Suzi Love

by Embracing Scandal

  “I was younger then. I no longer enjoy such fripishness.”

  He spluttered. “Fripishness? Is that even a word?”

  “It is a word, if I say it is,” she announced, as she tried to wriggle out of his grasp.

  Pretty little teeth popped out to worry her bottom lip. One front tooth was slightly off kilter, different like her. Her views were as unique as her wild mop of red curls or her freckled nose. Only she could add a completely ridiculous word to the English language, and make it seem as if it belonged. She raised her haughty nose.

  “Within a month, the ton will be repeating it at every gathering.”

  He threw back his head and laughed until he shook.

  “All right. It’s probably not a real word and the likelihood of anyone of refinement copying it is remote. People will label it yet another strange thing I’ve done.”

  A well-remembered urge to protect her from cruel detractors, to bolster her self-confidence, struck him. “I, however, think fripishness is a delightful word. I shall use it whenever possible.”

  She sniggered. “Society will assume Sherwyn has joined the Jamisons in Bedlam. If you’re shrewd you’ll deny acquaintance with me, especially if you wish to add new sparkle to your previously tarnished character.”

  The thought disturbed him despite the truth in her supposition. In order to reach his goals within the next year, he needed to remove any lingering blemish from the St. Martin name. Only by adhering to Julia’s contract would they be free from her incessant greed.

  Regardless, he yearned for a taste of Becca’s passion. He edged closer and she retreated. “You’re not really afraid of me, are you?”

  “Of course not! Besides, I do have a gun, remember?”

  She shuffled backwards in tiny movements she thought unnoticeable. Unhappily for her, he was attuned to every movement.

  “I’m not likely to forget a pistol pointed at my most valued assets. We’re sharing a few simple kisses. Harmless.”

  “Kisses are never simple.” She turned her head, not meeting his eye. “I’ve read treatises on bodily urges in the animal kingdom. Research shows males frequently behave in an inappropriate manner when suffering from unrelieved urges.”

  She’d rendered him speechless. Had society misses changed so much, become so brazenly outspoken, or was it only Becca and her inquisitive mind who researched such topics?

  “Have mercy. Spare me your scientific opinions on my — ”

  “Masculine needs?”

  The irritating woman was using scientific logic to rationalize his behaviour. Though he’d heard the husky catch in her voice.

  “You know nothing of my needs, physical or otherwise.”

  “Poppycock. I know more than you imagine.”

  He clutched his head. “I pray that’s an exaggeration.”

  “Our second footman is cousin to — ” She waved her hand. “I don’t want to make things awkward — ”

  “One of my servants is a spy and you’re worrying about it being awkward?”

  “It’s not as if we pay for our information.” Her wide-eyed look of innocence didn’t fool him for a moment. “That would be bribery.”

  Fascinated despite himself, he said, “So why do people spy for you?”

  “Someone always has a female relative or friend who needs assistance from the Women’s Betterment Society. A helping hand along a financially independent path.”

  “You get information by taking one of these women under your wing. Interesting. So what did your illegal source say about me?”

  “Only that you’re circumspect in your social habits.” He raised a brow. “You accompany your stepmother in public. No hint of scandal.” She held her head high and sounded strong and sure, yet her hands shook with tiny tremors. “Now though, we need more. We’d like you to collect information for us. When you receive invitations to certain upcoming social events, I’ll inform you of certain items we need retrieved from those houses.”

  “Which certain — Give me strength! Now I’m using that confounded word. And by retrieved, I assume you mean — stolen.”

  She frowned. “Stolen sounds so … criminal. We think of it as paper slipping into coat pockets. By mistake.”

  He hid his grin. “Well, in exchange for wearing coats with large pockets for things to slip into, I shall require something. To compensate me for the risk if I’m caught.”

  “Ah, ha! Laura said you’d taunt me, or demand something, for old time’s sake.”

  “Is your sister still outrageous and outspoken?”

  “I’m afraid so.” She laughed, a beautiful lilting sound. “Probably even more so than before. She’s researching the habits of men regarding — ”

  “Regarding?” He raised a brow, intrigued by what caused that bright red blush to her cheeks now, whereas earlier discussions of courtesans didn’t.

