A Perfect Scandal (16 page)

If Marcus ever had doubts as to his father’s true feelings toward him, then his wedding night clarified any misconceptions.

Isabel and Marcus arrived at the town house on St. James’s Street ahead of their parents. Jenkins, Mrs. McLaughlin, and the entire staff were gathered in the vestibule to congratulate the couple and welcome their new mistress.

“The master’s chamber has been prepared for you and your trunks taken up. You must want to change before the evening meal,” Mrs. McLaughlin said.

Isabel looked to Marcus.

“Isabel shall occupy the chambers across from mine,” Marcus told the housekeeper.

Mrs. McLaughlin blinked, but quickly recovered at the news that the new mistress would not sleep in the same bedroom as her husband. It was common practice, but by the plump housekeeper’s surprised expression, it was obviously not what she had expected.

“Of course, Mr. Hawksley. My lady’s belongings shall be moved at once.”

Marcus then turned to address the entire staff. “Both Lord Malvern and Lord Ardmore will arrive shortly. I know this is last-minute news, but they are expected to dine with us.”

“I shall speak with Cook,” Mrs. McLaughlin said. She made to leave, then stopped in midstride and looked at Isabel. “As the new mistress, would you prefer to speak with Cook about the menu?”

Isabel shook her head. “I’ll leave it in your capable hands.”

With a bob of her capped head, the housekeeper departed.

No sooner had Marcus handed Isabel’s cloak to Jenkins, than Edward Cameron and Randall Hawksley knocked on the door.

“Isabel.” Edward stepped into the vestibule and hugged his daughter. “I’ve come to see with my own eyes where you are to live.” Concern for his daughter’s well-being was etched all over his plump face.

Isabel embraced her father. “Marcus’s home is lovely, Father, especially his art collection, which you must see for yourself someday.”

Randall Hawksley strode inside. “Marcus,” he said as he spotted his younger son. “It’s been years since my last visit. I’ve also come to see how you are living.”

“You were welcome any time, Father. I find it curious as to why you chose my wedding day to visit,” Marcus said, his voice heavy with sarcasm.

“Ah, but you had the audacity to enter trade against my advice. You were hardly worth a father’s trouble.” Randall’s loud voice echoed across the marble floors.

“What has changed?” Marcus asked, his tone chilly.

Randall slapped Edward on the back. “Why, now that you have married an earl’s daughter, I find it hard to ignore you.”

Edward Cameron’s eyes widened behind his round spectacles.

Marcus bit back an angry retort. “Is your newfound interest why Lord Malvern is here?”

“No,” Randall said. “We were reminiscing about the past, and I must have alluded to your youthful years as a drunk and wastrel. As a responsible father, Edward seeks to ensure his daughter’s welfare.”

“How considerate of you.” Marcus’s tone was velvet, yet edged with steel.

The rest of the visit went no better. Throughout the evening meal, Randall ate and drank with gusto and bickered with and tried to insult Marcus at every opportunity. Edward sat rigid, his mouth a tight line, his brow furrowed. His eyes darted between Marcus and Randall like a trapped animal. An anxious Isabel tried to interrupt the father-son pair with nervous chattering about upcoming art shows and exhibitions. When that failed, she stopped all pretense of eating and repeatedly reached for her wineglass. Before long, her cheeks flamed red and her eyes glazed over.

Marcus drank heavily, hoping to quench his anger and drown out his father’s grating voice.

Randall had laughed and boomed, “Old habits die hard, son.”

Before the last course was served, Isabel looked ready to lay her head in her dessert.

Marcus rose. “It’s been a long day. My bride needs sleep.”

Edward pushed back his chair and assisted Isabel to her feet. “Of course. I shall visit again soon, Isabel. Please send a note if you need anything before then.”

With a firm grip on her elbow, Marcus helped Isabel climb the staircase. They were silent as they walked down the long hall until they reached the door of her assigned rooms, and he pushed it open. She stumbled inside, and his hand tightened on her arm, steadying her.

Her eyes slanted up at him. “I’m sorry about dinner.”

“Why? It wasn’t your fault.”

“But your father—”

“Is an arrogant ass.”

She reached up to touch his cheek. “Oh, Marcus. How can you stand it? He is so wrong about you. You are nothing like he says. You are hardworking and good and—”

“You’re drunk, Isabel.”

