A Dash of Scandal (2 page)

“Splendid. The ton simply thrives on anything about those three bachelors. There are many others, of course, but none more popular with Society. So unusual, too. All three of the gentlemen lost their fathers and became earls at a young age. Perhaps that is why they are such delicious rogues and easy targets for gossip.” Her lids drooped. “I do hope Emery hurries. My medicine is making me sleepy, and I must introduce you.”

“Would you like me to fluff your pillows?” Millicent started to reach for the pillows, but Hamlet's head shot up in warning and she stopped.

“No, dearie. I find that no movement is best. Oh, and remember, anything you hear about the Mad Ton Thief is noteworthy. The ton and all of London are simply in a passion wanting news and information about that criminal. The thief robbed Lord Dunraven's house two nights ago.” She made an attempt at a smile. “I'm sure that put his lordship in a dither. You must try to find out something about that so we can mention it again in the column. I do hope Emery returns soon with—Oh, here they are.”

Hamlet stood on his short, feathered legs and barked as Millicent watched the viscount and viscountess enter the room.

“Don't make such a fuss, Hamlet,” her aunt cooed to the little dog. “Be polite. You're acting like you've never seen the viscount and his lady before.” Hamlet trotted up to Beatrice's uninjured side. She patted his head affectionately and he curled down beside her.

Lord and Lady Heathecoute walked directly to the foot of Lady Beatrice's bed, but no closer, and greeted her warmly. Obviously, they knew of Hamlet's protectiveness of his mistress.

The viscount was tall and lanky, but superbly dressed. His graying tufts of hair were thin and cut fashionably short. He held his chin at such an elevated level and his neckcloth was tied so high, Millicent was certain his back must be in a continuous strain.

She was surprised to find his wife was as tall as the viscount. Few women could boast such a height or such a girth. The viscountess was more than a little plump. Her rounded face was flat but pretty and attractively framed by a row of tight dark curls. She wore a green high-waisted gown that hid most of her bulk and was becoming on her large frame.

“May I present Viscount Heathecoute.”

Millicent curtsied when the viscount turned to her. “It's my pleasure, Lord Heathecoute.”

“Delighted to meet you,” he said as stiffly as he carried himself.

“And Lady Heathecoute, who has been a dear friend these past few months,” Beatrice said.

Millicent curtsied again. “How do you do, ma'am?”

“Splendid, my dear. Very splendid.” Her voice was loud and throaty. Her widespread brown eyes looked Millicent over carefully. “I think the gown you have chosen for this evening is good for you, the touch of embroidery around the hem sends just the right touch of elegance. Not too elaborate to gain attention, but certainly adequate so that you won't be out of place among the ton.” She looked back to Lady Beatrice. “She will be perfect for you.”

“I'm glad you approve, and I'm indebted to you for watching after her for me.”

Lady Heathecoute looked over at her husband and said, “We will take very good care of her, won't we, my lord?”

“Indeed, we shall.” The viscount lowered his narrow light green eyes to look at Beatrice when he spoke to her, but his head remained erect. He seemed to have a pinched look to his face even when he was smiling. “The only thing you need to do is rest and get well.”

“I know you will get on together. Millicent has such a pleasing disposition that she won't tire you.” Beatrice cut her weary eyes around to Millicent. “They will make all the right introductions for you. Have no fear, and they will be there to assist you all evening.”

“Thank you, Aunt. I shall be fine.” Millicent was glad her voice sounded strong and confident, even though it was the exact opposite of how she felt.

“Excellent. And remember, dearie, young ladies like to talk in the retiring room when they think no one is around, and at the supper table. You must not encourage a gentleman to become enamored of you. I hope you are clear on all this?”

“Yes, Aunt Beatrice.”

“Good. Now go on to the parties while I sleep, and I will help you write the column when you return.”

She followed the Heathecoutes out the door and down the staircase with unexpected excitement growing inside her. She tried to tamp it down, but it was impossible. She had always wanted to attend a ton party in London. She just never dreamed she'd be going as a gossip writer.

