Once Upon a Scandal (4 page)

“Daniel Defoe. The History and Remarkable Life of the Truly Honourable Colonel Jacque is your favorite. And though you’ve tried numerous times to get Grayson to unearth a copy of The Fortunes and Misfortunes of the Famous Moll Flanders, Grayson knows you are far too young to be exposed to such devious content.”

Her eyes widened. Oh, she most certainly was going to gibbet Grayson for this. “What else did my cousin tell you about me?”

“Things you would probably deny. But things I cannot help but find extremely endearing.” His eyes flicked down toward her lips. He leaned in, hovering close. His breath heated the air between them, the scent of rain and allspice drifting all around her. “I want you to kiss me. I need you to kiss me. Because right now, destiny is telling me that if we do this, our lives will never be the same.”

She drew in a breath.

In her heart, she wanted to believe this romantic sop. She wanted to believe that if she kissed him and allowed herself to submit to whatever he was offering, her entire life would be transformed and all of her doubts about relationships, people, life and death would dissipate into a pile of rose petals she could toss into a fountain. Could a kiss change her entire life like the tip of a fairy wand changing one apple into a whole pie? There was only one way to find out.

“Don’t move,” she warned.

“I won’t,” he whispered.

Victoria eyed the quiet darkness of the foyer around them. Knowing she was probably going to regret it in one way or another, she raised herself onto the tips of her bare toes, hooked a hand behind his strong neck and yanked him down toward her. She pressed her lips against his surprisingly warm and soft mouth.

Lean, muscled arms slid around her and molded her closer against the length of his rain-soaked body. Everything swayed and spun. It was incredible.

Ever so slowly, their pressed lips parted in unison. After a moment of awkward hesitation, their tongues touched. Her pulse leapt. The faint taste of sweet, spiced cake made her realize Remington had in fact been in the kitchen eating Mrs. Davidson’s Banbury cakes.

His hot, wet tongue slid against her own as he deepened their kiss. All of her melted into a tingling disarray as she pressed herself against him, wanting and needing to be near him. Remington groaned against her mouth, his large hands drifting toward the back of her waist and skimming her entire backside through her wet nightdress.

She gasped, realizing she was allowing too much, and broke their kiss, pushing herself out of his arms. That was not what she had expected. It had only made her realize she was capable of feeling so much more than she’d ever imagined, and in turn, losing so much more. “There.” She tried to sound indifferent, even though her heart pounded and her throat tightened. “Is destiny well pleased?”

His hands dropped heavily to his sides, but his eyes remained closed. “Destiny wants you to do it again.”

She let out a nervous laugh and stepped back. “I think not. My father would send me away to Scotland if he caught us doing this. And then what? We would never see each other again.”

He opened his eyes and stared at her, his chest rising and falling heavily, emphasizing how wet his shirt was and how incredibly attractive both he and his chest were. “So you want to see me again? Why?”

Her cheeks burned. “Well…I…like you. I have always liked you. You know that.”

“Like?” His voice was gruff. “I like Banbury cakes, but I’m not going to take them to the altar and give them my name and my children. I want to know. What do you really feel for me, Victoria? Tell me. Aside from like? That kiss told me you are well beyond like.”

She blinked up at him, realizing she had placed herself in a very awkward situation. He was trying to extract promises. Mrs. Lambert was going to have a fit. “You cannot expect a lady to divulge what she feels.”

“If you and Mrs. Lambert think my intentions are villainous, then neither of you know a thing about me.” He searched her face in the shadows, the silence of the house interrupted by the steady rush of rain outside. “Are you going to place my mother’s ring on your finger? Or are you going to deny what it is I know you feel?”

Kissing him had been a horrid mistake, because now he seemed to think she was in love with him. Young though she was, she understood how attachments caused one’s fingers to slide off the ledge of reality. Her own father’s grip had slipped years ago. “I will keep your ring on my finger this one night, to assure you of my fondness, and will return it to you in the morning before you leave. But that is all I am willing to offer.”

