Scandalous (24 page)

“What the devil do you want?” they heard Benjamin snap as the couple passed behind them. The Duchess's reply was muffled by the sound of her rapid steps on the marble floor.

Once Oliver and Bianca were past them, Priscilla and John turned and sauntered after them, doing their best not to look as if they were following. They need not have bothered with the subterfuge. Neither Bianca nor Oliver looked back. They were too busy glaring at each other to notice anyone else.

Bianca led Oliver out a side door, and Priscilla and John slipped through the same door a moment later. They saw their quarry halfway down the hall. The couple turned left and disappeared into a room. Priscilla and John hurried quietly down the hall, slowing down when they grew close to the room. The closed door muffled the sound of the voices inside, so that they could tell little, except that a high-pitched woman's voice was shrieking. Priscilla motioned to John to follow her and ducked back into the room they had just passed. She pointed to a door in the side wall of the room.

“A connecting door,” she whispered. Carefully they eased the hall door closed behind them and made their way to the connecting door. Here, sound escaped much more freely around the edges of the door.

“…could you have been such a fool?” they heard Bianca snap.

“Would you quit storming about and tell me why you are so furious?” a man's voice lashed back. “You sound like a sea gull.”

“Don't try to draw me off the subject by insulting me. It won't work. You have ruined everything. Bungled it all.”

“What do you mean?”

“There is a man with that nasty little Priscilla Hamilton. Didn't you see him?”

“No.” Oliver's voice grew wary. “Why? Who is he?”

“I don't know who he is. I never saw him or heard of him in my life. The point is that he is an American! And he told me that he had been attacked and robbed a few days ago.”

“No! It's impossible.” They heard a thud as Oliver hit something. “God damn them! They swore to me that they would get him this time.”

“This time?” Bianca said dangerously. “
This
time? What do you mean by that? What other time was there?”

“He got away.” There was a surly tone in Oliver's voice. “But they promised that they would get him back. I offered them money, threatened them, everything I could think of, and they promised.”

“Why didn't you tell me this? Did you think I didn't need to know? Why did you leave me to find out from this perfect stranger, to run into him and hear…” Her sentence ended in a wordless shriek of rage.

“It is all right, my love. Calm down. I will manage it somehow.”

“Why isn't he dead? I told you to kill him! Why couldn't they manage to kill him? Did you hire utter idiots? What am I thinking? Of course you did. You are an utter idiot yourself!”

“I— Well, it did not seem entirely necessary to kill
him. I thought perhaps he could be reasoned with, made to see that it would be better for him to go back to the United States.”

“You coward! You were too scared to kill him—even to hire someone else to do it for you!”

“Well, it was not you whose neck was on the line,” Oliver told her petulantly. “Those two fellows never met you. You are not the one they could inform on to the police. Easy for you to be so brave, when I was the one doing the dirty work.”

“A duchess can hardly go about hiring ruffians,” Bianca reminded him haughtily. “What good are you to me, if you can't do even something as simple as this?”

“I will do it. Right now, this very evening. I shall snatch him as he leaves the party.”

“He is with friends. What do you plan to do, whisk away the entire carriage?” Bianca's voice dripped sarcasm. She walked away, and they could not hear the first few words she said, but then she turned back and said, quite clearly, “Besides, he is not the one.”

There was a moment of stunned silence. Priscilla and John looked at each other in equal amazement.

“What?” Oliver finally squeaked out.

“You got the wrong man,” she replied wearily. “That man isn't Lynden. He could not possibly be. He is far too young. Have you no sense? How could he be Ranleigh's son?”

“Alec is Ranleigh's son,” Oliver said defensively. “He is younger than this Wolfe fellow. This man was the one at the solicitor's office. The clerk sent me a note when he came in, and I went to the office, and that was the man who came out. The clerk said it was he.”

