Scandal of the Season

by Christie Kelley

Damn him, she thought.

  “Victoria?” Somerton called out as Ancroft closed the door leaving them completely alone.

  “What do you want?”

  He walked to the fireplace and took the seat Ancroft had deserted. “Why did you run from me?”

  “You really need to ask that question?”

  “I would like the truth, Victoria.”

  “You called me a whore.” She stood and walked closer to the fireplace to escape his prying gaze. The last thing she wanted was for him to see how much that remark had hurt her.

  “I apologize for that.” He rose and closed the distance between them until he was directly behind her. “Why would you not dance with me?”

  “I did not wish to dance.”

  “Did not wish to? Or did not know how?” His hands closed over her shoulders.

  “When would I have learned to dance? In between pinching coins from people? Or maybe I hired a dance instructor from all the money I made selling oranges.”

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered, then kissed the spot where her neck met her shoulder. “I was an insensitive lout for not realizing you had never danced before.”

  She tried to ignore the sensual feel of his lips on her bare shoulder. “No, you were an insensitive lout for calling me a whore.”

  He smiled against her skin warming her entire body. “You are right, of course.”

  Anthony had never felt like such a fool. When she ran away from him, he was certain it was for calling her a whore. It had taken him several minutes to realize that she had probably never learned to dance. But he honestly knew so little about her that he didn’t know what to believe about her.

  “I find I am fascinated by you, Victoria. I want to know so much more about you but every time I question you I don’t get the truth.”

  “I could say the same about you.” She pulled away from him and sat back down. “Perhaps I am ashamed.”

  “Of what?” he asked softly.

  “My upbringing.”

  “I have done plenty of things in my lifetime that I am not proud of. If you ask any of your friends, they would probably tell you to stay away from me because of my reputation. You were a child forced to pick pockets in order to survive.”

  “Just because I was a child doesn’t make it any easier to accept what I’ve done. And I certainly wasn’t a child last week.”

  He looked back at her and smiled. “But you have made up for your upbringing by taking in orphans and keeping them from making the same mistakes you made.”

  She fell silent for a moment as if pondering his words. “Tell me about some of the mistakes you made,” she whispered.

  Why would she want to know about his errors in life? She was the biggest blunder he ever made. “If I do, will you tell me more about yourself?”

  She nodded. “I will tell you what I can.”

  “Very well. I believe one of the biggest mistakes I ever made was how I treated you that night ten years ago.”

  “Tell me something I don’t already know.”

  He leaned back against the chair and looked at the ceiling in thought. “I sometimes do some jobs for a man in the government. Several years ago, I was in France and Lord Selby and Trey, Lord Kesgrave were assisting me. I was supposed to get some information to them in a timely manner. They decided to finish the job earlier than I had expected. Because I didn’t get there in time, a child was killed and Lord Selby shot.”

  “But you said Selby and Kesgrave went in early. There was nothing you could have done to prevent that.”

  Anthony stared over at her and shook his head. He closed his eyes so he would not have to see her repugnance. “I didn’t get there in time because I stopped at an inn and…”

  God, he hated admitting what he had done.

  “And what?” she asked quietly.

  “I was with a woman. If I hadn’t stopped for that, I would have been at the location early—before they went inside. Then they would have known about the child.”

  She reached over and caressed his leg before slowly returning to his knee. Opening his eyes, he stared at her slender fingers on his leg. She had no idea what she did to him physically and mentally. He had told no one his side of the story. Only saying that he’d been delayed getting to Selby and Kesgrave.

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “You could not have known what would happen.”

  “It does not change things, does it?”

  She sat back and shook her head slowly. “No, it does not. Is that why you are here this week? Doing a job for that man in the government?”

  He supposed it would not hurt to tell her some of the truth. “Yes.”

  She smiled at him until his heart started to pound. What was it about her smile that stirred all sorts of improper thoughts?

  “Yes? That is all you can tell me?”

  “Unfortunately, that is it. I cannot let anyone know too much information, Victoria.” He rose and then poured two glasses of brandy. He handed one to her. Now that he had answered her question, it was his turn. “Can I ask you something?”

  She bit her lip and stared at her snifter of brandy. “Very well.”

  Knowing he could not ask too personal a question to start, he began with what he thought was an easy question. “Who taught you to read?”

  She glanced back at him quickly then looked away. “No one of importance.”

  “Then why is it a secret?” He wanted to know more about her life. How had what they’d done together influenced it? For some reason, he knew it had.

  “It was just a woman who lived in the house.”

  “Mrs. Perkins, then?”

  “No, she died when I was sixteen,” she replied then covered her mouth with her hand. She looked away as her cheeks turned red.

  “So what did you do after Mrs. Perkins died?”

  Victoria closed her eyes. She shouldn’t be telling him even this much about her life. But he did tell her about a part of his life. Perhaps if he learned the dirty truth, he would be repulsed and leave her alone. Then she wouldn’t have to fight this damned attraction to him.

  “Mrs. Perkins had no family. So when I found her dead one morning, I called on a man I knew to take her body.”