Millicent determined she wouldn't look at what she had to do as if she were spying on people concerning their personal lives. She wouldn't think about how her mother would feel if she ever found out Millicent had participated in this scheme.

She was going to look at this as if she were writing a general news column for
The Daily Reader.
She would find a way to make the column uplifting and never negative if she had any say about the final writings.

As she stepped out the front door an idea struck her that she was sure would be perfect. She would include a little Shakespeare in Lord Truefitt's column. Everyone loved the master storyteller. That should give a new dimension to the “Society's Daily Column.”

“Modest doubt is called the beacon of the wise”—just ask any of the Runners of Bow Street. No one is escaping their questioning as they search for the Mad Ton Thief. Dukes, earls, and marquesses are being interrogated like common footpads in the mad dash to catch the elusive thief.

—Lord Truefitt,
Society's Daily Column

It was late in the evening and the large room was not only crowded, it was hot and stuffy with people talking in groups, laughing out loud, and whispering in secret. Millicent had been to many parties where she lived in Nottinghamshire, but she had never been to a party as grand as this. The opulence of the town house, with its crystal chandeliers, gilt fretwork, and carved moldings, was magnificent. Numerous candelabra threw golden shafts of light onto the elegant stairs.

The elaborate trimming and decorations on the colorful clothing the people wore took Millicent's breath away. She had never seen so much lace, so many feathers, and such large jewels in all her life. The buffet table had been set for a feast. Beautifully arranged silver dishes were heavy with fish, lamb, fowl, and vegetables and fruits of every color and season. The punch and champagne flowed without hindrance.

So this is how members of London High Society live?

Millicent was awed.

The first two hours passed quickly. The Heathecoutes had been wonderful in seeing that she was introduced to the proper people at the soiree. Some of the ladies she met eyed her with reserve while others were quite warm and friendly. She had been introduced to five young men and all of them had immediately asked to sign her dance card. She had already danced with three of them.

True to her word Lady Heathecoute had not let Millicent out of her sight except to dance. Even then, Millicent was certain the woman watched her. The viscountess had remained lovely to Millicent all evening, and she couldn't help but wonder if Aunt Beatrice was wrong in thinking the lady had wanted to take over writing the tittle-tattle. Millicent had not seen a hint of envy.

Millicent's mind whirled with all the people she'd seen and met. There was no way she could remember all the names and titles she'd heard until she got home. She would have to make some notes. In order to do that she needed a few moments to herself. She remembered seeing a narrow corridor that seemed to go unnoticed by the people who passed the ballroom on their way to supper. That should be the perfect hideaway for a few minutes alone.

She quickly found the doorway and hurried down the passage, which was dimly lit by a single low-burning wall lamp. Chests, chairs, and tables lined each side of the walls, making it barely possible for one person to maneuver down its length. The stagnant scents of dust, wax, and burned oil tickled her nose. No doubt the furniture had been moved to the hallway to make standing room for the guests.

Little more than halfway down the corridor she saw a large porcelain compote positioned by a tall brass candle stand, and she hurried to hide between the two. Luckily, that put her almost directly under the light.

She quickly untied the ribbon of her dance card and took it off her wrist. Then, using as short abbreviations as she dared, she wrote on the back of the card with the small pencil attached to the ribbon.

Lady H. has eye on Lord Greenfield. Lord Dugdale looking make match this Season. Miss B-well will marry a Terrible Threesome, doesn't care which. Miss Chipping, unhappy with match father made would rather run away than marry elderly earl.

A shadow fell across Millicent's paper. Engrossed with her writing, she paid it no mind and adjusted the paper into the pale yellow light again. Within a moment or two, the shadow fell on her card again. Too preoccupied with her writing to look into what caused the light to fade, she turned again toward the brightness. The third time the paper went dark she took notice and looked up with a grimace of annoyance.

Her gaze first landed on a wide chest and straight shoulders covered by a crisp, white shirt that was outlined with a cream-colored brocade waistcoat, and a black evening jacket, all topped off with a perfectly tied neckcloth. The expensive material and fine cut of his clothing told her that the man standing in front of her was no ordinary gentleman.

