Scandal Meets Its Match (The May Flowers Book 7)

by Merry Farmer

  “That’s not how it was and you know it,” Phin argued.

  “So you were compensated for your services.” Lionel looked positively delighted by the possibility.

  “That’s not what I meant.” Phin frowned.

  “Can you even remember how many beds you’ve wiled away an evening in?” Lionel asked, one eyebrow arched.

  “Can you?” Phin shot back.

  “Touché.” A faint flush painted Lionel’s cheeks.

  Phin was certain he was blushing as well, but more because of the simple pleasure of ripping into his brother and being mercilessly teased in return than from any real embarrassment over his sexual past. It was an immense comfort to know that he had a brother who loved him and would stick by him at all costs. Though he was willing to admit that most brothers probably teased each other about hunting, cards, and business, not their checkered sexual histories.

  “I just wish she’d told me,” he sighed after a long silence, anger grinding back into him again. “I despise deception of all kinds.”

  “Would you have behaved differently to her if you’d known she was married?” Lionel asked.

  “Yes,” Phin said with far more vehemence than he felt.

  Lionel fixed him with a look that said he didn’t believe it. “You wouldn’t have bedded her, then?”

  Phin winced. In all honestly, he probably would have, if she’d been willing. Which she had been. She’d known she was married, even if he didn’t. Though he was willing to concede, after her explanation, that it wasn’t a true sort of marriage. Still, she hadn’t been honest. And even if she had married Swan to save her life, deception only made matters more complicated.

  “Life is pain,” Lionel said, almost out of the blue. He, too, had taken on an introspective mien as he stared into the fireplace. His brow was furrowed as if he were reliving his own painful memories. “People make mistakes. All people. Terrible mistakes. You have no idea.”

  “You?” Phin attempted to regain the easy feeling between them, even though he felt the dark turn they’d both taken acutely. “Mistakes?”

  Lionel turned his head and stared into Phin’s eyes with chilling intensity. “You have no idea,” he said.

  Phin could only wonder what his brother had been through, or was going through. Whatever it was, he trusted that Lionel would tell him in good time.

  But if he could trust Lionel to reveal what was eating at him on his own terms and in his own time, why couldn’t he trust that Lenore had revealed her secrets within the timeframe that was right for her?

  It was too sharp a thought to keep in his head for long. He thumped Lionel’s leg and stood.

  “I should be going,” he said, heading to the stand where he’d hung his hat and coat.

  Lionel stood and walked to the door with him. “Go easy on your lady love,” he said, helping Phin into his coat. “She’s in danger, I’m sure of it. Swan is evil. Lenore needs your help far more than she needs your censure. Forgive her for her sins and protect her from the coming storm.”

  “And here I’m the one writing dramatic stories,” Phin said, turning to his brother with a wry grin.

  “Haven’t I said all along that you should let me pen a story or two for Nocturne?” Lionel said.

  Phin thumped his shoulder. “I might just take you up on that offer,” he said. “If Lady Hamilton doesn’t catch me and ruin me first.”

  Chapter 16

  Finally, Lenore slept. As soon as her head hit the pillow of her familiar, cozy bed under Reese’s roof, days’ worth of not sleeping caught up to her. In spite of the fear and anxiety that continued to hover over her, in spite of the fact that nothing at all was resolved, she slept like the dead, waking well into the morning the next day.

  Even then, she couldn’t bring herself to get out of bed. Reese’s stalwart upstairs maid, Florence, who had been serving as her lady’s maid since she took up residence at Howsden House, brought her breakfast and didn’t seem even a little judgmental about the situation. Then again, Reese had hand-selected every member of his staff for their open minds and their closed lips.

  Lenore couldn’t stay in bed forever, though. She finally got up around noon, washed and dressed, but instead of heading downstairs to see what Freddy and Reese thought of her in the cold light of day, she sat at the small table in her room, took out the stationary she’d purchased on Oxford Street, and started a letter to her mother.

