A Dash of Scandal (9 page)

Chandler put his glass to his lips and found the glass was empty. He hadn't even realized he'd drunk the champagne while he relived the past. He looked down toward the clock again and noticed the shadow of a person moving in the room at the end of the hallway.

A wary feeling washed over him. Someone was in that room. But who? The master of the house or the Mad Ton Thief? Chandler had to know. He silently placed his empty glass on the table beside him and slowly, as quietly as possible, moved down the hallway. He peeped around the door and was surprised to see Miss Millicent Blair.

She stood in front of the fireplace looking up at a painting over the mantel, then wrote on her dance card. Was she making notes again? Thank-you notes? He grimaced. Surely not. He wasn't falling for that explanation again.

Hell, no.

Chandler stepped backward away from the door. She was alone in a private study. Clearly a place that wasn't usually available to the ordinary guest. Should he let her know he was present?

Suddenly a thought struck him like lightning streaking across a dark gray sky. Chandler's body went rigid. He didn't want to believe what his thoughts were suggesting. But he couldn't keep the idea from taking shape in his mind. Could Miss Blair be making notes about valuable objects in the house in preparation for stealing something?

He refused to consider that, but he couldn't deny the possibility that she might be jotting down notes and relaying them to an accomplice. Things that might be easily taken out of a house without, anyone seeing them.

He didn't want to consider it. But what else would she be doing in an area of the house where she shouldn't be, for the second time, writing on her dance card? She had been making notes the first night he saw her. His mind continued digging up facts. Last night she refused to let Lady Heathecoute see her dance card.

No one knew much about her. She certainly hadn't told him anything about herself. Damnation, he didn't like the way things were adding up. He couldn't believe she was stealing things from the homes, but she could be someone's accomplice.

If that was true, it meant Millicent Blair, the beautiful young lady who had him mad with desire, was partners with the Mad Ton Thief.

***

Millicent rejoined the
party feeling quite satisfied that she had written down enough gossip for Aunt Beatrice. She had filled the back of her dance card with notes and was in the process of trying to retie it to her wrist with one hand as she walked back into the crowded room. Most of what she had written had come from Lady Lynette. After just a few minutes with her new friend during the evening, Millicent had plenty of news for her aunt's column.

She was surprised that Aunt Beatrice or the viscountess hadn't already realized that Lady Lynette knew more gossip than any of the scandal sheets reported. Millicent supposed it was exactly what Lady Lynette had suggested. She was easy to overlook by everyone in Society because they all wanted to pretend she wasn't around so they wouldn't have to look at her birthmark.

It was such a shame. Lady Lynette was a lovely person and obviously starved for friendship. Millicent made a mental note to call on—

A bump from behind jolted Millicent forward. Her pencil and dance card went flying from her hand as she stumbled to catch herself from falling forward. Strong, heated hands grasped her upper arms and kept her from hitting the floor. She didn't have to see his face or even hear his voice to know that it was Lord Dunraven who had saved her from tumbling onto to her face.

“My sincere apologies, Miss Blair.” The words were whispered close to her ear as the guiding hands turned her to face not her guardian angel who saved her from a spill to the floor, but her nemesis.

“Some ill-mannered oaf knocked me right into you. Are you all right?”

“Quite,” she answered breathlessly and smiled, realizing several people were staring at them and wanting to minimize the attention to herself.

“I didn't mean to crash into you.”

“Of course, you didn't,” she said, but could have sworn she didn't see any real expression of regret in the depths of his blue eyes. For the first time she felt a distance in him.

He looked around the room. “I haven't the faintest idea who the devil was so clumsy.”

“It's quite all right. Really, I'm not injured and you don't appear to be.”

“Not at all.”

“Good. Don't give it another thought,” she said and immediately started searching the floor for her dance card and pencil. All she saw were polished boots, satin slippers, and the hems of dresses.

“Did you lose something? A piece of your jewelry?”

“No, no,” she said, determined not to panic. Instinctively she reached up and felt for her pearl earrings and necklace and found everything in place.

“I dropped my pencil and dance card.”

“Allow me to find them for you.”

“No, no. I'll find them.”

But Chandler was already in motion. In a courtly manner, he asked men to watch their steps and ladies to move to the side. Within a few moments, he reached down and picked up her dance card and pencil.

Cupping both in his gloved hand he returned to Millicent and said, “How have you been, Miss Blair?”

She was surprised and apprehensive when he didn't immediately return the card to her. However, she couldn't let him know how desperate she was to get those notes back in her hands.

