A Dash of Scandal (10 page)

“My face doesn't feel as tight today.” She reached up and lightly patted her palm to her cheek. “Perhaps I look a little better, but I'm by no means ready to be up and about.”

Millicent moved a step closer. Hamlet's head popped up, and he watched her with big, dark brown eyes, but he didn't bark or growl. Maybe she was making progress with him. She smiled at him before returning her attention to her aunt.

“You're sitting up, which you haven't done before, so I see that as a good sign that you are now on the mend.”

“I suppose you are right. Let's get on with the article. What do you have for me tonight?”

Millicent took her reticule off her wrist and opened it. She pulled out her dance card and turned it over to read her notes on the back, but the back was blank.

Blank? Angels above! How could that be? Frantic, she searched her reticule for another card but found nothing. Still not believing her eyes, she turned her small purse upside down and emptied its contents on the foot of her aunt's bed. Hamlet rose and walked over to the things lying near her aunt's feet. He quietly sniffed the pencil and barked once, then moved on to her handkerchief.

Oh, no!

She looked at the front of the card and realized that Lord Dunraven had mistakenly picked up someone else's card from the floor! What rotten luck! Hers was probably at this moment being swept into a trash heap by the servants while she stared at a useless card.

“What could have happened?” she whispered softly to herself as her hands clutched into tight fists.

“Dear girl, what is it?” her aunt questioned. “You seem distraught.”

“It's nothing.” Millicent couldn't let her aunt know what had happened. “I was just looking for something. Never mind. It doesn't matter.” She wasn't covering for herself very well. How could Lord Dunraven pick up the wrong card?

“Now, what did I discover tonight? Let me think for a moment.”

Millicent put her finger to her lips and pretended to do some serious thinking. Her mind was as blank as the useless card in her hand. What had she written down when she was in that reading room?

She couldn't remember anything but the expression on Lord Dunraven's face when he handed her the dance card. Had he known he had the wrong card? No, that would have been impossible. She watched him reach down and pick it up. It looked like her card, but then most of them looked very much alike.

Lord Dunraven had caught her once before making notes on her dance card. He had even teased her about it later, but she was sure there was no way he could have seen her making notes tonight. She'd been so careful to be sure that no one had followed her to that back room.

“Millicent, you are taking too long with your thinking. We don't have that much time.”

“Ah—I think the most important gossip I heard tonight was that Lady Lambsbeth is back in Town.”

“Are you sure?” Aunt Beatrice leaned forward, having lost interest in the contents of Millicent's reticule, Hamlet snuggled back against Aunt Beatrice.

“Quite.” Millicent felt sure she could trust anything Lady Lynette told her.

“That sounds delicious. If this is true, it's worth reporting. Who was she dancing with?”

“I don't know, but she was seen having a secluded tête-à-tête with Lord Dunraven.” Millicent blurted out the bit of information Lady Lynette had whispered to her as she was leaving the party with Viscountess Heathecoute.

“Are you sure about this? Did you witness their intimate conversation?”

She hadn't, but she was sure. She'd been attacked with something that felt very much like jealousy when Lady Lynette had whispered the information to her.

“Goodness no. I have no idea what Lady Lambsbeth looks like. I received this information from a very good source as I was leaving the party.”

Aunt's Beatrice's eyes suddenly looked glassy. “If it is true, this is just the sort of thing our readers like to read about.”

A lump formed in Millicent's throat. She was a bit concerned about how interested her aunt was in this particular information. Her eyes were flashing with excitement.

“Millicent, I need to know who told you about this clandestine meeting. We can't publish a word of it unless we are sure Lady Lambsbeth is in Town and that she attended at least one party that the earl attended.”

Millicent wrinkled her brow. She had a sinking feeling that it might have been better had she kept the information about Lady Lambsbeth and Lord Dunraven to herself. But it was too late for recriminations now.

“So whether they actually had a conversation is not important?” Millicent asked.

“Of course it is. In a small way. It is perfectly all right to assume that if they, indeed, ended up at the same party that sometime during the evening, they had a conversation—given their past relationship. It would have been so delicious to have overheard a word or two of what they said. Now tell me, who gave you this information?”

“I'd rather not say, Aunt Beatrice. My source believes she talks to me in secret.”

“And she does. The same as I talk to you and you to me in private. Good heavens! Do you think I'd ever reveal where Lord Truefitt's information comes from? What a ninny I would be if I did that. And if anyone finds out I am Lord Truefitt, I'll leave Town in shame.”

“I understand that. I'm certain that she would not tell me something that didn't happen. She is most reliable.”

“I'm certain of that, too. Heavens, Millicent, I've been doing this for over fifteen years and I've trusted no one with the information but my contact at
The Daily Reader
,
the Heathecoutes, and now you.”

