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Authors: Kate Pearce

BOOK: Simply Scandalous
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“No.” Ambrose looked up.
“Cissy came to work as an abigail for my mother. She'd been freed by her former master in his will and needed a job.” Jethro grinned. “I fell in love with her on the spot, but she took some convincing.”
“I didn't want to become the mistress of another white man and be at his mercy.” Cissy shivered and Jethro patted her shoulder. “And I didn't believe Jethro when he said he wanted to marry me.”
Jethro met Ambrose's gaze. “I kept courting her, and eventually she agreed to marry me. When I told my parents of my intentions, they were not amused. My father threatened to cut off my allowance, and my mother cried that my children would be cursed. Luckily, I wasn't the heir to the dratted baronetcy. I decided I'd rather have Cissy. So we eloped, and we've been happily married ever since.”
Ambrose regarded them for a long moment. “With all due respect, I don't want to tear Emily away from her family.”
“Have you asked her what she wants? Have you even given her the opportunity to make a choice?”
“How can I? She is so impetuous that she'll swear she's ready to give up everything for me.”
Cissy reached over and slapped his hand. “And why should you doubt her? You said you know her well. Would she lie to you?”
“Perhaps that isn't the problem after all,” Jethro murmured. “Perhaps it is more that Ambrose isn't prepared to change his life to accommodate hers.”
Ambrose glared at Jethro. “That is ridiculous. I am simply not worthy of her!”
Jethro stood up. “Then make yourself worthy of her. Stop being such a coward, lad, and find a way to win the woman you love.”
 
“Father? May we speak to you?”
Philip Knowles paused in the act of removing his hat and gloves, and smiled at Emily.
“Certainly, my dear. Come into my study.” He opened the door and waited until Emily and Richard went past him. “Shall I call Helene?”
“No,” Richard said. “This only concerns our part of this peculiar family.”
“That sounds rather ominous.” Philip gave Richard a sidelong glance before sitting behind his desk.
“It is rather a difficult subject to broach, Father, but I hope you will find it in your heart to listen,” Emily said.
“That bad, eh?” Philip sat back. “What have I done now?”
“There is no need to be so flippant,” Richard snapped. “This concerns our mother.”
“Your mother. Of course.” Philip turned to Emily. “Are you sure you wish to discuss this with me? I've always found that Richard is quite unable to be rational on the subject.”
“As if you are any better. You avoid the topic like the plague!” Richard replied.
“Only because you become so upset when I mention her.”
Emily glared at her brother. “If I may speak, Richard? This matter demands all of our attention. Can I at least tell Father what has happened without you interrupting me?”
Richard sank into a chair. “Go ahead. I apologize.”
Emily turned back to Philip. “In short, I was recently approached by a man who claimed to have known our mother. He had a box full of her letters and journals.”
Philip went still. “Describe him to me.”
“He told me his name was Thomas Smith and that he was once a gardener at your family estate. He is a big man with gray curly hair and brown eyes. Despite the passing years, I think I recognized him.”
“Damnation,” Philip swore so softly that Emily barely heard him. “What did he want?”
“He said our mother wanted me to have her letters and journals.”
“Out of the goodness of his heart, no doubt. What else?”
“At first I wasn't sure, but when I met him again he revealed that he hadn't given me everything.”
Philip's smile was sardonic. “Let me guess. He gave you just enough evidence to prove that I am the villain of the piece, and your mother, the poor victim.”
Richard sat forward. “Wait, did you know about this man, Father?”
“Of course, I did. I also hoped he had died the excruciating death he deserved.”
There was a harsh note in her father's voice Emily had never heard before.
“With all due respect, Father, if you knew about this ‘relationship,' why didn't you dismiss the man and send him on his way?”
“Because your mother threatened to kill herself if I interfered. And after her first attempt to slash her wrists, I believed her.” All the color leached from Philip's face and his hands gripped together tightly on his desk. “I could not allow her to deprive you both of a mother.”
“And you were in love with Helene anyway,” Richard said. “Were you still seeing her? Is that why you allowed Mother to carry on with her paramour?”
