Duke of Scandal

by Adele Ashworth

  She hadn’t said much at all to him today, and altogether refused to address their intimate encounter of the other night. There wasn’t much to discuss on that end, he supposed, though he hoped she thought about it as often as he did. But now that they neared Grasse, they needed to communicate, needed to exchange ideas and organize their plans. They needed to agree and get along. With that in mind, Sam decided it was time to break the ice and get down to business.

  “What are you going to say to my brother when you see him?”

  Her eyelashes fluttered open. “I don’t know,” she replied with only the slightest hesitation. “I’m not sure how to confront him yet.”

  Considering her determination and general assertiveness, that surprised him. “Would you like me to confront him first?”

  “No,” she answered curtly.

  He leaned his head back against the cushion, holding her gaze. “You can’t stay angry with me forever, Olivia.”

  That certainly got her attention. Her cheeks pinkened as her jaw tightened. “I’m not angry, I’m tired.”

  “I see.” He interlocked his fingers in front of him. “Well, since you’re not angry with me, would you like to discuss what happened between us the other night?”

  For a moment or two she said nothing. Then she closed her eyes again. “I’ve already forgotten the incident.”

  The incident? Sam had to press his lips together to keep from chuckling. “You know, I haven’t forgotten it, Olivia,” he drawled. “I keep reliving it every second of every day.” He knew he was baiting her, but for some odd reason he wanted her to know exactly how she affected him in a purely sexual way.

  Her nostrils flared in indignation, and then she raised her lashes once more and glared at him. “If I were to relive it, as you say you do,” she revealed huskily, “I would be betraying my husband. And even as much as I despise what he’s done to me, I took vows that I intend to honor. It seems the only thing I have left is my word.”

  That response surprised him. He wasn’t used to faithfulness in marriage, or any relationship, and so it hadn’t occurred to him that she could be so upset over some perceived weakness of the flesh. Now he understood how deeply his lovemaking had bothered her, and in a way, he admired her for her devotion—as much as it perturbed him that she could so quickly dismiss what they’d shared.

  They stared at each other for several long seconds, indecision weighing on every breath he took. And then he decided to hell with the doubts, he wanted her to know the truth, and she needed to be told, before they faced his brother.

  “Olivia,” he started, sitting up a little as he ran his fingers through his hair, “I have something to tell you that you’re not going to like.”

  She fairly snorted. “I don’t know if I can stand any more surprises from you, your grace.”

  “Stop calling me that,” he charged, his own irritation seeping into his tone. “I think we’ve gone far beyond formalities, don’t you?”

  She glanced out the window to the lavender-coated hillside, then back again, her features resolute. “I really don’t want to play games anymore, Sam.”

  “I don’t either,” he returned softly, stretching his legs out in the coach so his feet pushed under the hem of her gown. “No more games. And no more lies.”

  She tapped her fan on her lap, eyelids narrowed in wariness. “Are you telling me you’ve lied to me?”

  Sam detected the slightest trace of hurt wrapped around her question, and it warmed him within. He smiled vaguely. “No, I’ve never lied to you, Livi, but I have withheld information.”

  Her brows gently furrowed and she looked him up and down cautiously. “What information?”

  He sighed, then said, “Important, even key information. And it’s going to upset you.”

  She swallowed hard, but otherwise remained rigid in her bearing, no doubt bracing herself for more turmoil. He wished there were a good, easy way to explain everything he knew about her marriage, but he couldn’t think of one. Drawing a long, deep breath, he decided to just aim for sincerity.

  “I’m going to tell you something, Olivia, and no matter how it makes you feel, I want you to know that it’s the truth as I know it.”

  He waited for her to say something, but she just looked at him.

  He leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees, folding his hands together in front of him. “Remember Colin Ramsey, the man you met at the ball in London?”

  She tipped her head to the side a fraction. “Yes, of course I do. He’s quite difficult to forget.”

  Sam didn’t know if that was good or bad, though the stab of jealousy piercing his chest annoyed him. Colin, the ladies’ man—gregarious, charming, flirtatious. Everything he wasn’t.

  “You liked him, did you?” he asked, regretting the stupid and irrelevant question the moment the words left his mouth.

  She smiled wryly. “He’s very handsome.”

  Handsome? That’s it? What he’d wanted to hear was that she would never be interested in a man like him, but there was no way on earth he’d ask her to expound on her description of his friend.

  He nodded, deciding it best to just move on. “What I’m about to tell you stays between us, do you understand?”

  After a long pause, she maintained, “You’re going to tell me he’s involved in something illicit?”

  Without hesitation he murmured, “Yes.”

  She frowned as she opened her fan, swishing it very slowly in front of her face. “I can’t imagine what your friend’s… activities have to do with me, sir.”

  Her continued formality was starting to irritate him. “Livi, love, so help me God, if you call me ‘sir’ or ‘your grace’ again when we are alone like this, in private, I’m going to grab you and kiss the living breath out of you.”

