Seeking Scandal

by Nadine Millard

  Also, still feeling more than a little sick, she was afraid to open her mouth at all for fear of what might happen.

  Tom rapped on the carriage ceiling and they set off on a slow trundle through the darkened London streets.

  Tom watched Caroline closely for signs of sickness, all the while trying to get his hormones in check.

  Picking her up had been a mistake. An exquisite, torturous, beautiful mistake.

  But he had grown quite tired of his bickering with Rebecca and one look at Caroline's face, and her rather obvious swaying, had been proof that she needed to be removed.

  He was frustrated that she was obviously in no fit state to hear his explanations about Charlotte at the moment. But he still wanted to be the one to see her home safely.

  Otherwise, he'd spend the night worrying himself sick about her.

  And, as foolish as it was, he found that any time spent with her was infinitely better than time spent away from her.

  Which made him a prized idiot.

  The feeling of her body, so light and supple and pressed so closely to his own, would haunt him for days. And nights. Especially nights.

  The scent of her, still like a meadow in spring, tantalising and fresh. The impact of those icy eyes, glassy and unfocused as they were. The rosiness of her all too kissable lips. These things combined would serve to give him many a restless night.

  He groaned aloud and let his head drop back against the plush velvet cushion behind him, closing his eyes. Being around her was going to turn him grey!

  And tomorrow he was issuing the invitations to his house party at the estate in Essex.

  Willingly throwing himself into her company for two weeks.

  He was a glutton for punishment that much was clear.

  "Tom." The whispered voice beside him caused him to jump out of his skin.

  With a startled yelp he jumped from his seat and smacked his head on the roof of the carriage.

  "What in the blazes?" he yelled as he frantically rubbed his head and sat down abruptly on the other side of the carriage.

  During his morose silence, Caroline had deposited herself beside him. Now she was giggling like a schoolroom miss, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes.

  "Good heavens, Tom. I did not take you to be so jumpy."

  "I am when someone sneaks up on me," he answered sulkily.

  "Terribly sorry, old chap," she said before bursting into peals of laughter once more.

  It seemed the maudlin mood had passed.

  Her nearness was affecting him more than he would care to admit. And, laughing or crying, she was showing emotion at least. He had loved her when he thought her coolly detached. Add humour, anger, fear, happiness, vulnerability, and a host of other emotions to the mix and he was in grave, grave danger of loving her more than he even knew he was capable of.

  And that scared the wits out of him.

  She had held that sort of power over him before and he had been left bruised and broken. He couldn't, wouldn't allow himself to feel it again. How could he take such a risk when he had barely survived the first time?

  That didn't mean he wasn't lusting after her with every single breath that he took, however.

  The giggling had mercifully ceased and Tom opened his eyes to find her scrutinising him with some intensity.

  She was either in very deep thought or trying desperately hard to actually focus on his face. He had a feeling it was the latter.

  "You will have the devil of a headache in the morning, my lady," he said wryly.

  She shrugged her shoulders in total nonchalance. Because she had no idea what was coming, no doubt.

  "What is all this 'my lady' nonsense? Can't you at least call me Caroline?" She paused for a moment, before continuing in a barely audible voice, "You used to."

  Tom swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat. He didn't want her growing despondent again. That made him feel protective and caring. Things he wasn't strong enough to feel right now.

  "Yes, I did," he answered. "And I shall continue to do so, if it pleases you."

  Caroline beamed then and the breath caught in his throat. Dear God, she was utterly exquisite.

  "It does please me. Shall I tell you what does not please me?" she continued.

  Dammit.

  He sighed.

  "If you must."

  She leaned forward, but way too much and he found himself having to grab her and push her back onto her seat.

  "Thank you," she said piously as she faffed about fixing her gown, pulling the bodice and making him nearly expire on the spot.

  "Where was I?" she demanded.

  "I have no idea," he sighed.

  "Oh, yes. I was telling you what I do not like. I do not like ghastly American girls hanging off you. I do not like seeing you engage in vulgar displays of—of—er—vulgarity in public." She was gathering steam now and the pitch of her voice was growing higher.

  Tom winced slightly at the sound. But he had to admit that he felt rather smug at her obvious jealousy.

  At least here was his chance to set her to rights about Charlotte.

  "The 'ghastly American' has a name, Caroline. She is Miss Charlotte Noble. The daughter of an acquaintance and business associate."

  Caroline sniffed which Tom took to mean that she was disinterested in the details.

  He continued nonetheless.

  "I agree that the display was rather vulgar but it was not of my doing. Charlotte has always been rather forward in her attentions. But she is harmless enough."

  "Well, perhaps you consider it harmless to cavort in the middle of a respectable ball, but I do not," she bit out waspishly.

  "We were hardly cavorting, Caroline. She kissed me. I pushed her away. End of story."

  She narrowed her eyes at him, as if trying to decide if he was lying or not. He suddenly found himself quite desperate for her to believe him.

  "Hmm" was all the answer she gave before sitting back and sighing deeply.

  "What is the matter, Caroline?"

  "I did not like to see you with her."

