A Dash of Scandal (16 page)

“Well?” Andrew asked.

“That's not important, but you being here at this hour is. What's the reason?”

“This.” Andrew held out a sheet of newspaper. “Have you seen it?”

Chandler tensed, but he hoped it didn't show. Maybe Millicent had told one of the gossip columnists about their clandestine meeting last night after all.

Instead of taking the paper, Chandler picked up the teapot and calmly poured himself a cup. “My eyes have been open all of five minutes, Andrew. What do you think the odds are I've seen that paper?”

“This is no time to be so damned sarcastic, Dunraven, and I'm in no mood for it, besides.”

Chandler returned the pot to the silver tray and asked, “Would you like a cup?”

“No, thank you. You know I don't drink the vile stuff, but I will have a brandy, if you don't mind.”

It must be bad. He'd never seen Andrew drink brandy in the middle of the day during their wildest years. But the odd thing was, whatever was written in that paper didn't worry Chandler like it should. He should be furious at even the prospect that Millicent had talked about his late night call on her, but he wasn't.

“Not at all. Help yourself, then stop pacing, sit down, and let me wake up while you tell me what has you stewing.”

“The damned gossipmongers are after me again.”

“You?”

Relief washed down him. Thank God it wasn't anything about him and Millicent.

“You sound surprised.”

“No, it's just that we've been in their columns for years.”

“What have you done this time?”

“Nothing, of course.”

“Good, then. Don't worry and have a tart. I know you like these.” Chandler picked up one and took a generous bite.

“It's that bastard Lord Truefitt. He says I'm hanging out for an heiress because I'm in financial trouble.”

Chandler choked on his tart and spilled his tea into his saucer. He coughed and set the teacup down on the table.

“Damnation,” he muttered.

“Damn right,” Andrew answered.

Millicent was responsible for that being written. She had mentioned to him that she'd heard of an earl who was in financial trouble and suggested he might be the one stealing from the houses, but she had refused to tell him the earl's name. Now he knew why.

She thought Andrew might be the Mad Ton Thief. Damnation!

Andrew poured himself a generous amount of the liquor from the decanter, and turned back to Chandler. “The bastard is trying to ruin my chances with Miss Bardwell.”

Chandler cleared his throat again and said, “Wait a minute. You're seriously pursuing Miss Bardwell?”

“Well—er—I'm not sure it is serious, you understand. That's not the point.” Andrew took a generous sip of his drink and went back to the rosewood sideboard and poured another splash into the glass.

Andrew was stammering like a street ragamuffin caught stealing a loaf of bread. That was so unlike him. “When did this happen?” Chandler asked.

“The column is in today's paper.”

“No. This talk of hurting your chances of a match with Miss Bardwell. Have you made an offer for her hand?”

“Of course not. And I don't know that I will. It's just that if I wanted to—” He paused. “That's not important. It's one thing to write about a gentleman's escapades with the fairer sex, but quite another to write about his pockets. That's going beyond the pale, I have half a mind to hire a Runner to find out who this Lord Truefitt is and give him a taste of scandal. I don't know where he gets his information, but I doubt he'll be writing anything after I get through with him.”

Chandler would speak to Millicent and tell her that both he and his friends were off-limits to scandal sheets.

“Hold on, Andrew, what exactly does it say?”

“It all but says I'm ready for the poorhouse, that's what it says.”

Wanting to calm his friend, Chandler said, “Here, let me see that.”

Chandler took the paper and read the first few lines of the column and looked up. “I don't think it is as bad as you think. In fact, I think it's a play on words.”

Andrew walked over to Chandler and looked over his shoulder at the paper. “What do you mean?”

“I think it's one of those things that has a hidden meaning.”

His friend gave him an incredulous look. “The only thing that is hiding is your comprehension. What the devil are you talking about?”

“No. I think what he's really saying here is that the three of us don't spend the time together that we used to.” Chandler continued to make up his answer as he talked. “Fines and I were just talking about that last night.”

“Well, we don't spend the kind of time together that we used to, but what has that to do with what this newspaper says about money no longer being my friend?”

