Far Beyond Scandalous (29 page)

That was a lie.
 
She needed him.
 
She needed all of him.
 
She loved him.
 
And she would
fight with all of her strength to have him - but only if he loved and wanted
her as well.
 
If he did not love her,
she would let him go and walk away.

In that moment, she realized that
she had finally, well and truly grown up.
 
And it hurt.
 
More than she had
ever imagined it would.

Amy knew she was on the verge of
causing a scene, the hysteria inside of her building, and she needed to
escape.
 
Now.
 
Before she said something she regretted, like she had that night
in the carriage on the way to the Florstairs' ball.
 
If she did, the illusion of her would be shattered, and she would
lose all hope of finding a way to be with Gibson.
 
As long as her reputation was intact, there was a chance, however
remote.
 
She was intelligent enough to
know that she needed to preserve the illusion.

"Gibson, we need to
leave.
 
Now."
 
She tugged at his arm lightly, trying not to
appear desperate.
 
"Please."

Another man might have asked her
what was wrong.
 
Not Gibson.
 
He accepted her at her word and motioned for
Isabelle to join them.
 
He was about to
inquire with a servant about fetching their wraps when he felt a tap on his
shoulder.
 
He turned to see Lord Drake
standing before him, already well on his way to being foxed and clearly
agitated.

Across the room, he could see Lady
Saintwood hurrying through the crowd, obviously trying to stop her foolish
nephew from whatever scheme he was up to, but she was too far away and would
not reach the scene in time.
 
The truth
was, this man had been spoiling for a fight for weeks, even before Gibson had
shown up.
 
It was time for Drake to end
his harassment of Amy once and for all.

"May I help you, Lord
Drake?" Gibson asked, adopting the cool and disaffected air of the
viscount he would never be.
 
It was not
lost on those around him that he did not offer a bow, as was proper.
 
"You appear to be searching for
something.
 
Might I inquire as to
what?
 
Or should I say who?"
 
He kept his arms at his sides but Amy could
see that his fists were clenched tight, as if he was preventing himself from
reaching up and strangling Drake right there in the ballroom.

The man sneered at Gibson, his
disgust palpable.
 
"Just looking
for my fiancée."
 
Drake's
lascivious gaze raked Amy's garnet-silk clad body as if he was mentally
undressing her, and she felt herself grow warm and decidedly
uncomfortable.
 
Then he started openly
at her breasts, and she felt herself begin to blush the same red color as her
scandalous silk gown.
 
She had meant for
Gibson to look at her with desire, not this man.

Gibson, however, adopted a patient
yet still slightly more arrogant air.
 
He was far better at this game than Amy had realized.
 
"I believe the Cheltenham family has
made their position on your courtship of their daughter very clear.
 
They are firmly against it, and, acting as
Lady Amy's escort on their behalf, I cannot allow you to pursue her or continue
to harass her in this manner any longer."
 

Then Gibson lifted that single,
imperious eyebrow, his golden eyes flashing fire.
 
"And might I correct you on one other point.
 
You are not affianced to Lady Amy, and I
would appreciate it if you would stop spreading such lies about The Paragon of
the
ton
."

"And I don't give a damn what
you want, you bastard!
 
We're in
love!
 
She and I!
 
You can't stop us!"
 
Drake's words were slurred, and Amy wondered
how much alcohol he had consumed already that night.
 
Quite a bit if his actions were any indication.
 
She also noted that she did not see any
obvious injuries on him, wondering just where Gibson had stitched him up only a
few nights before.

"Norton!
 
You are acting a fool.
 
Stop it this instant!"
 
By this time, Lady Saintwood had reached the
small group, well aware that a rather large crowd was gathering to watch the
gossip-worthy events unfold.
 
She hissed
her words under her breath, all while keeping a polite smile pasted on her face
in an attempt to diffuse the situation.
 
Thus far, it was not working.
 
"Your father warned you to stay away from both Dr. Blackwell and
Lady Amy.
 
I will not allow you to
disobey him."

Drake rounded on his aunt, and it
was then that Gibson noticed the tinge of madness in his eyes.
 
Anger and psychosis brought on by excessive
drink was not uncommon in certain men of society.
 
Drake was obviously one of the many afflicted with the problem.

"You keep out of
this!"
 
Drake was barely holding
his anger in check, and Gibson was afraid the younger man might strike his
aunt.
 
"She is mine!
 
Or will be, once I announce her dirty little
secret to the world!"

Drake spun back around to face Amy,
his face red and his chest heaving as he gasped for breath.
 
"It is all an act, isn't it,
princess?
 
This saintly, perfect side
you show everyone?
 
But you're not that
at all, are you?
 
You're really just a
pathetic little..."

"Enough!"
 
Gibson's roar was enough of a shock to
silence the entire Devonmont ballroom.
 
"You will speak to the lady with respect or you will not speak to
her at all!"
 
There was a dangerous
glitter in his eyes, and in that moment, Amy realized that, if he had still
been in possession of his family's title, Gibson would be one of the most
respected and feared - not to mention sought after - men of the
ton
.

This was a Gibson Blackwell that
even she had never seen before.
 
Oh,
she'd caught glimpses of him here and there, certainly, such as the day in her
father's study when he had stalked across the entire length of the room.
 
She had even seen parts of this man when
they were out at social events.
 
But not
like this.
 
This was all of Gibson, his
true self.
 
And he was, in a word,
magnificent.
 
And she wanted him.
 
Desperately.

