Bargaining With a Rake (A Whisper of Scandal Novel) (4 page)

They stood in silence, watching Lady
Staunton depart. When her red hair was no longer visible, Gillian dipped into a
proper curtsy. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

“Gillian Rutherford!” Sally erupted
into laughter before grabbing Gillian by the elbow and towing her fully into
the busy ballroom. “Surely you jest! As long as we’ve known each other and you
think to call me anything but Sally.” She waved Whitney closer. “You too,
Whitney.”

Gillian studied her old friend,
trying to take her measure. The years had wrought many changes in Sally. High cheekbones,
a slender nose and full lips replaced the girlish features in a most becoming
manner. Sally still barely reached Gillian’s shoulders, but her friend no
longer reminded Gillian of a fair-haired sprite. She was a regal queen, small
in stature but commanding all the same.

Sally studied her. “We are still
friends, are we not? Just because our fathers had a falling out does not mean I
ever felt the same.”

Gillian exhaled, surprised she had
been holding her breath. She nodded, unable to speak past the large lump in her
throat.

“Since I’ve been out from underneath
Papa’s repressive thumb, I’ve invited you both to every social function I’ve
given. The response has always been no, until now. Your father, I presume?”

Gillian nodded, though she felt like
gasping as Whitney had. A torrent of emotions coursed through her, but she held
each one back as always.

“My dears, we can’t change the
mistakes of our parents,” Sally said. “Shall we pick up with our friendship as
if it was never interrupted?”

“I’d like that very much,” Gillian
said.

“
We’d
like that very much,” Whitney amended.

“Excellent!” Sally embraced them
before shoving them back to study them. After a moment, she smiled. “Now that
we’ve settled that, Gillian, you must tell me what you did to pique Lady
Staunton’s ire. I heard you were involved in a bit of a scene last week.”

Gillian frowned. She’d hoped the
incident would pass without remark. She should have known better. “I can’t say
for certain, but I’ve a fair idea. However, it seems so trivial. It must not
take much to anger Lady Staunton.”

Sally rolled her eyes heavenward. “Not
much at all. She’s a spiteful woman, though with her mother who can blame her? So
what was your sin?”

“She thinks I have designs on a man
she apparently has a deep affection for.”

“Well, that couldn’t have been her
husband,” Sally pronounced with a wicked grin. “He’s rail thin, sloppily
dressed, with a sallow complexion and thinning brown hair. She’s smart enough
to know you wouldn’t want him, and it’s common knowledge she holds no affection
for him.”

Gillian laughed. “The years have not
changed your direct nature in the least.”

“Were you worried they had, darling?”

“Maybe not the years, but definitely
becoming a duchess.”

“Oh, that.” Sally thrust her hands on
her hips. “That’s changed me quite a bit. Now I put up with nonsense from no
one.”

“You were like that at eight.”

“Was I?” Sally quirked her mouth. “I
must speak to my husband, then. He promised quite a lot of benefits if I
married him.”

“You’re incorrigible.” Gillian
laughed and it felt exactly as it had when they had been younger.

“I’m incorrigible? You’re one to
talk. One week back into Society and you’re trying to pinch Lady Staunton’s
next victim out from her eager clutches. What does the poor fellow look like?”

Gillian opened her mouth to give his
description, then promptly changed her mind. She could paint a vivid, exact
picture of the man: black hair, dancing blue eyes, crooked smile and
overwhelming presence. But how could she explain remembering so much detail
about a man she had improperly met while hiding behind a curtain? She could not.
She shrugged, choosing her words carefully. “He was tall with black hair and
blue eyes.”

“Darling, that describes half the men
here,” Sally murmured with a sigh. “You’re no help. Then again, if he’s rich,
alive and holds a loftier title than the one Lady Staunton currently possesses,
she would think you were poaching someone she might want to claim. Her poor
husband’s at death’s door, and she’s on the prowl for his replacement.”

“That’s despicable,” Whitney said. “Surely
you’re mistaken.”

