Scandal and Miss Markham

by Janice Preston

  ‘Thea. I—’

  Thea interrupted. ‘We need to discuss tomorrow before we go upstairs.’

  Did his failure to find the right words matter? Maybe this was for the best—for now. If they spoke now of other matters, it might help dispel the awkward aftermath of that kiss and they might return to their former friendship until they found out what had happened to Daniel. And when they did...after they did...then, perhaps, they might think about what the future might hold.

  ‘I cannot dine with the Temples tomorrow,’ Thea said. ‘Not if Mannington might be present.’

  ‘I agree. Meeting Mannington in passing on the street is quite different to sitting with him at a dining table. He could not fail to recognise you, especially as you would not be wearing a cap. I shall go alone and tell the Temples you are unwell.’ He half-smiled at her, attempting to tease. ‘I shall tell them I caught you at the brandy.’

  ‘That,’ said Thea, stiffly, as she shoved back her chair and stood up, ‘is unnecessary. There is no need to pile lie upon lie. Simply informing them that I am unwell is sufficient.’

  Vernon rounded the table. He skimmed her curls back from her face. ‘I was teasing, Thea.’

  She stared up at him, her eyes searching his. ‘I know. And I know you are trying to make this better, to make it easier for me. But...’

  ‘But it is hard for you. Take courage, though. Mannington will be back tomorrow.’

  Thea clutched Vernon’s sleeve. ‘You must promise to tell me everything. Good or bad.’ She shook his arm. ‘Please. I need to know you will not try to protect my feelings.’

  Vernon cupped her cheek. ‘I promise.’ It was not enough. He needed to give her the reassurance she craved, to shield her as far as possible from the fear that must gnaw at her day and night. ‘I promise I will not conceal anything I discover.’ He raised his brows slightly and smiled into her eyes. ‘We are partners, are we not, you and I? Who else can I discuss strategy with?’

  She tipped her head, pressing her cheek into his palm, like a kitten seeking a caress.

  ‘Thank you,’ she whispered, and for a moment he was gliding, effortlessly, across the waters that so often in the past few days appeared likely to swamp him.

  ‘I must go,’ she whispered. ‘Goodnight, Vernon. I hope you sleep well.’

  Vernon reached the door before her, preparing to open it. Thea halted, her brows raised pointedly, and he released the handle again and stepped aside.

  ‘I forgot,’ he said. ‘Again. I keep forgetting, but how I wish...’

  He shook his head, knowing that to speak his wishes—that he could treat her as a lady—was not wise. Not now. He gestured for her to open the door.

  ‘Goodnight, Thea,’ he whispered as she passed him by. ‘Sweet dreams.’

  * * *

  The following day was an utter waste of time from Thea’s perspective. In keeping with the tale that she was ill, she remained in her bedchamber all day, with just her thoughts for company. And if she wasn’t fretting about Daniel, she was fretting about that kiss...about how she had kissed him. She had never before behaved so shamefully.

  But he started it.

  He’d hauled her from her chair and studied her face with such intent, his green eyes glinting in the candlelight and his lips...his kiss...

  He kissed me as though he meant it.

  She hugged that knowledge close. And—from time to time—she allowed herself to glory in the memory of the most wonderful moment in her life so far. That kiss had lit a slow-burning fuse deep down inside her that, no matter how she tried to douse it, simply refused to be extinguished.

  Apart from a couple of brief visits from Vernon—when she strove to act as though that kiss had never happened—she had not seen him. He was, he assured her, pursuing his acquaintance with the Temples and had sent Bickling to tour the numerous public houses in Worcester to enquire after Daniel. He promised to call in on her before he went down to dine and Thea found herself pacing the floor from five o’clock, waiting for his visit.

  Finally, there was a tap at the door. She flew across the floor, hauled the door open and grabbed Vernon’s arm, dragging him into the room.

  ‘My dear Dotty,’ he drawled, removing her hand from his sleeve and tugging at the cuff to smooth out the wrinkles. ‘I beg you will refrain from manhandling my second-best coat in such a very uncouth manner.’

