Far Beyond Scandalous (30 page)

There was a wicked look in Marcus's
eyes that indicated that he meant to do someone harm if he could, and Gibson
wondered again just how much sight the viscount now possessed.
 
"You also dare to question my family's
decision to place our most precious possession, my sister, into the care of a
man we, along with the Prince Regent, trust implicitly.
 
A man that we trust with our very
lives.
 
And you think that in doing so,
it will somehow improve your chances with her?
 
Encourage us to change our minds and allow you to court her when she
clearly does not welcome your attentions?"

"Again, I did not mean
anything by it.
 
I was merely...
 
I honestly did not mean..."
 
Drake was shaking fully now, grasping for
words.
 
He was also aware that he was
quickly losing any social standing and good name that he had left in society.

Marcus took another step forward,
and it was then that Gibson noticed that the other man's left eye did not focus
properly.
 
He still had some loss of
vision, but, with the cane, he was apparently able to compensate and walk on
his own.
 
Or stalk across the room in
this case.
 
In the midst of everything,
that cheered the doctor.
 
Sending the
gravely injured viscount to Bath had been a good idea after all.

"But you meant to insult my
friend and trusted physician, Dr. Blackwell?
 
Is that what you are implying?"
 
The color was high in Marcus' cheeks.
 
Then he turned, and, in front of Drake, offered the doctor a formal bow,
complete with leg.
 
"Gibson.
 
My old friend.
 
It is good to see you are well, and that you have properly
chaperoned my sister during my mother's illness as I requested.
 
It has put my mind at ease these last many
days to know she was in your capable care."

"I have done exactly as you
requested, my lord."
 
Gibson
returned Marcus' bow with a deep and formal one of his own.
 
"She is well and unharmed."
 
Then he looked at Drake again, his utter
contempt and disgust for the man clear.
 
"Until tonight, that is.
 
My
apologies, my lord, for not keeping the refuse away from her."

Marcus sniffed indignantly, much
like Amy did, and he looked at Drake once more.
 
The man had now shrunk in on himself, trying to make himself
appear as small as possible.
 
"It
is not your fault, my friend.
 
Unfortunately, the less than desirable always manage to worm their way
in to good company."
 
He inclined
his head, a smirking smile on his face.
 
"We will speak again later.
 
Once I have dealt with the refuse, of course."

"As you wish, my
lord."
 
Behind Marcus, Gibson noted
that the Duke of Radcliffe and his wife had appeared to lend their silent
support as well.
 
"May I suggest that
Lady Amy depart this event, charming and entertaining as I am certain that it
will be?
 
It has been a trying evening
for her, and, as a physician, I do not wish for her to become overset.
 
I do not think she is in danger of apoplexy,
but one can never be too careful in cases such as this."

Gibson could tell Marcus was trying
his best not to laugh and to still keep a menacing look on his face.
 
"Excellent advice, Doctor
Blackwell.
 
Please, see her home.
 
You have my complete approval."

Then the viscount turned his
attentions back to Drake, a sardonic and yet somehow still completely nasty
grin on his face.
 
"Now, what
should I do about you, you ungrateful maggot?"

Gibson didn't hear the rest as he
offered Amy his arm.
 
She took it with
shaking hands and silently, he led her from the Devonmont household, the eyes
of everyone in attendance following them as they departed.
 
He would have liked to stay with Marcus and
deal with Drake, but he also recognized that he had no right.
 
As it was, he was now in deep debt to the
viscount.
 
With one well-timed scene,
Marcus had saved both his sister and Gibson.

Now, no one would ever know Amy's
secret, at least not if they could locate the mysterious Mark Overton.
 
Which, now that Marcus had returned, needed
to be the next order of business.

In any case, society would not
believe any claims Drake made that Amy was no longer an innocent.
 
Rather, his words would be viewed as the
ranting of a spurned would-be lover.
 
Marcus had also saved Gibson himself from being ostracized.
 
The viscount's words backed up everything
Gibson and Amy had been telling the
ton
for weeks - that Gibson was
escorting Amy at her family's direction.

