A Dash of Scandal (15 page)

If only she had been stronger than her mother, but in the end, she found she was just as susceptible to a rake's charms. She had watched for him all evening, hoping he would appear by her side and ask her to dance. Perhaps he didn't intend to have anything to do with her now that he knew what she was doing. A stab of envy struck her at the thought that Lady Lambsbeth was back in Town. Maybe he no longer needed any other diversion.

“Ma'am,” Millicent asked, “what do you know about Lord Dunraven and Lady Lambsbeth?”

The viscountess fanned herself. “Oh, that's an old story, and why Beatrice wanted to run it in Lord Truefitt's column I have no idea. It's really passé. There are more appetizing things to be writing about than an old love affair. Perhaps it just shows that Beatrice is having trouble keeping up with the column while she's recuperating.”

This was the first comment that Millicent had heard the viscountess make about how her aunt was handling the column. Millicent could only assume that her ladyship hadn't heard that circulation for
The Daily Reader
had increased and Lord Truefitt's column was praised for being one of the main reasons.

Just tonight she'd heard more than one lady mention how eager she was to get the paper each day to see what quote from Shakespeare was used in Lord Truefitt's column.

Millicent decided it would be wise not to express a view one way or the other to the Lady Heathecoute. She would leave that up to her aunt. However, she wasn't shy about asking other questions she wanted answers to.

“Ma'am,” Millicent asked in what she hoped was an offhanded manner, “do you think Lord Dunraven loves Lady Lambsbeth?”

“Loves? Good heavens, no. I doubt he's ever loved anyone in his life. I think most everyone considers him a confirmed bachelor. What makes you ask such a question? You haven't set your eyes on him have you? Because I have to agree with my husband that he is quite unattainable.”

“No. It's nothing like that. It's just there has been talk about the two of them now that she's back in Town.”

“Yes, yes. Everyone assumes they had an affair and it ended badly. Talk about it was all the rage last year. She was married and her husband found out about it. Had it not been for friends of both men one of them would be dead to—” She stopped and chuckled.

The low throaty sound of her laughter sounded ominous in the dark carriage. Millicent noticed the viscount hadn't even blinked an eye since he stepped into the carriage. No doubt he was used to hearing his wife's laughter.

“Ah—that is, one of them is dead, I understand. But of course, not from the challenge. After wise counsel from his friends, Lord Lambsbeth withdrew it and he and his lady left Town the next day. That's no matter now. I don't think anyone in the ton cares whether the earl and lady pick up where they left off. It's old news.”

“Yes, I suppose you're right.”

“I'm more interested in hearing whether another of the Terrible Threesome, Lord Dugdale, is truly in financial straits. That could account for his sudden desire to make a match before the end of the year.”

“Yes, I heard much the same thing,” Millicent said, but didn't mention that she'd heard the story earlier in the afternoon from Lady Lynette.

“Tonight the guests at all the parties seemed to be interested only in talking about the latest news concerning the Mad Ton Thief and the ghost. I wonder if the thief knows how popular he is?”

“With everyone talking about it at the parties, the clubs, and on the streets, I'm sure he does. He probably hopes the madness continues so that he can continue to get away with stealing. It appears that this idea that he is a ghost is titillating to them all. I think they want it to be so. Though, why anyone would want to talk about Lord Pinkwater's ghost, I have no idea.”

“Oh, I do believe it is newsworthy.”

“But it has little to do with gossip,” the viscountess said in her don't-argue-with-me voice. “Lady Windham said that she felt deprived when she held a party and nothing was stolen from her home. She said she was thinking of holding another party next week, hoping the thief will show up and take something.”

“Do you really think she will do that?”

“Oh, she probably will. The thing is that she has so many lovely things in her home something probably was stolen and she just doesn't know it.”

“You think so?”

“Of course, I really have no idea. I'm only saying that the house is filled with paintings, china, pottery, and all quite valuable. Now tell me, what other delicious tidbits did you hear tonight?”

