Scandal of the Season

by Liana Lefey

  Charles must be informed immediately and action taken before it was too late.

  As he was preparing to leave, however, Marston pulled him aside. “You’re not going to like this. I just overheard a man say that Yarborough boasted to him—in strictest confidence, of course,” he added with a snort, “that on the way to London he and Eleanor had become ‘very close,’ but that she’d given him the cold shoulder upon arrival because her redheaded friend had advised her to try for a bigger catch. The man claims Yarborough is heartbroken but determined not to give up.”

  Beneath his breath, Sorin uttered a stream of blasphemy that would no doubt earn him several days in purgatory. “I knew something like this was brewing, but I did not expect it quite this soon.”

  “If you are to act, it needs to be swiftly, before something untoward happens,” said Marston.

  “He won’t harm her. I’ll kill him first, and he knows it.”

  “I’ll second you, if it comes to it.”

  Sorin looked at Marston for a long moment, considering. “I appreciate that, old friend. It may very well come to that, but I intend to try another way first.”

  “You should speak to Charles at once,” urged Marston. “Explain the situation and ask him for her hand. He will support you. It is the simplest way to eliminate the threat. Safely married, she can no longer be a target.”

  “Charles is not the one who concerns me most. The lady herself has to accept my offer.”

  Marston’s smile was a gentle reproach. “I still think you’re wrong about her. I think she loves you. Adores you, actually.”

  “Perhaps, but she does not love me the way a wife should love a husband,” he answered with a grimace.

  “Love can change, and marriage comes with certain expectations that will help you in that.” A knowing look lit Marston’s eyes. “She’ll want children. Marry her first and work on the rest later when you have the luxury of time.”

  Blood rushed to Sorin’s face.

  The other man chuckled at his discomfiture. “Rest assured the pleasures of the marriage bed will forever alter her view of you, my friend. And when she sees you as the father of her firstborn, they will alter yet more.” He sobered. “Regardless, I’m certain she would much rather marry you than that miscreant.”

  “I’m not so certain she’s going to want to marry anyone, but I will do whatever is necessary to protect her.” Even if it meant deceiving her, though he would prefer another alternative.

  The entries in the betting book were clear. Something was expected to happen soon. The Cleveland ball was but a week away. The night Eleanor planned to speak with Yarborough. As far as he was aware, she planned to attend no other events of significance between now and then. Every instinct told him the blackguard would make his move that night. He would be there, ready.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The Cleveland Ball

  Eleanor drifted amid the crush, looking for Sorin. Again, she’d dressed to please him and wore the soft salmon pink he’d once claimed to be a favorite color on her. In spite of all her dashed hopes, she still wanted to be beautiful for him. After all, a miracle might occur to change his unromantic perception of her.

  “May I have the honor of partnering you in the first dance, Lady Eleanor?”

  Turning, she faced Lord Marston with a smile. She’d hoped to dance with Sorin first, but he was nowhere to be seen. “You may,” she told him, dipping a curtsy and taking his arm.

  “Is Miss Caroline here tonight?”

  The abruptness of his inquiry caught her by surprise. “I—yes, she is,” she answered with no small amount of trepidation.

  “My apologies,” he said at once, looking embarrassed. “I’ve no manners tonight, apparently.”

  “It’s quite all right,” she murmured, keenly aware of his pain, which was so similar to her own. “She deeply regrets what passed between you,” she ventured carefully.

  “As do I. I love her still, you know.”

  “Your affection is not unreciprocated,” she said, ready to brave Caroline’s wrath.

  His eyes lit. “She told you this?”

  “She did.” She laid her other hand on his arm, stopping their progress. “She is desolate over what happened. I worry for her. For you both. Won’t you go to her?”

  He shook his head sadly. “Even if what you say is true, I fear she would lose her temper with me again, and that would do neither of us any good at all. Come, let us join the other dancers.”