  Somerton grimaced. “What type of man?”

  “A body snatcher.” She stared at him. “A man who would pay me for her corpse. The money he gave me helped me live in her rooms for another three months.”

  “Why?”

  She turned and faced him with all her fury. “Are you jesting with me? My choice was stay in her rooms for as long as I could or go sell my body on the streets. I was trying to find some type of employment but no one wanted a girl with no references, except for their sexual pleasure, of course. Then having no experience was a boon.”

  “I’m sorry,” he muttered and looked away. “What happened after three months?”

  How much could she tell him? Knowing he frequented the place, she had to be careful. “I went to work in a brothel,” she admitted slowly.

  Somerton looked over at her. “Now I know you are lying to me. You were a virgin when I…we…”

  “When we had sex, Somerton.”

  “I would hardly call it that.” He stood and started to pace the width of the library.

  Watching him, she realized that her story might be repelling him. But nothing seemed to change her desire for him. Even when he told her about that poor child, she had only wanted to comfort him. Wrap her arms around him and ease his anguish. She had to tell him some of the truth of her time with Lady Whitely.

  “I didn’t say I worked as a prostitute, only that I worked in a brothel. I kept the rooms.”

  He stopped by the sofa and grabbed the back of the upholstery. “Why did the owner of the house let you do that? You were young and beautiful and could have brought in plenty of money. Especially for your virginity.”

  “Believe it or not, she was a kind woman. She never forced a girl to do something she wasn’t ready for yet. She told me if I
changed my mind she would let me work upstairs.”

  “So after you and I had sex, as you so eloquently put it,” he bit out, “you went to work for her upstairs.”

  She struggled with how to answer his question. The truth finally came out. “No. I never went upstairs to work for her.”

  He walked past her, anger seemed to accentuate each word, “Then, how did you end up affording a home on your own?”

  “Someone else pays for it.”

  “Of course,” he muttered with disgust.

  “Why does my background concern you so? I mean nothing to you.”

  “You’re right,” he replied and walked out the door.

  Victoria wanted to scream in frustration. Every time she thought they were starting to be honest with each other, something came between them. Part of that was her fault. But she had a promise to keep. She had never met such an exasperating man. He had no right to question her about her life. Everything she had ever done had been out of pure survival, something he would know nothing about as a pampered young buck.

  She would never understand the man. Leaving her untouched brandy on the table, she walked to their room. She wondered if Somerton could speak honestly with anyone. And why was he so concerned about her background? She was no one. As soon as this week finished, they would only see each other occasionally.

  The idea of seeing him once or twice a year made her heart sink. She wanted to help him, make him see there was still good somewhere deep inside him. But if he could never be honest with her, she wondered if there was any hope for him. She stopped at the door to her room.

  If she could not be honest with him, was there any hope for her?

  Anthony crept into the bedroom and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw her sleeping in their bed. After stripping out of his eveningwear, he slid into bed quietly so as not to wake her. She rolled over and now faced him.

  He couldn’t look away from her. Her square face softened and her lips opened slightly. She was driving him mad. No matter how much he tried to control himself, he wanted her more than any other woman. A part of him knew the reason he baited her into arguments was to force a wedge between them. Because one sign of encouragement from her and he’d have her on her back.

  The glow of the fire reflected gold tones on her face and neck. She looked like a sleeping angel not a woman who gave herself to anyone for a few pounds. Just being in the same bed with her sent blood to his thickening cock. Knowing he could never have her was driving him mad.

  He only needed a few more days then this hellish desire would be finished. He could return to London and sate himself with as many women as it took to forget her face. Staring at her lush lips, he wondered if he could survive even one more day without having her. He could have any woman he wanted. Why did he have to want her?

  He reached out and let his finger softly draw across her jaw. She sighed. He wondered what she would do if he attempted to kiss her while she slept. Withdrawing his hand, he knew she would not be pleased.

  As the night progressed, he continued to watch her sleep and agonize over his reaction to her. No matter how many times he told himself this obsession over her had to stop, it only seemed to increase. When he discovered she had gone to Nicholas tonight, he could barely contain his jealousy. And he had never been a jealous man with any other woman.

  There was just something about her.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Victoria spent the next morning outside with Hannah cutting holly and evergreens for decorating the house. As she cut another sprig of holly, Victoria wondered why Hannah didn’t have the servants do this chore.

  Hannah walked to her with a smile. “Smell this,” she said, holding out a fresh cut branch of pine.

  Victoria inhaled the fresh pine scent and sighed. “It smells wonderful. But don’t you think it’s bad luck to bring them into the house before Christmas Eve?”

  “Utter nonsense, Anne. There is no such thing as bad luck”

  Victoria didn’t agree. She had seen enough bad luck while living in Whitechapel that she didn’t believe in taking chances.

  “Come along,” Hannah said happily. “I believe we have enough. If we need more I’ll send the servants out to cut it. Right now, I need a cup of warm tea.”