  “Dear Mama. I don’t know what you will have heard by the time this letter reaches you or how the information will reach you at all, but I must confess that I haven’t been entirely honest with you in the last year. This will either come as a shock to you, or it will be no shock at all, but the truth is that I am married and have been since Papa’s conference in Laramie in the spring a year ago.”

  She stopped and sighed, rubbing her forehead and the vestiges of the headache she still had. A letter was hardly adequate to explain the things her family deserved to hear. She should tell them a tale like this face to face. But that would involve a return to Wyoming, and she had the creeping feeling that if she ever crossed the Atlantic again, she wouldn’t ever come back to England.

  And she loved England. She loved London. She loved the life she’d built for herself in the last year. She had friends, a lover, and a sense that she belonged. Granted, the group she belonged with didn’t quite belong with society themselves, but it was their status as misfits that made them perfect for each other. Home would always play an important part in her life, but that life was in England now.

  Then there was Phin. She heaved an even bigger sigh and threw down her pen, spattering ink across the corner of her stationary as she did. She’d never known feelings like the ones she had for Phin. He excited her and aroused her. He made her laugh, and he made her feel safe. She knew beyond a shadow of any doubt that he was the only man for her, but she’d gone and ruined things. She was convinced that she shouldn’t be writing a letter to her mother, she should be pounding on Phin’s door and falling at his feet and begging for his forgiveness. Perhaps there were other things she could do on her knees that would incline him to feel kindlier toward her.

  She snorted at the ridiculous, sensual thought just as a knock sounded on her door. Her heart leapt into her throat, and she whipped toward the door, wondering if that could be Phin now. She truly would fellate him out of a sense of pure relief if he’d come to her room to say he’d forgiven her.

  “Who is it?” she called, standing.

  “Just me, miss,” Florence said, opening the door.

  Lenore’s shoulders dropped in disappointment, and she was tempted to laugh at herself.

  Right up until Florence said, “If you please, miss, Mr. Swan has arrived and is taking tea in the wisteria parlor with Lord Howsden and Lord Herrington.”

  Lenore pressed a hand over the pooling dread in her stomach. “Thank you, Florence. You can tell them I’ll be right down,” she said in a hoarse voice.

  Florence nodded, sending her a look of sympathy, and left. Lenore turned to her vanity, picking up a brush to run through her hair, then worked as fast as she could to pile it into something resembling a fashionable style on her head. Any hope of easily getting out of the mess she’d made was completely gone. She was in trouble, pure and simple. At least she had allies. Freddy and Reese would go to bat for her, she knew. She would have felt so much more confident if Phin were there as well, but she had lost the right to hope for that.

  She headed downstairs with as much courage as she could muster. She thought she was doing well, until the sound of Bart’s gruff baritone reached around the corner from the parlor as she approached.

  “…don’t cotton much to your prissy, British ways,” he was in the middle of saying. “Where I come from, men are men, not women dressed up in men’s clothes. It’s obscene, if you ask me, and not at all what God intended.”

  Lenore stepped around the corner into the parlor in time to see Freddy and Reese’s barely-disguised looks of rage
as Bart rattled on. Bart sat with his legs spread in one of Reese’s fine chairs, looking like a buffalo in a lily pond. He held a delicate, china cup as though he might crush it without realizing it. His boots were worn enough that Lenore worried for Reese’s Persian carpet, even though they weren’t as dusty as they would have been back home, fresh from the ranch.

  Freddy noticed her entry first and stood from the sofa, crossing the parlor to greet her. “Lenore, you look lovely,” he said in a tight, distracted voice.

  Lenore humphed warily, but accepted his kiss to her cheek and grabbed his hand tightly when he reached her. “Don’t leave me alone with him,” she whispered before he pulled away.

  “I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, taking her hand and leading her back to the sofa.

  “Would you like some tea?” Reese asked, leaning forward and taking up the silver teapot on the table between the sofa and chairs as though taking up a sword.

  “Yes, please.” Lenore sat, heart trembling, still holding Freddy’s hand. It was her primary source of courage in that moment.

  Bart stared flatly at her, as if everything around him were a joke that had gone stale. “I don’t see what you like so much about this place,” he said with a sneer. “It’s all fiddly and frilly, and the men aren’t even men.”

