Season of Denial (Scandalous Scions Book 7)

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  Yet, this was the life which remained to her.

  Mairin sighed, knowing it would not be heard over the music, and clenched the padded top of the balcony with her gloved hand. Somehow, she must find a way to enjoy this life. There must be some aspect of it which would provide amusement or interest. She would be steeped in it for the rest of her years.

  Some matrons busied themselves with good works—helping orphans and the unfortunate. Others became patrons of the arts and took a direct interest in the artistic companies they patronized.

  There were other pursuits. Bridget was making tweed on her Highland estate—Mairin had received a smart jacket and matching hat made in the fabric Bridget’s new factory was producing. Every time she wore it, she received compliments.

  Bridget was her twin, yet the idea of watching a factory full of looms endlessly clack made Mairin grimace. It was not for her.

  The interval arrived and the house lights turned up and still Mairin was no closer to finding a solution to fill the empty days ahead.

  “A most excellent rendition, so far,” Gascony said, as the curtains closed. “Considering how little time they had to practice the piece. Most remarkable. Would you like a glass of champagne, my lady?”

  She would rather have brandy. Mairin repressed the thought and smiled at Gascony. “Champagne would be lovely, thank you, Gascony.”

  He hesitated. “You called me Louis, once,” he said, his voice low. “Perhaps…if you are so moved, you would honor me by calling me Louis in the future?”

  Mairin tightened her fist in her lap. “It was an unforgiveable presumption on my part, that first time.”

  “Perhaps, yet I found it reassuring. I believe you spoke without consideration, which gives me hope. It tells me you think of me that way in your thoughts. Westgate has explained to me it is a peculiarity in your family to use given names and pet names, which I find oddly endearing.” He gave her a small smile, his brown eyes warm. “Do consider it.”

  He stepped out of the box and the footman closed the door behind him, leaving Mairin alone in the private box, for no one else in the family had attended.

  Mairin sighed. To use his first name would signal to the world that their relationship had taken an intimate step forward. It was exactly what Mairin wanted, so why did she feel such deep reluctance?

  A soft trill of laughter from the royal box drew her gaze across the theater to the big box in the center of the grand tier, with its gilt and crest and red velvet swags. There was a crush of people in the box, most of them standing and chatting to each other. Footmen slipped dexterously between the guests, juggling champagne glasses and bottles upon their silver trays.

  In the two big chairs in the center of the box sat the Prince of Wales and his wife, Alexandra. A man perched casually upon the cushioned balcony just in front of the pair, chatting.

  Behind the royal couple, a woman in a shockingly bright red opera gown, with a high feather in her hair and a black lace fan, threw her head back and laughed. It was the trill which had drawn Mairin’s attention.

  The woman put her black gloved hand on the shoulder of the man who had made her laugh.

  Iefan.

  Mairin gripped her folded fan, making the guards dig into her palms. Her heart jolted, then hurried along. Her belly tightened.

  Her gaze lingered on Iefan. She absorbed the details. His evening wear, which was perfectly correct and seemed to fit him better than most men managed. His wide shoulders. His unruly hair. The fine line of his jaw, which he kept clean-shaved in defiance of the current fashions. His black eyes, which watched the woman in front of him, dancing with amusement.

  It hurt to know he was enjoying the company of someone else. Mairin never considered herself to be Iefan’s sole focus, not even when she had been at her most ignorant. Yet seeing proof of his nomadic inclinations felt as if she had taken a physical blow.

  She wanted to sag in her chair and hide her head so she could not see him anymore. Only it would signal to everyone in the theater she was not blissfully happy with Gascony’s company.

  Mairin knew the woman by name and reputation. Mrs Coralie Magdelen Duke and her husband were close friends with Prince Edward. It explained why she was in the royal box. The gossips whispered about Mrs. Duke’s outrageous fashion sense, her common status and her love of amusements. The same gossips also speculated about how close Mrs. Duke was to the royal couple…or perhaps it was just the Prince?

