What kind of man would show kindness by buying a poor child a gift yet force his enemy’s daughter to live with him out of vengeance?
Blake was an ever-changing mystery.
Returning to her side with the toy tucked beneath his arm, Blake escorted her back to the street.
“We should return to Rosewood. I’ve kept you out all day. Are you tired?”
“It was a lovely day. I feel wonderful.”
With a pang, she realized she meant her words. The quaint country town held a charm that was lacking in the overcrowded shops of London. But it was Blake’s companionship that she enjoyed most of all, and the thought made her stomach clench tight.
A row of carriages stood waiting on the curb. The black lacquered coach with the Ravenspear crest stood out from the rest.
Just as the footman lowered a step for Victoria to ascend into the coach, a loud cry pierced the air.
“Miss Ashton! Miss Ashton, is that you?”
Victoria, with a foot perched on the step, glanced uneasily over her shoulder.
A stout woman dressed entirely in black waved vigorously and hurried toward the carriage.
“Miss Ashton! It must be you. It’s Lady Taddlesworth.”
The woman reached them and positioned herself between the coach and Victoria. “I recognized you from afar.”
With a deliberately casual movement, Victoria turned to face the middle-aged woman. Her nerves tensed immediately.
Of all the people to run into while shopping in this small town, Lady Taddlesworth was the most destructive.
As a titled lady, Lady Taddlesworth was an influential chaperone to many of the wealthy, untitled heiresses, and was paid only when one of her young charges made a successful match in the marriage mart. It was common knowledge that the woman’s wagging tongue about numerous debutantes had destroyed their chance for a husband and instead secured her own charges those coveted prizes—and Taddlesworth a fat purse.
Victoria smiled, feeling as if the effort would cause her face to crack. “Lady Taddlesworth, what a pleasure to see you.”
The woman’s beady eyes darted curiously back and forth between Victoria and Blake.
With a feeling of dread, Victoria realized that Lady Taddlesworth was waiting for Victoria to introduce Blake.
Turning stiffly toward him, Victoria said, “May I present the Earl of Ravenspear.”
Blake smiled charmingly and inclined his dark head. “I believe we met briefly at Almack’s, Lady Taddlesworth.”
“Yes, of course, my lord. I never forget a face.”
“What brings you to the country during the Season?” Blake asked.
“My uncle’s funeral, my lord. A great tragedy.”
As if on cue, Lady Taddlesworth pulled a black handkerchief from her reticule, sniffled and then dabbed at the corners of her dry eyes.
“Our sympathies,” Blake said, eyeing the severe cut of her mourning gown.
Lady Taddlesworth’s dead relative appeared to be suddenly forgotten, for the woman stuffed her handkerchief back in her bag, then craned her neck to look inside the coach for, Victoria supposed, a chaperone.
Victoria imagined the scandalous thoughts that were churning through the nosy woman’s mind at discovering an unchaperoned, unmarried woman alone with the realm’s most eligible bachelor.
“Miss Ashton, I was not aware your family maintained a country residence,” Lady Taddlesworth said, a devious smile curving her thin lips. “You must be Lord Ravenspear’s guest, then. Is Rosewood as lavish as they say?”
Victoria clenched her hands by her side until her nails dug into her palms.
So the time has come for my ruin. She had envisioned the humiliation a thousand times since her arrival at Rosewood, but now that it was here, she felt a momentary rush of panic.
All practiced responses flew from her head, and her thoughts scampered like dry leaves in a strong breeze. When she opened her mouth to speak, her voice wavered, then cracked, then was gone altogether. Swallowing the lump in her throat, she tried again. “I uh…”
Blake’s smooth voice intruded. “Miss Ashton is a guest of my neighbor, Lady Samantha Devon. You are familiar with the baroness?”
His voice was confident, insinuating that anyone worth their title would be personally acquainted with the Baroness of Devon.
Lady Taddlesworth appeared taken aback. “Yes, of course. How is Lady Devon faring?”
