Scandalous Scoundrels

by Aileen Fish

“I will admit I’m still a bit rattled. More important, are you all right?” She was genuinely concerned, for his eyes were red and watery, and the wine on his breath already smelled stale. He must have started drinking early, no doubt to calm his own frayed nerves.

  “Yes, yes, I’m quite well.” He seemed to wave off the incident in the park. “The bounder wasn’t shooting at me. Obviously aiming for Lord Dayne. Another jealous husband to be sure. Terribly disappointed in the man.”

  “Everyone seems to be.” However, she didn’t believe the assailant had been a jealous husband. Going after Gabriel while he stood amid a crowd didn’t make any sense. She’d felt the shots whiz past her ear, too close for comfort. All she remembered after that was Gabriel swallowing her up against his big body, his arms as hard as granite as he shielded her against his chest.

  And what about the ugly little man she’d seen in the park? She’d noticed him earlier in the week, had seen him handing a letter to Gabriel at the Royal Society lecture she’d attended with Lily. Were Gabriel and the ugly little man part of a greater scheme? Some intrigue on behalf of the Crown? None of it made sense to her. Why would that little man shoot one of his own colleagues?

  Lord Malinor reached for a glass of champagne from the tray of a passing servant, drank it down quickly, then grabbed another two and handed one to her. “You look fetching, my dear. Quite fetching.”

  She took the offered glass but had no desire to drink its contents. Her stomach was roiling and she wasn’t certain she could hold anything down. “Thank you. How did Lord Dayne disappoint you?”

  “What?”

  “Lord Dayne. Disappointing you.” Were all men incapable of answering the simplest questions?

  “Not just me. He’s let down the entire country,” he said with theatrical flair, as though giving a speech in Parliament.

  “How so?” She cast him a demure smile, hoping he was drunk enough to let something slip.

  His chest puffed out, reminding her of a rooster. An overly perfumed rooster. She continued to smile and batted her lashes, perhaps overdoing it a bit for she wasn’t used to flirting with men. Whatever she was doing seemed to have the desired effect. “You keep away from Lord Dayne, my girl,” he warned, now scowling although not at her. “He’s a bad one.”

  “How is he bad?” She added a delicate hand to her throat to heighten the impression of helplessness. “Please tell me. I can’t protect myself if I don’t know.”

  He hesitated a moment, then moved close so that his hot breath ruffled the curls beside her ear. “No harm in telling you now, I suppose. Word of his row with Prinny and Wellington has already spread throughout Parliament. It’ll be all anyone talks of tonight.”

  Her fingers tightened around the glass of champagne still in her hand as she fought off her disappointment. She’d hoped to learn secrets, but what she was about to be told was a rehearsed lie. Gabriel had not had a falling out with the Prince Regent, but everyone was meant to think he had. To what purpose?

  Lord Malinor glanced around, then leaned close again. “Lord Dayne refused to cancel his hunting trip.”

  Obviously, this trip was important in some way, but why should anyone care if Gabriel left London for a few weeks of hunting? And why should Wellington in particular care? “How is that significant?”

  Lord Malinor tensed, as though fearing he’d said too much. “Sorry, m’dear. I’m not at liberty to say more.”

  Daisy struggled to hold back her frustration. She gazed across the entry hall and saw her mother and Julia slowly making their way toward her. She was running out of time to pry the information out of Lord Malinor. “Surely, you can tell me something. After all, if members of Parliament know about it, how much of a secret can it be? And those shots came awfully close to striking me. Don’t I deserve some explanation for that alone?”

  She whipped out her lace handkerchief and held it to her trembling mouth. “I’m quite overset. Really, my lord, this is too cruel of you.”

  “Now, now,” he said, uncertain how to deal with a young woman on the verge of hysterics since his wife had dutifully given him sons and not any daughters before passing away. If not for that, he would have seen through her little performance at once. “No cause for alarm, my dear. We’ve had a minor disturbance in France. Nothing to worry about. Wellington asked Lord Dayne to delay his hunting trip and travel with him on the Continent. It’s his duty as an Englishman, but he behaves as though he’s Trent’s eldest son and heir when he clearly is not. The man is shameless.”

