Scandalous (28 page)

“I probably didn't. I am not very good at this sort of thing—never done it before, you see.” He cleared his
throat, “Miss Hamilton, will you do me the honor of marrying me? Or do I have to be formal and ask your father for your hand?”

“No. Of course not. But this is all so sudden. I'm not prepared.”

“It doesn't take preparation. I am not asking for a speech. A simple yes will do.”

“I cannot!” she cried out, twisting her hands together. “It is impossible. We can't be married.”

“Why not?” He frowned impatiently. “Damn it, Priscilla, it isn't like you to play games.”

“I am not playing games! Honestly. But I cannot marry you. You are a marquess now. You will be the Duke of Ranleigh someday.”

“So?”

“So you have to marry according to your station. You cannot marry some little nobody with no money. You have to marry as befits a duke.”

“I don't have to marry in any way except as I choose,” he retorted. “What a load of hogwash. You told me you did not care about rank or title or any of that stuff.”

“That was when I thought you didn't have one! It is all different now. You are a marquess.”

“Would you quit saying that? You make me feel like I'm a disease or something. It doesn't matter whether I have a fancy title. I am still me.”

“You don't understand. There is a great deal of responsibility that comes with a title. Responsibility to your family and your name and your land. To all the generations of dukes who have gone before you.”

“What does that have to do with my marrying you?”

“You have to marry someone worthy of being a duchess.”

“You are more worthy of it than anyone I know. You are smart, beautiful, generous, brave….”

“No, I don't mean worthy in qualities. I mean worthy in name. My family is genteel, but we are not nobility. Oh, scattered here and there among the family tree may be the odd knight, or even a baronet, but there are no earls or viscounts or dukes.”

He shrugged. “That doesn't bother me.”

“I told you. You are not the only one you have to consider. You have a duty to your name.”

“Blast my name. My name isn't marrying you,
I
am.”

“No one is,” she replied firmly. “Bryan, be reasonable. If I were wealthy, perhaps a respectable family would be enough, but you know that we are merely genteel
and
poor.”

“Somehow, marrying a person because she is rich does not sound very noble to me.”

“It's more practical than noble. It is the sort of thing that one has to do sometimes in order to save the…the family traditions.”

“What?”

“Ranleigh Court,” she said bluntly. “It is falling apart, and the Aylesworths don't have enough money to repair it adequately. Everyone knows that they shut up the east wing years ago because they could not afford to keep it up. It needs money spent on it—lavishly. And the lands are in need of improvements. The family is not penniless; it is just that they haven't nearly enough to devote to the estate. That's what I mean about responsibility to the family. Someone who is heir to a dukedom has to
think of things like that, has to put that before everything else.”

“Well, I don't,” he retorted bluntly. “Father has enough money to refurbish the old place.”

“What do you mean?”

“He didn't come back here for the rents, or however the dukes make their money. I told you we were in shipping. He has enough money to repair Ranleigh Court, or rebuild it, or what
ever
he wants. I have no need to marry for money. And I certainly am not going to marry some girl because she has a name that pleases you or my neighbors or even my father. I intend to marry you.”

Priscilla blinked, stunned. She wanted to throw her arms around his neck and say yes. She had done more than enough, she told herself, to make him see reason. If he still insisted on marrying her, then it was not her fault that he married beneath him or that other people might talk. But it
was
her fault that he did not know that she wrote adventure stories under a man's name. And if word of that were ever to leak out—as it doubtless would, if she were to become a marchioness and be subjected to the ruthless scrutiny of Society—it would be a terrible scandal. The proud Aylesworth family would be humiliated, and it would be because of her.

“No,” she said reluctantly. “There is— It's just—Well, there could be a terrible scandal if you married me.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I mean, if I were to marry you and go into Society, everyone would poke into everything I have done. The gossips would be looking to find some scandalous tidbit about this country nobody who snagged the Aylesworth heir.”

“And have you done something reprehensible?” His eyes danced with amusement. “What? Danced too many times with a man at a ball? Or, let's see, maybe you didn't write a thank-you note soon enough?”