Politely she brushed her hands down the sides of her dress and answered, “Very well, sir. And you?”

“Same, thank you. I've been to three parties this evening looking for you.”

“Well, it seems you finally ran right into me.”

His smile was more than a bit roguish as he answered, “Yes. I apologize again for such a brutish greeting.”

“No need. Thank you for finding my dance card and pencil.”

She held out her gloved hand palm up, but again he made no offer to give them to her, and she was forced to lower her arm because some guests continued to stare at them. It was clear he was going to hold her things hostage until he was ready to return them.

“I should like to call on you tomorrow afternoon, Miss Blair. Would that be acceptable?”

His question was so unexpected she just looked at him for a moment, but regained her wits and said, “No, I don't think I should like that, sir.”

His eyebrows shot up in a challenging manner. “Do you find me unattractive, Miss Blair?”

“No, you are quite aware that the opposite is true. You are a most attractive man.”

She watched as his gaze swept down her face and back up to her eyes. Something inside made her yearn to give in to his wishes and for a moment it was difficult to catch her breath.

“Thank you. Though, I wasn't soliciting compliments. I'm trying to understand why you consider me an unacceptable suitor?”

She looked away for a moment before turning back to look into his eyes. “Unacceptable is too harsh a word.”

“Then I'm confused. Explain why you won't agree to receive a call from me?”

Millicent had feared something like this from Lord Dunraven after this afternoon. If not for how she was helping her aunt she would be thrilled to accept a call from him, even knowing he was a rake and a scoundrel not to be trusted. It was because he was a man who flirted with a lady's emotions that she must rebuff him.

“I'm quite busy enough, but I do thank you for your kindness in wanting to call on me.”

“You thank me for my kindness. That's not what I wanted to hear. Are you so busy receiving calls from other gentlemen that you don't have time for me?”

“To be perfectly honest, Lord Dunraven, we really don't get on together very well. And I see no reason to make us suffer through an afternoon together.”

He questioned her with his eyes. “Surely that is not an honest answer, Miss Blair.”

No it wasn't.

“A gentleman wouldn't challenge a lady's honesty, sir?”

“I'm not feeling the gentleman right now.”

“I noticed.” Millicent was very close to being flustered, and she never became flustered. She took a deep, steadying breath. “I really don't see the point in carrying this conversation any further, Lord Dunraven, but, yes, I do thank you for asking to call on me.”

He stepped closer and lowered his voice so those who were standing nearby would not hear him. “It's not as if I'm asking you to marry me.”

“I should think not.”

“You sound as if the very idea horrifies you.”

“What? You calling on me?”

“No, the idea of marrying me.”

Her eyes widened. “Sir, are you asking me to marry you?”

“Damnation, no,” he said too loudly, causing a few glances their way.

Several people stared at them, and Millicent noticed frowns on the faces of the men and shocked expressions on the faces of several ladies.

“I apologize for my manners, Miss Blair, but I'm finding you extremely frustrating at the moment.”

“In that case, return my card and pencil and we will bid our farewells.”

“Not so fast and not until I get a reasonable answer about why I shouldn't call on you tomorrow afternoon.”

Millicent had to remain firm, no matter how she felt to the contrary. She had no doubt that an afternoon with him would be thrilling, but she couldn't afford the attention Lord Dunraven would bring to her.

“Very well, I tried to spare you, but if you must know the truth, not only am I quite aware of your reputation among the ton, I have experienced it firsthand. I don't feel it would be in my best interest for you to call on me.”

“So, you refuse to believe my reputation might have been exaggerated by the gossips?”

“No, I believe some of the rumors have been overstated,” she said, remembering the things Lady Lynette had said. “But the fact remains that an association with you could ruin my reputation and I'm not willing to chance that. I would like for you to return my dance card and leave me be.”

An unfamiliar wrinkle formed in his brow. “So you have no desire to get to know me better.”

Millicent hesitated for a moment but finally said, “That's right. That is exactly what I want.”

“Not to know me better or for me not to know you better?”

She took a deep breath. “You are far more frustrating than I am, sir. Either or both will do, Lord Dunraven. Let me see how much plainer I can be on this subject. I have no wish to associate with you whatsoever. Does that make it clear enough for you?”

For a moment he looked wounded, and she hated that she was so harsh. If only he knew how much she would enjoy getting to know him better.

“Yes. I believe I'm clear on that now and so is everyone else in the room.”

Millicent glanced around, and suddenly it looked as if a thousand eyes watched her. She willed her cheeks not to flame red. Aunt Beatrice was going to consider her an utter failure. She would be sent packing to Nottinghamshire in shame just like her mother and all because of this handsome rogue.

