Scoundrel

Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-one

Scoundrel

A Bantam Fanfare Book / February 1996

FANFARE and the portrayal of a boxed “ff” are trademarks of Bantam Books,

a division of Bantam Doubleday Dell Publishing Group, Inc.

All rights reserved.

Copyright © 1996 by Elizabeth Elliott. Cover art copyright © 1996 by Eric Peterson.

ISBN 0-553-56911-2

Published simultaneously in the United States and Canada

Bantam Books are published by Bantam Books, a division of Bantam Doubleday Dell Publishing Group, Inc. Its trademark, consisting of the words “Bantam Books” and the portrayal of a rooster, is Registered in
U.S.
Patent and Trademark Office and in other countries. Marca Registrada, Bantam Books, 1540 Broadway, New York, New fork 10036.

PRINTED IN THE
UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

Happy Birthday, Tom!

London
, 1813

“Shameless, that’s what she is.”

Lily Walters tried to ignore the whispered insult. She focused her attention on an imaginary spot along the far side of Lord and Lady Ashland’s ballroom, her steps precisely measured as she made her way across the room. More than five hundred people crowded the enormous assembly, the music of the finest musicians in
London
muted by laughter and conversations all around. A lavish buffet table stood to her left, while the dance floor dominated the opposite side of the ballroom. Lily told herself that gossipy young women like the four who stood near the buffet table were to be expected. The venom they whispered behind their jeweled fans couldn’t affect her.

A young woman named Margaret Granger made sure her voice rose above the whispers. “Poor Osgoode barely in his grave three months, God rest his soul, and already she’s back in society as if he’d never been. Have you heard of anything so improper in your life?”

Lily felt her face turn red. She wished Margaret and her friends had the decency to gossip behind her back like everyone else. Even though the room swelled with music and conversations, their voices were impossible to ignore.

“Dear, misguided Osgoode,” Margaret continued. “He gave his life in that duel, and she doesn’t even have the decency to mourn the man.”

“A duel?” one of her friends asked. “I thought Osgoode fell victim to footpads.”

“At dawn in Regent’s Park?” Margaret asked. “I believe the facts speak for themselves. Indeed, I asked my fiancé about the matter and he thinks it obvious that Lord Osgoode died in a duel.”

“Your fiancé? Margaret, do you mean to say you are engaged?”

The other girls broke into excited whispers, but Margaret waved away her friends’ pleas to tell them more. “No, I’m afraid I can say no more. Remmington asked me to keep our discussions about the engagement private.”

Lily missed her step and nearly tripped. She recovered her composure with a sidelong glance toward the buffet table. Only Margaret watched her. The blond smiled and tossed her curls over one shoulder, then she whispered something to the girl standing next to her. Lily steadied herself with a deep breath and kept walking, realizing that Margaret’s venom could indeed hurt her.

At last Margaret’s conversation drifted into the blur of voices that competed with the orchestra, but Lily still felt its effects. An odd ache tightened her chest and her throat seemed so constricted that she could barely breathe. The cool wind that stirred the palm fronds near the wall of French doors wilted inside the ballroom. The heavy, humid air trapped the scent of stale perfumes and the underlying smell of too many people crowded together in one place. She snapped open her fan, but the forced breeze didn’t seem the least refreshing.

A flash of color caught her eye and she turned toward a pair of palm trees that flanked one set of French doors. In an ocean of pastel ballgowns, only Sophie Stanhope would wear such a startling shade of fuchsia. She caught another glimpse of the bold color through the fronds and hastened her steps.

“Lady Lillian!”

Lily groaned, but she pasted on a vague smile and turned to watch Lord Allen stalk toward her. He’d stood near one of the wide Grecian columns that supported the ceiling and now he all but ran to reach her side.

“I vow you are the last person I expected to see here tonight, Lady Lillian.”

Lily couldn’t say the same of George Allen. No matter where she went, their paths always seemed to cross. He was a nice enough young man, yet bothersome at times. She told herself that it shouldn’t matter if his bulging green eyes always appeared too eager, or if his hair looked dirty even when it was clean. Having endured the judgment of others, Lily refused to judge a person by appearance alone. Still, tonight’s combination of a peacock-blue suit and dark purple vest made her eyes hurt. Although his clothing appeared expensive, he always managed to have something missing or undone. Tonight he lacked the bottom button of his vest and its absence drew her eye to the snowy white shirt that peeked through the gap. Yet another fashion failure for George.

“You must promise me your first dance,” he announced. His gaze swept over her sea-green ballgown then came to rest on the jeweled bodice.

“Why, how kind of you to ask, Lord Allen. I’m afraid I promised my first dance to Lord Artonswell. Or was it Lord Williams?” She unfurled her fan and tapped the gilded edge against her lower lip, her expression one of wide-eyed innocence. “I misplaced my dance card and cannot seem to remember the order of things.”

“Then you must promise me your next free dance.”

“I believe that would be the dance right after the first waltz.” Lily gave him a charming smile, knowing the first waltz would follow the first elephant parade. Everyone knew the stuffy Ashlands never allowed the orchestra to play the waltz.

Lord Allen frowned. “You
must
allow me to escort you on a tour of the gardens. They are quite spectacular and I’m sure you wouldn’t want to miss them.”

“What a lovely idea.” Lily tried to appear thoughtful and flustered at the same time. Her smile faded to a sulky pout and her fingers twisted one of the auburn curls that brushed against her shoulder. She didn’t attend this ball to flirt or dance with the likes of Lord Allen. The sooner she put an end to this farce the better. “Papa forbade me to step outside without his escort. Shall we see if he’s available? He’s in the card room with Lord Howland and his friends just now, but perhaps they would enjoy taking the air as well.”

