A Perfect Scandal (11 page)

Isabel leaned her head against the side of her father’s padded carriage. She was on the way home from the Bennings’, and her mind was spinning. Even after Harold Benning’s selection of material and style of a gown, there had been a whirl of accessories to choose from. Then there had been Amber and Anthony’s clothes to select. Thankfully, the twins had stayed behind to pick their own accessories.

Isabel sighed and shut her eyes, longing for a strong cup of tea and the soothing solitude of her watercolors.

The ride was blessedly short, and the carriage soon came to a stop before her father’s town house. There was a squeak of springs as the driver jumped down and opened the door. Lowering the step, he held out his hand to assist her.

Isabel smiled at her father’s driver. “Thank you, Jarvis.”

Her foot touched the first step.

“Lady Isabel?” a feminine voice called out.

Isabel turned to see a stunning red-haired woman descend from a carriage parked on the street. She was dressed in an exquisite jade walking dress that accentuated her jewel green eyes and creamy complexion. She was older than Isabel, but exotically beautiful.

“Do I know you?” Isabel asked, facing the woman.

“My name is Simone Winston. We have never met before, but you should know of me,” the woman said.

It was a fact, not a question, and the hair on the nape of Isabel’s neck rose on end. The woman’s demeanor was not friendly, but neither was it overly hostile.

“Is there a place where we may speak privately?” Simone asked.

“I’m not—”

“It is of interest to you, I assure you.”

When Isabel still hesitated, the woman said, “It’s regarding Marcus.”

Alarm bells went off in Isabel’s head. Although she didn’t recognize the woman’s name, she had said
Marcus
, not Mr. Hawksley.

A sudden sickening thought made bile rise up in Isabel’s throat.

“We can talk privately inside.” Isabel escorted the woman into the town house to a drawing room. Shutting the doors, Isabel turned to face her. Not waiting for a servant, Simone had stripped off her cloak and had laid it on a nearby settee. Isabel was struck by her voluptuous figure.

“I am Marcus’s lover and have been for the past year.”

The discomfort that had been simmering in Isabel’s stomach threatened to turn to full-blown nausea.

So this was the love interest Marcus had mentioned. Meeting the woman face-to-face was like a blow to her solar plexus, much worse than merely knowing of her existence.

Isabel forced herself to take a deep breath, to act and think rationally. After all,
she
was the one that had intruded in Marcus’s life, had assumed he had not been involved in a relationship when she had brazenly propositioned him in Lord Westley’s room of inflammatory art. She had all but forced Marcus’s hand into an engagement. She should feel guilty and selfish for her reckless actions.

So why did despair and bitter jealousy stir inside her?

You agreed to a six-month farce. Thereafter, Marcus will be free to return to Simone Winston. What warm-blooded male wouldn’t?

At Isabel’s silence, Simone continued. “I have inquired about your engagement. It seems you had a ludicrously short courtship if one at all.”

At a loss for words, Isabel shook her head.

Simone cocked her head to one side. “I don’t believe the rumors that you and Marcus were having an affair. The only bed he was sharing was mine.”

At the woman’s icy tone, Isabel’s anger came to her defense, and she found her voice. “You sound so certain.”

Simone snorted an unladylike sound. “Even if you two had dallied once or twice before the Westley auction, I know for a fact that Marcus never intended to marry. I can only surmise that he agreed to marry you for your family’s wealth and title.”

Isabel stiffened. “Perhaps it was just
you
he never intended to marry.”

Simone gasped, her eyes narrowing. “If you manage to trap him in your deceitful web, he won’t stay with you for long. It will be a lonely marriage in name only. A virile man like Marcus Hawksley has certain needs and appetites that a girl like you wouldn’t dream of satisfying. I suspect your bed will be cold as ice the morning after your wedding day.”

Isabel’s shock yielded quickly to a scalding fury. She clenched her fists at her sides, leaving crescent-shaped marks in her palms. She forgot how she had sought a sterile marriage, exactly what Simone Winston now threatened her with.

She lashed out with the one insult she knew would cut a self-absorbed woman like Simone Winston to the bone. “Men often get bored with their conquests. It appears as if Marcus has had his fill of you and is looking elsewhere for excitement.”