“Then the clerk is as great a fool as you. Or else he
was lying and pocketing your money. Lynden was practically a grown man when he left Ranleigh Court, and that was thirty years ago! He has to be middle-aged now. I told you the entire story. It all happened long before I even met Ranleigh. Lynden is old enough to be Alec's father, even if he is his brother. And you follow a young man, thinking he's the new duke!”

Priscilla and John turned toward each other, eyes wide and faces blank with astonishment.

There was another long silence on the other side of the door, then a rustle, followed by the crack of a slap. “Get your hands off me, you dolt! Lynden's out there somewhere, and I have no idea where or when he will show up. You have ruined my life, and you think you can make it up to me by playing the adoring lover? Get away!”

Her heels clattered across the floor, followed by the outer door slamming. In the room behind her, there was the sound of glass hitting the floor and breaking. It came again and again, until Oliver had apparently exhausted either himself or his supply of breakable objects. Then he, too, stormed out of the room.

Priscilla sagged against the wall. She felt as if her legs would hardly support her. “My God!” she breathed. “They thought you were the missing heir! The Duke! That is why they attacked you!”

John scarcely heard her. He was focused on what was most important to him. “It was a mistake. It was all by chance. They don't know me. And I still have no idea who I am!”

Hearing the distress in his voice, she turned, reaching out to him. “Oh, John! I'm sorry. I didn't even think…how awful this must be for you.”

“God, Priscilla, I had hoped! I wanted to find out so badly.” He went into her arms, pulling her close to him and burying his face against her neck. “I wanted to lay it to rest, to find out what I am and whether I am free.”

“I know. I know.” Priscilla rubbed her hands soothingly over his back. She ached for him, but even so, it felt wonderful to feel his arms around her again. She had never before realized that a person could actually feel starved for another's touch. But she had been starved for John the past two days. “I am so sorry. But it will happen. I am sure of it. Don't worry. One day you will remember.”

“But when?” Despite his despairing question, his voice had lost much of its strain. Her soothing touch was drawing the anguish and frustration from him.

“Don't worry about it. Just believe. It will happen. It has to.”

They stood for a long moment, arms around each other. Then his arms tightened around her. Priscilla could feel tension, a different sort of tension, growing in him.

“God, you smell good,” he murmured.

“Thank you.” She tilted her head back to look up at him, smiling.

Her lips were soft, and faintly moist. John gazed at them, his heart beating faster in his chest. “You are so beautiful tonight. It took my breath away when you came downstairs.”

“Did it?”

“All I wanted was to kiss you. And keep on kissing you. Never stop.” Unconsciously, he bent his head toward hers.

“Then why don't you?”

“I can't.” His voice was barely more than a breath.

“Yes, you can.” Her eyes began to dance. “Look. I'll show you.” She stretched up on tiptoe, raising her delectable lips to him.

He bent. Their mouths met and joined sweetly. For an instant he drank her in, his breath searing her cheek. Then he jerked back abruptly.

“No.” His voice was harsh, and his breath came fast in his throat. “I must not. I cannot.”

Priscilla went back flat on her feet, disappointment written on her face. “John! What is the matter? For two days you have avoided me. Why? I thought the other night—”

“No!” He turned away. “I was a fool. I should never have allowed it to go so far. It would not have happened, except that I was hardly awake, and I did not think, only did what I wanted.”

“I had something to do with that, too, not just you,” Priscilla pointed out reasonably.

“But I should have been more in control.” John set his jaw. “You are young and inexperienced. It was wrong of me to take advantage of that.”

“You did not. I offered freely.”

“I still was a cad to take what you offered,” he responded shortly.

“You regret what we did?” Priscilla asked, her voice shaking a little.

“No! Never. I told you that. What we did was…was heaven.” He let out a groan and ground his teeth in frustration. “But I cannot let it happen again. I would be a coward, a scoundrel. Until I know who I am, and whether I have a wife, it would be very, very wrong of me. Priscilla, please…do not tempt me.”

She drew back, irritated, and yet somehow pleased, as well. He would not hold back, denying his own desire, simply for the sake of convention. She was sure of it. His reluctance must mean that he cared for her. “Is that why you have avoided me ever since? Scarcely talked to me or looked at me?”