“I am perfectly serious!” Priscilla snapped, annoyed at his laughter. It was killing her to turn him down, and she thought she was displaying great honor and nobility. And he had the temerity to laugh at her! “There is a scandal…. In the past, I have done some things, and…and if that got out, it would humiliate your family.”

“Something worse than being the prime suspect in a murder? We already have that little scandal in our family.”

“Of course not. But it would make it worse. One scandal is one thing, but then, to marry a nobody, that's a second one, and then if they found out about me, it would offend everyone, and—well, it would be a mess. And I don't want to be the one who embroils your family in it.”

“You are not joking, are you?” He regarded her seriously. “You have actually done something scandalous? Something that would get you tossed out of Society?”

“Yes, by quite a few members of it. And there would be gossip. Awful gossip.”

“What is it? I cannot imagine you having committed any serious sin.”

She looked at him, agonized. What if she told him her secret and he was repulsed by it? What if he was relieved that she had not accepted his proposal? What if he found her unfeminine now, and turned away from her in disdain? She had considered confiding her secret to him a few times, particularly when he had been worrying about what he might have been in the past and she
had wanted to comfort him. But she had always held back for fear of what his reaction might be. He seemed a forward-thinking sort; he disdained many of the hide-bound British ideas and traditions. But what if that was because he was an American? It did not mean that he was a proponent of women's rights, or that he would not be shocked by the idea of a woman doing something like writing a book, and particularly the kinds of books that she wrote. She had heard even some of her father's intellectual friends talk with great contempt of women trying to step into things that had always been a man's province. She had never even told the vicar, whom she loved and respected, about her writing, because she had heard him remark with great sorrow on other women who had deviated from God's design by taking on a man's work.

“No, Bryan, please do not ask,” she murmured.

Bryan was thoroughly curious now. He could not imagine what Priscilla could have done that would be so scandalous. “Did you kill someone?” he asked, joking.

“No! Bryan, please.”

He frowned, thinking. “You—you've been married. And you got a divorce.”

“Bryan!”

“You had an affair.”

“No! Is that what you think of me?”

“No, of course not. I am just trying to think of what you could have done.”

“Well, stop. You know, I think, that it would be impossible for me to have been married or had an affair,” she told him pointedly.

“Oh.” He could not keep from smiling sensually as
he thought of the time they had made love. “Of course. You're right.”

“Stop smirking,” she snapped. “I am not answering any more of your questions. Please, just go.”

“Not until you give me a good reason why you will not marry me.”

“I can't. Bryan, please, just trust me. Believe me. It would be impossible. Ask your father. He will tell you how a duke must marry.”

“I don't think you will get the answer you want from him. Remember, he married a titleless American.”

“Why must you make this so hard for me?” Priscilla cried out, tears welling up in her eyes.

“I must,” he answered simply, coming forward and taking her hands in his. She tugged, trying to pull her hands out of his grasp, but he would not let her go. “Don't you see? I cannot let it be easy for you to send me away. You will have to want me gone more than I want you for my wife. That is the only way you can get rid of me.”

“I have refused you. Can't you accept that?”

He shook his head, smiling as he raised each of her hands to his mouth in turn and laid a soft, lingering kiss on it before he set it free. “You know I am far too stubborn for that.”

Priscilla's insides went as soft as mush as he brushed his mouth against the backs of her hands. She thought of his lovemaking and the way his lips had caressed her body all over. That was what she was giving up, she thought: a whole lifetime of Bryan's caresses and kisses. A whole lifetime without his smile, his laugh, his wit. She bit her lower lip, forcing back the acceptance that tried to leap from her throat.

“You will have to say yes to me eventually,” he said. “I intend to keep on trying.”

She shook her head, but he disregarded it.

“I will take my leave now,” he told her. “But I promise you that I will be back. I will not quit until I have the answer I want.”

Then he turned and strode out of the room. Priscilla stood silently, listening to his footsteps in the hall outside. When the front door closed behind him, she collapsed onto the chair behind her and gave way to a torrent of tears.