She shrugged as if her inebriated state had nothing to do with her words. “I always imagined a woman’s wedding night to be full of romance, laughter, and a delicious dose of passion.”

“That’s not reality. Most couples are not even physically attracted to each other.”

She stepped close and looked up at him through thick, black lashes. “Do you find me attractive?”

His gaze dropped to the wildly fluttering pulse at the base of her neck. “Isabel—”

“When I was a twelve-year-old girl and you were staying at our country manor, I would sneak into your room and wear your shirts. I loved the smell and imagined you were embracing me.”

He blinked, stunned and flattered by her admission. “Isabel, I—”

She moved closer still and turned around, her back facing him, her silk skirts brushing his trousers. “Please help me with my buttons.”

“I’ll call Mrs. McLaughlin.”

“No. I don’t want to wait. Can’t you help me?”

He brushed aside loose curls that had fallen down her neck. The tendrils were like rich black silk against his rough palm. A bead of perspiration formed on his brow as he reached for the row of tiny buttons. The top three opened, and warm, smooth flesh touched his fingers.

With helpless frustration, he felt his arousal grow hot and heavy.

When all the buttons were undone, she turned in his arms and held the dress to her breasts.

“I should leave,” he said, but his feet stayed rooted to the carpet.

She swayed forward, and pressed her lips to his throat. “Don’t go,” she whispered.

He was blasted by lust. He had a hard time recalling their agreement, or anything beyond the feel of her wet lips on his overheated skin.

“Isabel,” he hissed. Touching her bare shoulders, he pushed her back and held her.

She cocked her head to the side, her glassy blue eyes studying his features. “I had planned to remain virtuous, but truth be told, what’s wrong with experiencing passion? Perhaps I was wrong. Marriage doesn’t have to change anything between us. We can still part as planned—me to Paris and you to your…to your lady friend. Auntie Lil insists on at least two lovers. Why can’t you be one of them?”

Yes, why can’t I?
he thought.

The basest part of him seriously considered her offer, but bitter truth permeated his lust. Just because she desired him in her inebriated state did not mean that she would not regret her actions tomorrow. Their agreement would be damned—along with her dreams of Paris should she become pregnant. She would most likely grow to resent him, and he wouldn’t blame her.

What kind of man was he to take advantage of an intoxicated virgin—his bride no less?

She licked her full lower lip and whispered, “Marcus?”

He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and willed his aroused body to calm.

“Let’s get you in bed,” his said, his voice rough.

“Yes…bed,” she breathed.

She had misunderstood his intentions but he did not seek to correct her. The sooner she was safely tucked under the covers, the sooner he could drag himself from her side.

She made it to the side of the bed, then released her grasp on her gown. The entire ensemble slid down her body in a seductive whoosh. Contained in her corset, her breasts rose and fell enticingly with each breath, and her slim waist flared into rounded hips. She stepped out of the pool of blue silk, sat on the edge of the bed, and patted the mattress beside her.

“Come, Marcus. I don’t pretend to have as much experience as you so you will have to teach me everything.”

Every ounce of blood drained from his head and flooded his loins. His trousers grew unbearably snug, and his heart hammered in his ears. The muscles in his body tensed, like a volcano on the verge of erupting, and he knew he needed to leave the room, needed to leave her presence before he succumbed to her feminine lure.

He knelt by the bed, and coaxed her into a lying position.

As soon as her head touched the pillow, she yawned, showing a mouthful of pearly, even teeth. She slid a hand around his neck and urged his head down. Brushing her lips against his once, then again, she went limp beneath him.

He pulled back just as her eyelids slid closed. She snored and then breathed deeply, lost in a blissful drunken slumber.

He smoothed her hair back from her brow, and straightened slowly, painfully. Gazing down at her profile, he whispered, “Good night, sweetheart,” and then turned and left the room.

Isabel rolled over and groaned. Bright sunlight flowed into the room through the lace curtains and cut across the bed. Disoriented, she struggled to sit up, and then immediately regretted the movement. Her head throbbed as if an elephant sat upon it; her mouth felt like she had sucked on dry cotton. She held up a hand to shield her sensitive pupils from the invasive light reflecting off the white walls.