“I’m never mistaken when it comes to
matters of the heart.” Without taking her gaze off Gillian, Sally returned the
wave of a young couple who danced past. “She’s awful, and she’s after one of my
dearest friends. I heard she made quite a scene chasing after him at a ball
last week. Chased him right to the front door, which I’m told he dashed out of
to escape her.”

“I wouldn’t worry about him.”

Sally narrowed her eyes at Gillian.

Blast! She’d not meant to let
anything slip, but the surprise of realizing Sally was talking about the man from
the curtains had stolen her senses.

“Why?” Sally raised her eyebrows. “Is
Lionhurst the man she thinks you’re after?”

“Lionhurst?” Gillian frowned. The
name unleashed an old memory. “Do you mean Alexander Trevelle?” She pictured
the boy she remembered from childhood. Face streaked with dirt and hair filled
with straw from the haystack he had been hiding in to avoid being whipped by
his father, the duke.

“One and the same,” Sally said. “I
see by your frown you remember him.”

“Oh, I remember him.” Didn’t all
women remember the first boy who ever kissed them? She was no exception, even
if the kiss had been when she was eight, and she had considered his warm lips
extremely disgusting. The way he’d barged behind the curtain and thought she
was a woman who had been waiting with bated breath to fall into his arms made
perfect sense now. The little she recalled of the boy she’d barely known was
someone who assumed everyone pined for his attention. “I can’t believe after
all these years he’s not changed in the way he treats women.”

“Oh, he’s changed some,” Sally said
with a chuckle. “He steals quite a bit more than just kisses nowadays.”

“What does he steal?” Gillian asked,
intrigued by Sally’s statement.

“Hearts, darling.” Sally pulled
Gillian to her side, their heads close together. “He steals hearts.” She
grinned at Gillian. “You’ve given me an idea.”

Gillian didn’t like the sound of
that. Sally had never been known for her sound ideas. “What sort of notion?”

“You have to help me.”

“Help you?” Gillian tried to extract
herself from her friend’s embrace. “How can I help you?”

“Why to save Lion from Lady Staunton,
of course.”

“What fun,” Whitney exclaimed, a grin
lighting her face. “I’ll help too.”

“I’ll find a small role for you.”

“A small role?” Whitney’s lips poked
out in a pout.

“Darling, you’re gorgeous,” Sally
exclaimed to Whitney. “But Lionhurst likes dark hair.”

Whitney and Sally both stared at
Gillian. She ignored her sister and focused on Sally. “I can’t afford to
embroil myself in helping your friend. I’ve too much on my mind.”

“You only need act if Lady Staunton
comes near him.”

“I’m sorry.” Gillian shook her head. She
could not slip into such an entanglement. “I just can’t.”

All the animation in Sally’s face
disappeared. “Why not? Are you afraid of losing your heart to him?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Gillian
snapped, picturing the man he had become. She could imagine with his gorgeous
smile and, no doubt perfected seduction methods, how a woman might be in danger
of losing her heart to him, but she was not your average woman. She was on a
mission to save her sister and herself. “My heart is in no danger.”

“Then you’re perfect. I don’t have to
worry you’ll get hurt this way, and I can quit fretting about Lionhurst falling
back into Lady Staunton’s clutches. The last time almost killed him.”

“From my conversation earlier with
Lord Lionhurst,” Gillian said firmly, “I suspect he can handle himself with any
woman.”

“You don’t truly know him.” Sally
shook her head. “He never shows his true self when he is out in Society.”

“No doubt because the women would run
screaming,” Gillian retorted.

Sally’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t
remember you being cold and mean.”

Heat flooded Gillian’s face. “I’m
not. It’s just…” She trailed off. She could explain neither her situation nor
the encounter behind the curtain with Lord Lionhurst. “I just already have something
very important to see to tonight.”

“Oh, darling. What a goose I am! What
gentleman is in your line of fire tonight?”