Philip raised his gaze to Richard's. “Helene left me before I married your mother and deliberately dashed all hope that my love for her would ever be reciprocated. I didn't see her again for eighteen years.” His expression was wry. “Your mother wouldn't have allowed me to keep a mistress anyway. She complained to my parents if any rumors of my infidelity reached her, and they always took her side.”
Emily bit her lip at Richard's appalled expression. It must be very difficult for him to hear such things said about his adored mother.
Philip turned back to her. “So what did Mr. Smith really want?”
“He said he had another of Mother's journals. The last of them. He said you would pay dearly to recover it.”
“Did he say why?”
Emily shook her head and glanced across at Richard, who cleared his throat.
“I wondered about that, too, Father. Did I ever tell you that Mother insisted you were trying to kill her?”
“
What?
”
There was a long silence punctuated only by the ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece. Emily watched as her father's expression changed from incredulity to a quiet stillness that worried her even more.
“Do you truly believe I murdered your mother, Richard?”
“That's hardly the point, is it?” Richard returned. “The thing is, did she write down her fears in her journal? Will you be under suspicion for her murder?”
Philip opened his mouth as if to refute the allegation and then shook his head. “How much does he want?”
“Aren't you even going to defend yourself?” Richard asked.
Philip ignored him and focused on Emily. “How much does Smith want for the journal?”
“He hasn't told me yet, and Richard is right, why aren't you defending yourself?”
Richard got to his feet. “I'm not prepared to pay a blackmailer, even if you are. I'll find this man myself and take the journal from him.”
Philip stared at Richard. “Don't do that. Trust me, it will be better if you let me pay the price of my own folly. That's what Thomas Smith really wants, you know, to humiliate me.”
“I can't believe this! You are willing to be bled dry to stop yourself being accused of murder?”
Philip stood too. “No, I'm trying to safeguard our family's reputation. Can we just leave it at that?”
“
No
, we damn well cannot.” Richard inclined his head an inch. “Good day, sir.”
He left the study, slamming the door behind him. Philip sank down into his chair and covered his eyes with his hand.
Emily studied her father for a long moment. “I don't believe you murdered my mother. Unlike Richard, I lived with her all the time. Even as a child I realized her dislike of you was irrational.”
Philip sighed and rubbed a hand through his hair. “Thank you for that at least.”
“The question remains as to why you are prepared to be bled dry to retrieve that journal? If it doesn't contain accusations of murder, what does it contain that worries you so much?”
Philip met her gaze. “Nothing that concerns you or Richard. I appreciate your faith in me, but my reasons are my own, and I regret that I cannot share them with you.”
Emily became aware that she was shaking. “Then I cannot help you.”
“You can help me by dissuading Richard from doing anything foolhardy.”
“Unfortunately, he is as stubborn as you are, and unlikely to listen to anything I say.” She walked toward the door, her gaze fixed on her escape.
“Emily.” Her father sounded as wretched as she felt. “Let me deal with Smith. When he contacts you again, tell me, and I'll make sure he never bothers you or Richard again.”
She didn't reply. She couldn't even speak. The hallways of Knowles House suddenly seemed endless and unfamiliar. Darting into the drawing room, she retrieved the box of letters Richard had abandoned and took them up to her room. If her father was willing to sacrifice his precious relationship with Richard over Thomas Smith, there had to be a better reason than the accusations of a dead woman. Perhaps if she reread the earlier letters she would understand exactly what it was.
 
Ambrose walked back to the pleasure house, his thoughts preoccupied by his discussion with Jethro and Cissy. Their great faith made everything seem so simple. He needed to forgive the Kendrick family and to let Emily love him. Yet, did he want to forgive the Kendricks? He hadn't even acknowledged that he was still angry with them until he'd seen Lady Mary. He was afraid that if he let it out, his anger might consume him like one of those volcanoes he had read about in the scientific journals.
He went down the steps to the basement and let himself in through the scullery door. One of the maids wished him a cheerful good evening, and he replied in kind. At least the Perkinses had restored his ability to function normally. No one at the pleasure house would realize how close he'd come to running away from this safe new life he'd created.
