Authors: Embracing Scandal
“Oooh! You’re the most annoying, conceited — ”
By covering her mouth with his lips, he cut off this tirade. Not a kiss of passion, or even desire, but a warning as to who owned control. For one pleasurable moment, she relinquished power and relaxed into him, clutching his lapels as he tugged her closer. Victory, however, was short lived. Her breath coming in small pants, she shoved him away, while his senses remained addled after her surrender to his body. Momentary as it had been.
After gulping air, she launched into speech. “And remember one more thing, I don’t want you flirting with my sisters. Because they’re so beautiful — ”
“Staggeringly beautiful.”
Her shoulders hunched, as if protecting her sisters from a stampeding bull. She glared at him. “They learnt at an early age to recognise fawning behaviour from men.”
“Do you also recognise it? Or are the compliments paid to you more sincere? As when they speak of your hair being the colour of sunrise or that — ”
“Cease! Gentlemen don’t pay me such excessive compliments.”
“Why not? You’re as beautiful as your sisters.” He stepped closer and appraised her face and hair. “With your vibrant colouring, you’re infinitely more dazzling than either Laura or Lottie.” She gave a telltale squeak. The little minx was not as immune to flattery as she’d like him to think. With each rising breath, her breasts brushed his clothing. How could she not know what she did to men? To him.
“Don’t talk nonsense to me, Sherwyn.”
“Ah, I’ve offended you. We’re back to Sherywn. Soon you’ll be Your Gracing me.” She stepped closer and her nipples rubbed his coat, heated him, and mocked his attempts at control. Her figure was too ripe, her energy too unbounded, for her to hide her attributes. “My sweet temptress.”
He traced her décolletage with one finger.
“I’m not offended, nor do I believe you,” she contradicted in anger, her arms now crossed under her breasts in a way that thrust them even further into his eyesight. His downward view allowed him full sight of lush breasts straining above what should have been a discreet neckline, although nothing would look demure on Becca’s curves, despite her attempts to dress circumspectly. The woman aimed to kill him.
“So, when I tell you that every time I anger you, your eyes flash the most brilliant shade of green, you’ll not react.”
“Nothing you can do or say will offend me.” Those amazing green eyes narrowed and the air between them sparked with emotion. “I refuse to respond to anything you say.”
“Or, if I tell you that every time I watch your dainty little tongue poke out to wet your lips, I want to lick them again.”
“I … I already know what gentlemen say of me. Even the women.”
“And what is that?”
Her expressive eyes clouded with pain.
“They think me too much a bluestocking to be of any consequence.”
“Your intelligence is a factor in your favour, sweetheart, not a drawback.”
“It’s not my only drawback as far as men are concerned. Moreover, do not call me sweetheart. I loathe false endearments.”
He ignored her reprimand. “What else have these gentlemen been telling you?”
“I’m too headstrong.”
“Only milksops want a woman without spirit. One who doesn’t challenge their manhood?”
“Lord Ben … a certain gentleman informed me on more than one occasion that expressing passion was common. Only women of the night exhibit such emotions. Ones that are paid to appear exuberant.”
“If Lord — whatever his name is — was a real man, he’d want a woman with heat. With passion.”
“Well, he didn’t want me. He said he couldn’t risk marrying a woman who acted the harlot, as he would never know if she performed the same way with his friends.”
“Hell! Lord what’s his name disgusts me. Any man would be proud to have you as a wife, Becca.”
“Even you?”
She gasped, and then covered her mouth with her hands. “Forget I said that, please.”
Drawing her hands to his lips, he kissed the backs. “I’m not in a position to take a wife. But if I could, you’d definitely suit me, or any sensible man.”
“Huh! Not the sensible men I’m acquainted with. They happily quiz me for advice yet, if asked, they deny taking heed of anything a woman told them.”
Becca jerked her hands away and walked to the tea tray to pluck up a biscuit. Her small retreats intensified his determination to uncover the identities of her detractors.
From the table near the fire, he picked up an open book. “
The Idea of Progress
by Francis Bacon. Hmm. Interesting reading.” He glanced at her. “Yours, I presume?”
She nodded. “Bacon is a great social visionary. He believes that if learned persons, armed with new methods and insights, would open their eyes and minds to the world around them, then social injustices could be righted.”
