Bargaining With a Rake (A Whisper of Scandal Novel) (11 page)

He ignored the pointed stare from
Peter. He had no intention of simply ruining Lady Gillian. He would be
providing her an opportunity for a much better life than she would ever have as
Westonburt’s wife.

Alex focused on Sally’s information
and put himself in Westonburt’s shoes. If he were Westonburt and wanted to
marry a woman with a title and a large dowry, why not ask for Lissie’s hand?
Westonburt had been bent on revenge. Wouldn’t the ultimate revenge have been
marrying into Alex’s family? So why would he not try?

He could think of only one reason. He
slammed his fist onto the desk. “Father.”

“Pardon?” Sally said.

“Sorry. I’m thinking out loud.” Father’s
attitudes of rank and order were well known among the
ton
. Westonburt
must have known his suit of Lissie would be met with disdain. The only thing
that wasn’t falling into place was Lissie’s pregnancy. Westonburt couldn’t have
known about the child or else he would have approached their father. Father
would have had no choice but to acquiesce.

Did she not tell Westonburt about the
child? Possibly not. She was as prideful as they all were. If she had suspected
the man had used her, she would not have said a word.

No matter what the answers were, Westonburt
seduced his sister ,then killed her with his selfishness and callousness. The
man would pay. “Sally, do you know if Lady Gillian is planning on attending her
aunt’s house party?”

Sally grinned slyly. “I was hoping
you would ask me that.”

“You were?” He had planned to
threaten to spill all of Peter’s secrets to Sally if that was what it took to
ensure Peter did not tell his wife what Alex was up to, but things would be so
much easier if Sally actually wanted to help him
.

“Of course, darling. I’m very
intuitive, you know.”

“And what are your instincts telling
you?”

“That you want to steal Lady Gillian
away from Lord Westonburt to get your revenge.”

Alex shot Peter a warning look when
he coughed and sputtered. “My, you are intuitive.”

“I knew it!” Sally clapped her hands
together. “When I saw the two of you together at the ball, I positively knew
you would suit, even when she told me she wanted to marry your business partner.
An American
. Imagine that! I can’t think what led her to such a
ridiculous notion. You would make a much better husband for her.”

This time Alex nearly choked. He
covered his cough with his hand.

“What is it, darling? Are you all
right?”

He nodded, wiping at the tears
seeping out of his eyes. “Air went down the wrong way.”

“Alex,” Peter growled from the other
side of the room.

“Keep quiet,” Alex snapped.

Peter strode across the room to stand
by Sally. “You know I can’t do that. I can’t mislead my wife.”

“Mislead me in what?” Sally demanded.

Alex sighed. He supposed Peter was
right. It wouldn’t be fair to ask a man to lie to his wife. “I’ve no intention
of marrying Lady Gillian.”

Sally’s eyes narrowed on him. “What
were
your intentions?”

“The first part of
my plan is to seduce her and get her to publicly break her engagement to Lord
Westonburt, so he will be humiliated in front of the entire
ton
.”

“That’s your whole
plan?”

“Well, no.” Alex
shook his head. “I’m going to take all the man’s money, his house and his
overblown pride. Everything he holds dear.”

Sally waved her hand
at him. “I didn’t mean your plan in regards to that man. I was referring to your
plan in regards to my friend.”

What did she want
him to say? “I’ll provide her with plenty of money to live extremely
comfortably for the rest of her life. I’ll be saving her from a marriage she
likely had no idea how to get out of. And she will be free to pursue her wish
to live in America on the freedom my money will afford her.”

Sally shook her
head. “Men really are fools.”

“Keep me separate
from the anger you’re directing at Lionhurst,” Peter said.

She glared at both
of them before resuming her usual sweet smile. “I’m not angry. Why should I be?
You”― she poked Alex in the chest― “are a fool. You underestimate
Lady Gillian. She will never succumb to your seduction.”

“I can be quite
persuasive,” Alex said.

“If you do manage to
seduce her, I can promise you this― you will want to marry her. I know
you. You just no longer know yourself.”

“I won’t want to
marry her, Sally. But I promise you, I have every intention of telling the lady
exactly what I plan to do. She will know I intend to seduce her. I won’t bring
an innocent down under false pretenses.”

“How noble of you,
darling. Just as I said, this will work out.”

