Duke of Scandal (Moonlight Square, Book 1) (22 page)

“Netherford’s gone frothing mad!” Rushford shouted, wiping a trickle of blood off the corner of his mouth.

“He’s possessed!” Draxinger opined.

“Or possibly in love,” Lord Alec grumbled from a safer distance, rubbing his bruised jaw.

“Sod off!” Jason retorted, turning to Rivenwood and pointing at the whole loathsome pack of wolves. “They insulted the honor of a fine young lady in my hearing. You will not speak of her that way ever again!” he bellowed at them, and when Alec dared to smile as if this were amusing, Jason lunged at the blackguard.

Rivenwood jumped between them. “Have you taken leave of your senses, man?”

“I’m warning you,” Jason snarled past him at them all, his chest heaving. Rivenwood held him back. “I’ll bury you if I ever hear any of you speak of Felicity Carvel like that again!”

He did not care if he had to undertake a milling match against the entire male population of London on his own, and the whole damned British Army, too.

Such bandying about of her name had made him feel like he’d swallowed a tiger, and it was clawing from inside him to get out and tear them all apart.

Meanwhile, Sidney and the rest of his friends and neighbors from Moonlight Square gaped at Jason in utter astonishment. They exchanged several glances, looked around at the clubroom he had half destroyed, and despite a few of the men being even more bloodied and bruised than he—perhaps they were too drunk to care—they finally started laughing.

“What?” he nearly howled at them in rage.

“Well, well! Can it be?”

“Has somebody
finally
overthrown the great seducer?”

“Aye, she’s conquered him,” someone in the back said.

“Netherford wants Miss Carvel for himself!”

Even Sidney stifled a short bark of laughter.

“I’m warning you,” Jason panted with a glare full of wrath.

“Yes, I think you’ve made your point, Your Grace,” someone huffed.

“All in favor of blackballing Netherford from this club, say aye,” one of the older gents announced, scowling at Jason for his utter breach of decorum.

“Now I’m sure that’s not necessary,” Rivenwood hastened to protest before they could start the vote.

But Jason ranted on, ignoring his only certain ally in the room. “Blackball
me
? I’m not the one speaking filth about an innocent young woman—making sport of her virtue! How dare you discuss this lady in such a fashion? You’re not worthy of her, none of you! You’re dirt beneath her feet, and if you ever even
look
at her again, I’ll put a hole in every last one o’ you bastards!”

“God, man, you’ve got it bad,” Sidney said, shaking his head at him in shock.

“Must be he’s already bedding her,” one of the cardplayers said sagely.

“No!” Jason uttered, aghast that this rumor should start going around.

“With her brother away, who’s to stop him?” someone in the back murmured.

“Ah, damn. Netherford hardly needs the Kirby fortune,” one said with a jealous frown.

“So, how was she, Netherford?” Fortescue baited him. “Did she cry when you plucked her little cherry?”

He lurched toward the feckless fool, but Rivenwood held him back again.

“Easy! That will do, Your Grace,” Rivenwood said through gritted teeth, shoving him firmly toward the door. The pale-haired duke held the rest of them at bay while steering Jason toward the exit with a hand planted on his shoulder. “Let it be, you lot. You know Netherford is a longtime family friend of the Carvels. He’s known the girl since she was a child and obviously regards her as a member of his own household. So I suggest you mind your tongues. I daresay you’re lucky Major Carvel isn’t here. Otherwise, he’d probably kill the lot of you.”

“And I’d second him!” Jason barked as Rivenwood pushed him out the door with an exasperated “Enough!”

Outside, it was raining hard. Jason’s clothes were instantly soaked, his hair plastered to his head. Actually, though, he welcomed the downpour. The cold dousing helped to calm his fury and clear his mind.

Rivenwood stayed under the eaves, sensible chap, and left him alone for a moment. “You all right?” he called at length over the drumming of the rain on the pavement.

