A Dash of Scandal (6 page)

“I fear the lady doth protest too much, methinks.”

Millicent's eyes widened in surprise as a warm feeling flooded her. “You've studied Shakespeare?”

“Studied? No, I've simply read some of his work.”

“He was a very clever man with words.”

“Is that a hint of how I might find my way past your head to your heart, Miss Blair?”

Millicent tingled and tensed at the same time. He was so bold. He was so charming she easily forgot who he was and eagerly engaged him in pleasant conversation.

“Certainly not.”

“I should like to call on you tomorrow afternoon, Miss Blair.”

“That wouldn't be convenient, Lord Dunraven.”

“The next afternoon, perhaps?”

Lord Dunraven lifted his arm and led her into a slow twirl as the dance ended, far too quickly yet not fast enough. He gently squeezed her fingers again, let go of her hand and bowed.

Millicent curtsied on weak knees. He kept her constantly on her wits. “I'm sorry. I fear my afternoons are full.”

Chandler extended his arm for her, and Millicent graciously accepted. “I do believe you are rejecting my advances, Miss Blair.”

“That's exactly what I'm doing, sir.”

Quietly they walked back to the perimeter of the room where Lady Heathecoute was waiting for her. Millicent's heart beat faster than it ever had, and the speed had nothing to do with the dancing. Lord Dunraven's touch sent her heart rate spiraling out of control, and her common sense took leave.

As they neared the viscountess, Lord Dunraven turned to Millicent and softly said, “If clever words won't win your heart, Miss Blair, then I shall have to keep looking until I find what will.”

***

After dutifully delivering Miss Blair back to the Lady Heathecoute, he watched them leave. When she turned away from him, Miss Blair was still wearing the stunned look she gave him when he told her he would find a way to her heart. He had shocked himself, too. He hadn't been this interested in anyone since Lady Lambsbeth sank her claws into him.

He'd been with Miss Blair twice and he hadn't heard her giggle once, an annoying habit of most of the young ladies at the parties he attended. Funny, the batting of eyelashes and fluttering of fans never used to bother him, but now he found them quite irritating. Thankfully, Miss Blair hadn't even carried a fan. He wasn't sure he even saw her blink. She was too in control of herself.

Chandler needed to get himself a drink and search the room again for anyone who looked like he didn't belong.

Miss Blair was certainly the most intriguing young lady he'd ever met. He wasn't so sure he should let her know of his interest so soon. He learned early not to act interested in a young lady even if he was. But tonight he'd indicated he wanted to find the way to Miss Blair's heart. He had never said anything like that before. What was he thinking? He couldn't have sounded more oafish if he'd been a common schoolboy getting his first glimpse of a paid mistress.

Damnation! He'd spent enough time pondering Miss Blair. He had to catch a thief. It was time he watched the doorways, roamed the rooms, and searched the crowds, or he would never find the man he sought.

Chandler stopped and chatted with the Duke of Grembrooke and asked about his daughter Lady Lynette, but his gaze continuously searched the room, looking for a man who didn't quite fit in with the group. He spoke to Sir Charles Wright when he passed him, nodded and smiled to a group of ladies, and snubbed a gentleman who once tried to call him out over a misunderstanding.

After slowly walking through each room twice, Chandler concluded that all the men looked alike. If one was suspicious looking, then they all were. And to make matters worse, he realized he knew most of the men by name and wouldn't consider any of them a robber. Still, he told himself, the thief would have already been caught if he looked like a beggar among the ton.

“Dunraven, hold up.”

Chandler swore under his breath and kept walking, never changing his stride. He wasn't up for another conversation with Andrew. With any luck someone would stop his friend and waylay him before he caught up with Chandler.

But seconds later Andrew fell in step with him.

“Dunraven, I'm glad I found you. I saw you dancing with her. How did it go?”

Chandler ignored Andrew's last question and turned to greet his friend with a smile and gentle clap on the shoulder. “You found me just in time. I'm on my way to get a drink. Care to join me?”

“Yes, but let's quit this party and head over to White's. It's early enough for a game or two of whist.”

“I can't, old friend.”

“Why not? She's gone. I saw her leave.”

His relationship with Miss Blair was off-limits. Chandler turned to him and asked, “Who?”

“Who indeed?” Andrew said impatiently. “Miss Blair, of course. It's not as if we didn't spend half an hour talking about her earlier.”

“So you did know her name when we last spoke?”

