Far Beyond Scandalous

by Bethany Sefchick

  His heart - not to mention his cock - leapt at the realization but he did his best to steady himself. Her revelation changed nothing. Were he truly a gentleman, then perhaps, but as things stood now? No, he could not hope to possess her any more now than he had mere moments ago. However, there was one last thing that still bothered him, a question that he could ask and not be seen as prying.

  "So you truly do not wish to be viewed as the most perfect example of English womanhood? You do not wish to be the paragon that society has labeled you, a true diamond of the first water, and an eternal Incomparable?" he whispered, needing to be completely certain that he understood what she was saying, mostly for his own peace of mind.

  While her response might not change anything between them, it might better help him protect her from the unseen threat that lurked in the shadows, though at the moment, precisely how escaped him. If he were being honest with himself, he simply wanted to hear her say the words, and give him a shed of hope, no matter how small or false, that one day, circumstances might change between them.

  At first, he thought she would not answer him. On the stage below, the actors launched into a rather loud scene, their voices soaring high into the theater, drowning out everything else, and making even low conversation difficult. Therefore he was surprised when, after a quick glance at the chaperone, who was obviously engrossed in the play, Amy leaned in, and put her head so close to his that he could feel her tantalizingly sweet breath on his neck.

  "What I wish," she said with more passion than he had seen from her on any other topic, "is to simply be viewed and accepted for who I truly am. I want people to see me for myself. Nothing more. Nothing less." Then she pulled away, taking her seductive fragrance with her, and he found that he missed the heat of her body almost immediately.

  For the remainder of the first half of the performance, they sat in companionable silence, though Gibson's mind was restless, thinking of little else but Amy's comments. He was also aware that, even though the lights had been dimmed, members of the ton still watched his every move, waiting for him to put one step false so that they might call him on it. This would be the most difficult part, remembering all that he had been taught in his gentleman's training before it had all been stripped away. However, he was confident that he could do this. He had to, for Amy's sake.

  When the curtain fell at the end of the first act, there was scarcely a pause to catch their breath before the first of the curious busybodies appeared in the box, giving him no time to escort Amy to the lobby for refreshments. That had been his plan, but as he gazed around, feeling the close press of society's eyes on him, he knew that remaining in the box was the far better choice. Something cool to drink would have to wait, as he would not send one of the young bucks to fetch something and allow them to get the wrong idea about their chances with Amy.

  Instead he affably greeted each of the young ladies who flocked to Amy's side along with their chaperones. He made certain that his disarming "good and noble Doctor Blackwell" façade was fully intact, even with the young men who clamored to take Lady Amy for a stroll about the theater or perhaps seek some refreshment. They were all disappointed at his refusal, of course, but Miss Isabelle, the chaperone, backed up Gibson's authority to decline the invitations on Amy's behalf. If there was one group of women that young lords of society did not want to cross, it was the Gray Ladies. Doing so could spell potential disaster for the men's future hopes of successfully courting young ladies of breeding. Lady Berkshire and her minions wielded a good deal of influence across the ton these days and it was wise to keep oneself in their good graces.

  Through it all, Gibson remained polite and charming, so much so that his teeth ached from smiling. Still, it was bearable if not exactly pleasant. However, when Lady Ursula Saintwood and her daughter Diana made their arrival, he felt his patience sorely tested. Gibson had been engaged in a fairly delightful conversation with Lord Adam Reynolds, who was the current Duke of Hathaway, and the duke's younger sister, Lady Sophia. They were discussing the restorative qualities of the waters in Bath, a place both Reynolds siblings had visited in their youth, when he heard Lady Saintwood's voice grow louder, almost to the point of causing a scene.

  "But Lady Amy, I really do insist that you come stay with us while your mother convalesces. Theodosia and I are bosom friends, and, really, were she able, she would insist that you stay with us until her health is completely restored so that you might be chaperoned properly. It is unseemly that you are there by yourself! Just think of the potential for scandal!" The older woman was nearly shrieking now, and to Gibson, it seemed as if just about every eye in the theater was turned in their direction. In truth, they probably were.