What her aunt said was true and gave Millicent some reassurance, but this made her certain she'd never like writing about other people's personal lives. What if Lord Dunraven didn't want anyone to know he had talked to Lady Lambsbeth?

“Very well,” Millicent relented. “My informant is Lady Lynette Knightington.”

“Hmm. The one with the birthmark?” Aunt Beatrice screwed up her face in thought while Hamlet licked her hand.

Millicent nodded.

“Her father being a duke, she's always at the best parties. She's usually quiet. Spends most of her time just watching other people. I seldom see her talking with anyone.”

“Maybe that's because no one takes the time to really talk to her,” Millicent offered.

“She does know everyone. The poor dear has no chance of making a match. I think she realizes that, but she does seem to always be around. I suppose it's quite possible that she saw them together.”

“Lady Lynette has been very kind to me every time I've seen her. I told you she paid a call yesterday.”

“Yes, yes. I remember that. She's probably a good contact for you. I think we can consider her a reliable source. Tell me exactly what she said to you tonight.”

“Let me think.” Millicent started putting her belongings back into her reticule now that Hamlet had inspected it all and had settled down again.

“We don't have time for you to think, Millicent,” her aunt said impatiently.

“I was taking my leave and…” Unexpectedly, she thought of the soft kiss Lord Dunraven had given her in the garden.

“Millicent?” her aunt asked again.

“While Lord Heathecoute was helping his lady with her cloak, Lady Lynette came over and whispered she'd seen the two of them having a private conversation near the front door.”

“Perhaps they had planned to meet there.”

“I really don't know. Lady Lynette added that Lady Lambsbeth was even more radiant than she had been last year.” A wistfulness entered Millicent's voice. “Lady Lynette discreetly pointed with her fan to a lady not far away. From what I could see of her, she was indeed very beautiful.” As she said the words, Millicent felt another small stab of—jealousy? Is that what she felt? Surely not.

“As beautiful and as deadly as a jeweled dagger,” Aunt Beatrice said. “Did Lady Lynette by chance overhear anything they said to each other?”

“Not that she mentioned.”

“No, of course not. The dear girl wouldn't want to go that far with the gossip.”

Millicent again wondered if she and her aunt were even talking about the same Lady Lynette. Millicent found the duke's daughter to be a deep well of gossip, especially where Lord Dunraven was concerned.

“Hurry, get your quill and vellum, Millicent, we must not tarry. If Lady Lynette saw them talking so did others. We will dedicate our entire column to this story.”

Millicent squeezed her eyes shut for a moment when she turned away. She didn't like the knot of guilt that coiled and rumbled in her stomach.

What had she done to Lord Dunraven? What would he say if he ever found out what she had done?

Would he ever forgive her?

“Oh, beware, my lord, of jealousy; It is the green-eyed monster which doth mock the meat it feeds on.” One has to wonder if Lord Dunraven has so short a memory. Wasn't it only last year that Lord Lambsbeth challenged him to a duel in White's? But this one has just discovered there will be no challenge this Season, for Lady Lambsbeth is a widow.

—Lord Truefitt,
Society's Daily Column

Millicent breathed in deeply as she enjoyed a leisurely drive in the open carriage to the business area located near her aunt's town house. She was properly accompanied by her aunt's housekeeper rather than her own maid, because Mrs. Brown needed to pick up some things for Lady Beatrice.

The housekeeper was as quiet on the street as she was in the house. Millicent had made several attempts at conversation by commenting on how beautiful the day was and how lovely the flowers were in the various parks, but Mrs. Brown had responded with only a brief “Yes, miss,” to absolutely everything Millicent had said.

Giving up on conversing and content simply to enjoy the drive, Millicent fell silent, too. This was her first venture out into the streets of London since she'd arrived in Town and she intended to enjoy every minute of it.

The sky was a vivid blue and the temperature pleasant as they drove past the rows of town homes and the green areas of the squares. Millicent was comfortably attired in a carriage dress of lightweight muslin with a matching three-button pelisse in faille. Her straw bonnet was trimmed with tiny flowers at the crown and banded with stiff muslin the same cinnamon brown as her kid gloves. Her half boots would make any strolling easy.

Millicent found the traffic in the streets shockingly busy for midafternoon. She had never seen so many gigs, phaetons, drays, and other types of conveyances in her life. Some of the carriages were quite ornate with elaborate trim and gold crests on the doors. Those were pulled by two or four well-matched horses that were driven by coachmen in handsome livery. As they continued down Oxford Street toward the City, the congestion was further complicated by the addition of street sweepers, the throng of pedestrians going about their daily business, and the rough barrows of the numerous street vendors.

Millicent noticed they passed several shops that sold fabrics, lace, and sewing notions, but obviously none of them were their intended target.