The bow Marcus had given Gibson
indicated that the viscount - and therefore his family, as well as the crown -
did not hold the sins of Harrison Blackwell against his son.

That single action had saved
Gibson's reputation and his medical practice.
 
However, he also realized that with everything that had been saved, he
was also about to lose the woman he loved.
 
His time with Amy was nearly over.

He had wanted to tell her the truth
earlier that day when she had confessed her darkest secrets to him.
 
In turn, he had wanted to confess his love
for her and beg her to at least consider loving him, even in some small way.
 
He had wanted to plead with her to marry him
and offer to whisk her away to Gretna Green if that was what she desired.
 

Yet he had not, mostly because
there was a part of him that believed Drake was essentially right.
 
In his heart, Gibson felt that he did not
deserve to mix in fine company.
 
He was
the son of a traitor.
 
He had
nothing.
 
Amy, on the other hand, had
everything.
 
And he loved her too much
to take all of that away from her.

As he handed her into the carriage,
he knew that tonight was one of the last nights he would ever be in her
company.
 
So even though he knew he
should not, even though he knew he should bow and depart quickly so that he
could find a hack to take him home, Gibson climbed into the Cheltenham carriage
after her.
 
Then he quickly drew the
blinds closed to keep out prying eyes.

"Oh, Gibson," Amy cried
as soon as the carriage rolled away upon his signal.
 
"Now what?"

He had no answer for her, at least
none that either of them would want to hear.
 
Instead of tell her thus, however, he pulled her into his arms and
cradled her closely to his chest.
 
"I do not know, sweeting.
 
I honestly do not know."
 
Then, he brought his lips to hers and allowed himself to become lost in
her kiss once more.

Two hours later, Amy was no closer
to answering the question about what came next than she had been in the
carriage.
 
If anything, she was more
frustrated than before.

The kisses she had shared with
Gibson in the marvelous seclusion of the carriage had been nothing short of
magical.
 
They had made her burn from
the top of her head to the tips of her toes.
 
In fact, she could still feel the press of his lips against hers, the
rising hunger that had threatened to consume them both before he, at least, had
remembered the proprieties and gently but reluctantly removed her from his lap
and set her on the seat across from him.

Not that it was impossible to tell
what they had been doing in the carriage anyway.
 
Amy's gown, the one she had looked so radiant in earlier, was
crushed and half of the ruby-studded hair pins had fallen out of her hair,
scattering on the floor of the carriage and leaving her hair mussed beyond
repair.
 
She didn't care.
 
No one would see her but Towson, and he was
a faithful and loyal butler, not one to spread rumor and innuendo.

And if he did?
 
So much the better to her way of thinking.
 
It would have forced Gibson's hand into
acknowledging his feelings for her.
 
He
had made it very evident that evening that he intended to let her go.
 
He would not fight for her.
 
From the moment they had pulled up in front
of her home, Gibson had helped her down from the carriage, escorted her
properly to the door and then kissed her hand like a proper gentleman.
 
Then he had instructed the driver to take
the carriage behind the house to the mews before starting to walk down the
street and back towards the center of town towards Cheapside.

Amy had wanted to call out to him,
but to what end?
 
He had been very clear
that he felt their time was over.
 
He
might not have said the words but he did not need to.
 
His eyes betrayed his heart, and it was as if she could read his
very thoughts.

He believed that he did not deserve
her, and the incident at the Devonmont's had only driven that foolish notion
home.
 
However, Gibson had not heard the
approving whispers that she had when he had gone to fetch their wraps.
 
Those softly stated comments that commended
Gibson on his deportment and gentlemanly ways and indicated a new level of
acceptance for him.
 
There was even one
man who had gone so far as to wonder if the viscountcy would be reinstated once
it was brought to Prinny's attention how "moral and worthy" Gibson
truly was.

She had also overheard several
people state that Gibson was clearly not his father.
 
That indeed, he was a far better man than Harrison Blackwell had
ever been

Except that Gibson had been so busy
defending her and then trying to escort her away from the fray that he hadn't
heard any of it.
 
