Society's Most Scandalous Viscount (30 page)

“My grandfather is a powerful man. I am not above appealing directly to the Prince Regent if a problem ensues.”

He found her mouth with sound precision—his kiss leaving her breathless, tumbled, and tossed, as overcome as a piece of flotsam lost at sea. Yet she was hungry and anxious for more.

A rumble of thunder echoed outside, drawing their attention to the box sash window as rain slashed the panes. Clouds had filled the sky as they'd traveled this evening, but now a storm took hold. Where had Grandmother and the duke ventured? Surely they couldn't continue their stroll in the garden with the sudden onslaught of impertinent weather.

He released her as if he half expected the same, likeminded that the focus of her consideration might hurry through the door. Instead a servant bid entry to announce dinner at the same time a distinct pounding resounded from the foyer.

A smile threatened. “Too much at once.”
Emotion, passion, the thrill of true happiness.
She let her amusement free.

“I agree.” Benedict nodded to the servant wait in the doorframe and then, with hold of her hand, led her to the chaise in the corner, settling beside her as if ignoring all the chaos that gathered with whirlpool speed around them. He held her chin and met her eyes with sincere supplication.

“Nothing and no one will hurt you again.”

The servant returned, his knock intrusive, and Benedict summoned him forward.

“A caller has arrived, my lord. He offers no card and demands entry. He will not leave the steps. Shall I have two footmen remove him?”

“I will come at once.” He dismissed the servant with an emphatic nod and leaned closer to Angelica. “Stay here. When out chaperones return, allow no one from this room. Do you understand?”

The strict censure of his tone assured her assent but she only managed a wooden nod as her mind spun in question of who would arrive on such a deplorable night to perpetrate this uninvited interruption to their evening. It was too late for business and too unfavorable for social calls.

She watched Benedict leave, already missing his company, but she could not wait idly and inched to the doorframe, cracking the panel to peer discreetly into the hall. The knocking persisted, and then the loudest intrusion occurred by way of an abrupt halt.

The cold presage of dread that slithered down her spine had nothing to do with the draft that invaded the great hall. She couldn't see around the corner and didn't need too. Her father's pious baritone echoed in abnegation as clearly as the church's bells after mass. Her blood ran cold and she bit her lower lip. What would happen? She never meant for him to find her, never mind bring disruption to the duke's household.

“You need to leave.” Benedict's reply sounded as sure and solid as she pictured his defense.

Should she aid Benedict, no longer willing to accept the cowardice that comprised her obedient life? Or respect his request and wait? Unsure and distressed, she ventured a few steps into the hall, placing her slipper within the floor tiles as soundlessly as possible. At the corner, she angled her line of sight to the front door, sheltered in the shadow of a collection of tall urns.

“How dare you deny me entrance? I have it on reliable information my daughter hides within these premises. I aim to recover her if she hasn't already ruined her future.”

Angelica's eyes flared wide.

“You're unwelcome here. Leave or I'll be forced to remove you. I wouldn't bother to involve the footmen.”

Her father insinuated himself into the hall, his walking stick dragging a slick line of rainwater on the glossy tiles though fire lit his eyes.

“Sinners. All of you.” He straightened his shoulders, erecting his full height, a measure Angelica knew well as a means to intimidate and threaten. How often she'd cowered, the ever-obsequious daughter, whenever he'd shown her the same. “I'll not leave until I speak to my daughter.”

“Of course you will. If you think to press the issue, you'll need to pass through me first.” Benedict shifted his stance, his arms bent and feet braced, fully prepared to meet the Earl of Morton eye to eye.

In horror her father leaned closer, his stick swift to follow with an eerie scratch against the marble. “Impertinent.” He spat the word with a quelling stare. “I have no desire to challenge you. Judgment of your sins lies in a divine power beyond my means but hear me well. I raised my daughters to be chaste examples of feminine beauty. With judicious care, I hired the most politic tutors and revered religious instructors, only to yield two ungrateful chits. One daughter may have thwarted my plans, but that transgression will not be repeated. Fair, it's not too late for Angelica to recover divinity and cleanse her soul. Her repentance will be long and arduous but salvation is its own reward. I will beseech the vicar to shrive her—”

“Cease.” The one word was a challenge and promise of consequence.