Simone’s features contorted with anger. “Bitch! We shall see who Marcus chooses.”

With a swish of jade-colored skirts, Simone pivoted on her heel, grabbed her cloak, and stormed out of the room. The front door slammed on her way out.

Isabel collapsed in a chair. The day had taken its toll; she felt drained and listless. There had been the endless sorting through voluminous swatches and sketches while being questioned by her family and friends regarding her relationship with Marcus. And now the horrid confrontation with Marcus’s beautiful, but spiteful mistress…

You are a fool, Isabel!
her inner voice cried out.

She had allowed herself to be drawn to Marcus Hawksley, had forgotten her senses and her goals after a quick, urgent interlude in a linen closet. She had no real claim on him. A disturbing pain squeezed her heart at the thought that after half a year she would watch him walk away and into the eager arms of his exotic, experienced mistress.

She knew now, more than ever before, that she must stay focused on her goal of returning to Paris. Her lifelong dream was real, not the temporary revival of schoolgirl fantasies.

She shook her head and rose from the chair. She climbed the grand staircase up to the second floor, entered her bedroom, and strode to the easel in the corner.

Picking up her paintbrush, she went to work.

“Are you feeling well, my dear?” Marcus asked. “We can always make our excuses and plan for another evening. Blake and Victoria will not mind.”

Isabel avoided Marcus’s concerned gaze and studied the elegant drawing room. They had arrived at the Ravenspears’ London home a short while ago, and the butler had led them here to await their host and hostess.

Isabel picked at an imaginary piece of lint on her skirt as she sat across from Marcus on a velvet settee.

“I feel perfectly fine,” she insisted. “We are here now, and I wouldn’t dream of disappointing the earl and countess. It was extremely kind of them to invite us to celebrate our engagement.” It had been three days since she had announced to her twin siblings and the Bennings that she and Marcus were to dine with the Ravenspears, and Isabel had been nervous ever since.

Marcus sat forward. “You did not seem fine in the carriage. Even your maid looked worried.”

Isabel rolled her eyes. Her father had insisted her maid, Kate, act as her chaperone and accompany them to the Ravenspears’ home tonight. After they had arrived, Kate had immediately departed to share a meal with the other servants. Isabel had thought the charade ludicrous since she and Marcus were officially betrothed, and all of society knew they had been caught together in a highly compromising position at the Westley auction. Yet her father insisted that the appearance of propriety still be upheld.

As for her uncharacteristic behavior on their journey here, she had purposely been withdrawn for fear of gazing upon Marcus in the close confines of the carriage and unwittingly reminiscing about her youthful infatuation—or worse—his kiss. She was still surprised at her own eager response to the touch of his lips.

Then thoughts of his mistress’s visit would intrude, and Isabel’s gut twisted.

“I apologize if I was quiet during our journey. I was deep in thought,” she said.

“Over what?”

She took a breath and then blurted out, “Over the unexpected visit of your mistress at my home three days ago.”

He stared, complete surprise on his face. “Simone Winston came to your house?”

“The woman was quite honest about her prurient relationship with you over the past year and her intent to continue it.”

“Damnation! My relationship with Simone was all but officially over before I set eyes on you at Lady Holloway’s ball.”

“She believes you two should marry. I can’t blame her really. I did intrude into your life at the Westley auction even though I had believed Charlotte when she had said that you were not involved with any particular lady. If it were not for my father’s insistence and your odd sense of honor, you would be free to marry her.”

“I never intended to marry Simone. I had told her so weeks ago.”

“She has yet to believe it.”

“Then she’s lying.”

Displaying an ease she didn’t necessarily feel, she said, “You owe me no explanations. After all, we had agreed to certain terms. It’s unreasonable to expect you to alter every aspect of your life based on a mere temporary arrangement.”

His gaze was so galvanizing it sent a tremor down her spine. “Are you always going to be so maddening?”

She sat back, baffled by his words.

He sighed. “I apologize for Simone’s unpleasant visit. Had I suspected she would be so bold as to seek you out, I would have warned her to stay away when I ended my relationship with her.”