“I didn't mean to be so loud or so harsh. You've forced me to be that way by insisting you want to call on me when I've tried politely to discourage your interest.”

“I do believe I understand now. And I know exactly what I need to do.”

She took a deep breath. “Good. Now would you mind ever so much returning my dance card and pencil so that I might take my leave?”

“Certainly.” He pulled his hand from behind his back and laid the items in her outstretched palm. She quickly folded her fingers over them.

“Here they are. Why don't you put them inside your reticule? That's where you like to keep your dance card, isn't it?”

“Yes. Yes, that's a very good idea. I—I find it easier to keep up with it.”

“Easier than tied to your wrist, Miss Blair?”

An odd feeling shook Millicent. Sometimes he said things that made her feel like he could read her mind and knew what she was doing for her aunt.

“Millicent, dear, how are you? Are you hurt?” Lady Heathecoute came rushing over to her as fast as her large frame would allow her to move. “I just heard you were knocked to the floor and trampled upon and Lord Dunraven was kind enough to help you up.”

“Angels above, my lady, where did you hear that? I was only lightly bumped. I didn't fall and I certainly wasn't stepped on. I am fine.”

“Are you sure? You do look a bit flushed in your cheeks. Do you need smelling salts?”

“No. I'm positive, I'm quite all right.”

When the viscountess moved from in front of her, Millicent saw that Lord Dunraven had disappeared and there was only a crowd of strangers standing around her.

She should have been relieved that he was gone. Any kind of relationship with him would only mean trouble for her. She'd had an unexpected kiss from him. That should have been enough, but instead, she found it only left her wanting more.

“Conversation should be pleasant without scurrility, witty without affectation, free without indecency, learned without conceitedness, novel without falsehood,” which is why this one only seeks to provide information so that you might be the judge. Lord Dunraven was seen having a tête-à-tête with Lady Lambsbeth last evening. After the scandal they caused last year, one has to wonder what they discussed.

—Lord Truefitt,
Society's Daily Column

Chandler watched Miss Blair leave the party with the Heathecoutes and took a deep breath. He slipped his hand into his jacket pocket and felt for the dance card. It was safely tucked inside.

Good. It was almost too perfect how his plan had worked.

He really hated having to bump into her so hard, but when he saw her taking her dance card off her wrist, he knew what he had to do. A slight bump would not have accomplished his goal. It was still unbelievable to him that she never even looked at the card he had given her—a blank card he had borrowed from a dowager duchess who had always liked him. Thankfully, she hadn't asked him any questions.

Now that Miss Blair was gone, he could find a quiet place and read the card. He'd been able to keep her mind off the card by talking about calling on her. That had worked well, too. He didn't understand his feelings for Miss Blair. She could be responsible for the stolen raven, she rebuffed him at every turn, but she intrigued him. Her notes intrigued him.

Chandler desperately wanted to find the thief, but he didn't want to turn Miss Blair's dance card over to Doulton's elite Thief Takers first thing tomorrow for inspection. Clearly she was taking notes when he saw her. He no longer believed her story of making thank-you notes. She had to be writing notes about valuable art objects to hand over to an accomplice.

He walked over to a candle stand and took the card from his pocket and read:

Lord D-dale asked Miss B-well to dance twice. Lady H. left suddenly for Kent. Miss D. refuses to attend more parties until father relents.

Chandler skimmed the rest of the notes and then skimmed them again. There was nothing but snippets of news on the card. Where were the notes that had information about expensive art objects?

Perhaps there had been two cards on the floor, and he'd picked up the wrong one. Had he somehow kept the wrong card by mistake? No. The dowager had given him a blank card and he had written in a few names for the dances himself. He turned the card over again.

He'd only seen Miss Blair's writing once before, at a distance that first night he saw her, but the writing seemed to be the same beautiful script. He put the card to his nose and inhaled. Oh, yes, it was Miss Blair's.

He studied it for a moment, trying to figure out a logical explanation. Maybe because she was new in Town she was making notes about people to help her remember their names. Considering the number of people in Society, that was highly possible.

Chandler took an easy breath. Yes, that did sound plausible. She didn't grow up in London, so she might have difficulty remembering young ladies and titled gentlemen. That had to be the reason she was making notes. How could he have ever suspected she might be an accomplice to the Mad Ton Thief just because she arrived in Town about the time the thief had arrived?

Relief washed through him. Millicent had nothing to do with the robber.

