Ripe for Scandal (23 page)

At the sound of hooves on gravel, they both turned toward the stable block. Jamie clutched her skirts and buried his face
in them. Gareth swung out of the saddle and stood staring at them, disapproval leaking off him in waves.

Beau squared her shoulders and dropped one hand to
stroke Jamie’s head. The boy was here. Pretending otherwise was simply ludicrous.

Gareth’s expression hardened. Beau’s pulse was racing. Her knees wobbled. Whatever it was that her husband expected of her—wanted
of her—mothering his bastard wasn’t any part of it.

After a long, pregnant moment, Gareth spun on his heel and marched toward the house, pale queue stark against the dark-fabric
coat. Beau let out a breath that she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

“Shall we walk down to the cliffs and look at the ocean?” Beau said, loosening Jamie’s grip on her skirts. The child didn’t
answer, but he clutched her offered hand and followed along as she led him down through the garden.

It seemed simple enough when she looked at it dispassionately. All she had to do was acquiesce to Gareth’s command. Just let
the servants take care of Jamie. Leave him upstairs. Pretend he didn’t exist. Pretend nothing had changed.

It’s what most women would do, after all. It was the sensible thing. But she didn’t feel sensible at the moment. Mostly, she
was angry. Angry at herself for being so easily upset by something that she should have known was a distinct possibility.
Angry at Gareth for being exactly who everyone had always said he was, and angry at the world in general for disrupting her
plans so thoroughly.

As they approached the cliff’s edge, Jamie dropped her hand and Beau snatched up the leading strings of his gown, wrapping
them securely around her hand. The tide was in, the water lapping directly at the cliff base.

Beau studied the spit of sand that twisted off toward the village. No sign of the shipwrecked dog today, just a fisherman
dragging his boat up onto the beach.

The idea of writing to her mother for advice was risky. Too high a chance of the duke reading it also, and Beau simply wasn’t
prepared to face down her father again quite so soon. None of her friends would understand, and if their parents or husbands
found out the topic of her letter, they’d be furious and scandalized. The virginal daughters and young matrons of the
ton
did not need to have their minds sullied with topics such as surprise bastards and questions of how best to care for them.

There was her sister-in-law, but what if Viola told Leo? Her brother was already furious and more than ready to murder Gareth
given even the flimsiest of excuses. The last thing that was needed was more fuel for that fire.

Beau gazed out at the ocean, feeling suddenly very small and very alone. They might as well be living on a desert island.
There was no help anywhere.

CHAPTER 31

R
iotous laugher spilled down the corridor, followed quickly by a giggling, muddy child running full-tilt, cockhorse between
his knees. Jamie didn’t even pause as he passed Gareth, and Gareth made no attempt to catch hold of him. He’d learned quickly
enough that while the boy adored Beau, he was very much still under suspicion.

Their nursery maid, Peg, came rushing after him, hair straggling down around her face, mud smeared liberally across her apron.
Gareth pressed himself to the paneling as the girl attempted a curtsey without stopping.

Beau appeared last of all, face rosy with mirth. She lurched to stop when she saw him, and the laughter went out of her eyes.
Gareth did his best not to frown. Jamie had only been with them a week, and in that time, he’d found himself becoming a glowering
beast. Everyone, including his wife, had taken to avoiding him, which didn’t make him any more inclined to look upon the boy
favorably.

“He slipped out of the house and went to visit Frederick,”
Beau said, wiping at the mud on her own skirts. “And he seems to have got into the sty itself this time.”

“Likes pigs, does he?”

“Not as much as dogs or horses. Gulliver won’t let me touch him, but he allows Jamie to hang upon him, pull his ears and tail.
He’s even started to follow the boy about. Yesterday, Jamie climbed on top of the poor thing and tried to ride him, which
is rather what I think he might have done to Frederick today.”

“Sounds like poor Frederick to me,” Gareth said with feeling.

Beau tilted her head, studying him as though she were about to ask for something. Gareth’s pulse repeated upon itself unevenly.
He wanted back into her good graces, back into her bed, but he hadn’t been able to work out how to effect such a turn.

“The boy needs a pony,” she said, putting her hand on his arm.

Squeals erupted from the nursery, followed by a long wail and a clearly audible protest about being forced to bathe. Beau’s
smile flared back to life. Gareth felt a sudden stab of envy. How had he been displaced so thoroughly? She should have been
smiling for him, at him. He missed being the cynosure of her world. Once a man had experienced that, had been that, how could
he be happy with anything less?