It only took a few more minutes to arrive at her aunt's town house. As usual, Phillips quietly opened the door and she stepped inside. She heard Hamlet bark once as usual, alerting her aunt that she was home.

Phillips left to prepare Millicent a cup of tea, and she took the time to remove her gloves and pelisse before going upstairs. It was then that she heard a light knock on the door. She glanced down the hallway, expecting the butler to come answer the door. When he didn't immediately appear she realized the knock was really too soft for him to have heard it.

Thinking the viscountess must have thought of something else she wished to say, Millicent hurried back to the door and quietly opened it.

Her arm was grabbed and she was whisked outside into the darkness.

“He that wants money, means, and content, is without three good friends.” If that is true, it is to Lord Dugdale's benefit that he still has Lord Dunraven and Lord Chatwin as good friends. From what this humble soul hears, money is one of the friends who left him.

—Lord Truefitt,
Society's Daily Column

“Shhh. Don't scream. It's me.” Chandler gently pulled Millicent out of the house. He left the heavy door slightly ajar so that it wouldn't throw the latch inside.

It was good he spoke and let her know who he was because it was so dark she couldn't see a thing. She allowed him to usher her to the far corner of the town house, which was hidden from view of the street by a tall shrub. It had rained most of the evening and the moon was completely covered by clouds, making the night pitch-black and heavy with gray mist.

Millicent leaned against the side of the wet house, her heart pounding with excitement and trepidation. Already the wet grass had soaked through her satin slippers, chilling her with dampness.

“Angels above, Lord Dunraven, what are you doing here, and at this time of night—I mean morning?”

“Shhh. Not so loud.” He moved in closer to her, and she could almost make out the features of his face, feel the warmth of his body. “I wanted to see you.”

She wished she could see his eyes, but it was just too dark and misty. “Then why, sir, in heaven's name, did you not attend one of the parties tonight? You knew which I would be attending this evening.”

“I had other things I needed to do, but I realized I didn't want the night to end without seeing you.”

“Phillips has only gone for tea. He'll be right back. I must go inside.”

“I'll only keep you a moment. I've been waiting more than an hour for your return. I was beginning to think I had missed you and that you had already come home. Is anyone else in the house awake other than the butler?”

“Of course, my au—” She stopped just before she said the word
aunt.
Heavens! He had her so surprised she almost forgot herself. “Never mind about that. And don't you dare change the subject.”

“You can change the subject but I can't?”

“Yes. I can't believe you have once again endangered my reputation by sneaking around to see me. How many times must I insist that you—”

Suddenly he dipped his head and kissed the tip of her nose. Millicent was so shocked that she stopped midsentence. That simple show of affection took away her anger.

“It's hard for me to believe I'm here, too,” Chandler said.

“Have you no care for my reputation?” she asked, trying to regain her exasperation.

“I've told you I do. And I mean that.”

“Do you want to get caught in a position like this with me and have to marry me?”

“No man wants to be forced into marriage.”

The firmness and quickness with which he answered didn't go unnoticed by Millicent. “Then why must you constantly steal around to see me? We are going to get caught and either my character will be ruined for the rest of my life, or we will be obliged to marry by special license. What you are doing is madness.”

“I know. Have faith, Millicent. I told you we won't be caught. You have to trust me.”

“How can I trust you? Every time I begin to convince myself that you are a gentleman, you do something crazy like this to prove that you are a rogue, a scoundrel, and a rake of the highest order. I'd be a silly fool to trust you.”

He moved his body closer to hers, pressing her against the wall. Her vision was adjusting to the black, misty night, and she could make out that he smiled at her.

“Yet, here you stand in the darkness with me while the household sleeps.” He stretched out his arms from his sides. “I'm not holding you. You are free to leave me and go inside.”

“I don't want to go.”

“Then stay a minute longer.”

Millicent lowered her forehead to his chest and his arms wrapped around her, pulling her close to the warmth of his embrace.

“I must be one of the silly fools I was talking about,” she whispered.

“If that is so, it's only where I'm concerned. You are quite sensible in all other matters.” He paused and moved closer to her. “Except where what you are doing for the gossip writers is concerned. I must admit that, if it is true you are not doing it for the money or by force, I would really like to know why you are doing it.”