  “Freddy and Reese are among the best men I’ve ever known,” Lenore shot back, forcing confidence she didn’t yet feel into her voice.

  Bart rolled his eyes. “I told you they’re queer, right?”

  “Why are you dragging this whole thing out, Bart?” she asked as Reese handed her a teacup.

  “You don’t want it drug out? Then go pack your bags and come along with me now,” he fired back, irritated. “I told you I’d be back to take you home, and here I am. So quit delaying and come along.” He sat forward, putting his barely-touched tea on the table so clumsily that liquid splashed over the sides of the cup.

  “Lenore isn’t going anywhere,” Freddy said. “She’s my fiancée, and as long as she wishes to stay here, I’ll stand by her.”

  Lenore’s burst of affection for Freddy was clipped short as Bart growled, “Yeah, well, she’s my wife, and the law says she’s got to do as she’s told.”

  “I’m not sure your Wyoming laws apply in Great Britain,” Reese said, perhaps a little too imperiously, given the circumstances, but with a strength Lenore was grateful for.

  “I don’t give a hoot about what you Brits think is or isn’t legal,” Bart snorted. “Lenore is my wife, and it’s about time we headed home.”

  “I’ve thought about it, Bart, and I’ve decided I’m not going anywhere with you,” Lenore said. She attempted to show her resistance by calmly drinking her tea, as any good Englishwoman would do, but the cup shook so much as she attempted to raise it to her lips that she quickly put it down again. “I told you what I wanted yesterday, an annulment, and I stand by that.”

  A moment later, Mr. Tilney appeared in the parlor’s doorway and cleared his throat. “Mr. Mercer is here, my lord.”

  Before Reese could tell Mr. Tilney to let him in, Phin strode into the room. His anxious expression hardened to pure rage when he saw Bart was there. Even so, Lenore was so relieved to see him she could have wept.

  “Mr. Mercer,” Reese greeted him with a formality that would have made Lenore laugh in any other situation. She could see by the way Reese used them now, proper British manners were one of the sharpest weapons he had. “Please join us. We were just attempting to convince Mr. Swan to leave England.”

  “And to grant Lenore an annulment,” Freddy added.

  Phin took a breath where he stood and glanced from Reese and Freddy to Lenore to Bart, and then back to Lenore. “I see,” he said, clasping his hands behind his back. “And have you had any luck?”

  “I’m not going anywhere and I’m not giving up what’s mine,” Bart announced, standing and taking a few steps to stand near Phin. It was clear his aim was to intimidate Phin, but Phin had a good four inches on him. Bart was twice as broad, though, and with muscle, not excess fat. All in all, Lenore didn’t like the picture he painted. “My wife would do well to obey and get the hell out of this dollhouse right away.” He finished by glaring at Lenore.

  “Please, just leave me alone, Bart.” Lenore set her teacup on the table and pressed her fingers to her temples. “Everyone here knows that the second I leave this house with you, you’ll kill me.”

  “Now why would I want to do a thing like that to my pretty wife,” Bart growled in a voice that implied murder would be the least of her worries if Bart extracted her from her protectors.

  “You think that saying things like that and in that manner is going to persuade any of us to let Lenore out of our sight for so much as a second?” Phin asked, pulling himself to his full height and towering above Bart.

  “It will if you know what’s good for you,” Bart said in return, narrowing his eyes.

  “Gentlemen, please,” Lenore begged them. “Sit down so that we can come to some sort of an agreement about how to move forward.”

  “The only way I’m leaving is if you come with me, sweetie,” Bart said, moving back to his chair and sitting as though he owned all of London.

  “And Lenore is in no way going with you,” Freddy said, grabbing Lenore’s hand again. “Ever.”

  Lenore was still grateful for the gesture, but with Phin there now, she would much rather he be the one to hold her and comfort her. As it was, she couldn’t even tell if he had forgiven her. He’d stated that he wouldn’t let Bart take her, but that wasn’t the same as forgiveness.

