Scandalous Scoundrels

by Aileen Fish

  Gabriel helped the girls to step over several lofty tomes that were too big to fit on the shelves. Gresham had stacked them wherever space could be found on the floor. The old bookseller liked his clutter and often declared that he found more comfort between the sheets of a book than the sheets of his bed.

  That may have been true until today, Gabriel mused with a chuckle.

  After a mere half hour with Daisy, the old man appeared ready to toss aside his life’s work, polish his dancing slippers, and join the ranks of her admirers.

  Yes, Daisy was something quite special, for she was sincerely kind and caring, and genuinely unaware of her allure.

  “These two annotations of Newton’s work are suitable for a beginner,” Gabriel said, placing the reading material in Daisy’s gloved hands.

  “Thank you,” she managed before Gresham reclaimed her attention.

  Indeed, after slipping him the forged identity documents, Gresham had followed Daisy about like a lovesick schoolboy, so enthralled by her it seemed as though he’d never seen a young woman before.

  “I’ll take the annotations, Gresham.” Though reluctant to deny the old man the pleasure of Daisy’s company, Gabriel knew it was time to end the visit. They had another stop to make.

  “They are first editions, my lord.”

  Which meant the old scoundrel intended to charge him double what they were worth. Apparently, his work for the Crown did not diminish his desire to make a healthy profit. “Very well.”

  Daisy flashed the bookseller an adorable smile.

  “They are for Miss Farthingale?” He wiped his hands, gnarled by age, across his dusty apron.

  “Yes,” Gabriel said and was graced with an equally adorable smile from Daisy. He drank in her loveliness, treasuring the simple moment. Eventually, she’d grow to detest him when rumors of his drinking and whoring while at the Duke of Edgeware’s hunting lodge reached her ears. None of it would be true, of course. But the lies would persist long enough to keep Napoleon’s agents off his scent.

  “Then you may have them as a gift,” Gresham said.

  Until today, the man had been as tightfisted a merchant as ever existed, but one smile from Daisy and he was merrily giving his stock away. “Nonsense, put the books on my account and wrap them as quickly as you can.”

  Daisy pursed her lips. “On your account? I think I ought to pay for them.”

  “Gresham, I’ll string you up by your short hairs if you take so much as a ha’penny from either Miss Farthingale. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, my lord.” The old man cast him a curious glance, no doubt wondering why either of them was offering to pay for something he’d just offered as a gift.

  In truth, Gabriel wasn’t certain why Gresham’s gesture had irked him, for Daisy wasn’t his wife nor was he courting her. She was free to have admirers, even crotchety old men such as the bookseller.

  And now Lily was studying him as though he were one of those male baboons she had been going on about earlier. Perhaps there was a slight resemblance, he reluctantly admitted. He suddenly felt quite possessive, and didn’t want another man giving Daisy presents.

  He ignored Lily’s grin and purchased two books on African swamp baboons for the little bluestocking, deciding it was necessary to divert the gossips just a little. Not that there would be much to whisper about, for handing Daisy a gift of Newton’s works would hardly be considered in the same light as a gift of jewelry or perfume.

  “It’s getting late,” Lily hinted not so subtly.

  “Yes, on to Blakney’s.” He escorted the girls across the street to the large shop painted strawberry red and smelling of freshly baked pies. The crowd was sparse, and the few ladies and gentlemen present were unfamiliar to him or the girls.

  The jovial proprietor, obviously a man who enjoyed sampling his wares, welcomed them in with enthusiasm and cheerfully led them to a decorative wrought iron table surrounded by red and white striped cushioned chairs.

  Once they were seated, he scurried into the kitchen and returned rolling out a large cart filled with hot pies.

  “Oh, I think I’m in heaven,” Daisy said, closing her eyes and inhaling the delightful aroma of apple, cherry, apricot, mince, quince, meringue, and a dozen more scents. “I would have studied harder had I realized learning was this much fun. Of course, if I finished every session with a visit to a pie shop, I would be the size of a horse by now.”