With her face half hidden in the warmth of his shirtfront she said, “Did you come here to talk about that?”

“No. I came to do this.” He kissed the top of her head and pulled her into his warm arms and held her with his cheek against hers. He breathed in deeply as if trying to take in her essences. “I love the way you feel in my arms and the way you smell.”

She should be trembling with fear of being caught, but instead she was acutely aware of his every touch and filled with desire to have his lips on hers.

“I don't like being an unwise person, Chandler,” she whispered earnestly.

“No, Millicent, you are not foolish. You are intelligent, beautiful, and desirable.” He reached up and slowly caressed her cheek with the backs of his fingers as if they had all the time in the world to be together.

“What would you have done if Phillips or one of the maids had come to the door?”

He kissed her cheek, letting his lips travel down her neck as he whispered, “I would have produced your dance card, which I have in my pocket, and said I found it on the floor as you were leaving the party. I rushed to catch you before you departed, but couldn't, so I followed you in my coach. I would have handed it to him along with a guinea. No one would be the wiser.”

“That shows how much practice you have had meeting young ladies in secret.”

“I have some experience.”

“Too much.”

“Enough.”

“So much that I am no match for your machinations.”

“As it should be.”

Millicent tilted her head back, giving Chandler freedom to explore the soft skin behind her ear before he moved up to brush his lips across her eyelids and down to her cheekbone. He made her feel sensuous, languorous.

“I knew I wouldn't be able to sleep tonight if I didn't see you and hold you,” he murmured across her cheek.

The warmth of his breath on her skin, the strength of his body pressing against her, the seduction of his words made Millicent want to forget everything but this man and the way he made her senses come to life. She loved the way he touched her and soothed her fears.

Wanting like she had never known before filled her. She lifted her mouth to him. The soft warmth of his tongue swept the outline of her lips slowly, teasingly before taking them passionately in a kiss that was meant to weaken the last vestige of her reserve, and it did.

His hand moved up from her waist to cup her breast. Millicent's breath quickened. His palm flattened against her breast and gently moved up and down, causing ripples of pleasure to course through her.

From deep inside herself she found the strength to say, “I must go in. Hamlet barks to let Lady Beatrice know I've come home. She will send Glenda looking for me if she doesn't hear me coming up the stairs soon.”

“All right,” he whispered. “I'll let you go.”

No, don't.

“But only after I have one more kiss. I want to go to sleep tonight with the taste of your lips on mine.”

He bent and pressed his lips to hers in a soft, lingering kiss. In the coolness of the night, his lips were warm, his body firmly protective. He circled her in his arms and brought her up tightly to his chest and hugged her to him. It felt wonderful.

Millicent sighed contentedly. She had been disappointed when she hadn't seen him tonight, and while she knew she should be angry that he continued to jeopardize her reputation, all she could think was that she was so happy he took the risk in coming to see her.

“You taste of liquor,” she said softly into the warmth of his mouth.

He nodded a little. “I've been drinking, trying to forget about you.”

“Obviously, it didn't work.”

“No. It didn't. We don't suit, but I can't stop thinking about you. I fear you are in my soul.”

Millicent's breath caught in her throat. Did he mean that? When he said things like that, she almost could believe he meant every word.

“You know all the things to say to make a lady lose her head over you, don't you?”

Chandler lifted his head. She wondered if he was trying to look through the darkness into her eyes and read her innermost thoughts. She couldn't allow that to happen. She had to take advantage now while she had him at a weak moment.

“I want to know what pleases you.”

“You know how to kiss and tease and make me desire you as I never have any other man. You are a rake. It is what you do, what you are good at and I can't fight you.”

“Millicent, you misunderstood me.”

“No. I am not ashamed of wanting your touch, or your kisses. I have longed to feel about a man the way I feel about you, but I will not fall victim to believing you care about me, Chandler. Don't try to make me believe you care.”

“All right.” He stepped away from her. “I guess it is best we know where we stand.”