He probably would have
ignored it even if he had.

All of that left her precisely in
the same place she had been before her mother had fallen ill - an aging
debutante who was rapidly approaching spinster status while being in love with
a man she could not have.
 
And she was
tired of it.
 
The night of the Fairhill
ball, had she not spoken to her mother about defying convention and doing
something because it was right?
 
Had she
not longed to simply cast off the role society had assigned her and be who she
truly was?

If she did not do any of those
things tonight, Amy was afraid that she might not do them at all.
 
All of her hopes and dreams would be
gone.
 
The trappings of her childhood
fantasies were long gone.
 
There was no
magic wand one could wave to make things right.
 
She could not charm and flirt and use her feminine wiles to claim
Gibson's heart.

He would either give it willingly
or he would not.
 
She could not seduce
him into loving her.
 
She could,
however, seduce him into bed, and there, she could lay herself bare for him -
both body and soul.
 
He would either
accept her or not, but at the very least, he would know how she felt.
 
She would be honest with him.
 
She would give him a choice, something he
had never known in his adult life.
 
Before now, all of his choices had been made for him.

It was time for her to reveal the
depths of her heart and allow Gibson to decide if he was willing to risk
everything to be with her.
 
To love her.

And if he did not, she would let
him go.
 
This time, she would keep to
her promise.

Marcus' return, while joyous, would
change things.
 
It already had in some
small ways.
 
Amy knew that.
 
There was no getting around it, either.
 
He had been gone for so long, and she knew
from speaking to Gibson that he was not quite the same man that he had been
before.
 
A part of him had hardened,
fearful of more pain, not that she could blame him.
 
It was unlikely that he would permit her the same freedoms that
she now enjoyed.
 
He might even make her
marry if he himself was not inclined to do so in order to secure the earldom,
though she doubted it.
 
He would not
push her that far.
 
Still, she could not
risk it.

No, if she was to finally possess
what she wanted, Amy had to be bold.
 
She had to do so tonight.
 
There
could be no more waiting.

Gibson paced his study, a glass of
scotch in his hands.
 
He wasn't much for
spirits normally, but at the moment, he was seriously rethinking his position.
 
He needed something to dull the throbbing
ache inside of him, and at the moment, spirits seemed like a decent
option.
 
It was either that or seek out
a lightskirt, and he did not want to risk disease for one night of release.

However he wasn't certain that one
night would even be enough, for given how he longed to hold Amy in his arms one
last time, he imagined that this particular torment might last forever.

He had not explicitly informed her
that this was the end of their time together, of course, but then, he hadn't
needed to.
 
He saw from the look on her
beautiful face that she understood that things could not go on as they had now
that the viscount had returned.
 
Gibson's
duties to the Cheltenham family were almost at an end.
 
Lady Evanston would need some additional
care, of course, but that could be done early in the morning before the rest of
the household arose.
 
And it went
without saying that Amy certainly would not need to be present.

There would be no more walks in the
park or attending balls by her side.
 
There would certainly be no more kisses, or anything else for that
matter, for they would never be alone together again.

Once more, Gibson felt the rage
well up in him, and he longed to smash the bottle against the wall, something
to help relieve the anger that threatened to consume him.
 
Damn his lying, worthless scoundrel of a
father who could not keep his cock in his pants or his body away from the
gaming tables.
 
Damn the French for
using his father's weaknesses against him.
 
And damn his father a second time for being so weak that he would betray
his own country and cost his family everything.

About to head to bed, Gibson paused
when he heard a soft knock at his door.
 
It wasn't unusual for someone to call at this hour of the night since he
was a physician, but it was unusual for the knock to be so timid.
 
Typically, the people seeking his help were
in a much greater hurry.
 
That was a
woman's knock, he realized, and few men that he knew would allow a woman to be
out alone at such an hour.

Hurrying to the door, he opened it
to find a cloaked and hooded figure standing there with her head bowed.
 
For the shape was clearly female.
 