Andrew gave Chandler a shrugging gesture and a smirk. “Yes of course I did. I wanted to know if you were interested enough to find out about her for yourself. I got my answer when I saw you dancing with her.”

“And I saw you dancing with Miss Pennington. I hope she met your expectations.”

“I'm still thinking about that. She seems terribly young and goosey.”

“Maybe it's you getting old.”

“What a damning thought that is. I'm finding all the young ladies that way this Season.” He shook his head in disgust. “It's damnable getting old, isn't it? Come on, let's head over to White's, have a drink and talk about it.”

“I have a dance with Miss Bardwell coming up in a short time.”

“Truly?” Andrew eyed him suspiciously. “You didn't sound the least interested in her when we talked earlier.”

“I'm not. A situation came up that made it impossible for me to get out of asking her without being rude.” She'd obviously learned how to be forward from her mother, Chandler thought, but only added, “As bad luck would have it, I had to invite Miss Donaldson to dance as well, so I will be here a bit longer than I intended.”

“You must have been cornered by them.”

“That's a mild way of putting it.”

“The hopefuls are getting braver every year. Remember how timid they all were just ten years ago?”

“Yes. Didn't you just recently refer to them as the ‘good old days'?”

Andrew laughed. “I must have been well into the bottle.”

“I think we both were.”

“But we're mending our ways, right?”

“That remains to be seen,” Chandler answered as honestly as he could, considering he was no longer willing to share every thought with his friends.

“So tell me, did Miss Blair meet your expectations when you danced with her?”

Oh, yes
, Chandler thought but eluded the direct question by saying, “I find that tonight I'm more interested in catching a thief than a pretty lady's attention.”

“Hmm, I guess that means she was quite unremarkable.”

No, quite the opposite
, Chandler thought and kept walking through the crowd.

If Chandler had only pondered it before, he knew for certain that there came a time in a gentleman's life when he became his own man and not part of a threesome.

“Therefore, since brevity is the soul of wit, I will be brief” and report how remarkable it is to see Lord Dunraven, Lord Chatwin, and Lord Dugdale dance with so many young ladies in one evening. And all three of the gentlemen danced with Miss Bardwell last night. Could it be that after all these years we are going to see the Terrible Threesome fighting over the same young lady?

—Lord Truefitt,
Society's Daily Column

Millicent sat alone in the dining room of her aunt's town house finishing a meal of cheese, cooked figs, and fresh-baked bread. Even at half past two in the afternoon it was still difficult for her to clear the sleepiness from her eyes.

Thankfully, Aunt Beatrice's cook sent up hot tea to Millicent's bedroom each afternoon to help her wake up. She had not had a proper night's sleep since she'd arrived in London several days ago.

Millicent didn't know how her aunt had kept such extended hours for all these years. The pace was grueling. After attending two and three parties each evening until the early morning hours, Millicent would go straight to her Aunt's bedroom when she returned home and the two of them would discuss the night's gossip.

Millicent would take notes about what Aunt Beatrice wanted her to write in the column, then, retiring to her room, she would begin the tedious task of making a legible copy for Phillips to deliver to
The Daily Reader.

She hadn't gone to bed until after daybreak since the first day she arrived in London.

While she sipped tea out of a dainty china cup, Millicent's gaze drifted to the garden outside the window to where the primroses, crocuses, and tree shrubs bloomed in pinks, yellows, and white. Emery was out cutting flowers for Aunt Beatrice's room, and Hamlet sniffed the ground around Emery's feet.

Millicent didn't know why the dog had taken an instant dislike to her. She was usually very good with animals. She could only attribute it to the fact that Hamlet didn't seem to like anyone but his mistress and Emery. Aunt Beatrice had suggested it was because he was getting old and grumpy, which was more than likely the case.

As Millicent watched Emery and Hamlet, her thoughts faded back to what Earl Dunraven had said last night just before he returned her to Viscountess Heathecoute. A sudden expectancy filled her.

Millicent was shocked, and her aunt would be mortified if she knew the earl had indicated he was going to pursue her. She must stop his interest in her, but for some reason she was reluctant to do that. Even though he was a High Society rake, she found her attraction to him was too powerful to ignore. She had tried. Her only hope was that he would soon tire of her and go on to pursue some other young lady.

A smile lifted the corners of her lips just thinking about how gently yet commandingly he'd touched her while they danced. She loved the feel of the strength in him when he caressed her hand. Oh, and he was so handsome and debonair. He was intriguing and as fascinating a gentleman as she had ever met.