  Another peel of laughter. Mrs. Duke seemed to be enjoying Iefan’s company right now.

  Mairin watched the pair. She didn’t care if anyone noticed her fixed stare. Iefan bent closer to the woman and murmured something directly into her ear.

  Mairin gasped, her heart lurching. She clenched the fan, twisting it and breaking the vanes of the feathers. What was wrong with her? Yes, she missed Iefan, only she was reacting as if…as if she was jealous.

  Which was ridiculous. He had merely kissed her. Her first kiss. It had been far more pleasant than she thought a kiss might be. More than that. The kiss had stirred feelings in her which let her understand why people were pre-occupied with bed sports. If a simple kiss could render her so weak with pleasure, what would whatever came after produce?

  The press of Iefan’s hand against her breast was a hint of what came after. She had ached for him to press harder. Since then, Mairin constantly recalled his touch. When she did, her body responded with an echo of the rushing, throbbing pleasure she had felt.

  Mairin stared hungrily at Iefan and acknowledged that yes, she liked kissing…and she suspected she would like what came after kissing just as much. It made her a wanton and wicked. Iefan would not care about such categorizations, though.

  Perhaps Gascony would not, either.

  Startled, she considered the idea. Iefan was the only man she had ever kissed. Perhaps the same rush of hot pleasure would arise no matter who she kissed.

  Gascony stepped back into the box, carrying two glasses, one of them full. He handed her the full glass and settled back on the chair beside her. He smiled at her. “You stare at me. Has my tie unraveled?” He reached to touch the perfect bow.

  Mairin shook her head. “I was acquainting myself with your features once more. You have a rather fine nose, did you know?” She had really been examining his mouth, wondering if he could kiss as wonderfully as Iefan.

  Gascony laughed. “How prosaic! I would rather you examine my strong jaw and handsome carriage.”

  Mairin made herself smile. “Perhaps I have done that already.”

  Gascony laughed again. Movement beyond his shoulder drew Mairin’s attention back to the royal box. The woman in red, Mrs. Duke, was settling on a chair on the Prince’s side of the box. Iefan had not moved. His gaze was on Mairin.

  He wasn’t smiling, now. His features were dark and thunderous.

  Mairin deliberately turned on her chair to face the stage, as her heart jittered and thudded.

  All she must do was get through this second half of the opera, then she would never see Iefan again. He did not attend the season—tonight was a rare break with habit, just as the soiree he had attended at the beginning of the season had been. The twelfth was only three weeks away, then she could escape to Marblethorpe and bury herself there.

  Chapter Eleven

  Only, escaping Iefan was not as easy as Mairin had thought it would be. Iefan appeared at more society events and functions in the next three weeks than he had throughout the rest of the season. She would return to her room after each affair, her body trembling and her energy drained from the twin challenges of hiding her reaction to Iefan and pretending she was far from indifferent to Gascony.

  At first, Mairin thought Iefan was toying with her. Penalizing her for having asked for the disastrous kiss. Forced to focus heavily upon keeping her outer appearance serene and unruffled prevented her from seeing the truth for many days.

  Then she finally coupled Mrs. Duke’s constant appearance at society events with Iefan’s retur
n to society.

  Public appearances became difficult. Mairin suffered a headache almost constantly. She stole nips of brandy from the decanter in the library to help her relax, yet it seemed to have no effect at all.

  Mairin wished Gascony would hurry and propose, so her agony would be severed. Once Gascony committed to her, she could escape London. Yet he seemed to be in no hurry.

  On August 2nd, Mairin attended the opening of the Tower Subway—the train tunnel which had been built beneath the Thames. After the Prime Minister cut the ribbon, those who had received personal invitations climbed aboard the subway carriage to be taken through the subway to the station on the other side of the river.

  While everyone murmured about the wonders of technology and engineering, Mairin ached to jump off the train, for Iefan was one of the passengers. Gascony was not with Mairin as usual, so she couldn’t use him as a shield. She chose a seat at the far end of the train from the Prime Minister, whom everyone wanted to sit close to. The seats at her end were mostly empty.