So much for thinking I was concealed by the furniture.

Her gaze slowly rose past a strong-looking, cleanly shaved chin, glided over a smooth, slightly square jawline to lips that were so masculine and so close to her own that her heartbeat faltered, then quickened again. She held her breath for a moment before continuing her journey across the narrow bridge of his nose and the well-defined shape of his cheekbones. At last she looked into eyes so blue she wanted to melt into them.

Thick, dark blond hair was cropped short over his ears but fell longer at his nape. He stood perfect in stature and impeccable in dress, letting her study him. And she did, without guilt or shame. He was a magnificent-looking man who, without saying a word, spoke of power, privilege, and wealth.

The sharpened lead in her pencil snapped under the pressure from her fingers.

A knowing grin slowly made its way across his manly lips, intriguing her so she couldn't take her eyes off them. In the depth of her abdomen a quickening started and shuddered all the way up to her breasts and lingered there before moving on to her throat, tightening it. Millicent was quite sure she had never felt this way before.

He watched her, and although not one word had been spoken between them, she sensed he knew she was not only startled by his arrival, but was attracted to him.

With his full lips crooked roguishly into a charming grin, she watched his gaze brush down her face and skim over her breasts and waist before returning to lock on her eyes. This was no shy gentleman standing so close to her that if she lifted her arm, she could touch him.

The narrow hallway suddenly grew hotter.

Millicent took a deep breath. She must shake off her unsettling reaction to this man. She was drawn by his confidence and the ease with which he perused her. This susceptibility was the very thing her aunt had warned her against. She had to deny his strong appeal and behave toward him with the same indifference she had employed with the other gentlemen she had met during the evening.

Feeling calmer and more in control, she confidently asked, “May I help you, sir?”

“Pardon me.” He bowed slightly. “I was passing by and happened to see you standing in here. I wanted to make sure you are all right.”

Unlike her usual sensible self, she wondered what she should say. When she looked into his eyes, an excited, tingling sensation washed over her. When she glanced at his lips, she wanted to trace their sculpted shape with the tips of her fingers. When she stared at his chest, she wondered how it would feel to press her cheek gently against the expensive fabric of his coat and savor the warmth and strength of power in his shoulder.

But denying those wayward thoughts and using her most prim voice she said, “I'm quite well indeed, thank you.”

“Have you lost your way?”

“Of course not, sir. I know exactly where I am.”

“Do you often retreat to such out of the way places when a guest at house parties?”

Millicent's gaze darted around the tight space they were in, acutely aware of the cramped area they occupied and just how close he stood to her. This was not a good situation for her to be in at her first soiree.

“I suspect I retreat no more often than you happen to pass by these out of the way places, sir.”

An amused light glinted in his eyes, and he nodded his approval of her answer.

“If I may be so bold as to ask, what exactly is it you are doing back here in this area of the house?”

“Oh, making notes.” The instant she said it she realized that was the wrong thing to say. What had made her blurt that out without thinking? “That is to say I was writing thank-you notes,” she said, trying to clarify her answer, but knew the damage had been done.

His eyes studied her face for a moment before they lowered to the card and pencil she held in her gloved hand. His lips twitched with a half grin, half smile. “Is this the new rage? Writing thank-you notes on the back of a dance card?”

He was not helping her cause. “Oh, no. I'm sure it must look that way. But you see, I meant to say, I'm only making notes of things I want to include when I write them. I didn't get all my thank-you letters finished today, and I was trying to catch up.”

She stopped, realizing she was making the matter worse, not better. Ordinarily, Millicent was not one to ramble, babble, or stutter incoherently, but this man had her behaving like a drunk ninny.

She looked down at her broken pencil lead and wondered where she could find another. All the names her aunt had given her were mixing with the names of people she had met over the course of the evening. She would be completely useless to her aunt without notes.

Millicent noticed that the gentleman's gaze was on her dance card and broken pencil, too. Angels above! She opened the fancy-laced reticule that dangled from the drawstring handle on her wrist and slipped the card and pencil inside with the unused spectacles before continuing.

