Saved by Scandal (19 page)

The chit had forty thousand pounds, Floria was thinking; she could get her own vinaigrette.

Then the room started filling with servants who thought the house was under attack. Fenning had a blunderbuss, and Mrs. Hapgood and Mrs. Shircastle had pots. Margot rushed past them, to see her sister-in-law on the floor, bleeding. White-faced and wide-eyed, Margot looked at her husband.

“Damn it to hell, wife, don’t look at me like that. I didn’t hit her, too!”

The doctor had followed Margot, and now he knelt at Harriet’s side, examining the wound. “Hush, my lady, ’tis a mere scratch. You won’t even have a scar on your pretty face.”

That stopped Harriet’s screaming—not the words as much as the handsome young gentleman gazing at her so attentively, holding her hand.

“Is she truly all right?” Margot asked Dr. Hill, the physician.

“Of course she is,” Galen answered before the doctor could make a pronouncement. “She is perfectly well to get in a coach in the morning and go to Bath. Maybe there her forty thousand pounds can buy her a respectable husband.”

The young lady had forty thousand pounds? The young doctor had ambitions. Besides, females with fortunes were notoriously fragile. Dr. Hill patted her hand. “I think you might be too hasty, my lord. One never knows about injuries to the head, of course. Why, the young lady might be concussed. No, I think she needs to stay in her bed for a few
days of rest, to make sure. I can leave some powders in case she develops a headache, or perhaps a drop of lau—”

“No laudanum. I will not have it in the house.”

“But if the young lady is in pain, my lord…?”

“Then she will suffer, the way the rest of us have suffered over her horrid behavior for years.”

At least four people in the room silently said amen.

Chapter Twenty

Whoever said to err is human, to forgive divine, should have considered a compromise.

The doctor and Mrs. Hapgood helped Lady Harriet upstairs, while Mrs. Shircastle hurried to concoct a posset. Madame Millefleur decided this was not the ideal time to ask Woodbridge for the return of her dowry, paltry though it was, and played least in sight.

Reverend Skidmore skipped the rest of his tea, hoping Galen would forget their engagement at Gentleman Jackson’s. Skippy surely intended to forget it. He also intended to do some thinking about how well a fellow could get by on forty thousand pounds, if he invested it wisely, lived at his in-laws’ expense, and cut back on his gambling a bit, now that his wager on Woodbridge and Mademoiselle Montclaire had paid his debts. Why, he wouldn’t need to see the inside of a church again until the day he died. Skippy decided he really had to look around him for an heiress. He wondered if that cousin of Lady Woodbridge’s had any blunt, although he doubted it, since she was acting as Harry’s chaperone. She didn’t act like any poor relation he’d ever known, though, disappearing when she was most needed. Mayhaps she didn’t like the sight of blood, either. Skippy decided to ask the viscount, if Galen ever spoke to him again.

Galen wasn’t speaking to anyone, not until he had his wife alone. Fenning glanced from his master to his mistress, then ordered all of the remaining servants gone. He took the empty pastry plate, then he came back and removed the
priceless Ming vase from the mantel. He closed the door quite firmly behind him, leaving Galen and Margot alone.

Galen had his arms crossed in front of his chest. “Well, madam, are you prepared to apologize?”

“I did not accuse you of striking your sister.”

“No, but you thought it for a minute. I could see it in your eyes.”

“What you saw in my eyes was terror that your sister might be too injured to go home.”

“Very well, you do not believe I am so lost to honor that I would hit a woman. Am I supposed to be proud that my own wife thinks that is the limit to my restraint? That beating small, defenseless children is more in keeping with my character?”

“You struck my brother. Ansel seems to believe your actions were justified. He also believes you can walk on water, however, since you bought him a pony, so I do not credit his impartiality. You struck a sick little boy to end his crying.”

“I hit him to end his suffering. They did it in the Army all the time, when they ran out of drugs or spirits. You, however, let my sister attend the theater to end her whining.”