T
HE
D
UKE OF
R
ANLEIGH STRODE
into the dining room. “Ah, good morning,” he said politely to the two other occupants of the room, the Duchess and her son, Alec.

“Good morning, Your Grace.” Alec jumped to his feet to greet him. He had been impressed by the other man's stature and demeanor last night at the party. He looked the part of a duke, Alec thought, and, frankly, he was relieved not to have the burden of the title. He was now only a younger brother, third in line for the title, and once John—no, Bryan—got married and had a son, he would be even farther away. Alec could see all the advantages of the freedom that offered. His mother would no longer be able to bind him with the responsibilities of being a duke, and he would be off to the army, somehow, some way.

“Good morning, Alec,” Damon responded. “I am glad you decided to join me.”

“Did we have any choice?” the Duchess asked sourly. She was not used to arising so early, and she would still have been sound asleep if her personal maid had not told her that the Duke had requested that she join him at breakfast. It was a polite way of saying the Duke demanded it, she knew.

“Mmm… I suppose one always has a choice,” Damon replied, sitting down at the head of the table.
The footman standing by the silver-laden sideboard immediately stepped forward to fill his cup with coffee.

“What may I get Your Grace?” he asked, but Damon impatiently waved him away.

“I shall get it myself,” he told the man. “You may go back to the kitchen. We will manage by ourselves, I think.”

Bianca arched an eyebrow. Personally, she did not like to get anything for herself. However, she did not have the nerve to say so. She and Alec watched as the new Duke filled his plate from the sideboard and finally sat down again. He took a sip of the coffee.

“Not the best,” he commented. “I shall have to change that.” He glanced around the table casually. “Well, I see that we have one less houseguest this morning.”

Bianca compressed her lips. Benjamin had taken off last night, shortly after Damon arrived. When she had been supported back to her room last night to recover from the shock of Damon's return, she had found the coward packing. He had heard, he told her, that the two men he had hired were in the custody of the town constable. It did not surprise her that the rat was leaving the sinking ship. He would know that, now that Alec would no longer be the Duke, she would no longer have any real power or money. She would be almost entirely dependent on the new Duke for her support, except for the pittance that was her dower. And she would probably not be able to save him if his cohorts decided to reveal his part in their crime. Well, at least she had been clever enough to have
him
deal with the crooks; they would not be able to trace the scheme back to her.

Alec, across the table from her, did not attempt to
hide his glee. “Yes. The scoundrel took off. Thank God.”

“I hope the Duchess will not miss him too much.”

Bianca shrugged and took a casual sip of her coffee. “He was nothing to me,” she replied brittlely.

“Good.” The Duke turned his attention to his food for the next few minutes. Bianca toyed with her toast, and Alec merely waited, watching the Duke.

“Ah…” Damon said at last, pushing aside his plate and taking another drink of his coffee. “Nothing like an English breakfast.” He paused, his gaze going from Bianca to Alec and back. The tension rose in the room with every passing tick of the clock.

“Well, Alec,” he said at last, “I am looking forward to getting to know you. I must say, it is a trifle odd to find out one has a brother after thirty years. Especially one who is more the age of my son than me. I suppose it must be as peculiar an experience for you.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Oh, please, none of that between us. We are brothers. Call me Damon.”

“Thank you…Damon.”

“Good. My son tells me that you are eager to join the army.”

Predictably, Alec's eyes lit up. “Oh, yes! It's what I'd like more than anything!”

“I see no reason why you should not. The military's always been an excellent career for a younger son. I have no problem with that.”

“No!” Bianca cried out. “He cannot! I refuse to allow it.”

Damon turned his eyes on her, the pale blue orbs
devoid of emotion. “I believe I am head of the family now, Bianca.”

“He is my son!” Bianca retorted. “I will not let him do it.”