  Mrs. Duke pushed through the press of people at the other end of the carriage and raised her hand. “This way, darling! There are lots of seats at this end.”

  Mairin froze. Her heart seemed to halt, too.

  Iefan moved around the block of people and followed Mrs. Duke down the carriage.

  Mrs. Duke smiled at Mairin. “May we sit here, too?” she asked. Her voice was rich and throaty. She rested her hand on the seat opposite Mairin’s.

  Mairin unlocked her jaw. “Of course.” She pressed her skirts back out of the way.

  Mrs. Duke settled on the seat with her shoulder by the window, making room for Iefan.

  He sat beside the woman. Mairin avoided looking at him.

  Mrs. Duke frowned. “Have we met? Your face is familiar.”

  Mairin’s chest tightened. If she was to behave as she normally would in public, then she should turn to Iefan to request a formal introduction. She couldn’t turn her head, though. She swallowed, her throat clicking.

  “Lady Mairin attends all society events,” Iefan said. Was there a strained note in his voice, or was Mairin merely imagining it? “Lady Mairin, may I present to you Mrs. Winston Duke. Cora, my cousin, Lady Mairin Williams, daughter of the late Seth Williams and sister to the Earl of Innesford.”

  Mrs. Duke glanced from Iefan to Mairin. “Oh, you’re family! I had no idea! High society families are so convoluted, aren’t they? I keep confusing who is related to whom. Sometimes I think it would be easier to presume everyone is related to everyone.” She gave a soft trill of laughter.

  “Mrs. Duke!” The call came from the other side of the carriage. Three gentlemen whose names escaped Mairin right now sat in the pair of seats across the aisle. One of them wiggled a silver flask.

  “Oh, yes please,” Mrs. Duke said. “Iefan, would you mind?”

  From the corner of her eye, Mairin saw Iefan’s feet shift, then disappear. Mrs. Duke jumped up and stepped sideways into the aisle. Then Iefan sat beside the window and Mrs. Duke on the aisle end of the bench.

  The train gave a jerk and iron clanked. It rolled forward. The engine chuffed and steam raced past the window.

  “Oh, how exciting!” Mrs. Duke cooed, as she took the small tumbler the other man handed across the aisle to her. Along the carriage, everyone else was exclaiming and clapping, too.

  Mairin couldn’t breathe. There was no point staring through the window, for the view was unadorned black. She couldn’t lift her gaze from her hands, for Iefan was right in front of her. If she raised her chin, she would be forced to look at him.

  Just knowing he was there, right before her, was making her tremble. The kiss…the wretched kiss…it was all she could think about. The kiss, and the fact that he was so close his worsted encased knees were brushing her skirts. He was close enough she could reach out and touch him. Or he might touch her.

  Her body soared and swooped with the heady rush she had grown to associate with kisses and Iefan’s hands on her body.

  As the train swayed around a curve, making people gasp, Mairin lifted her chin. She couldn’t help herself. She had to look. Perhaps he was indifferent and his bland features would cool the fever burning in her.

  His gaze was on her face. He was not cold…not at all. Heat showed in his eyes which caught and held her gaze. She might drown in that warmth. She dropped her gaze to his mouth and the square chin. The full lips.

  Oh, how she wanted another kiss! Even though she did not move from her upright, proper posture, her heart and mind leaned across the space between them, aching to touch him.

  The train came to a rattling stop at the platform of the new subway station on the other side of the river. There were more people there, cheering and clapping with excitement. There were gaslights and bright white tiles everywhere.

  The invitation had explained the train would travel to the other side of the river, then return the guests to the original station. It meant Mairin would have to remain here for another five agonizing minutes.

  She could not bear the idea. With a gasp, she lurched to her feet and shuffled into the aisle, her skirts swinging and shifting. She tugged them back into place as she hurried up the aisle to the door.

  The footman raised his brow. “There’s no need to get off here, my lady. We’ll be taking you back right away.”