  Thea blinked and stepped back, taking in his appearance. He looked...magnificent. Utterly gorgeous. Handsome, sexy and every inch the wealthy aristocrat he was. And all for the benefit of Cordelia Temple...

  Bickling had delivered these clothes yesterday, but Vernon had not thought Thea worth dressing up for last night. Her heart sank, remembering his dismissal of that kiss.

  ‘And I have to say,’ he went on as he strolled over to the window and peered into the street outside, ‘in all my years I cannot recall ever being hauled into a lady’s bedchamber in quite such a...shall we say...enthusiastic manner.’

  She was too dazzled by his appearance to take much notice of his teasing. She had thought him resplendent when he first arrived at Stourwell Court, but this...

  He wore an olive-green tailcoat over a cream waistcoat glittering with gold embroidery and cream pantaloons and at his throat a stunning emerald pin nestled in his beautifully tied neckcloth. She gulped and turned to fiddle with the comb on her dressing table. This was not the Vernon she knew. This was Lord Vernon Beauchamp and she felt...shy. How should she behave? Should she have curtsied? She certainly should not have dragged him into her room as she did.

  Vernon appeared not to notice her turmoil as he continued to watch the street outside.

  ‘I say enthusiastic,’ he continued, musingly, ‘but it could, I think, even be described as desperate.’

  He turned to look at her, a mischievous grin on his face, which vanished the instant he caught sight of her. ‘Thea?’ He was by her side in two strides, lightly cupping her shoulders. ‘What is it?’

  Thea gulped. Reminded herself this was still Vernon. ‘You look...splendid.’

  Vernon tipped his head to one side, frowning. ‘You sound different. Where is my spiky little kitten?’

  Kitten? Is that how he thinks of me? As a ball of fluff to amuse and entertain him? A joke? I bet he wouldn’t refer to Cordelia Temple as a kitten.

  But then what did that kiss mean?

  He is a man, a lord who no doubt has enjoyed mistresses galore. What does a kiss mean to him? Nothing!

  ‘You took me by surprise. Your clothes make you look so different. Almost a stranger.’

  Vernon tweaked a curl above her ear. ‘I am no stranger, Dotty. I am still me.’

  His eyes crinkled...an almost-smile that had Thea grinding her teeth. Why did she always feel so...so...fluttery around him? And how was he always so self-assured? She had never been a woman to simper and flirt and yet, with him, she had to constantly control her urge to do exactly that. And, worse, she worried that the search for Daniel was almost being overshadowed by her growing fascination with Vernon.

  She must keep her focus on Daniel, even though it was increasingly hard to keep her hopes alive.

  She perched on the edge of the bed, thrusting down that tangle of guilt and desire, hope and dread. Emotions could not help; they could only confuse and lead her astray. Weak, female emotions must be controlled...particularly this ridiculous infatuation for Vernon. She could not bear to put her trust in another man only to be let down again. Once more, she heard Bickling’s amused declaration that she was not to his lordship’s usual taste.

  ‘Tell me about your day,’ she said.

  Vernon, she noticed, did not sit on the bed, but chose the wooden chair by the dressing table. He swung it around to face her and sat, stretching his long legs out, crossing them at the ankle, and folding his arm
s across his wide chest—supremely confident, relaxed, in charge. And very...deliciously...masculine.

  Thea contained her inner hmph and averted her gaze.

  ‘Actually, I have little to report. I have made myself indispensable to Miss Temple by escorting her to the shops this morning, whilst her father attended business meetings, so she and I are fast becoming friends.’

  The pain that pierced Thea’s heart could be borne. She had no choice.

  ‘This afternoon Bickling and I visited more of the public houses in the city,’ Vernon continued, ‘but we found no one who recalled either Daniel Markham or Charles Leyton.’ He sat up, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees. ‘I worry you were right the other day.’ All trace of teasing had vanished and Thea could not doubt the genuine concern on his face. ‘It is as you said: Birmingham is the last place where Daniel was definitely seen. Even though we stopped and asked at every inn we passed, we have found no one who remembers him.’ He leapt to his feet and paced the room. ‘He must have gone somewhere when he left there. Where did he go? Who did he see? Did he ever meet Mannington face to face?’

