Far Beyond Scandalous (12 page)

Flipping open her fan a little
wider before replying, Amy drew back a bit into the darkness to make it more
difficult for someone to read her lips.
 
She was as skilled at this game as any debutante out there and she had
played it for far longer.
 
"There
are any number of reasons," she finally admitted, once the fan was
securely in front of her face.
 
"Mostly, any missteps I make are forgiven because of my blood ties
to the royal family.
 
A great deal that
they
do wrong is overlooked, and I am, by blood association, afforded much the same
leeway."

"Has it always been
thus?"
 
Gibson hadn't known Amy
during her come out season, but he could easily image her as a beautiful young
debutante, eager to please.

She seemed to ponder that for a
moment.
 
"To some degree.
 
Marcus has always been ill, ever since he
was a child and the whispered rumors and innuendos that he was not quite right
in some way has dogged my family for years.
 
My parents were terrified that they would be pressured into sending him
away to Bedlam for any number of reasons.
 
Therefore, when I had my come out, I attempted to be perfect, not
wanting to give society any more reason to whisper ill about my family.
 
Or me."

"And then it went to
far."
 
Gibson understood quickly
that Amy had tried to be perfect to help protect her family's reputation, but
had only succeeded in trapping herself in a role she no longer wished to play.

"At first, it was
enjoyable.
 
Truly.
 
I was praised and petted, and was named an
Incomparable during my first season no less."
 
Amy swallowed hard and fluttered her fan again.
 
"Then, it all went rather wrong."
 

Deciding to be daring, Gibson
reached out and stroked the back of her hand lightly.
 
They had promised no touching, but the moment seemed to call for
it. She needed comfort and he needed to give it.
  
"It is not your fault."

"To some degree it is.
 
I encouraged them, after all."
 
She glanced around, her eyes roaming the
crowded theater but not really seeing anyone or anything.
 
"On the other hand, though I can be
strong-willed, little that I do is
truly
scandalous.
 
I may speak my mind, but in comparison to
other young ladies who are catty and love to gossip, I am fairly tame.
 
I rarely make a true social blunder, and
when I do, I have found that a coquettish smile and a fluttering of eyelashes,
combined with a pretty blush and sincere apology do much to easy any
transgression I may have committed.
 
By
the time I depart an event, everyone thinks I have been nothing less than a
proper lady, the most perfect creature imaginable.
 
Even when I deliberately try to misbehave, I am still
forgiven."
 

Then Amy sighed in obvious
disgust.
 
"Thus, I have been
labeled 'The Paragon,' much to my dismay.
 
I am human and do make mistakes.
 
Others do the same with some frequency.
 
I only wish I was afforded the same luxury and not placed on a
pedestal."

Gibson mulled Amy's confession over
as the theater darkened and the performance began, a soprano with a soaring voice
beginning a song that he had no real interest in hearing.
 
Amy and her tangled relationship with
society was much more fascinating, at least to him.
 

During that long-ago afternoon, she
had said that with him, she didn't need to pretend, that she could be who she
truly was.
 
All of the rest, he now
realized, was an act, a role that she played, allowing people to see exactly
what they wanted - whether she waned to play that part or not.
 
By this point in her life, it was expected
of her.
 
So if society wanted The
Paragon, then that was precisely what Amy would give them, hiding her true self
away, partly to protect her family and partly because society, as always, saw
only what they wished to see.
 
In that,
the two of them were not so very different, he mused.
 
At heart, she truly was the brazen beauty who had begged him to
strip her naked and give her pleasure.

But why hide now that she was so
much older?
 
Why not be who she truly
was since she was no longer a young debutante?
 
That part made no sense, but then, her reasons were her own.
 
He would not question them.
 
It was enough to know that she allowed him
to glimpse who she truly was because she trusted him to keep her secret.
 
She trusted him with a part of herself that
she granted to no other.

His heart - not to mention his cock
- leapt at the realization but he did his best to steady himself.
 
Her revelation changed nothing.
 
Were he truly a gentleman, then perhaps, but
as things stood now?
 
No, he could not
hope to possess her any more now than he had mere moments ago.
 
However, there was one last thing that still
bothered him, a question that he could ask and not be seen as prying.

"So you truly do not wish to
be viewed as the most perfect example of English womanhood?
 
You do not wish to be the paragon that
society has labeled you, a true diamond of the first water, and an eternal
Incomparable?" he whispered, needing to be completely certain that he
understood what she was saying, mostly for his own peace of mind.
 

While her response might not change
anything between them, it might better help him protect her from the unseen
threat that lurked in the shadows, though at the moment, precisely how escaped
him.
 
If he were being honest with
himself, he simply wanted to hear her say the words, and give him a shed of
hope, no matter how small or false, that one day, circumstances might change
between them.

At first, he thought she would not
answer him.
 
On the stage below, the
actors launched into a rather loud scene, their voices soaring high into the theater,
drowning out everything else, and making even low conversation difficult.
 
Therefore he was surprised when, after a
quick glance at the chaperone, who was obviously engrossed in the play, Amy
leaned in, and put her head so close to his that he could feel her
tantalizingly sweet breath on his neck.

"What I wish," she said
with more passion than he had seen from her on any other topic, "is to
simply be viewed and accepted for who I truly am.
 
I want people to see me for myself.
 
Nothing more.
 
Nothing less."
 
Then she pulled away, taking her seductive
fragrance with her, and he found that he missed the heat of her body almost
immediately.

