Season of Denial (Scandalous Scions Book 7)

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  “Yes, please.” Before she could reconsider the wisdom of it, she rested her hand on Gascony’s shoulder and gave it a small squeeze.

  He looked inordinately pleased. His hand groped for hers and squeezed her fingers.

  Mairin’s gaze fell on his mouth once more. The swell of feelings never rose when she examined his lips, the way it did when she merely looked at Iefan. Perhaps it would come later. She had not yet kissed Gascony, after all.

  With a sigh, she let her hand drop and followed the rest of the ladies down the long dining room to the doors at the end, which led into the drawing room.

  Iefan watched her with narrowed eyes, his hand curled around a brandy snifter already three quarters full. He had turned in his seat, his other arm over the back of the chair, to properly watch her.

  Mairin’s heart shuddered. How could he be so careless about appearances?

  Then she remembered. Iefan cared nothing for appearances.

  She made herself move past his chair without slowing or signaling in any way she had seen him. If she appeared indifferent, his sharp interest would not stir any gossip.

  In the drawing room, tea was being served, along with madeira and creamed rum.

  There were no footmen in the room. Neither was the butler there. The butler and his staff would be run off their feet in the dining room for the next forty minutes while the men drank and called for more, required flames for their cigars and ashtrays for the remains.

  A single maid stood by the teapot in the drawing room.

  On the other side of the room, the archway revealed the front hall. There was a service door in the front hall, Mairin remembered. It would be best to ask for brandy out there, where no one would hear the request and where she had a better chance of waylaying a footman who might serve the brandy to her.

  She moved across the room and into the cooler air of the front hall. A steady stream of footmen and maids hurried from the dining room to the service door, carrying trays piled with dishes and glasses and soiled napkins. She picked up her hem and hurried across the tiles, her train hissing.

  “Was that display of affection just now aimed at me?”

  Mairin jumped, the satin of her skirt sliding from her fingers. Iefan sat on the fourth step from the bottom of the staircase. One long leg easily reached the floor. His elbow rested on the other bent knee. Had he been holding his head? His hand hung loose now.

  Mairin pressed her hand to her torso, as her heart leapt and swung. “Did you drain the full decanter already, Iefan?”

  His smile was the dry one of old. “Several, actually.” The smile faded. “Was it?” he demanded.

  “Meant for you? I didn’t even know you were there.”

  “Liar,” he ground out.

  With a rush that felt like relief, Mairin let go of all the society-bred prevarications and polite fallacies and reached for raw truth instead. He preferred truth. It saved her the bother of worrying about offending anyone. “Yes, I knew you were there,” she told him. “I wish I had not, though. You spoiled my dinner.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Then we are even. You have ruined my year.”

  Mairin let the hurt settle into her chest. “Please continue to insult me, Iefan. It would be far easier if I could return to hating you.”

  “You hated me?” He seemed shocked.

  She sighed. “You scared me, growing up. You were always so…wild.”

  “Is that why you settle for a mannered fop like Gascony?” His jaw flexed. “Why do you dismiss every man in the family? Why do you feel like Bridget betrayed you?”

  “Now you consider it an insult?” she asked tiredly. “You know why, Iefan. I have never hidden my reasons from you.”

  He nodded. “The weariness of the familiar. Yes, I remember. Only, I don’t believe it, anymore.”

  “Of course it is true!” she hissed, lowering her voice, for the servants were turning their heads to look, as they hurried to the service door. “You…all of you, look at you! There is not a single man in this family I can fully trust. Ben and his secret life. Will and Jack and Cian, who can’t walk away from a decanter without help. Peter, who can’t find his own bed. And Seth who…who…”

  The words jammed up in her throat, making it hurt. Her eyes ached and prickled.

  Iefan gripped the edge of the step he sat upon with both hands, the knuckles turning white. “Seth…who left you,” he breathed.

  Mairin moaned softly. She pressed her hand to her mouth to hold the awful sound in. She reached for the newel post with her other hand, suddenly weak.