“He will be twenty-one in a few weeks, and I am afraid that you will no longer have any control over him. Of course, if he would rather stay with you, he is certainly welcome to. However, I would think a young man would find life at the Dower House rather dull. Yorkshire is somewhat isolated. Fine for a widow, of course, but—”

“The Dower House!” Bianca exclaimed, her eyes opening wide and her nostrils flaring. Her concern over her son's departure for the military was quickly replaced by this daunting vision of her own future.

“Why, yes, I believe it is customarily where the Duke's widow retires after her husband's death.” He paused, then added, “It makes sense, too. I might marry again, and if I don't, I understand that my son has intentions of doing so.”

“Priscilla?” Alec asked eagerly. “Are he and Priscilla going to get married?”

“Oh, Alec, do shut up!” Bianca snapped. “What does it matter whether he marries that stupid Hamilton girl? This man is kicking me out of our home! Why don't you do something about it?”

Alec shifted uncomfortably. “Well, ah, Mother, I—I don't know what I
can
do. It
is
his house.”

“Don't plague your son. He is quite right. There is nothing he can do. Nor is there anything you can do. There are other reasons, very good reasons, why you should live there. After all, it is a much smaller house and will more suit your income.”

Bianca's jaw dropped. She had not expected him to cut off all her funds. “You expect me to live on that…that pittance?”

“It is your inheritance.”

“It is nothing. All the real money is tied up with the title!”

“I am afraid there is not really all that much of it anymore, particularly at the rate you have been spending it the past few years. The solicitors showed me the accounts. At any rate, your inheritance is quite adequate, I believe, to maintain the dower house and even have a few weeks in Bath, say, every year.”

“Bath!” she spat out with loathing. “With all the old ladies? I think not!”

“You might be able to rent a house in London for a couple of weeks a year.”

“I won't go!” Bianca returned shrilly.

“You cannot stay here.” There was steel in his voice.

Bianca and Alec simply stared at him in amazement for a long moment. Though the Dower House was traditionally the home to which the ducal widow retired, it had not been used as such for the past two generations. The dowager duchesses had preferred to remain at Ranleigh Court, and their sons, the new dukes, had not wanted to force them out.

“I shall tell everyone what you have done!” Bianca was seething. “You may have the power to throw me out of here, but everyone in the country will know what a cruel, heartless bastard you are!”

Damon regarded her coldly for a long moment. “I would suggest that you think long and hard before you
do such a thing. It is sometimes better for all concerned to keep silent on a subject.”

Bianca blinked. “I—I don't know what you mean!”

“Don't you? Then let me spell it out for you—though I had hoped to spare your son learning this about his mother. For the good of the family, I had decided to keep silent about what you have done to my son and tried to do to me. I wanted to spare your son the embarrassment, as Bryan assured me that Alec had no part in your schemes.”

“What schemes?” Alec asked, his voice rising. “Mama, what is he talking about?”

“You are bluffing!” his mother told Damon boldly, ignoring Alec.

“Am I? You think I don't know all about it? You think I won't let it out? Believe me, I will, if you even once spread gossip about me or my family. Tell your friends, if you want, how I refused to let you stay at Ranleigh Court, and I will tell them how you hired killers to get rid of me. How you had my son kidnapped and beaten up.”

“Mother!” Alec sat back in his chair, aghast, staring at her.

“You cannot prove it!” Bianca jumped to her feet. “They never dealt with me! They do not even know my name!”

“Perhaps not, but your lover knows. You think he cannot be tracked down? You think he wouldn't be glad to tell us all about how he acted on your command when he hired those two ruffians—when he is facing long years in jail? Think well, madam, before you open your mouth. You could go to jail for this, not simply be banished to the Dower House in Yorkshire. At the least,
you will never be received in any decent house in this country again.”

Bianca stood still, staring at him, her mouth opening and closing as she struggled to say something that would overcome his argument. Alec, his face as white as paper, had also risen to his feet and now stood facing her across the table.

“Mother?” he asked, his voice strained. “Is this true? Did you try to harm Damon and Bryan? Mother, answer me!”