But, and it was a huge
but
, she had to remember that was exactly how he had earned his reputation for being one of the Terrible Threesome. He knew how to enchant young ladies and make them desire to see him again. She had to remember he liked the chase and to pay suit to young ladies only to go no further than a few dances and paying a call or two. Her smile faded.

She was not one he could trifle with for two very good reasons. Aunt Beatrice had brought her to London to safeguard her position at
The Daily Reader
, and it was a man comparable to Lord Dunraven who had made her mother an outcast in all of London. If the dashing earl approached Millicent again, she would have no choice but to rebuff him—no matter that she wasn't inclined to do so. She would not end up like her mother.

Millicent looked out at the lush garden again. It was too beautiful a day to stay inside. Maybe a leisurely stroll among the flowers and shrubs would free her mind of Lord Dunraven. She should join Emery and Hamlet outside in the fresh air and spend a little time thinking up new quotes from Shakespeare to use in the column.

She could always resort to looking through her aunt's books on Shakespeare's writings, and reading his works was never a chore, but she rather liked the idea that she could remember so many of her favorite lines without lifting a book or turning a page.

She finished off her tea, then headed toward the rear door. Millicent stepped out of her aunt's house and into the lovely formal garden. She'd been told that her aunt's flower garden was one of the largest and most beautiful in Mayfair, and looking at the splendor before her she could believe it. The enclosure was alive with color.

Tall, thick yews formed a hedge that was at least eight feet high and completely surrounded the garden on three sides. Separate beds of flowers had been arranged so that there would be some flower or shrub blooming from early spring until late in the autumn. At the end of the garden stood a larger-than-life-size statue of Diana, the Huntress. The goddess held a cluster of arrows in one hand and her trusted dog stood by her side. It was easy to figure out why her aunt picked that piece of statuary, given her love for her own pet.

Emery and Hamlet met her at the bottom step on their way back inside.

“Good afternoon, miss.” Emery greeted her with a pleasant smile.

“And the same to you, Emery,” Millicent said, peering down into the maid's basket. “You picked beautiful flowers for Aunt Beatrice.”

The maid's eyes brightened at the praise. “You think she'll like them?”

“I'm sure of it.”

Emery smiled and said, “Thank you, miss,” then headed up the steps to the back door.

Millicent turned to the spaniel who was still looking at her with curious eyes. “What about you, Hamlet? Would you like to stay out here in the garden with me for a while?”

The little dog barked once. Millicent thought that meant he would stay outside with her, but as soon as Emery opened the door, he scampered up the steps and rushed inside just before the maid shut the door.

So much for trying to make friends with him, Millicent thought as she made her way along the stone path that led to the back of the garden. It was a beautiful day bright with sunshine, with a clear blue sky and a gentle breeze to rustle the leaves. The foliage was a lush shade of green from the early spring rains and their wet winter.

Millicent's modest afternoon dress swished across the tops of her satin slippers as she bent down to smell a pretty pink flower.

“Millicent.”

Rising up, Millicent thought she must be going daft. She could have sworn she'd heard Lord Dunraven call her name. She looked around the grounds from corner to corner and saw nothing. She shook her head and smiled to herself. How unlike her to have such fanciful notions about a gentleman. Probably because she couldn't get the dashing scoundrel off her mind.

She continued, her lazy stroll.

“Millicent.”

This time she stopped with a jerk and looked around again. She wasn't hearing things. It was Lord Dunraven calling her name.

“Over here by the statue.”

She slowly walked toward the statue and, when she moved to an angle at the far right, she saw Lord Dunraven, crouched down low and hidden behind the large statue. He was motioning for her to join him.

He was unbelievable.

She looked at the back door where Emery and Hamlet had just entered. There was no sign of them, Phillips, or any of her aunt's servants. It was inconceivable that he'd made it into the garden without anyone seeing him.

Millicent knew she should just ignore him and rush back into the house, but she couldn't. Curiosity got the better of her and she started toward him. She took her time walking over to where he was hidden in the back center of the garden where the statue stood. When she was close enough to talk to Lord Dunraven, she stopped and pretended to look at a cluster of daisies but had her gaze on him.

“You, sir, are astounding.”

He winked at her. “Thank you.”

“How did you get into this garden?”

“Through the hedge.”

She looked at the closely cropped, thick hedge that stood just beyond the garden and didn't see a break or even a ruffle of disturbance in the primly cut yew.

“Impossible.”

“Miss Blair, have you never heard the old adage, ‘where there's a will there's a way'?”

“You sir, are an extraordinary magician if you indeed came through that thick hedge.”

