The Scandal in Kissing an Heir (4 page)

“You can’t be serious, Mr. Neville. Men like you don’t marry.”

“Why on earth not?”

“Because you enjoy your carefree existence too much—the gambling and outrageous parties, which I hear you are quite an expert at hosting—and because you hold your mistress in such high esteem that you offered her a pair of earrings which, rumor has it, were meant for your future wife. No woman in her right mind would attach herself to someone so careless and indiscreet. Besides, from what little I’ve been told, men like you are notorious for getting themselves into scrapes. For all I know, you’ve depleted your funds and now hope to get your hands on my dowry so you can settle whatever debts you may have.”

“Good God, woman! Must you paint such a dastardly picture of me? It threatens to ruin my image.”

Rebecca smiled. “I rather think it underlines it quite nicely.”

When he laughed, there was a genuine ring to it that made her wonder if perhaps she’d been too harsh in her dismissal of him. She knew he was a rake and not at all the sort of man with whom she should have been strolling alone in the garden, especially not since she suspected that his reasons for seeking her company in the first place had probably been less than honorable. Why else would a man of his caliber speak to a lady dressed as she was in a scarlet gown? He probably thought her a widow, or worse . . . a courtesan with whom he could spend a night of unconditional pleasure.

And yet he’d just offered her marriage. Rebecca shook her head at
that
conundrum. Surely he had an agenda in which he hoped she’d play a part. Whatever it was, she couldn’t possibly accept. She wasn’t going to delude herself into thinking that marrying any man hastily would lead to love, but she certainly didn’t want to share her husband, whoever he might be, with a horde of other women.

Nevertheless, she could not deny that she enjoyed his company. There was just something about him that made him easy for her to be around. It was as if she could truly be herself when she was with him, something she hadn’t had the chance to be for so long, not even in Laura’s or Lady Trapleigh’s company. It felt wonderful . . . liberating.

Glancing up at him as they passed another torch, she marveled at the way in which the light and shadow played across his face. What a handsome devil he was. Dangerous too, since her heart was once again beating a little bit faster. Intent on returning to their previous conversation, she said, “I believe it’s your turn to tell
me
something outrageous.”

Her playful nature was captivating. With a smile, Daniel glanced down at her. She was looking right at him, all serious expectancy, but with a gleam in her eyes that betrayed her. She was having just as much fun with this as he was. “Very well.” He paused to consider his options. As far as outrageous exploits went, he could probably outdo the most daring and the most debauched, but there was a limit to what he would share with any lady, no matter who she might be. And then, of course, there was also her opinion of him to consider. He was still furious with his uncle, but unless he wanted to lose his allowance, he had no choice. So far, Lady Nuit appeared to be his best chance, if for no other reason than the fact that she was at least willing to speak to him.

“I did on one occasion pretend to be the fiancé of a certain Miss Brighton,” he said, recalling one of his more successful endeavors.

“Surely you jest.” Lady Nuit’s voice sounded just as doubtful as Miss Brighton’s had when he’d first told her of his plan.

He shook his head. “You see, Miss Brighton and my sister went to finishing school together. They became close friends and have kept in touch ever since. When my sister discovered that Miss Brighton’s parents were eager for her to marry, she invited her to London for the Season, hoping that this would improve her chances of making a good match.”

“That was very good of your sister,” Lady Nuit said.

“I suppose it was,” Daniel agreed, “and being the married woman that she now is, she was able to act as chaperone for Miss Brighton. You see, my sister’s husband is the Earl of Chilton and—”

“Your sister’s a countess?” Lady Nuit asked with unabashed surprise.

“Well yes, she is, and as such, she’s well enough connected to—”

“But you’re
Mr.
Neville, which means that she was not a titled lady before she married, correct?”

Daniel nodded. Lady Nuit was obviously having a difficult time understanding how a mere miss had ended up marrying an earl. Her confusion was easy to understand, since it was rare for any member of the
ton
to marry someone without pedigree. “It’s quite simple really,” he explained. “My aunt and uncle are the Marquess and Marchioness of Wolvington, and my sister was one of the most coveted ladies on the marriage mart the year she made her debut.”

“Oh . . . well that explains it,” Lady Nuit said. She looked up at Daniel as if waiting for something. When he said nothing further, she said, “So then what happened?”