  And still beautiful, Gabriel imagined. He watched, fascinated by the changing expressions on her face as she perused the enticing display. “They all look so tempting. I don’t know which to choose.”

  He knew what tempted him and it had nothing to do with pies.

  “I’ll have an apple tart, if I may,” Lily said to the proprietor.

  “Um, I’ll take the meringue,” Daisy said.

  “And you, my lord? What’s your pleasure?”

  I’ll have Daisy, thank you. No fork necessary, I’ll use my tongue.

  “May we have a pitcher of lemonade?” Lily added.

  Gabriel nodded. “Of course. An excellent idea. I’m feeling a little parched myself.”

  And sensing prying eyes upon him.

  He was now certain they’d been followed ever since leaving the Newton lecture. He hoped neither Daisy nor Lily had noticed. He also hoped no one had noticed Gresham slipping him the forged documents or Blakney slipping the little note under his plate that revealed the time, date, name, and location of the ship upon which he was to sail to France.

  He suspected that French agents had been following him for several days now, and it had taken tremendous effort on his part to pretend to be unaware. He’d spent years building up his tawdry reputation, selling them information about England’s battle plans—with full knowledge of the Crown, of course—and was about to give them more tonight. He’d been feeding these French agents useless bits of information without problem for years.

  The information was always accurate, but given a day too late. Sometimes even an hour too late. Sometimes given timely, but since the English knew the information was in the hands of the French, the generals were able to plan around it.

  He eased back in his chair and turned his attention to Daisy, doing his best to convince the French spies that this outing had nothing to do with preparing for his mission and all to do with a rakehell’s lust for a beautiful girl.

  Daisy closed her eyes and ran her tongue ever so slowly along the dollop of meringue on her fork. Images of Daisy running her tongue ever so slowly along his... no, too exquisitely painful to dare hope!

  Had he worried about convincing those spies?

  It was all he could do to keep his eyes from bulging out of their sockets... or hiding the hard bulge elsewhere on his body.

  Chapter 12

  A lady must never allow a rake to lead her down a garden path.

  Daisy entered Lord Hastings’ residence escorted by the Mongol horde also known as her family. They presently surrounded her and pushed her along on their slow migration up the receiving line, paying more attention to her than usual during their progress. Her mother was going on and on about Auguste Malinor and Daisy was now concerned that everyone would make too much of his attentions toward her. She wasn’t about to smile and pretend to be in raptures over a man who didn’t make her tingle.

  Too bad, for she sincerely wished to adore Auguste.

  Unfortunately, Gabriel was the one who made her tingle. All over. Every body part. She glanced around. Had he arrived yet? Careful planning was required to slip away from her family and find him, a few choice words... well, very small lies... to her parents and particularly to her Uncle George. Very little escaped his notice, so she’d have to move quickly the moment he was distracted.

  “You seem pensive this evening,” Uncle George said, boring into her with his keen gaze. He was a big bear of a man and more clever than anyone she’d ever met, other than Lily. She adored him, usually. Right now, he was an obstacle, for he sensed she was up to s
omething.

  “I’m overwhelmed by the magnificence of the Hastings home.” She pretended to study her surroundings. The ballroom itself was painted in a cheerful shade of apricot yellow with crisp white trim. Above the trim was a beautifully painted ceiling depicting angels frolicking in an Italian style villa. Four massive crystal chandeliers lined the ceiling, each chandelier ablaze with floral-scented candles. The shimmering light played tricks on the eyes so that the angels appeared to dance among the crystals. “Don’t you find it lovely?”

  He arched an eyebrow. “Hmm.”

  She turned to inspect the crush of splendidly dressed lords and ladies filling the large room, her gaze trained on the taller gentlemen in the crowd, hoping one of them was Gabriel. Despite her initial reluctance, she’d had fun with him at the Royal Society lecture, and afterward at the bookshop and confectionery.

  “Are you looking for someone in particular?” her uncle asked, not at all fooled by her casual glances.

  “Yes, I’ve lost Mother. She’s walked on ahead. I think I had better find her.” Again, a very small lie.

