His Scandal

by Gayle Callen

  When Emmeline realized how improper her thoughts were becoming, she fanned herself vigorously to disguise her blush.

  To make everything worse, Alex came over to the ladies and flopped down on his side on a blanket, propping his head in his hand. Those dark eyes were alive with such mischief that Emmeline braced herself for the worst as she allowed her anger to simmer. Even worse, his fingers casually rubbed the lace on her hem, and she could feel every tug of the material across her knees and up to her waist. Appalled, she wondered if anyone could see. She wanted to kick him, or step on those groping fingers, but such behavior would only call more attention to his antics.

  Soon the other gentlemen joined them, and as the sun began to wane, Alex said, “Ladies, I fear we have not much time left of our lovely afternoon.”

  Blythe came to sit beside him, holding her skirts down with her arms.

  “What amusements can we poor gentlemen provide you?” he continued.

  Emmeline straightened with sudden inspiration. “Sir Alexander, I have heard you say more than once that you are a gifted poet. I am certain we’d all enjoy hearing your work.”

  Though the smile never left his face, Alex’s gaze was riveted to hers, and she barely withheld her own smile of glee. Ah, what a wicked repayment for treating her sister so lightly.

  Sir Edmund choked on his tankard of ale. “Poetry?” he managed to say, before succumbing to a coughing fit.

  There were titters of laughter, and even Blythe grinned. Alex slowly sat up, every muscle rippling into the next like the stretching of a wild wolf. Emmeline caught her breath, refusing to do the sensible thing and back down.

  “Ah, Lady Emmeline, I would not want to make anyone uncomfortable with my deepest feelings.”

  “Sir Alexander,” she replied sweetly, “you do us a grave injustice if you believe we would not appreciate your thoughts.”

  She could not believe her own nerve, and she knew some of the women would be looking at her in a new light. She usually said little at parties, except to her few friends. But something about Alex brought out her daring, and she relished the heady power of it.

  “Very well, I accept your challenge,” he said.

  “Challenge? Whatever do you mean?”

  “You of all people know how private poetry is.”

  She felt the sting as if slapped. How dare he allude to something she’d said in private!

  “But I will gladly bare my soul to entertain you, Lady Emmeline.”

  She thought of what else he’d bared before the whole court, and willed herself not to blush again.

  “Thou young swan, be ever true,” he began, leaning back on his hands as if the impromptu crafting of words came easily to him.

  Blushing, Emmeline hoped no one had overheard him calling her a swan earlier.

  “Thy flock of chicks needs all thy mothering. Temper thy…temper when one does stray.”

  When his audience laughed, he shrugged. Emmeline pinned him with a narrow-eyed stare.

  “For the black swan’s wiles cannot be denied.”

  Emmeline watched the ladies titter and the men laugh, while her insides seethed at the subtle challenge. Alex stood up to bow, but she was not so easily vanquished. The black swan had better be careful, or he would find himself roasting on a spit.

  A short while later, Alex stood beside Edmund, watching the ladies say their good-byes.

  Edmund gave a low laugh. “’The black swan’?”

  Alex shrugged, his gaze on Emmeline, who was proudly watching Blythe curtsy to the noblewomen. He didn’t know many women who gladly gave center stage to another, even their sisters. “I was desperate. Could you not tell?”

  “Oh, I could tell. So is the nest you’re disturbing sundered yet?”

  Alex didn’t even hesitate. “No, it is a difficult challenge that you’ve given me, Edmund.”

  Such a virginal kiss didn’t count, and he wasn’t ready to be done with the Prescott sisters. “The Lady Emmeline interrupted us. Did you have something to do with that?”

  “After I saw you leave, I could not lie to her concerning your whereabouts, could I?”

  Alex clapped him on the shoulder. “Never you, Edmund. Would you like to accompany us back to London?”

  “You don’t mind my interference?”

  “Lady Emmeline is plenty of interference all by herself, so you’re welcome to come with us—unless you have business with Lady Elizabeth.”