  “You didn’t know, did you?” Iefan said. “Until just now.”

  She shook her head, which made the tears drip.

  Iefan reached out and plucked her hand from the newel post and tugged her closer. “Here. Sit. You’re shaking.”

  She sat on the edge of the step, shivering.

  “Tell me,” Iefan said, his voice soft and low. Coaxing.

  Mairin closed her eyes. It was easier that way. “I was only seven when he died,” she whispered. “I’ve lived more of my life with Raymond in it, than with Seth.”

  “Only, you still remember Seth not coming back.”

  “Now I do.” She put her face in her hands. “God, that night! The frightened voices, and Lilly…the screaming and crying. Then Mother told me the next morning that Father would never come back again.”

  Iefan’s hand rested on her shoulder, then soothed her with warm strokes across her back. “I remember,” he breathed. “It kicked the guts out of all of us, Mairin.”

  It was crude, but it was truthful. Mairin sighed and lifted her head. She had to look at Iefan to say it. She needed to see his eyes, to know he had heard her. She blinked, clearing her vision.

  None of his usual cynical sourness showed now.

  “You remind me of Seth. Often.”

  Iefan’s lips parted. She heard his breath push between them in a shaky exhale. Then his jaw tightened. “You think I’ll go away, too.”

  “I didn’t understand it until just now,” Mairin told him. “Although I don’t think you’ll go away. I know you will. You already have.”

  “Lady Mairin,” came the call.

  She wiped her cheeks hastily, for Gascony stood five paces away, his arms held stiffly by his sides. “I must go,” she murmured.

  “Yes,” Iefan agreed, his voice hoarse. His hand on her back pushed, helping her up, shepherding her toward Gascony.

  Mairin wasn’t sure how she climbed down the stairs and walked across the tiles to where Gascony stood waiting. Her limbs shook and a high pitched note in her mind blanketed thought.

  Gascony’s gaze traveled over her face. His features tightened even more. “He has upset you. Should I be offended, Mairin?”

  Iefan skirted around the two of them. “Gascony,” he acknowledged with a murmur.

  Gascony didn’t glance at him. His gaze remained on Mairin.

  Mairin sighed. “Iefan is my cousin. We were talking about an unpleasant time in the past.”

  Gascony’s eyes narrowed. “Davies’ reputation is tarnished, especially when it comes to women. Did he…was he forward with you?”

  Gascony was jealous. She saw the fear in his eyes, masked by his indignation. He would never come right out and say it, though. That wasn’t his way.

  Suddenly, she was tired of the mincing Minuet and the endless indirect niceties. She was fed up with always guarding her words and her behavior. She was weary of constantly worrying and trying to guess what Gascony was thinking, how he felt, or if he felt anything for her at all.

  Mairin drew in a breath. “Iefan is always forward, Louis. He leads with the truth and one always knows exactly where they stand with him. I cannot say that about you, though, can I?”

  Gascony’s mouth fell open. His eyes widened. “I beg your pardon?” There was an indignant note in his voice. She had slighted him.

  Mairin didn’t care anymore. She had no capacity left to care. “Why is everyone so offend
ed by the truth?” she demanded. “I am baffled by the panic which appears in anyone’s eyes when an honest opinion is aired. Even you, Louis.”

  He drew himself upright. “I am an honorable man,” he declared, outrage in his voice.

  “Are you?” Mairin asked. “You have let me dangle for nearly the entire season, not because you want to be sure of me, but because you hope some other, richer prospect might yet appear.”

  Gascony drew in a sharp breath.

  Mairin shook her head. “Let me share another truth with you, Gascony. No mother will let her daughter marry you. You are a duke without a duchy and in a few years, the reserves you have left will be gone and you will be penniless. I am old but my family is richer than you know and I would have married you if you’d just been able to bring yourself to ask.”

  Then, because she had spoken bluntly, she pushed onto her toes and pressed her lips to his cheek. “You are not used to raw truth. Once you get over the shock of it, it makes life very simple. Goodbye, Louis.”

  The front door was right there. Mairin stepped through it and into the warm August night and breathed her relief.