Sally’s attitude was
grating on his nerves. “Now, listen, Sally―”

“This is actually
perfect,” Sally said, interrupting him. “The
ton
will forgive her for running away
and marrying you. The scandal will be salacious, of course, but everyone
forgives you everything.”

“Sally,” Alex barked
and raked a hand through his hair.

She paused in her
pacing and looked at him. “What?”

“I am not going to
marry Lady Gillian.”

“You will. You’ll
see. Shall I tell you a bit about your future wife?”

“No.”

“I visited her right after her mother
died, but you wouldn’t know this.” Sally stared at him as she spoke. He
shifted, uncomfortable with the pain in her voice and of learning anything
favorable about Lady Gillian that might make him question what he was planning.

“It was the dinner hour, and Gillian
was alone in the kitchen eating. Her father and sister were eating in the
formal dining room. I’ve never forgotten it.” Sally’s blue eyes bore into him. “I
have often wondered if her father made her eat every meal alone.
Wretched
man
.”

These were exactly the kind of
details Alex didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to like Lady Gillian or feel
bad for her. Thinking of her as a schemer was easier. Damn Sally. Begrudging
regard lodged in his chest. He understood loneliness and pain and what both
could drive you to do in desperation. Was she desperate? So desperate that she
would scheme to seduce a man simply to escape her life?

Should he ask Sutherland if he was
amenable to the lady’s plan? No. Alex dismissed the thought. The revenge was
his to complete. He could not use his friend. Besides, Sutherland was a
controller to a fault. Lady Gillian would regret her vows a month after she
said them. Alex rocked back on his heels, considering his plan. He would be
ruining her, but he would also be giving her freedom. Something she would never
have without his money.

“Sally, I may need your help getting
Lady Gillian alone this coming week.”

Sally’s gaze searched his for a
second, and she smiled, more to herself than at him. “We won’t be at the house
party until Monday, but I feel certain you’ll manage to find some way to get
her alone on Sunday.”

Several ideas, all inappropriate in
the extreme, came to mind. Now the problem was which tactic to take. He smiled,
settling on a plan and a backup, in case Lady Gillian proved difficult. It was
a very good thing he had never minded breaking a few rules, because he was
about to embrace the destruction of them all.

Gillian fingered the
emerald brooch pinned to her bodice as she examined her appearance in the
looking glass. She traced the oval cut of the smooth stone, a little sigh
escaping her lips.

When Whitney cleared her throat,
Gillian met her sister’s brown gaze over the edge of the looking glass. “You’ve
never worn that brooch.”

“No. I suppose I was afraid of losing
it.”

Whitney reached out and touched the
stone. “You’re not afraid anymore?”

“Yes, but it somehow seems fitting to
wear Mother’s brooch today.” Gillian pushed her arms through her coat and
arranged the material to cover the brooch. “Mother had a certain flair, and I
need all the help I can get in catching Mr. Sutherland’s attention.” That
half-truth was all Whitney would get. “Just look at this.” Gillian pointed to
her eyes, wanting to move away from her reasons. “Blue shadows. Not exactly the
come-hither look.”

Whitney’s lips curled into a smile. “I
hardly think Mr. Sutherland will notice your face.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Whitney lowered her gaze to Gillian’s
bodice.

“Is it too much?” Gillian tugged the
deep plunging neckline of her riding habit up a bit, but no matter how she
pulled on the material her breasts still swelled above the rich, dark fabric.

“I’d say it’s not enough. Material,
that is. But I suppose you have to display your wares in order for the man to
buy the goods.”

That did it. She strode over to her
wardrobe. She should never have listened to Madame Beaupont and allowed the
modiste to make this special “French-flair” riding habit. Her sister’s quiet
snicker stopped Gillian. She whirled around, took one look at Whitney’s smiling
face, and threw the hairbrush gripped in her hands. The brush knocked Whitney
on the side of the head.

“That hurt!”

“It was meant to hurt,” Gillian
replied, retrieving the brush from the floor. She tugged the brush through her
tangled mass of hair, which hung heavily down her back. “I’m dreadfully self-conscious
in this clothing, but Auntie and Madame Beaupont assured me it was necessary to
get Mr. Sutherland to come to heel immediately. And frankly, after the dazzling
displays of creamy white flesh I saw at Sally’s ball, I quite agree.”