“Not so well at the moment, I’m afraid. She has a terrible cold and is sleeping in my coach as we speak.”
“Oh, dear, how awful,” Lady Taddlesworth said as her neck stretched to an unhealthy proportion to glimpse inside the dark carriage.
“We must be off. Lady Devon needs to be home in bed.”
“Yes, of course.” Lady Taddlesworth barely had time to blink before the unlikely pair stepped into the coach and the door slammed in her face.
Chapter 14
The wheels of the coach hit a rut in the country road, causing its occupants to bounce on the padded leather seats.
Blake sat across from Victoria, his long legs brushing her skirts. She looked out the window, her posture stiff, her slender fingers tense in her lap. Even though she remained silent and kept her gaze averted, her anxiety was tangible, as if he could reach out and touch it across the seat.
Studying Victoria’s profile, he found her captivating. Her facial bones were delicately carved, her lips full and rounded over straight teeth. Thick lashes fanned the greenest eyes he had ever seen.
It was pointless to deny his attraction to her. Even after all the time he insisted she spend with him, the emerald eyes and raven hair drew him to the point where he found himself devising still more excuses to keep her close.
A mounting frustration grew within him, and he felt like a caged beast within the confines of the coach. Her beauty was a drug, clouding his brain, stealing his logic, destroying his plans.
Since her arrival at Rosewood, nothing had gone as planned. He had intended to flaunt her as his mistress and shame Charles Ashton into social ruin. The perfect opportunity had presented itself this afternoon with the arrival of the notorious gossip Lady Taddlesworth.
But did he take advantage?
When the moment had come, a surge of protectiveness so strong rose within him at the thought of sacrificing Victoria to the malicious woman that he had itched to reach out and choke Lady Taddlesworth by her scrawny neck.
A smooth lie had spurted from his lips, and he found himself tossing Victoria inside the coach and slamming the door in Lady Taddlesworth’s pinched face.
The carriage struck another hole in the dilapidated road.
Victoria lurched forward, her hand grasping Blake’s thigh for support. All color drained from her face, and she immediately pulled her hand back as if it was scalded, then returned to stare silently out the window.
Every muscle in Blake’s body tensed, and beads of perspiration formed on his brow. He cursed himself for allowing his enemy’s daughter to affect him so.
He was entranced to the point of distraction. One innocent touch of her hand on his thigh, and he was aching for more, as eager and erratic as a randy schoolboy peeping into his first whorehouse. The feelings were foreign and uncomfortable for a man who had never needed to seduce women into his bed and had parted easily from them without a backward glance.
In his arrogance, he had been convinced that he could overcome her innocence and get her to come willingly to his bed.
But his attempts at seduction, at insisting she spend hours by his side, had served only to drive him wild with need.
He was more uncertain now than ever, at a time when he needed to stick to his well-laid plans. Charles Ashton had to be destroyed, had to pay for his past sins—and by Blake’s own hand.
Grinding his teeth, Blake was overcome by self-disgust. Where were his sharp and calculating wit, his brutal efficiency?
He had endured a vicious taskmaster and near starvation in the poorhouse, had witne
ssed his mother’s gruesome death in filthy conditions and had toiled beneath the blistering sun in the Indies. Now that he was finally in a position to seek justice, just the sight of Victoria’s distress made his gut clench tight and guilt stab at his chest.
He rubbed the back of his head, feeling the throb of a beginning headache.
“Why did you not tell Lady Taddlesworth the truth?”
Blake’s head snapped up to look at Victoria, startled by her question as much as by the broken silence. He frowned, not knowing how to answer when he wasn’t sure of his own motives.
She stared at him, waiting for his response, her eyes wide as disks, her full lips slightly parted.
Uncomfortable beneath her gaze, he blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “I want to choose the moment, not have it chosen by some annoying gossiper.”
She nodded curtly as if his ludicrous explanation made perfect sense. “I would like some warning, my lord.”