  "I do not think that is necessary, my lady," Amy demurred, and Gibson could almost see her mask of serene perfection fall into place as well. He hadn't truly appreciated before this moment how effortlessly she wore it, slipping back and forth between this Amy and the one he was slowly coming to know. "I attend to my mother during the day and am only out at night by both my father's and my brother's directive." She gave a small shake of her head. "I do not want to go against their wishes. Or the prince's." Gibson knew Amy had added that last part as a warning to Lady Saintwood that she was treading in dangerous territory.

  As expected, it went unheeded.

  "Nonsense!" Lady Saintwood was almost bellowing with indignation now. "I know Theodosia would want this! And you may still go out at night to various entertainments. However, you would do so with my family, properly chaperoned as befitting your station!"

  Then Lady Saintwood turned and glared at Gibson, as if he had somehow personally offended her, before swinging her large frame back towards Amy, indignation burning in her eyes. "I have heard rumors about a directive coming from your brother, my dear, wherever he is. I heard that same nonsense about our beloved Prince Regent, as well, but I do not believe any of that drivel! The viscount, at least, would not leave you, his precious sister, in the care of a man like Blackwell!" She was truly working herself up into a state, and at any other time, Gibson might find it amusing. Tonight, it merely angered him.

  It was well known that Lady Saintwood's brother was the current Earl of Tottenshire, father of the odious and annoying Lord Norton Drake, the young buck who was constantly sniffing around Amy's skirts. It was painfully obvious that Lady Saintwood saw Lady Evanston's illness as the perfect opportunity to spirit Amy away from her family and attempt to change her mind about Drake's suit. It was no secret that Drake was only after Amy's dowry and fortune, and gave little thought to the woman herself. The Tottenshire earldom was quickly emptying its coffers and needed an immediate infusion of monies to keep things afloat.

  It was also no secret that Amy had refused Drake's advances at every turn, including the night of the Fairhill ball. If Lady Saintwood thought she was going to use Thea's illness to try to trap Amy into a marriage she did not want, she was gravely mistaken. Gibson turned to Lady Saintwood, drawing himself up to his full six foot four height and glowering imperiously down at the scheming matron. She was garbed in a too-tight gown of plum-colored, puckered silk and brocade and adorned with far too many jewels to be considered truly fashionable. To Gibson, she looked like nothing more than an over-ripe grape.

  Once he was certain he had her complete attention, he launched his attack. Quickly and quietly, just as his father had taught him. "Are you questioning the decision of Lord Marcus Cheltenham, the Viscount Breckenright?" Gibson asked in his most officious yet dangerously quiet voice. He chose a new mask to wear this time in hopes of striking fear into Lady Saintwood's heart - if she had one. This mask was one of an angry nobleman. He liked to think that it was one he would have worn well, had he been given the chance.

  "Or The Earl of Evanston? Or, perhaps worst of all, our beloved Prince Regent himself?" Gibson added his signature raised eyebrow and a dark, golden-hued glower, just for fun. He could appear fearsome when he chose, and he knew it.

  "I was seeing to the
protection of this young lady and her pristine reputation," Lady Saintwood sniffed in self-righteous indignation. Though if she thought that she was any match for Gibson, she was sadly mistaken. "She needs a protector, a chaperone, and who better to provide that than her mother's longtime friend? I know Thea would do the same for my Diana were the situations reversed." Lady Saintwood attempted to look indignant, but it was also clear from the expression on her face that she had ulterior motives, as her glance kept sliding to another box located only a few spaces away from the one Gibson had rented.

  There, in all of his oily perfection, sat Lord Norton Drake. And his eyes were fastened on Lady Amy. Or rather Lady Amy's décolletage, which, Gibson had to admit, was far more revealing than he would have preferred. Well, he himself could look, he supposed, but he did not want others to do so, hypocrite that he was.