“I was only teasing you. You look
lovely. Well, except for your hair.” Whitney snatched the brush from Gillian’s
hand and yanked it through her hair.

“Ouch! You little vixen!”

“Oh dear. Did that hurt?”

“Truce,” Gillian declared with a
laugh. “Now help me dress my hair.”

“Why me? Where’s Clara?”

“Toothache,” Gillian mumbled, trying
to get a pin in her hair. But the pin popped right out, and her hair fell back
into her eyes. How did Clara make dressing hair look so easy? She would have to
praise her lady’s maid more when she next performed the service.

“Perhaps you should wear your hair
down for the hunt?” Whitney suggested. “Look at my hair.”

Gillian obliged, then stifled a
giggle. Whitney’s hair was a wild mass of blonde curls with a few pieces
plopped on top of her head in the most haphazard fashion Gillian had ever seen.
“Did you fix your hair this morning?”

“Indeed I did. Do you now see my
point?”

“I do.” Gillian ran a hand through
her hair, thinking on the matter of her attire and hair. “It’s one thing to
make a bold statement with this outfit, but if I wear my hair down to boot, I’m
afraid Mr. Sutherland might proposition me for a night of pleasure instead of
contemplating marrying me.”

“I see your point. Come closer.”

Gillian moved toward her sister and
leaned her head back. “How’s this?”

“Good.” Whitney began pulling up sections
of Gillian’s hair, twisting them into some unknown creation and then jabbing
Gillian’s head with sharp pins to hold the masterpiece in place.

Gillian grimaced as the last pin
stuck her especially hard. “I think you enjoy inflicting pain.”

“Not at all,” Whitney declared, her
voice trembling with laughter. “It’s just that your hair is so thick, and I’m
dreadfully bad at dressing hair.” She patted Gillian’s head. “Do try for once
not to ride so recklessly. This up do is likely to tumble down with too much
motion.”

Gillian nodded, but she could already
feel the wind in her face and the strength of her horse underneath her as they
soared across the countryside.

Descending the stairs with Whitney
beside her, Gillian paused at the bottom and took a deep breath. Everything
rode on this week. Sally’s note assured her Mr. Sutherland was coming for the
entire week, and Father’s gout was bothering him, so maybe he wouldn’t attend
any of the functions.

She tried to
suppress her smile, feeling slightly guilty that she considered her father’s
ill health fortunate. It wasn’t his ill health precisely, but rather that she
needed a bit of luck and having his keen gaze off her was very lucky. She said
a quick prayer that he would recover―
next week
.

Today was the
beginning.
If she
was going to get Mr. Sutherland alone, there was no better time than in the
woods amid the underbrush and confusion of the hunt.

Male voices drifted from Father’s
study as she strode down the hall with Whitney on her heels. She did not pause
at the study door; instead, she inclined her head to Mr. Percy, who scrambled
to open the door for her. Sweeping into the sunshine, she called over her
shoulder, “Tell my father we’ve gone to my aunt’s and that we shall see him
later in the evening.”

As she neared the stable,
she motioned to the groom. “Mr. Ganter, please replace the saddle so I can ride
astride.” The groomsman gaped at her, but to his credit, he recovered quickly
and rushed to do her bidding.

“What are you doing?” Whitney cried,
looking truly concerned.

“I have no hope of keeping up with
Mr. Sutherland if I ride sidesaddle,” Gillian answered as she shoved on her
gloves and tried to appear more confident than she felt. “Therefore, I’ll ride
astride just as the men do.”

With the help of the groom, Whitney
swung her legs over the slowest mare in their stable and clung for dear life,
though the mare was standing still. The horse moved and Whitney’s eyes grew
round. “Blasted beast. Don’t move.” She glared down at Gillian. “Quit smirking
at me. You know I hate horses.”

“She senses your fear,” Gillian
replied, employing the soft tones she had used for years to soothe her sister’s
worries. “Just relax.” Gillian patted the mare’s nose. “May is perfectly
harmless. She’s so old she can barely get a trot going.”

“I do hope you know what you’re doing.
Father will have an apoplectic fit if he sees you riding astride. Besides” ―Whitney
swept a hand toward Gillian― “how do you hope to ride astride in that get
up?”