“Warning? Of what?”
“Of when you do chose to reveal our…our arrangement,” she stammered.
His fingers ached to reach over and reassuringly smooth her tense hands in her lap. His jaw clenched instead.
“I do not wish to speak of Lady Taddlesworth or our so-called ‘arrangement,’” he answered in a tense, clipped voice that warned against further discussion.
She chewed on her bottom lip. “You’re angry with me. Why?”
His headache began to build in intensity and pound in the base of his skull. He longed to tell her that he was angry at himself, not at her, but the words died on his lips. He had his pride, after all, and he needed to regroup his thoughts in private and plot his next course of action.
He sighed, and shook his head, letting her know he didn’t intend to speak further.
Victoria leaned forward, touched his hand and raised thick lashes to look up at him. “Thank you for misleading Lady Taddlesworth, my lord. You could have easily told her the truth, and even though you had reasons not to reveal our arrangement, I’m still grateful.”
At her gentle touch, Blake felt the blood drain from his head and surge in his groin. His heart hammered erratically as sexual arousal and tenderness raged within him.
She had thanked him, by God, and all he wanted to do was straddle her on the leather seat, strip her naked and make love to her the entire journey home.
All that stopped him was the knowledge that she was a virgin and deserved better than a quick toss in a carriage on a bumpy country road…and that damnable promise—not to force her into his bed—which he had come to regret ever making.
He lied, Victoria thought to herself, I don’t believe his excuse that he wants to choose the moment of my ruin. I must mean more to him than he cares to admit. Victoria was gathering her thoughts while pouring tea.
Lady Devon and Victoria were in the parlor at Rosewood. Victoria had told Samantha to arrive when she knew Blake would be occupied with Justin.
“I knew it,” Lady Samantha Devon said. Sitting forward on the edge of her chair, she accepted the teacup and saucer. Excitement shone in her eyes ever since Victoria described Blake’s odd behavior during yesterday’s country outing. “What did I tell you, my girl?” Samantha asked. “I am an excellent judge of male character.”
Victoria set down her own saucer and teacup and sat across from her friend.
“No matter his actions yesterday, I’m still convinced that he seeks to destroy my father and plans to use me in some way for that purpose.”
“He is not acting like a man who intends to hurt you.”
“I cannot allow myself to trust him,” Victoria insisted, “no matter how many new gowns he buys me, how generous he is with his money or even how kind he is to his tenants.”
“But he protected your reputation not once but twice in the same afternoon. Why would he do that?”
“I have no idea why he lied to Madame Fleur. Perhaps he believes the seamstress will sew better for a man’s cousin than for his mistress. As for Lady Taddlesworth, he told me his reasons.”
Samantha rolled her eyes. “You don’t honestly believe either explanation, do you? Ravenspear wouldn’t give a fig what the seamstress thought. He’d accept nothing but exquisite workmanship from her. The only explanation I can think of for his behavior towards Lady Taddlesworth is that he must have been truly concerned for your feelings.”
Victoria pinched the bridge of her nose with her thumb and forefinger as she searched the recesses of her mind for a plausible explanation.
Lifting her head, she looked at Lady Devon. “It does seem foolish that he failed to use Lady Taddlesworth’s wagging tongue to his advantage. He could still gain satisfaction by bragging about our arrangement at any gentleman’s club.”
Raising her cup to her lips, Samantha blew on the hot brew. A teasing smile curved her painted lips. “Has he kept his promise not to break down your bedroom door at night?”
Victoria was conscious of the heat stealing into her face. “Yes, although it does not dissuade him from touching me under false pretenses.”
“I should hope not, darling. Now do you finally acknowledge that you have power over him?”
“I acknowledge no such thing,” Victoria said, shaking her head vigorously. “He has all the power. There is a brick dangling above my head, and I’m to wait until he decides to let it smash down upon me.”