“I didn’t
let
her do anything. You are changing the subject.”

“So are you. The subject is neither your brother, Margot, nor my sister. The fact is that you do not trust me.”

Margot put down the blue jasperware teapot when she realized her hands were shaking. The tea would be cold by now anyway. “You do not trust me, either.”

“I left you, my new bride, a virtual stranger, alone in my house with a fortune in art on the walls, and I left you a
carte blanche
at my bank. What do you mean, I don’t trust you?” Galen was pacing in front of the fireplace, but now he came to stand over her, where she sat on the sofa.

“You didn’t tell me you painted, or that you had an attic studio. I thought those were all storage rooms or bedchambers for the servants. I had to learn otherwise from my brother.”

The viscount’s cheeks were red, and not from the fire. “I do not make my hobby public knowledge. I would have mentioned it to you, of course, when I got around to it. There was no time before I left.”

Margot was not finished. “Furthermore, you do not trust me to know proper behavior if you think I encouraged your impossible sister to cut off her hair and half the fabric of her gowns. To you I am still Margot Montclaire, the singer.”

“To you I am just another wealthy care-for-naught if you don’t trust me not to beat a child.” He pounded on the mantel, making the ormolu clock there lose an hour. The Ming vase would have lost more.

Margot folded her hands in her lap, vowing that one of them, at least, would not resort to childish behavior. “I trust you enough to know that you must have had good reason for what you did.”

“The reason I hit Ansel was that I had to choose between giving him more laudanum or letting him die in agony. I’d shoot a horse in such pain; I could do no less for your brother.”

Ansel was that close to death? She had not realized. “I…I forgive you, and I do apologize for doubting your honor.”

“And I apologize for not telling you about the studio. It has always been a private type of thing, and we hadn’t been married long enough for me to get used to sharing confidences.”

She sniffed. He hadn’t promised to change his ways, either, she thought, but at least it was an apology. “What about your sister?”

He sat beside her on the sofa and reached for her hand. Stroking it, he apologized again. “I am sorry for thinking you might have invited my sister to Town to make a public spectacle of herself; no one in their right mind would invite the brat anywhere. Harry’s been a hellion from the day she could walk. No, when she was crawling, she toppled our mother’s dressing table and smelled like a bordello for weeks. We should have known then, and drowned her. There, I apologized again, and the moon did not fall out of the sky in shock. You must be a good influence, my dear. Am I forgiven?”

“I suppose so.” With him flashing that dimple, she’d likely forgive him much worse.

“Here, then, let us kiss and make up, shall we? That’s what all the scribes say married folk are supposed to do.”

Margot leaned over and placed a chaste kiss on his cheek.

“That is all the forgiveness you can spare? I can do much better.” Galen kissed her lips, briefly. “I forgive you for doubting me.” He kissed her again, for a much longer, breath-stealing time. “And I apologize for doubting you.” Now he played over her lips with his tongue. “And for inflicting my sister on you in the first place.”

“Hmm. I forgive you for not mentioning the studio. Do you paint as well as you kiss?”

“I’ll show you tomorrow. You can decide.” He proceeded to give her a lot more samples to compare, samples of kisses, not paintings.

When his lips moved to her neck and her ear and the hollow between her collarbones, Margot whispered, “I forgive you for being gone so long.” Which was, of course, the real reason for her anger.

“And I forgive you for being so deuced beautiful.” Which was the reason for his frustration. “Did you miss me?”

“Too much.”

“Me, too.” By now Margot was on his lap. Her slippers were on the floor, next to Galen’s cravat. He was pulling the pins out of her hair, letting it fall past her shoulders. “It really is as smooth as silk. I wondered, the whole time I was gone.”

“I wondered if you thought of me at all.”

“Endlessly. You know, this apologizing bit can be quite, ah, good for the soul.”

Margot’s soul was humming, along with the rest of her. “Indeed. Um, was there anything else you wish to argue about so we can kiss and make up some more?”