Grinning, Gillian mounted Lightning. “These
new French riding habits are actually quite the thing for the bolder set of
women. See?” She pointed to her split skirt. “Isn’t that wonderful?”

“I suppose,” Whitney said, looking
doubtful.

“Don’t worry over Lady Gillian’s
attire or her riding ability,” Mr. Ganter said, stepping toward Whitney and
resituating the reins in her hands so she held them properly. “It’s you that
has me concerned, since you never would let me teach you about riding. Your
sister there” ―he hitched a thumb at Gillian― “is a fine
horsewoman, better than most men I know. But you, little lady” ―Mr.
Ganter shook his head― “need to just hold on tight and go real slow.”

Gillian chuckled at the blush
staining Whitney’s cheeks. It served Whit right for being so impudent. Mr.
Ganter winked, and she winked back. She adored the old stable master, and he
knew it. He had indeed taught her everything she knew about horses when Father
had flatly refused to take the time. But more than that, Mr. Ganter had tried
to soothe her wounded feelings by telling her Mother had loved her horse more
than her husband, and Father couldn’t forget that. She would never forget how
Mr. Ganter tried to make her think that it was not that Father didn’t love her,
but that it was bad memories of her mother that made him act so coldly.

She tightened her legs against
Lightning’s muscular sides, and a fierce desire to ride recklessly into the
wind shot through her and stole her breath. Whit would be fine. May knew the
path to Aunt Millicient’s even if Whitney didn’t. Gillian caught her sister’s
gaze. “I’ll see you there. Just do as Mr. Ganter said and allow May to lead
you.”

She tapped Lightning’s sides, and he
dashed down the dirt road, kicking up dust as he gathered speed. Sweeping around
the large iron gate that marked the entrance to their home, she raced toward
the open green space before her.

Rows of magnificent oak trees lined
the countryside, and their sturdy presence comforted her. She took a deep
breath, appreciating the heady freesia swirling around her. Burning wood and
apple mingled with the freesia, and her mouth watered with memories of Cook’s
apple tarts.

An enormous sense of freedom and
exhilaration swept over her as the crisp air caressed her face. The pounding of
Lightning’s hooves caused the few pins binding her hair to loosen. She did not
care. She encouraged Lightning into a faster gallop and laughed with the
explosion of happiness coursing through her.

As the countryside
flew past, a bit of anxiety built within her, squelching some of her enjoyment.
Her seduction of Mr. Sutherland needed to be fast. Each day she and Whitney
were out in the
ton
, Gillian felt sure that was the day their enemy would reveal
their secret and her sister’s life would never be the same. Whit never need
know how their mother had really died. She never need live with the guilt. The
long drive of Trent’s country home came into view, forcing Gillian to dismiss
the possibility of her plan failing. How hard could it be to get a man to want
to marry her?

The sun glared down, and a little
beads of perspiration stung her eyes. She swiped at them, trying to clear her
blurry vision. The sun reflected off a stained glass window, blinding her, and
she raised her hand in an effort to block the glare. Just as the path came back
into focus, a rider loomed before her. With a gasp, she tugged on Lightning’s
reins. The horse stopped with a jerk, and she hurtled over his head, landing
with a jarring thud on her bottom. Her teeth clanked together with the force of
her fall, but her senses returned swiftly, and she scrambled out of the
oncoming rider’s path just as he veered the stallion to the right to avoid
trampling her.

Her heart beat a painful rhythm and
every muscle in her body quivered. She pinched herself. Still alive. No thanks
to the fool who almost got her killed. She struggled to gain her feet as heavy boots
stomped toward her.

“Well, well, well, look who we have
here,” a baritone voice said above her.

She knew that voice. Surely, it could
not be. She glanced up and bit her lip on a cry of outrage.

The sun outlined Lord Lionhurst’s
tall frame in a golden glow. Against her better judgment, she glanced at his
broad chest, where his white shirt hung casually unbuttoned just enough to show
the ripple of tan skin underneath. Her stomach flipped at his show of flesh.
Blast the man. She disliked him, but he was gorgeous.

He gazed down at her
and jolts of unwanted, but undeniable, desire sparked through her. “What are
you doing here?” she demanded, irritated with her reaction to the fiend and at
him for being here.

That slow, seductive grin
of several nights before spread across his face. “Looking for you.”