Bargaining With a Rake (A Whisper of Scandal Novel)

by Johnstone, Julie

  Gillian suppressed her grin. Drake was on to her aunt’s mechanisms. Gillian sat forward on the edge of her seat to see what would happen next. She welcomed any distraction that would take her mind off Alex.

  “Well, certainly you can,” Auntie chirped. “I’m sure Gillian and Whitney would love to hear all about America.” Her aunt smiled directly at Whitney. “Don’t you want to know all about America, dear?”

  “Not particularly,” Whitney said, apparently borrowing some of Auntie’s bluntness. “I’ve no interest in hearing about a land I’ll never see.”

  “You never know,” Drake said, turning to face Whitney. “You may end up there yet.” When he winked at Gillian, she nearly groaned aloud. She had planned and plotted to catch this man, and now that she had his attention, she was finding it hard to be happy.

  “I don’t mean to sound rude,” Whitney said, giving Gillian a sharp look, then turning her attention back to Drake, “but I will never end up in America. I’ve quite made up my mind. I love England and couldn’t imagine living anywhere but here.”

  Gillian spit out the sip of wine she had just taken. The red liquid flew all over her plate.

  “Heavens, Gillian.” Whitney plucked Gillian’s wineglass out of her hand. “I’d say you’ve had quite enough of that. Here.” Her sister shoved a glass of water into her hands. “Drink this.”

  Gillian took a gulp of the water. “But of course if I were to go”―she could not believe she was being so bold as to actually act as if Drake would certainly propose―“you would go. You would have to.”

  “I certainly would not go. I’ve quite made up my mind.”

  “Does anyone know what Martha is planning for her costume fete?” Auntie asked. The conversation around Gillian buzzed with speculation of the costume ball to come. Gillian stared at Whitney, ignoring the meaningless chatter.

  She had never asked Whitney what she had wanted to do. She had told her and not given her sister one chance to voice how she felt. And now that Whit had been given the chance to speak, she was taking it. Dear God.

  She leaned toward Whit’s ear. “What do you mean you won’t go to America? What of our plan?” she whispered.

  Whitney moved her head enough so that her mouth pressed against Gillian’s ear. “Your plan. It was always your plan, and I’ve decided I simply cannot go through with it. I don’t want to leave England, I don’t want to live with you and Drake and I doubt you want to marry him. I won’t go. Nothing you say will move me to reconsider.”

  Gillian’s world shifted. Whitney’s voice dripped with stubborn defiance. There was no one more obstinate than Whit when she set her mind to it. Gillian sat back in her chair. Conversation continued to swirl around her, but she did not hear a word. She no longer had a plan or a way to protect her sister if she refused to leave.

  She was dreadfully afraid for Whitney. There was no way to force her sister to go unless she told her the truth, but that might not even do the trick and it could seriously harm Whitney.

  Across from her, Alex raised his glass and downed his wine. “Three cheers for good old Mother England.”

  As everyone raised their glasses to toast, Drake touched Gillian’s shoulder. “Would you walk with me in the garden?”

  She nodded and blindly reached for her glass to get a fortifying drink. Cool water slid down her throat, making her frown. Blasted meddling sister. Glaring at Whitney, Gillian pushed back from the table with a pounding heart.

  How could she refuse Drake if he offered her marriage after she had plotted and schemed just for this? How could she not refuse him since her sister had just declared she would not leave? Gillian’s stomach rolled with queasiness. Lord, she was a coward. She threw one last searching glance over her shoulder before stepping out of the room. No one noticed them, especially not Alex. The curve of Signorina Moreti’s shoulder was too enticing for him to take note of Gillian’s departure. As he leaned in to whisper something in the signorina’s ear, Gillian bumped into the door jamb.

  “Ouch.” She rubbed her shoulder and forced herself to turn away from the scene.

  Giving her a queer look, Drake took her hand. “Doll, if you actually look where you’re walking, it will help you to avoid doors and walls.”

  Gillian nodded, feeling more alone than ever.