He paused, his palm flat to the kitchen door. But had he made himself too safe? Had he become a coward, afraid to express his true opinions for fear of losing everything?
“Ah, there you are, Ambrose.” Christian hailed him. His employer was sitting at the table drinking coffee and perusing the daily newspaper.
“I'm sorry I'm late.”
Christian raised an eyebrow. “Are you? I didn't notice.”
Ambrose took the seat opposite him. “Mr. Delornay, the fact that you are having to sit in the kitchen directing the staff means that I wasn't at my post.”
“You put in more hours than anyone except me. You are entitled to break free occasionally.”
Ambrose stared down at his joined hands. “And what if I wanted to leave here permanently?”
Christian put down his cup. “Why would you want to do that?”
“What if I had no choice?”
“There are always choices. Some of them are simply more difficult than others. But I wouldn't stop you leaving.”
“I am very grateful for everything that you have done for me.”
Christian reached across and took Ambrose's hand. “I don't want you to work for me out of gratitude. I hoped we had gone beyond that. I value you for yourself and the times we have shared together.” He hesitated. “I am not known for sharing my emotions, and perhaps you have suffered for that, but you are my best friend.”
Ambrose turned his hand over and fitted it against Christian's. “Thank you.”
“Don't thank me. My reasons for helping you were entirely selfish.” Christian stood and smiled down at Ambrose. “If you want to work tonight, be my guest. If not, I'll stay here and manage.”
“I want to work.”
“Then go ahead.” Christian cupped Ambrose's chin. “Whatever you choose to do, you will always be welcome here and in my bed.”
Ambrose could only nod as Christian kissed him lightly on the lips and then turned to leave.
13
“I
am quite well enough to return home, Richard. You can't keep me here forever.”
Violet scowled at Richard, who sat in a chair by the fire watching her pace the carpet. There was a grim set to his mouth that made her uneasy, and he seemed rather distracted.
“Until I talk to Lord Keyes, or my other government contact, I want you to stay here.”
“But then I put you in danger as well.”
He raised his eyebrows. “I thought that would appeal to you. And there is something else I want to know. Why were you attacked while Jack was left alone?”
Violet stopped walking. “Probably because they consider me the weaker twin.”
“Or because you are the one who holds the secrets that could destroy Mr. Brown.”
“No one has tried to kill me again. Perhaps it was a mistake, and they were really after Jack.”
Richard sighed. “Violet, you are far too intelligent to believe that. The only reason you haven't been assaulted again is because you have been sequestered here with me. And that brings me back to my original point. You are not going back to Harcourt House.”
“You can't stop me.”
His expression hardened. “I'll tie you to that damned bed before I let you go.”
“Naked and spread for your pleasure?”
“Don't tempt me, Violet.”
She sauntered over to him and watched his whole body tense. “But I don't tempt you, do I? I suspect I have been replaced in your affections. You see me as a poor substitute for my brother.”
He slowly raised his gaze to meet hers. “I'm not in the best of humors. Don't play games with me.”
She bent forward and put her hands on the arms of his chair, trapping him in. “I'm not playing. I'm so bored I'll be begging March to bed me soon.”
She kissed him and reveled in his sharp intake of breath. Dropping to her knees, she nuzzled his groin and felt his cock kick against her touch. She unfastened his trousers and wrapped a hand around the base of his now-erect cock. His familiar musky scent engulfed her. She breathed it in like a favorite wine before licking the crown of his cock and drawing him deep into her mouth.
His groan emboldened her further, and she started to suck—long, lascivious pulls on his throbbing length that drew him deep and then out again to the very tip before taking him back. His hand cradled the back of her head, holding her close, his fingers digging into her scalp. She shuddered as he leaned forward, and his other hand slid down over her bottom, hiking up the shirt she wore, to expose her sex.