Isabel looked away, careful to sheath her inner feelings. “No one can control the actions of others.”

He reached out to touch her hand, his fingers warm and strong. “Look at me, Isabel.”

She raised her eyes to his and was surprised by the smoldering intensity in the dark depths.

“Simone Winston is in my past. I have no intention of ever resuming relations with her.”

She was saved from having to respond by the sound of footsteps in the hallway. The drawing room doors opened, and Blake and Victoria entered.

Victoria, heavy with child, moved slowly across the room. Blake was by her side, a steady hand on her elbow.

Isabel was struck by the countess’s beauty. Her dark hair was piled in loose ringlets atop her head, and a few loose tendrils brushed the graceful curve of her neck. Her wide emerald eyes were slanted like a Persian cat’s and shone with intelligence.

“Welcome,” Victoria said. “We have been looking forward to a quiet evening with good friends.”

Victoria’s friendly nature and sincere smile put Isabel at ease, and she took an instant liking to the countess. “Thank you for inviting us, Lady Ravenspear. Your home is lovely,” Isabel said.

Blake smiled politely at Isabel, and then turned his attention to Marcus. “I’ve made inquiries regarding Lord Gavinport. We can speak over dinner.”

Isabel knew Marcus confided in Blake, but she had no idea as to what extent. It seemed the earl was assisting Marcus with his investigative efforts.

“I’m anxious to know what you’ve learned,” Marcus said. “Gavinport is my top suspect.”

Marcus and Blake stepped out of the drawing room, leaving Isabel alone with Victoria.

Victoria appeared amused by the men’s behavior. “Men are more comfortable speaking business, whereas women prefer more personal conversation.”

Curiosity rose in Isabel, and she boldly asked, “You know Marcus well?”

Victoria smiled and reached out to squeeze Isabel’s hand. “Very. After dinner, Blake and Marcus will remain to drink their port, and we can leave to speak privately. You can ask me questions about him, and if I know the answers, I’ll promise to tell you the truth.”

Isabel was surprised by the countess’s openness, and her earlier interest blossomed. She would love to learn more about Marcus Hawksley, starting with why he never married, and why he left his family to become a working stockbroker.

They left the drawing room and found the men waiting outside the doors. Marcus offered Isabel his arm, and as they followed behind their hosts, Isabel was stunned by the beauty of the Ravenspear home. Whereas Blake and Victoria were not art collectors, they had exquisite and expensive taste. Rich mahogany furniture, exotic rugs, and costly vases and crystal decorated their home.

On the way to the dining room, they passed numerous rooms—a music conservatory, a lower-level library, and a ballroom with a parquet floor agleam from a recent polish.

The dining room was massive, with a long table capable of comfortably seating fifty guests. But for tonight, the table was set for two couples on one end. A snowy white tablecloth and fine china bearing the Ravenspear crest gleamed beneath the candlelight.

Victoria and Blake took their seats.

Marcus held Isabel’s chair, and his long fingers brushed her shoulders. She shivered despite the warmth from the fireplace.

Two liveried footmen entered the dining room, carrying steaming platters of food. The fare was excellent, beginning with turtle soup, followed by a saddle of mutton, fowl, and salmon drizzled with a delicate lemon sauce, accompanied by fresh vegetables. Isabel learned Blake and Victoria had recruited their French chef on their honeymoon in Paris.

Expensive sherry flowed freely, and Isabel drank as much as she ate in part to soothe her nerves. She hated to admit how much Marcus’s admission—that Simone Winston was in his past and would remain so—had thrilled her. So she imbibed to numb her uncomfortable feelings.

Marcus sipped his glass and looked at Blake. “Tell me what you have learned of Lord Gavinport.”

“He is an obsessive art collector and has no qualms about bidding outrageous sums of money to obtain any piece of work that catches his eye. He has purchased works from his peers which he believes he must own. He has also dealt with auctioneers and gallery owners of questionable character,” Blake said.

“You mean Dante Black?” Marcus asked.

Blake shook his head. “He has dealt with Dante, but from what I’ve heard, Dante Black was one of the more respectable auctioneers. Gavinport has dealt with others, and it is rumored that he has a private gallery that rivals a museum.”

