Authors: Scandal Bound
A
FTER ONLY TWO
days in the house, Ellen could quite see what her aunt meant about John Farrell and Amy. They kept the place at sixes and sevens with his attempts to depress the girl’s natural liveliness despite Augusta Sandbridge’s best efforts to keep the peace. On this particular morning, they’d quarreled over his insistence that they should all take an extended tour of the city, and Amy had demurred. It was not so much that they did not wish to see everything, Amy had pointed out with wounding candor, but rather that she’d no wish to sit hours in a closed carriage listening to him expound on what he’d never seen before either. “For in spite of what you must believe, John,” she’d finished almost acidly, “we can read the guidebooks also.” The end result was that he had taken himself off to explore Paris by himself, and Amy and Augusta had gone shopping. Thankful for the peace, Ellen had pleaded a headache remain at to home with Jane Austen’s
Emma.
She was quite absorbed in enjoying Miss Austen’s social observations and missed the sound of the knocker until she heard his voice in the hall. Panic seized her momentarily and she cast about wildly for the means to escape, not because she did not wish to see him desperately, but because she knew she could not maintain her composure. To her horror, she could hear the butler directing him to her.
He walked in and gently shut the door behind him. Her heart skipped a beat and then began to flutter wildly as the blood pounded in her temples. When she could bring herself to look up, he was” standing before her. Without speaking, he reached into his coat and drew out a document wrapped in oil paper.
“I’ve brought you a gift that you can accept this time, Ellie,” he told her quietly as he laid it in her trembling hands. “It’s already in the papers, I am afraid. I couldn’t quash the story because it had to be a matter of public record.” He watched her open it up and read it silently, her lips moving soundlessly as her eyes traveled down the page. “I am sorry, my dear. I tried.”
“Sorry?” She looked up finally. “How can you be sorry, my lord, when you have given me my freedom?”
“At a price, you know. There is much talk, and not all of it is sympathetic to you.”
“I don’t care what they say, Alex. I am free of him, and Aunt Gussie will support me against Papa—and—and I owe it all to you. I can never thank you sufficiently for all you have done for me. I know I have been a said trial to you, my lord, and I shall always be grateful. I-I will never forget your kindnesses.”
“Ellie, we are not done yet.” He moved to stand so close that his leg brushed against her bent knee. She looked up and sucked in her breath at the intensity mirrored in those blue eyes. “Do you remember what I said to you that first day we were on our way to York?”
“I remember that we said quite a few things to each other then,” she reminded him nervously.
“Ellie, listen to me, hear me out, will you? I said we’d be in the basket over this, and we are. But the thing is I do not mind at all, Ellie.” He reached to grip her cold fingers. “Wed me and Brockhaven will not dare to tell the story no matter how great the outcry. Do you understand me, my dear? I am asking you to accept the protection of my name. I offer you what I’ve never offered to anyone. I know I am not the man you would have—God knows I am not proud of what I have been—but I can give you greater protection from the scandal than any man I know.”
“Please, Alex …” She twisted her hand away and wrenched her body out of the chair to turn away from him. “There is no need, my lord. I assure you there is no need. I-I cannot accept your generous offer, but believe me that I am grateful for it.”
“Ellie, turn around and look at me,” he ordered even as he grasped her shoulders. “Listen to me! You have to wed me, my dear, you have to! Whether you will it or not, we are scandal bound to marry.”
“No.” She shook her head as he turned her around to face him. Her throat ached from the effort of maintaining her composure, and her voice was hollow. “Alex, I am free, and that is all that matters, my friend. There is no need for either of us to do anything we do not wish to do.”
Mistaking her meaning, he dropped his hands. “I see.” Exhaling slowly to hide his bitter disappointment, he stepped back and managed to ask quietly, “You decline, then?” She nodded mutely. “Well, then there is not much else I can say, is there? It appears I have mistaken the matter, and I would not distress you for the world, Ellie, by pressing a suit I can see is distasteful to you.” He turned to walk away.
“Alex,” she wrenched out miserably, “please—”
“It is all right, Ellie, I understand, I think. Good-bye, my dear.”
Numbly, she watched him go, his footsteps echoing on the floor. For a brief moment, she wanted to run after him, to tell him she’d take whatever he could offer, but in the end, she could not. No, he did not understand at all, he could not even guess the pain she felt knowing she probably would never see him again. As she heard the front door slam shut, she flung herself on a nearby settee and gave in to an overwhelming need to cry. No, she could not hold him, she sobbed, and she had to accept that she would get over him easier now than if she had to see him spend his evenings with one mistress after another. He would come to regret his nobility in offering for her and she could not bear that. Why should he be the one to suffer for having the misfortune to catch her beneath Brockhaven’s window? But, oh, it was so very hard to let him walk out of her life. Great, painful, convulsive sobs racked her body until she had no breath, and then subsided into a pitiful sniffling. She had no idea how long she lay there in her misery, hours perhaps, for it was not until she heard her aunt and her sister come in that she even tried to compose herself.
