Once Upon a Scandal (17 page)

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Authors: Barbara Dawson Smith

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BOOK: Once Upon a Scandal
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“Yes.”
“By odd coincidence, so have I. My husband owns a fleet of merchant ships, and I’ve traveled to many strange and wonderful ports of call.”
“Indeed. And where is your husband tonight?”
“Oh, la. He is already gone off to sea again.” Her lower lip thrust out in a pout, and she looked up at him from beneath the veil of her lashes. “Leaving me all alone.”
“Ah.” It was almost amusing to watch her flirt. And gratifying. At present his wife was absorbed in conversation with Hickey, her hand on his arm and her adoring smile focused on him. “Would you care to dance, Mrs. Boswell?” Lucas said abruptly. “I should like to hear more about your strange and wonderful experiences.”
Emma burned.
Discipline kept the smile on her face as she listened to Sir Woodrow and her grandfather trade stories about their trouble in getting a proper fitting from their favorite tailor. Across the assembly room, Lucas waltzed with a gorgeous, black-haired woman. He had not danced so closely with
her,
Emma fumed.
Was it her imagination, or did his hand slip tighter around his partner’s trim waist as he dipped his head to speak to her? Emma knew the feel of that hand, big and warm, a hand capable of both protecting and arousing. Perhaps he preferred women of dark beauty.
Like his mistress, the love of his life.
Emma’s rancor seared deeper. She resented another woman touching her husband. It was only that he was making a mockery of their marriage, flaunting the freedom of a gentleman to have assignations. While his wife must behave with perfect decorum.
“Hssst,” said her grandfather. “Methinks I spy the lady of my dreams.”
Emma turned to see his nimble form flit over to a gathering near the orchestra. “The lady of his dreams?” she repeated in bafflement. “What is he talking about?”
Sir Woodrow leaned closer to her ear. “Briggs has fixed upon the idea of marrying an heiress,” he said in an undertone.
“Grandpapa?”
Emma could not get over her amazement. This must be his way of heeding Lucas’s advice and taking responsibility for his debts. She had no more time to ponder the matter, for Lord Briggs was guiding a young—a very young—woman toward them.
She had a long, narrow face and a whippet-thin body. Wearing a high-waisted green gown of the latest fashion, she topped Lord Briggs by a good four inches, not including the dyed ostrich plume bobbing above her tight, Grecian curls. Gaudy emeralds glinted at her throat and ears. Clutching his arm, she simpered at him, looking ridiculously juvenile.
“I’ve brought someone to meet you,” he announced. “May I present my granddaughter, Lady Wortham, and Sir Woodrow Hickey. This is Miss Minnie Pomfret.”
The girl looked struck dumb as Woodrow made his bow to her. Gaping at Emma, she opened her mouth and closed it. A ruddy hue stained her cheeks. “Lady …
Wortham,
did you say?”
“Yes,” Emma said with a smile. “I’m pleased to meet you.”
She held out her gloved hand, and Miss Minnie Pomfret stared at it as if it were a snake. “Oh, my stars! Mama says I am not to associate with women of your character,” she blurted out. “Forgive me, Lord Briggs, I didn’t realize …” Turning, she took herself off at an unladylike trot, the plume bouncing above her head.
Emma felt herself blanch. The opinion of a callow girl didn’t matter. Yet she couldn’t deny an ache deep within herself. Despite the dowager’s concerted efforts, there were still people who believed the old gossip.
“Cheeky little baggage,” Lord Briggs grumbled. “Ought to go after the chit and tan her hide.”
Emma placed her hand on his arm. “No, Grandpapa. Let Miss Pomfret be.”
“How exceedingly ill-bred of her,” Sir Woodrow said, his lip curled. “I’m sorry you were so insulted, Emma. Would you care to sit down?”
“No, thank you.”
“The music is lovely, is it not? Perhaps we should dance, after all.”
He was trying to distract her, and his solicitousness suddenly annoyed her. “If you could fetch me a lemonade?”
“At once.” He went off to join the throng around the refreshment table.
“I’ve ruined your courtship, I’m afraid,” Emma murmured to her grandfather. “Though she was a bit young, don’t you think?”