The housekeeper was taking Millicent to Aunt Beatrice's favorite place. Her aunt had told her the quaint shop would be the perfect place for Millicent to buy her mother a length of lace, a bit of ribbon, embroidery thread, or any number of other things that could easily be sent to her by mail coach.

Millicent had not had much time to think about her mother since arriving in London. She had posted only one short letter to her. Millicent hoped to make up for her lack of attention by purchasing her mother a small gift.

The moment they walked in the shop Millicent saw that Mrs. Brown and the shopkeeper knew each other well. When asked about her employer, Mrs. Brown discreetly told the clerk that her employer's recuperation was progressing as expected, and then she introduced Millicent.

Millicent smiled at the clerk and insisted she needed no help in picking out her purchases. She left the two at the front of the shop and went immediately to the table that held lace and carefully looked over the intricate patterns. From there she walked over to the ribbons, which came in so many different colors and widths Millicent didn't know how she would ever be able to make up her mind.

She heard the door open and close two or three times while she looked over the beautiful fabrics in the shop but paid it no mind. The shopkeeper offered again to help her, but Millicent assured her she would rather take her time and look over everything before making a decision.

The clerk and Mrs. Brown continued to talk as if they were long lost friends who hadn't seen each other in years. Millicent would have sworn that Mrs. Brown wasn't capable of saying so much to anyone, but Millicent had just been proven wrong.

Wanting to give Mrs. Brown time to finish her conversation, Millicent slowly made her way to the rear of the store where the fine fabrics were located. She was pressing her palm over a length of blue velvet when suddenly a hand pressed her back, gently ushering her forward. Her head snapped around and she saw Lord Dunraven at her side. She gasped, but allowed him to maneuver her to the end of the aisle, where large bolts of dark velvets were stacked high.

“Stand here and look at these fabrics,” he said as he quickly stacked several bolts of cloth on top of each other. Within moments he had two piles of cloth tall enough for him to stand behind without being seen by anyone in the front of the store.

When he was finished he turned to her and said, “There. That should hide me from your chaperone.”

“What in heaven's name are you doing in a fabric shop?”

“Looking for you, of course.”

Millicent took a deep breath and said, “I believe you are developing a bad habit of startling me, sir.”

“That is because you are so easy to startle, Miss Blair, but why does it have to be a bad habit? Why can't you say I have a good habit of startling you?”

He reached over and added another bolt to the stack closest to Millicent and took a step closer to her.

“Can a startle be good?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“How so?”

“I'll show you sometime, but in order for it to work you can't have a guilty conscience.”

She lifted her shoulders and her chin. “Whatever do you mean?” she asked and looked over her left shoulder. Mrs. Brown and the shop attendant were still engrossed in their conversation. “A guilty conscience about what?”

“You tell me.”

“You are talking in riddles, sir.”

“Perhaps I am, but you are a mystery to me, Miss Blair, and of course that intrigues me.”

“I have no intentions of being a mystery to you, Lord Dunraven,” she said, wondering if her hat was on straight, because his eyes seemed to be studying her so intently.

“Then why don't you answer any of my questions directly? It makes me wonder if you have skeletons in your closet.”

His words alerted her. “Skeletons? You have a vivid imagination, sir.”

A devilish grin spread across his face and she realized he was only teasing her, but Millicent had suddenly felt as if she had been caught writing her gossip.

There was no way he could know what she was doing unless—unless he had her real dance card! Could that be? No. She was reacting far too seriously about his offhanded remark because she did have a guilty conscience. How could he know anything about her or what she was doing for her aunt?

She wouldn't say any more about the subject. Surely if he had seen her dance card, he would have to come right out and accuse her, and somehow she felt him unwilling to do that.

Millicent had learned years ago that when she didn't know how to answer a question, or didn't like the direction a conversation was going, it was best to change the subject. That seemed a judicious thing to do right now.

“There is no way this can be a chance meeting, Lord Dunraven.”

“Indeed, it is not.”

“Rake that you are, you followed me, didn't you?” she asked, a bit miffed, a bit flattered, and a bit excited.

“Yes.”

“You really are a rogue of the first order.”

“Guilty.” He paused, then added, “Though only sometimes.”

“That's not what I hear.”

“I have been known to behave properly when it matters most, Miss Blair.”

He smiled and suddenly Millicent felt as if sunlight shone on her face. How could his smile brighten her day and fill her with such pleasant feelings? Suddenly she felt wonderful. She wanted to throw her arms up in the air and twirl around as if she were five years old again.

Standing before her was an admitted rogue who knew how to charm any lady, not just her. Yet, the very sight of him made her heart beat a little faster.

Millicent tried to sound firm while keeping her voice low. She said, “Following me is unacceptable. And standing here talking to me in this shop is even worse. Have you no care for my reputation?”