“Don’t be so dramatic, Victoria. You are to act the coquette like I told you and encourage his feelings for you. That is how you can protect yourself and gain influence.”
That’s not the only way, Victoria thought. I can spy and steal his innermost business secrets. And then, one stock at a time, I can punish him.
Victoria had yet to rummage through Blake’s books, and she dared not look within herself to find the true reason.
At first she had told herself it was because she lacked opportunity since Blake insisted she continually stay by his side. Thereafter, she reasoned it was because her father and Jacob Hobbs had yet to contact her with their demands.
But the longer she stayed at Rosewood, the more she discovered about its owner, and the more she admired.
The servants adored him, his tenants respected and admired him, and he cared enough to buy an impoverished boy a toy. She grudgingly admitted that she was better fed and dressed at Rosewood than under her own father’s roof. And as far as she knew, not an ill word had been uttered about her in society.
Perhaps he intended to make her father suffer just from the knowledge that she was living under Blake’s roof for an entire year.
Maybe if she could encourage—no, exploit—Blake’s feelings for her, then a one-year sentence would satisfy his need for vengeance. If tormenting her father with her absence would suffice, then she need not spy, and Blake need not destroy her reputation.
She was startled at the lurch of excitement she felt by the mere idea of nurturing Blake’s affection.
He had once told her that her childhood infatuation had grown into a woman’s desire. She had vehemently denied the statement. But nothing could change the fact that he was the most compelling male she had ever encountered. Not only was she battling her fond adolescent memories, but his honorable character traits she had discovered of late made her firm resolve to stay cold toward him begin to melt.
Being forced to spend a year in close quarters with the grown Blake Mallorey would surely strain her self-control.
If Lady Samantha’s instincts were accurate—that Blake was truly concerned for her feelings—then there was hope. If Victoria could fan his interest like a slow-burning flame, then perhaps he would grow to care enough for her to not shame her in public.
But could she make him fond of her without ending up in his bed? She was certain that he intended their relationship to expire at the end of the year, and if she allowed him to make love to her, then she would be exposing her heart to devastation.
Victoria looked at Samantha. “How can I make Ravenspear care for me so as not to car
ry out his mad plan? How can I encourage him, yet keep him at a safe distance?”
“Ah, so you do not intend to sleep with him?”
Would she ever grow accustomed to Lady Devon’s directness? “He has no intention of offering marriage and plans to discard me in a year’s time.”
“But you seek my advice to soften his heart…to manipulate him.”
“At least then my father will have a chance to keep his commission and pay off the dreaded loans. And I will escape this lunacy with my reputation intact.”
“I see.” Samantha plucked a grape from a fruit bowl and popped it into her mouth. She cocked her blond head to one side as she chewed, appearing to contemplate the situation. “It may not be as easy as you think despite his recent thoughtful behavior. I don’t think Ravenspear is a man you can toy with yet keep out of your bedroom.”
Victoria realized her lack of experience could be her downfall, and she immediately said, “Lady Samantha, I’m ignorant on the subject. Please tell me what to do.”
“I’ll give you a few tips, darling. But first you have to believe in yourself, in your femininity. A woman’s power is as old as time itself. It’s so strong that men are merely pawns, waiting for the opportunity when a woman’s defenses weaken or she chooses to lower them.”
Victoria’s brows drew together in confusion. “I don’t understand. Am I expected to obey his every command with the hope that one day his resolve will weaken, and he will consider my needs?”
“Not at all!” Samantha said. “I want you to do the complete opposite. Men, especially dominant males like Ravenspear, love a challenge. The harder they have to work, the more infatuated they become. Make him exert great efforts for your affections.”
“How?”
“Keep him off balance,” Samantha said. “Act warm and inviting one minute, then cold as ice the next.”
Victoria sat back, taking mental notes of everything the experienced baroness said.
“Flirt with his closest friends beneath his nose. It makes all men raving mad with jealousy. In your case, you have my blessing to trifle with Justin.”
Lady of Scandal Page 11