  Thea rubbed her upper arms as she listened to his questions. Her heart swelled as she watched him pace, not with awe this time but with gratitude. How much she owed this man. Without him, she would never have dared to set out on this mission. Although they had found no trace of Daniel, they were close to uncovering the truth. She could feel it. Mannington—shivers of loathing chased up and down her spine at the mere thought of the man—was the key to finding Daniel, of that she was convinced. And without Vernon she would never know the truth because she would never have the courage to confront the man who had jilted her and defrauded her family.

  ‘I must go.’

  Vernon stood and Thea followed suit. Vernon came to her and touched her shoulder, fleetingly. Their gazes fused, and Thea felt a lurching tug deep inside.

  ‘I must not be late.’ Again he touched her, this time one finger beneath her chin. Again, it was fleeting. ‘I have asked Horwell to send up some food on a tray for you.’

  Thea forced a smile, dreading the solitary evening ahead of her.

  ‘Please do not be tempted to leave this room,’ he said softly, taking her hand. ‘I know you are bored, but it will only be for a few more days.’

  He pressed warm lips to the back of her hand, sending delightful tingles chasing across her skin.

  ‘Goodnight, sweet Dotty. I shall tell you all in the morning.’

  And he was gone, leaving the scent of his cologne lingering in the air and a dull ache in her heart.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Vernon straightened his sleeves and smoothed his lapels as he waited in the private parlour rented by the Temples for the duration of their stay in Worcester. It was twice the size of the parlour Vernon and Thea had at their disposal, but Vernon preferred the cosiness and the intimacy of their smaller room. The table, at one end of the room, was set for five—one place at the head and two on either side—and a sofa and two upholstered chairs were arranged around the unlit fireplace at the opposite end of the room.

  Vernon thought of Thea, all alone in her bedchamber. He would far rather eat his meal in her company than with the Temples and Mannington, even though the point of this was to gain an introduction to the man. Poor Thea, stuck in her bedchamber all day and still uncomplaining, although she was clearly bored. And still as enigmatic as ever. From their very first meeting that morning she had exhibited not one hint of awkwardness after that kiss last night. It was as though nothing had happened...as though that kiss was truly, as she had claimed, a trifling experiment. His own inconsistency irritated him. Her behaviour was precisely what he had hoped for—for them to return to their former easy camaraderie.

  Why, then, did he feel so...rejected?

  The sound of the door opening jolted him from his thoughts. Cordelia Temple wafted into the room on a cloud of expensive perfume and a swish of silk skirts.

  She crossed the room, holding out her hand with a smile.

  ‘Good evening, Lord Boyton. How nice to see you again. I am delighted you could join us.’

  Vernon took her hand and bowed over it. As he did so the door opened and Horwell entered.

  ‘Mr Henry Mannington has arrived, Miss Temple.’

  He stood aside and Henry Mannington strolled in, then stopped short as he caught sight of Vernon with Cordelia. Vernon deliberately lingered over Cordelia’s hand, pressing his lips to it as he gauged Mannington’s reaction from under his brows.

  He is good.

  Other than his abrupt halt, not a hint of anger marred Mannington’s expression. Vernon straightened, releasing Cordelia’s hand. There was no need for Mannington to suspect he was purposely needling him. Subtle and sly, those were to be Vernon’s watchwords. He slammed the lid on his desire to throttle the man for what he had done to Thea and her family. If ever there was a time for cool and calculated detachment, this was it.

  ‘Mr Mannington.’ Cordelia turned to the newcomer with a radiant smile. ‘Such a delight to see you again. Was your business trip a success?’

  ‘Good evening, Miss Temple, and indeed it was. I have every hope this particular deal will prove a huge success. Better, indeed, than I had originally hoped.’

  He took her hand, as Vernon had done, and he too bowed over it and pressed his lips firmly to the back, flicking a sideways glance at Vernon as he did so.

  Vernon recognised the possessiveness of the gesture and the glance. The man was marking his territory.