For the remainder of the first half
of the performance, they sat in companionable silence, though Gibson's mind was
restless, thinking of little else but Amy's comments.
 
He was also aware that, even though the lights had been dimmed,
members of the
ton
still watched his every move, waiting for him to put
one step false so that they might call him on it.
 
This would be the most difficult part, remembering all that he
had been taught in his gentleman's training before it had all been stripped
away.
 
However, he was confident that he
could do this.
 
He had to, for Amy's
sake.

When the curtain fell at the end of
the first act, there was scarcely a pause to catch their breath before the
first of the curious busybodies appeared in the box, giving him no time to
escort Amy to the lobby for refreshments.
 
That had been his plan, but as he gazed around, feeling the close press
of society's eyes on him, he knew that remaining in the box was the far better
choice.
 
Something cool to drink would
have to wait, as he would not send one of the young bucks to fetch something
and allow them to get the wrong idea about their chances with Amy.

Instead he affably greeted each of
the young ladies who flocked to Amy's side along with their chaperones.
 
He made certain that his disarming
"good and noble Doctor Blackwell"
façade
was fully intact, even with the young men who clamored to take Lady Amy for a
stroll about the theater or perhaps seek some refreshment.
 
They were all disappointed at his refusal,
of course, but Miss Isabelle, the chaperone, backed up Gibson's authority to
decline the invitations on Amy's behalf.
 
If there was one group of women that young lords of society did not want
to cross, it was the Gray Ladies.
 
Doing
so could spell potential disaster for the men's future hopes of successfully
courting young ladies of breeding.
 
Lady
Berkshire and her minions wielded a good deal of influence across the
ton
these days and it was wise to keep oneself in their good graces.

Through it all, Gibson remained
polite and charming, so much so that his teeth ached from smiling.
 
Still, it was bearable if not exactly
pleasant.
 
However, when Lady Ursula
Saintwood and her daughter Diana made their arrival, he felt his patience
sorely tested.
 
Gibson had been engaged
in a fairly delightful conversation with Lord Adam Reynolds, who was the
current Duke of Hathaway, and the duke's younger sister, Lady Sophia.
 
They were discussing the restorative
qualities of the waters in Bath, a place both Reynolds siblings had visited in
their youth, when he heard Lady Saintwood's voice grow louder, almost to the
point of causing a scene.

"But Lady Amy, I really do
insist that you come stay with us while your mother convalesces.
 
Theodosia and I are bosom friends, and,
really, were she able, she would insist that you stay with us until her health
is completely restored so that you might be chaperoned properly.
 
It is unseemly that you are there by
yourself!
 
Just think of the potential
for scandal!"
 
The older woman was
nearly shrieking now, and to Gibson, it seemed as if just about every eye in
the theater was turned in their direction.
 
In truth, they probably were.

"I do not think that is
necessary, my lady," Amy demurred, and Gibson could almost see her mask of
serene perfection fall into place as well.
 
He hadn't truly appreciated before this moment how effortlessly she wore
it, slipping back and forth between this Amy and the one he was slowly coming
to know.
 
"I attend to my mother
during the day and am only out at night by both my father's and my brother's
directive."
 
She gave a small shake
of her head.
 
"I do not want to go
against their wishes.
 
Or the prince's."
 
Gibson knew Amy had added that last part as
a warning to Lady Saintwood that she was treading in dangerous territory.

As expected, it went unheeded.

"Nonsense!"
 
Lady Saintwood was almost bellowing with
indignation now.
 
"I know Theodosia
would want this!
 
And you may still go
out at night to various entertainments.
 
However, you would do so with my family, properly chaperoned as
befitting your station!"

Then Lady Saintwood turned and
glared at Gibson, as if he had somehow personally offended her, before swinging
her large frame back towards Amy, indignation burning in her eyes.
 
"I have heard rumors about a directive
coming from your brother, my dear, wherever he is.
 
I heard that same nonsense about our beloved Prince Regent, as
well, but I do not believe any of that drivel!
 
The viscount, at least, would not leave you, his precious sister, in the
care of a man like Blackwell!"
 
She
was truly working herself up into a state, and at any other time, Gibson might
find it amusing.
 
Tonight, it merely angered
him.

It was well known that Lady
Saintwood's brother was the current Earl of Tottenshire, father of the odious
and annoying Lord Norton Drake, the young buck who was constantly sniffing
around Amy's skirts.
 
It was painfully
obvious that Lady Saintwood saw Lady Evanston's illness as the perfect
opportunity to spirit Amy away from her family and attempt to change her mind
about Drake's suit.
 
It was no secret
that Drake was only after Amy's dowry and fortune, and gave little thought to
the woman herself.
 
The Tottenshire
earldom was quickly emptying its coffers and needed an immediate infusion of
monies to keep things afloat.

It was also no secret that Amy had
refused Drake's advances at every turn, including the night of the Fairhill
ball.
 
If Lady Saintwood thought she was
going to use Thea's illness to try to trap Amy into a marriage she did not
want, she was gravely mistaken.
 
Gibson
turned to Lady Saintwood, drawing himself up to his full six foot four height
and glowering imperiously down at the scheming matron.
 
She was garbed in a too-tight gown of
plum-colored, puckered silk and brocade and adorned with far too many jewels to
be considered truly fashionable.
 
To
Gibson, she looked like nothing more than an over-ripe grape.