“I'm sure the money aspect was only used so it would fit with the quote from Shakespeare, but the true meaning is that they aren't seeing the three of us together anymore.”

“Hmm. You really think so?”

Chandler pretended to study the paper again, knowing he'd have a long talk with Millicent about this later in the afternoon.

“Yes, yes, after reading it again I'm sure of it. You've heard how popular Truefitt's column has become since he's been using Shakespeare. Don't give it another thought. Those who don't know you might think from this that you've fallen on hard times, but no one in the ton will.”

“If only you are right,” Andrew said, then drained his glass.

Chandler took a long hard look at Andrew and wasn't sure he liked what he saw. Could there be any truth to what was written about his friend? No, Andrew would have told him if there was a problem.

But he couldn't help but wonder where in London Millicent got her damning information.

“To say the truth, reason and love keep little company together now a days,” and if that were not true, why would Miss Pennington be spending so much time on the dance floor and in Hyde Park with Lord Chatwin? Her father has made it clear he wants a match before the Season is out. Can he expect an offer for her hand from Lord Chatwin?

—Lord Truefitt,
Society's Daily Column

Wide blue skies dotted by puffy white clouds served as a canopy to the beautiful day as Millicent and Chandler rode in the curricle toward Hyde Park. Bright sunshine caressed their backs and a midspring breeze lightly fanned their hair. It was the kind of day that made Millicent glad she didn't have to be inside, surrounded by dark furniture and heavy draperies.

Chandler had arrived splendidly dressed in his riding coat of dark brown with shiny brass buttons adorning the front lapels and the sleeves. He grinned like a schoolboy when he presented her the predictable box of apricot tarts, which he then made light of when he gave them to her. From behind his back he unexpectedly produced a cutting of fresh Persian lilies from his own garden. She didn't even want to think about what the extra gift might mean.

Before leaving the house, Millicent had asked her maid to see to it that two tarts were sent up to Aunt Beatrice with her afternoon tea and that the rest should not be touched. Millicent would take those to Lady Lynette tomorrow afternoon. After all, she had promised to do so if she should ever receive the highly prized gift. The lilies Millicent had sent to her room so that only she would enjoy their fragrance and their beauty.

Much to Millicent's surprise, and after a long discussion, her aunt had sanctioned her afternoon ride with the most notorious member of the Terrible Threesome. According to Aunt Beatrice, Lord Dunraven would lose interest in Millicent quickly once she became available for him to call on. And Beatrice decided the closer Millicent became with such a notable member of the ton the more gossip she would hear.

Nothing was more important than that.
And of course, her aunt warned her that she must be very careful that Lord Dunraven behave as a proper gentleman at all times.

If Aunt Beatrice only knew!

Millicent had worried about Lord Dunraven looking at this afternoon outing in Hyde Park as encouragement, but she couldn't deny the rushing thrill that raced through her chest when she placed her gloved hand in his to be helped into the carriage. And again, when his arm touched hers as he hopped onto the leather-covered cushioned seat beside her, and later his leg brushed the hem of her skirt as a groom handed him the ribbons.

She had tried hard not to be smitten by him but knew she was failing miserably. All he had to do was look at her and her stomach quivered.

Before he'd arrived, she'd vowed to conduct the outing with the utmost consideration for propriety. Many eyes would be upon them and she must be circumspect. She really had no choice in agreeing to see the earl in the polite world. And she had to somehow force him not to seek her out in secret.

Her hope had been that once he started to see her among the ton he would soon become bored with her and seek another conquest. That thought caused a catch in her breath, but given her circumstances, it was the only answer that would be right for her.

Rather than guiding the horses along at a breezy pace, Chandler allowed the grays to clip slowly through the streets of Mayfair. As soon as they left sight of her aunt's house, in typical rake fashion, Chandler moved closer to her on the seat so that with his knees wide apart his thigh was touching her dress.

So much for thinking he might behave like a gentleman.

Millicent could have sworn she felt his body heat through her clothing. She had plenty of room to move away from him in the carriage seat, but had no inclination to do so.

