Duke of Scandal

by Adele Ashworth

  She wasn’t certain if he meant he didn’t have enough to feel the alcohol, or he didn’t have enough to calm his nerves after the excitement of the evening. She could only see vague lines on his face as the inside of the coach cast them in shadow, the only light being reflections from a fairly bright moon and a few street lamps they passed along the way.

  Olivia adjusted her skirts, smoothing them out over her thighs, then opened her fan and brushed the edges with a gloved fingertip.

  “Stop fidgeting,” he said brusquely.

  That annoyed her even more. “I’m sorry, sir, but with everything that’s happened tonight, you expect me to be calm? You won’t even tell me what Claudette—”

  “We’ll discuss it when we get home.” He lifted his eyelids a fraction, just enough for her to tell he was looking at her. “Right now I need to think, so why don’t you relax.”

  Relax? How could she possibly do that? When he closed his eyes again, she gave him an exaggerated, and not too ladylike, snort, then decided quizzing him further would only make him angry with her, in which case she’d risk his continued silence when they reached her apartments. That in mind, she scooted down into the cushion and leaned back to rest her head on the seat, just as he had, closing her own eyes for the remainder of the long ride home.

  She must have dozed because it seemed like only seconds later when she felt the coach slow its progress as it pulled up in front of the boutique. Blinking quickly to clear her head, she sat upright, as Sam did across from her, then clutched her skirts with one hand and took the driver’s with the other as he helped her descend the steps to the street below.

  Sam followed without a word as she pulled the key to the building from a pocket in her gown, then led the way through the darkened store, up the stairs, and down the hall to her home. Once inside, she immediately walked to her pine secretary, lit a gas lamp, then turned to him, crossing her arms over her breasts.

  “Are you ready for a discussion now?” She supposed that sounded a bit curt if not downright rude, but she was as tired as she was angry at the moment and didn’t care how he gauged her mood.

  He took his time closing the door softly and securing the lock. Then he faced her, shoving his fingers harshly through his hair, fatigue obvious in his narrowed eyes, on the hardness of his features.

  “I suggest you change first,” he remarked coolly, his voice and movements controlled as he began to remove his evening jacket.

  She stood where she was, her spine rigid. “Change? Change into what?”

  His expression darkened with annoyance. “Into something more comfortable.”

  “I’m perfectly comfortable now.”

  “No, you’re not, and neither am I.” He started walking toward the guest room. “Meet me in the kitchen when you’re ready.”

  Olivia hated it when a man ordered her to do something she didn’t want to do. Trouble was, tonight he was right. She’d been wearing a corset, tightly drawn, for several hours, which didn’t help her temperament at all. And changing would also give her time to collect her thoughts, as she obviously hadn’t done so on the ride home.

  It took her a good twenty minutes, since she had no one to help her with her gown, jewelry, and hair pins, but when at last she entered the kitchen, her robe tied securely around her waist, her hair brushed to a shine to fall down her back, she found him sitting in the chair he’d occupied the first night they talked, though he’d turned it outward so he could lean his head against the wall.

  She walked around his outstretched legs, noting that he’d not so much changed as simply removed his outerwear and tie so that he now wore only his trousers and ruffled shirt, unbuttoned at the neck and cuffs, which he’d rolled up nearly to his elbows. She supposed, for a man, he was comfortable enough without being indecent in the company of a lady who was not his wife.

  She moved to the opposite chair and sat, watching him, folding her hands together on the tabletop to indicate she wanted honesty, and now.

  He remained silent for a moment, staring not at her, but straight ahead, at the clock she’d placed beside the stove.

  Finally, she broke the tension. “It’s after two.”

  He didn’t acknowledge that fact. Instead, he replied, “You must be feeling refreshed since you slept all the way home.”

  She sighed. “I wouldn’t say I slept. I was thinking with my eyes closed, just as you were.”

  He turned his head a little, eyeing her with a smirk on his mouth. “You snore, Olivia.”

  She fairly gaped at him. “I most certainly do not snore!”