A roguish smile played on his lips and melted any hint of anger toward him. “I've had plenty of practice over the years, but I do have to admit that I am a bit rusty.” He grunted and adjusted his position on the ground to a sitting position. “I haven't slipped into a garden to meet a young lady in years.”

“I should think not,” she admonished him. Although she was appalled by his brash behavior, she was also excited by it. “You are much too old for such pranks.”

He grimaced as he touched a slight scratch to his cheek. “I agree. They used to be such fun, and it is quite nice to know I can still do it.”

“I'm not surprised to hear you have done this sort of thing before.”

“I would rather you had allowed me to call on you properly.”

“Sir, I thought I made it clear I didn't want you to call on me at all.”

“I'm sure you believe I'm living up to my reputation.”

“Indeed. You could have been caught slipping in here.” She stopped. “What am I saying?—I could be caught standing here talking to you and be scandalized. Emery and Hamlet were just in the garden.”

“I saw them and waited for them to leave. I'm always careful. I've been hiding on the other side of the hedge for some time now hoping Hamlet wouldn't detect me and that you would come out into the garden this afternoon.”

“Really? Why?”

“I wanted to see you. You wouldn't give me permission to call on you properly, so I shall call on you improperly. Now, come a bit closer so we won't have to talk so loud and alert one of the servants.”

Closer? She shouldn't be talking to him at all. But… rake that he was, with him there was always that
but.
She wanted to talk to him.

She walked closer to the statue and sat down on its base, right beside Lord Dunraven, who sat on the grass. She looked over at him. His hair was ruffled and had bits of shrub in it. The shoulder of his jacket had a small tear, and his white shirt had grass stains from the hedge. There was a small scratch on his cheek below his eye. He indeed looked like a gentleman who had just stolen into a garden to see the love of his life.

Suddenly she laughed softly.

“And what is so funny?” he asked as he leaned against the back of the statue.

“You.”

“Me? I hoped to impress you, not make you laugh at me. Where did I go wrong?” he asked with a teasing grin.

“I was just thinking that it is no wonder you have the reputation you do. Coming here like this was very risky for both of us.”

“I learned early in my youth how to steal into gardens, climb houses, and crawl into windows without being caught.”

“Stunts like that could easily fool most young ladies into thinking you were absolutely, madly in love with them.”

“Most?” he questioned. “I guess that means you are not included in that number.”

“Certainly not.”

“But you aren't upset I came to see you.”

Oh no.

“Of course I am,” she said with little conviction in her voice. “It is very foolish. If you were caught here, my reputation would be ruined forever.”

“There should be some comfort in knowing that I've never actually been caught.”

“Obviously not. You would have been wed.”

“Which is the reason I'm always careful.”

“But you did say you were
rusty
.”

“Did I say that? Surely not. But, let's see.”

In one fluid motion, he gently took hold of her wrist and pulled her down into the grass, half beside him and half on his lap, and covered her lips with his in a quick, soft kiss—but to her it was a powerful kiss that sent her head spinning with tantalizing sensations.

Millicent was too stunned to move or to say anything. She looked into his gently smiling eyes and felt no fear, no remorse, no shame. How could that be? It went against everything she had been taught.

He reached up and caressed her cheek with his fingertips and asked, “Have I lost my technique?”

“No, sir, you are very adept.”

She was almost sitting on top of him. He held her but with no forcing pressure. She could easily rise, scream, or even box his ears, but she remained where she was without moving.

He raised his lips to hers again for another gentle kiss. Her stomach quivered. His lips were warm and moist as he gently taught her how to return the kiss. It would be so easy to give herself up to his touch and simply enjoy this man, but she couldn't. She must take control of him and herself and not allow this to continue.

She pushed against his chest and the kiss ended. “You have proven your point, Lord Dunraven. You are a rake of the highest order.”

“Should I consider that a compliment or insult?”

“You should consider it the truth. Now, I really must go before someone sees us.”

“May I call on you tomorrow?”

She rose from the ground and looked down at him. “I can't allow that, sir. Please turn your attentions to someone else. Now, leave the way you came while I watch for you.”

He grinned and blew her a kiss.

The back door opened and Hamlet rushed out. He stood on the top step and barked a couple of times before he came running down the steps at top speed toward Millicent. Her heart jumped to her throat.

“Hurry, Lord Dunraven. Hamlet knows you are here,” Millicent whispered to him but he was already disappearing through a small opening he had made in the bottom of the shrub. It closed back together as soon as he was gone.