“I beg your pardon?” In the dim light of the garden, Daniel couldn’t tell what color her eyes might be. They looked dark, so he supposed they had to be brown, but he couldn’t be sure. What he could see was that they were filled with warmth and happiness.

“Miss Brighton. What happened to her?”

“Well, I believe Miss Brighton’s parents were hoping my sister’s good fortune would rub off, but unfortunately nobody paid the poor woman any mind.”

“So you offered to escort her home as the fiancé her parents had hoped for?”

Daniel shrugged. “They had no way of knowing we weren’t really engaged, so yes, I did. We spent a lovely week there together before I returned to London on some fictitious business.”

Looking away, she quietly asked, “And are you still fictitiously engaged to her?”

“Oh no. I actually took ill and died a few weeks later.”

Lady Nuit gasped, eyes wide with shock. “How dreadful for poor Miss Brighton.”

“She got what she wanted—an engagement to an earl and the reprieve that a year of mourning would give her.”

“You played the part of an earl?”

“Well yes. I wanted Miss Brighton’s parents to be thoroughly impressed with the good catch she’d made.” He waggled his eyebrows, eliciting a peel of laughter from Lady Nuit.

“Goodness me, Mr. Neville.” Her eyes were warm and . . . understanding? Curious, that. “You’re quite the schemer, aren’t you?”

My dear, you have no idea
.

“Not really. I was just trying to be helpful.” This was true, for he’d genuinely liked Miss Brighton—kind and gentle as she was. Seeing the desperation on her face at the prospect of returning home empty-handed had prompted him to concoct yet another harebrained exploit.

“And I admire you for it,” Lady Nuit said as they turned onto another graveled path, which would take them past some flowerbeds and to the opposite side of the lawn.

“You do?” Daniel coughed, hoping to mask the surprise in his voice.

“Why, of course. You acted very selflessly.”

He considered that as they continued along the path, realizing that he couldn’t recall when someone had last said anything positive about him. It felt strange somehow—undeserving almost. Especially since the only reason he was keeping Lady Nuit’s company at all was that he needed her help. Well, there was also the fact that he genuinely liked her. She was different from other women—freer somehow—as if she wanted to embrace life and live it to its fullest. In that regard, he had to admit that they were very similar, and it was this that also convinced him that they would get on very well with each other once they were married. He smiled brightly. “You see, I’m not so bad after all.”

Grinning, she shook her head with amusement. “Perhaps not the worst rake there is, but still a rake, nonetheless.” She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Not that I would presume to know anything about your lifestyle, Mr. Neville, but I can only assume that it must be rather costly to be a rake. I mean, the women—”

“Lady Nuit, this is hardly an appropriate topic for conversation.”

“No, I suppose not,” she relented. A sly smile captured her lips. “Then again, I fail to believe there’s anything appropriate about you.” Her voice was light and teasing—delightful in every way.

“Perhaps not, but I have every intention of changing that.”

“
What
? Surely you’re not planning to reform?”

“Surely
you’re
not imagining that I would be contemplating marriage if I weren’t. I’m not that great a scoundrel you know—I just like to have fun once in a while.”

She eyed him for a second. “Perhaps,” she said. “But then again, we both know that you weren’t being serious.”

“I wasn’t?”

“Well, of course not—you’re a rake!”

“Yes, I believe we’ve established that much already.” Trying to keep his irritation at bay, he sighed heavily. “You won’t even give me a chance, will you?”

“To what? Court me or seduce me?” Without waiting for him to answer, she continued. “I’m not saying that people can’t change, Mr. Neville. I just don’t think they do so without good reason—especially not from one day to the next. There’s something you’re not telling me. After all, you know nothing about me. In fact, we’ve only just met.” She shook her head with a sigh. “Forgive me, but it’s just very difficult for me to understand why you would want to marry me.”

“Look around you, Lady Nuit. I’m shunned by everyone. Finding a wife will be a chore, and I must find one eventually.” Looking down at her, he was once again aware of how comfortable he felt in her company. He could never have had this sort of conversation with any other lady—it would have been preposterous to even consider it. “I will be Marquess of Wolvington one day, and as such, I will need an heir.”

The blush that crept into Lady Nuit’s cheeks was beyond charming. There was no denying that he affected her, not when she blushed so easily in his presence. This at least was reassuring.