Jason grunted and paced a bit, then turned to him. “Thanks.”

The mysterious, platinum-haired duke shook his head. “I hope you were planning on marrying that girl. Because if not, you
do
realize you’ve just destroyed her reputation?”

Jason went motionless. “I’m not the one that made that filthy wager!”

“Oh, it wasn’t your intention to make every man in that room believe you’ve already staked a claim on her?”

“But I…” He faltered.

“A mere
friend
to a lady doesn’t react like quite that much of a lunatic, Netherford. At least that’s what the world is going to think. Then there’s your own unique reputation to consider. Your past history?”

Jason leaned his forehead against the nearby lamppost and groaned.
Bloody hell,
he thought as a shred of sanity started to return. Enough, at least, for it to sink in, what he had just done.

His club mates’ wager over Felicity had been bad enough, but at least they had been discreet.
His
sudden attack of insanity had been anything but.

Rivenwood was right. It seemed the Duke of Scandal had struck again. By morning, this tale was going to be all over London. And the
ton
would draw its own conclusions, based on his past behavior.

They would surely conclude he was already engaging in a dalliance with the ravishing Miss Carvel.

And, let’s be honest. They’d be right.

God.
Despite his best efforts to stay away from her over the past few years, so that everything would be proper and correct between them, his outburst in there had just encircled Felicity in scandal.

And there was only one way to fix it.

He was still slightly in shock as Rivenwood shook his head at him. “I’ll see what I can do.” With that, the elegant, enigmatic duke went back inside to try to smooth things over on his behalf.

Dazed, Jason turned to stare into Moonlight Square, the rain running down his face, dripping off his nose, and moistening his lips like Felicity’s sweet kisses.

I have to warn her
.
I’ve got to tell her what I’ve done.

She was
not
going to be happy about this.

Or maybe she would, on second thought. But whether she was or wasn’t, now they had no choice.

Careful what you wish for, sweeting.

Already soaked to the skin, he did not bother avoiding puddles but clomped right through them. Shoes squishing, he marched into the dark streets…

Off to go and get himself a wife.

CHAPTER 12

Scandal’s Darling

T
hough the ball had ended and the servants had gone to bed, Felicity was still wide-awake after all the excitement. She could not possibly have fallen asleep in her joy over the progress she had made with Jason tonight. The driving rain beating on the windowpanes and the rumbles of thunder moving over the city only added to her restlessness, so she crept through the house and went out to sit on the covered side porch.

Curling up in a cushioned wicker chair, she drew her legs up to her chest, crossed her arms atop her bent knees, and tucked the white linen of her long night rail around her. She was enjoying watching the rain from her cozy spot beneath the shelter of the porch roof. She rested her chin on her crossed arms and savored her memories of dancing with Jason at the ball. She chuckled as she recalled his rascally ploy for stealing the waltz from her expected partner.

I knew all hope wasn’t lost.

As the spring rain pounded upon the open portion of the terrace, watered the garden, and blew through the trees, she smiled also to know that she wasn’t the only woman who had triumphed tonight.

Mrs. Brown had gone to an after-theater party at a friend’s house with Cousin Gerald. It had taken all of Felicity’s self-control not to laugh outright when, upon stepping out of the Grand Albion to wait for their carriage to take them home, her chaperone had nervously turned to her and, in hushed tones, asked
her
permission to go out, looking rather scandalized at herself.

Felicity had encouraged her to go and have fun. Lord knew the woman had every right to become a merry widow after so many years of being a sad one. So, the newly fashionable Mrs. Brown had gone dashing off with her younger man, while Felicity had ridden home in Lady Kirby’s town coach by herself.

It was now nearly two in the morning and Mrs. Brown still had not come home. Felicity suspected she would not see her until tomorrow morning.
My, my.
What she and portly Cousin Gerald might be doing right now, Felicity did not want to know. She shuddered at the thought.

