Invitation to Scandal (15 page)

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Authors: Bronwen Evans

Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Historical, #General

BOOK: Invitation to Scandal
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Alex nodded. “Keep it that way. I didn’t save you once, only for you to repeat your folly.”
His voice heavy with bitterness, Rufus said, “I won’t make the same mistake this time. Now that I am aware of women’s treachery, I’ll be the one doing the seducing, not the other way around.”
“I see. Ignoring your true self has consequences—believe me, I know.” Alex sighed as Rufus growled deep in his throat. “Don’t listen then. Just remember I won’t be here to pick up the pieces this time. Don’t get involved with Miss Kerrich. Make her hate you. That ought to ensure she keeps you at arm’s length.” He waited for affirmation, but Rufus couldn’t give it. Already he knew he was in too deep with Rheda. Something about her made him vow to ignore all of Alex’s sound advice.
Sensing his defeat, Alex shook his head. “Be careful, Rufus.”
“I have the truth on my side, and my blinders are off.”
Alex’s eyes softened. “Does that mean honor should be stripped aside for the greater good?”
Rufus’s temper flared. “Don’t twist my words. I’ll not sacrifice honor to fight for what I believe in. That would make us no better than the French.”
Alex leaned back against the wall and gave a low whistle. “Miss Kerrich has you tied up in knots.” He put a hand on Rufus’s shoulder and squeezed. “If she is linked with this smuggler Dark Shadow, how honorable could she be? Dark Shadow is aiding a traitor. Deal with her and shut him down. Quickly.”
Rufus ran a hand through his hair. He knew Alex was right. He had to end this inability to be ruthless where Rheda was concerned. It wouldn’t matter how good she was in bed, he would ascertain all she knew and wash her out of his system. He gave Alex a shaky smile, resolving there, in the back of the tavern containing a boy’s dead body, not to care about any punishment that might befall Rheda. Her actions alone would hold her accountable for whatever befell her.
Just then Alex’s second mate arrived and whispered in Alex’s ear.
“Sorry, old boy, but the tide’s about to turn. I have to go. If she’s involved in this you have to do everything in your power to find out. Seduce her and discover the truth. If she’s guilty your honor is still intact. If your hunch is not correct, and she is in fact innocent of any and all knowledge about Dark Shadow, what’s the worst that could happen?”
Rufus started to shake his head.
Alex laughed. “Let’s face it. One lady is much like another where marriage is concerned. As long as they are not too hideous to look at, they know how to look after your household, and they provide children you know categorically to be yours, any female would do.” Before he ducked under the door and left the tavern, Alex hesitated and added, “Careful, my friend. Women are dangerous in more ways than one. Let’s have no repeat performances.”
At Alex’s departure, Rufus stood looking out of the empty doorway. Was he making a mistake? Was she innocent of involvement in treason or merely a good actress?
His mouth thinned into a grim line. Marguerite had been a brilliant actress. He’d taken her to his bed and, worse, to his heart. He thought he’d been protecting her against common French enemies, when in reality she’d been working for them. He pressed his hand against his side, still vividly recalling the agony of her betrayal. A betrayal she’d found effortless.
He thought back to that terrible time. It was eight years ago, when he’d been working in Belgium tracing a stolen British gold shipment for the war office. He and Andrew Peters had traced the shipment to a manor near Marguerite’s country estate.
They’d thought themselves so clever, planning the retrieval in a meticulous manner. Only they’d walked into a trap. As they were fired upon, Rufus couldn’t understand how it had all gone wrong. It was as if—somehow they’d known?
It wasn’t until he’d sprinted across the open meadow to ready the horses to make a last-minute dash to freedom that a sliver of unease pricked his skin.
Where had Marguerite gone? Andrew could take care of himself, but Marguerite was a woman.
For one terrible moment his world spun; he thought she’d been captured. Heedless of danger, he raced back to the house to rescue the woman he knew he could not live without.
He entered the house like a whisper. He could hear swordplay in the back room, and he made his way toward it. When he reached the room it was empty except for Andrew’s body lying in an ever increasing pool of blood. He felt for a pulse—there was none.