“No, but that’s no reason we cannot continue.” So he did. “I still need to make amends for my sister landing on your doorstep. I owe you a debt of gratitude for making sure she had that widowed French cousin of yours as chaperone, at least, so her standing is not sunk altogether.”

Margot was kissing the side of his mouth, running her tongue over the rougher skin where his beard was beginning to bristle. “She’s not really French.”

Galen was unfastening the buttons on the back of her gown under her hair. Fumbling, he told himself he’d have to remember next time, buttons first, hair second. “Hmm. I guessed as much from that atrocious accent.”

Margot touched her lips to his chest at the collar of his shirt while she was opening his waistcoat. “She’s not really a widow.”

“No, I didn’t think she was, but the blacks do give her a bit more respectability, so you and your cousin showed great ingenuity.”

“She’s not really my cousin.”

He laughed, now that the buttons were undone and he could slip his hand into the bodice of her gown and feel the soft fullness of her breast. He bent to kiss what he had uncovered. “I never supposed so. You’d have had her at the wedding if you had a cousin. Who is she, an actress from the theater or one of Harriet’s schoolmates?”

“Actually, she’s Lady Floria, your former fiancée.”

Galen jumped up so fast Margot’s posterior hit the floor before the first curse left his lips. “That she-witch is here in my house? Companioning my sister? And you just now thought to tell me?”

“Well, I forgot.” If his lovemaking hadn’t swept every wisp of wit out of her head, she’d never have told him. “Your kisses made me forget.”

“Oh, so now it’s my fault? Am I supposed to beg your forgiveness for that?”

Margot got to her feet and tried to recapture the warmth they’d been sharing. “Well, you could kiss me again. Floria’s been here for days, and no one knows but Fenning and Harriet. She had no money and nowhere else to go.”

“That feckless female can go straight to hell, for all I care. Good gods, if the gossips get wind of this, I’ll never be able to visit my clubs again.” He was pouring out a glass of wine. Recalling his manners, he poured another for Margot.

“I did try to tell her you wouldn’t like it.”

“Now that, madam, is the understatement of the ages.” He drank her wine, too. “I don’t suppose I can toss her out in the middle of the night, can I?”

Margot shook her head, sending wheaten waves cascading across the back of the sofa. The viscount was annoyed that he was almost distracted from his indignation, so he told her: “No, don’t throw out your lures, I have seen them all. Harry’s tears and tantrums won’t work, and your come-hither looks either.”

“I never come-hithered in my life!”

“No? Then how come your gown is around your waist and your lips are swollen from my kisses?”

She gasped. “Is that my fault? You did those things!”

“Aha! You see, I am always in the wrong. I knew how it would be, putting on leg shackles. Let a woman put a ring on her finger, and she thinks you have a ring through your nose.”

“Is that what we are arguing about now? Your loss of freedom? You asked me to marry you, my lord lackwit, if you would bother to remember. I did not entrap you into offering.”

Galen ran his fingers through his already disordered hair. “Lud, I have no idea what we are arguing about. Yes, I do. It’s that woman.” No, it was frustrated desire. “She is determined to ruin my life.”

“But I am not. I did not invite her here, any more than I invited your sister, and Lady Floria is not a comfortable guest for me, either. I could very well blame you for cluttering the countryside with former attachments. For all I know, your prior mistresses will be knocking on the door next.”

“If any do,
then
you may ring a peal over my head. Devil take it, are you sure I have to wait for morning to toss her out?”

“Unless you want the entire household awakened. Besides, she does not rise before noon, which is all to the good. You promised to show Ansel, and me, your studio in the morning, and the mews where his pony will be stabled.”

“He’ll be too tired from the trip. Lud, I forgot about Ansel. Is someone staying with him? He shouldn’t be alone!” Galen leaned on the mantel, resetting the clock from his pocket watch.

“I didn’t think he should be by himself, either, so I put him to sleep in my bed. Ella is there keeping watch until I come, but after all the excitement, one glass of warm milk sent him right to sleep.”