“No. I am asking you to keep it on your finger until I return from Venice.”

“Keeping it would insinuate far too much and I am not in a position to be granting you or any man favors. Now, please. Don’t tell anyone about this. Not even Grayson.”

He raised a forefinger and tapped it gently against his lips. “I will tell no one. I am and will forever be your protector from this night forth.” He lowered his finger, never once breaking their gaze. It was as if he were silently announcing to her that she was now his. All his.

She swallowed. “If you really seek to pursue this, Remington—”

“I do. Believe me, I do. By God, I have been—”

“Then I suggest you prove your worth in seven months. Not a day sooner. Good night.” Feeling her damp skin tingle beneath the continued heat of his gaze, she quickly turned and scampered up the stairs.

Odd though it was, she couldn’t even remember how she got back to her room. With trembling hands, she bolted her bedchamber door, stripped off her damp clothing and put on a dry chemise and nightdress. Burying herself within the linens and coverlet of her bed, she turned on her side and fingered the ring in her hand.

She drew in a shaky breath and let it out, praying that if Flint was indeed outside, he had found shelter for the night. Heaven forbid that whilst she had been indulging in an incredible kiss with an incredible man, Flint had drowned.

Bringing the ring to her lips, she whispered against the polished ruby, “I beg of you to prove yourself by returning Flint to my side.”

She held her breath and blinked, expecting something to happen. When nothing did—and why would it?—she slid the ring onto her finger, wanting and needing to believe in real pixie magic. The way she used to before loss had destroyed whatever was left of her family, her happiness and her heart.

Late morning, the library

VICTORIA SAT, staring vacantly at her hand which lay across the unopened book resting upon her lap. Remington’s ruby ring shimmered as she tilted her hand back and forth. Although her father had abandoned the last of his remaining house guests to assist Remington in finding Flint out in the surrounding fields, they had been gone all morning. It did not bode well.

“You are supposed to be reading,” Mrs. Lambert ordered with artificial patience from where she sat in a cane chair opposite Victoria. “Regardless of Flint’s absence, you have responsibilities that cannot be swept aside. One must exude staid refinement even during the most trying of times.”

“Yes, Mrs. Lambert.” Exude staid refinement, indeed. There was far more to life than putting on superficial airs. Her dog was missing, possibly dead, and she wasn’t even supposed to care?

Victoria huffed out a breath and grudgingly paged open the red leather-bound book, How To Avoid A Scandal.

“Ladies do not huff out breaths.” Mrs. Lambert’s brown eyes pinned her with an agitated stare.

“Yes, Mrs. Lambert.” Setting her chin, Victoria held her open book up with the refined poise expected of her. She didn’t understand why she was being forced to tolerate the teachings of an etiquette book in preparation for her coming out, which was still a whole seven months away. Not seven days away.

She read the very first page:

Whether or not a lady possesses excellent character, astounding wealth, esteemed rank, or is simply a mere Miss with nothing more than a face and a figure to recommend her to the world, society will still demand the same of each and every woman: perfection. If this appears too daunting, this author can assure you it most certainly is. Society is a ruthless creature expecting perfection in everything a woman does, yet it rarely applies those same expectations toward men. This manipulated form of prejudice creates an unfortunate imbalance that allows men to deviate in ways that put women at a disadvantage. This disadvantage is what ultimately compelled me to offer an array of words in an attempt to rescue and retain a sensibility in a woman. There is only one reason as to why a lady should read this book, and that is to prevent her from becoming a flapping fish upon a hook. Victoria wrinkled her nose. Why did she suddenly feel intimidated by the very idea of being a woman?

Several male voices floated down the corridor, followed by heavy booted steps thudding in her direction.

A high-pitched bark echoed within the house.

Victoria’s heart leapt. She slapped her book shut, setting it on the arm of her chair, and jumped to her feet in disbelief. “Flint?”

Mrs. Lambert closed her own book and sighed.