  Together they walked to the ballroom floor to join the forming lines. To her shock, she spied Sorin four couples down opposite none other than the raven-haired Lady Eugenia, one of the women to whom she’d introduced him a few weeks prior. The little heifer was looking at him with bold, appreciative eyes. Even more alarming, he seemed quite pleased with her company.

  Pain lanced through her at the sight of his lopsided smile. It doubled when he broke into laughter. Sorin was not the sort to laugh easily, especially in public. If he was comfortable enough with Lady Eugenia to do so, it was a sure sign that he favored her greatly. Feeling ill, she tore her gaze away from the happy couple to regard Marston, who was peering at her with an expression of deep concern.

  “Lady Eleanor, are you feeling well?”

  She forced a smile. “I’m perfectly fine.” Fortunately, at that moment the music began, sparing her the need for further explanation. Though she tried and tried not to look at Sorin, she couldn’t help herself. When the cotillion brought her and Marston ’round on promenade between the lines, she kept her gaze straight ahead, refusing to look at Sorin.

  Over and over, she and her partner wove about the other dancers in the complex steps. Over and over, she passed by Sorin and Eugenia. Over and over, her thoughts ran wild with suppositions.

  Did Eugenia’s hands tingle after each touch the way hers did? Did Sorin’s? Was that why he seemed so oblivious to everything else? Did he have a preference for women with dark hair? Lush figures? Sultry laughs? Such thoughts raced through her mind, each one chipping away at her soul.

  She tripped and barely caught herself, embarrassed to have been paying so little attention to what she was doing. Thankfully, Marston seemed not to have noticed. Please let this dance end soon! She needed to get out of here and find a place where she could breathe and settle her frayed nerves. Dipping her curtsy at the end of the dance, she fled.

  And very nearly slammed right into Yarborough.

  “Lady Eleanor,” he exclaimed with a delighted smile. “How very fortunate. I was hoping to see you here tonight. I’ve been meaning to talk to you.”

  His words were lost on her, for at that moment Sorin passed by, Lady Eugenia on his arm. The jealousy that had been steadily gnawing at Eleanor intensified, ripping at her heart like a vicious, ravening beast.

  Turning to Yarborough, she smiled brightly. “I’ve been meaning to speak with you, as well. Could we find somewhere a bit more private? Over there, perhaps?” she suggested, nodding toward the terrace doors. Their path would take her right past Sorin.

  “Of course,” said Yarborough, offering his arm.

  But Sorin was facing away when she passed. Frustration ate at her.

  “May I offer you a glass of champagne?” said her escort, gesturing for a passing servant to stop with his tray.

  “No, thank you.” Her confidence slipped as Yarborough’s smile faded. “But I would greatly appreciate some punch.”

  “It will be my pleasure,” he said, his smile instantly returning.

  Watching as he strode away to do her bidding, Eleanor debated whether to disappear. No. To run away now would ill serve her in too many ways. Besides, she really did need to speak with him. Spotting a nearby vacant chair, she sat and scanned the crowd for Sorin. There he was. All she could see of him was his back.

  And Eugenia was still hanging on his arm.

  An idea formed in her mind. A sly, underhanded idea. It was so wrong, but desperation drove her to take desperate measures. Her discuss
ion with Yarborough could wait just a little while longer—just until after they danced. Given the rumors running about Town, it would cause too great a stir for Sorin to ignore.

  “Your punch, Lady Eleanor.”

  She looked up to see Yarborough standing before her, glass in his hand. “Thank you,” she said, taking it. Thirsty, she swallowed several gulps before realizing how bitter it was. Ugh! Someone had forgotten to sweeten it. Struggling not to make a face, she set the half-empty glass aside and stood.

  But Yarborough wasn’t ready to dance just yet. “You know, I must admit that I did not expect you to be here when I returned.”

  He’d never know how close he was to the truth. “I would never be so discourteous.”

  “And yet you do not answer any of my letters or accept any of my invitations.”

  Her cheeks warmed at the gentle recrimination. “That is part of the reason I wished to speak with you tonight.” Hell, she was going to have to do this now rather than wait. “I think that perhaps you’ve been laboring under the misimpression that I seek more than your friendship. If I have in any way given you cause to believe it to be so, then I must apologize, for it was entirely unintended.”