When the woman said nothing, he opened the
door wider to allow her entry.
 
He
wondered if she might be mute and if he needed to rouse his houseboy, the only
one at the residence who "spoke" the odd language of the hands that
some deaf people in town used to communicate.

He turned to retreat back to the
kitchen to fetch the boy when he heard a rustle of fabric and then a soft voice
whisper the same words that had been burned into his mind for nearly a year
now.
 
"Please disrobe and keep me
warm.
 
I know that would be best for
both of us.
 
Medically speaking, of
course."
 
She paused and then
sighed as if she carried the weight of the world with her.
 
"I am so very, very tired of living my
life and wondering what could be, if only things were different."

Gibson whirled around so fast that
he nearly knocked the single candle off the table and quickly reached out to
steady it with shaking hands.
 
"My
God.
 
Amy.
 
What are you doing here this time of night?
 
Alone!
 
You should be abed!"
 
At
Cheltenham House.
 
Alone.
 
Under the protection of her brother.
 
He did not think it necessary to say any of
those things.
 
They should have been
understood.

"I could not sleep."
 
She shrugged off the cape to reveal the
wrinkled garnet gown he so adored, obviously donned in a great hurry.
 
Even in the dim light, it still twinkled and
glittered, drawing his eyes to her luscious breasts.
 
"I fear that I am completely overset."

"There are cures for
that," he said quietly, conscious of the fact that she was slowly walking
across the carpeted floor to where he remained rooted to the spot.
 
He was afraid that if he moved, she would vanish
as if she had never been there at all.
 
He was also partly afraid that she wouldn't.

Amy tossed the cape aside and
smiled seductively, her wicked side, the one he had only glimpsed before,
coming out to play.
 
Gone was The
Paragon the
ton
so admired.
 
In
her place was a seductress, sure and sensual.
 
This was the woman from the summerhouse, the one who knew no
inhibitions.
 
"So I have been
told.
 
Yet I have never had the
pleasure."
 
A tremor in her hands
belied her words and showed the fear lurking beneath her bravado.
 
To him, she was all the more endearing for
it.

Gibson gave her a long, steady
look.
 
He would sell his very soul to
the Devil himself to have her, but he held himself back.
 
It was not right.
 
He could not condemn her to a life with him, not when Marcus had
finally returned to set the family to rights again.
 
"And you wish to experience it with me."
 
He steadied himself on the back of a chair
and expelled a deep breath.
 
"You
know that I cannot.
 
It would be
wrong."

"It didn't feel wrong those
other times, and you well know it."
 
She moved closer still, and he swore that she must somehow be bewitching
him.
 
Otherwise, he would not even be
considering laying her down on the floor and plunging into her sweet body.
 
"In fact, with you, it has only ever felt
right."
 

Now, Amy was close enough to touch
him, and she did just that, laying her ungloved hand on his bare forearm.
 
His skin burned at the touch, and he
wondered if he might be branded by her forever.
 
"A fortnight, Gibbs.
 
We have been in each other's pockets for a fortnight, and never did we
truly speak of what happened that day at Seldon Park."

"We did once, in our own
way," he corrected gently, trying to keep a tight reign on his
desire.
 
"And we agreed not to do
so again."

She tossed her head, feigning a
confidence she did not truly feel.
 
"I have changed my mind.
 
I
wish to speak of it now."
 
Reaching
up, she cupped Gibson's face in her hands, her fingers gently caressing his
cheek.
 
"I know that I gave you my
body that day, but I do not think you know how much you gave me in
return."

"Perhaps, but it doesn't
matter.
 
I did not take you.
 
I could not.
 
Not the way you wanted me to.
 
I cannot do so now, either.
 
Please, sweeting, you know why."
 
Gibson clenched his hands at his sides, willing himself not to touch
her.
 
Yet the pull of her was so strong
that he didn't know how much longer he could resist her or if he even wanted to
do so.
 
She was so close and she smelled
so sweet, like lemons with a hint of lavender.
 
Odd.
 
Unique.
 
Like her.