She moaned her appreciation around his cock as he swirled his thumb in her waiting wetness and then eased it inexorably into her arse before plunging his remaining fingers into her cunt. She kept sucking him, bringing him close, and then retreating until he was slamming himself back into her mouth and throat with an urgency that made her grind herself down on his embedded fingers.
“God . . .” Richard gasped and started to come, his fingers painful in her hair, his cock jammed so far down her throat that she could do nothing but swallow the thick heat of his seed.
She wanted to come, too, wanted him to move his fingers to rub her clit, to . . .
“Help me,” she moaned. “I want to come.”
He pulled out of her and she moaned a protest, but he only picked her up and put her on the bed, his shoulders wide between her outstretched legs, his mouth latching on to her clit and sucking it hard. She screamed her pleasure, and he gave it to her again until she was unable to think, just feel.
Eventually he crawled up the bed and lay beside her, his breathing as labored as her own. She rolled over until she lay half across him, and his arm curved around her waist.
“I still want to go home.”
He groaned. “Not now, Violet.”
She pressed her lips to the side of his throat. “I don't want you to get hurt protecting me. I couldn't bear it if that happened again.”
“You'd rather they hurt Jack or your stepmother?”
“They've already been harmed by Mr. Brown. After my father was murdered, Jack almost died trying to protect Sylvia. He doesn't make the same mistake twice, and he is on his guard now.”
“And I am not? I was in France, too, remember? I learned how to survive just as you and Jack did.”
She sighed. “But it wasn't the same for you, was it? I was fighting for my King and my country.”
“And I thought it was rather an amusing lark.”
She touched his cheek. “That's not what I meant, I . . .”
He took her hand and brought it to his lips. “But it is true. Before your death I didn't take it seriously at all. I suppose I always knew that I could go home if I wanted to. I never thought that for you, if you failed, you would have no home to return to at all.”
She closed her eyes and allowed her head to drop back onto his shoulder. “I don't want you hurt.”
“Then don't lie to me. If you have to leave, have the guts to tell me to my face. I'd rather that than you just disappear again. Now go to sleep.”
“You'll stay with me?”
“Until you are asleep, yes.”
She allowed a silence to develop between them and was almost at the point of falling asleep when she realized he was still wide-awake, his muscles tense, his breathing ragged.
“What's wrong, Richard?” she whispered.
“Nothing that need concern you. Just old family history.”
“Enough to stop you from sleeping.”
His faint laugh sounded forced. “I wasn't intending to sleep with you.”
“You aren't. What is wrong?”
He was silent for so long she resigned herself to be ignored.
“My mother and father didn't have a very happy marriage. In truth, I blamed my father for it until my sister, Emily, pointed out that it was hardly all his fault. I just knew my mother was unhappy, and that my father was the cause.”
“Did she confide in you?”
“When I was home from school, my mother often came to find me in tears with yet another story of my father's perfidy. Even then, I wondered how he could affect her so deeply when he was hardly ever there, but I believed her nonetheless.”
Violet held her breath as his grip on her hand tightened.
“But it seems that my father had a good reason to be absent, after all. My mother had a lover from before she was married, almost to the end of her life.”
“That does put things in a different perspective.”
“Indeed, but it is still hard for me to believe it.”
“But it doesn't change the fact that she still loved you, and that you were her son.”
“That's true, but it does make me wonder how much she manipulated me to keep me from loving my father. As I said, I ran away to France to get away from him and his scandalous relationship with Madame Helene. I was disgusted by his behavior, and I told him so.” He sighed. “I suppose for me it represented yet another slight against my mother. I suspected he'd kept Helene as a mistress for all the years of his marriage, and that was why my mother had been so unhappy.”
“And now?” Violet whispered.
“And now, in light of my mother's infidelity, you would think I'd be prostrating myself at my father's feet asking him to forgive me.”
“I can't quite see you doing that exactly, but I understand what you mean. What is stopping you?”
He rose up on one elbow and looked down at her. “My mother often claimed my father wanted her dead.”
“Did you think it was true?”