She wasn't sure there was any way to keep him from thinking she was an imbecile, but she had to try. “I do believe you startled me so that I wasn't thinking properly.”

“That wasn't my intention.”

“I'm sure. Let me say, I was writing down ideas for the thank-you notes that I will write tomorrow, when I have proper paper, quill, and ink.” That sounded better.

He reached into the pocket of his frock and extended to her a stubby pencil.

She cleared her throat and said, “Oh, no, I couldn't take your writing instrument.”

“You must allow me to do this. After all, it was my fault the lead broke in yours.”

“What do you mean by it was your fault?”

“For startling you.”

“Yes, of course. But no, I don't need it. As you can see, I've finished writing and have put my notes away.”

He continued to hold the pencil out to her. Worse yet, he continued that knowing grin that should have irritated her but instead, thoroughly intrigued her. Heavens, could he possibly know that she had been completely enchanted by him?

Millicent tried to take a step back but was brought up short by the wall.

“I insist,” he stated again.

In an effort to hurry him along, she kept her voice level and said, “All right. Thank you.”

She took the pencil, and as she did his fingers boldly caressed the inside of her palm. Even through her gloves and his a shiver of awareness shuddered inside her. Her breath snatched in her throat. The touch was no innocent, accidental brushing of her hand. He had orchestrated it so that she would be certain it was a brash, deliberate act and not an unintentional one.

Millicent did the only thing a proper young lady should do. She pretended not to notice the contact and gave him the benefit of the doubt. She was, however, truly grateful to get the pencil so she could continue making her notes. Not that this man would ever know that.

Eager to change the subject, she quickly said, “Now that I've given my perfectly reasonable explanation for being in this hallway, tell me what brought you to this secluded section of the house.”

He took his time in responding to her, and when he did, it was with a question of his own. “Were you forthright in your answer to me or did you color the truth a little?”

His question was direct and the implication was clear, so she answered honestly. “If I colored it at all, sir, rest assured it was only with a hint of shading and not with a painter's heavy brush.”

His smile deepened, lightened. “I thought as much and to answer your question with the same dash of shading, I was looking for someone. I thought I saw a person turn down this hallway. Obviously, that was you.”

“Yes, it must have been me for there are no others here that I am aware of.”

He leaned forward just a fraction and lowered his voice as he said, “You're the only one I see.”

No doubt as handsome as the gentleman was he had planned to have an assignation with a young lady. Millicent had heard that secret liaisons were quite common among members of the ton. But she couldn't afford being caught having one. Either the lady hadn't arrived or she had seen Millicent and hurried away. In either case, Millicent did not need to be seen in the dim hallway with a dapper gentleman. That would surely bring the attention her aunt insisted she avoid.

“Well, no doubt she will be along shortly, so if you will excuse me, I'll take my leave so you can have the privacy you desire.”

In a gentle, fluid movement he placed his hand on the candle stand, preventing her from passing. His head dipped lower, bringing his face even closer to her eyes, her lips, her nose. They were so confined she felt his warm breath, heard his shallow breathing, and caught the masculine scent of him.

This time, his forward behavior should have frightened her or at the very least upset her, but it didn't. He tantalized her in a way that no man ever had. In another time or place she would have been eager to match wits with his mischievous deportment, but here in London, doing her aunt's work, she could not.

In a low-pitched voice that sounded far too intimate, he smiled ruefully and asked, “What makes you think I was looking for a lady?”

Feeling no need to cower or back away, Millicent looked up into his unbelievably blue eyes. She didn't even hint at a blink as she said in a far too sensible voice, “You are quite handsome, sir, it would be a shame if you were looking to meet secretly with a man.”

For a moment surprise gleamed in his eyes, then he threw back his head and laughed softly, genuinely. It was a wonderful, infectious sound that made him even more charming, if that were possible.

“Indeed, it would.”

Millicent found herself smiling at him, knowing she would like to continue the conversation with him, but she'd already stepped too far over the line of propriety in even speaking to a gentleman who hadn't been properly introduced to her. And his motives were highly suspect because in the short time they had stood there, he'd crossed the lines of gentlemanly behavior more than once.