  Edmund’s face remained impassive. “I’m biding my time with that one,” he said shortly. “So thank you, I accept your offer.”

  Once their horses were guided onto the narrow lane, Edmund somehow managed to ride ahead with Blythe, leaving Alex alone in the middle as Emmeline stubbornly rode beside her groom. Alex slowed down until Emmeline had no choice but to ride beside him, or risk leaving Blythe with yet another man.

  Emmeline’s face was coolly fixed forward on her sister, who was laughing at something Edmund said. Alex couldn’t help studying Emmeline in her simple gown, so devoid of the ornamentation other women reveled in. Again he wondered if she wanted everyone to see only the shining light that was Blythe.

  “My lady, you have crushed this poet’s spirit.”

  He saw her lips twitch, but she only glanced at him before turning her gaze back to the village in the distance. The dusk of shadows had begun to darken the fields, and the descending sun was at their backs.

  “I could not crush such a monumental conceit as yours, Sir Alexander.”

  “You challenged me to poetry, yet you made no comment about all my hard work.”

  “But, sir, you have disappointed me. I thought you might be able to embrace subtlety, and it is such a cruel blow to be confronted with the truth.”

  “What truth, my lady?” he asked, enjoying their sparring.

  “That you are not even capable of pretending competence.”

  He laughed. “One cannot master everything, Emmeline. At least I try.”

  He could tell she stiffened by the way her horse tossed its head and pranced.

  “And what do you mean by that?”

  “I don’t settle for only the many things I’m good at. I take risks. I attempt to fly, which swans are usually good at. But perhaps you know something different. Does the Marquess of Kent clip his swans’ wings?”

  Alex felt a strange sadness as Emmeline glared at him, blinking furiously.

  Her fingers gripped the pommel as she leaned toward him. “Cease stretching your wings. My sister will not be treated as your next conquest.”

  “I don’t wish to conquer her,” he said simply.

  She didn’t answer, only tapped the horse’s flanks with her heels and rode ahead of him.

  That evening, Emmeline’s father asked Blythe to sing again for his guests. Emmeline accompanied her on the spinet, and along with the gathered noblemen, watched how Blythe’s beauty seemed to glow. Part of what made her sister so special was that she had no idea how wonderful such innocence was; it was simply a part of her. With the paneled parlor as her backdrop, Blythe stood confidently.

  Too confident, too fearless—and Emmeline had encouraged it.

  The scene by the stream unfolded again in Emmeline’s mind, and she saw her fearless, curious sister in Alex Thornton’s arms.

  Emmeline knew she herself was at fault, that she had failed to teach Blythe proper caution. Was it too late? Would her sister only learn by taking one risk too many?

  She couldn’t allow that to happen. And she needed a stronger approach. Alex was a scoundrel and she had to prove it, even if it meant cataloguing his every sin.

  It was time to show him that she would be the winner in their battle—and she had the perfect plan.

  Chapter 10

  Emmeline had thought her plan to spy on Alex and record his behavior was brilliant—until it was time to carry it out. It took two days even to find an opportunity to sneak out of the manor.

  The only people usually on the street were commoners, but it
seemed too risky to dress as a maidservant, and be at the mercy of every passing man.

  When she thought of disguising herself as a boy, she felt a shiver of unease, followed by a mounting excitement.

  It was easy to shuffle through the supply of servants’ garments to find a pair of breeches and a loose shirt. When she was dressed, she added a doublet to hide the curves that would mark her as a woman, and high boots to disguise her legs. She tucked her hair up beneath a round woolen cap.

  When she was safely out the door she broke into a run through the garden, enjoying the freedom from her gown and the promise of a sunny day for her adventure. At the Thames, she hired a wherry boat to take her to Southwark.

  Surely she would find Alex abed at the Rooster. The sun still hid behind the buildings as she tried to walk with a confident swagger from the dock to the tavern. More than once she had to fling herself into a doorway to keep from being run over by a fast-moving coach. She was deciding how to watch both entrances to the building, when the front door began to swing open. Ducking aside, she glanced over her shoulder and stared with surprise at Alex’s back as he strode away. He tossed his short cape back from his shoulders; the spurs on his long boots jingled. He looked awake and ready for the day, and a whistle trailed behind him.