Standing in the doorway of the library, wearing a wool greatcoat, was Remington. His silken black hair was windblown and scattered and his boots well muddied as he gripped a very wide-eyed, mud-matted and exasperated Flint. Flint barked again, excitedly squirming his tiny, tawny furred body in an effort to be released.

Remington’s bright-blue eyes met hers. “I found him in an overturned barrel on the other side of the field. Do you still want him? Or shall I toss him back outside?”

Victoria grinned, but otherwise couldn’t move. She was simply too mesmerized by Remington to even think. He really was divine. In so many ways.

Her father, somewhat out of breath, staggered in behind Remington, his lopsided cravat unraveling. He shook his unkempt blond-gray head, stern dark green eyes flicking toward her. “You need to ensure the servants don’t let that dog out again without a leash. I’m tired of tending to your responsibilities at every turn. If you can’t oversee the needs of one goddamn dog, then you can’t keep him.”

Her grin faded. Since the passing of her mother, there were times she barely recognized him anymore.

“There is no need for such harsh words, my lord. She is undeserving of them.” Remington quickly bent and set Flint onto the floor.

Flint sprinted toward her, his nails clicking against the wood floors as he dripped and flung mud. Mrs. Lambert squeaked in protest and scrambled back toward the chair she’d risen from, gathering her morning skirts to keep them away.

Victoria dropped to her knees and didn’t care that Flint’s muddy paws climbed up onto the folds of her new lilac gown. She reveled in the cold, muddy kisses that drenched her entire face. “Flint,” she breathed down at him, ruffling the damp, dirty fur around his head. “You aren’t nearly as witless as you lead everyone to believe. You survived a storm all on your own, didn’t you? Yes. Yes, you did. You even found a barrel to hide in. I am so proud of you. And Victor would be, too.”

She squeezed Flint tightly against herself, causing him to yelp. He ducked and scampered back out of the room, no doubt in search of a meal from the kitchen.

Her father sighed and met her gaze pleadingly. “It appears Remington is more of a gentleman than I. I should have never spoken to you with such vile impatience. ’Tis unforgivable.”

Victoria smiled, feeling at peace with her father once again. “There is no need to apologize, Papa. Flint is my responsibility. Not yours.”

“Good. I am pleased to hear we understand each other. Now go. Carry on with your lessons. I will visit with you once the rest of our guests depart. Perhaps a bit of chess?” Her father smiled, turned and disappeared from the library.

Victoria glanced toward Remington, who continued to linger in the entryway, and rose to her feet, smoothing her skirts. “Thank you.” He always had an amazing way of making everything right.

A grin ruffled his lips, causing his shaven cheek to dimple. “I told you the ring was of merit.”

How could she not adore this man when all he continued to do was try to get her to adore him? Aside from valiantly coming to her defense, he’d also tramped through muddy fields all morning. Not even Grayson, drat him, had been willing to look for Flint, and her father had only gone out into the fields because Remington did.

She glanced over at Mrs. Lambert, who had turned away to gather a set of books for their upcoming lessons. She needed to return the ring. She had kept it on her finger long enough.

Victoria darted across the length of the room, toward Remington. Halting before him, she slid the ring from her finger and held it out with a mud-crusted hand. “I believe the magic lies not in this ring, but in its master. I bid you a glorious journey and promise to write if you promise to return in time for my debut.” She smirked. “I will need someone to vie for me. You may be the only one.”

His grin faded. He observed her for a solemn moment. Glancing toward Mrs. Lambert, he whispered hoarsely, “Put it back on your finger. Please. We are done playing games. I will see you upon my return.”

She blinked up at him. He wasn’t…was he?

He jerked a mud-streaked thumb toward the corridor behind them. “I leave for Portsmouth in an hour and from there to Venice. Grayson knows where I’ll be staying. Retrieve the address from him.” He lowered his voice, his lean face flushing as he now seemed to almost mouth the words, “I will compete for your hand upon my return, let there be no doubt. I only hope you won’t already be spoken for because after last night, I…” He glanced toward Mrs. Lambert and winced. “I should go.” He offered a quick bow of his head, turned and disappeared.