He had obviously wanted to recover the raven so badly that his mind was going wild with possibilities. Now that Doulton had added security at all the parties, maybe they'd catch the thief in the act. And perhaps he should ask to look over the information that Doulton had received so far. He wasn't sure he trusted the man not to miss something important.

Chandler put the card back in his pocket. The evening was already spent. He'd go home and—

“You've been avoiding us, Dunraven.”

Damnation! Andrew and Fines. One at each elbow. Suddenly his two best friends were feeling decidedly like his two worst enemies. He didn't want to talk to them right now. He wanted to hurry to the privacy of his home and reread Miss Blair's writings.

“We thought we'd head over to White's for a game and a drink? Come join us.”

“Not tonight, fellows. Some other time. I was just on my way—”

“We think it's best that you leave right now,” Fines said and took him by one arm. Andrew took hold of the other and they started leading him toward the doorway.

Chandler pulled his arms away from their grasp and stopped. “Damnation! What the hell are you two trying to do? I bloody well don't need an escort.”

“We're trying to keep you out of trouble,” Fines said, looking him directly in the eyes. “Keep walking. I just ran into Lady Lambsbeth. I'm sure she is the last person you want to see tonight.”

“Especially after the rather playful conversation you just had with Miss Blair,” Andrew said before Chandler had a chance to make a response.

“It was anything but playful,” Chandler muttered.

“Exactly.”

The three of them began to walk again. “What conversation? What do you mean?” Fines asked. “Who is Miss Blair?”

“A young lady new to Town this Season,” Andrew told Fines, then to Chandler he said, “She didn't look too happy with you, Dunraven. And no wonder. I hear you knocked her silly. Are you losing your touch when it comes to ladies of quality?”

“I thought we were talking about Lady Lambsbeth?” Fines grumbled.

“We are.”

“No, you were talking about a Miss Blair.”

“Her, too,” Andrew needled him. “Is it too difficult for you to keep up? We can talk slower.”

“Blast it. Could we just please talk about one lady at a time?”

“My, my, what's this? There was a time when you had no problem dealing with two ladies at a time and taking care of both of them quite well.”

“We're not talking about me and my ladies. We're talking about Dunraven and his ladies, and I prefer not to handle them at all.”

They continued to walk through the crowd of people with Fines and Andrew talking to each other, not giving Chandler the opportunity to say a word to either of them. Not that he wanted to. He didn't want anyone to know that he had spoken to Lady Lambsbeth tonight. And he certainly didn't want to discuss Miss Blair with these two.

“I saw you talking to Miss Blair, but you didn't dance with her tonight,” Andrew said. “If you are not going to pursue her, Dunraven, do you mind if I ask her for a dance?”

That got Chandler's attention. Andrew? Dance with Miss Blair?

No.

Yes.

Hell no!

“Don't test me on this, Andrew. I'm in no mood to challenge you over this.”

He chuckled. “I just wanted to know where you stood with her, that's all.”

The gentlemen stepped outside. Andrew looked to where the drivers and footmen were standing. He pointed to all three of them, signaling for their carriages.

“Who is this Miss Blair you two are talking about?” Fines complained again. “We are supposed to be talking about Lady Lambsbeth, Remember the married lady who almost got Chandler killed last year?”

“Yes, we were talking about her, but, Miss Blair, too. She is the lady who had Chandler's head spinning the other night. Pretty enough, but no one knows much about her. You know what that always means. He would do well to keep his eyes on someone like Miss Bardwell or Miss Pennington.”

“Miss Bardwell? That cold fish?”

“I'm told that a generous dowry can make a very warm bed,” Andrew said with a sly grin.

“What's this? We're now talking about Miss Bardwell? Could we please talk about one lady at a time?”

“Let's not talk about any lady,” Chandler said, realizing it was past time for him to speak up and stop the bickering. He'd had enough from both of them.

“That's easy for you to say, Dunraven. Seems you have two ladies after you tonight. I'm only trying to figure out why.”

“You are ready to settle down, Andrew,” Fines said. “Why not admit it?”

“Why not have my boot up your arse?”

“You want a fight?” Fines asked. “Tell me when and where. I'm available starting right now.”

Chandler saw his carriage pull up. This was his chance to escape. “It was really good of you two to get me out of the party so fast, but I'm going home, not to White's.”

“Don't be a spoilsport, Dunraven,” Andrew said. “It's not late and the three of us haven't been together to talk about the young ladies since the Season started.”

“Let him go. He's been a bore ever since the raven was stolen,” Fines said.