  A twitch of his jaw muscle was the only betrayal of his displeasure. “Lady Eleanor, I would not dream of asking more of you than you’re willing to—”

  “Excellent,” she said, smiling in spite of a sudden rush of dizziness. She sank back down onto her seat, all thoughts of a hasty retreat gone. Her upset over Sorin must have been greater than she’d imagined, for she’d never before experienced the faintness so many ladies claimed accompanied emotional upheaval. “I worried that you might be in disagreement with me on the matter,” she continued. “I’ve been hearing the most alarming rumors concerning us. Rumors we both know to be untrue.”

  He stared at her for a long moment, his face inscrutable. “Yes, of course. Please don’t take this the wrong way, Ellie, but you look a bit pale.”

  Ellie!? She decided to let it pass. It wasn’t worth causing a scene. “It’s a bit stuffy in here.”

  “Indeed it is. Perhaps a breath of fresh air is in order?” He nodded to the doors immediately to her left.

  How very convenient. Looking at him, she grew even more suspicious of his polite manner. Surely a great bully like him would react more unpleasantly to her rejection than this? But perhaps she’d been wrong about him. He was, after all, much older now.

  Her head felt strange, as if it were full of wool. She attempted to stand and found her legs weak. A silk-sleeved arm hovered before her. She took it and allowed him to help her rise, feeling much steadier for the support.

  Thoughts of Sorin swirled. Longing, confusion, and most of all hurt.

  Yarborough opened the door and led her out onto the terrace. Even in her muzzy state, Eleanor had enough sense to stop before attempting the stairs leading down to the garden. Not only were stairs a non-negotiable obstacle at the moment, but a tour of the gardens by night was off limits to any young lady of good reputation—or at least as long as she was with anyone other than Sorin.

  Sorin… She would happily go anywhere with him.

  “You look lovely tonight, Eleanor,” said Yarborough, interrupting the pleasant thought.

  She frowned. Hadn’t they just agreed there was to be nothing between them but friendship? At best? At worst, she disliked him. Intensely. He ought to be grateful she’d rejected him so politely.

  “Thank you,” she said, turning away. But the quick movement unbalanced her, forcing her to grab the balustrade for support or topple over. What in heaven’s name is the matter with me?

  “You know, I think you may have judged me wrongly,” said Yarborough, repositioning himself to again face her.

  Once more, she tried to turn away but for some reason was unable to do so. Confused at her sudden immobility, she looked down to see that he had his hand on her arm. She hadn’t even felt him touch her. “Sir Yarborough, please. I don’t feel at all well,” she said, her tongue seeming thick and unwieldy. It was an effort to speak clearly. “I don’t think this an appropriate time for such a discussion. If I’ve misjudged you, then allow me to review my opinion when I am in possession of all my faculties.”

  A slow smile stretched his lips as he moved closer, pinning her between himself and the balustrade. “Ah, but it is the perfect time for us to discuss our future, my dear, dear Ellie.”

  She could only watch as he came closer. Her head spun, the ground felt terribly far away, and she now began to fear she would faint. “Sir Y—” She had to stop and take a breath, having suddenly lost all the air in her lungs. “Please…remove yourself at…at once,” she gasped.

  He didn’t budge.

  With great effort, she lifted leaden arms and pushed at him with all her might. But all strength seemed to have deserted her. Though it seemed her body could only move at a snail’s pace, her mind raced. Something was terribly wrong. She licked her now dry lips and recoiled at the bitter taste.

  The punch. He put something in it. Alarm should have jolted her to action, but she found herself incapable of more than another feeble attempt to dislodge herself from his embrace. “No…I won’t let you…” It came out as a whisper.

  “My darling, in your current state you will let me do anything I please,” he said, his smile sanguine. “You’ve had too much champagne, you see. And thanks to your lack of inhibition, your passion for me can no longer be contained or kept secret.”