He bolted to his feet. Marguerite. His heart thudded in his chest, and the pain under his rib cage, as if a fist was squeezing his heart, made him almost fall to his knees. Where was Marguerite? If she’d been taken ... he felt sick knowing what they’d do to a woman of her beauty.
Then a small hand touched his arm, and she said in a voice filled with tears, “Is he dead?”
Rufus could only nod, his throat tight with emotion. He pulled her roughly into his arms and held her tight. “Thank God you’re safe. Come. We must hurry.”
“Wait.” She stopped him, and, rising onto her toes, she kissed his lips and thrust a knife in his side. Her laugh echoed through the deserted house. “When Napoleon enters England, I’ll visit your family and tell them how you died in my arms. Died a lovesick fool.”
Her ridicule still haunted his every waking moment, reminding him to never be a fool again.
He glanced skyward to the Kent sun and prayed for guidance. Marguerite had worn two faces. Did Rheda?
Chapter 13
 
U
pon arriving at Hastingleigh, early, at a less than respectable hour, Rheda would’ve given anything to deny the spine-tingling awareness had anything to do with hoping to bump into Lord Strathmore. However, to her disappointment, she hadn’t been shown into the breakfast room. She’d been left with a pot of tea in Lady Hale’s drawing room. It was unlikely Rufus would stumble across her there.
As she sipped her tea, she pondered the man who, against all odds, was occupying her thoughts far too much. Not, sadly, because she wanted to know why he was here in Deal and what he was hunting, but because she could not forget how she felt in his arms.
Despite her vow to keep her feelings for him under control, Rheda felt a surge of desire whenever he was near. She freely admitted she was wilder than most young ladies, but to her shame she never realized she was a wanton. That had to be the reason why she longed for his soft caresses, ached for his dizzying kisses, and desired his experienced touch. His sensual magnetism haunted her no matter what time the day or night.
Putting her cup down, she sighed with longing.
“My, that was a big sigh. Only a man could elicit such feelings from a woman.”
Rheda almost fell off her chair. She was no longer alone. A woman of such outstanding beauty that it made her breath hitch entered the room. The first thing Rheda noticed was her snow-white skin, with not a blemish marring it. She fought the urge to touch the freckles she knew were abundant on her own face. She’d never before wished she’d worn a hat when outdoors.
The sophisticated woman—who looked older than Rheda—walked toward her and smiled. But it was a smile that did not reach her startling blue eyes. With a regal nod of her head, that didn’t disturb the thick black tresses wound in a fashionable style about her head, the woman said, “You must be Miss Kerrich.”
Rheda ran a hand over her own hair, trying to tidy the riotous curls. It was a hopeless cause. Wisps had escaped her clips on the gallop over here. She must look like she’d been thrown through a hedge.
The woman smoothed delicate, well-manicured hands over her stylish, deep lavender muslin gown covered with delicate lace insets, then took a seat opposite her. Rheda’s hands itched to smooth the skirts of her well-worn riding habit, but she stopped herself. Why did she care what this stranger thought?
“You have me at a disadvantage,” she responded.
“You know how to deflate a lady. I was sure your brother would have mentioned me.”
Lady Umbridge. How could Rheda not have guessed? The widow was a startling beauty. The bitterness of jealousy scored her mouth. No wonder Lord Strathmore was not at all tempted by her behavior at dinner the previous evening. Rheda could never compete with a woman of such poise and beauty. “Pardon me. Of course I should have known who you were. Daniel has spoken of your beauty. He did not exaggerate.”
“How kind of you to say so.”
Rheda noted she did not return with a similar compliment. Why would she? Compared to this lady, Rheda looked like a farmer’s daughter.
“You keep country hours I see, Miss Kerrich. I assume you are here to see Lady Hale.” Her words were in contrast to her smile, which bordered on a smirk.
Rheda decided she’d had enough of being politely slighted. “Please, call me Rheda. Who else would I be here to see?” She made her tone as sweet as her shimmering temper would allow.
Lady Umbridge inclined her head. “You may call me Fleur.” She indicated the tea pot. “May I?”
“Please. Help yourself—Fleur.”