  * * * * *

  The moment Gillian and Sutherland disappeared out of the dining room, Alex slumped in his chair, exhausted from the effort to keep his mouth shut and his desires to himself. It took all his reserves, but he’d done it. He let her go. He didn’t need to worry about dying and going to hell for his sins, because he was already in hell. The next time he saw Gillian she would be engaged to not one, but two men. Neither of them him. Bloody hell. He was not drunk enough for this night.

  “Alex,” Maria purred, sliding her hand up his leg under the table while leaning toward his ear. “I want to come home with you to your bed.”

  He shoved her searching hand away, unable to stand his charade any longer. “No. I’ll be going home alone tonight.” And every night for the rest of his life. He wanted no woman but the one he couldn’t have. He stood and clutched at his chest. The aching pain he was getting used to shot through the center of his heart, making him wince. Could longing kill a man? Peter motioned toward the door, and Alex nodded, following his friend out of the dining room toward the main entrance.

  “I take it the lovely Maria will not be escorting you home?”

  “No.” Alex offered a slight smile. “Will you see she gets home safely?”

  “My coachman can. If I tried to even put my big toe into a carriage alone with Maria, Sally would throttle me.”

  “Yes, she’s rather possessive of you,” Alex said, shrugging on his overcoat.

  “We’re all possessive of those we love.”

  Waving the footman away, Alex opened the front door. He wanted to possess Gillian. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and never let her go. Did that mean he loved her? Or did that mean he was a fool? Perhaps it meant both.

  As Alex’s driver scrambled to open the carriage door, Alex stepped into the rain. He stood for a moment, letting the cool water drench his coat and seep cold into his skin. In the gazebo to the side, candlelight cast shadows on Sutherland and Gillian. They stood face-to-face. Alex forced his legs to move and get into the carriage, then he signaled his coachman to go.

  As his carriage pulled away, a sweat broke out against his scalp, despite the frigid air. He had thought nothing could feel worse than knowing he was to blame for Robert killing himself. Damn it if he had not been grievously wrong. Not fighting for Gillian was the worst pain he had ever experienced.

  * * * * *

  Dim and fairly deserted, White’s was perfect for Alex. He didn’t want to make conversation or play cards or even pretend to be happy. He wanted to get bloody sopping foxed and by the swimming in his head, he had a damn good start.

  Several hours later, he was sure he had perfected the art of feeling sorry for himself. “To Robert,” he mumbled, turning up his glass of whiskey. As the liquid slid to his stomach, he closed his eyes, savoring the oblivion only truly good whiskey could bring.

  A chair scraped beside him, and he growled in response. “Go away,” he commanded, not caring who he might be offending.

  “I can’t do that, Lionhurst.”

  Unsure if his ears betrayed him, Alex opened one eye. Nope. His head may be soggy, but his ears still worked. He slowly opened the other eye and focused both on Sutherland. “There are two of you.”

  “No. Just one.”

  “What the hell are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be celebrating your impending wedding with your intended?” If he had just proposed to Gillian, he would first kiss her lips, then her neck, then perhaps her shoulder or that little hollow place between her shoulder blades where she had a tiny scar. He shook his head with a groan.

  Sutherland eyed him but said nothing.

  “Go celebrate,” Alex hissed, closing both eyes.
>
  “Well, I would if I had a fiancée, but as the lady in question said no to my proposal…”

  Alex bolted upright in his seat and the room swayed. “Bloody hell.” He took a deep breath. “What did you say?”

  “Gillian refused my offer of marriage.”

  “She refused you?”

  Alex tried to concentrate on appearing concerned for Sutherland, but he could not get past the fact that Gillian had refused the man. “Why’d she refuse you?”

  “It’s customary to tell one sorry when they pour out their troubles to you.”

  Alex scrubbed a hand over his face. “I am sorry. Truly.”

  “She said something about attraction or lack thereof. And attraction leading to love. Oh, and men with blue eyes who refuse to wear their cravats properly.” Sutherland’s gaze fell to Alex’s untied cravat. “And sisters who won’t listen. And her being helpless, but sure she could no longer marry me. Honestly, I couldn’t follow half the things she babbled about.”