“Her papa made a fortune in coal. Money can make up for many a flaw.” His eyes danced with merriment. “But if truth’s to be told, with that long face, Miss Minnie reminds me of an old hound of mine.” He threw back his head and howled like a dog.
“Grandpapa, hush!” Emma exclaimed, as several guests turned to stare. “You should be ashamed.”
He sobered. “I am. I’m ashamed Mannering holds my markers, after I promised not to gamble anymore. But never fear. I’ll find another heiress to charm.” Grinning, he rocked back and forth on his heels. “There’s plenty as wants a title who’ll take a creaky old codger like me.”
Emma bit her lip. No matter what Lucas said, she could not stand idle while her grandfather shackled himself to a featherbrained debutante fifty years his junior.
She glanced around the crowded ballroom. Another set was about to begin, and she recalled promising this dance to a sallow-faced viscount. Lucas and his gypsy were nowhere to be seen.
Wait. There he was. She caught a glimpse of his arrestingly
handsome profile and longish dark hair as he headed out the terrace door. With that woman.
Emma stiffened. They’d gone out to the garden. Would he kiss her in the moonlight, too?
Resentment ravaged Emma’s heart; then she told herself to be glad he was gone. All evening, he’d been watching her like a hungry tiger. Now she could slip away, and quickly, before her next partner claimed his dance. And before her host came in search of her, seeking to cancel Grandpapa’s debt.
A shudder gripped Emma. Weaving her way through the throng, she kept a watch for Lord Gerald Mannering. Upon seeing him leading a large-bosomed beauty onto the dance floor, Emma breathed a silent sigh of relief.
Now was her chance to play the Bond Street Burglar.
On the terrace outside the ballroom, Lucas brushed the twigs off his brown brocaded coat. He stank of Mrs. Boswell’s perfume.
Fool.
What had he hoped to accomplish by taking her outside? The very instant they’d stepped into the shadows, she had thrown herself at him in a brazen kiss, and he’d had to wrestle himself free. They’d ended up tumbling ignominiously into the shrubbery. When he made clear his lack of desire for her, she had called him a few choice names and stalked back into the house. In search of more docile prey, no doubt.
She was merely a distraction, he acknowledged with a grimace. A way to forget Emma.
He stepped into the ballroom and surveyed the swirling hordes of guests. Briggs chatted with a plain-faced miss. Hickey stood near the refreshment table, engaged in conversation with a curly-haired dandy. But Emma was nowhere to be seen. Nor was Mannering.
Damn.
Bloody damn
. He shouldn’t have taken his eyes off her, not even for an instant.
Prodded by suspicion, Lucas swiftly made his way to the door. Guests strolled through the foyer, heading toward the
card room or the dining chamber. Black-coated footmen bearing trays of food hastened up and down the passageway to the kitchen, in preparation for the midnight supper.
And then he saw her. A flick of blue skirt and a flash of fair hair.
He went after her, nearly knocking down an under-butler toting a tray of wine bottles. Catching up to her by the ornate newel post, Lucas closed his fingers around her warm, bare shoulder and murmured in her ear, “Where are you going?”
She spun around, her eyes big and blue in the faceted light of a crystal chandelier. “Lucas!” Her gloved hand flew to her throat and toyed with the pearls there. “You nearly frightened me out of my skin.”
He drew her into an alcove beneath the stairs. “Where are you going?” he repeated.
“Why, to fetch a glass of rum punch from the supper room.” She dipped her head so that he could not help but admire the fine curve of her neck. “They’re serving only lemonade and champagne in the ballroom, and I confess, I wanted something a little less … tedious.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t ask one of your spaniels to fetch for you. Hickey, for one. Or have I caught you in another lie?”
Her mouth pursed in pretty annoyance. “Who are you to question me?
You
disappeared with that gypsy woman.” With a disdainful sniff, she added, “You reek of her.”
Something sparked in her eyes, something he couldn’t quite credit. Something that gave him great satisfaction. He ran his finger down the satiny smoothness of her cheek. “Jealous?”