  “No, I must get out. Please open the door.” Her voice was strained and unrecognizable.

  The footman’s brows lifted even higher. “At once,” he said and unlocked and threw the door open.

  Mairin lurched onto the platform, as the spectators there pushed back to give her room. Her skirt snagged and tore, then was free. She pushed through the well-dressed spectators, murmuring her apologies, looking for the way out. At the first station, she had climbed down stairs. It made sense she must climb up now. She would be on the wrong side of the river, although a cab would take her home.

  She had never before longed to be back home with such power.

  IEFAN READ THE TELEGRAM a third time, feeling a tired heaviness settle in his limbs.

  MUST ABANDON ALL CONCERNS. PRUSSIANS ADVANCE. ARRIVAL TWO DAYS. APOLOGIES.

  JEAN R. ELFMAN.

  Jean Elfman was his man in Strasbourg, on the eastern borders of France. He had been managing Iefan’s affairs there since Iefan had first set foot in France at nineteen. Iefan had spent his time in Paris, shoring up allies and contacts and setting up deals.

  It astonished Iefan that the man had continued to report to him even after war was declared. Iefan had sent letters and wires telling Jean to not put his family at risk—they should travel to England at once. Jean had instead insisted upon properly closing down the businesses so they might survive the coming hostilities.

  Now, Jean had run out of time…and Iefan was in danger of the same. There were warehouses and factories in Paris which were vulnerable. He should risk a fast trip to Paris to disperse the contents and equipment, or at least secure them. If the Prussians reached Paris…

  His heart lurched with a nauseous swaying. With an unsteady hand, Iefan lifted the wire and held it over the lamp until it caught and burned. He let the ashes swing and drift down to the desk.

  Then he got to his feet, settled his dinner jacket and went out to the footpath where the brougham was waiting and settled in the corner with a heavy sigh. The dinner party Cora Duke had insisted he attend could not have been scheduled for a worse time.

  Iefan scowled at the park as it passed by. It was still light out and there were strollers and families in the park, all of them ignorant and happy.

  How the hell had he reached this insidious position?

  The worn question always brought him back to the same place. Her lips, her soft skin, the scent of warm lavender and roses. The almost soundless moan she had made, signaling a responsiveness he had not in his wildest dreams considered possible before that moment.

  Iefan’s body tightened just with the memory.

  He growled and shifted on
the seat, adjusting his posture to accommodate his reaction. “Damn,” he muttered and pressed his head against the cool glass of the window beside him, as if it might relieve the fever.

  A week of drinking, another woman’s arms, an engagement every single evening…none of it had dampened the obsession in the least.

  He should hurry to France. Dodging Prussian rifles would soon cure him.

  Instead, when the carriage halted, he stepped out and walked over to Lord Asterbury’s open front door, stepped inside and looked for Cora Duke. She was at least an adequate distraction.

  Sometimes.

  IEFAN WAS AT THE dinner party, too, which Mairin should have expected. He was, at least, at the far end of the table and on the same side as Mairin, so unless she leaned forward to the point of impropriety and peered down the long table, she did not have to see him.

  Mrs. Duke, however, had been artfully placed opposite Iefan, her husband to her right, which was society’s way of saying they knew of the affair. Iefan’s notoriety had been further enhanced.

  Mairin instead concentrated on everyone sitting to her right, which included Gascony, who sat beside her.

  Society had acknowledged them, too.

  The conversation during the meal was almost painfully uninteresting. The weather, erroneous conclusions about the war, the upcoming hunting season. Who would be enjoying Christmas at which country hearth.

  It was all completely predictable.

  Mairin suffered through the meal, refusing to engage anyone. She smiled when expected, laugh along with everyone else, raised her glass for every toast, but did not drink. It wasn’t brandy.

  She eyed the brandy balloons placed in front of each man as the meal ended and wondered if she might possibly get away with the impropriety of asking for brandy for herself.

  Then it was too late. The women all rose to their feet, forcing her to her own. Gascony smiled up at her. “I will join you in the salon later, yes?” he asked.