  Chapter Twelve

  Iefan didn’t bother returning to the table. There was no need to give his excuses. He had a reputation as a crude scoundrel to maintain, anyway.

  He took a cab to the George, intending to get drunk. The tightness in his chest would be eased with a bottle or two of brandy. Or better still, rum.

  You remind me of Seth.

  The comparison cranked the band about his chest even tighter.

  Iefan had barely known Seth Williams. He had been eleven when Seth died, still too young for adults to deal with Iefan frankly. The truth about that night had remained hidden from everyone for years, not just him.

  Yet the stories about Seth had bloomed since he died, well-polished by repeated tellings. They were enhanced each time someone told a tale or related a piece of family history with Seth in it.

  Iefan was not Seth Williams and never could be. The man was more legend now than human. Why did he even care?

  Iefan scowled as he climbed from the cab, tossed the driver his coins, then strode into the George. It was still early. The inn was full of cheerful and loud drinkers. The corner table held familiar faces.

  Gordie waved. “Look who came to find you, Iefan!” He reached and put his hand on the shoulder of the man beside him.

  Joshua Price grinned at Iefan. “Surprise!”

  THEY FOUND A SMALL table at the back of the inn and settled on either side of it with a tankard each.

  Iefan examined Joshua critically. They had gone through Eton together, both with a father who was the unacknowledged bastard of titled lords. They had kept contact since then, here and there. There had been an outrageous evening of entertainment in Paris which remained hazy in Iefan’s memory—it was the most recent occasion.

  “You look well,” Iefan told Joshua. “Are you back in England now?”

  “I have been for years.” They drank their tankards while Joshua caught Iefan up on the events of the last few years, including marriage and children, the death of the man who had raised him, and more.

  Joshua’s was a full life, while Iefan was only able to say he had lived in France until recently, running several businesses. Now he was here.

  Joshua nodded at that. “I’m heading back to France tomorrow. That’s why I came to find you.”

  “Me?”

  Joshua nodded. “You live there.”

  “I’ve spent more of my adult life there than England,” Iefan admitted.

  “As did I.” Joshua’s smile was grim. “I’m going back to sign with the Foreign Regiment.”

  “You? Soldiering?” Astonishment rippled through him.

  “Why not?” Joshua’s jaw hardened. “The Queen won’t step in to help France. The Foreign Regiment is the only way I can defend the country which has given me a place and treated me with respect. This sodden country never has.” Bitterness flashed in his eyes, for Joshua’s treatment at the hands of his family had been far harsher than Iefan’s.

  “France has done well by me, I admit,” Iefan said. “Only, I have family here, Josh.”

  “You have a life in France, too, don’t you? What do you think the Prussians will do to it, with their jackboots and sabers?”

  Iefan thought of the wire from Jean Elfman that he had burned. He shifted on his chair, discomfort squirming through him. “I am just a man. I cannot stop a war.”

  Joshua’s eyes narrowed. “One man can make a difference. I’ve seen you do it, yourself. Maybe not with a bayonet and rifle, yet you have made a great difference to many lives. The widow…what was her name?”

  “Marie Martel,” Iefan said, his uneasiness building. “It was not only I who helped her.”

  “You thought of it. You arranged it. You harangued the officers and tradesmen into adding to the fund.” Joshua hesitated. “Life is far more simple on the battlefield. It is straightforward. You and the enemy. If you win, then you have made a difference.”

  Iefan pushed his hand through his hair. “I cannot deny anything you say,” he said heavily. He was not sure where he might start itemizing the long list of reasons why he could not break off here and rush to France’s aid.

  Joshua sat back. “I see. Ah, well…I tried.”

  “I like that you thought to try, at least,” Iefan said.

  Joshua smiled suddenly. “What is her name, then?”

  Iefan gripped the tankard, controlling his reaction, smothering the start of surprise. “She?” he said bluntly. Then, “Which one?”

  Joshua rolled his eyes. “Serves me right for asking. I withdraw the question.”