“Ah, yes. Something that appeals to your profound sense of right and wrong.”
“Knowledge is power.” She waved her half-eaten biscuit in the air as a prop to her speech.
“Bacon has been criticised for underestimating the role of imagination and overestimating the value of observation in new scientific knowledge. You shouldn’t make that mistake, Becca.”
“It’s not a mistake to depend on tangible evidence when making decisions.”
“I’d rather see the vivid imagination of a young girl unleashed again, one who believes in fairies and dragons. Burying yourself in accounts and ledgers to help your family is a noble cause, but you’re also a woman.” He stepped closer to run a finger down her cheek. “A remarkable one who should be courted by gentlemen who appreciate both sides of your nature. The pursuing and the pursued.”
“I fear you may be the only man in England who feels that way. My sisters are pursued. Not me. I’m happiest pursuing information, researching ideas, not chasing dreams.”
He studied her in silence. “I’ve decided how to claim my recompense.”
She sighed, her shoulders drooping. “You’ve decided on money after all.”
“Uh, uh.” He shook his head. “Not money.”
“What then?”
Colour flushed her pale cheeks. The other thing he’d claimed last evening must have occurred to her. He laughed. “Ah! You’re not as brazen about these matters as you’d like me to believe. You’re thinking about bedroom pleasures.”
“Madame Faberge says that’s all men think about.”
“Except for me.” He waggled his eyebrows and grinned. “Not at present. I’ve had no time to think of pleasure for many months. Although, re-encountering you has reminded me of what I’m missing.”
Her cheeks pink tinge deepened and she gnawed her bottom lip.
“However, I’m unable to entertain such thoughts until I’ve settled my family matters. That may take some time. My short-term solution to both our problems is for you to accompany me on my jaunts around London. I shall gather your information. You shall safeguard me.”
“That’s impossible. My sisters are being brought out, at long last, and I assist Aunt Aggie in providing chaperonage.”
“And who chaperones you?”
She sneered. “I’m long past the age of requiring one.”
“Rubbish. You’re still a young woman and an extremely desirable one.”
“Nevertheless, I’m the eldest and therefore responsible for my sisters’ safety.”
“And who is responsible for yours?”
“My pistol keeps me safe.”
“Michael also told me you missed experiencing your own season.”
“My brother had no business discussing my personal affairs with you.”
“He was concerned for your well being. You’ve no more experience than your sisters with men whose sole reason for attending balls is to seduce innocents.”
“You’d know all about that of course,” she sneered.
He flinched but ignored the stab of pain to his heart.
“The obvious solution is to join forces. If we attend the same events, our search will proceed faster. And you can’t dispute that your sisters would benefit from being accompanied by a duke. Plus, I would be on hand to protect all of you.”
“What a ridiculous idea. If you are constantly in our presence, it will cause gossip. People will assume you are courting one of my sisters.”
He gave her a smug smile. “Not if we announce that you are my betrothed.”
“Betrothed? Me?” Becca gaped at him. “Preposterous. Who would believe such a thing?”
She glanced down at her morning gown and frowned. Having recently been in Paris, he recognised it as not being of the latest fashion. The Jamison’s strained finances may have restricted the ladies spending on their gowns recently, but their garments were tasteful and of good quality. Somebody in the family knew how to stretch their money while still keeping up appearances. Probably Becca.
“I’m me and you’re Sherwyn, a man of importance and wealth.”
“Nonsense. You’re the daughter of an Earl and your pedigree is as blue-blooded as mine. If it’s the outlay stopping you, I’ll bear the expenses for you and your sisters. For gowns, shoes, and such.”
Her eyes flashed. “No. You. Will. Not. I’ve made-” She swallowed hard. “Michael recently made a tidy profit on some investments. Our family is not short of coin.”
“Good, then it’s settled.” Having enticed his prey into the trap, the hunter moved in for the kill. “You, and your family, will purchase all the finery necessary to attend various social events as my future bride.”
“Absolutely not. If we must attend, it will be as family friends. We will inform people that you are kindly escorting my sisters in lieu of an available male family member. Not as your future anything.”
“Very well. I’ll make it known I’m courting you in an attempt to win your hand.”
“I said escorting. Not courting.”