“Ellie, only fancy!” Amy waltzed into the room in high spirits and then stopped suddenly at the sight of Ellen’s tear-ravaged face. “Ellie, what is it? What is the matter, love?” her voice dropped in concern, and she knelt by the settee.
“Well, my dear,” Augusta murmured as she came through the doorway, “you were wise to stay home. I vow I am exhausted. Oh, dear!” she drew up short. “Oh, my dear,” she clucked sympathetically, “it cannot be that bad. Amy, fetch some brandy, child, and a bowl of lavender water.” Moving to sit at Ellen’s feet on the settee, she patted her consolingly.
“Oh, Aunt Gussie,” Ellen wailed miserably, “Trent was here!”
“But whatever did he do to overset you so, love?”
“He—he came because he thinks himself o-obliged to marry me. He thinks he has to p-protect me from the sc-scandal!” She turned her head into the soft leather and sobbed anew.
“He cannot have said that,” Augusta was positive.
“Yes, he did, and I-I refused him!”
“You cannot have heard him aright, child.”
“I did! He—he said we were scandal bound to marry, if you want the whole.”
“Surely he spoke of his regard for you, or said something else, Ellen.”
“No,” she sniffed, “he did not, I swear. Aunt Gussie, it was a bl-bloodless offer!”
“The noddy,” Lady Sandbridge muttered succinctly under her breath. “And so you have refused his suit?”
Ellen straightened up and nodded as she dabbed at her face with a thoroughly soaked kerchief. “I had to, Aunt. I could not force him into a distasteful marriage, could I?”
“No, no, of course you could not, dearest,” Augusta soothed while mentally consigning the marquess to perdition. “Here …” She looked up to where Amy was coming in with the requested brandy and lavender water. “Let me pour you a sip of brandy, love, and after you have drunk it, we’ll wash your face to make you feel better.”
“Aunt Gussie, what happened?” Amy demanded as she handed over the tray.
“Lord Trent bungled his offer,” was the terse reply.
“But he has such address! I mean, that is—never say she
refused
him!”
“Of course she refused him, child!” Augusta snapped with unwonted temper. “How could she not when he said he was obliged to offer?”
“But surely—”
“Amy,” her aunt cut her short, “we will talk no more of it just now. She will partake of the brandy and then we will help her to her bed. You will read the rest of her book to her this afternoon, and then, when she feels better, she will bathe and dress and come with us to the embassy reception tonight. If she is to recover from her disappointment, she must put it behind her.” She patted Ellen again. “You must not think me unfeeling, child, but I know what is best.”
Augusta waited until her program for Ellen’s afternoon was well underway before sending a tersely worded letter to the marquess. After all the effort and care he’d put into arranging things for Ellen, she knew quite well that he was in love with the girl. She certainly meant to speak her mind to him and give him some advice, whether he wanted to hear it or not. How so very like a man, she reflected in disgust, never at a loss for some inane compliment for a bit of fluff but unable to offer for a respectable female.
It did not take him long to respond to her summons, and when he arrived, Augusta’s heart almost went out to him. Had it not been for her niece’s own unnecessary suffering, she could have cried for his. Instead, she greeted him crisply and pulled him into the small parlor to complain, “My dear Trent, in all of her twenty three years, I cannot say I have ever known Ellen to suffer from an excess of sensibilities, but she is prostrate in her bed now. What on earth did you say to the girl?” she demanded.
He ran his fingers distractedly through the thick, unruly waves of black hair and shook his head ruefully. “I did not say much at all, madam, for she would not let me say my piece. I offered for her, of course, and my suit distressed her so that I had to leave.”
“Yes, I heard how you offered, my lord,” Augusta noted dryly, “and I own that I had expected you to have more address in the matter. She believes now that you merely felt obliged to save her from the scandal.”
“Obliged?” he repeated in dawning horror. “No! ’Twas not my meaning.”
“But did you not say you were obliged?” she persisted.
“I don’t remember—perhaps. But she should have known—”
“My niece is an intelligent girl, Trent, but she ain’t clairvoyant. To put it bluntly, sir, she described it as a bloodless offer. I could scarce believe my ears after all the trouble you’ve been to to get the chit,” she told him flatly with the tone of a barrister resting his case.