A brilliant crack of lightning illuminated the high arched windows, flashing across the grim confrontation before again lending it to candlelight. Angelica held her breath, never having witnessed her father in such sacerdotal hysteria.

“Angelica has no desire to live the life you have planned. I suggest you bury yourself in the monastery or further dedicate yourself to memorizing verse exploring love and generosity.”

“Do not preach to me. My daughter will obey my wishes once separated from your immoral influence.”

“You have no right to speak on her behalf.” The softness of Benedict's tone turned lethal though he stared with fixity equal to the earl's enraged glare.

“I am her father. I own every coin in her purse, each pair of slippers on her feet. Essentially, I own
her
and she'll do as I say or be cast out. I have every right. Accept my word.”

“No.” Angelica stepped into the foyer, her heart in her throat though her words rang clear. “I speak for myself.”

“Get into the carriage and stop this nonsense.” Her father flicked his walking stick upward while a rumble of thunder preceded another sharp strike of lightning. “Escaping the convent and embarrassing me were poor choices. You narrowly eluded the worst scandal and I will confront your grandmother next for her part in this debacle. You are in need of absolution and I'm anxious to depurate your soul.”

“You're not listening.” She raised her voice.
Hollered at her father.
She wouldn't have believed she was capable of the forthright rebellion. The realization rattled her confidence, but when she darted a glance toward Benedict she saw something flicker in his eyes: admiration, courage, or perhaps most important, acceptance. It gave her all the faith she'd ever need. “I won't go with you. You can't force me. I have not a care if you turn me out and I have no want of your support. A true father would not see me unhappy to please his own desires or fulfill his twisted perception of obedience.”

A spectral glow enveloped the hall as yet another wicked shot of lightning emphasized the anger of the persistent storm. Silence descended. Benedict watched her closely, though he dared not walk away from the entry until the earl departed. Without a word her father turned, a final glance over his shoulder, his eyes as narrow as his views, and then with the assiduous tapping of his walking stick against the marble, he left at last.

Her knees gave out as soon as the door closed and she slumped against the wall so quickly she almost toppled the urns crowded in the corner.

Chapter Twenty-Four

“I'm so sorry.” Emotion shook the words loose.

“Don't you dare apologize.” Benedict gathered her in a cherished embrace to rest his chin against the top of her head and hold her tight.

No words were necessary and for a time they stood, their breathing matched, the only noise the pelting rain against glass as an echo of her tears. Unlike the relentless storm her sorrow resolved shortly after, though she didn't leave the pleasure of Benedict's comfort until the approach of conversation and light laughter drew them apart.

“Whyever are you here in the drafty front hall? It's ungodly weather outside and the floor is wet. Was the door opened?” The Duke of Acholl approached, his arm linked securely with Grandmother's, the hound bounding forward to lick the rainwater puddled near the entry.

“Father visited.” Angelica's words erased the cheery glint in Grandmother's eyes and on closer inspection, she noticed the twosome were no worse for wear having presumably experienced the onslaught of weather in the gardens, although Grandmother's skirt did appear creased and something else seemed askew. “Is your pelisse inside out?”

“Never mind my clothing, dearest.” Grandmother made a dismissive wave of hand. “What happened? Is everything all right?” Gentle concern marked every syllable.

“Benedict dismissed him, quite heroically.” She smiled over her shoulder where he remained aligned for support or perhaps something more. At least, she hoped so. “Father arrived, angry and insistent, but he's gone now. The weather alone gave him no reason to linger. I fear our departure this evening if Father lurks out there.”

“No one is going anywhere.” The duke stepped forward, his expression mirroring grave misgivings. “Morton's intrusion may be reason alone, but this rainstorm is beating the roadways to mud. Nothing will be passable.”

Angelica watched as Grandmother's tight-lipped grimace eased, her attention turned to the duke in gratitude.

