Ripe for Scandal (11 page)

“Would it be indelicate of me to say I don’t care, Papa? Or rather, that I might care, but not so much that I’d rather spend
the rest of my life in quiet obscurity, paying penance for my supposed sins.”

“So you really want to marry him?”

“I do,
a’dhadaidh
,” Beau said, using the Gaelic of her childhood rather than the English
father
.

“Well then,
mo cridhe
, we’d best hope your brother hasn’t killed him.”

Gareth reined Monty in and studied Dyrham in the moonlight. The house was quiet. Every window was dark. He was late. He’d
ridden all night, but it was the morning of the third day. No getting around the fact that he’d failed to meet Leo’s deadline
by several hours. He only hoped Beau hadn’t been worried that he’d fail her… and that she still wanted him to follow.

That niggling doubt had been torturing him the entire ride. What might have seemed a good idea under one set of circumstances
might look very different after a couple days apart, or after her family had had a chance to formulate an alternative.

Monty’s hooves fell heavily on the gravel of the drive, overly loud in the quiet of the predawn morning. As he rounded the
house and entered the stable yard, a light appeared in a window, followed by a pale face. Gareth raised a hand in greeting,
but whoever he’d seen was already gone.

Perhaps he was wrong about the likelihood of a few hours’ grace and Leo had been waiting to pounce.

Gareth unsaddled Monty, twisted a handful of hay into a wisp, and rubbed the gelding down. The layer of sweat that Monty had
built up on their race to Dyrham had already begun to dry, leaving the gelding’s coat stiff and hard. Gareth was just about
done when the unmistakable sound of footsteps caused him to pause.

“You’re late.”

Gareth smiled into the darkness at the sound of Beau’s voice. The teasing tone of her opening salvo told him everything that
he needed to know. Whatever her family’s sentiments, she hadn’t changed her mind, and that was all that mattered.

“If you’re holding me to the letter of the law rather than the spirit, yes, I am.” Gareth continued to work his way down Monty’s
side. Beau went to the gelding’s head and rested her forehead against the animal’s cheek. Monty nickered softly and tossed
his head. Beau ran a soothing hand down the horse’s neck.

Gareth watched her, transfixed. Her hair was a dark coil spilling over her shoulder, the plait standing out against the pale
fabric of her nightrail. It was all he could do not to wrap it around his hand and drag her to him.

“Had to fetch Mountebank?” she asked.

Gareth nodded, took one last stroke down the gelding’s rump, and let the wisp fall to the ground. “Couldn’t have him eating
his head off in Neville’s Cross with no idea of when I might be free to retrieve him. Besides, if your brothers are going
to murder me, I want Monty somewhere safe when I’m gone.”

“And there’s nowhere safer than your prospective killer’s stable?”

Gareth could feel rather than see the mocking little smile that accompanied the quip. He smiled back at her, and her lush
mouth expanded into a visible grin of white teeth.

“For Monty?” he replied. “No. For me? That remains to be seen.”

Her smile faded, and her brows pinched worriedly. She let go of the gelding and reached for him, hands locking onto the lapel
of his coat. Warmth leaked through the layers of their clothes where they touched, licking like lightning through every nerve
in his body.

“You’re mine,” Beau said fiercely, giving him a little shake for emphasis. “And Leo shan’t be allowed to take you away. That
is, if you still want to be.”

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t, brat. Your brother’s threats to hunt me down and kill me aside, it’s a big, wide world, and
I’m not a pauper. I could have easily made a run for it.”

Beau’s answering smile was everything that he could have hoped for. It lit her up and made him almost dizzy. Gareth locked
his hands behind the small of her back and kissed her. Just a quick meeting of the lips. The rush of blood through his veins
was deafening. Beau wilted against him, into him, and Gareth pulled himself back from the precipice.

Leo really would kill him if he caught Gareth tupping his sister in the stables like a milkmaid. “Shall we put Monty up and
go await your family’s verdict?”

Beau drained the dregs of her second cup of tea and set the thin porcelain cup back onto its saucer. The clatter of the servants
beginning their day below stairs made her jump.

Sandison raised one brow and drank from his own cup. The elegant cup looked ridiculously small in his hand. Like a child’s
toy, or something offered to Gulliver by the Lilliputians.

“What version of events have you told your family?” he asked, setting his cup aside.

Beau sank back into the embrace of her chair. “The truth. Or at least that’s what I’ve told my parents. Leo didn’t arrive
until after dinner last night. He looked right through me, like I wasn’t even there, and went straight upstairs.”

Sandison nodded, not looking at all surprised. “And did it serve?”

“No,” Beau replied baldly. “I found myself getting somewhat tangled when attempting to impart it.”

“And now they don’t believe a word of it.”

Beau shook her head, wishing she were a more eloquent storyteller, or a far better liar. “I think Mamma wants to, and I think
the duke will warp the story to suit his purposes, whatever they may turn out to be.”

“So you think your father may want to kill me as well?”

“I think he hasn’t made up his mind.”

“Which is more than I could hope for, under the circumstances.”

“Exactly,” Beau said, glad that he understood.

“Don’t look so surprised, brat. I may not be a wily MP or a noted wit, but I am the son of a dangerously conniving earl. A
younger son to boot, which means I was born to serve and be of use. I was raised on intrigue and politics. They were just
of the petty familial kind.”

