Lord of Scandal

by Nicola Cornick

  “It is true that I was told you were unchaste, and also that our previous encounters had led me to believe that it must indeed be so, but…” He paused. “That is no excuse for the unpardonable way that I behaved. To exact revenge upon you in so uncivilized a way…” He shook his head. “I am sorry.”

  Catherine made a slight gesture. She was looking stunned.

  “You have refused my suit and I will not press you to wed me again if you do not wish it,” Ben continued, “but I do beg you to tell me if you should be with child. If you are, then I promise to do all in my power to help you—”

  He stopped again. He had never in his life imagined that he would say such a thing. He had never wanted to take such a responsibility. A part of him still did not. When he had proposed to her earlier, it had been because of the money and because he wanted to make love to her with a desperation that was driving him insane. It had had nothing to do with some misplaced notion of chivalry. And now a part of him wanted her to tell him that he need not concern himself, there would be no child, he need make no stupid, selfless gestures, she did not require his support, and another part of him urgently wanted to bind her close to him and never to let her go. And that was the bit that was so terrifying.

  He saw the hot color flood her face. She looked very young, as she had in that moment after he had realized, too late, that he had just taken her virginity. He knew it must be difficult for her. Such intimate matters were never discussed and yet she had recovered from her shock now and drawn herself up very straight.

  “I am not enceinte,” she whispered. “My courses…” She swallowed, folded her arms more tightly about herself. “I have had my courses as I usually do.”

  She tried to turn away from him but Ben caught her shoulders and forced her to face him. “Catherine—”

  She looked up. There was grief and puzzlement in her eyes, and a mixture of relief and sheer, brutal misery. The shocking contradiction of what he could see there turned Ben’s heart to ice even as he acknowledged that he had no idea how he himself felt. His strongest instinct was to reach out to her, to hold her close to the warmth of his body, to tell her that everything would be all right. He would make it right. Hell, he would give her ten children if that was what she wanted, he would give her anything she wanted if it would only banish that desperate confusion and unhappiness he could see in her face.

  But he had left it a moment too long. Catherine’s eyes went blank and she took a small, careful step away from him, shaking off his touch.

  “It is for the best,” she said, and her voice cracked a little. “I know that.”

  Ben knew it, too, in his head.

  “So that is that,” he said slowly.

  “Yes,” Catherine said. “We need never see one another again. But I do thank you for your apology and your offer.”

  The candlelight fell across her face in bars of pale gold, light and shadow.

  “When we were in the ballroom I was so very tempted to accept your proposal,” she said. “But were I to do so I would be making the same mistake again. I would be looking to you for the things you cannot give me. And when I could not change you, I would be unhappy.”

  Ben looked at her standing there, so beautiful and so proud. In that one reckless moment, he found he was tempted to offer her whatever she wanted, but even as he thought about it, he knew that there would always be something lacking. The one thing that Catherine needed, the thing that she deserved, was to be loved as much as she could love. And there he could never match her. The scars of the past, the fear, the disillusion, the self-interest that was in him, made him a poor choice for a woman with such generosity of spirit. And yet in his selfishness he wanted her so much.

  He took her hand.

  “I do not want to lose you,” he said softly. “Give me one last chance to show you that you could be happy with me. Allow yourself to be tempted. Come with me to the Frost Fair tomorrow night.”

  Her eyes were very wide and dark. She touched the tip of her tongue to her bottom lip.

  “That would be very irresponsible of me.” But he could see from the gleam in her eyes that his suggestion had intrigued her.

  He laughed. “True.”

  “What, precisely, are you wishing to tempt me to?” The blood roared through his body at the thought of all the temptations he wished to place before her. He drew her closer. “I wish to show you that marrying me would be…” He paused.

  What would it be? Vibrant, exciting, fulfilling…Would be enough to satisfy her? He did not know.

  “Foolish? Reckless to the point of madness?” A faint smile curved her mouth. “I wish you were not so difficult to refuse, Ben Hawksmoor.”

  “Then do not.”

  He gave her no time to reply. His mouth came down on hers hard, his hand sliding into the softness of her hair, holding her fast.

  He lost control from the first moment. The heat that had been building between them consumed him, the passion he felt for her blazing through all sense and all reason. He could not remember ever feeling such desperation and driving need. They were both panting when he finally broke the kiss and let her go.

  “I will go to the Frost Fair with you tomorrow,” she whispered.

  He held her fast. “I want the whole night, Kate.”

  She laughed. Her lips were only an inch away from his. “It will take you that long to convince me?”

  The passion and need fused within him as he looked into her face. He could not breathe. He felt the fear and elation of having one’s heart’s desire so close within reach and yet…And yet she was drawing away from him now and her face was grave.

  “I promise nothing beyond my company,” she said. “I need to think.” She smiled. “Pray do not trouble to escort us home. Lady Russell and I are well able to take care of ourselves.”

  At the door, she turned and smiled at him, as though driven by some compulsion she could not resist, and the excitement slammed through him again in a breaking wave. She was a challenge, a torment, the biggest gamble he had ever taken in his life. And he might win the biggest prize—eighty thousand pounds and the privilege of never being cold, or hungry, or poor ever again. He might even start to feel truly safe for the first time in his life.