  Alex grinned. He followed her perfectly. She cared for him. No denying the proof of her babbling. What to do about it? She deserved better than him. But he was a selfish bastard, and he no longer cared. He met Sutherland’s eyes. “I can’t let her go twice.”

  “I suspected something was between the two of you.” Sutherland shrugged. “I chose to ignore it because she would have been the perfect wife for me, and I never dreamed you would marry anyone. Then Sally sat me down an hour ago, told me a story about you and your brother and lectured me on finding a woman who really loved me for me.”

  “What the hell does Sally know about Robert and me?”

  Alex sat in stunned silence as Sutherland told him all the details that Peter had told Sally. “I don’t remember telling Peter any of that.”

  Sutherland nodded. “You loved your brother. And then you betrayed him. And he betrayed you. Time and again. He was an ass. And so were you. It’s time to forgive yourself.”

  “I can’t,” Alex said, pushing his chair away from the table. “But because I am an ass, I can’t just let her go, though she deserves better than me.”

  Alex stood and swayed with the sudden motion. His effort to get foxed had been a supremely good one. He put his hand on the back of his chair to steady himself. “Was she still at Peter and Sally’s when you left?”

  “Yes. From the sound of it, she was arguing with her aunt about something. Primwitty said he thought you might be here, so I left to come find you.”

  “I should go find her.”

  “Not tonight, my friend.”

  “Why not?” Alex blinked his eyes to clear his vision.

  “You’re foxed. Go see her when you can talk coherently.”

  Waiting was out of the question. Alex wanted and needed to see her now and talk to her or even just look at her. He had no idea what he was going to say or what he could offer her, but he had to say something.

  He took a step forward and the room tilted. He slapped his palm on the table. “I am not drunk,” he protested, more for his own benefit. He had never been foxed over a woman in his life.

  Chuckling, Sutherland asked, “How do you know you’re not drunk?”

  “If I can walk, I’m not foxed,” Alex replied smugly, taking a step forward and pitching face-first onto the cold, hard floor. Hands came under his arms, and he would have lifted his head to protest, but the blasted thing weighed a ton. Instead, he decided to sleep since someone turned out the lights.

  Alex woke with a pounding headache, a dry mouth and sweating from the bedcovers piled on him. After a brief inspection of his surroundings, he ascertained he was in his own town house. Thank God for that, or he supposed, he should thank Sutherland. With a quick change and a barked command to his butler, Alex was on his way to Peter and Sally’s, praying all the way that Gillian had been detained by the rain that still plagued them this morning. He arrived at Sally and Peter’s, and discarding all social graces, he did not bother to knock and charged into the house nearly running over the poor butler.

  “Lord Lionhurst, I do believe you are expected,” the butler stated politely, ignoring the fact that he had almost been shoved to the ground. “If I may escort you to the study?”

  Alex nodded and followed the man, trying not to push him out of the way in his eagerness to get to Gillian faster. When the aged butler finally crept to the study door and opened it, Alex couldn’t contain himself any longer. He brushed past him and stopped short, disappointment nearly choking him. Sally, Lady Whitney, Lady Davenport and Peter were in the room, but not Gillian.

  “Where is she?” Alex asked, directing his question at Peter since he was closest to him.

  “I assume you mean Lady Gillian?”

  “You know who I mean,” Alex snapped.

  “She’s gone.”

  Ready to shake his best friend, Alex advanced toward Peter. “What do you mean, she’s gone?”

  “It’s as Peter has just told you,” Gillian’s aunt said. “She wanted to leave, so she left.”

  Alex dropped into a chintz chair, put his head between his hands and took three long breaths. When he thought he could talk without yelling, he sat up. “Let’s try again, shall we?”

  The women nodded in unison.

  “Are you telling me she had a coach take her home in this driving rain?”

  “Not precisely,” Lady Whitney said.