“I’ve got to speak to her, Lady Augusta. Surely I can make her understand—” He stopped and shook his head. “No, she would not believe me now, would she? She’d think you read me a peal and brought me to heel, I suppose. But she has to know I obtained her annulment for her with the express intent that we should marry.”
“But did you tell her that?”
“No, I wanted her free to accept me before I said anything. You are certain she cares for me?”
“She is besotted! But do not be looking to me to do your courting for you, my lord. It was outside of enough that I had to endure bringing Lavinia and Sir Basil together, after all. But I will tell you this much: nothing short of drastic action will remedy the situation.”
“I see. You do not think perhaps I should try for another interview with her?”
“No, for you will have her turning into a watering pot again. However, I mean to take her to the affair at the embassy tonight whether she wishes to go or not. And,” she added conspiratorially, “I am sure you will be able to obtain a card, won’t you?”
“Lady Sandbridge, you may depend on it. And I hope I do not shock you too much with what I mean to do.”
A
S SHE LOOKED
around the crowded room, Ellen noted the hushed whisperings and the furtive nods in her direction, and devoutly wished she had not come. While no one gave her the cut direct, there was a certain reserved curiosity about her. Well, she braced herself, she was made of stern stuff, and she would muddle through whatever came her way. At her side, her sister made polite small talk with a couple of well-favored young gentlemen.
“Look, Ellie!” Amy turned around suddenly and drew her attention to an extraordinarily beautiful, vivacious woman entering the room amid a crowd of admiring men. “I vow ’tis the Mantini herself!”
Ellen craned her neck for a better look at Trent’s mistress, and her determined smile froze on her face as she took in the raven hair, dark eyes, perfect skin, and exquisite figure of the other woman. And it was apparent that Sophia Mantini meant to display her charms, for her red silk dress was cut so low that it nearly exposed full, creamy breasts, and so tight that it was obvious that she wore not even a pair of pantalettes beneath the clinging skirt.
“Hallo, Ellie.”
Ellen spun around and nearly stumbled into him. “Trent! Oh, you startled me!”
“I thought you might be here, my dear, and I would come offer my support.” He smiled easily. When she just stared, he nodded at the card that hung from her wrist. “If there is dancing, I believe I should like to put my name there unless you already have a full card.”
“No, there is no one on it, my lord. You would be the only one brave enough to stand up with Brockhaven’s castaway.”
“I feared as much, Ellie, but I daresay I can remedy the situation.”
“No, pray do not trouble yourself, Alex,” she put in hastily. “If you are determined, I shall stand up with you, but I don’t think I could face the prospect of trying to converse politely with anyone else.”
“Not even Gerry?”
“Well, maybe the two of you, but pray do not try to force anyone else to stand up with me.”
“Poor Ellie,” he sighed, “still determined to be selfish with her scandal.”
He signed her card in four places—two more than was polite or acceptable—and then moved on to pay his respects to the ambassador and several members of the mission. Try as she would, she could not help following him with her eyes as he crossed the room, his tall, well-proportioned frame dominating those around him. He would have been remarked in any crowd, she was certain, for she could think of no more attractive man in the world. And he was dressed even finer than she had ever seen him, so elegantly correct in a perfectly tailored dark-blue jacket, burgundy velvet waistcoat, and buff trousers. Even his neckcloth was understated, tied in an Oriental rather than one of the more intricate styles. Other men might have to resort to ridiculously high starched neck points and fancy cravats, but Trent could set the fashion merely by being himself. It was rumored that Stultz, tailor to the Beau himself, had said he ought to pay Trent for wearing his clothes.
As Ellen watched, Sophia Mantini disengaged herself from her little court and caught at his arm, hanging there to whisper something in his ear. Whatever it was, he appeared less than amused, shook her off with bare civility, and turned back to Lord Halsingham.
John Farrell, having escaped by mutual consent from Lady Sandbridge, made his way ponderously toward Ellen, and she could not help comparing him to the marquess. While John was exceedingly handsome in a well-chiseled way and his body nearly of a height with Trent, he lacked both the physical and social grace of his lordship. Everything about him was stolid, from his manner to his walk, and he fairly exuded pomposity even before he opened his mouth. And once again, he was making it quite plain to everyone that he expected to wed Miss Ellen Marling as soon as her papa could be brought about.
“I thought perhaps that I might have the honor of a dance with you, Miss Ellen,” he began.
Resigned, she opened her card and started to write him in, but he read over her shoulder and shook his head repressively. “I should not allow you to dance with the Marquess of Trent, my dear, for if I may presume—”
“No, John, you may not presume,” Ellen snapped.