  “Why is he so important?”

  Lord Malinor shook his head and let out a forced laugh. “I wouldn’t call that bounder important so much as convenient. Dayne speaks fluent French and knows the terrain. Travels as a young man... that sort of thing. He was involved with a French countess for a time. Point is, Wellington needs him there. Being a scoundrel doesn’t excuse him from all duty to the Crown. The man’s a damn coward.”

  She shook her head. A minor disturbance in France? Had something happened to Napoleon? And why should Gabriel be involved even if he did speak French? Most gentlemen learned languages in school. Many had traveled to France and throughout Europe. “Why should Wellington want him when he’s considered so unreliable? What’s really so important about Lord Dayne?”

  Lord Malinor paled. “Nothing. He isn’t important. The point is, when you receive a royal request, you obey it.”

  “I see.” But she didn’t really. The royal request would not have been made unless something important had happened or was about to happen, obviously in France since Gabriel had an excellent knowledge of that country, according to Lord Malinor. What could be so vital not only to the Prince Regent, but to his most trusted military advisor, the Duke of Wellington? Not to mention the top ministers in England?

  She tried to put the bits and pieces together and could come up with only one conclusion. “Has Napoleon escaped?”

  Lord Malinor’s eyes rounded in alarm and he ran a fat, clammy hand across his collar. “Where did you hear that?”

  “You just told me. Why else would—”

  “Gel, keep your thoughts to yourself!” He suddenly seemed quite angry, so she hastened to reassure him that she’d speak no more of the matter since she was here to find herself a husband and not to interfere in excruciatingly boring matters of state.

  She fluttered her handkerchief and then drew it to her trembling lips. Lord Malinor was immediately contrite. “Forgive me, dear gel. I didn’t mean to overset you. In truth, the cat is certainly out of the bag by now. The news will be all over the London papers by tomorrow. Not much of a secret that Napoleon has escaped. Er... but do keep it to yourself for now.”

  She nodded, fashioning a smile while her mind raced to fit the information into the puzzle that was Gabriel.

  Lord Malinor took her hand and patted it, his fingers hot and moist as they wrapped around hers. The stench of stale wine assaulted her as he leaned close enough for his jowl to graze her cheek. “Pretty thing like you mustn’t fret,” he whispered in her ear. “These are dangerous times. Makes a man think of what’s important. Makes a man realize he must seize the moment, for one cannot know what tomorrow will bring.”

  Good heavens. What was he going on about? He was smiling and squinting at her in a most unsettling fashion. “Ah, here’s my mother and Aunt Julia.”

  She slipped her hand out of his grasp.

  “We’ll speak later,” he said with a wink.

  ***

  Daisy didn’t want to believe the latest bits of news, but it had to be true. Napoleon had escaped Elba and was on the run. Was it possible? Lord Malinor had let slip that Gabriel spoke the language fluently and knew the countryside. Was he needed to plan a defense? Why? He was known as a wastrel, not a military man.

  And who was this countess?

  She shook her head and sighed. Obviously an affair that ended years ago. She’d ask Graelem about it later.

  As for Gabriel, she recalled the recent stories she
’d heard about him, all of them possibly false. He’d been accused of drinking to excess, but he’d always been sober during their encounters. He was known as a womanizing scoundrel... well, he’d admired Lady Westhaven’s enormous breasts this afternoon, but ogling was something all men did, even her sainted uncle, George, a pillar of respectability.

  Gabriel was known to disappear for weeks at a time, yet his business affairs were in good order, or so Laurel had insisted during their afternoon discussion. Indeed, Laurel had been certain of it, for Graelem had confided in her about his cousin’s estates, which meant those seemingly impulsive disappearances were well thought out.

  Several months ago, he’d been shot by a cuckolded husband somewhere in the north of England. That was the rumor spread around town and his own grandmother had believed it. Daisy had held Eloise’s hand and cried, for Gabriel had returned in such terrible shape few expected him to survive.

  What if he hadn’t been shot by a jealous husband, but had received those wounds secretly fighting Napoleon? His long absences could have been secret missions to France.