She popped open her delicate parasol, which was trimmed with tiny yellow ribbons that matched her dress and pelisse, and held it with one hand over her shoulder. Chandler looked over at her, winked, and smiled that roguish grin that melted her heart and made her wish things could be different between them. If he were not a rake and if she were not a gatherer of tittle-tattle, then perhaps affection could blossom between them.

“I fear you are a rogue even in church.”

“I have been. ‘Pray you, stand farther from me.'”

Shakespeare again.
Chandler delighted her.

She let her gaze stray over his strong profile and dark-lashed eyes. “Indeed, sir. And when we first met you tried to make me believe that all I had heard about you wasn't true.”

“It wasn't. At least, not all of it,” he amended. “But, no matter, that's in the past now. Since meeting you, I'm trying to mend my ways.”

“Heavens above. You can't convince me that is true.” She sighed and shook her head indulgently. “I cannot believe that you were once worse than you are now. It's simply unbelievable.”

“Scandalous, but true. Perhaps it's best we don't talk about my misspent youth today.”

“I think that is probably a good idea.”

“For a change, let's talk about you.”

No, let's don't.

She turned toward him. His eyes were so clear, so blue, and looking directly at her. “Me?”

He smiled faintly. “Yes.”

“That's not a good idea.”

There was something challenging in his gaze, and he met her stare-for-stare. “I think it is. I think it's time.”

“You already know more than most,” she hedged.

“But not enough.”

Millicent turned away from him and remained quiet. It was awful, but she couldn't tell him the truth.

She would love to tell him everything about her so there would be no secrets between them. There was nothing about her family or childhood she would keep from him, if not for her aunt. How could she tell him anything about her life? If he knew her father's name, it would be only a matter of time before he discovered that Lady Beatrice was her aunt.

Millicent knew of her aunt's fear of being exposed and losing her employment. Millicent couldn't take the chance that Chandler might follow a snippet of information that would lead him to Lord Truefitt's door.

“Tell me about your family, Millicent. Who was your father—other than the man who married your mother?”

“The person who is employing me thought it best if no one knows about me. For many reasons I can't explain, I must keep it that way.”

Chandler nodded to an acquaintance and a few moments later waved to a friend in military uniform who passed them on horseback before giving his attention back to Millicent.

His expression was composed as he said, “You plead a good case.”

“It's not just for me. There are others I must consider.”

“Do you know what the rumor is in Town about you?”

Millicent looked at him and laughed softly, playfully. There was no doubt in her mind that Chandler Prestwick, the earl of Dunraven, captivated her. If only he wasn't so charming, she would allow herself to be completely entranced by him and allow him to take her heart. If only she weren't working for her aunt. If only he wasn't a rogue. Oh, if only there weren't so many if onlys where Chandler was concerned.

“Of course I know what people are saying about me. I wouldn't be very good at my employment if I didn't know the answer to that. I'm considered a poor young lady from the country whose ailing mother imposed on an old acquaintance to give her daughter a Season in London in hopes of making a good match. Did I cover everything?”

“You are in the know.”

“It's not difficult.”

Millicent slowly twirled the handle of her parasol between her hands and looked at the people and the buildings they passed. How could she not enjoy this sun-drenched afternoon riding in a carriage with Chandler?

“What do you think about what is being said about me? Do you think any of it is true?” she asked with a flirtatious lilt lacing her voice.

He looked at her with a mixture of amusement and cautious insight in his blue eyes. “I think you would marry only for love, not just to make a suitable match.”

She laughed again, more sweetly than before. “You are so very good at saying exactly what a lady wants to hear, my lord. You must have had a wonderful teacher.”

“Experience was my teacher. But am I right about you?”

“Decidedly so. I've turned down offers because I didn't love the gentlemen who asked me to marry them.”

He threw a glance her way. “More than one, I see?”

“Hmm,” she answered without acknowledging she had turned down three offers.

“I'll keep that in mind.”

They rode in silence for a few moments, listening only to the sounds of the busy streets, the creaks of carriage wheels, and the snorts of the horses.

Chandler said, “You don't have to mention names, but tell me about your family.”