Just then, she spotted the lone figure of a man walking down the street.
At this hour?
she thought, bemused.
In the middle of a rainstorm?

Hmm. Must be drunk.

But the man didn’t move like a drunkard. In fact, as her stare homed in on the tall, solitary figure, she detected something familiar about the way he walked, tromping through the puddles like a master of the earth.

Whoever he was, she hoped he didn’t see her sitting outside in her night rail. She had not expected to encounter anyone at this hour. She believed she was pretty well out of view in the shelter of the porch, as long as he didn’t look her way. She squinted in his direction, wondering if she ought to go inside.

Fortunately, he seemed too well dressed to be a robber. Even from this distance, his black and white formal evening clothes were easily discernible, though these were surely ruined by the rain.

When he passed by one of the streetlamps lining her genteel Mayfair lane, she saw that his cravat hung undone, his midnight hair was soaked through and dripping—

She gasped with recognition and shot to her feet.

Jason!

He vaulted over the waist-high fence around her garden and landed with a
squish
.

Dread gripped her.
Something must be wrong.
Good God! Was there news of her brother? Had Peter’s ship sunk?

As he began to march across the garden toward the terrace and the porch, Felicity walked over to the edge of the shelter, her heart pounding.

“Jason? What are you doing here?” she called in a shaky voice as loudly as she dared. “What’s happened?”

He stopped, as though she had startled him out of his own dark musings.

“Oh,” he said, pausing awkwardly. “You’re awake. Good.”

“Yes, I-I couldn’t sleep after the ball. My brain wouldn’t be quiet.” Shaking her head, she brushed off the small talk. “Jason, why are you walking the streets of London in the rain at this hour? What’s wrong?”

He let out a wet sigh, blowing raindrops off his lips as he drifted over to the edge of the slightly elevated terrace; standing in the grass, he was still tall enough to rest his elbows on the wide stone balustrade around it.

Felicity remained beneath the shelter of the porch and folded her arms across her chest. “Jason, please, you’re scaring me. You’re acting a little mad.”

He gazed at her for a long moment in misery from across the distance between them.

“I can’t take it anymore,” he finally said in a low tone. “I have to be with you.”

Her eyes widened and her heart lurched with astonishment.

“I love you,” he said with an air of defeat, barely audible beneath a rumble of thunder and the drumming of the rain on the flagstones. He shook his head, holding her shocked stare. “I do. You were right all along. I can’t fight it anymore. I’ve tried the best I can. Your brother’s just going to have to shoot me if he doesn’t like it. Because there’s never been anybody else for me but you. Not really. It might have looked otherwise on the outside, but the truth—”

She didn’t let him finish, rushing across the wet flagstones to him in a few swift strides, heedless of the rain instantly wetting her head and shoulders, and the small puddles splashing under her bare feet.

Standing on the terrace above him, she planted her hands on his broad shoulders and leaned down across the balustrade, kissing him square on his warm, wet lips.

He tilted his head back and cupped her nape, accepting her kiss with fiery need. “Oh God, Felicity,” he whispered after a moment as the rain coursed down his face. “I want you so bad.” He gripped her shoulder and looked up into her eyes. “I cannot live without you anymore. I won’t. You win…just like you always knew you would. You
have
to marry me. I need you.”

She stared at him in tender amazement.

With an air of desperation, Jason kissed the hand she had pressed to his face. “
Please
don’t choose right now to punish me for being an idiot, even though I deserve it—”

“I don’t want to punish you at all. I love you, too, Jason. You know I always have.”

He closed his eyes, shivering a little. “You have no idea how much I needed to hear that tonight. Could you say it again?”

“I love you,” she repeated, leaning closer to breathe the words twice more in his ear.

Then she pulled back a little and studied him, mystified. “Am I dreaming, or did you just ask me to marry you?”

“It was more of an order, actually,” he admitted.

A fond smile flashed across her face. “Of course it was.”

“Well? Would you please answer the bloody question?”