“Nevertheless, my dear, in your circumstance, it would not do to be seen in his company. After all, it is important if you are to reestablish yourself that you be circumspect in the extreme.”
“The last person to tell me that was Brockhaven,” she muttered with asperity, “and I do not propose to reestablish what was never established in the first place.”
“A vicar’s wife has a position in society.”
“But I do not aspire to the position.”
“You are overset merely,” he continued placidly, “for this is your first time out since your illness.”
“Ah, there you are, Ellie. Still got room on your card for me?”
“Miss Marling regrets—”
“Miss Marling is delighted, Gerry. There’s naught but you and Trent and John—and I am certain that John does not waltz.”
“I feel that touching the female form breeds familiarity,” Farrell retorted stiffly, “and I have made myself plain on that head.”
“So you have, John,” Ellen agreed smoothly, “Therefore, I shall save the waltzes for Captain Deveraux and his brother.” Then, knowing that she had wounded his sensibility, she laid a hand on his arm and gave him a weary smile. “John, would you be so kind as to procure a glass of something for me?”
“Poor Ellie,” Gerald teased lightly, “is that your worthy suitor?”
“He thinks so,” she answered pointedly, “and he is nearly as obtuse as Brockhaven much of the time.”
“Should’ve taken Trent, my dear. Much more fascinating, I should think.”
“Gerry, please, if you are my friend, you’ll not remind me. I have the headache, my face hurts from smiling when I know people are talking about me and speculating just why Brockhaven discarded me for a middle-aged prattle, and my spirits are about as low as they can get.”
“Ellie, I am sorry. I just don’t understand it, that’s all. Alex has taken it quite badly, my dear—says his hopes are all cut up. I thought he’d be too foxed to bring tonight.”
“He seems to have recovered rather well.”
“Captain Trent, we meet again, do we not?” a soft, throaty voice spoke from behind Ellen’s shoulder. “And I daresay this is Miss Marling, the one that was Lady Brockhaven?”
Without turning around, Ellen knew it was Sophia Mantini, and was instantly on the defensive. “I am Ellen Marling,” she answered almost warily as she moved closer to Gerald Deveraux.
“And you are not at all as I would have thought,” the Mantini murmured less than pleasantly, “and certainly not in Alex’s style. Tell me, Miss Marling”—her mouth twisted bitterly—“what is it about you that would make a man leave me in the middle of the night to come to you?”
Ellen could hear Amy gasp indignantly behind her. “I have not the slightest idea, Madame Mantini,” she replied coolly, “as to what you mean.”
“Do not come the innocent with me, Miss Marling,” the Mantini retorted, “for I know why Brockhaven was persuaded to give you up.”
“Sophie!”
“It is quite all right, Alex. I was but making the acquaintance of Miss Marling,” Sophia purred as Trent caught up to her.
“Sophie, I ought to wring your wretched neck,” he hissed low for her ears alone.
“Ah, but you will not, I think, for I am tonight’s entertainment,” the Mantini reminded him with a triumphant smile at the white-faced Ellen. “And do not be thinking you can stop the story, my dear Trent, for it is quite around already. Good evening, Miss Marling.”
“Devil a bit, Alex,” Gerald muttered. “What now?”
“We proceed as planned, but we do so earlier. Ellie, I am sorry if you had your heart set on waltzing away your evening, my dear.”
“No.” She shook her head. “But I have to find Aunt Gussie. I hope this does not overset her. I shall plead the headache and get my cloak and see if John can take us home.”
“Er, I believe he is occupied getting a fruit punch out of his clothing, my dear, and do not be worrying about Augusta Sandbridge. She’s more than able to deal with Sophia’s mischief. Are you ready, Gerry?”
“Happy to get the door for you, Alex.” Gerald grinned.
“Then, dearest Ellie, I see no reason to wait. Gerry, stand ready to hold any who would stop me.” Trent slipped his arm easily around Ellen’s waist and lifted her up before she could fathom his intent.
“Alex!” she squealed in alarm. “What in the world—?”
“Hold still, Ellie, and hang on. Here’s where I put it to the touch and hope you do not bring the house down.” He adjusted her in his arms and headed for the double doors at the end of the ballroom. “And do not be kicking, either, for I should hate to look like the veriest fool.”
“Alex! Put me down! People are looking at us,” she hissed.
“I certainly hope so, my dear, for you find me quite determined to share your scandal to the fullest of my ability. But it’s all right, love,” he added conversationally as he carried her past a stunned audience, “for ’twill be said the blame is mine—we Deveraux are a hotheaded lot—and I’ve waited quite long enough for you.”