She turned on him then, her eyes narrowed to slits, her frustration and rage at the Duke slipping out against her son. “What do you think? I couldn't just sit by and let them come in and seize your inheritance, not when I had worked so hard to get it! Do you think it was easy living with that old man for twenty years? I thought he would die within two or three years after I married him, but he lived on forever! Do you think it was something I enjoyed, enduring his wrinkled old hands on me? His kisses, his— Ohhh!” She let out an inarticulate cry of anger. “I did it for you! All of it was for you! So that you could have your rightful inheritance. So that you could have the title, the land, the money. It should all have been yours. I could not let them spoil that!”

“Alec…” Damon made a move toward the boy, whose face was so white and shocked it almost frightened Damon.

“No.” Alec held up a hand. “I am all right.” He stared straight at his mother. “Did you ever think to ask me if I wanted it? You did not do any of that for me. It was for yourself. I was not even born when you married ‘that old man.' You didn't endure that for my sake, but from your own desire for wealth and power. I didn't even
want to be the Duke of Ranleigh. I just wanted to join the army with Gid, you know that. Yet you kept forcing me into the mold of the Duke, making me feel guilty for wanting to leave you, telling me that I would not be meeting my responsibility—even when you knew that I was not going to inherit the title! That old man you hated so much was my father. The men you tried to kill are my brother and nephew. How could you say you were doing it for me? I don't want any part of it.” He drew a deep breath. “I don't want any part of
you.
”

Bianca let out a noise like a hiss and swung around, running out of the room. Alec looked after her, his face a study of pain. Damon walked around to him and laid a hand lightly on his shoulder.

“I am sorry you had to learn this way.”

Alec turned to look at him with confused blue eyes. “How could she have done that? I— She's my mother….”

“I know. Nothing will ever change that. Maybe, after a time, you can reconcile what she did with who she is to you.”

“No! I can't even bear to think of it! It was bad enough when she was living with that—” his lip lifted in a sneer “—that cur, Oliver. There were times when I hated her almost as much as him. But this is ten times worse. To find out that she is capable of killing someone, much less a member of my own family!”

“She saw only a threat to her child and herself. You have to remember that. Have you ever seen a lioness protecting her cub?”

“She wasn't protecting me,” Alec told him bitterly. “If she had been interested in protecting me, she would never have taken up with Oliver. No, she was interested
in protecting her own income, her own status. You were perfectly right about that. It is just…that it is so hard to accept what she's really like.”

Damon patted his shoulder again, wishing he knew the right words to say. It was too bad Delia was not here. Women always seemed to be so much better at these things than he was.

“Look,” he offered, “I was about to go for a ride, look over the countryside now that I'm back. Why don't you come with me?”

Alec gave him a brief smile. “Thank you. That is very kind of you. But I think right now I'd rather be by myself.” He forced another smile and walked out of the room.

 

D
AMON HAD FELT SORRY FOR
A
LEC
, but he was glad that the boy had turned down his offer to go riding. He had planned to call on Anne Chalcomb this morning; it had been on his mind ever since he had arrived last night and not found her at the ball. Indeed, if the truth be known, it had been on his mind long before that, before he'd ever set foot on board the ship to England.

As he rode along the familiar path, memories flooded in on him. So little had changed in thirty years—a large tree that had been cut down here, a hedge of bushes that had sprung up there, a new fence in another place—that he felt almost as if he were eighteen again and riding to meet the woman he loved. He remembered well the anticipation growing in his chest, the strumming of his nerves, taut with eagerness and danger, the desire pushing him onward.

At last he topped a rise and looked down on Chalcomb Manor. The yards around it seemed to have shrunk, the
fields encroaching upon them. To his right lay the road and the driveway leading to the front. To his left was the small pond and the gazebo where they had usually met. Damon gave in to impulse and turned his horse's head in the direction of the gazebo. As he drew near it, he could see that the little wooden building, with its gingerbread trim, had not been painted in a long time; the pristine white had faded to a dirty gray. Up close, he could see, too, that several of the boards had broken. Even the pond beyond seemed scummy and stagnant.