Trying to gain a sense of awareness, she looked about her—mauve carpet, a chest of drawers, an oversized wardrobe, and a padded chair situated by a fireplace.

Her eyes flew back to the chair and the blue silk gown thrown across its cushions.

A terrifying realization washed over her. Memories of her wedding day focused in her mind—the church ceremony, the wedding breakfast at the Ravenspears’ mansion, and afterward…

Her face burned as she remembered bits and pieces of the night. The dinner debacle between Marcus and his father, and the vast quantity of wine she had drunk to ease her nerves. Then there was later, much later, when Marcus had helped her up the stairs, had shown her to her rooms, had helped her undress…

No, she had all but demanded that he assist with her buttons. She had acted a wanton, a woman of very loose morals, and had propositioned him when
she
was the one that had insisted on a marriage in name only. She couldn’t recall the precise words she had said to him, but she knew that she had all but begged him to make love to her.

Had he taken her up on her offer?

She touched her breasts, and then lowered her hand between her legs. She was not sore and did not feel any different.

No, Marcus Hawksley was a true gentleman, a
good
man, and he would never take advantage of a drunken woman, even one who urged him to do so.

A quick and disturbing thought flew through her. She realized that she was not dismayed at the notion of losing her innocence to Marcus, but rather that she would have no memory of the experience. If she slept with Marcus, then she wanted to recall every vivid detail, memorize the feel of his flesh against hers, the scent of their passion, and cherish those memories for the rest of her life. For she was certain that such a virile, masculine male like Hawksley would be a once-in-a-lifetime experience that a woman would never forget.

She shook her head, forcing her thoughts back to the present. How was she to face Marcus today? And what about the staff? The entire household must know that their new mistress had been foxed—or rather, stinking drunk—on her first night here. She felt a shudder of humiliation.

She slid off the bed, gripped the bedside table, and forced herself to stand straight. “No sense fretting about what you cannot control,” she spoke out loud.

She spotted her trunks in the corner of the room. No doubt, the ever-efficient Mrs. McLaughlin had ordered her belongings brought up before Isabel had even stepped foot through the doorway of her new rooms. Her dresses were probably pressed and hanging in the wardrobe.

Good. She would summon the housekeeper, get dressed, and immediately request a strong cup of tea. She was never one to dwell on the past or her mistakes, but rather looked to the future.

She walked slowly across the room, aware of her throbbing temples, until she reached the first trunk. She opened the lid and cracked a smile when she spotted the package wrapped in bright red paper and tied with a matching ribbon. Beside the package rested the cigar-shaped box containing the miniature artists’ palette of handcrafted silver that Marcus had given her.

She wouldn’t wait for Marcus to come to her this morning to see how she fared after last night. She would bravely seek him out instead and give him the gift she had worked on over the past weeks with such diligence.

Washed, dressed, and three cups of tea later, Isabel felt like a new woman. If Jenkins or Mrs. McLaughlin had known of her sodden condition on her wedding night, then neither of them had let on.

During a breakfast of steaming eggs, bacon, and biscuits in the dining room, she had learned that Marcus had gone to his office on Threadneedle Street as was his customary routine for a Monday morning. Mrs. McLaughlin had pursed her lips in disapproval, saying the master of the house should have taken a few days off to give his wife a proper honeymoon before returning to business so quickly, but Jenkins had assured Isabel that an urgent matter had arisen.

Finding herself ravenous, Isabel ate every morsel on her plate and knew her appetite was due to a late night of imbibing too much wine and not eating enough food.

As soon as she left the dining room, she immediately sought out Jenkins.

“Jenkins, will you summon a hackney cab for me? I’d like to visit Marcus at his office today.”

Jenkins looked at her with a blank expression. “If you seek to go out, you are free to use Mr. Hawksley’s carriage.”

“I wasn’t aware he had his own carriage.”

Jenkins nodded. “He has a phaeton as well that he chose to utilize this morning.”

Isabel kept forgetting her new husband was a man of substantial means. “I see. Then please summon the carriage.”

“Of course, my lady.”

The ride from St. James’s Street to Threadneedle Street passed quickly, and as she stepped from the carriage, she looked up at a three-story brick building overlooking the Bank of England and the London Stock Exchange on Bartholomew Lane.

“Shall I wait for you, Lady Hawksley?” the driver asked.