  And in addition he would have Catherine.

  His heart constricted. He did not wish to hurt Catherine. He would do his utmost not to do so. He sensed somewhere deep inside that she could make him a better person if only he would open all those dark places to her light.

  But that was dangerous, sentimental thinking. With Catherine’s money he would be safe and that would make him happy. He would treat her well even if he could not love her. That was all there was to it. It was quite simple.

  And Catherine had given him that chance.

  The game was on again.

  “AUNT AGATHA,” CATHERINE SAID in the carriage on the way home, “if a young lady wishes to spend an evening with a gentleman, what would be the advice of her chaperone?”

  Lady Russell was buried so deep beneath the rug that she was barely visible. “You know full well, Kate,” she said, “that any chaperone worth her salt would tell you it is simply not done.”

  Catherine sighed. “I suppose not,” she said.

  “On the other hand,” Lady Russell said, “a chaperone who has seen as much of the world as I have would tell a young lady not to waste any opportunity that life provides unless she wishes to end a bitter old maid.”

  Catherine turned her head and looked at her.

  “It depends upon what you want,” Lady Russell continued. “What do you want, Kate? A conventional upper-class marriage?”

  “No,” Catherine said. “I want someone who wants me.” She knitted her gloved fingers together. “Last year, before Papa gave Lord Withers permission to address me, I had a number of suitors who paid court.” Her voice took on an impassioned note. “None of them wanted me, Aunt Agatha! Some wanted to marry me because I was pretty, others because they thought I might
be biddable, or rich, or simply because I was a young debutante. I do not believe that a single one of them even saw me as Catherine Fenton, let alone wanted me for myself!”

  “I think that Withers did,” Lady Russell said somberly.

  “No,” Catherine said. “He wanted to turn me into something else, something I was not. He wanted an obedient wife, bent to his will.” She shuddered.

  “And Ben Hawksmoor?” Lady Russell’s voice was gruff but kind. “Do you think he truly wants you for yourself?”

  “Yes,” Catherine said. She laughed. “And he wants my money.”

  Lady Russell drew one hand from beneath the fur-lined rug and patted one of Catherine’s gloved ones. “You have no illusions, do you, child?”

  “Not anymore,” Catherine said, but she spoke without self-pity.

  “Do you love him?”

  “I…do not know,” Catherine said. She remembered with a faint pang of regret the innocence of her previous feelings for Ben. She had tumbled into love with him with a schoolgirl’s naiveté and what she felt for him now was very far from that. “I told him that I would never wed a man who did not love me,” she said, “but now I am wondering if I ask too much. Maybe desire, and liking and respect and admiration…” Her voice fell. “Maybe those can be enough. Better to play the hand fate deals me than to end with nothing.”

  Lady Russell was shaking her head. “You deserve the best that a man can offer you, Kate.”

  “But if I do love him,” Catherine said, “then that might have to be enough for the two of us.”

  In the flickering light from the carriage lanterns, Lady Russell’s face looked grave.

  “Can it be enough?”

  “I do not know,” Catherine said again, honestly.

  “Then you need to spend that time with him,” Lady Russell said. She squeezed Catherine’s hand. “Go and find out.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  An engaged couple, except in the presence of a chaperone, are never under any circumstances permitted to sit together, walk together or spend any time together.

  —Mrs. Eliza Squire, Good Conduct for Ladies

  LILY ST. CLARE WAS VERY TIRED that night. She had already seen four clients that evening when Sarah Desmond burst in, her eyes bright with excitement and cupidity.

  “There is someone downstairs who is asking for you, my love. He requested you by name and is willing to pay a fortune for your favors!” Sarah opened her eyes very wide, as though this were some splendid thing instead of the one thing that made Lily feel even more cheap and corrupt and degraded than anything else.

  “Who is it?” she asked.

  Sarah frowned slightly. “He gave his name as Lander. I have not seen him here before but if his money is good, he might become a regular for you!”

  Lily sighed. She could not refuse, of course. Sarah had been good to her in her own way, taking Lily in when everyone in the Ton except Catherine had turned their back on her. And it was not a bad life in the sense that she was not cold or hungry or poor. She had many material comforts. What did it matter if she had no self-respect left at all?

  Lily hated herself for what she had become. Once she had been so innocent—as innocent as Catherine—but now she had lost count of the men she had been with. Sarah did not understand, of course. She thought Lily should be pleased that the men were all hot for her and that they paid so well for their pleasure. She was waiting now, looking a little cross at Lily’s lack of enthusiasm. So Lily painted a smile on her lips and fought down her repulsion.

  “I am eager to make his acquaintance,” she murmured, and Sarah smiled.

  While Sarah went to fetch the client, Lily went to her closet listlessly to wash the previous man’s scent from her body and pinch some color into her pale cheeks. She reentered the bedroom to find the man already waiting for her, and her insides curled with horror to see who it was.

  “Good evening, my dear,” Algernon Withers said.