They’d reached the far side of the lawn. It was dimmer here with trees lining one side of the path—the perfect place to steal a kiss. Ordinarily, he would have grasped the opportunity with open arms, but the fact that she probably expected him to do just that gave him pause. He had one chance to get this right, and while he was certain that she would be putty in his arms and that they’d both take pleasure in the moment, instinct warned him against acting rashly, for it would only prove him to be precisely the irresponsible cad she suspected him of being. No, better to find out where she lived and woo her properly. After all, he was competing with a bloody viscount. If he wanted to win her hand, he’d have to get her to like him enough to make her doubt her decision to accept Brekenbridge once he offered—which he would, no doubt about that.

Daniel almost laughed. How the hell was he supposed to survive this ordeal unscathed when just walking along like this, her hand tucked in the crook of his arm, was enough to heat his blood? Damned if he knew, but at least there was comfort to be had in knowing that if he succeeded, he’d be engaged to her within three weeks, and then he’d be able to spend the rest of his life kissing her. “Come,” he said as he guided her onto the lawn, the April grass springy beneath their feet. “Let’s liven things up a bit, shall we?”

“What on earth do you mean?” Her eyes had grown large with merriment, her features brightening just as a burst of light exploded in the sky.

“Walking is for the old and ailing. Let’s dance instead beneath the fireworks.” And before she could protest, he unhooked her hand from his elbow and spun her into his arms, the momentum carrying them both forward in the direction of the pumpkin carriage while Lady Nuit squealed with laughter.

“May I call on you tomorrow?” he asked, taking advantage of the lighter mood that had descended over them. “I’ve enjoyed your company this evening.”

For a split second, her features turned serious, but then she smiled at him and nodded. “You can always try, I suppose, but I must warn you, my aunt and uncle are not the easiest people to get along with. They may not even admit you.”

Daniel wouldn’t be so easily discouraged. He could charm even the worst of dragons—had done so on more than one occasion. “I will need to know where you live if I am to pay a social visit,” he said. “Your real name would be helpful too.”

Her smile widened and turned to a grin of pure and utter delight, as if she was enjoying a private joke. “My real name, Mr. Neville, is Lady Rebecca, and I live at Roselyn Castle—in the tower room, to be precise.”

Lady Rebecca from Roselyn Castle?
Surely not. She was supposed to be completely cracked in the head—a perfect candidate for Bedlam, from what he’d heard. Yet there was nothing crazy about the woman whose company he’d been keeping this evening. Instead, she was fun and lively and easy to talk to, not to mention of perfectly sound mind. He smiled down at her. The minx. She’d almost had him duped, but he should have known from her inability to keep a straight face that she’d only been jesting with him. Well, he wouldn’t be so easily brushed aside. “Nice try,” he said, “but—”

A loud crack sounded, the lady in his arms went limp with no more than a low utterance, and whatever Daniel had been about to say trailed off into the night. Time ground to a halt, and everything else around him fell away. In that instant, Daniel Neville was conscious of only two things: himself, and the lady in his arms. And as he stood there, suspended in that split second of a moment, feeling more helpless than ever before, he knew that if she died here tonight—if she drew her last breath as he held her against him—his life would be over too.

Stay with me. Please, for the love of God, stay with me
.

Chapter 3

T
he next hour happened in a daze. Shortly after Lady Nuit was shot, Daniel’s host, the Duke of Kingsborough, came to his aid. He had been standing close by with his family, watching the fireworks display, and Daniel was now thankful for the assistance that he offered. “Get her on the ground,” Kingsborough said to Daniel as he hastily removed his jacket for Lady Nuit to lie on.

Daniel quickly followed the duke’s instructions without hesitation, cradling Lady Nuit’s head in his hands while the duke undid his cravat, bundled it into a tight wad and shoved it toward Daniel. “Put this on her wound, add some pressure and try to stop the bleeding.”

An ache rose in Daniel’s throat as he snatched the fabric from the duke and pushed it down against the raw flesh of Lady Nuit’s left shoulder, the white piece of linen turning crimson as her blood seeped out of her. Daniel blinked against his blurry vision and pushed down harder, eliciting a faint groan from the lady herself.

Kingsborough turned to his brother, who’d also arrived on the scene along with two other gentlemen, one of whom Daniel recognized as Lord Roxberry. “Winston, I’m leaving you in charge here while I try to find out what the devil happened.” Rising, the duke then hurried off in the direction of the terrace.