Millicent took a deep breath, wondering where she'd found such courage. It would have been so easy to have believed him. Thank God she hadn't.

“Will you agree that I can call on you tomorrow and take you for a ride in Hyde Park?”

“Why do you insist on pressing me on this matter?”

“I tried to come to a conclusion about that very thing tonight, and I have no answer other than I want to be with you.”

“If I agree to see you openly, will you promise not to see me in secret again?”

“No.”

He drove her to madness! “You are a mystery, Chandler. Why see me in open and secret?”

“How can I kiss you the way I want to, the way you want me to, if I don't see you in secret?”

“That is the problem. I fear I am only a mad dash away from scandal.”

“And so you are. I'll call on you at half past three today. Be ready.”

With those parting words he slipped away into the misty darkness.

***

Chandler's lashes fluttered against the bright sunshine of midday. He squinted, his eyes not wanting to adjust to the daylight. Had he been dreaming about Millicent or had she really been in his arms?

They were in a room lit only by candlelight. She wore a low-cut gown of pure white gossamer. Her skin glowed like the finest alabaster and felt as soft as the most expensive silk the Orient spun. She tasted of honey. He was kissing her. Madly. Until the harsh light of reality intruded.

No, it had been only a dream. He had left her at Lady Beatrice's door.

He kept his eyes closed and rolled over. The sheets were cool to his back. The pillow fit snugly under his head. He didn't want to wake from the sweet dream, but had no choice. Even though he hadn't seen his valet, Chandler knew the servant was moving about the room, quietly opening the draperies, laying out his razor, pouring warm water into the washbowl.

Chandler's lashes fluttered again.

“Good morning, my lord.”

Chandler remained quiet. He wasn't ready to move or speak. His lower body wasn't prepared to admit that Millicent was not in the bed with him. After a moment or two, reluctantly, he raised his head and looked around. Winston stood at the one window where the draperies were still closed.

“That's quite enough light, Winston,” he managed to say and laid his head back down.

“Very well, sir.” He left the draperies alone and walked over to the wardrobe. “Lord Dugdale is below stairs wanting to speak to you.”

That woke Chandler. He sat up in the bed, “Andrew? At this time of day? That's odd. Did he happen to say what he wanted?”

“No, sir. Only that it was urgent, and he was prepared to wait until you were available to see him.”

Something had to be wrong for his friend to pay a call midday. Millicent crossed his mind. He wondered if anyone had seen him with her last night at Lady Beatrice's and had written about it? He grunted a laugh. No, if anyone wrote about them the information would have come from her and he felt sure she wouldn't report on them again. So what was wrong?

“Tell him I'll be down as soon as I dress.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Take him some tea and scones. That should occupy him until I get down.”

As soon as Winston closed the door behind him, Chandler rose. He washed his face and shaved with the warm water the valet left for him and wet his hair before combing it away from his face.

He stepped into the fawn-colored trousers Winston had laid out and pulled the white shirt over his head. He didn't take the time to don a collar and neckcloth, he could do that later in the day. It wouldn't matter to Andrew that he wasn't properly garbed; however, Chandler took the time to stuff the tail of his shirt into his waistband as he headed down the stairs.

He rounded the doorway into the sitting room and saw a splendidly dressed Andrew pacing in front of the unlit fireplace. He took a deep breath and ran a hand over his damp hair before entering the room.

“What has you up and out so early?” he asked as he walked into the parlor.

“It's about time you decided to rise from your slumber. Where the devil were you last night, anyway? I couldn't find you anywhere.”

“Fines managed to locate me, and we had a drink together. Sorry you missed us.”

“After the third club, I called it a night. The weather was brutish. Where the devil did he find you?”

Chandler looked at the tray of tea and tarts and could see Andrew hadn't touched it. It was unusual for anyone to ignore his cook's apricot tarts. He knew everyone always enjoyed them, but he'd never realized that he always took them when he called on a lady until Millicent had mentioned it. Now he realized she was right. Since she was a writer of gossip he wouldn't be surprised to find out that she knew more about him than he knew himself.