  His heart stopped. It was unfair, perhaps, to take advantage of a tongue loosened by alcohol.

  He felt his body tighten and resolved to stop thinking about her tongue.

  "And why is that?"

  Unfair or not, he wanted to know.

  "Because — well, because—" her cheeks flamed and his interest piqued— "she is not good enough for you."

  Her statement was like being doused in freezing water. Always about standards and being good enough. Even when she was foxed.

  "And why would you think that? She is the daughter of a wealthy and successful gentleman. And I am not titled, as you know."

  "What has a title to do with anything?" she practically shouted. She was very loud when she was drunk.

  "You tell me!" he yelled back, his temper flaring. It was more than a little unfair that she should decide a title counted for nothing two years after he could have done with her having that attitude.

  She blinked at him and swallowed hard, her eyes blazing with some fiery emotion before she once again sighed and dropped her head into her hands.

  He didn't speak.

  Finally, she raised her head and pierced him with a sorrowful gaze that plagued him.

  "I do not think a title is as important as finding someone who makes you happy. And she—she is not good enough for you."

  "You do not even know her." Why was he arguing when he had no interest in pursuing Charlotte Noble?

  "I do not need to."

  "I seem to remember you saying something about me not being good enough. Not even the grandson of a duke would do for you. Why should the rules suddenly change now?"

  She flinched as if he had slapped her and he immediately regretted his harsh words. There was a time when he fantasised about speaking them to her. But seeing her upset now, he wished he could unsay them.

  "I am aware of what I said," she answered now, her eyes filling once again
with the dreaded tears. "And I bitterly regret every word I spoke then."

  Tom's heart was hammering in his chest. What was she saying?

  "But it does not signify. It is too late now, and I realise that. But not her, Tom. I could tell by her behaviour, by the whispers I heard about her. She does not see you. Really see you."

  He frowned at this cryptic mark. More evidence of her inebriated state. She was not making sense.

  "Her eyesight is perfectly fine to my knowledge," he answered dryly, annoyed with himself for attempting to get any sense out of a drunken female.

  "I am not talking about her eyesight, for heaven's sake," she said in exasperation, as if he were the one talking gibberish.

  "Forgive my confusion then, but just what are you talking about?"

  She leaned forward again, this time grabbing his hands, though whether to keep herself from tipping over or because she genuinely wanted to he wasn't quite sure.

  "I'm talking about seeing you, Tom," she said earnestly, "seeing how wonderful you are. How kind and witty, how handsome. How overwhelming."

  It was garbled. But it was effective. It had rendered him speechless.

  Finally, because he couldn't help himself, he answered, his voice hoarse with an emotion he refused to name.

  "Why should she see all that, Caroline? When you didn't."

  The look in her eyes was enough to break his heart all over again.

  She swallowed hard before answering.

  "I saw, Tom," she whispered so quietly that he had to lean even closer to hear. "I was just afraid to keep looking."

  Well, what was he to say to that?

  The silence stretched on. He had no clue what to say to break it. He wasn't even sure he wanted to.

  He had suspected then that it was fear that had stopped her from giving her whole heart to him. But to hear her say it, well slur it. It played havoc with his mind and he was suddenly envious of her inebriated state. He could do with some of that himself right about now.

  Well, what he really wanted was to crush her lips to his. To worship her mouth the way he'd been obsessing about almost daily for the past two years. But she was drunk; blast it all.

  However, they couldn't sit here for the rest of the journey in complete silence. And yet, the moment seemed too special to ruin. The silence too magical to break.

  "Tom." Caroline obviously had no such compunction. But her continued whispers led him to believe that she was as affected by the atmosphere as he.

  He leaned closer still.

  "Yes?"

  "I feel—" She swallowed and Tom felt his heart rate increase.

  "You feel what?"

  He felt as tightly strung as a bow.

  She leaned closer still and he felt surrounded by her.

  "I feel—"

  She looked straight into his eyes and it was as if he'd been struck by lightning.

  "—sick."

  And she proceeded to cast up her accounts all over the floor. And his shoes.

  Well, he'd found a cure for his raging lust.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CAROLINE AWOKE FEELING like she'd fought ten rounds at Gentleman Jackson's pugilist club.

  Sally had crept in some time ago and drawn the curtains. But at Caroline's agonised cry she had promptly shut them again.

  The light had felt to Caroline like being stabbed through the eyes with a sword. In fact, she had come to think that being actually stabbed would be significantly less painful. She demanded that the curtains be drawn back again at once.

  After Sally's sharp exit, Caroline had fallen back into a deep sleep.

  Now, Sally had entered again and was fast becoming one of Caroline's least favourite people in the world.

  "Sally, please. For pity's sake let me sleep. Or die. I genuinely believe these are to be my last moments on earth."

  She couldn't be sure, since the task of lifting her head from the pillow seemed altogether too momentous to even attempt, but she thought she heard Sally's muffled laughter from across the room.

  Her throat was parched. Her head more painful than she could ever remember and the nausea of last night had not abated at all. In fact, it was well on its way to being worse.

  "Oh, my lady. What are we going to do with you?"