Fleur poured her tea and added three sugar lumps. “I adore sweet things. Now where were we? Oh, yes. We were discussing your reason for visiting so early in the morning. It would appear you are either trying to avoid someone or perhaps arranging a fortuitous meeting. I wonder which?”
Rheda fidgeted with an escaped strand of hair. How did Lady Umbridge know her motives? She’d been hoping to bump into Christopher. She wanted information. What did Christopher believe was the reason for the viscount’s visit to the area? Rheda knew Lord Strathmore wasn’t here to buy property.
“I can see by the guilty look on your face, it was not Lady Hale you’d hoped to see this early. Perhaps it was one of the guests, Lord Strathmore perhaps?” She lifted a straight eyebrow. Her blue eyes focused on Rheda. “I knew Rufus when he was younger. He was quite the boy.” She paused. “Now he’s become quite the man. All man.”
Rheda couldn’t help the heat that stole over her features. Without thinking she uttered, “I saw enough of Lord Strathmore last night, thank you.”
Fleur sat back in her seat and smiled. “So he said on his return last night.”
Rheda’s head jerked up. Last night? He hadn’t left Tumsbury Cliff Manor until well after three. Rheda had gone to bed earlier but had been unable to sleep knowing he was in their house. She’d not had time to warn Daniel. She hoped her brother hadn’t left the viscount alone. They had secrets that needed to remain hidden from an astute Lord Strathmore.
But Daniel insisted Rufus teach him how to play faro. They’d played well past midnight. It was close to three in the morning before she’d heard Caesar leave the stables. How was it that Fleur had talked with him so late? Her eyes flashed to Fleur and took in her raised eyebrows. Color flooded Rheda’s face—there was only one way she would have known. He’d met with her on his return—early in the morning. Met with her for what?
Suddenly, the room grew as dark as if the sunlight had been sucked from the sky.
Stupid girl.
Her stomach gripped. She didn’t want to know.
Fleur tried to feign innocence. “He did say how much he’d enjoyed your little supper. I believe the word he used was
quaint
.” The last word held hints of malice.
Rheda tried to hide the fury Lady Umbridge’s words provoked. An image of them together, naked in Lord Strathmore’s bed, discussing her lack of social skills, made her muscles seize with—no. She sucked in a breath. She was
jealous
. How could that be? She’d scratch his eyes out. Lord Strathmore might have an intellect she found stimulating and attractive, but as far as women were concerned, he was no different from any other man. He could arouse her passions, but that was merely physical. She had no emotional attachment to him. Except, of course, he could cause her a great deal of trouble if, as she suspected, he was here on His Majesty’s business. Why did she care where he took his pleasure? Like every other man she’d known, he flattered to get what he wanted. Then he’d discard her just as easily. He’d lie to get his way and then indulge wherever and with whomever he pleased.
She stood, but she couldn’t seem to get her legs to move.
Lady Umbridge gave a satisfied smile, fully aware of the inference generated by her conversation. “Leaving? So soon? But we have only just started to get to know each other.”
“I was hoping to speak with Chris—Lord Hale—this morning. Have you seen him?”
“I have.”
Rheda swiveled to stare at the doorway. Rufus. She cursed herself. His velvety smooth voice trickled over her like a summer shower.
“Lord Strathmore, do join us. Miss Kerrich appears to be in a hurry to talk with Lord Hale. Have
you
seen him?”
Rheda didn’t want to look at him. She hated that she had to stand in the same room as his mistress and pretend that only yesterday he’d sworn that he’d die without a taste from her sweet lips. Men. They were all scoundrels.
She looked up to find Rufus studying her. She squared her shoulders and met his blatant stare. His full lips broke into a knowing smile. He could see her prickling with jealousy, and Rheda didn’t like it. She did not want to care who warmed his bed.
But she did.
Unfolding his arms and pushing away from the doorway where he’d been leaning like a Greek god surveying his domain, Rufus sauntered into the room. He seemed to ignore Lady Umbridge and addressed himself directly to her. “Lord Hale is still abed.”
Yet for all his cool composure Rufus seemed on edge. “If you’ll excuse us, Lady Umbridge, I shall escort Miss Kerrich for a stroll in the gardens until Lord Hale has risen.”