  Harmless, really.

  Still eyeing her warily, her uncle cleared his throat. “I see her standing beside the marble column. I’ll take you to her.”

  She forced a smile. “How kind of you. Don’t trouble yourself. I—”

  “No trouble at all.” He tossed back an equally forced smile.

  “Oh.”

  George took her by the elbow and guided her through the festive throng, his grip light, but still managing to convey his determination to remain close to her all evening. How was she to be rid of him?

  Lord Malinor, dressed in extravagant peacock blue silk, approached as though in answer to her prayer. “I need you for a moment, Farthingale.”

  George frowned—actually, he uttered something not very polite under his breath—but Lord Malinor appeared too busy drinking in her appearance to notice. “Miss Daisy,” he said with an eager smile, exposing his yellowing teeth, “you look charming, simply delightful. Indeed, you’re the loveliest young lady here tonight. The stars pale—”

  She let out an uncomfortable laugh, for the man was obviously in his cups and staring at her too avidly for her liking. “Confess, my lord. How many young ladies have you flattered with precisely those words this evening?”

  “I assure you, you are the one and only.” He took her hand and tossed her a courtly bow which he managed with only one small stagger.

  “And I second my father’s opinion,”Auguste Malinor said, his dark eyes alight with merriment as he approached her. “I hope your dance card is not yet filled.”

  She smiled politely. “It isn’t, my lord.”

  “Good, then I shall put myself down for two,” he said, staring at her meaningfully. He claimed the fourth and seventh dances, which was surprising for her dance card was empty and she’d expected him to claim the first.

  Still, she was flattered. His request for two dances amounted to a declaration of interest, of possible courtship, and she ought to have been pleased.

  She was pleased.

  Auguste was tall and handsome, rich and powerful, and possessed of a venerable title and unmistakable air of refinement. He appeared quite the dashing gentleman, the black of his coat a shade darker than the black of his long hair. His eyes were the color of rich, dark earth. A deep, vibrant brown. Indeed, he was handsome and she ought to have been delighted by his attention, but there was a subtle arrogance in his demeanor that... no, she was merely out of sorts this evening. “I’m honored, my lord.”

  He took her hand and graced her with a courtly bow, and though she caught the scent of spirits on his breath, he was in full control of his body. Unlike his father, he had not a trace of a drunken stagger. “The honor is mine.”

  Lord Malinor slapped his son on the back. “Well done, lad! He takes after me in some small way, you know. Has the same fine eye for the ladies. For the prettiest ladies,” he remarked, once again staring at Daisy. “Fortunately for him, he takes after his mother—may she rest in peace—when it comes to looks. He’s a handsome lad and the ladies can’t resist him.”

  Auguste shook his head and cast Daisy a sheepish grin. “Father, pray stop or you’ll frighten Miss Farthingale away.”

  “Nonsense, she isn’t easily frightened. Are you, m’dear?” Once again, his gaze bore into her a little too avidly for her liking, but she put it down to his attempt to concentrate.

  Daisy ignored him and smiled back at Auguste. “No, my lord.”

  “Good, that’s what I like. A girl with spirit. Come along, son. And you too, George. It pains me to have to leave your side, m’dear. Important business to discuss, affairs of state and all that. Forgive us for abandoning you.”

  Daisy tried hard to appear disappointed, especially since her uncle was still frowning at her. “Of course.”

  Lord Malinor hiccupped. “Ah, you are a delight.”

  “I’ll return shortly,” her uncle warned, leading her to the marble column where her mother stood chatting with friends—and bless her distracted soul—too intent on the latest ton gossip to pay her any notice. “You are not to leave her side.”

  Daisy waited until her uncle was out of sight—after all, she hadn’t promised—then edged toward one of the massive floral displays lining the walls at measured intervals. The pale lilac flowers sewn on her gown of ivory silk blended well among the flowers and her hiding spot provided the perfect vantage point to watch for Gabriel.