She also realized that Gibson had
stopped Drake from revealing her secret, and her heart flipped in her
chest.
 
He might not have said the
words, but he did love her.
 
She was
certain of it.
 
He had caused a scandal
for her.
 
Unfortunately, it was also a
poor time to realize the truth.

"Bastard," Drake shot at
Gibson once more before spitting in his direction.
 
The young buck was still alert enough to realize that perhaps he
had gone too far once again.
 
Yet he
could not call back his words, even if he had wanted to.

At that, Gibson stiffened, and he
pulled himself up straight, adopting an even haughtier air if that was
possible.
 
The remains of the mask of
the affable doctor fell away and now he was, without question, Viscount
Ardenton, a man destined for greatness.
 
He exuded power and strength, and Amy could see every female eye in the
room - and some male eyes as well - drawn to him, as if finally viewing him in
a new light.

"I am many things,"
Gibson said coldly, his voice so icy that Amy was surprised the entire room
didn't freeze over in an instant.
 
"I am the son of a traitor.
 
A poor man, at least in comparison to those here.
 
A man in trade, if that is what you
prefer.
 
I am the son of
disgrace."
 
He drew in a deep
breath and in the silence that followed, she was certain she would hear a mouse
if it squeaked just then.
 
"But the
one thing I am not, Lord Drake, is a bastard."

Around them, the crowd let out a
collective gasp.
 
Gibson had admitted
this past, admitted that his father had been a traitor.
 
It just wasn't done.
 
It could cost him everything, including his
position with Prinny.
 
Oh, people might
know of his past, certainly, but it wasn't the done thing to acknowledge it.

And Gibson had condemned himself to
save her.

Had Drake continued, he would have
revealed Amy's secret.
 
His choice of
words left no doubt that he knew.
 
And
Gibson had silenced him with his own secret to protect hers.
 
How she loved him.
 
If only she had told him earlier.
 
Perhaps that might have made a difference.
 
If she had, they might not be in this
position now.
 
They might have departed
before Drake appeared, if they had come at all.

"Traitor."
 
Drake moved towards Amy menacingly, but
Gibson was there once more, placing himself between her and the man who looked
ready to do her harm.
 
"I can see
how a whore like her would prefer the son of a traitor to a real man of honor
like me."
 
The gasp that
accompanied his words was louder than the last.

There was no stopping Drake, and
Gibson had no idea what to do next.
 
He
was, essentially now powerless against a man determined to see Amy's reputation
ripped to shreds because he could not possess her.
 
If Radcliffe were here, Gibson might find some help, but as of
yet, the duke and duchess had yet to appear.
 
Impotent rage burned inside of him, but he was unable to do anything
more.
 
He was about to look around for
help, or perhaps try something even more desperate when the crowd around them
parted to make way for another man, one just as towering and imposing in
stature as Gibson himself.

"Did I just hear you slander
my sister, you vile, pathetic little worm of a man?
 
Please say that I did, for I would very much like to see you
suffer greatly for your disgusting words, you wretched heap of refuse."

There, leaning heavily on a cane
but still walking under his own power was Marcus Cheltenham, current Viscount
of Breckenright, and eventually, the next Earl of Evanston.

And he was nothing short of
murderous.

If Gibson's defense of Amy had not
shocked the
ton
, Marcus' appearance certainly would have, for it shocked
Gibson himself.
 
For nearly a fortnight,
runners sent to Bath had not returned and letters to the viscount had gone
unanswered.
 
Yet here he was, in the
flesh, and looking every bit as menacing as Gibson himself had appeared only
moments before.
 
He could also,
apparently, see, at least to some degree, though to what extent, Gibson did not
know.
 
Apparently not all of the
viscount's vision had been lost, thankfully.

Eventually, it finally occurred to
Drake that someone had appeared to defend Lady Amy's honor, and that that
particular someone was not a person that could be bullied or intimidated into
silence.
 
No, the newcomer was someone
far more powerful than Drake would ever be.
 
He swallowed hard.
 
"Lord
Breckenright.
 
How good to see you
finally home."
 
Even before he had
left for Bath, few people had used Marcus' title, instead calling him
"Cheltenham," as he preferred.
 
That Drake had used the more formal title spoke to just how terrified
the other man was.

"Did you or did you not just
call my sister a whore?"
 
Marcus
glowered at Drake who was now sweating profusely.
 
When the other man didn't answer immediately, Marcus leaned in a
bit more, now almost nose-to-nose with Drake.
 
"I am waiting, Drake.
 
Answer me.
 
Did you insult my
sister or not?"

"I did not mean to,"
Drake simpered, and Gibson noticed that his hands were shaking and his eyes
were still glassy.
 
This situation could
spiral out of control very quickly if it continued unchecked.
 
Normally, Gibson himself would
intervene.
 
But this was Marcus
Cheltenham.
 
And Drake
had
called
Amy a vile name.
 
That could not be
allowed to stand.

Marcus snarled viciously, and when
he did, Gibson understood why the man had been so feared when he was younger,
before the fever swept his body and the vulture-like physicians had moved in to
cause further damage.
 
"I believe
my family has made it abundantly clear that we do not approve of grasping,
social-climbing, fortune-hunting slime like you.
 
We have repeatedly requested, nicely might I add, that you drop
your suit, and yet you persist so relentlessly that I had to be summoned home
from Bath where I am recovering my health.
 
All so that I might deal with the likes of you.
 
I believe that it goes without saying that I
am not amused.
 
Nor pleased."