Isabel shook her head. “There’s no need. Mr. Hawksley shall see me home.” Tucking the wrapped package under her arm, she made her way to the building’s entrance.

The first floor was a well-appointed business space, with costly yet functional furnishings. There were unoccupied chairs on one wall and a receiving desk at the end of the vestibule, directly across from the doors. A staunch, serious-looking man sat behind the desk and glared at her beneath thick spectacles as she stepped inside.

With a confident step, she approached the man. “Lady Isabel Hawksley to see Mr. Marcus Hawksley.”

The man blinked, obviously surprised that Marcus had taken a wife. “The stairs are behind me to the right. Mr. Hawksley is currently in his office, on the third floor.”

She spotted the spiral staircase, and her heart fluttered in her breast as she climbed the steps. She was nervous to confront him after her embarrassing behavior last night, but at the same time, she looked forward to observing him in his work environment. She wanted to see firsthand his reaction when she gave him her present.

She reached the top of the stairs on the third floor, and started down a long hall. Closed doors on both sides ran the length of the hall, and brass plates with their occupants’ names were mounted on each door.

Halfway down the hall, a door opened and a man rushed out. He stopped when he spotted her.

“Lady Isabel? Is it really you?” the man asked, coming up to her.

Isabel looked up and was surprised to see Ralph Hodge standing before her. He was as attractive as she remembered with his green eyes, sandy-colored hair, and charming smile. He wore a frock coat and a high-crowned hat with a curled brim and held a walking cane.

“Mr. Hodge, I did not expect to see you here today.”

“I can say the same for you. Many stockbrokers have offices here since it is a stone’s throw from the Stock Exchange. I pray you have come to your senses and have decided to pay me a visit.” He winked at her before continuing, “My services are always available to you.”

She smiled at him. His outrageously flirtatious behavior was amusing and flattering. “But you appear to be on your way out.”

He took off his hat with a sweeping motion, and gave her body a raking gaze. “I will change my plans for such a beautiful woman.”

“I suspect your bold tongue has gotten you into trouble in the past, Mr. Hodge.”

His green eyes glittered at her unintended sexual remark. “The ladies have never complained.”

He reached for her, but she stepped away, clutching the package in front of her.

“Mr. Hodge—”

“Tell me you’re not here to see Hawksley and that you have had second thoughts about marrying him.”

“It’s too late for that. We were married last night.”

He shrugged and then grinned. “It’s no matter, my offices are across from his, and I would not turn you away if you decided to pay me a social visit.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Your husband is known for spending long hours working, and as his new beautiful wife, should you feel neglected, it is no fault of yours if you seek companionship elsewhere. Hawksley quite deserves it, you see.”

She laughed, despite his lecherous manners. “I doubt you will be in sore need of female company anytime soon.”

He reached for her hand, leaving her to hold her package with her other arm, and his lips lingered on her skin.

A door opened down the hall and the sound of approaching footsteps echoed off the walls. Isabel leaned to the side to see behind Ralph Hodge’s shoulders.

“Marcus!” she called out.

“Isabel?”

Ralph Hodge reluctantly released her hand and turned.

Marcus strode down the hall, a scowl on his dark face as he took in the scene before him.

He reached their side, and spoke to Hodge. “This reminds me of another time when I found you with the lady, only now she is my wife.”

“I’ve heard, Hawksley,” Ralph said. “I was merely congratulating her on her nuptials.”

“Good. Now get lost.”

“Marcus!” Isabel was shocked at his rude behavior.

Ralph flashed Marcus a look of disdain. “Careful, Hawksley, lest she see the true barbarian beneath your crumbling facade of diligent stockbroker and devoted husband. You don’t want her to discover your surly disposition and lack of ethics so soon.”

Marcus grabbed the smaller man by the collar of his frock coat and pushed Hodge toward the spiral staircase. “Go. Now. Before the barbarian in me breaks your neck.”

Ralph turned to address Isabel. “My offer still stands, Isabel,” he said, then descended the stairs.

“What offer?” Marcus snapped.

“Never mind that. Why do you two hate each other?” Isabel asked.

“We have a long history.”

“I have all afternoon.”

“It hardly matters.”

“I beg to differ. From what I just witnessed, Ralph Hodge has more motive than Lord Gavinport to want to frame you for theft and see you rot in prison.”