“No one in particular,” Gillian
replied, not certain she was ready to divulge her mission to Sally just yet, or
possibly ever.

“Have you forgotten about Mr.
Sutherland?” Whitney interjected, a gleam of mischief in her eye. “I thought
you wanted to marry him?”

“Whitney, hush!” How embarrassing and
typical of Whitney to stir up trouble by blurting such a thing to Sally. Now
Sally would ask questions that Gillian could not answer.

“How very interesting.” Sally
scrutinized her. “Why do you wish to marry Mr. Sutherland? He would take you
away from England.”

“I have my reasons for wanting him.” She
prayed Sally would accept her vague answer.

Sally’s mouth tightened, but she
nodded. “Well, I suppose I could assist you, though I really don’t wish to help
you capture a man who will whisk you away from me.”

A swell of emotions rose up to lodge
in Gillian’s chest, but she pushed the tide back. Sentimentality would have to
wait. “How do you suppose you could help me? Do you know Mr. Sutherland?”

“Not personally. Lionhurst is business
partners with him and has brought the man here tonight.”

What a relief. After a week of trying
to meet Mr. Sutherland, she was finally going to get her chance. Gillian couldn’t
stop the smile from coming to her face.

Sally grinned back. “I’m glad my
information pleases you. Lionhurst can introduce Mr. Sutherland to us both.”

“Couldn’t you just introduce me to
Mr. Sutherland yourself after you meet him?” Something about Lord Lionhurst
made her think avoiding him would be best. So far, he’d caused her nothing but
trouble.

“I would, darling, but there they
are.
Together.
” Sally pointed toward the terrace door.

Gillian followed the direction Sally
pointed. Her sight settled immediately on Lord Lionhurst’s tall figure. His
black hair shimmered under the light of the chandelier. His white shirt, cravat
and black pants would have been commonplace except he wore a ruby waistcoat
that fit him to perfection. A devilish grin danced across his face, as if
wicked thoughts played out in his mind. He was the apple in the Garden of Eden.
Dangerous. Sinful
.

An involuntary sigh of appreciation
escaped her lips.
Good God, she was a dolt!
She glanced around to see if
anyone had noticed.

An amused smile stretched across
Sally’s lips. “Are you positive your heart is safe?”

“Completely certain. Mr. Sutherland
is the only man for me.”

“Truly? What is it about Mr.
Sutherland’s looks that draws you to him?”

Gillian quickly turned her gaze to
Mr. Sutherland as Sally quietly chuckled beside her. Blast Sally! She somehow
knew Gillian had not spared a glance toward Mr. Sutherland. As the men made
their way through the crowd and toward them, Gillian found it hard to keep Mr.
Sutherland in her sights with Lord Lionhurst there. The man was too tall, his
shoulders too broad.

She forced herself to concentrate on
Mr. Sutherland. He had brown wavy hair that did not shine as the marquess’ black
locks did and—oh, good heavens. This comparison was going badly and in a
dangerous direction. She pasted a smile on her lips and kept her gaze planted
on Mr. Sutherland until both men stood before her.

“Lionhurst, this is Lady Gillian, the
Duke of Kingsley’s eldest daughter. I’m sure you remember her,” Sally finished
with a throaty laugh.

Gillian shot Sally a glare.

“Of course, I mean after all these
years,” Sally finished with a shrug.

Gillian focused on Lord Lionhurst and
prayed he would keep their meeting in the curtains to himself.

His blue eyes crinkled with amusement
and something else—something possibly wicked. His bold gaze moved down her body
and back to her face again. Little sparks of gold danced like flashes of light
across his eyes.

Warmth suffused her body. “Lord
Lionhurst,” she whispered, though she’d meant for her voice to come out strong.

A slow, purely seductive grin spread
across his face. “I remember you.” He said no more, but she knew exactly what
he was remembering. His hands on her face and at her waist. No doubt, the kiss
he’d stolen eleven years ago had been long forgotten by a man who’d probably
kissed more women than a legion of men.