  Alex turned his glare on Peter. “I tried to stop her, Lion. She insisted she could drive the carriage herself, and when I flatly refused to allow her, she sneaked out of the house and took my favorite coach with the red and black top. How was I to know a lady would do such a thing?”

  “Darling, really?” Sally chuckled. “After all these years married to me, you truly don’t know an independent woman when you see her?”

  “I thought your outlandish behavior was yours alone,” Peter replied. “I’d no idea other women were afflicted so.”

  “You must not know many women with their own minds,” Lady Davenport said with a shake of her head.

  “Truly he doesn’t,” Sally confirmed. “Though I do maintain like-minded friends for myself as Gillian.”

  “Enough,” Alex grumbled, coming to his feet. “How can you all sit here so calmly when she’s alone out there in this abominable rain?”

  Gillian’s aunt stood up and crossed to him. “Because we only just realized she left. And working ourselves into a tizzy won’t help her. We were just deciding if Whitney and I should go or if His Grace should take another carriage. She’s going home, so we will find her. But she’s quite capable with horses.”

  “Why would she go now in this rain?” Alex glared at all three women. “You women make no sense.” He just wanted to see her and tell her…what? I’m so glad you still only have one fiancé? He groaned and raked his hand through his hair. When he found her, he had to know exactly what to say.

  Standing in the pouring rain, Gillian kicked at the wheel of her carriage until her right foot throbbed from her effort. Blasted rain. When would it end? She ran a hand over her eyes to wipe away the water and stared at the offending wheel sunk deep into the brown muck. With one last burst of anger, she braced her hands on the wheel and dug her feet into the mud behind her, but as she slid forward toward the brown, soggy ground, all her determination slipped away as her hands sank into the mess.

  She couldn’t do it anymore. Whatever fight she possessed was gone. She had failed her sister, and her sister did not even know it yet. The only choice now was to protect Whitney as best she could from whatever may come.

  Fearing she was about to end up face-first in the sludge, she tried to bring her knees forward and push herself up to stand. Instead, she tilted over and landed on her back, stuck in the mire. Her predicament echoed the past that haunted her, a mire of lies and mud brought about by rain. The river had killed Mother on a rainy night.

  Weighed down by years of secrets, guilt and duty, Gillian relinquished the fight and dropped all the way back into the muck. Th
e belief that she could one day figure this problem out drove her forward every day of her life, but now that belief was gone. Drake had been her only solution. She was left with nothing except her desire for Alex.

  What kind of fool was she to want a man who had only offered to ruin her in order to hurt his enemy? Alex did not love her. If he had, then he would have stopped Drake from taking her from the dining room last night. Alex had known Drake meant to propose marriage. Drake had told her so. Blast her stupidity for falling in love with Alex.

  He was not going to come charging up the road and rescue her from all her problems. What did that leave? She stared up at the gray sky and let the rain pelt her face, cold drops of confusion and defeat covering her skin with a wet layer. What to do now? Pull herself out of the mud? No. She was too tired to move just yet.

  She would have to marry Lord Westonburt. She could not leave Whitney, and staying meant marriage to that man. Her stomach turned in protest. She lay in the muck until she was soaked to the bone, a deep chill settling into her soul along with the brutal truth.

  Gillian dug her fists into the mire. Perhaps if she held tightly enough to the earth, she could maintain her senses as well. She closed her eyes and breathed in the wet dirt and rain. There was no good solution; there was no happy ending.

  Her throat constricted, and every defense she gathered around her to make herself strong through the years slipped away. She felt like she was eight years old again, the longing to be loved as fresh as the moment she realized Mother was leaving them. But no longer did Gillian crave her mother’s touch. She craved Alex’s, and the longing made her angry. “I hate you, Lord Lionhurst,” she hissed, slamming her palms into the dirt and pushing herself up.

  “Don’t say that, peach. I would hate to think I came all this way in the driving rain to find a woman who hates me.”

  Gillian’s eyes flew open. She wasn’t woolgathering. There was Alex, kneeling in the mud and gazing at her.

  He shook his head, then swooped his arms under her legs and brought her against his chest while rising.