  A brittle silence followed. It stretched on for so long that Lenore wasn’t sure what to do. She still roiled with suspicion about Bart’s true reason for pursuing her. It had to be the money. He couldn’t truly care one whit for her. But she couldn’t work out how to get the brute to tip his cards. And aside from that, something had to be done to fill the space before it ignited and the four men broke into a brawl worthy of any London pub or Haskell saloon. Lenore had been around Englishwomen long enough to feel as though it were her responsibility to keep things moving as calmly as possible.

  “Phin, have you had a chance to visit your brother since returning to London?” Lionel Mercer had said he would investigate Bart, after all. Perhaps he’d discovered something that might help them.

  “I visited him last night,” Phin said, moving awkwardly to sit in the free chair. Reese resumed his seat as well as Phin went on with, “We had a long and interesting discussion. Lionel would like you to host a ball this weekend.”

  Lenore blinked. It was absolutely the last thing she would have expected anyone to say. “I’m sorry, but he wants me to host a ball?”

  “Yes.” Phin nodded. “Saturday would be best. Here, or perhaps at Lady O’Shea’s house.”

  Lenore’s mouth dropped open, but she couldn't think of a single thing to say in response to the outlandish request.

  “She can’t do it,” Bart answered for her. “We’ll be on a ship headed home by then.”

  “You most certainly will not,” Freddy scoffed, inching closer to Lenore.

  “We’re leaving as soon as the next ship sails,” Bart said. “Isn’t that right, pumpkin?”

  “I’m not going anywhere with you,” Lenore snapped, then thought better of it. She glanced to Phin, who seemed as frustrated by the situation as he was furious. “That is to say, if Mr. Lionel Mercer needs me to host a ball this Saturday, I have to host a ball.” Perhaps that would give her time to uncover the truth about what Bart wanted.

  “Nonsense,” Bart snorted. “That ball is just a dumb excuse to delay the inevitable. You’re coming with me, and you’re going to be the wife you were supposed to be,” he said, undisguised lasciviousness in his eyes.

  “Over my dead body,” Freddy growled.

  “And mine,” Reese agreed.

  “And yours,” Phin added, almost too quietly to be heard.

  Bart did hear it, though. He narrowed his eyes at Ph
in as though dreaming up ways to kill him as soon as possible.

  “I must host a ball for Mr. Mercer,” Lenore said, desperation to keep Phin out of the line of fire suddenly more important than anything else. “It’s a matter of honor, you see.” She turned to Bart, eyes wide, scrambling for an explanation he would understand. “I owe Lionel Mercer. I owe him for a great many things. If he wants me to host a ball, I have an obligation to do so. You understand honor, I’m sure.”

  Bart sighed and scrubbed a hand over his stubbly face. “What is it with you English people and balls? They’re stupid, if you ask me.”

  “They are a necessary part of social interaction,” Reese said, stony-faced. “You wouldn’t understand.”

  Lenore sent him a warning look. Bart was the wrong person to bait, which was clearly what Reese was doing.

  Oddly enough, Bart seemed amused by Reese’s stiff demeanor. “Fine,” he said, slapping the arms of his chair, then pushing himself to stand. “You wanna have yourselves a ball on Saturday? Go ahead. But I’m booking passage on the next ship out of here on Sunday, and you’re going to be on that boat with me, you hear?” he asked Lenore, glowering.

  Freddy tried to defend her, but Lenore silenced him. She stood, gathering all the courage she had left to take a step toward Bart.

  “It would seem we are at an impasse, Bart. You’ve stated your case and I’ve stated mine. I want an annulment,” she said. “We both know why I married you. I said before and I’ll say it again, I have no intention of returning to America, nor do I intend to testify against you, should such a thing become necessary. I just want you to go away and forget I ever existed.”

  “Oh, but see, honey, you’re not the kind of woman a man can just forget,” Bart said, rubbing his mouth as though he were eyeing up a particularly juicy steak. “But I’ll let you pretend things are all peaches and cream for now. Play English, if that’s what you want to do. We both know how this whole thing ends, don’t we?” He broke into a wolfish smile.