  “But I will say,” he carried on, ignoring her exclamation, “it’s a very dainty, feminine snore. One that suits a beautiful and enticing woman like you.”

  He said it quite casually, as if they’d met in the middle of the blessed night to mundanely discuss the quality of tea and the merits of its trade. He seemed to enjoy catching her off guard, which, under the circumstances of the evening, made her uncomfortable now that they sat alone together in her home. Better to ignore his teasing remark and get to the point at hand.

  “Will you please tell me why you were so anxious to leave?” she asked forthrightly. “And don’t say it’s because I looked palled.”

  He almost smiled. “That was rather rude of her.”

  She lifted her shoulders lightly in shrug. “I’m embarrassed to say that kind of remark is fairly standard for my aunt Claudette, especially where I am concerned.”

  He placed a forearm flat on the table as his eyes roved over her face. “She’s just jealous.”

  She knit her brows in puzzlement. “Jealous? I sincerely doubt that. She’s quite the beauty, my aunt, and everyone knows it. Including her.”

  “Indeed.”

  She shifted her body in her chair, a bit irritated that he didn’t argue with her—or tell her outright that she was lovelier, as her husband would have done without thought. But then maybe he didn’t think so, and that, she had to admit, troubled her in the most inappropriate way.

  “Did Edmund think she was beautiful?” he asked seconds later.

  She tilted her head a little to the side. “I would guess so. He never said what he thought of her, actually. Now that I think about it, that does seem strange.”

  “How so?”

  He seemed genuinely curious, and so, through a soft exhaled breath, she admitted, “Claudette was physically attracted to Edmund, which I think you must know by now, though I daresay she never did anything completely improper in the company of others. She is my aunt, after all, and is well-bred and generally respectful.” That might be giving her too much credit, but when he said nothing in reply, she continued. “It was obvious to everyone that Edmund seemed to enjoy a certain… rapport with her, but he never, that I recall, mentioned his thoughts or feelings about her one way or the other. At least not to me.”

  After a long moment of silence he murmured, “I see.”

  She didn’t think he did, but Claudette was irrelevant to their conversation. If Sam had suspicions about Edmund romancing her aunt, Edmund would be in Paris to do just that, and Olivia believed almost certainly that he wasn’t. Again, she wanted to get back to what happened tonight.

  “Are you going to tell me why you practically dragged me from the ball?”

  He studied her by lamplight, his expression one of grim contemplation. Then at last, his tone deep and laced with gentleness, he replied, “Because your aunt expected me to meet her in her bedchamber later. I wasn’t interested, and didn’t want to be there when she discovered that.”

  She stilled, her mind and body going numb as a strange feeling of dread mixed with absolute incredulity washed over her.

  “My aunt—” She couldn’t even repeat it. Such a thought, such an idea, went beyond the incredible to the despicable. “That’s impossible,” she managed to choke out in a whisper, gradually lowering her gaze.

  He inhaled deeply, turning in the chair so he fully faced her, clasping his hands together in front
of him, arms outstretched on the tabletop. “I’m sorry.”

  “Maybe you misunderstood her,” she broached, mouth dry, suddenly freezing in the stuffy kitchen. She pulled her robe tighter around her, hugging herself.

  “I didn’t misunderstand, Olivia.”

  No, she supposed he wouldn’t, being a man. And it wasn’t as if she doubted Claudette could have posed such a suggestion. Still…Her eyes shot back to his face. “Did she really believe you were Edmund?”

  Without hesitation he asserted, “Yes. She did.”

  Olivia shivered, drawing her shoulders up as she squeezed her arms into her body, blinking hard in an attempt to keep herself from breaking down into a crying fit in front of him. The idea that Edmund might have been… involved with her aunt made her nauseated, physically ill.

  “But that doesn’t make sense,” she murmured, her voice shaky. “Edmund never showed any interest in her at all, at least not when I was around the two of them.”

  Sam said nothing, just continued to watch her, and it took her nearly a minute to realize he didn’t need to respond. She grasped the implication of her own words at last—her husband showed no interest in her aunt when they were all together.