  “Mmm. Well, um, she’s studying how men conduct their affairs. Of the heart. And the bedchamber.” Her small hands twisted her skirt into tight folds. “She strongly believes all women should understand what they are getting. Before they enter marriage.”

  “Testing the waters before she takes a leap of faith?” After her small nod, he asked, “And do you subscribe to her hypothesis? Perhaps already tested Laura’s theories?”

  “That is none of your business.”

  “Ah, but as recompense for stealing documents, you will answer my questions.”

  Her loud gasp was music to his ears. His smirk turned into a full-blown grin.

  “Because you and I, Becca, shall test Laura’s theories — together.”

  Chapter 3

  The Duke of Sherwyn groomed with care for his appointment in Grosvenor Square. Under his morning coat, he wore a deep blue waistcoat with an Albert chain securing his gold watch in the fob pocket and fashionably tapered trousers. A twice-about white neck cloth gave him a jauntier look, compared to the severity of dress he’d favoured of late. Setting out, Cayle smirked in anticipation of the forthcoming battle with the formidable Jamisons, all of whom used to be as ramshackle and quick-witted as Becca.

  After dispatching her in his carriage, he’d hailed a hackney and visited his three compatriots from the continent, recruiting their assistance in unravelling the consortium. He’d allocated them tasks, relieving their boredom with their new English lives, and snatched an hour’s sleep before their breakfast meeting. His friends had scurried about the City as busily as a pleasure garden doxy and many questions already had answers.

  Discovering the names of the outer circle, the men advancing money into railway extensions, proved as simple for them as visiting clubs and striking up conversations. Gratifying. Because today he’d need to stay a few paces ahead of Becca in intelligence levels or she’d treat him like an errand boy — a foot soldier in her army.

  Grosvenor Square, with quiet streets and parkland, spoke of inherited holdings, although not as salubrious as the colonnaded residences of Mayfair or as esteemed as Belgravia. Stately, not overstated. Peering up at the curtained bay windows, Cayle recalled his last visit to Jamison House when relationships had been harmonious. Anguish assailed him.

  He braced himself, strode up the newly scrubbed steps and rapped the brass knocker, three times. Last night’s lapse could be blamed on on-going tedium endured at Julia’s hands, plus too much drink. Another strong knock. This morning, he’d present a firm front before forbidding Becca from placing herself in further danger. After acquiring the incriminating documents and freeing Becca from threat, he’d retreat with a clear conscience and no emotional involvement. Those excellent intentions lasted all of a minute.

  The door was opened, not by the expected dour butler, but by the most dazzling beauty he’d ever set eyes upon. Beneath sea-blue eyes, the apparition’s smile outstripped the brightest London sun, a muslin dress matched her eyes, and slippers, the same hue and embroidery-decorated, peeped out like shy children from a froth of petticoats. In absent-minded futility, he rubbed the ache in his chest
and willed voice into his dry throat.

  “Lottie, I’ve told you before,” a scolding voice called from the house’s interior. “When in the City, allow Thompson to attend the door.”

  Guileless eyes gazed up at him as she addressed the person hovering behind her shoulder. “Thompson is speaking with three of our men at the kitchen door. They’re reporting on the latest movements of our suspected consortium members.”

  The owner of the awe-inspiring countenance and sweet voice stepped back to allow him a glimpse of the other speaker. Oh, heaven save him! He’d leered at a chit who must be Becca’s sister, Lottie. Slavered like an adolescent at his first glimpse of a streetwalker’s bosom while Becca lowered her brows and shot him a scathing look.

  “Stop gaping like a gauche boy, so I may reacquaint you with Lady Charlotte Jamison.”

  The young lady bobbed a curtsy, smiled, while he stammered. “I-I’m pleased — ”

  “Sherwyn! Pull yourself together. Lottie is beautiful. Extraordinarily so. Even so, we’ve no time for you make a fool of yourself over my sister. My much younger sister.”

  Becca linked arms with her sister and without a backward glance, marched down the hallway. He followed, cursing his stupidity in flaunting his reactions before Becca, of all people. When he walked into the drawing room, he noticed every face carried an identical expression of amusement. Ah! He was the brunt of a family joke.