“So you know what to expect from my family?”

Sandison shook his head. “Not at all, but I know enough to expect them to make the most expedient use of me. And I know that
I should be careful—very, very
careful—of all of them. Especially Her Grace, who is, if you don’t mind my saying so, by far the most intimidating member
of your family.”

“Mamma most certainly means for you to live,” Beau said, pouring herself another cup of tea. “She’s been planning the wedding
since she arrived. I think she even forced Papa to apply for a license, so we can be married quietly from Dyrham.”

“Oh, I’m sure Her Grace wants me alive at least long enough to plight my troth and give you my name,” Sandison said, his tone
wry. “I rather imagine my neck might not be worth much after that, however.”

CHAPTER 13

T
his is not the first time our daughter has had to be rescued from the jaws of scandal.”

Beau could feel her cheeks burning with indignation as her father continued his litany of her failings. She and Sandison were
both still as they’d been found: she in her bedclothes and he in his muddy boots and dusty traveling gear. Her father had
launched his first salvo from the doorway and had continued, unabated, for nearly an hour now.

Pointing out that she’d never meant for any of it to happen would get her nowhere. Attempting to defend herself, or Sandison,
was a losing proposition.

“But it’s to be hoped this will be the end of such nonsense from her,” the duke continued, twisting the knife as he went.
“I’m prepared to force the issue if I have to, but I’m hoping neither of you will make that necessary. Her Grace wants a wedding,
and my daughter has voiced her willingness. I assume, young man, that if you were anything less than willing you’d have fled
rather than turn up here.”

Beside her, Sandison nodded, seeming almost absurdly at his ease. Beau’s hands ached with clenching them, her teeth felt as
though they might crack each time she swallowed down an angry retort. Sandison was simply taking it all in, nodding occasionally.
He was disgustingly calm, which made her burn all the more with the urge to defend them both.

“No force or coercion will be necessary, Your Grace. But then you knew that from the start. Any man, especially one such as
myself, would be lucky to be given Lady Boudicea’s hand.”

Her father sucked in one cheek as he watched them, his eyes keenly searching for weakness. “Quite,” he said dryly. “Though
I’m not at all sure
given
was the word you were looking for, Beau.” He rounded on her. “You’d best run and get dressed, then go and find your mother.
You can be the one to tell her she may have her way and set the wheels of your marriage into motion. Sandison, you’d best
stay. You and I still have many things to discuss.”

Beau nodded, not trusting herself to speak, and strode from the room. Feeling petty, but unable to stop herself, she shut
the door with enough force to communicate her annoyance but not so much as to cause her father to upbraid her for insolence.

She found her sister-in-law in the corridor outside her room and nearly burst into tears when Viola silently hugged her. After
a moment, she shrugged out of the other woman’s embrace.

“Come along,” Viola said, the coaxing note in her voice nearly causing Beau to baulk. “I’ve got something for you.”

Once inside her room, her sister-in-law pulled a small book out of her pocket and held it out. Beau took it from her and stared
down at it dumbly. The simple cloth cover was worn and somewhat grimy. No title or author appeared anywhere on it. She flipped
it open:
Aristotle’s Masterpiece
stood alone on the third page.

“Philosophy?” Beau said, allowing the cover to fall shut. What the hell was she supposed to do with a book of philosophy?

Viola smiled slyly. “Of a sort, but not the fusty old kind that your father and I favor. This is of a more practical nature,
especially for a new bride.”

Her sister-in-law crossed the room, took a seat at the small vanity table, and began straightening Beau’s myriad assortment
of bottles, boxes, trays, and brushes. Beau cracked the book open again.

It is strange to see how things are slighted only because they are common, though in themselves worthy of the most serious
consideration. This is the very case of the subject I am now treating of. What is more common than the begetting of children?
And what is more wonderful than the plastic power of Nature, by which children are formed? For though there be radicated in
the very nature of all creatures a propension which leads them to produce the image of themselves, yet how these images are
produced after those propensions are satisfied, is only known to those who trace the secret meanders of Nature in her private
chambers, those dark recesses of the womb where this embryo receives formation. The original of which proceeds from the Divine
command—increase
and multiply. The natural inclination and propensity of both sexes to each other, with the plastic power of Nature, is only
the energy of the first blessing, which to this day upholds the species of mankind in the world
.

Beau shut it again with snap. She glanced across the room to find her sister-in-law laughing silently.

“I know it’s not the most traditional bridal present,” Viola said, “but it’s far more useful, I promise. Keep in mind that
it was writ by a man, but in among all the scientific and anatomical pedantry, there’s a great deal of useful information.
Especially if, by chance, you might already be with child.” The slight upswing of her voice almost made the last sentence
a question. “Or if you might want to prevent yourself from becoming so long enough for it to become clear that you didn’t
have
to marry.”

Beau looked down at the unproposing little book again. “No worry on that front. Mr. Sandison was adamant that there be no
possibility of a pregnancy.”

Viola bit her lips, half-containing her smile. “You sound put out, Beau. Didn’t you want him to be a gentleman?”

Beau wrinkled her nose and sat down on the bed. “No, I don’t think I did. Anymore than you wanted my brother to be one.”