  Victoria nodded and walked with Hannah toward the house. She’d hoped to spend the morning watching Hardy, but Hannah had insisted that Victoria should help her with the evergreens. Finally inside the house, she left her cloak with a footman and walked toward the library in search of Somerton.

  But as she turned the corner of the hall to walk to the dining room, she spied Mr. Hardy walking out of the library, slipping a paper into his waistcoat pocket.

  That had to be what Somerton was looking for. He’d told Ancroft it was a missive. If she told Somerton, he would most likely be angry with her for eavesdropping. However, if she handed him the note herself, they could be done with this insane mission he was on. She could return home to her children and life might become normal again.

  As Mr. Hardy walked toward her, she smiled at him. “Good afternoon, Mr. Hardy.”

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Smith.”

  And if her luck held, she would be seated on his left again, exactly the side on which he placed that note.

  “Are you on the way to the luncheon?” Mr. Hardy asked her as he stepped closer.

  She had to encourage him on the off chance she wasn’t near him during the meal. She smiled at him. “Yes, I am.”

  He held out his right arm for her. “May I escort you?”

  “Yes, I would like that.” She prayed Somerton was not in the dining room yet. He would be furious to see her walking in the room with Hardy.

  She focused on the lovely landscape paintings that lined the walls as they walked to the dining room. If she thought about how her skin felt like it was crawling with bugs, she might just run. As they strolled into the room, she cringed at the sight of Somerton speaking with Ancroft.

  Somerton looked over at her with the coldest gaze she had ever seen. He started to step forward until Ancroft placed a hand on his arm.

  Hardy seemed to ignore the sudden tension and said, “Here you are, Mrs. Smith. Unfortunately, we will not be near each other.”

  “Perhaps after the luncheon we could talk?”

  Hardy’s eyes lit up. “Where would you like to meet?”

  “Farleigh’s study.”

  “I will meet you in there,” he replied and then walked to his seat across the table.

  Now she just had to get through this meal sitting between Somerton and Lord Bingham. Since the old earl appeared to sleep through half his meals, she doubted he would rescue her with conversation.

  Somerton strolled over looking casual to all observers, except Victoria. She noticed how tight he clenched his jaw and the slight tic in his cheek. He pulled out the chair for her. His hot breath burned her shoulder.

  “We will talk about this after the luncheon,” he whispered in her ear.

  “I have plans.” She sat in the chair and smiled at the couple sitting across from her.

  “You will meet me in our room.”

  “Of course.” But not until after she had met with Hardy. If all went well, she could hand Somerton the note and pack her bags.

  Somerton sat beside her. After being near Hardy, Somerton’s presence felt oddly comforting. It made no sense. Somerton was a far more dangerous man than Hardy.

  Sitting between Somerton and Lord Bingham, the meal seemed excruciating. Somerton barely spoke to her. Bingham’s head nodded a few times as if he were sleeping. The couple across from them appeared so devoted to each other that they scarcely conversed with anyone, save themselves.

  As the luncheon finished, she rose and started for the door only to have Somerton clasp his hand around her elbow. “I believe we have a meeting.”

  She yanked her elbow out of his grip. “I must speak with Lady Farleigh first. She asked for my assistance with the decorations for the ball.” />
  “You have one hour,” he replied in a harsh tone. “If you do not return to our bedchamber by then, I will find you.”

  “I understand.” Although, she didn’t feel terribly relieved. Too much could happen in an hour alone with Hardy. She had to find a way to get that missive quickly.

  She walked away from Somerton toward Lord Farleigh’s study. She entered the room to find Mr. Hardy sitting in a wingback chair with a glass of brandy in his hand.

  “Good afternoon again, Mrs. Smith.” He held up his glass of brandy. “Would you care to join me?”

  “No spirits for me.” She strolled to the chair across from him with a smile.

  “So,” he drawled. “What exactly did you wish to speak with me about?”

  She adjusted the line of her silk skirts. “Lord Somerton and I have not been getting along as of late. I was curious about your reason to know about the ending of our relationship.”

  “I believe you know.” He sipped his brandy. “Are you certain you would not like some?”

  “I prefer a clear head when making decisions such as these.”

  He smiled at her in a leering manner. “I am glad to see how seriously you take such negotiations.”

  “I must. After all, this is my life and income we are discussing. A head muddled with spirits would let you take advantage of me.” She smiled back at him. “And I will never allow that to happen.”

  He nodded. “I do like an intelligent woman.”

  “So tell me, Mr. Hardy, what can I expect from you?”

  “I shall be anything you would like. A gentle lover, a demanding lover—”

  “I meant,” she interrupted, “Exactly what type of benefits would I enjoy. After all, I am giving up a very generous man.”

  Hardy tilted his head slightly and stared at her with probing brown eyes. “Yes, you are. Tell me, Mrs. Smith, exactly why are you looking to leave a man like Somerton for someone like me? After all, he will be an earl someday, while I am a lowly second son.”

  Victoria laughed in a light tone. “Lord Somerton is…shall we say, not an easy man. He demands perfection in everything and expects me to comply with his every whim. I prefer a little more give and take in such a relationship.”