With quaking fingers, Daniel eased Lady Nuit’s mask away from her face, hoping that would make it easier for her to breathe.

“We should probably get her inside,” Lord Winston said. “The wound will need cleaning, and I’m sure she’ll be more comfortable too.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” came a soft-spoken female voice. Looking up, Daniel saw that it was the dowager duchess who’d spoken, her mouth set in a firm line of determination. “And since we’ve no way of knowing how serious the lady’s injury is, I suggest we hurry.”

Fresh panic descended over Daniel. His whole body was trembling with it. Dear God, she couldn’t die so easily. The injustice of it was overwhelming. No, he had to save her. She
had
to live.

Scooping her up in his arms, he ignored the fear that clutched at his heart. Only clearheaded resolve would help her. As he held her close, her head resting against his right arm, he quickly strode toward the stairs leading up to the terrace. There was no need for him to look over his shoulder to know that Lord Winston and the duchess were following in his wake, their faces grave with concern.

Stepping onto the terrace, Daniel headed toward the French doors leading into the ballroom. He’d almost made it when a plump, elderly woman stepped forward, blocking his path. “What is the meaning of this?” she asked, eyes razor sharp as she looked from Lady Nuit’s face to Daniel’s and back again. A stout gentleman stood beside her with a deep frown upon his forehead.

“The lady has been shot. Please move out of my way,” Daniel said, his tone rough with the frustration of being delayed.

“Show me,” the lady demanded.

Who the devil was this rude and thoughtless person?

“Why don’t you join us inside?” the duchess suggested. Daniel quietly admired her calm. If it had been up to him, he’d have tossed the impertinent lady aside and been on his way. Did she not understand the urgency?

Eyes meeting Daniel’s in a hard glare, the lady nodded and stepped back, allowing him entry. Anger flaring as he strode across the ballroom floor, he looked forward to giving the woman a proper set down. How dare she put Lady Nuit’s life at further risk by detaining them?

Climbing the steps leading up to the foyer, Daniel was met by Kingsborough, who was looking a bit out of sorts, suggesting that he’d had little success in locating the shooter.

“This way,” he said as he led Daniel down a corridor and into a parlor that had been furnished in various shades of green. “You can set her down over there, Neville. I’ve sent for a doctor, but in the meantime . . .” He hesitated a moment. “Is she alive?”

Daniel felt his throat tighten as he placed Lady Nuit on one of the silk sofas. Unable to speak, he just nodded.

“It appears so,” Winston said.

The dowager duchess, who’d followed Daniel over to the sofa, gently urged him out of the way. She then began pulling Lady Nuit’s sleeve down over her shoulder. “The least we can do is try to clean this,” she explained. “Would you please give me some brandy and another cravat? This one’s soaked through.”

Eager to assist, Daniel hastily undid his cravat while Kingsborough poured a measure of brandy into a glass and placed it on the table next to where the duchess knelt. He then held out his hand toward Daniel, who dropped the long piece of linen into it. The duke handed it to his mother, who dipped the length of fabric into the glass and pressed it against Lady Nuit’s open wound. “I thought she was—” the duke said, sounding confused.

“Quite,” the plump lady snapped, cutting him off. “Apparently she pulled the wool over all of our eyes.”

For a moment it looked as if the duke might argue the point, but then his features softened as he addressed both the plump lady and her husband. “Unfortunately, I have no idea who did this. It appears the culprit fled the premises before I could apprehend him, but I have sent for the constable, so hopefully the matter will soon be resolved. In the meantime, I take full responsibility for the incident and hope that you will accept my sincerest apologies.”

The couple gave a curt nod and the duke turned to everyone else, saying, “I ought to go explain the situation to our guests, but I’ll be back soon. Can you manage until I return?”

“We’ll be fine,” the duchess assured him, upon which he exited the room.

Daniel stood rooted to the floor, his gaze moving first to Lady Nuit’s shoulder, the wound there flashing angrily in and out of view as the duchess dabbed away at it, and then to the bitter expressions of the lady and gentleman, whom he did not recognize. The only reason he could think of to explain why they’d questioned him, and why the duchess had suggested they follow, was that they were Lady Nuit’s parents or related to her in some other way. But if that was the case, then why would they have been invited to the ball without her? It didn’t make any sense . . . unless, of course, what she’d told him was true. He considered the plump lady’s words with a frown.