  Why had she thought him the type to be grumpy and ill from the effects of drinking? She had expected that to be the first fault on her list.

  No matter. The day was young, and Alex was certainly capable of every kind of scandal, both large and small. She would have plenty of things to warn Blythe about.

  The first place he visited was Paris Garden, only a few streets away from the Rooster. She knew what went on there—bear-baiting—and she repressed a shudder.

  But as the crowd gathered, and she had to stand on the tips of her toes to see Alex’s dark hair and broad shoulders, she was determined to follow him.

  All sizes of men closed about her, from hunched, toothless old grandfathers to eager youths much younger than she. She was elbowed and pushed along a path she hadn’t chosen, and the sudden roar of cheering men rose like a wave. After losing sight of Alex, she could only trot along to keep from being trampled. She dreaded that someone would notice she was a woman.

  They went into a tunnel beneath the building, and Emmeline paid a penny. Soon she was standing beneath the gallery, with large men blocking her view of the sunlit pit. While a pack of dogs snarled, every roar of the bear made her wince as she imagined what was being done to the poor thing.

  “Here now, lad,” said a gruff voice behind her. “Can ye not see?”

  She looked over her shoulder to find an older man squinting down at her, his tanned face etched with white lines at his eyes and around his mouth.

  “I don’t need to see, sir,” she said, remembering to deepen her voice. “I’m looking for my friend.”

  “So he brings ye to the bear-baiting and leaves you for a doxy, right?”

  “Well, no—”

  “Worry not, lad, me boys here can make sure ye have a grand old time. Who has another pint of beer for me new friend here?”

  Emmeline’s eyes widened. “Sir, you are too kind, but—”

  “The name’s Robbie, lad.”

  Someone thrust a tankard of beer at her, and as it sloshed all over her hands, everyone laughed.

  “Now lad,” Robbie continued, “we can tell ye be taking a holiday from the manor to be with us common folk—”

  She glanced nervously at the many curious faces peering down at her. Why had she spoken so formally?

  “—but no need for fear. Ye’re among friends. Drink up!”

  A couple of the boys cheered as she took a cautious sip, and then another. She’d had beer before, and though this was hardly the best she’d sampled, it did quench her thirst.

  “Come on, it’ll put hair on your chin!” Robbie said with a laugh.

  He put his big hand on her back and pushed her between two much taller men, whose elbows grazed her shoulders. She was pressed against a wooden balustrade, and she clutched the tankard to her chest to keep from spilling it. She could see a muddy pit encircled by three levels of galleries, all crowded with boisterous patrons. There were even women hanging on the arms of their men. Taking another sip of beer, she laughed as she realized she could have dressed plainly and come as herself.

  The bear roared again, and her gaze was reluctantly drawn to the pit. A brown bear with scars about his muzzle and through his fur was chained from his iron collar to a stake in the very center of the pit. Circled by a pack of growling mastiffs, the poor bear didn’t know which way to turn.

  Emmeline gasped when the first dog finally leapt at him. With a roar, the bear caught him in a bone-crushing hug. Feeling queasy, she turned away and took another swallow of beer. She knew the bear wouldn’t be allowed to die, for he was worth much to his handlers. But as for the dogs…she didn’t want to speculate. She sipped her beer and lifted her gaze to the gallery above her.

  She suddenly saw Alex. He was standing with a group of men, not even watching the bear-baiting. There was money passing between him and another man—could he be gambling? Absently drinking her beer and studying him, she remembered how he had questioned the quietness of her life. Of course she took risks! What would he think if he saw her now?

  Robbie swung a beefy arm about her shoulder. “Ye done with that one yet, lad?”

  “Not quite, sir.”

  “Drink it down! Me boy Matt wants to race ye.”