He nodded. “Yes, I— It is very awkward. I don't know what to do or say. It is so difficult to be around you and not to be able to take you in my arms and kiss you. I am afraid that when I look at you, everyone will see how much I want you.”

Priscilla's breath caught in her throat at his words, and she felt a flush of pleasure rising in her cheeks. “Then you do not dislike me now, because we did—what we did? I know Mrs. Whiting has told me that a man no longer likes or respects a woman if she lets him ‘have his way with her.' I thought perhaps that was how you felt, that you—”

“No!” He grasped her arms and pulled her back against his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around her. “God, no, don't think that.” He rained kisses over her hair and face and neck. “I want you with every fiber of my being. I respect you, like you, l—”

Priscilla ended his words by throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him. He groaned deep in his throat and kissed her back, and by the time they emerged from their kiss, they were beyond words. They kissed again—a light, sealing touch—then moved apart.

Priscilla smoothed her hair and skirts, buying herself time to recover, then said, her voice a little shaky, “We ought to return to the party, I suppose. Miss Pennybaker may come searching for me if she can't find us.”

“Not tonight, I think,” John responded, offering her
his arm. “She has a little romance of her own to tend to tonight.”

Smiling and talking of Miss Pennybaker and her romantic triangle, they walked back down the hall and into the party. The dancing had started it, and they joined it.

After that they strolled through the large room, talking to people they knew and introducing John to those he did not. Lady Chalcomb was there, looking quietly lovely in a blue-gray satin gown, and as they stood talking to her, they were soon joined by Mr. Rutherford. As they talked, they became aware of a stir near the stairs, a faint susurration of whispers and the rustle of movement. Priscilla and John turned toward the noise as the crowd parted slowly. A man came into view, striding slowly through the people. He was middle-aged, with sharp wings of white slicing back through his dark blond hair, but he was still an attractive man. Tall and broad-shouldered, with a firm jaw and prominent cheekbones, he exuded power and confidence. Priscilla was certain that she had never seen him before, yet there was something familiar about him.

But before she could consider what that familiarity was, she was distracted by a sharp hiss of indrawn breath from Anne, beside her. Priscilla turned to look at her and was amazed to see that the older woman's face had drained of all color, and she was staring fixedly at the new arrival, her mouth open and her fingers clenched tightly around her fan.

At the same moment, on the other side of Anne, Mr. Rutherford spoke, staring at the late arrival. “My God! It can't be!”

“Who is—?” Priscilla started to ask, but she was
interrupted by the aging butler of Ranleigh Court, Oaksworth, who came tottering after the newcomer.

The butler's face was all smiles, even as he trembled with what looked to Priscilla like distress. “Your Grace,” he called out to the Duchess, his aging voice quavering with emotion. Bianca turned to look at him, frowning slightly at the almost rude way he spoke. She glanced behind him at the large man outstripping the butler.

“Oaksworth?” she said icily to the butler.

Oaksworth stopped, thrusting out his chest proudly, and announced, “His Grace, the Duke of Ranleigh.”

There were gasps from among the crowd, but Bianca could do nothing more than stare at the man, her breath frozen in her lungs. She gaped at him, as did everyone else on the floor, trying to take in the fact that the long-lost heir had returned.

The large man bowed elegantly, saying to Bianca, “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, madam. I hope it is not too much of an inconvenience, my showing up this way.”

Bianca's eyes rolled up. She let out a quavery sigh and fainted.

Those closest to Bianca caught her as she fell and supported her, then wrestled her up and carried her to the nearest couch. The new Duke straightened from his bow, his eyebrows going up lazily as he watched the men cart away the Duchess. He glanced around him, and his eyes fell on John, who had moved forward slightly, away from Priscilla, and was staring intently at the new Duke.

“Ah, Bryan, there you are. I was beginning to worry about you,” Ranleigh said.