Last Night's Scandal (6 page)

Not that she had much hope of any at present, in a society bound by increasingly strict rules.

But so long as she was nobody’s wife—and so long as Great-Grandmama was alive, to stand up to the others for her—Olivia had a measure of freedom, at least.

She wouldn’t give that up until she had absolutely no other choice.

“Join us for dinner,” she told Lisle. “We can talk then.”

“I reckon I’d better wash first,” he said.

He grinned at her, looking for a moment like a grubby schoolboy, and reminding her of the schoolboy who’d pummeled Nat Diggerby and played the part of her loyal squire en route to Bristol.

The grin, combined with the recollection, set things fluttering inside her. “I reckon you’d better,” she said.

He closed the carriage door.

She sat back in her seat, so that she wouldn’t be tempted to look out of the window and watch him walk away.

She felt the carriage bounce slightly as the footmen leapt up to their places. One of them rapped on the carriage roof, and the vehicle lurched into motion.

After a minute or two, Bailey said, “Miss, you’ve still got his lordship’s handkerchief.” Olivia looked down at it. She’d have it laundered, then add it to her collection. The glove
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of her right hand concealed the scarab he’d sent her long ago. She’d had it made into a ring, which she wore constantly. There were his letters as well, too few of them: one for every half dozen of hers.

She had his friendship and every one of his letters. She had the trinkets he’d sent her and odd, rubbishy remembrances she’d collected. That, she knew, was as much as anyone would ever get from him. He’d given himself—heart and mind and soul—to Egypt a long time ago.

“He won’t miss it,” she said.

Atherton House

The same evening

“Oh, Peregrine, how could you?” Lady Atherton wailed. “Brawling! Like a common ruffian! In the Strand, of all places, for all the world to see!” She turned to her husband. “You see, Jasper? This is what comes of leaving Rupert Carsington in charge of him for all these years.”

That was completely illogical. Lisle had been getting into fights for as long as he could remember. He hadn’t needed any guidance from Uncle Rupert in that department. He’d never in his life run from a fight, no matter who the adversary or how big or how many. Never had, never would.

“You’ve turned into a savage!” his father raged. “You cannot even present a paper to the Society of Antiquaries without instigating a riot.”

“Hardly a riot,” Lisle said. “More like a scuffle. The papers have more interesting matters to report.”

“The newspapers like nothing better than lurid stories about men fighting over Olivia Carsington,” Mama said. “I cannot believe you let her make a fool of you, too. I am
mortified
.

How shall I face my friends after this? How shall I hold my head up?” She sank onto the chaise longue and burst into tears.

“This is what comes of indulging your Egyptian nonsense,” said Father. “Well, I’m putting a stop to it, once and for all. Until I see a glimmer of filial duty, a semblance of gentlemanly behavior, you shall not get another farthing from me.” Lisle stared at him for a moment. He’d expected a scene, naturally. He would have been shocked if his parents had not ranted and raved.

But this was new. He wasn’t sure he’d heard aright. Like other noblemen’s sons, Lisle was utterly dependent on his father financially. Money was all he got from his parents. They’d never given him affection or understanding. Those the Carsingtons gave him, abundantly.

But he couldn’t go to the Carsingtons for money.

“You’re cutting me off?” he said.

“You’ve mocked us, ignored us, used us, and abused our generosity,” Father said. “We’

ve borne it all patiently, but this time you’ve gone too far. You’ve
embarrassed
your mother.” On cue, his mother fainted.

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“This is mad,” Lisle said. “How am I to live?”

His father hurried to his mother’s side to administer smelling salts. “If you want money, you’ll do as other gentlemen do,” he said as he tenderly lifted Mother’s head from the pillow onto which it had conveniently fallen. “You’ll respect your parents’ wishes. You’ll go to Scotland as we ask, and you’ll assume responsibility for once in your life. You’ll go to Egypt again over my dead body!”