  "Kindly stop shouting, Sally."

  "I haven't shouted, my lady."

  "Well then. Whisper."

  "Bailey, his grace's valet, has sent a concoction to help you. It doesn't look the nicest, to be sure. And it stinks something fierce. But he swears up and down that it will work."

  Sally slammed the glass onto the table beside Caroline's head and Caroline winced as the noise rang through her ears.

  Slowly, very slowly, she turned her head and looked aghast at the dull green liquid beside her.

  "I am not drinking that," she rasped.

  "Come now, my lady, I'm sure it doesn't taste as bad as it looks. Or smells."

  With a sigh of defeat, Caroline attempted to sit up. A mistake! Her head swam, the room spun and she ended up making far more use of the chamber pot beside her bed than she would have liked.

  Sally, being the trooper that she was, gave Caroline all the assistance she could — patting her back reassuringly, holding back her hair and giving words of comfort interspersed with the odd remonstration and lecture on the evils of over-imbibing.

  "Spare me, Sally, please. I am well aware that I made a colossal mistake last night and shan't be doing so again. Why, I remember nothing! Poor Rebecca must have had a horrid time getting me home."

  Caroline lay back against the pillows with a sigh and missed Sally's expression at her talk of Rebecca bringing her home. She knew there was perspiration on her face but could not lift a hand to even wipe her brow.

  Sally stood frowning over her in concern before clapping her hands together.

  "Good Lord, woman. Keep the noise down. You sound like a marching army."

  "Right, we must get you sorted out once and for all. You shall miss luncheon otherwise and her grace is anxious to see you."

  "Luncheon? Whatever do you mean? What time is it?"

  "Tis almost noon, my lady."

  "Noon?" Caroline gasped.

  In all her life she had never slept past eight in the morning.

  "You did wake at the usual time, if you'll remember my lady. But you were in no fit state to get up. Still, it's of no matter. A late morning now and again never did anybody any harm. Why, there's ladies who would never rise before noon in their lives."

  Sally bustled over to the window, drew back the curtains, and threw open the sash. She must have known that the light was killing Caroline. All these years, she'd been pure evil and Caroline had never known.

  "Now, you drink that up while I ring for a bath for you. We shall have you feeling like yourself in no time. I'm not sure what to do yet about the green but we're sure to figure something out soon."

  "What green?" Caroline asked. Her brain had not seen fit to engage itself just yet.

  "Your skin, my lady. Tis green. Now, drink up."

  Sally spoke quietly to the maid who had just entered, then shut the door once again turning in time to see Caroline heave herself up to a half sitting position and gingerly lift the horrid concoction to her lips.

  Caroline took a tentative sip. Paused for a moment. Grimaced. And then made use of the chamber pot again.

  But Sally showed no mercy and insisted that the potion be drunk.

  By the time the maids had filled Caroline's bathtub, the contents of the glass had been emptied and to Caroline's great relief, had stayed contained in her stomach.

  The room filled with the scent of lavender as the steam from her hot bath permeated the air. She stood shakily and made her way towards the tub, all the while feeling as though the floor were lifting to meet her.

  This could not just be the effects of alcohol. Truly, she must be dying.

  Lowering herself into the hot water, Caroline sighed in contentment. She hoped against
hope that Bailey was right in his claims and that the vile liquid would work miracles soon.

  And it did.

  Thirty minutes later Caroline felt a lot better. Physically at least. Refreshed from the bath, she was delighted that her stomach had settled and her head pounded significantly less. And rather than feel nauseous, she found herself to be ravenous.

  But with a clear head came remorse. And there was plenty of it. Good heavens would she ever live this down? She had no idea what had happened last night, but that in itself could not be a good thing. Being scandalous was a lot more difficult than Caroline had imagined. There was obviously a line between scandal and utter disgrace and she had an awful feeling that she had crossed it last night.

  Though her memory was hazy, she had definite flashbacks of certain moments. Seeing Tom locked in an embrace with that beautiful girl being the foremost in her mind. And yet…

  There was something else there. Something about Tom niggling at the corners of her mind. But her memories were fuzzy and her head hurt too much to try overly much to remember.

  Regardless, she was sure to be the talk of London now, and in a wholly negative way. She wondered if Edward would ship her off back home to Ireland from whence her father would ship her to the bleak obscurity of the Cork countryside.

  That prospect no longer seemed entirely terrible. In fact, it seemed preferable to facing anybody ever again. But face them she must.

  Caroline felt herself well up at the thought and for a brief moment she allowed the tears to fall while she tried desperately to force her emotions back under her famous iron control. Thankfully by the time Sally re-entered to assist her, Caroline had managed to calm herself down.

  Sally helped her to dress in an afternoon dress of palest blue muslin then fixed her hair into a simple style. Anything requiring more than a few pins was more than Caroline could face that day.

  Her skin, which had indeed been rather green, was now back to a somewhat more human colour, though it appeared quite grey. There were dark circles under her eyes and her eyes themselves, instead of having their usual sparkle, looked dull and lifeless. In short, she looked as bad as she felt.