“Darling, of course I don’t mind. We saw enough of each other last night. Besides, I’m not hungry. Not hungry for food anyway.” And she gave a giggle. “My hunger is more intimate in nature, if you remember. Last night only whet my appetite.”
Rheda watched Rufus’s lips tighten and his face redden. His eyes narrowed; his dark brows dipped low over his bold nose. He was livid.
“That’s enough, Lady Umbridge. Do try to be less vulgar when in company.” Rheda noted he had not attempted to deny Fleur’s statement. She could tell by the look of guilt flashing in his deep-brown eyes that he had indeed been with Lady Umbridge last night. The pain made her fingernails dig into her closed palms.
Something of her horror must have shown in her eyes because he took a step toward her, his eyes pleading. She inwardly cursed. She did not want him to know she cared.
Rheda tipped her chin up to an angle of defiance. Her features smoothed to a blank mask, the camouflage that was so much a part of her.
She’d survived her father’s constant disappointments by facing bitter truths. She would not shy from them now. The truth was Lord Strathmore had been playing with her. He wanted to use her to gather information. He did not really desire her over and above a woman with such obvious experience. A woman who would know how to slake a man’s appetites. A rake’s appetites. Rheda wouldn’t know where to begin. Rufus would find her lacking in comparison.
Rufus didn’t know she was inexperienced in the arts of pleasure. He believed the gossip about Prince Hammed. He obviously thought a scandal-ridden spinster would be easy to seduce. From her response at their first meeting, he probably thought she’d tell him everything in exchange for a night in his bed.
She blinked away the welling tears. To think she’d almost decided to play his game. To let him teach her about passion. She shivered in revulsion. She’d not share a man with another woman. Not after seeing what it did to her mother.
He must have sensed some of her thoughts because he growled low in his throat, and with a firm grip on her elbow he all but propelled her out of the room as Lady Umbridge broke into peals of laughter behind them.
They were halfway toward the front steps leading down into the rose garden before Rheda realized where they were headed.
“Let go of me,” she hissed. “I’ll wait inside.”
Rufus ignored her futile attempts to break free of his grasp. She felt the anger emanating from every inch of his hard, lean body. What had he to be angry about? Angry perhaps at being caught.
He
was the one seducing her while sleeping with another.
Rufus didn’t speak until they reached the arbor. “My, my. Is the little wild cat jealous?”
“Why can’t a man be satisfied with only one woman. Why can’t he be true to her and only her?” She turned on him, her voice filled with scorn. “Why is one woman never enough?” He was exactly like her father. “Jealous? Hardly.”
“It may surprise you, hellion, that some women do find me attractive and will do anything to share my bed.”
“Lucky for me I’m not one of them. I’m not desperate enough to share.”
He moved in close enough for her to smell the masculinity that clung to him. “Seethe your claws,” he growled as if she were the one in the wrong. “If you were mine ... I wouldn’t share, either.”
His grip tightened on her arm.
“I don’t know what right you’ve got to be angry,” Rheda said, her eyes darkening with pain. “I’m the one who’s just been made fun of by your paramour. What delightful tales about me did you share with her?”
He fought to speak normally, but his voice emerged sharp and brittle. “Lady Umbridge is not my mistress. Not now. Not ever. She’s the last woman I’d ever share a bed with.”
“I see. Fancy that, a rake with taste.” Rheda made a scoffing sound beside him. Her mouth straightened into an unhappy line. “I don’t believe you. No wonder you found my feeble attractions wanting last night.”
God, how wrong could she be? He’d wanted her with a hunger that made his stomach and every part of him ache to possess her. “Wanting? I’ve wanted no woman as much as I want you. I did not indulge my fantasy of ravishing you last night for several reasons. None of them involved worrying about a relationship with Lady Umbridge. I have none. She is Lord Worthington’s mistress, if you must know.”
She shook her head and raised a hand to keep her wind-tossed hair from her eyes. “Why would Fleur intimate otherwise ?” He couldn’t mistake the disbelief in her face. She turned away. He cupped her chin and forced her to look at him. “It does not matter to me who you share a bed with.” The wind whipped at her low words, so he had to lean closer to hear. A dizzying waft of her scent mixed with the fragrance radiating from the rows of flowers made his nostrils flare in response.

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