  “Race?” she echoed. The youth had to be several years younger than she was, for he was thin and gawky, with ears too large for his head. He clutched a tankard between two hands.

  “Sure, drinkin’s something all me boys are good at. Here’s another pint.”

  She found herself gripping two tankards.

  Though she wasn’t afraid, for they seemed a nice sort, her stomach felt uneasy, and her head a bit light. She really didn’t want to drink any more beer.

  Alex leaned his elbows against the balustrade and munched the lamb pasty he’d just purchased, fighting a feeling of boredom. Bear-baiting was not his first choice in entertainment—in fact, it was near the bottom. But his dwindling supply of money was keeping his entertainment simple.

  He took another bite of the pie and let his gaze wander over the crowd. Down below he heard raucous cheering, and watched with interest as a boy was being urged to drink by a circle of half-drunken revelers.

  Alex’s smile slowly faded, and a strange sense of tension tightened his muscles. The boy looked about him, then up at the gallery Alex was standing in. Their gazes locked, and Alex saw blue-green eyes rimmed with a heavy fringe of lashes no boy would have.

  Emmeline.

  What the hell was she doing at Paris Gardens dressed as a boy? And why was his first reaction on seeing her an immediate tightening of his groin and the memory of her well-curved body held against his?

  Dropping the pie, he ran for the back of the gallery and pushed past several men on the stairs. It was more crowded at the bottom of the stands, and he had to force his way through until he reached the circle of men gathered around Emmeline.

  “Excuse me,” he said loudly, elbowing two of them aside. “Emmett, why did you run off?”

  He almost laughed at the sight of Lady Emmeline Prescott with a cap pulled low over her forehead, and a pint of beer in each hand. She gave him a nervous smile as he scowled and shook his head.

  “Em, you promised that if I brought you today, you’d remain at my side.”

  She grinned, and he realized she was already befuddled from the beer.

  “But Alex—” she began in a dangerously normal voice.

  “Not another word.” He hoped she understood the warning. “I see you’ve not finished the beer these kind gentlemen purchased for you. Certainly I’ve taught you better manners than that.”

  Slowly her eyes widened, and she looked from him down to the beer and back to him. He could have sworn she gulped before obediently bri
nging the first tankard to her lips. It only took her a few gulps to drain the contents, and as a cheer rose around her, she blearily grinned.

  Straightening almost in defiance, Emmeline started on the next beer. Alex let her have a few swallows before his conscience got the best of him.

  Taking the tankard from her hand, he said, “I guess that’s enough for today, Em. How do you feel?”

  She shrugged, and to his surprise, her gaze dropped almost speculatively down his body. Pleasure stole over him like a warm summer rain until he remembered that they had an audience, drunken though it was. He took her by the shoulders and turned her toward the entertainment. He sipped her beer, and found himself contemplating drinking from the same spot her mouth had touched. Damn, his thoughts were getting away from him.

  Emmeline was looking at him out of the corner of her eye. Feeling uncomfortably aware of the men all around them, Alex for once wished a woman wasn’t staring at him so blatantly.

  She suddenly took the tankard out of his hand and swallowed a gulp before he managed to pull it away. Her eyes were full of amusement as she licked the last drop from her lower lip. All sensation seemed to pool in his groin. He couldn’t look away from the slow, knowing smile that spread across her face. Innocent that she was, she couldn’t possibly understand what she was doing.

  “Gentlemen, thank you for taking care of my brother,” Alex abruptly said. “He can be a handful, as I’m sure you’ve discovered.”

  “He’s a good lad, that he is,” said one of the men cheerfully.

  “Thanks, Robbie,” Emmeline replied through a grin.

  Alex wanted to groan. How could they not know she was a woman? Her doublet was sagging down one shoulder, and soon the thin shirt she wore would reveal her charms. The tantalizing thought gripped him with a dark eroticism. Or had she bound her breasts?

  He shook himself back to reality.

  “I thank you, too, Robbie,” Alex said, handing the tankard over, “for taking care of my brother. Good day to you.”