“A fine distinction that doesn’t signify. I’ll arrange for all the necessary invitations.”
Her hands went to her hips. “I’ll need to see them in advance to decide which I’ll have time to attend. Pressing matters of finance for the women’s society require my attention.”
He ignored her and kept talking. “We shall be attending two events this evening. Then the Townsend’s ball on Thursday. Next of course, the ill-fated house party.”
“Impossible! We cannot be ready by tonight.”
“I’m sure that four industrious Jamison women can produce something suitable. I’ll collect you at eight. Don’t be late.”
To hide his smugly satisfied smile, he turned and strode to the door. His disagreeable friend had been so busy arguing the larger points that his small victory slipped past her defences.
He lengthened his stride, eager to escape unscathed. He’d dearly love to see the look upon her face when she realised he’d tricked her, but his life would be in peril.
“Oh, and Becca — ” He halted and turned to look over his shoulder at her, unable to resist delivering the last word straight to her face. “Any man that prefers either of your sisters over you, is a complete fool.” He waited, enjoyed her gasp of surprise. “And I … am not a fool.”
• • •
Closing the drawing room door behind him, Cayle raised a finger to his lips to silence the footman. Waited. Listened. A loud crash signalled a piece of china hitting the door. He hoped it wasn’t priceless. The language emitting through the wood panelling turned the rough-looking footman’s face red and he offered an apology.
“Lady Jamison shows a right foul temper when roused, Your Grace. She learned such language from doin’ business with them trollops. Most of a time, my lady is as cool as still-room ale, but ‘appenings in this ‘ere ‘ouse at the moment, be enough to try a saint.”
Cayle grinned. “By the sound of that — ” They flinched as another piece of china shattered. “I’d say I’ve provoked her ladyship beyond endurance.”
“Yes, Your Grace. You must ‘ave said somethin’ powerful provoking for ‘er to toss the china. Last time was a year ago after her papa went travellin’ and left ‘er ladyship with them unpaid bills.”
“I think Lady Rebecca just realised I bested her. I’m quite certain that doesn’t occur very often.”
“Lady Rebecca be the cleverest of the Jamisons, by far.”
The footman was far overstepping his position by confiding in a visitor, ducal titles withstanding. Yet from his observations, the Jamison employees behaved in as unconventional a manner as the employers. Nevertheless, they appeared loyal to a fault.
He couldn’t resist prodding further, “Cleverer than even her brother, Michael?”
“The Jamison men — not the old earl I don’t mean — may be at Oxford getting’ educations as befits gents, but our Lady Rebecca, she’s the one what attends to matters ‘ere. Thompson, our butler, he says the gentry fun our good lady for being so clever with her mind. Begging your pardon, I mean no offence, but some gents think a woman’s only good for two things.”
Before Cayle could stop him, the footman went on to explain a concept that was self-explanatory to any man who frequented low class inns. “In a kitchen, or on their backs, if you takes me drift?”
He groaned. “Yes, believe me, I do understand. But you think Lady Rebecca is destined for more?”
“Too right, sir. She talks to us ‘bout our wages. How to save it, like. And she ‘elped Thompson open a little sewing shop for ‘is wife.”
The footman opened the door and Cayle swung down the steps at Grosvenor Square, whistling a merry tune. He tucked away those fascinating snippets of information to ponder later.
Two weeks was ample time to investigate the consortium and lay charges if he uncovered any criminal activity. If a group of powerful men used blackmail or coercion to squeeze money out of innocent investors, he and his friends would delight in collecting enough evidence to hand them over to the magistrate. Under no circumstances could he allow the Jamison ladies to continue their dangerous inquiries, when he was able to settle the matter for them with little effort.
He’d be glad of this chance to repay the family, especially Becca, for past kindnesses. As a young woman, she’d allowed him more freedom to break free of his father’s constrictions, to laugh and be himself, than anyone else in his life. However, he was astute enough to recognise that one fiery bundle of energy in the form of Lady Rebecca Jamison may make a complete mockery of his careful planning. Her mind was a conundrum he itched to unravel just as the marauder in him ached to unwrap the lush body under her unorthodox packaging. It had startled him anew to realise just how small she was, with her unruly head of curls barely reaching his shoulder. Her vitality and constant energetic motion made her appear bigger, braver, and more capable.