L
isle didn’t come to dinner, after all. Late in the afternoon, Olivia received a note from him:
If I come to dinner, I’ll have to kill somebody. Best to keep away. You’re probably in
enough trouble.

L

She wrote back:

It isn’t
safe
to Write. Meet me at Hyde Park Corner. Tomorrow. Ten o’clock in the
Morning. DO NOT FAIL ME.

O

Hyde Park

The following morning

Only a few years ago, London’s most fashionable gentlemen could be counted on to take a stroll in Hyde Park every morning, then return at the fashionable hour, between five and seven o’clock in the afternoon.

These days a stroll in the forenoon was not merely unfashionable but
vulgar
.

Morning was, therefore, the perfect time for a Clandestine Rendezvous, as Olivia would have written in one of her missives.

She was late, naturally, and Lisle had never been good at waiting. But he forgot his impatience when she came into view, a great pale blue plume waving from the top of her hat like a banner carried into battle. She wore a riding dress of military cut, of a deep blue that matched her eyes.

The low slant of morning sun caught the curly hair escaping the confines of her hat and pins, and made it shimmer like garnets.

When she came alongside him, he still hadn’t caught his breath.

“You’ve no idea the difficulty I had getting away from Bailey,” she said. “You’d think she’d be glad to be excused, as she hates riding in Town, but no, she was determined to come with me. I had the devil’s own time persuading her to stay and
allay suspicion
. As it was, I was obliged to take a groom.” She tipped her beplumed head in the direction of a young male in livery trailing at a tactful distance behind her. “Not that you and I have anything to hide, but all the family are vexed with me for getting you into the fight with Belder.”

“I got myself into it,” he said.

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“Your eye is very bad,” she said, leaning forward a little to peer at it.

“It looks worse than it is,” he said. “Nichols knows how to treat these things.” If he hadn’t known, that eye would be swollen shut at present. “It’ll turn a few ugly colors over the next few days, and then it’ll fade. My mouth, as you have no doubt observed with regret, is not so much damaged as you thought.”

“You are not as pretty as you were at the ball,” she said. “Mama had a lively description of the fight and your injuries from somebody, and she’s furious. She says I ought to keep away from you. She says you have enough difficulties without my getting you into trouble.”

“Nonsense,” he said. “Who will I talk to if you keep away? Come along. It’s too noisy here.”

Though the park itself was deserted—by the haut ton, at any rate—Hyde Park Corner bustled. Peddlers, milkmaids, soldiers, and loiterers of all sorts crowded the pavement. On the Knightsbridge Road, the Royal Mail and the stagecoaches vied for space with lowly farm wagons, elegant private carriages, riders, and pedestrians. Stray children, cats, and dogs darted among the vehicles and horses.

It was here, at Hyde Park Corner, that their first adventure together had begun. The memory came back vividly: Olivia, standing with a surly ox of a boy . . . Lisle having to beat the boy out of the way . . . then climbing onto a farm wagon after her. . .

Every time he awaited her, he expected the skinny girl he used to know, with her striking hair and eyes. Every time, seeing her as she was now threw him off balance. He still wasn’t used to the beauty she’d become. It almost hurt to look at her face, and the soft curves of her body—which the snug tailoring of her riding dress emphasized—made a muddle of feelings inside.

Wrong feelings. They were the kind any attractive woman could inspire in a man. Any number of loose women could tend to them.

What he needed at this moment was a friend and ally.

Yet even when they entered the park, he found he wasn’t quite ready to talk. He needed to clear the jumbled feelings from his head or his heart—he wasn’t sure where they were, exactly.

“Race?” he said.

Her eyes lit.

Their horses were fresh, happy to gallop westward along the deserted Rotten Row. Her mare was as powerful as his, and she rode with the same skill and daring she applied to everything in her life. He won, but not by much, and at the end, they were laughing—at themselves, and at the sheer pleasure of a gallop on a fine autumn morning.