“Listen, Alex, I can walk,” she choked in embarrassment under the bemused stares of the ambassador and his entire staff. “If you will but put me down—”
“I know you can, love, but this way I can depend on your coming with me,” he soothed as he shifted her before he reached the doors.
“Alex!” She clutched at his shoulder for fear of being dropped. “Listen, you cannot just do this. I mean, are you abducting me?” she demanded incredulously.
“Well, I should prefer that you think of it as a romantical elopement, of course, but I suppose you could call it an abduction.”
Gerald threw open the doors and swept Ellen an elegant bow. “Good luck, both of you. And Ellie, I am quite determined to be your brother, one way or another, my dear.”
Several of the guests still in the ballroom broke into applause as they cleared the door. Ellen clutched at him tighter when the cold winter wind hit them. “Alex, this is ridiculous! We shall be a laughingstock! Alex, you have taken leave of your senses! I think you are foxed!”
“Not at all, my dear. I am in full possession of all my faculties.”
“Everyone will be talking. Alex, please set me down.”
“In a minute. We’ve not too much farther to go. You know, Ellie, you are not as light as I thought you were.”
“Thet Miss Ellie?” Timms asked as he opened the coach door. “Ah, miss, ’tis good ter ’ave yer back.”
“Timms,” Ellen tried desperately, “tell him he cannot do this!”
“Eh? Why not?” the driver responded cheerfully as he climbed up on the box and waited for Trent to thrust her inside the carriage. “Seems right ter me, miss!”
“Alex, we will not have a shred of reputation left,” she tried to reason as Trent heaved his tall frame through the door and settled onto the seat.
“I hope not,” he agreed while pulling her onto his lap and cradling her against his shoulder. “In fact, I am quite depending on it. You see, Ellie, you think I think I am obliged to marry you because Brockhaven let you go.”
“You said we were obliged to marry—’twas you who said it.”
“Well, maybe we weren’t then, but I mean to make damned sure that before this night is over, I
am
obliged to marry you. Your aunt said I bungled it, that I didn’t make it plain that I wanted you, Ellie.”
“Alex, this is insane. Think of the scandal.”
“Aye.” He nodded imperturbably. “I thought of it. Here—you haven’t a cloak and neither have I.” He pulled a heavy lap robe around them and held her closer. “I haven’t forgotten the last time we got chilled together.”
“There’s no reasoning with you,” she decided with a sigh as she shivered against him.
“Shhhhh, just let me get you warm, love.”
For a time, he contented himself with holding her and dropping an occasional kiss on her hair and down to where the blanket lay against her nearly bare shoulder. His breath on her skin sent tantalizing shivers down her spine. His arms were warm and strong around her. And then his fingers began working the hooks at the back of her dress.
“Alex, no! Please, I can’t!”
“Shhhhh, it’ll be all right, I promise.”
“No!” She twisted in his arms and tried to face him. “Not like this!”
“How?”
“I … Please, my lord …” Her mouth went dry and her heart pounded harder as his fingers slid beneath the taffeta and began to knead the flesh of her shoulders.
“I’ve been wanting to do this for a long time, Ellie,” he whispered in the darkness.
The carriage rolled to a halt and Timms jumped down from the box to open the door. Alex quickly rehooked the dress beneath the blanket and slid her off his lap. Climbing out, he turned back to lift her out.
“I am not an invalid!”
“If you do not cease wiggling, Ellen, I’ll put you over my shoulders like a feed sack,” he threatened as he carried her into the house and started up the tall staircase. “Don’t look down. It’ll scare you.”
“For the last time, Alex, put me down!”
“For the last time, I will not.”
He kicked open the door to his bedchamber and walked to dump her unceremoniously on the bed. She fell back into the feather mattress and lay staring up at him like he’d lost his mind. He turned to latch the door. Slowly, deliberately, he undid his cravat and discarded it on the back of a chair before removing his coat and waistcoat and draping them over the cravat.
“What do you think you are doing?” she demanded nervously.
“Undressing.”
“Alex, this is ridiculous. I mean, you cannot mean to—”
“I mean to.”
She rolled off the bed and scrambled for the door. “But—”
“I am afraid it’s locked, Ellie.”
“Alex, be reasonable! Now I know you have taken leave of your senses. You cannot wish to marry me!”
“And that is a lie.”
She licked her dry lips nervously. “I will not be your mistress.”
He stopped unbuttoning his shirt to consider quite deliberately for a moment. “Did I ever ask you to be my mistress? No,” he decided finally, “I did not.” He drew his shirttail out of his trousers and removed the shirt. “In fact,” he added, “I am quite positive that I asked you to marry me.”