She stood there a moment, her pink lips parted and her eyes rounded, focused on him. “I could ask the same of you. But I shan’t.” With unexpected wifely care, she stretched up on tiptoe and plucked a leaf out of his hair, crumbling it between her gloved fingers. “In truth, I’m too parched to quarrel. And my feet ache from dancing. If I sit right here, will you be so kind as to fetch my drink?”
She settled herself on a gilt chair and gazed up sweetly at
him. His suspicions melted like wax to a candle flame. With her hands clasped in her lap, Emma looked like an angel. An angel who made him suffer the fiery torment of the damned.
“Wait here,” he said gruffly, and stalked away.
The moment her husband vanished into the assemblage of people, Emma sprang up and slipped out of the alcove. She hastened down the passageway that led to the kitchen. She had intended to go up the grand staircase, but she dared not risk him turning back and seeing her.
Finding a door cleverly disguised in the paneling, she took a swift glance around, then entered the servants’ staircase. It was dim and dingy, a narrow shaft designed for utilitarian purposes. At least she could be reasonably certain of encountering no one since all the servants would be engaged in catering to the guests. Her skirts rustling, she ascended the steep wooden steps, opened another door, and peeked out.
The corridor was empty. She could hear muffled voices coming from one of the bedrooms that had been set aside for the ladies’ convenience. Emma’s slippers made no sound on the thick carpet runner. Judging by her knowledge of similar town houses, the master’s bedchamber would be at the end of this passage. Emma planned to make short work of pilfering Lord Gerald’s jewel case.
What a shame she had not been accepted by society these past few years. Really, this sort of burgling was so much easier than creeping along a narrow ledge three floors above the ground.
Emma was almost to Lord Gerald’s bedroom when a hand clamped down on her shoulder. For the second time that evening, she jumped in surprise and whirled around. Instead of her husband, she saw the sly face and lush copper curls of Lord Gerald Mannering himself.
His brown eyes undressed her. “Emma, fancy meeting you up here. Were you looking for me?”
Of all the ill luck. She steeled herself against a shudder
and worked her dry lips into a flirtatious smile. “Oh, you startled me. Where did you come from?”
“Your erotic dreams,” he said, reaching for her. “It’s time for our tryst, darling. Time to settle your grandpapa’s debt.”
“No, no, no,” she said, shaking her finger at him teasingly while backing away. “We agreed on half past midnight, remember? By then, supper will be over and my husband will be engaged in cards. And I’ll be free for you.”
“We’re alone now.” Lord Gerald uttered a playful growl. “Come, my pet, give me a bite of those luscious breasts.”
“Not now,” Emma said, when his fingers brushed her bosom. To soften her sharp response, she ducked her head shyly. “I’m embarrassed to admit, you caught me on my way to the necessary room. I’m afraid my need is rather pressing.”
He let his hands fall to his sides. “I’ll wait here for you, then.”
“I fear to enrage his lordship. He has a horrid temper.” She tapped her finger on her lips. “But perhaps I can persuade him to engage in card playing sooner. I’ll rendezvous with you in an hour.”
“As you say, then,” Lord Gerald muttered. “We’ll meet here at eleven and don’t be late.”
“I won’t be,” she promised, her fingers crossed behind her back. “And please bring along a glass of champagne, will you? I’m ever so thirsty.”
Grumbling, he started for the grand staircase. When he turned back to look, she blew him a shaky kiss. He pretended to catch it, pressing his fingers to his own lips. Then he disappeared down the stairs.
She hastened to Lord Gerald’s bedchamber and went inside, closing the door behind her. There, she leaned back against the white-painted panel and hissed out a breath of relief. Her heart pounded so hard she felt dizzy. Dear God. That was close. Too close for comfort.
Then she couldn’t help but grin, imagining three men wandering
around the house, carrying drinks and searching for her. Really, men were so easily gulled.
The twin flames of a bronze torchiere on the bedside table flickered over a room of gaudy decor. Pea-green walls set off the red brocaded draperies. The bedposts were topped by gilt sphynx heads, and the Egyptian motif continued in the red chaise longue and the ornate cabinetry. A shiny ebony screen in a corner bore paintings of nude dancing women. The very thought of being alone here with Lord Gerald sickened her.

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