“Your reputation is safe with me. You left me no choice when you refused again to let me call on you like a proper gentleman. I had to design a plan to see you. I decided to watch Lady Beatrice's house until you came into the garden again. But when I saw you leave the house, I decided to follow you.”

“You were watching the house again? That was foolish. I could have stayed inside all day.”

“Foolish, yes, but I do have good luck.”

“Good luck, indeed. Clearly you are an expert at maneuvering yourself so that you can have a private assignation with young ladies whenever and wherever you wish.”

He gave her that warm engaging smile as he folded his arms across his chest in a very relaxed position and leaned a narrow hip against the table. “That's true, but it is also true I have not stooped to such antics lately. I've not had to, and I did it years ago for the fun and the sport of it. Now I'm doing it because you are the first young lady who has refused to allow me to call on her in a proper and gentlemanly manner.”

For some reason that truthful admission gave her confidence and freedom to give him a genuine smile. “That should have been a hint that I didn't want to see you.”

“A hint? I took it as a challenge. I thought perhaps it meant you didn't want anyone to see us together, giving my dastardly notoriety and your unblemished reputation.”

At that remark, Millicent laughed softly, quietly but without restraint. He was so engaging, he was wrapping her up like a gift to present to himself.

“Shhh.” He put his hand to his lips. “I don't think anyone knows I'm in here.”

Mrs. Brown and the clerk continued to huddle together but had walked farther away from Millicent to look at jars of creams, oils, or something behind the front counter.

Millicent cleared her throat and fingered the fabric again. “Nonsense,” she said, but asked, “How did you get in without them seeing you?”

“I went to the back alley and slipped in from the rear door.” He looked around the bolts of cloth. “I don't think there is anyone else in here right now but you and I, your chaperone and the clerk.”

“Thank goodness. You could have been caught.”

“Yes.”

A shiver of excitement tingled through her. “And that means I would have been caught talking to you.”

“Yes.”

“Does that not worry you?”

He moved a little closer to her and lowered his voice even more as he said, “For you, yes. For me, some things are worth the risk, Miss Blair.”

Millicent picked up an edge of fabric and pretended to study it, when all she wanted to do was look into Lord Dunraven's seductive blue eyes and tell him she was charmed and flattered that he went to so much trouble just to see her for the second time in two days.

Truly, he must have known how difficult he was for her to resist. His smile, his manner, and even his bad reputation perplexed her, worried her… and captivated her. But she could never let him know that seeing him today was worth the risk of being caught talking to him in private.

She took a deep, languid breath. But what was she going to do? His pursuing her would make her more visible and jeopardize her work for her aunt. Keeping that secret had to be uppermost in her mind. If Millicent were caught, her aunt might somehow be revealed as Lord Truefitt, and she couldn't risk ruining her aunt's place in Society.

Perhaps she should confess to Aunt Beatrice or Viscountess Heathecoute and ask how she should handle this handsome gentleman rogue, for surely he was way too fast for her country upbringing.

With a fluid grace, Lord Dunraven reached over and took her gloved hand in his and gently pulled her to his chest, concealing her with him behind the bolts of fabric. Millicent gasped softly but didn't pull away from him. How could she when she wanted to feel his arms around her again?

“Did that startle you?”

She looked up into his eyes, so close to hers she felt his breath when he spoke. “Yes.”

A wicked half grin lifted one corner of his mouth. “Was it a good startle?”

“Yes.”

Most definitely.

Oh, he was a cunning devil. How could she have lied to him and told him that it wasn't? For surely it felt wonderful having his strong arms surround her and to be snuggled so close and so tightly in his arms.

Lord Dunraven's grin turned to a pleasing smile. Millicent wasn't afraid to be in his arms. She felt no danger. He was strong and her will was weak. She merely felt that she was where she wanted to be.

“Do you mind if I kiss you?” he asked.

Surprised, she said, “You didn't ask yesterday.”

“Yesterday it would not have been difficult for me to escape had you screamed. Today would be a bit more of a problem.”

Millicent smiled. “So I could get rid of you merely by screaming?”

“Or just a loud cough would draw attention to you, Miss Blair. So what will it be?”

“A kiss,” she said without hesitating, knowing if she did, her sensible mind would win and she didn't want it to.

Bending his head, he lightly brushed his lips across hers. The kiss was so gentle and brief if she tried hard she could believe it had never happened, yet her heart rate soared and a quickening tightened her abdomen.

She gazed into his eyes, fearing he would kiss her again and fearing he wouldn't. Oh, what sweet torment!

She moistened her lips and said, “I'm glad to know that a rake can ask permission for a kiss.”

“I told you that I know how to behave as a gentleman—at times. I had a feeling you wouldn't scream if I pulled you into my arms and kissed you, but I didn't want to frighten you.”

“You don't scare me, sir.”

“I know. So, may I kiss you again?”