  The lone male grinned as he strode towards him. “Sherwyn.” He extended his hand. “Michael Jamison. Grisham, if you prefer. Not sure if you remember me. I’d have been at Eton when you last visited our home.”

  “I remember all the family.” He shook the proffered hand. “My brothers and I spent many happy hours in your woods. But let’s dispense with formality. I still prefer Cayle.”

  “Though Sherwyn in public.” The older lady was seated in an armchair that strained to hold her ample form. “You gallantly wielded the sword on Becca’s numerous adventures. If you recall, I’m great-aunt to this unruly group. You may call me Aunt Aggie as they do.”

  He bowed towards the cheerful older lady. She waved her podgy hand towards the young woman standing nearby and gave a girlish giggle. “By your stunned expression, I assume you’ve seen our darling Lottie.”

  Schooling his expression, he turned to face their unorthodox door attendant. “Indeed, I have.” Giving him a radiant smile, she dropped into a fluid curtsy. “Lady Charlotte.” He dipped his head and fixed his eyes on the floor near her feet.

  A pair of tiny boots appeared in his line of vision and one foot tapped a brisk beat. “Lottie, please stand a prudent distance away from the duke so he may regain his composure.”

  He shifted to allow Lottie to move past with a swish of blue skirts. From the corner of his eye, he detected a brewing storm in a pair of green eyes and inwardly groaned.

  Michael stepped up and clapped him on the back. He was openly laughing. “Don’t feel badly, Sherwyn. Lottie affects every man that way. We liken her to one of those fabled man-eating insects. Lottie entices men with her smile. Stuns them with her beauty. Sucks them dry.”

  “Michael.” Aunt Aggie clutched her abdomen. “That vile image will destroy our appetites for luncheon.”

  The siblings shared amused glances. Their aunt’s rotund figure belied the notion of anything spoiling her appetite.

  Lottie spoke from her position near the window. “You cannot lay the blame at my feet. Men can be so stupid. They rush to divulge their secrets to me thinking I will be impressed.” She clasped her hands as if in prayer and gave a much put-upon sigh. Every member of the family rolled their eyes. “Men refuse to see that women are intelligent so I merely accept that and allow them their moments of self-delusion.”

  Her sickly sweet smile earned her a collective groan from her siblings.

  “Lottie,” Michael said, “you lure gentlemen like flies to a spider’s web. Not that we’re objecting. We appreciate every piece of gossip you extract from their numbed brains.”

  Lottie looked towards Cayle and smiled. She purred like a seductive jaguar. “I’ll gladly listen to your secrets too.”

  Thankfully he was saved from more embarrassment when Aunt Aggie clucked her tongue. “Save your wiles for the gentlemen in the park. You’ll have enough victims from our list there. Leave poor Cayle alone.”

  Before he had a chance to question that strange comment, an ear-splitting screech erupted. A whirlwind of skirts skidded through the door.

  Aunt Aggie waved her arm towards the new arrival. “I’m certain you recall our ceaseless bundle of energy, Lady Laura Jamison. Do make your bow quietly, Laura. Your ceaseless noise hurts my ears.”

  Laura stepped closer, forgoing a curtsy in favour of scrutinizing him from head to toe. “Cayle St. Martin. Or must I, Your Grace you to death?” With a cheeky grin and a lift of her brow, she said, “Goodness, you’ve changed. In a most flattering way.”

  He couldn’t help but chuckle.

  “Still, I recognised you instantly at the Murchison’s the evening before last. Not that you recognised me, because I’ve changed, too. See?”

  Laura lifted her skirts and twirled, almost landing on his toes. Despite having another tantalizing goddess standing before him, he blanked his expression and refused to react when she fluttered her long dark lashes, a deliberate taunt.

  “Lady Laura. A pleasure to meet you again.”

  She laughed, a full-throated seduction in itself. “You’re telling fibs, Cayle. You thought me a dreadful pest when I shadowed you and Becca everywhere you went.”