  "You are trying to arrange a marriage between Lady Amy and your nephew," Gibson replied smoothly through tightly clenched teeth, working hard not to unleash his boiling anger on the woman. Instead, he slipped deeper into the role of the good doctor mixed with a touch of haughty aristocrat. "I may only be a humble physician, my lady, but even I can see that you desire the match." He glanced at Amy cautiously. "While she and her family do not. As her temporary guardian and escort, I cannot allow you to remove her from Cheltenham House."

  Lady Saintwood drew herself up as straight as she could, though to Gibson's mind, she still resembled nothing more than an overstuffed grape, or perhaps a toad clad in purple silk. "You are not her guardian, and I am removing her to my home immediately." She was huffing now, her chest rising and falling in anger as a string of rubies glittered about her throat, obviously not anticipating that Gibson would fight back and not simply relent the moment she demanded Amy's removal from his care.

  Glancing at Amy, Gibson saw her nod almost imperceptibly, giving him permission to defend her, for he would not act without her approval. It was not his place. However, she clearly did not want to depart with Lady Saintwood any more than he wanted to release her. His eyes dark and glittering with anger, Gibson slowly reached into his coat pocket and produced a slip of paper. "This note, I'm afraid, madam, says otherwise."

  Lady Saintwood snatched the paper from Gibson's hand and read it quickly, her face paling visibly as she did so. "This cannot be. It is in Lord Marcus' own hand!" She shook the paper menacingly at Gibson. "How did you get this? How? How do you have so much power? A mere physician? And one from the gutter at that!"

  Plucking the paper gently from her fingers so that he might tuck it safely back inside of his coat, Gibson offered a lazy shrug, even though he could no longer affect a completely relaxed and easy posture. He was far too agitated. "I do not know of what you speak, my lady. I am, as you have so aptly pointed out, merely a physician in the royal court. I wield no power, I assure you." He glanced at Amy and then back to the sputtering, seething woman in front of him. "As distant members of the royal family, perhaps the Cheltenhams place trust in me much as the Prince Regent himself does. It is not for me to say. It is not my place. I am, as you say, a mere physician. Still, my duties to the Cheltenhams, and in particular Lady Amy, are quite clear. I cannot allow you to remove her from my care."

  In that moment, he was part affable Dr. Blackwood and part Viscount Ardenton, a title that he would never claim. And he was twice as defiant as either would be on their own. He was skirting close to dangerous territory, he knew, but he could not allow Amy to be removed from his care, not while there was an unknown threat still out there.

  "How dare you?" Lady Saintwood hissed, her eyes narrowing, furious at being challenged. "You, who are nothing more than a glorified tradesman and the son of a traitor!"

  At that, all conversation around them ceased, the noisy theater quieting abruptly. It was one thing to deride Gibson for being a physician, a man in trade, and of lowered circumstances. It was another entirely to mention his father. It simply wasn't done. Not by proper society, anyway. And especially not in front of innocent young ladies.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he noted that Amy was trying her best to pretend she had not heard that last remark. Damn it! He didn't want her to know, but now it seemed as if there would be no avoiding that conversation. In time, anyway. Amy was far too curious to simply let the comment pass.

  Turning the full fury of his glare on Lady Saintwood, he was pleased to see the woman shrink back in fear, fully aware that she had crossed the line of proper behavior. "Dr. Blackwell, I meant..." she began but Gibson cut her off with a slash of his hand.

  "You may disparage me all you like, my lady, for I know precisely who and what I am," he said slowly and deliberately, his voice so calm and controlled that it was somehow worse than if he would have been screaming, "but you may not mention my father, especially in the presence of innocent young ladies. Do not do so again. Do I make myself clear?"

  He could almost hear the indrawn collective breath of the ton as they waited for Lady Saintwood's reply. Well he would not be around to hear it. Nor would Amy.

  He extended his arm to her in as gallant a fashion as he could muster, and she took it, though he could feel her fingers trembling where she touched him. He proceeded to lead her out of the box, the gray-gowned Lady Isabelle trailing behind him silently, a look of reproach on her face as she glared at the society matron as they passed.