  “Viscount Sanford’s father is in terrible health,” Lady Warrick said to her shy daughter as they passed by the floral display, ignorant of Daisy’s presence. Lady Warrick pointed to a young man with curly, orange-red hair. Daisy had never seen anyone with hair so bright a shade of orange.

  “I’m so sorry,” her shy daughter said. “The poor viscount must be distraught.”

  “Melissa! Don’t be silly, child! He’ll soon be an earl and needs to take a wife. Come, let’s move closer. Now’s our chance. He’s talking to that old goat, Lord Barrington.”

  Poor Melissa Warrick! Her mother was as subtle as a battering ram and certain to humiliate her in front of that carrot-haired viscount.Daisy shuddered, knowing her fate would have been little better had she remained by her own mother’s side. Except her mother would have been droning on about the “feeling” in her bones that an offer of marriage would come tonight—her mother always had these “feelings” about her daughters and marriage proposals, and she was always wrong.

  Thank goodness!

  Besides, who would offer for her tonight?

  The only eligible young man with whom she’d spent any time was Auguste Malinor, and she couldn’t imagine him tossing all caution to the wind and proposing. They’d hardly exchanged two sentences.

  Also, there was something about him that struck her as calculating. Or was he merely trained to be careful? Coming from one of the most important families in England, he had much to consider, for the future of the Malinor family rested upon his finding a proper wife to sire his heir.

  Then there was Gabriel, but he was no gentleman, although he had been very nice to her at the Newton lecture. She sighed. When he was nice, her body responded to his presence in a most embarrassing way.

  Still, he didn’t love her.

  Nor did she love him.

  When I fall in love, it will be wholly and completely. I want all of my husband, not bits and pieces of him. Not riddles and puzzles.

  Speaking of riddles and puzzles, Daisy saw Gabriel making his way across the ballroom. He seemed to be heading toward the terrace.

  Where was he going?

  She was about to slip from her hiding spot and follow him, but Auguste chose that moment to emerge from the room where the important meeting was being held. He appeared to be searching for her. Drat! Had he seen her? She had to come up with an explanation for lurking behind the overgrown floral display.

  He appeared to be looking straight toward her, although she wasn’t sure ho
w he could have noticed her crouched behind the display. Which was why she was momentarily startled when he said, “Ah, there you are, my passion blossom.”

  He wasn’t speaking to her but to another young woman whose back was to her. She couldn’t make out who it was, for all the debutantes wore similarly demure, white silk gowns, and their inane titters all sounded the same. “Meet me in the garden,” he coaxed the breathless young thing, “by the fountain. Don’t be long. I’m so hot for you, my little minx.” He then proceeded to tell his passion blossom-minx just what he intended to do to her.

  Daisy resolved then and there to break a chair over Auguste’s head if he ever dared call her by that hideous endearment. The wretch had just engaged her for two dances, stared at her in a meaningful way that spoke of the seriousness of his intentions, and in the next moment made an assignation with another young lady.

  Daisy felt wretched as she watched the pair move away from each other and melt back into the crowd.

  Did all men behave this way? She’d only skimmed through the rest of Lady Forsythia’s book in the few hours before the ball. She silently resolved to read it carefully and thoroughly tomorrow. Indeed, wouldn’t leave the house until she’d memorized every word. No rake would ever get the better of her. Not ever.

  Having made her resolution, she stepped out from her hiding spot and walked into the ballroom in time to see Gabriel slip outside through the large doors that led onto the Hastings terrace. Him, too? She glanced around, trying to determine which debutante he meant to lead to ruin in the garden. No young lady followed him out.

  Perhaps the foolish girl was already waiting for him.

  Daisy shook her head and let out a soft, mirthless laugh. Perhaps this was just the jolt she needed to dismiss Gabriel from her thoughts, to prevent him from ever capturing her heart. She hurried after him, stepping outdoors into the night only to find herself quite alone, a chill wind biting her flesh.

  She was immediately struck by the folly of her intentions and considered turning back. She would have, had she not heard Auguste’s rumbling laugh and a high-pitched trill coming from a row of bushes beside the nearby fountain. Who was the girl with Auguste? In truth, she didn’t care.