  Iefan nodded. “Let’s go back and join the others,” he suggested, standing up.

  Joshua shrugged and picked up his tankard and they went back to the big table. Even there, though, Iefan couldn’t settle. The uneasiness was building pressure inside him, making his heart work too hard and his belly and chest to cramp.

  Why did he feel as though time was running out?

  Abruptly, as the singing started, Iefan lurched to his feet, driven there by the tension. “Sorry. Must go,” he muttered. He didn’t know if anyone heard him over the singing. He didn’t linger to make sure.

  The return home seemed to take forever, before the big, old house appeared. The gas lamps had already been extinguished and there was no other traffic in the square. It was late.

  Most of the windows in the house were dark, for Iefan was the only family member using it. Even Morgan had moved up to Inverness to work with Will and Bridget on the textile business they had started.

  This was what he needed, Iefan realized. He needed time alone to think, to sort things out. He had been running too long without pausing to assess.

  Only, when he pushed open the heavy door and stepped inside, Stamp rose from a chair he had placed beside the grandfather clock and put his finger to his lips.

  “What is it?” Iefan demanded in a whisper.

  “She came earlier, sir,” Stamp murmured back. “Insisted upon waiting for you. I made her comfortable. Now, sir, well…” Stamp nodded toward the drawing room.

  Iefan moved to the door and looked in.

  Mairin laid upon the chaise lounge, her face pillowed on her hand. She was soundly asleep. Stamp had dropped the lap rug over her, although it was small and left her shoulders uncovered, for she wore the evening gown she had been wearing at dinner, which bared her shoulders and arms.

  Iefan let out his breath in a gusty sigh. Of course Mairin would be here. It was inevitable she stay mixed up in his affairs. Complicating them.

  Joshua’s words came back to him. Life is far more simple on the battlefield. It is straightforward. You and the enemy.

  Nothing about this season was simple. Nothing about the family was ever straightforward.

  “She can’t spend the night on the lounge,” he told Stamp. “Only, it’s too late to send her home.”

  “I pr
epared a spare room for her, sir,” Stamp replied softly. “I thought you might suggest she stay. I’ll take her up.” He reached forward to shake Mairin’s shoulder.

  “No, don’t wake her,” Iefan said. “She has had a hard night of it. I’ll take her.” He scooped his hand beneath the satin, finding her knees, the other under her back. He lifted her into his arms. “Go to bed, Stamp. I am.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  HER FIRST AWARENESS THAT she had fallen asleep was being woken by movement. Rocking. And a scent she knew. Mairin kept her eyes closed, groggy. She wanted to return to slumber. It was comfortable, there. Nothing ached or bothered her in this nearly asleep state.

  The jolting continued, stirring her enough to take in details. Her cheek rested against warm fabric and she vaguely remembered putting her head down on the chaise lounge just for a moment…

  This was not the chaise longue, for she could hear breathing and the beat of a heart beneath her ear. She was being carried.

  Mairin coupled being carried together with the familiar aroma. Iefan was carrying her and from the pattern of the jolting, he was climbing stairs.

  Still cloudy with sleep, Mairin put her arms around his neck.

  “You’re awake,” Iefan murmured. “I’m putting you in a spare room for the night. It is very late. You will sleep better on a bed than that old chaise.”

  She heard his voice in his chest, too. Mairin blinked, clearing the sleep from her vision. His neck and jaw were right there before her. She saw the dark shadow of beard, tanned flesh, the shift of tendons and muscles beneath. It was still too much of an effort to speak, so she lifted her head and pressed her lips to his jaw, right by his ear. Another kiss, toward his chin.

  Iefan halted. “Mairin…” His throat worked.

  Mairin put her hand on his cheek and turned his face so she might reach his lips.

  His breath pushed out unevenly. “You are not thinking properly,” he breathed. “This is dangerous.”

  Mairin pressed her lips to his and her own breath escaped in a sigh. She liked his lips. She liked the touch of them. The taste. She had not thought lips might have a distinct taste, yet she would know Iefan’s anywhere.