Intent on finding answers, he stepped toward the couple and bowed. “Allow me to introduce myself,” he said, aware of the sharp scrutiny that befell him the instant he did so. “I am Mr. Neville.” Attempting a slight smile, he waited warily for any sign of recognition his name might bring. None, as far as he could tell. They were just as unaware of his identity as he was of theirs.

“Lord Grifton,” the stout man responded. “And this is my wife, Lady Grifton.”

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Daniel said, aiming for the most polite tone he could manage.

Lady Grifton, who looked on the verge of an apoplectic fit, narrowed her eyes on him like a hawk zeroing in on its prey. “I can’t say that I share your sentiment,” she said. “Had it not been for you, she probably wouldn’t have gotten herself shot.”

Daniel wasn’t sure how she’d drawn that conclusion. “We were just dancing,” he explained, determined not to be cowed by her. “I don’t see how—”

“Then it is
entirely
your fault, Mr. Neville. You, sir, clearly led her into the line of fire,” Lady Grifton hissed. She turned to her husband. “I cannot wait to have a few choice words with her when she comes to.”

Daniel took a deep, steadying breath. The insinuation that Lady Nuit—correction, Lady Rebecca—had been shot because of him made him sick.

“An explanation is most certainly in order,” Lord Grifton agreed.

“Right.” Lady Grifton crossed her arms and raised her chin, her expression scornful. “And as soon as she’s recovered, she’s marrying one of those suitors. Why, it’s clear as day what she’s been playing at these past two years. Well, the game’s up. She’ll do her duty if I have to drag her to the altar myself!”

The dowager duchess raised her head, eyes wide with alarm. “Lady Grifton, I understand that you must be stunned to find Lady Rebecca here. I have to admit that it is unexpected. But please try to calm down. She needs rest and medical attention. In fact, she’s welcome to remain here until she recovers if that would be—”

“Thank you, Your Grace, that’s very generous of you, but it’s also completely out of the question,” Lady Grifton said. “We’re taking her back to Roselyn Castle with us as soon as the doctor has seen to her. She can get the same amount of rest there as she can here, and I can assure you that now that I’m aware of her scheming ways, I’ll be keeping a closer eye on her. The next time she gets into this sort of mischief, her husband will be the one to deal with it.”

Daniel gaped at her. He couldn’t believe the venom with which Lady Grifton spoke of her ward. “How can you say that?” he asked, his voice low as he fought for control. “She could have died tonight. She still might.”

Lady Grifton stepped toward him, looking not the least bit intimidated by his greater size. Staring up at him, she smiled. “I take it you’re smitten with her? Well, I suggest you get that fancy out of your head, sir.” Her eyes swept over him with distaste. “She is a lady of breeding. I would be a fool to waste her on an untitled gentleman when an earl and a duke are showing great interest in her.”

“If I may,” Lord Winston said. “I think—”

“Quite right,” Daniel clipped, sensing that it wouldn’t matter one whit to this woman that he was next in line to the Marquisate of Wolvington. At present, he was untitled, and that was apparently all that the arrogant woman cared about.

He considered her words. Lady Grifton had spoken of Lady Rebecca as scheming. Daniel quietly recalled reading about Lady Rebecca’s riding accident two years earlier. She’d taken a severe blow to the head, the papers had said, and had since been declared mad. It wasn’t as if everyone talked about her though—at least not anymore—but everyone knew
of
her, although Daniel had to admit that he probably knew less than most. His interest in the drama surrounding Roselyn Castle had never been great, so he’d never really given it much thought.

Was it possible that Lady Rebecca’s entire illness had been nothing but a front? And if so, then how did the shooter fit into the scenario? He couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to harm Lady Rebecca, but on the other hand, he had to acknowledge that he knew very little about her. Perhaps she’d done something far more terrible than feign insanity—something that had resulted in someone wishing her dead.

Daniel tossed the idea aside with a shake of his head. It was ludicrous to imagine such a thing when instinct told him that she would make him an excellent match. He decided then and there that he would still try to win Lady Rebecca’s hand, and, being the reckless man that he was, Daniel was not about to walk away from the challenge that doing so would pose. On the contrary, he looked forward to it with great anticipation, because if there was one thing he was certain of, it was that she would rather marry him than whoever the Griftons had in mind, and now that he knew where to find her, all he had to do was think of a way in which to gain access to her.

Really, how hard could it possibly be?