Lady Scandal (27 page)

Twisting, she looked at him.
"Perhaps I changed—or perhaps you changed.
Or perhaps it was
because I found the freedom to make my choice." She cupped his face
with her hand.
"Or perhaps I finally found the courage to live up
to the name you once gave me—to be your Lady Scandal."

He scowled at her.
"I don't like
any of these reasons."

She turned in his arms so that she
faced him.
"Do you like the reason that I love you?"

He smiled and a tightness around
his heart eased.
"Say that again—I think the wind took away your
words."

"I love you!
And I shall say it
however many times you wish.
A hundred.
A thou—"

His kiss interrupted her.
With a
sigh, she relaxed into his arms.
Pulling back, he grinned at her.
"Can not a captain of a ship marry a man and a woman?"

"Can he?
Are you
certain?"

He shrugged.
"No.
But why do we not
let him.
We can always marry latter in a church.
Or better still,
elope so your family and mine cannot scowl at us when we
wed."

She smiled at him, her eyes as
brilliant as the sunlight on the sea.
"What a scandal that would
be."

Smiling, he tightened his
arms around her.
"Ah, but,
ma
chére
, I assure you, there will be no
scandal attached to the too-respectable Mrs.
Paxten
Marsett."

"You do know what they called his mother, do
you not—Lady Scandal!"

The lady in gray fanned her face.
"No!
Is
that so?"

The matron with a purple turban and satin
gown nodded.
"Oh, yes.
She married a second time—to some
Frenchman."

The young man standing near them who had
appeared to be reading from a book now lifted his stare.
He had
vague blue eyes and blonde hair that darkened at the ends to a pale
brown.
He smiled at them.
"Half French, actually."

The two matrons stiffened.
The one in purple
gave him a startled glance, and a shaky smile, and said, her tone
stiff, "Lord Sandal—what a surprise to see you at Lady Anderson's
musical evening.
You are not much out these days I understand."

"I came for the music.
Not the gossip.
But
if you must talk, do get it right.
My stepfather is Mr.
Paxten
Marsett, he is half French, and with the war ended I expect he may
well come back into the titles take from his father in France.
You
might not want to get on the bad side of my mother if she becomes a
countess, you know.
She'll be more than Mrs.
Marsett then."

The matrons stuttered apologies, but he
bowed, and as he left, he heard one whisper, "Mark my words—he'll
be a Lord Scandal, he will!"

He smiled and went to find his mother.
She
had gone into the garden—with Paxten of course.
He made a good deal
of noise crunching across the gravel.
Over the years, he had
learned how to avoid embarrassing scenes.
Not that Paxten ever
seemed to be embarrassed about being caught making love to his
wife.
But mother tended to color up, and Jules found it...well,
just a touch distasteful, if he were to be honest.
Not the
affection between them.
But a display of such physical intimacy
seemed to him to be a rather vulgar thing he would rather
avoid.

They sat next to each other and near a
fountain with a statue of Cupid in the center, merely holding hands
when he found them.
"I came to say my good nights."

His mother stretched one hand to him.
She
looked well, he thought.
Still lovely.
The silver in her hair no
more than an added interesting lightness, and her face lined only
by smiles.
"What?
So soon?"

"Yes.
The music is excellent—so rare to hear
a good alto soprano, but the tattle that goes around does
wear."

She frowned.
"It is not that again?
I vow, Paxten, can you not do something?"

He shrugged and smiled.
"Ah, but
ma chére
,
it would not do for me to call out old dowagers for
duels."

Jules kissed his mother's hand.
"Don't worry
on my account.
It doesn't bother me really, so it should not you.
It is just a bore.
Good night, Pax."

With a wave, he continued down the garden
path.

Alexandria watched her son leave.
She let
out a sign and turned to Paxten.
"There must be something we can
do."

Taking her hands, he pulled her to her feet
and into his arms.
Her figure had thickened over the year in ways a
man could appreciate.
His hands now smoothed over the flare of her
hips.
"What do you suggest?
For it sounds as if you have a plan
already."

She leaned back and smiled at him.
"I do.
What do you think of Paris?"

He frowned.
"What—did you not have enough of
it eleven years ago?"

"But that is ages ago.
And Diana is longing
to make the trip again for old time's sale—she is so bored with her
life just now, I vow.
And we could take Jules as well."

"And how much will we enjoy ourselves with
them along?"

"Young people can find their own
amusements."

He stared at her.
"We are not young still
then?"

"Oh, well, then, I shall
say that
very
young people can find entertainment for themselves.
And, thank
you, but I would rather not be very young again." Her arms
tightened around his neck.
"I prefer to be where I am."

She kissed him then, slowly, her lips
lingering over his.
She pulled away at last with a sigh.

He rested his cheek against hers.
"I suppose
with Bonaparte sent away to Elba, he cannot again spoil things for
you."

"We ought to be grateful to him, really.
He
did save our lives."

"He did,
ma chére
.
But I should
still prefer to thank him from a distance.
However, if you wish
Paris, let us go to Paris."

She smiled at him.
"And perhaps we shall
have a little adventure?"

Paxten glanced around them,
before he fixed his gaze on his wife.
He tightened his arms around
her.
"
Ma chére
,
the adventure I had in mind was of making love to you under the
stars."

"Did you?"

"I did.
Lady Anderson's garden, I
understand, has a most secluded grotto, with water tumbling around
that might hide your cries of passion."

"My cries?"

"And shadows made so convenient for
seduction."

Alexandria fanned her face.
"You are a
wicked man."

"Ah,
ma chére
, you have found me
out."

She leaned against him, happy, utterly
content.
"I found you out years ago.
And I am so very glad that I
did.
Now, just where might we find this grotto?"

He chuckled.
"Ah, I can see Paris will be
quite the adventure, indeed."