  Her fan stopped moving in midair as her mouth dropped open a little. Then she gritted her teeth and inhaled sharply. “Do not call me ‘love,’ “ she articulated, fanning herself again. “I am not your love, and such informality between us is improper.”

  Again she’d said something he hadn’t anticipated, and her instant and bold denouncement stung him far more than he would have expected. Very softly he replied, “You’re certainly not Edmund’s love, Olivia, and that’s what I want to discuss.”

  She blinked, unsure, then once more turned her attention to the view outside. “You’re talking in circles, Sam.”

  “So I am, I suppose,” he acknowledged through a sigh. He watched her, noting her rigid posture, the tension emanating from her stoic expression. This was going to hurt her deeply, but he could see no other way to get around the revelation than to just reveal the facts as he knew them. “Let me get to the point.”

  “Please,” she said curtly.

  He tapped his fingers together in front of him. “Colin Ramsey is a British agent.”

  It took seconds for that bit of news to sink in. Then slowly she pulled her gaze from the window, her brows tightly furrowed, gaping at him as if he were completely insane. He continued before she could mention her disbelief.

  Gravely, he said, “He specializes in forgery, in forged documents, that he both creates and deciphers for the government. He’s very, very good at what he does, is very experienced, and for his unique services they pay him well. He’s never been known to fail in detecting a fraudulent work.” He paused, watching her closely, then asked, “Do you understand?”

  She remained silent for a moment, studying him intently, though she no longer looked annoyed, she looked edgy, twisting her fan in her hands.

  Finally, she murmured, “What does he have to do with me?”

  Sam had no idea how to put it delicately, so he simply revealed, “I had him review and analyze the marriage license you gave me.”

  She shook her head a little, uncertain of his words and the meaning behind them. “But I gave you the original,” she returned, her tone low and controlled. “Not the copy. If he thought it was a forgery, then he’s mistaken.”


  “He’s not mistaken,” he said gently. “The marriage document you and Edmund signed, the original document, isn’t legal.”

  She stilled, her eyes opening wide with incredulity. “That’s not possible.” She drew a shaky breath. “I spoke vows; I was married by a priest—”

  “Olivia,” he cut in, his voice deeply solemn, “I suspect you spoke those vows in front of a hired actor.”

  He couldn’t take his eyes off her. She blinked quickly, her features expressing shock coupled with confusion, suspicion coupled with anguish. He’d expected the heartache, and so felt the uncanny need to experience it with her. Edmund had hurt her profoundly, and that in itself made him despise his brother anew.

  “I—I can’t believe you,” she whispered after a moment, her eyes brimming with tears she desperately tried not to shed in front of him.

  “Tell me,” he urged after a long, deep breath, “was Edmund eager to announce your nuptials to Society?”

  The question surprised her, and she hesitated before answering. “No. Because we’d married so quickly after our first introduction, he told me it would be better to wait and I agreed with him.”

  “I see. So it might well be that outside of your Parisian circles people still don’t know about your supposed marriage.”

  “Probably not.”

  He ran a palm harshly down his face. “I would suggest he’s posing as a bachelor. Why do you think he’s in Grasse, courting another unsuspecting heiress? Because he can. Why do you think he didn’t bed you on your wedding night? Because taking you would not only complicate his plan of continued detachment from you emotionally, he could impregnate you, a risk he would never take because he expected, from the moment you met each other, to leave you. He had no intention of chancing the obstacle of an unwanted child, which, in a very sick way, was probably the most honorable thing he’s ever done in his life.” He paused for a few seconds, then said fervently, “Every fact in this sordid scheme indicates that you’re not married to Edmund, Olivia. And as much as that realization cheers me personally, I would never lie to you about this. Never.”

  It took her several long minutes, it seemed, to come to terms with his pronouncement, his explanations and rationale, and what they meant to her and her relationship with his brother. She lowered her lashes and stared at her lap, her body very still, her breathing steady, nearly silent. At last she whispered, “Why?”

  She couldn’t understand the insult, the reason for the deception, any more than he could. “Edmund is a deceitful bastard, and always has been. There’s no other explanation of why he does the things he does beyond his own personal selfishness.”

  She looked up again, her face pale, features slack, her watery gaze melding with his as she contemplated the lies, searched for answers. “And my aunt knew of this, planned it with him.”

  “Yes,” he replied, fighting the urge to reach over and touch her, knowing if he tried, she’d rebuff him quickly. “I’m sure of it.”

  Finally she straightened her shoulders and shook herself, rubbing her eyes with one thumb and forefinger then wiping a cheek with her palm. “Do you—” She cleared her throat, squeezed her fan with both hands. “Do you think they’re lovers?”

  Sam felt his insides twist in knots. She stared at her lap, unable to look at him, exuding a sweetness that melted his heart. “Olivia…”

  She snickered bitterly. “You do, don’t you?”

  Sitting back on the seat cushion, with keen tenderness he admitted, “I think they’ve been lovers for years.”

  She shook her head, then leaned her temple against the side of the coach, staring out at the passing landscape.