“He does,” Marcus said.

“You’ve seen it?”

“Not by invitation.”

Blake’s mouth twitched with amusement. “My man of affairs, Justin Woodward, has let it be known that I am willing to pay an exorbitant sum for an original Thomas Gainsborough painting. We have yet to hear anything from disreputable or official sources.”

“That reaffirms my belief that the thief stole for an individual’s private collection,” Marcus said.

“Other than Lord Gavinport, do you know of any others who would want to see you accused of a crime?” Victoria asked.

Isabel, emboldened by the sherry, chimed in. “Oh yes, Marcus has enemies. I’ve already met a few.”

Silence descended, and Victoria and Blake turned to her.

“Since we’ve only recently become involved, what could you know of my enemies?” Marcus asked dryly.

The couple’s head swung toward Marcus.

Isabel placed her silver fork down on the edge of her plate. “Well, there’s a handsome stockbroker I met at the Exchange just last week by the name of Ralph Hodge whom you were quite rude to. Then there’s Lord Walling, whom you attacked in the Bennings’ gardens during a ball. And lastly, there’s the embittered woman—whom I will not mention by name—you have spurned. All have motive.”

Marcus’s eyes darkened dangerously. “Lord Walling did not know me prior to the Westley auction, and therefore, he can be dismissed as a suspect.”

Isabel raised her chin and met his glare. “What of the other two?”

“She’s right,” Blake said. “Both have motive. Hodge has been your rival at the Exchange for years and has reason to want to see your privileges as a broker revoked. As for Simone…ah…the female Isabel has mentioned, a scorned woman can be dangerous. Both deserve looking into.”

“It seems to me you are all overlooking the obvious,” Victoria said.

Marcus looked at the countess. “Such as?”

Victoria drew her lips in thoughtfully. “What about Lord Gavinport’s second home? I assume that you had searched his private gallery during his recent masque, but he does own another residence in London. It is a town house, not as grand as the mansion you had visited, but legally his property upon his marriage to his second wife, Olivia Gavinport.”

“I had no idea,” Isabel said.

Victoria shrugged. “It is a simple town house and was part of Olivia’s dowry and included in their marriage contract. The Gavinports would never entertain there. The only reason I know about it is because my brother, Spencer, was looking to buy a London home close by and had inquired about the property.”

“It’s possible that Gavinport stored the stolen painting there for safety during the masque,” Blake said. “Or that he plans to keep it there until the investigation by Bow Street and the insurance company ceases.”

“I must search his town house.” Marcus said.

“Spencer is currently in Italy on business for Blake. I’m afraid I do not know the property’s address,” Victoria said.

“It doesn’t matter,” Marcus said. “My investigator can check the property records to determine its location. I intend to search it.”

“How will you get inside if he does not entertain there?” Isabel asked.

“He doesn’t have to. I’ll find a way,” Marcus said, his tone cold and exact.

“You mean to break in?” Isabel asked, incredulous. “What if you are caught, or worse, injured?”

She was horrified that Marcus would even entertain the thought. If Frederick Gavinport was hiding the
Seashore with Fishermen
in his town house, he would post a guard to watch over the priceless painting. It was highly probable that it would be an
armed
guard.

A flash of humor crossed Marcus’s face. “Are you concerned for my safety, my dear?”

“Of course. I would not like for any man to suffer injury in an attempt to prove his innocence.”

“Ah, but what about
this
innocent man?”

She was irritated by his mocking tone. The sherry had loosened her tongue, and she was upset with herself for unwittingly mentioning Marcus’s former lover in front of the earl and countess. It appeared that Marcus now sought retaliation by forcing her to publicly acknowledge her feelings for him despite their agreement to stay emotionally and physically uninvolved.

Isabel twisted her napkin in her lap, aware of everyone’s eyes upon her, and her annoyance increased. She raised her chin and met his stare. “We are to marry in less than two weeks, and the scandal we had created at the Westley auction will pale in comparison if my groom is arrested and thrown into Newgate.”

Marcus shot her a penetrating look. “If appearances are all you are concerned with, my dear, never fear. I don’t plan on being imprisoned anytime soon.”