  We shall see about that.

  A light blush had coloured Cordelia’s cheeks, confirming she was not immune to Mannington. Vernon would have to work hard to gain her trust before she might believe any warning he might give her about him, particularly as her father clearly trusted him. This task might prove more delicate than Vernon had anticipated. He must bide his time, watch the three of them together, and exploit any chink he could find in their relationship.

  ‘Mr Mannington, may I introduce Lord Boyton?’

  Vernon, standing in what he knew was an arrogant pose, thrust out his hand. ‘Mannington,’ he said.

  If he hadn’t been watching Mannington very closely, he might not have seen the caution that flashed across his expression, could easily have missed the minute hunch of his shoulders that, in an animal, would be the slink of a lesser male before the leader of the pack. Vernon knew he must be on his guard—such a man, feeling the threat, would think nothing of attacking from behind.

  ‘My lord,’ Mannington said. He bowed his head, briefly, and shook Vernon’s proffered hand. ‘It is always a pleasure to meet newcomers to the area.’

  If Vernon had not caught Mannington’s first, instinctive reaction, he would have been completely fooled by the man’s current open expression, pleasant smile and firm handshake. No wonder Thea’s family had been taken in by this scoundrel... He trapped that thought before it could develop further. He must take care not to dwell on such thoughts lest Mannington was watching him as closely as Vernon was studying Mannington. Let him believe that Vernon’s only interest in him was as a rival for Cordelia. That was a simple conflict compared to the truth.

  ‘His lordship is a guest here at the Crown, together with his nephew,’ Cordelia continued. ‘Papa and I made their acquaintance yesterday. Speaking of Theo...’ Cordelia tilted her head to one side, smiling at Vernon ‘...where is he, my lord? I do hope you did not forbid him to attend? Do you know, Mr Mannington, Lord Boyton was quite horrified at the idea of a fifteen-year-old youth joining us to dine?’

  ‘Miss Temple, I protest. You do me a gross disservice. Alas, Theo is unable to join us because he is unwell. He asked me to convey his apologies.’

  ‘What?’ Mr Temple had joined them. ‘Young Theo not well? Does he need a doctor? Henry, my boy, you must know of a decent man hereabou
ts. Give me his name and I’ll send for him immediately to attend the lad.’ A heavy hand landed on Vernon’s shoulder. ‘Can’t be too careful with matters of health, m’lord, and that’s a fact.’

  Mannington’s gaze darted between Temple and Vernon, but the only indicator of his feelings was the slightest twitch of his left eye. ‘I am certain his lordship will not hesitate to ask for a recommendation should his nephew require medical attention.’

  The weight of Temple’s hand was uncomfortable—made him feel trapped...controlled, somehow—and Vernon sidestepped, causing it to slip from his shoulder. Not wishing to offend the man, he then placed his left hand between the American’s shoulder blades.

  ‘I am grateful for your concern, sir,’ he said, ‘but Theo has no need of a physician. Rather...and I trust you will think none the worse of him after this confession, Miss Temple...he is in sore need of a darkened room and bed rest. His ills are entirely self-inflicted.’

  Temple guffawed. ‘The downfall of many a youth. I trust you will curb any excessive tendency in that direction, m’lord...the demon alcohol can all too easily become a master instead of a servant and that’s a fact.’

  ‘It can indeed,’ Vernon murmured, biting back a smile as he imagined Thea’s reaction were she privy to this conversation.

  The door opened to admit a maid carrying a soup tureen.

  ‘The food’s here; time we sat,’ Temple said, heading for the chair at the head of the table. ‘My belly feels like my throat’s been cut.’

  Vernon pulled out a chair for Cordelia, leaving a vacant seat between her and her father. ‘Miss Temple?’

  ‘Thank you, kind sir.’

  She sat in the proffered seat and, from the corner of his eye, Vernon saw Mannington stalk behind his back to commandeer that vacant chair. Vernon allowed himself a quiet smirk of satisfaction. The seating arrangements suited him perfectly: sitting opposite the pair of them, on Temple’s right-hand side, would mean he could watch all three with ease.