  As he reached the red velvet curtain that partitioned his box off from the others, he turned back once more, his golden eyes ablaze with barely contained fury. "Lady Saintwood, if you have a problem with my escorting Lady Amy about, I advise you to take up the matter with her brother. Send him a letter. Hire as many Bow Street Runners as you like to attempt to track him down. I do not care. However, never again question my right to escort Lady Amy anywhere while we are properly chaperoned." He nodded to Lady Berkshire's escort. "Am I understood?"

  Then, without waiting for a reply, he bowed stiffly and swept out of the box, pulling Amy along with him. He was so furious that he did not realize that her legs were trembling so much that she had difficultly keeping pace.

  Chapter Six

  "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to cause a scene. I was only trying to protect you." Those were the first words Gibson had uttered since they had left the theater, and Amy was glad for them. It was better than the interminable silence she had endured from the moment they had entered the Evanston family carriage that would take them back to Mayfair.

  Anything, even an unnecessary apology, was better than that awful silence.

  "It was not your fault," Amy replied gently, wishing that they could return to the easy teasing and companionship of earlier in the evening. One ugly moment had seemingly changed everything, but she did not know how or why. "Lady Saintwood is a scheming menace, and I do not wish to be in her company for a moment longer than necessary, let alone stay with her while my mother recovers. She took me by surprise this evening, and, as I'm certain you noticed, threw me a bit off balance."

  He was silent for a moment, watching the darkened streets pass by before allowing the curtain to fall back into place, shielding them from the view of prying eyes. "She wants you to marry her nephew." He was stating the obvious, but it needed to be said. Not that he thought for a moment that Amy was unaware.

  In the darkness it was difficult to make out the features of her face, but he thought he saw her roll her eyes in indignation. That was better. There was the familiar spark of life, and not the trembling woman he had handed into the carriage. He suspected she might be overset, but he had not imagined how much until he had felt her hand on his arm.

  "And I have refused his attentions many times over." Amy paused and then added, "the miserable lout," just for good measure.

  Unable to help himself, Gibson chuckled once before sobering again. "She will write to Marcus. You do know that, do you not?"

  Amy affected a disinterested air and settled herself more firmly back onto the carriage seat. "Let her. I have already sent Marcus a letter detailing our plan, as
well as the possibility that I might be in harm's way. He knows that we have employed one of Lady Berkshire's chaperones. I told him that I feel secure and protected with you. Once he hears that, there will be no question for him to question. He trusts you implicitly." When Gibson didn't immediately reply, she pressed on, for she did not want to go back to that infernal silence. "I do, you know. Feel safe with you, that is."

  "You shouldn't." Now was as good of a time as any Gibson supposed, to tell her the truth. "For Lady Saintwood was not wrong. I am the son of a traitor." Then he rapped twice on the carriage roof and ordered the driver to wander the streets in circles until he was directed to take them back to Cheltenham House. He was also thankful that they had chosen to use the older carriage without the family crest on the door, making it easier for them to blend into the traffic that clogged the London streets at that late hour.

  Gibson did not want to admit his past to her. He was afraid that she would shut him out completely when she learned the truth. It was one thing to flaunt her association with a lowly physician in the face of society. It was quite another when the physician's father had been a traitor to his own country.

  Feeling the last of his fleeting dream of being with Amy - even just for a few days - die as the carriage rolled on, he took a deep breath. He was a gentleman at heart, and she a lady. She deserved to be able to make up her own mind about associating with disreputable people. If, at the end of his tale, she ordered him from her sight, he would accept that. He had already been given more time with her than he deserved. "Shall I begin at the beginning?"

  "That would be best, I suppose." Amy did not want to say too much for fear that Gibson would close down and not speak about his family at all. As far as she knew, he did not discuss his past with anybody. Still, she had wanted to know the truth of him since the moment they had met. Now, thanks to an insufferable busybody, she might get her wish. She noted that he looked away from her before he began, as if he didn't want her to see the shame in his eyes. She wanted to tell him that nothing he could say would make her feel differently towards him, but she kept silent. There would be plenty of time for that when his tale had concluded.