raised to the sky, her black hair flowing down her back and a smile on her face.

  Driven by a desire just to be near her, he moved toward her, his boot crushing a twig with a loud snap.

  Her eyes flew open as she whirled to face him. “I thought I was alone.”

  “I saw you leave the picnic. Is everything satisfactory with you and Sutherland?”

  “Of course.” She sank onto a log and looked out at the stream. “He’s a very nice man.”

  “A nice man?” Alex sat on the log beside her, their legs brushing against each other. Hope he had no right to feel filled his chest, yet he could not quash it. “That’s a bland way to describe the man you mean to marry.”

  “Is it?” She turned to look at him, a cynical smile on her lips. “I suppose it is. Don’t mind me. I’m melancholy about leaving the only home I’ve ever known. I didn’t think I would be.”

  The moisture in her eyes undid his resolve to remain detached.

  He grabbed her hand and pressed it to his chest. He didn’t deserve her. He didn’t know what he could offer her, but he couldn’t just let her go. “Don’t go.”

  Her eyes rounded. “What? Whatever do you mean?”

  What did he mean? Could he make the plunge back into life? Before he could respond, her sister ran up to them.

  “Gillie! I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Drake’s proposed a horse race, and I knew you wouldn’t want to miss it.”

  Gillian extracted her hand from his, giving him a curiously sad look as she rose. “My future husband beckons,” she said brightly.

  He watched her walk away until he could see her no more. If he’d had a chance, it was lost. So be it. This was for the best. Now he had to put the ridiculous notions Sally planted in his head out of his mind.

  Even though
two weeks had passed since that afternoon when Alex had grabbed her hand by the stream, Gillian could not forget the way his heart had hammered beneath her fingertips. Had he been worried for her or upset? She rubbed her aching temples. She would never know, and she simply had to quit rehashing their short conversation. Her head nor her heart could take it.

  He had had his chance to declare himself, and he had met her question with silence. Thank goodness. She was worried she might not have had the strength to deny her heart and do what had to be done. She’d fallen in love with the wrong man.

  She sighed as she passed through the entrance of the Primwitty house and tried to drum up some excitement for dinner with the man she intended to marry. Instead, she yawned.

  “Darling, I saw that,” Sally chided, gliding toward Gillian as if the frenzy of party rounds the last month had not tired the duchess one bit.

  Gillian smiled and grabbed Sally’s outstretched hand. “I’m exhausted. I’ve not laid my head on my pillow before two in the morning in an entire month.”

  “Don’t you sleep in?”

  “I’ve been having trouble sleeping lately.”

  “Thinking about your love?”

  That was just the problem. She’d been thinking about Alex when she should have been thinking about Drake. She frowned.

  Sally leaned in until their heads almost touched. “Perk up. He’s already here. Looking quite handsome, I might add.”

  “Who?” She scanned the outer corridor for Alex.

  “What an odd question, darling.” Sally gave Gillian a funny look. “Drake, of course. Your future husband.”

  Gillian nodded. “Of course. I’m just so tired.” And preoccupied with another man. Blast him. There had not been one night in the last seven he had not arrived at the ball, or dinner party, or opera without a beautiful woman on his arm. A different woman every single night. She dreaded who he might bring tonight.

  Sally tapped her arm. “Have you heard a word I’ve said?”

  “I’m sorry.” Gillian shook her head. “I was daydreaming. It must be the lack of sleep.” Or the fact that Alex had her heart in his fist. Blast him again and blast Drake. An entire month of countless kisses and the greatest desire Drake inspired when he held her in his arms was the longing for it to be over. She liked him, but she did not desire him. And she did not think love would come without desire.