“Grandmother, are you sure your pelisse is turned properly?” Angelica had a notion something interesting transpired while the two ventured into the gardens.

“Of course, dearest. When the rain began Adam and I slipped beneath a nearby gazebo, but during our return I kept my pelisse over my head to protect from the rain. That's all.” Something about the explanation bemused the older twosome, a clever gleam of unspoken explanation ricocheting between their flitting glances.

“Yes, exactly.” The duke concurred with a waggle of bushy gray brows. “Now with the matter settled, I'll have the servants prepare the guest quarters. I won't hear another word of objection. Cook shall prepare dinner trays. In the meantime, let's retire to the sitting room for a taste of brandy. Just the measure to chase away bad dreams and return warmth to the soul.” His gaze shifted to Grandmother and a change occurred, amusement replaced by some deeper emotion.

“How very generous of you.” Grandmother placed her hand atop the duke's, her eyes twinkling despite the limited light.

“It speaks to scandal actually.” Angelica spoke in a low tone, though no one could ignore the note of amusement that chased her words.

“Posh. We are the duke's guests and this cursed weather is the cause. I, too, will not hear another word. Besides, a little scandal is healthy now and then.” She smiled and eyed Angelica, their silent communication hinting at all their past adventures. “Now a touch of brandy sounds divine, Adam, please lead the way.”

Without further discussion the two left the hall and Angelica watched them go before returning her attention to Benedict. “Well, that was unexpected.”

His deep throaty chuckle warmed her soul, no brandy needed. “I suspect my grandfather had quite a reputation with the ladies in his youth.”

“Indeed.” She smiled again. “Perhaps the quality is hereditary.”

Nothing more was said and they stood in quiet, each assessing the other while emotion built, thickening the air with unanswered questions and mutual desire. At last, Benedict broke the moment.

“Let me show you to the sitting room. Is there anything in particular you'd like for dinner? I'll inform Cook to include it on your tray.”

“Oh, I could never eat and a brandy would unsettle me more than having the reverse effect. I'd rather retire once the rooms are prepared. Confronting my father proved difficult and distressing although it was the correct choice. I'd just as soon leave Grandmother to enjoy the privacy of time spent with the duke. I'm sure they have much to rekindle since they last spoke.”

“Difficult, yes, but you were brave…and beautiful.” He stepped closer and brushed a fingertip across her cheek. “I can understand your distress. In one evening you've decided your future.”

Had she? Breaking away from her father's possession wasn't as difficult as she'd believed. Not with Benedict there to support her. Yet still, she hadn't decided her future by half. Her eyes moved to his face, patient and forever handsome. There lay the future she truly desired. “Thank you, for all your help and for believing in me.” The words sent a surge of heady emotion through her. This was freedom. And choice. This was what Helen had sought and secured.

“You're welcome.” He offered his arm. “Let me show you upstairs.”

The clock on the bedside table marked eleven before Angelica settled enough to seek sleep. She'd spent hours pacing the carpet, reliving the argument in the hall and the rush of emotions afterward as Benedict held her through tears.

A knock sounded at the door and her heart skipped a beat. Some foolish little wish whispered Benedict sought her to reassure she was well and with luck, steal a goodnight kiss. But no, when she opened the panel, a young maid bid entry, her arms full of folded linens, the servant available to assist in preparation for sleep. Not having expected to stay overnight, Angelica had no bedclothes and after disrobing behind the screen, she settled for her chemise beneath the silk wrapper the maid supplied as a courtesy for houseguests. The servant brushed through her hair, banked the fire and supplied fresh water in the basin, busying about the chamber in purposeful fashion. How would Grandmother make do?

No sooner had Angelica dismissed the maid than another knock sounded. Again her heart insisted Benedict had arrived. She took a deep breath and turned the knob.

“There you are. All ready for bed. Very good.” Grandmother stepped inside, the lilac carpet buffering her heeled slippers as she entered. She still wore her traveling clothes and Angelica wondered if Grandmother was only just coming upstairs from her visit.