  And his injuries coincided with Napoleon’s capture and exile.

  Daisy groaned inwardly.

  Of course, it had to be.

  The hunting lodge, the bachelor friends... his terrible reputation... all a carefully crafted sham. But not everything fit. There was the matter of that ugly little man.

  What was his connection to Gabriel?

  Or to the attempt on Lord Malinor’s life?

  Drat, she wasn’t even certain there had been an attempt on his life.

  “Daisy,” her mother said, tapping her shoulder only moments later. “You’re talking to yourself.”

  She shook out of her thoughts, saw Julia and Lord Malinor drifting into the music room together, and turned to her mother with an apologetic smile. “I was thinking aloud.”

  “As we Farthingales are known to do from time to time.” Her mother cast her a sympathetic smile in return. “But try not to do that when in company, it looks a bit... well, odd.”

  She wondered just how she and her mother had turned out so alike in looks and, it appeared, in temperament as well. Sophie Farthingale was still a beautiful woman, retaining much of her youthful figure and lush dark hair, though now salted with white. Her gentle blue eyes were wrinkled at the corners, but those were laugh lines, a result of a joyful household filled with mirth and affection.

  Daisy had always hoped to age as gracefully as her mother. However, at times her mother was a dizzy, disorganized creature who’d forget her own head if it weren’t attached. She was a scatterbrain and often talked to herself.

  Oh, dear! Was she becoming as scatterbrained as her mother?

  “... and keep away from Lord Dayne. I won’t have the Farthingale name associated with that coward.”

  He isn’t a coward! She wanted to scream the truth aloud, but knew it was hopeless. Neither her mother, nor anyone else, believed he had any good in him.

  A small cluster of lords and ladies paused on their way to the music room, where the harp recital was about to commence. “Sophie,” said Lady Beaverton, a dear friend of hers, “have you seen him yet? Lord Dayne, of course.”

  Her mother shuddered. “No, Miranda, and I certainly don’t wish to.”

  Auguste Malinor was just behind them and had obviously overheard. He uttered a crude jest about Gabriel.

  Daisy cast him an icy glare. What had he ever sacrificed? Or was he too insignificant for the Prince Regent’s notice? She desperately wished to come to Gabriel’s defense, but wasn’t about to ruin the scandal that he and the Prince Regent had concocted. Had Wellington been involved in the planning as well?

  She stood with her hands curled into fists at her sides, silent and unresponsive while all around her spoke of Gabriel with unmasked derision. Finally, she could take no more. “Who are we to condescend? Has the Prince Regent ever taken notice of any of you? Have you done anything worth his notice?”

  Her mother’s eyes rounded in horror. “Daisy!”

  “My father and I,” Auguste said with a disquieting sense of menace, “are well acquainted with the entire royal family and you would be wise never to forget it.”

  “Forgive my daughter, my lord. You see, Lord Dayne recently did us a great favor, and my daughter now believes we owe him something in return.”

  He arched an eyebrow. “Ah, I see. Loyalty, Miss Farthingale, is an honorable trait, but misplaced loyalty is a dangerous thing. Please excuse my earlier crude jest, but do be wary of Lord Dayne. He cannot be trusted.”

  “Thank you for the warning, my lord.” A warning he insisted on droning into her skull each time they met. Gabriel had also expressed little fondness for Auguste. Why did the pair particularly detest each other?

  “I hope we are friends again.” He cast her a smile that did not reach into his cold, dark eyes.

  She managed a small smile in return. “Yes, of course.”

  “Excellent.” He let out the breath he’d been holding, a response which Daisy thought quite odd, for Auguste had never seemed to care whether or not she held a good opinion of him. “May I be so bold as to escort you to dinner after the recital?”

  “Of course you may,” her mother interjected before she could decline. “My daughter is honored by your notice.”

  He bowed to her mother and then to her. “Until later, Miss Farthingale.”

  She managed another smile, this time more sincere. “I look forward to it, my lord.”

  Her mother turned toward her once Auguste Malinor, Lady Beaverton, and their companions had walked away. “Goodness, you gave me quite a scare! Daisy, you almost ruined your chances with young Malinor. Possibly ruined Julia’s chances with his father. I know we taught you girls to be honest, but sometimes it is best to keep such thoughts to yourself.”