They eased to a trot, then headed further into the park.

When they reached a stand of trees, well out of sight of the more traveled pathways, they slowed their mounts to a walk.

Then he told her what had happened.

“They’ve cut you off?” she said incredulously. “But they can’t! You’ll go mad here. You must return to Egypt.”

“I told you they were determined to keep me home,” he said. “I didn’t realize how
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determined. I thought they might settle down after a while, or forget, as they usually do. But they’re even more adamant today than they were yesterday about that dratted castle. Father will only extend funds for me to undertake their restoration fantasy.”

“I can imagine what he’s thinking,” she said. “He thinks you’ll become involved in the project, and transfer your passion to it.”

His heart raced guiltily. “My passion?” he said.

“Your parents are jealous of Egypt,” she said. “They don’t understand the difference between an old castle and ancient monuments. It’s all ‘old’ to them.” He wouldn’t have called Egypt a passion, but Olivia would, and perhaps, after all, what he felt for the place and his work there was a sort of passion.

She understood so well, sometimes better than he did. But then, she was a DeLucey, and they’d survived for so many generations because they were adept at reading people and manipulating them.

“I suppose I should be grateful they didn’t think of using the purse strings before,” he said.

“If they had, Lord Rathbourne would have paid your way,” she said.

“Your stepfather’s done more than enough for me,” Lisle said. “He has you and your sisters and brothers to think of now.”

“I would give you my money,” she said. “You know I would.”

“That would be monstrous improper,” he said. “I’m glad it’s not possible.” Her funds, he knew, had been very carefully tied up, to protect her not only from fortune hunters but from herself. She was a strange mixture of contradictions: her mind calculating and her heart generous. Her leaping to the ragamuffin’s defense yesterday was typical.

She drew nearer and put out her gloved hand to touch his. “I won’t let you be trapped here,” she said. “We’ll think of something.”

There it was, the gleam in her great blue eyes.

“No, we won’t,” he said firmly.

She was his friend and ally and confidante, but her impulsiveness, ethical blind spots, and fervent nature sometimes made his hair stand on end—he, who dealt daily with snakes, scorpions, crocodiles, thieves, cutthroats, and—worst of all—officials.

To say her judgment was dubious at best was putting it very mildly, indeed.

Nine years ago she’d lured him into a journey to Bristol on a hunt for a pirate’s treasure, of all things. That was one of her Ideas, with a capital I. It could have ended very badly for him—in a sadistic Scottish school, for instance—had Lord Rathbourne not intervened.

Lisle knew very well that his journeying to Egypt instead was entirely thanks to Rathbourne. Lisle knew, too, that one couldn’t rely on miracles. Furthermore, he was a man now, not a boy. He couldn’t expect and didn’t want friends and relatives to get him out of every difficulty.

“No, Lisle, you must listen,” she said eagerly. “I have the most wonderful Idea.” Olivia with an Idea.

A prospect to strike terror into the heart of any man with a modicum of intelligence and any sense of self-preservation.

“No Ideas,” he said. “Not on any account.”

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“Let’s go to Scotland,” she said. “Together.”

H
er heart pounded so hard it must be audible at Kensington Palace. She’d been thinking about the castle in Scotland since Saturday.

“Have you lost your mind?” he said.

“I knew you’d say that,” she said.

“I’m not going to Scotland.”

“But we’ll go
together
,” she said. “It’ll be fun. An adventure.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said. “We’re not children anymore. Even you can’t get away with going to Scotland with a man. Your parents will never approve.”

“They don’t have to know.”

His grey eyes widened. “Olivia.”

“Tomorrow morning they’re leaving for Derbyshire,” she said. “I’m staying in London with Great-Grandmama.”

He looked away. “This grows worse by the minute.”

“I’ve thought it through,” she said.

“Since when?” he said, his too-keen gaze coming back to her. “I told you only a moment ago what’s happened.”