“Yes, and now my mother's lover has turned up like a bad penny and is trying to blackmail our family to return my mother's last journal. When Emily and I brought the matter to our father's attention, he insisted he would pay whatever was necessary to retrieve the journal, and that we need not concern ourselves with it any longer.”
“Perhaps he wanted to protect you?”
His mouth thinned. “Or protect himself from a charge of murder.”
Violet stared up into his bleak face. “Surely not. Your mother is dead and no one would be interested in pursuing the claims of a dead woman and her lover against a peer of the realm.” She put her hand on Richard's forearm. “Do you really believe he killed her?”
He stared at her for a long moment and then exhaled. “No, I don't anymore, but what other reason would he have for wanting the journal?”
“Perhaps your mother had other secrets, and he truly does not wish for you and Emily to know about them.”
“But what could they be? I read my mother's letters to her lover, and there was nothing particularly striking about them apart from her fear of being discovered and her discussions with her lover as to when she should admit my father to her bed.”
“Why did she need to discuss that?”
“Perhaps her lover was a very controlling man. Anyway, I intend to ignore my father and take the journal back myself.”
“Are you sure that is wise?” Violet asked. “Perhaps it would be better to let your father deal with the matter in his own way.”
“If my father pays this man a single penny, do you think it will end there? The lover will never go away because he'll always have the journal to hold over us.”
Violet pulled him down until she could kiss his mouth. “Then do what you think is best. May I suggest you take Jack with you? He is an excellent man in a fight and completely amoral.”
He kissed her and then drew back, his gaze both intense and so vulnerable that she couldn't look away.
“Thank you for listening to me.”
“You are welcome.”
He levered himself off her and sat on the side of the bed. “I'll see you in the morning, then.”
“If that is your wish.” She longed to ask him to stay with her so that she could hold him close and offer him the comfort he so badly needed but refused to accept.
“It is. Good night, Violet.”
He rose slowly and went to the door without looking back.
March was waiting for him in the sitting room, an expectant look on his face. He held out a sealed letter.
“This just arrived for you, sir.”
Richard took the note and broke open the seal. “Thank you.” He spread out the single sheet and read the contents. “I have to go out again. Would you be so kind as to fetch my hat and gloves?”
“Yes, sir.”
In truth, he didn't want to go out into the cold night and meet with Lord Denley. He wanted to go back to Violet and make love to her all night. His stupid rule that he wouldn't make love to her as a woman was beginning to feel as false as his denial that he still had feelings for her. She was such a complex package—brave, intelligent, trustworthy, and devious at the same time. She challenged him like no other woman.
The past no longer mattered. He didn't want her to leave him again. He wanted her to stay with him forever.
With a muttered curse, he jammed his hat on his head and made his way out of the front door into the street beyond. As he walked, a fine drizzle of rain blew into his face, making it difficult to see clearly. Luckily, he knew his way to Denley's house without having to think.
Daniels opened the door to him and again demanded to know who Richard was and exactly what he wanted. Richard obliged the old man by raising his voice and shouting out his name so that everyone on the street who was still awake would now know who was visiting and disturbing their rest.
Denley was in his usual place by the fire, a rug tucked around his useless legs. He wasn't reading or enjoying a glass of port this time. He was staring into the fire, his expression pensive.
“Lord Denley.” Richard bowed and then took the seat opposite his mentor. “You said you had news for me.”
“I do.” Denley nodded. “I still can't tell you Mr. Brown's real name, but I can tell you that there are several accusations against him.”
“And are these accusations correct?”
“It seems that those who come forward to complain about Mr. Brown have an inconvenient habit of dying shortly afterward.” He shrugged. “It is hard to proceed on a dead man's word.”
“Then what is to be done?”
“I understand that a couple has arrived from France who might be key witnesses against Mr. Brown. Do you know of them?”
“Yes, I assume you mean the Lennox twins.”
“And this is where things get very complicated, indeed. It appears that Jack Lennox holds vital information against Mr. Brown, and that his twin, Vincent, or should I say, Violet Lennox, has colluded with Mr. Brown. Despite all appearances, Violet is quite prepared to kill her twin to save her accomplice.”

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