  “Sorry, Mother. I don’t support what Lord Dayne has done, but who are we to cast blame? Do we have the right to question his sacrifice when we’ve sacrificed nothing ourselves?”

  “Oh, Daisy,” her mother moaned, uttering a string of woes which included phrases such as “sad creature, doomed to spinsterhood” and “determined to drive me to an early grave.” “No man wants a woman without the sense to keep her radical thoughts to herself.”

  “I’m sorry. It’s just that—”

  She held up her hand. “I don’t wish to hear your excuses. Indeed, I blame myself for failing to train you properly. But I won’t make the same mistake with your younger sisters. I’ll thrash them soundly if they dare to utter an independent thought!”

  “Mother! You’ve never raised a hand to any of us.”

  “And I never will,” she admitted, her shoulders sagging as she let out a sigh, “but you worry me, darling. At times you make it so difficult for anyone to see just how special you are.”

  “I’ll be an angel to the entire Malinor family if it will help set matters right.”

  “Ah, well. Nothing to be done about it now. Come along, child. The music has started.”

  “You go in, Mother. I’ll follow shortly.” She mumbled something about misplacing her fan, then hurried off in search of Gabriel.

  Though the Baldridge home was large, she managed a quick search of the residence—the card room, dining room, and private nooks. She’d just about given up hope of finding him when she spotted him on the terrace. “There you are.”

  Gabriel glanced in the direction of several guests who were also on the terrace, staring at him quite coldly. “Daisy, you shouldn’t be out here.”

  She paid the scowling guests no notice. “I know, but I must speak to you.”

  “You’ve just done so. Now, go away before tongues start wagging, this time against you.”

  “Are you suggesting that you care?”

  He frowned. “About your reputation? I do care. Don’t come any closer.”

  She had to meet him somewhere private, find some place far from the music room or terrace, far from prying eyes and disapproving gaze
s. “How’s your arm?”

  His lips curled in a mirthless smile. “It’s fine. Nothing more than a scratch. I’ve been injured worse.”

  Her heart tightened. “The news of your row with the Prince Regent and Wellington is all anyone is talking about tonight. Do the London gossips pay you to set the town afire with scandal, or is it a natural talent of yours?”

  He glanced over her shoulder as another group of gentlemen and ladies passed by and began to whisper furiously while casting him furtive glances.

  “A natural talent,” he replied. “Now, go away.”

  “Follow me.” She wasn’t certain whether to poke him in the nose or go after the next person who glowered at Gabriel. She was angry with everyone tonight, particularly him. He was arrogant, insufferable, and thickheaded.

  “No.”

  She folded her arms over her chest and scowled at him. “You must.”

  To her surprise, his gaze turned tender. “And allow you to be tarred with the same brush as me? I don’t think so.”

  The will to fight simply drained out of her and all she felt was a deep, abiding sorrow. “Please, Gabriel. I’m so frightened for you.”

  He let out a soft groan. “Don’t be.”

  She shook her head and sighed. “I can’t help it.”

  “I know.” He cast her a mirthless grin. “You Farthingales like to meddle. But this is a dangerous business, Daisy. The only way to keep you safe is to keep you far away from me.”

  “Are you ordering me to forget you? Am I supposed to return to the music room and pretend to listen to that insipid harp recital?” She shot him a frown. “There’s a small Grecian temple in the Baldridge’s garden.”

  He pushed away from the balustrade. “Haven’t you learned your lesson about secret meetings and gardens? You could have been killed the other night... and again today in the park.” He ran a hand through his hair, obviously exasperated. “What will it take to make you go away?”

  “Five minutes alone with you,” she said, glancing out into the garden. “I’ll go first. Don’t take too long.” She marched off before he had the chance to stop her.

  A cool gust of wind caught Daisy’s curls, loosening several as she walked toward the Grecian temple next to a torch-lit pond. She ignored the stray wisps curling about her ears and neck, her thoughts in anguish over Gabriel as she walked on, hardly noticing the scent of lilac in the air.