  Lily had always disliked Withers. She sensed some malevolence in his attitude to Catherine and marveled that her friend, so much stronger than she, had been able somehow to escape his grasp. But dislike was not an excuse she could give for refusing him, so when he requested that she strip for him and lie on the bed, she did as he asked with no demur, trying desperately to hide her shudders of disgust, but with sickness in her heart.

  It seemed that Withers was in a hurry. He was already fully aroused as he joined her on the bed. That suited Lily well since her flesh was already crawling at his touch and she wanted nothing so much as to be rid of him. He entered her with no preamble and with one violent thrust that had her biting her lip to prevent herself from crying out in pain, but then to her surprise he slowed the rhythm, drawing out his own pleasure for what seemed like an unbearable time. He caressed her breasts as he drove into her and she made all the required sounds of enjoyment, but she thought he did not really hear her. There was an intent expression on his face, a distance in his eyes as though he were thinking of something—or someone—else.

  Suddenly he gripped her thighs and forced himself inside her so hard that she could not suppress a scream. She struggled, but it was too late. His hands had moved from her breasts to her throat, squeezing tightly. Through the buzzing in her ears, Lily heard him groan aloud as he came in violent spasms. There was a mist before her eyes now as everything distorted and slipped sideways and the darkness closed in. She thought she understood, now that it was too late. For in the final seconds of consciousness, she heard him say the name Catherine.

  THEY FOUND HER BODY TWO HOURS later. Sarah Desmond had been checking the clock and hoping that the client would pay extra for overrunning his time. In the end she had decided discreetly to interrupt.

  Her screams brought Connor running from the hall and the whores and their customers rushing from the adjoining bedchambers to see the naked tumbled figure of Lily St. Clare. It was far too late to do anything to save her. The window was open and her murderer had fled.

  BEN AND CATHERINE WENT DOWN onto the frozen river at Three Cranes Stairs, her hand tight within his as he helped her down onto the ice and paid the waterman the three pennies toll for both of them. From Blackfriars Bridge the river had looked unfamiliar, like a broad silver ribbon gleaming in the moonlight. At water level it was still strange, a landscape of jagged pinnacles and great slabs of ice frozen at tortuous angles. Above them the sky was a deep, dark blue and the stars were scattered like diamonds on velvet.

  “It feels a little warmer tonight,” Catherine said, raising her face to the edge of the breeze. “The air smells different.”

  “It won’t melt,” Ben said. “Not tonight.”

  Their feet crunched on the cinders the watermen had placed underfoot. Catherine slipped her hand through the crook of Ben’s arm and stayed close to his side. There were people everywhere; city merchants and their families wrapped up in their Sunday best, looking plump and well fed, and ragged children thin and pale with cold and hunger. But there was a gleam in the eyes of rich and poor alike, and a feeling of excitement in the air.

  “I grew up not far from here,” Ben said suddenly. He was looking north of the river where the warehouses pressed close to the bank. “There was a place called Angel Alley where we had a room.” His face twisted. “Ill-named, as it turned out. Unless it was intended as a shortcut to heaven. Hundreds died of the fever in those streets.”

  He turned away and in the bright moonlight Catherine saw an expression on his face she had never seen before. It looked like grief. He had said that they had a room. One room on a narrow street that led to the grave for hundreds of children like Ben. She shivered.

  “How old were you then?” she asked.

  Ben looked at her. “I don’t usually talk about it.”

  Catherine stood her ground and waited, and he smiled. “But I will tell you, Kate Fenton. As long as you don’t go to the penny presses.”

  Catherine could not tell if he was serious or not. “Well,” she said, “if I am sh
ort of money in future I may consider it.”

  Ben started walking toward the tents pitched on the center of the river.

  “My father threw my mother out of the house before I was even born. She came back to London. It was where her family came from. But they did not want to know her. There were already too many mouths to feed. Once I was born she had to go back to work.”

  They walked slowly. The moonlight was pouring down, transforming the icy scape around them into a magical wonderland. Children ran past calling and tumbling on the ice. Some had devised makeshift skates. Others were pulling each other along on sacks or trays, pressed into service as sledges. The air was full of their shouts of delight.

  “We lived in Angel Alley until I was twelve,” Ben said. “Mama sold old clothes to make us a few pennies and later she became a laundry woman. She would work all night, collecting laundry from the houses of the nobility—the sort of people she might once have moved amongst had things fallen out differently.”

  “Your father—” Catherine began, but she saw Ben’s expression shut down. “I never knew him,” he said. “You will know that he refused to acknowledge me.”

  “But your uncles found you and sent you to Harrow School.” Catherine had read this part of Ben’s life in one of the many penny sheets that Molly the housemaid had asked her to read to her.

  “My mother thought it was the right thing to do,” Ben said. He cast a sideways look at Catherine. “I hated it. They all called me a bastard, every day, to my face, and I could not refute it. So instead I behaved very badly.” He laughed. “And have been doing so ever since.” He smiled. “I suppose that you enjoyed school, Kate?”

  Catherine squeezed his arm. “Yes,” she said. “I loved it. I had been lonely before, being an only child, growing up abroad. Some of the other girls teased me, of course, because I came from a family of nabobs, but I did not care because Lily befriended me. I was not very clever but still I enjoyed belonging somewhere.”