He wasn't going to let it go, and she wasn't going to give in. She found it impossible to resist his kisses, but on this subject she must remain firm. She would not jeopardize her aunt's livelihood.

“It's respectable.”

“I can see that no matter how hard I press you that's all I'm going to get out of you?”

“Because of what I'm doing anonymity is essential. I honor it and I ask that you do, too.”

“All right. I'll accept that, for now, but I don't know for how long.”

His last two words were more muttered than spoken, and suddenly Millicent wondered if she should consider them a warning.

***

Chandler guided the horse through the west gate and onto the lane that led toward the Serpentine. Their curricle fell in line behind a fancy closed carriage that was driven by a liveried driver and drawn by a matching set of bays. The grassy areas of the park were packed with distinctively dressed gentlemen and elegantly fashioned ladies. Those wishing to see and be seen strolled the vast grounds while others rode horseback or drove carriages.

Chandler came to the park only because the ladies enjoyed it. Yet again he had the feeling that he'd much rather be riding in the countryside of one of his estates than the bustling Hyde Park.

The traffic was much too thick for his liking as he queued with the other carriages, so he said, “Let's park over there and take a walk. All right with you?”

“I'd love it,” she answered.

As soon as the groom had hold of the horses, Chandler jumped down from the curricle and reached for Millicent. He saw uncertainty in her eyes. He wondered if she was worrying about how he'd behave, or that one day he wouldn't take no for an answer when he asked about her family. And he'd given her plenty of reason to wonder. He wouldn't take no for an answer much longer.

He wanted to encircle her small waist with his hands and lift her down but restrained himself and merely took her hand to steady her on the step. He couldn't remember the last time, if ever, he'd enjoyed being with a woman as much as he looked forward to being with Millicent.

She was seductive, playful, intelligent, and loyal to a fault. There was an alluring grace in every move she made, a promise in every smile she gave him.

When she placed her hand in the crook of his arm, he held her a bit too close, but he couldn't stop himself. He wanted to do so much more. He settled for a leisurely ramble, moving away from where most of the crowds had gathered to make sure they were noticed.

Who was she? Why did she spy for the gossips? That plagued him. No one could ever make him believe she was not a highborn, gentle-bred young woman. Yet, for some reason, she was at Lord Truefitt's mercy.

Could he let that go on any longer?

“You're very quiet,” Millicent said.

“I was just thinking about what you are doing for Truefitt.”

“That could be ominous.”

“Does it always work the way it has for you?”

An easy, natural smile curved her lips. “I'm not sure what you mean.”

“You told me you were not spying for Truefitt for the money, nor because he was forcing you, so the way I see it, there can only be one other reason you would consent.”

“And what would that be?”

“Your family can't afford a Season for you, so Lord Truefitt found someone to sponsor you, someone who had actually met your mother so that you will be properly chaperoned. He takes care of all the expenses for your Season in exchange for the gossip you provide him to write his column.”

“It seems you have it well thought out.”

“I can see where it would be profitable for both of you. He obtains the gossip he needs and you are afforded the opportunity for a chance at a good match.”

“I have no idea how other columnists work. I can only verify that what you just explained is somewhat close to my arrangement with Lord Truefitt.”

“Somewhat close you say?”

“Yes.”

“So there's more?”

The threat of another smile fluttered her delectable mouth. “Or, maybe things are just different from the way you have imagined them to be.”

Chandler chuckled lightly under his breath. How could he gain her favor, her trust? Why did he want to? They could have no future together.

“For a young lady who listens to everything that is said around her, you know how to reveal nothing.”

She smiled faintly, looking into the distance before glancing back at him and saying, “It's a gift of the trade.”

There was that seductive grace again.
Chandler felt his chest expand with wanting. When she looked at him like that and made a simple statement so innocently, he was knocked off his feet.

“Sometimes you look as innocent as a church mouse, and it drives me to madness, and I think you enjoy every moment of it.”

She smiled. “I enjoy you.”

Chandler's heart tripped. He saw honesty in her eyes and heard it in her voice. She wasn't just trying to flatter him. And he could have sworn her eyes flashed a “come hither” look that made him light-headed with joy.