  Hatred slowly blossomed in her belly, burning there like a coal straight from the fiery pit. The force of her anger gave her a spurt of strength, which she used to lift and draw back her arm.

  The bastard laughed and grasped her wrist, holding it away. “Now, now. Don’t start our marriage off this way. After all, once we are wed I’ll have every right to retaliate in kind. By the bye, you may be thankful I’ve chosen to forgive your previous transgression against me in that regard. I blame Ashford for not teaching you your place. That said, know that I will not be so lenient again.”

  Dully, she registered shock at the implication of his words. Bully indeed.

  “In truth, I have no desire to hurt you,” he said, his gaze drifting down to her décolletage, infuriating her further. “You’ve grown into a beautiful woman.” A fingertip followed the path his eyes had taken, and her stomach knotted in revulsion. “I can make it pleasant for you, if you cooperate. If not…well, I leave it to you to decide the temperature of our marriage bed. Warm or cold, I’ll still enjoy my time between its sheets—and your legs.” His eyes were full of gleeful malice.

  Panic, pure and simple, set in. If something didn’t happen this very instant to stop this, she would be in serious trouble. She was already in serious trouble. But whatever he’d put in her punch made movement difficult. It was making thinking difficult, too.

  Laughter filtered in from somewhere below and behind her. It took a moment for her to place it. The garden. People were coming up the stairs from the garden. If she faked a faint, someone might come to help. They were coming closer. Closer. They were almost here…

  “Perfect timing,” murmured Yarborough.

  Disgust filled her as he leaned in and his mouth ground against hers. She would have screamed in outrage, but the instant she opened her mouth it was filled with his tongue. Nausea struck, and bile rose in her throat. All attempts to dislodge him were in vain.

  He’s so strong! There was only one thing to do. Determined to end the revolting contact, she bit down hard on his tongue. The salt tang of blood filled her mouth, and with a hiss of pain he withdrew. All strength left her. As she slumped to the ground, she heard Yarborough cursing and another familiar voice shouting. Strong hands grasped her about the waist and lifted her.

  No! She began to struggle against her assailant.

  “Lady Eleanor!”

  Opening her eyes, she saw Marston bending over her.

  “She was feeling faint,” she heard Yarborough say. She felt him beside her, but hi
s voice sounded so far away. “I brought her out for some air, and she—”

  “Stow it, Yarborough!” hissed Marston. “You’ll be lucky if he doesn’t bloody well run you through for this. Lady Eleanor…Eleanor!”

  Run him through? He must mean Charles. “No,” she mumbled. “Don’t tell Charles. He cannot know…the children, the babe…”

  “Hush, now,” Marston said at her ear. “Can you manage to stand and walk a little bit? You don’t have to go very far, just a short way.”

  He sounded so desperate that she determined to try, and though it was difficult, she managed to take a few steps. Now that she knew she was safe, she felt so warm and cozy. Sleep beckoned. Someone was shaking her.

  “Eleanor!” snapped Marston. “You must stay awake for me, do you understand? You cannot go to sleep, not yet.”

  A palm tapped against her cheek, and she opened her eyes, confused. She was back in the ballroom. Sweet music drifted on the air, and everything was edged in a soft nimbus of golden light.

  Marston hauled her up against his side and led her away. She protested, wanting to go back and look at the lights, but he was too strong. “Fetch Lord Wincanton at once,” she heard him say. “Tell him it is a matter of extreme urgency and bring him back with you.”

  The light receded farther as they again began to move. Time slowed as she struggled to keep her feet beneath her. Just when she thought she couldn’t move another step, the world tilted on its side. Giving in to gravity, she laid down. Something cool brushed across her forehead and cheeks. She didn’t much care for it. It interfered with the warmth wrapped around her. Blurred sounds reached her as though from a long way away. A distant door closed, and there were more voices.

  Someone was terribly angry. For some reason it didn’t frighten her. In fact, it made her very, very happy. More movement. She was floating. It was just like one of those queer flying dreams she’d had as a child. She imagined herself lifting high above the treetops, flying up, up toward the moon.