  “It’s quite possible,” she mumbled after licking her lips, “that he rebuffed her. She’s been known to be a bit… aggressive when it comes to what she wants.”

  He waited, then said, “When you think about everything my brother has done to you, do you believe that?”

  His voice had a certain edge of irritation to it, as if he desperately wanted her to understand but couldn’t simply explain it all. She needed to grasp the details, focus on what Edmund did, what he said, what her aunt’s personality was like. When she considered it like that—the quick marriage at his insistence, the wedding night that was not a wedding night, his nefarious scheme of stealing her inheritance—she could come up with no other conclusion than the one Sam implied.

  She couldn’t control it any longer; her eyes filled with tears. “How could he betray me like that?” A bolt of sheer anger sliced through her. “You clearly know him better than I, Sam,” she charged, her gaze burning into his. “Are you suggesting he planned to marry me and steal my fortune, all with the help of my aunt?”

  He stayed silent for a few moments, regarding her with narrowed eyes. Then he ran one palm harshly down his face. “Olivia, I think there’s a lot more to this entire situation than you’re aware of.”

  She sneered. “That’s painfully obvious. I don’t even pretend to know anything anymore.” With that, she stood abruptly, her arms wrapped snugly around her as she began to pace the kitchen floor. She didn’t look at him, though she felt his eyes on her, watching her actions, probably trying to determine what was going through her mind. At last she stopped in front of the sink, staring into the basin, seeing nothing.

  “So, unlike your brother, you weren’t the least bit interested in her invitation?” she asked, her voice just a shade above a whisper.

  “If this is about me,” he replied slowly, “then no. I wasn’t the least bit interested.”

  “Why?” she breathed.

  The silence in the room boomed thick and intense. Finally, he murmured, “I think you’ve been hurt enough, Olivia.”

  It wasn’t much of a response, but then what did she expect? Undying devotion? In truth, she shouldn’t have asked him that. Nothing of this situation was about him, and who he chose to romance was entirely none of her business, even if it was a relation of hers. And yet she couldn’t deny the way her spirits lifted a little from his candor, and his caring.

  “Are you going to tell me what you think about your brother’s whereabouts? What you think is going on?” she asked, her tone riddled with a quiet, steady anger.

  She heard him inhale deeply again, and she drummed up the courage to lift her head and turn, facing him once more. The light from the lamp cast shadows on each handsome feature, reflecting in his dark eyes as they remained fixed on her, on his thick, shiny hair that fell loosely across his brow, his hardened jaw and grimly set lips. His sheer attractiveness made her insides flutter even as she waited for him to answer the most grave of questions, her posture determined, her stare haunted, pleading for the truth.

  After a long moment he said, “I will tell you what I think, if you’ll be honest with me in return.”

  She hadn’t expected that. “Honest about what?”

  He tipped his head to the side a fraction. “We’ll get to that. First, what exactly is Govance?”

  She frowned, shaking her head negligibly in confusion. “Where did you hear of Govance?”

  “Claudette mentioned it.”

  That seemed rather odd to her, as neither her aunt nor Edmund had anything to do with other houses. She leaned back against the sink edge, her arms folded in front of her. “Govance is a large and well-respected house of fragrance, though they cater to the wider industry, primarily Asian trade. They only have one small shop in Paris, but—why?”

  He remained quiet for a moment or two, regarding her. Then, “Who is its heiress?”

  Her mind began to race, her thoughts quickening. “The heiress of Govance? That’s probably Brigitte Marcotte. She’s the granddaughter of the owner.”

  He looked down at his fingers, tapping them together in front of him. “How old is she?”

  Olivia began to see where his questions were leading, only to feel a greater bewilderment coupled with fearful anticipation. “I don’t know her exact age,” she said, “but she’s probably nineteen or twenty by now. I haven’t seen her in about five years.”

  He sat up a little. “She doesn’t live here?”