“There are times you seem to be more worried about the missing raven than I am.”

“It's been in your family for a hundred years. I'd think you'd feel positively dreadful about having it stolen right from underneath your nose.”

Chandler bristled. He did feel terrible about it.

“Why should I feel so pained about it when you seem to feel wretched enough for the both of us?”

“No, no. You're all wrong, Fines,” Andrew jumped into the conversation gain. “I think it's Miss Blair who has him in a snit. He obviously asked her to dance tonight after he nearly knocked her to the floor, and she refused him. It's put him in a foul temper.”

“Good Lord, Dunraven, why did you knock her to the floor?” Fines asked.

“I didn't,” Chandler said, holding his teeth together in an attempt to hold on to his anger. “I merely bumped into her.”

“Perhaps the fact that he hasn't had a mistress for more than a month has made him clumsy.”

“Going that long without a mistress is enough to make a weak man ill-tempered. Damnation, Dunraven, why didn't you say something?”

“It's not the sort of thing a man mentions,” Andrew answered for Chandler.

“I'll see if I can help you find one, Dunraven.”

Chandler held up his hand. “No, thank you. I'm perfectly capable of finding my own mistress when I'm ready. I'm going to bid my farewell for one reason only: I've had enough of you for one evening and I'm ready to go home.”

“If you must go, go. Are we still on for the races tomorrow?” Fines asked.

“Not me,” Andrew said, taking a step back. “Count me out. I have other plans.”

Chandler and Fines looked at him.

“Sorry.” He shrugged his shoulders and smiled sheepishly. “I'm taking Miss Pennington for a ride in the park tomorrow afternoon.”

“You cur.” Fines grinned. “You are positively smitten by the beautiful lady, aren't you?”

Andrew frowned. “Smitten? Good Lord, no! I'm just checking the ladies over more carefully this year. And if you two would look at yourselves in a mirror once in a while you would do the same. In case you haven't noticed, you're not getting any younger.”

“Now, see here,” Fines complained. “There's no call for that kind of talk.”

Chandler gave up on his two friends and walked off.

***

The moon was high in the sky when the Heathecoute's carriage let Millicent out in front of her aunt's town home. They waited until Phillips opened the door and let her inside before driving away. Hamlet started barking before Millicent made it to the top of the stairs. He didn't bark when any of the servants headed to the upper floors, and Millicent hoped he would soon know her footsteps as well.

She stopped outside her aunt's partly open door and knocked lightly. She always waited until she heard either her aunt or Emery reply before she walked inside.

At the response to enter Millicent stepped through the doorway. The heavy odor of lamp oil mixed with the strong scent of liniment hit her like a blast of tepid air. Much to Millicent's surprise her aunt was sitting propped up in bed against several pillows with Hamlet curled and watchful next to her hip. For the first time since Millicent had arrived at her aunt's house, the lamps were brightly lit. Millicent could see her aunt's face clearly.

“Aunt Beatrice,” Millicent exclaimed with a smile. She walked closer to the bed, even though Hamlet growled a warning. “You are looking wonderful this evening. I mean morning.” Millicent had lost all track of time with the exhausting hours she kept.

“How can you say that, dearie?” her aunt complained with a wave of her uninjured hand. “I feel so absolutely wretched. My head is spinning.”

Beatrice was a comely woman—when not injured. She was small in stature and looked much younger than her age of fifty-five. Millicent could see how her friendly manner had served her well, considering what she had been doing for all these years. Her dark brown hair was lightly streaked with gray and fell in soft waves down her shoulders. The swelling had gone down around her eyes and mouth. Her face was regaining its shape.

“I say it because it's true. You are beginning to look like the beautiful aunt I remember.”

“Go on with that nonsense talk,” she said, but lightly touched the skin around her eyes and her mouth.

“It's not nonsense. Most of the puffiness has gone down in your face and the bruising has faded from a dark purple to a light pink and yellow.”

“Don't say any more, please. That sounds positively horrible. It's been well more than a week now since I fell and it still pains me to move.”

“That's because your body is still healing. It takes time for broken bones to mend. Don't fret. You'll be taking Hamlet for walks in your beautiful garden and be back at your work before you know it.”

“Not soon enough for me,” she grumbled.

“Everyone I've met who knows I'm staying with you sends greetings and good well wishes.”

Aunt Beatrice sighed and pulled at the neckline of her night rail. “I'm sure I won't make it to return at all this Season.”

Her aunt couldn't get well soon enough for Millicent. “Let's not give up hope until we have to, shall we?”