“Oh, I don’t think that would be the thing, to disturb your father and his friends,” he said quickly. “Surely the earl wouldn’t—”

“Yes, you’re quite right. Papa simply wouldn’t approve if I disobeyed him.” She tapped his arm with her fan and gave him an admiring smile. “How charmingly proper you are, Lord Allen. I vow, ‘tis most refreshing. I shall look forward to dancing with such an inspiring gentleman.”

“Why, thank you.” He gave her a broad smile and adjusted his vest with a sharp tug. More of his shirt escaped through the opening.

“I shall see you after the waltz, Lord Allen.” She gave him an airy wave, then turned and walked away before he could think up anything else they
must
do.

When she finally reached the palm trees she stopped short, startled to find not only Sophie, but Sophie’s Aunt Clara and Lord Poundstone as well. In appearance, Lady Bainbridge and her niece closely resembled each other. They had the same wavy brown hair and the same green eyes, but their taste in clothing differed drastically. Lady Bainbridge’s pastel blue dress only made Sophie’s bright gown look all the more glaring in comparison. Standing next to Lady Bainbridge was Lord Poundstone, a portly gentleman of middle age who shared Sophie’s interest in Egyptian artifacts. At any other time, Lily wouldn’t mind his company. His presence tonight was yet another omen that nothing would be simple. She reminded herself to smile, then called out a cheerful greeting. “Good evening, all.”

“Lady Lillian!” Poundstone spread his arms wide. His ruddy face grew even redder as he bowed over her hand. “How delightful to see you out again. We’ve missed you at the Antiquities Society meetings.”

From the awkward bow and odd creaks, Lily guessed that Lord Poundstone was trying to diminish his ever-expanding girth with a corset. His pained expression made her wonder how he managed to get any color at all to his face.

“I vow I shall not miss another,” Lily said with a curtsy. “Such sophisticated company I’ve missed these past months, sir. The discussions are always so very dignified and important. I feel quite improved after each session.” She paused to add a wistful sigh, thinking it a nice touch. “Unfortunately, I cannot seem to grasp the theories of hippogryffs as readily as our Miss Stanhope, nor remember all those difficult names of Egyptian kings and dynasties. But I must say, Lord Alfred serves an excellent tea at each meeting. His settings and fare are most impressive.”

Poundstone corrected her in a superior tone. “That’s hieroglyphics, Lady Lillian.”

“Ah, yes,” Lily murmured. “I stand corrected. I must remember to write the word out several times. That often helps me recall difficult words such as hyrogliffys.”

“Is that a new fan, Lily?” Lady Bainbridge asked, cutting off Lord Poundstone’s attempt to correct Lily a second time. “How very unique. I must take a closer look at the workmanship.”

Lily handed her fan to Lady Bainbridge. “I am simply bursting to tell my dearest friends about Madame Justine’s newest shipment of silks. I hope you will not repeat this conversation, my lord, for all the ladies will call at Madame’s shop first thing in the morning if they hear a word of this gossip, and our selection will be severely depleted.” She lifted one hand to shield her words as her tone imparted the importance of her secret. “The shipment is from France, my lord. Can you imagine? Sophie and I shall soon be wearing smuggled goods! I vow the very thought makes me light-headed.”

“Indeed,” Poundstone replied. He craned his neck to one side and raised his hand to acknowledge someone on the other side of the room. “I would love to share this gossip, Lady Lillian, but I fear I’ve made a prior appointment in the card room with Lord Greyvall. He’ll be dreadfully disappointed if I don’t show soon.”

Poundstone mouthed a few polite apologies, then made a hasty retreat, leaving the ladies to discuss their smuggled goods in private. All three women gave a sigh of relief.

“Thank goodness he’s gone,” Sophie said.

Lady Bainbridge spoke to Lily, but her keen eyes swept over the room to make sure none observed them. Her hands moved inconspicuously along the spine of Lily’s fan. “I know you were expecting only Sophie tonight, but my husband is very anxious about the latest message you translated.”

“I’m sure he is,” Lily said. She knew the reason for Sir Bainbridge’s impatience. The message concealed in the spine of her fan contained news of Napoleon’s latest troop movements on the Continent. Yet even Sir Malcolm Bainbridge, the director of Special Projects for the War Department, could not read the original message until Lily provided the translation.

Lady Bainbridge tucked the slip of paper into her glove, then she returned Lily’s fan. “I’ll leave you two young people alone now. Do give my best to your father, Lily.”

After her aunt’s departure, Sophie’s expression became secretive and she turned again to Lily. “You will never guess who is here tonight.”

“Who?” Lily asked. She shifted closer to the palms. Hopefully, no one would notice her standing there. She didn’t want to be caught up in an endless round of dances, or the meaningless social pleasantries that took place at these events. In another hour she could leave, but at least she could keep Sophie company in the meantime.

“He’s very tall, sinfully mysterious, and dangerous, too, some say. My best friend happens to think him the handsomest man in
England
.” Sophie tapped her chin and gazed up at the ceiling. “Now who could that be?” She gave Lily a teasing glance, and her smile faded. “Whatever is the matter? You’re white as a sheet.”

“Nothing,” Lily lied. “I’m just not feeling very well this evening.”

Sophie didn’t reply. She just kept staring at Lily, waiting.

“Oh, all right. I overheard Margaret Granger say that she is engaged to the Duke of Remmington.”

Repeating Margaret’s announcement was almost as devastating as hearing it the first time. Lily had always nurtured the impossible hope that Remmington would someday notice her, that he would at least ask for an introduction. Just as well he hadn’t, she told herself. She had her work to consider. Highly secretive work at that. A man like Remmington would never fit into her life.