  “Laura, you’re still a nuisance,” Michael muttered. “Leave the poor man alone. Being subjected to you three girls en masse threatens a man’s constitution. Jonathon and I describe our sisters as raising the flag.” When Cayle looked blank, Michael said, “Their collective hair — Becca’s red, Lottie’s white, and Laura’s raven wing blue black — resembles the colours of the navy’s ensign. And they’re twice as dangerous as the Admiral’s fleet.”

  “Uh hum!” Becca cleared her throat several times, loudly. “Now that His Grace — ”

  “Becca.” Cayle smirked. “We were far less formal last night. In fact, you — ”

  “Cayle!” Becca’s eyes flashed fury. “Let Laura tell us what Thompson and the other men learned. Then we shall speak. Alone.”

  Aunt Aggie clapped her hands. “Tea first. I simply must have nourishment before we set to work.”

  • • •

  Becca rolled her eyes but the other ladies dispensed tea and food as seamlessly as well-rehearsed dance moves. Michael and Cayle accepted tea but refused sustenance so soon after breakfast. When Lady Jamison’s eyes lit with pleasure at the selection of biscuits the girls placed on her plate, the men shared a conspiratorial grin over the older lady’s larger appetite.

  Michael quietly asked Cayle, “Did Becca explain about the Women’s Financial Aid Society?”

  “Only that the ladies assisted women in financial distress.”

  “Huh! That’s Becca’s simplistic view. She and Laura founded the society but now the whole family helps.”

  “Becca is terrified that Peggy’s murderer will target the rest of you. If I’m to help you identify the ringleaders of this consortium, I need to understand your recent financial decisions. Why you began trading in railways stocks. Where you get your information.”

  He didn’t mention the other secrets Becca seemed to be hiding. No need for Michael to know what else he was delving into.

  Michael sighed. “Becca decided that if our father wasn’t going to arrange for Laura and Lottie to have a season, we should do it. She didn’t want them to miss out the way she had.”

  “Becca missed having a season altogether? I knew it hadn’t been managed before I left.”

  “She and Laura entered society in a low-key way a year ago. Until then — ” Michael glanced away. He met Cayle’s eyes again and shrugged. “Our father’s only interest in the household is making sure the budget stret
ches enough to pay for his next archaeological expedition. And now.” He glanced over at his elder sister. “Becca thinks she’s too long in the tooth. That Laura or Lottie will be swamped with offers because they are beautiful. Then a man — ” Michael shook his head. “A damned rogue. Treated her dreadfully. She forbade me from calling him out. Didn’t want any gossip around her sisters.”

  Cayle loathed himself even more now. He should have ignored his father’s orders and stayed in England. Stayed with Becca. He should have been keeping Becca, and her sisters, safe.

  “This rogue, who was he?”

  “Ahem.” Becca’s foot tapped a loud and impatient rhythm on the floor. She glared at Michael, making her displeasure clear and silently forbidding her brother from sharing any more of their secrets. She looked strong and ferocious and she wasn’t ready to trust him. His grown Becca was a force to be reckoned with.

  His Becca? Oh, no. A disastrous idea. They’d barely become reacquainted yet, as always, his instinct was to claim the impudent minx as his. And this time he wasn’t running across meadows to slay dragons for a young girl. He had a clear picture of her attached to him in a different way.

  A woman, naked and clinging. Their limbs entwined as they played adult games across silken sheets. And the sword that jumped to readiness wasn’t hewn from wood but from his own aroused flesh.

  His breeches felt tight and constricting. He swung his gaze away from the redheaded temptress and stared out the window. Instead of standing in a Mayfair drawing room, he imagined himself under a mountain waterfall. Icy cold water drenching him.

  When he turned back, Laura was watching him with a far-too-knowing smile. Lottie gave him a tiny wave. He looked at Becca. Bloody hell. Her eyebrows were raised, her lips pursed, and she stared at him with a mix of interest and disapproval.

  He resisted the urge to glance down and check his trousers but instead widened his stance and readjusted his coat tails. Better to err on the safe side, his mother used to say. He hoped to God these ladies were too innocent to understand the cause of his discomfort but all three were surveying him as if considering his potential as a stud stallion.