  “No, she lives in Grasse, where the world fragrance market—” Her eyes widened; she slowly lowered her arms to her sides as the pieces began falling into place. “You think Edmund…”

  “Is in Grasse, wooing the unsuspecting Brigitte of her fortune,” he finished for her. “Just as he did you.”

  She tried very hard to concentrate, to digest the implication, to grasp what such an incredible assumption could mean. “But if you learned that from Claudette, then—then she knows where he is, where he’s been all this time. She’s part of the deception.”

  “Edmund is deceitful and clever in his own right, but he couldn’t possibly know interested parties in the perfume business. I think,” he admitted austerely, “that not only does your aunt intend to reap the benefits, she probably planned the whole thing, including his marriage to you.”

  Olivia no longer wanted to cry, she wanted to hit something. She suddenly couldn’t breathe, couldn’t comprehend such utter disregard for decency, couldn’t believe the people she loved, who she thought loved her, would betray her entire future for money. She gulped for air, spinning around to stare out the window, then turning back again, arms flailing at her sides as she began to move about the kitchen in semicircles, unseeing, feeling everything in utter shock.

  He must have realized the depth of her stupefaction, for he stood at once, his chair sliding back with a loud skid across the wooden floor, and walked quickly toward her.

  “Claudette—” She swallowed, then ran all ten fingers through her hair until it pulled behind her. “Claudette introduced me to him, wanted me to marry him. Urged me to marry him,” she spat in a whispered jumble.

  “Olivia,” Sam said soothingly, placing his palms gently on her shoulders to hold her still.

  She couldn’t stand the touch, needed air. Immediately, she brushed his arms aside and walked swiftly to the opposite wall, staring down to all the lovely little porcelain teapots she’d collected over the years, now sitting daintily on her pantry shelf. She fought the strong desire to smash them to little bits of shard.

  It was all becoming clear—the lies, the shrewdness, the artful deceit. And the whys.

  “Claudette wanted to take charge of Nivan when Jean-Francois died,” she disclosed bitterly, “because she knew my mother was inept at management and everyone else lived in Grasse. And s
he was right.” She shivered. “But Claudette would have surely embezzled every penny if she had control, running Nivan to insolvency, and everybody—everybody—knew it. That’s why even her brother, Robert Nivan, denied her the opportunity, and gave the boutique to me to manage.” She tossed Sam a biting look over her shoulder. “So it appears that when she couldn’t have what she wanted, she set her own niece up for ruin with the help of a charming, spectacular-looking, cunning man.”

  “We’ll get your money back,” he said tightly.

  A caustic laugh bubbled up in her throat. “My money? Do you think this is all about my inheritance?” She pivoted quickly to confront him. “What about my dignity, my feelings? What about being used? Even you said that, Sam. He used me. They used me.”

  Crossing his arms over his chest, he simply looked at her, his body tense, his expression taut. “I know. And I’m sorry,” he admitted with quiet intensity. “But you’re going to have to trust me.”

  “Trust you?” Standing tall, glaring at him, she asked, “Tell me, your grace, why did you kiss me tonight?”

  That question clearly stunned him. His mouth dropped open minutely as he looked her up and down. Then gritting his teeth, he narrowed his eyes and began to walk slowly toward her.

  “I believe we kissed each other, madam, though I can’t fathom what that marvelous moment of passion has to do with this conversation.”

  She shook her head defiantly, ignoring the tingle of exhilaration that surged through her from his choice of words. “It has everything to do with it,” she maintained, her voice shaky even as she attempted to stick to the point. “You kissed me, and purposely kissing a married woman like that hardly engenders trust. Do you kiss all the married ladies you know?”

  “Married,” he repeated in a dark whisper.

  She stood her ground, her back to the wall, her palm gripping the edge of the pantry of teapots, noting with only the slightest hesitation that his tone had grown as cold as his countenance.

  “What if I said to you that I don’t believe you’re legally married to my brother?”

  She sneered. “I’d say you’ve lost your mind. Or you’re a magnificent liar, trying to confuse me into falling for your charms, just as Edmund did.”