  He had no idea what to say to her, and so he remained quiet as well, resting his head on the cushion behind him, noting how the day had passed quickly and they were very near the outskirts of the town. They had to find a place to stay the night, gather their thoughts, make a plan of action, and later face the enemy that was his brother.

  “Why didn’t you tell me this before, Sam?”

  He turned his head to look at her again. She remained as she had before, gazing out the window. After a few long seconds of thought he replied, “I didn’t know if you were lying to me, if you and Edmund had planned this scheme together to swindle me of some of my inheritance.” He drew in a full breath, then added hesitatingly, “I didn’t know if I could trust you.”

  She shook her head. “What makes you think you can trust me now?”

  “I don’t know,” he replied at once. “I really don’t know why I trust you, but I do. And that’s the most honest answer I can give you.”

  She shifted her body in her seat, eyeing him askance. “I hate you for not telling me until now,” she whispered, a dark anger penetrating her voice.

  He felt like a worm. Expelling a slow breath, he said, “I know. I’m sorry.”

  She just watched him, caressing the smooth ivory of her fan back and forth with her fingertips, her expression guarded. Then to his complete shock, she placed her fan on the cushion next to her and raised her body off the moving coach seat to cross over to his side, sliding herself in next to him, her gown spilling over his legs. She scrutinized every feature of his face, his chest, and shoulders. And then she reached out, wrapping her arms around his neck to hug him tightly, tucking her face under his chin.

  “I hate you, Sam,” she whispered up to his earlobe. She kissed his jawline once before cradling herself against him. “I hate you—but I need you so badly. God help me, but you’re the only person I trust in the world.”

  A curious sense of unreality enveloped him, clouding his sensible, thinking mind with a fine mist of bewildering feelings he couldn’t at all comprehend, or tame. He had no idea what to say, what she expected him to do, if anything. She smelled like heaven, felt so soft, and for the first time that he could recall, he relished in the closeness of a woman without the slightest sexual intent. He twisted his body in the seat a little so he could wrap his arms around her and hold her with ease.

  She relaxed her grip a little, and after a few moments of silence she murmured, “Thank you.”

  Sam ached to kiss her right here in the coach, to caress her fears away, her anger and anguish, to explore every bit of emotion she brought out in him, to show her how he cared about her and her future.

  As if reading his thoughts, she suddenly, and without warning, leaned up and placed her lips on his, gingerly, not moving but just lightly touching him. He felt her longing, her loneliness, in that one brush of warmth, and a nearly inaudible growl rolled in his throat. But he didn’t move, didn’t push for more, knowing the time for passion would come later. Every doubt about his need of her, his desire to be a part of her, became instantly clear, had in fact vanished the moment she confessed her trust in him. He would wait for her, but there was no longer a question that she would be his.

  Gradually, she pulled away and sat up, withdrawing her arms from around him and relaxing them in her lap. Her gaze roved over his face, pausing at his lips, his hair and eyes, her forehead crinkled with a trace of curiosity—or puzzlement.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” she said at last.

  He smiled to himself, knowing fully well she had no idea at all. “You do?”

  She nodded slowly, eyes narrowed in careful thought. “You want to pretend, to make Edmund think you and I are married.”

  Truthfully, he hadn’t thought of that at all, and for a moment he wondered what good it would do. But pretending to be married to her would certainly add to the confusion, and it might make for a very satisfying time. Actually, it might be the best way to confront his brother and catch him off guard.

  “Can you act that well, Lady Olivia?” he drawled teasingly.

  She swiftly left his side to sit across from him once again, eyeing him mischievously, a sly grin playing across her mouth as she smoothed her skirt back into place. Then she tipped her shoulders toward him, allowing him a scant view of her cleavage. “I won’t even have to, my da
rling man,” she murmured huskily. “I think you’re enraptured already.”

  He smirked. “You’re very good.”

  “Only of necessity,” she replied, sitting back for a final time, lifting her fan again and opening it.

  He closed his eyes, leaning his head against the cushion.

  “Sam?” she whispered seconds later.

  “Hmm?”

  She paused, then softly admitted, “I really don’t hate you at all.”

  He grinned, peeking at her through half-open lashes. “I know. I don’t hate you, either, Livi.”

  Chapter 15

  Although their families had always been rather close, Olivia hadn’t seen Brigitte Marcotte in years, and yet she had no trouble spotting the woman the moment she walked into the dining room of Grasse’s Maison de la Fleur, the hotel in which she and Sam had taken up residence two days ago. Against Sam’s better judgment, she had wanted to meet Brigitte alone somewhere in the town where Edmund wouldn’t likely appear to interrupt them, and as she and Sam had inquired upon their arrival, he wasn’t staying at the hotel. Olivia felt more than ready to confront him, but she decided it might be better to let the Govance heiress know exactly what kind of deceitful man Edmund was, realizing that Brigitte might have already lost her heart to the cad, making their encounter this afternoon uncomfortable. Even so, Olivia decided she had no choice but to enlighten the woman.