“Isn’t he too young for a pony?” If the boy got hurt, it would be him that she would blame. And all boys got hurt when they
got their first pony.

“I was put into the saddle at about his age.”

“Put there?” Gareth said with a snort of disbelief. “Or
you climbed up and refused to give your brother’s pony back?”

She grinned, and he felt it all the way to his toes. He hadn’t seen her smile at him like that since the boy’s arrival. “It’s
not fair that you know my brother well enough to be privy to all my childhood escapades.”

Gareth shrugged. “Horse theft is a serious offense. Even when the horse in question is a pony the owner has outgrown. And
as I remember it, you were riding that very pony the first time we met.”

Beau bit her lip, white teeth sinking into the rosy flesh in a way that made his hands itch to touch her. She looked chagrined,
but a wicked twinkle lurked in her eyes.

“A boy’s not ready for a pony until he’s breeched,” Gareth said, staving her off.

“Those are just the clothes he came with. Jamie’s out of diapers. We’re going to have to replace them soon enough anyway,
and there’s no reason for him to continue being dressed as a baby.”

She took a step toward him, breasts swelling above her bodice as she leaned against him. The scent of her made him dizzy.
The electric shock of her touch had his cock flaring to attention.

“Find him a pony, Gareth. Teaching him to ride is something a boy’s father should do. Every boy deserves that.”

Gareth’s delight in the moment drained away, and Beau must have sensed the change in him, for she stepped back, hands moving
to fidget with the closure of her bodice. Another wail of protest sent her scurrying toward the nursery without so much as
a glance in his direction.

Gareth leaned back against the wall, cursing under his breath. Teaching a boy to ride
was
something his father should do, but he wasn’t Jamie’s father. And nothing so far had made the pretense that he was one jot
more real.

CHAPTER 32

G
ranby put his collar up to ward off the damp of the coming storm. Far above, at the top of the cliff, Lady Boudicea stood
staring off toward France. As beautiful as ever. And she should have been his. Her and her fortune.

He swallowed down the bitter taste that flooded his mouth. He’d been sure she’d loved him. Sure she’d see the romance in their
flight. Instead, she’d ruined his life.

He stared up at her, watching her skirts flap like sails in the wind. He’d traveled all the way from the Scottish border,
the thirst for justice as strong now as it ever had been. How to achieve restitution and satisfaction had been the question.
It wasn’t cheap, financing an abduction. If Nowlin and his friends hadn’t practically thrown their fortunes at him in the
gaming hells of Dublin, he’d have had no chance at his revenge.

His options had dwindled. Killing her wasn’t enough. It was too easy. He might enjoy the headiness of the moment, but it would
be over too quickly.

Lady Boudicea deserved to suffer for what she’d done
to him. Being made an early widow wasn’t nearly punishment enough. Especially when widowhood came with the security of fortune.
At her age, she’d recover from the loss.

He wanted her alone. Ruined. Hopeless. He wanted her to understand exactly how he’d felt when she betrayed him.

“Who’s the child?” Granby asked, narrowing his eyes to better see the tiny figure in Lady Boudicea’s arms.

“Village gossip says it’s her husband’s bastard,” Nowlin said.

“Really?” Granby replied, an idea flaring to life. “I’d say it was just as likely—based on her behavior, both previously and
now—that we are looking at the true parent.”

Nowlin stared at him stupidly.

“A fast, sporting girl, known to flirt and stray beyond acceptable behavior. A girl like that is capable of anything. Even
foisting her bastard upon a husband who was bought and paid for. Don’t you think?”

Nowlin mumbled something, and Granby snapped, “What? Speak up.”

“I said I wouldn’t know, sir.”

“Well, I rather imagine the world will think so too. Or at least enough of them to scandalize both their families and set
them all to fighting.”

“Why?”

Granby shook his head. “Because a united front is impenetrable. That was our mistake. We need them all at each others’ throats.
Full of hatred and distrust. We need them fighting, not talking. And we need to find out more about the origins of that child.”

“How? Where do we look? The mother could be anywhere.”

“You said his brother brought it here?”

Nowlin nodded. “That’s the story the maid told anyway when I bought her a pint last market day.”

“Very well, we start there. Somewhere there’s a witness. A story. Perhaps even a scandal. Don’t look surprised. Fathers make
arrangements for bastards all the time. Foster them out with a tenant family. Dump them in a charity school. What they don’t
do is take them into their homes. Not without a compelling reason, and certainly not hot upon the heels of their marriage.”