Wickeds Scandal (The Wickeds) (6 page)

Alexandra
now knew how horses felt as gentlemen haggled over them.  How she hated
her uncle. 

Mr. Runyon
gave her uncle a pinched, unpleasant look.  The lips under the light
blonde mustache curled a bit. 

Alexandra
was given the distinct impression that Mr. Runyon didn’t care for Oliver
Burke.   

“Miss
Dunforth, it is a great pleasure to meet you.”  He gave Lord Burke an icy
glance.  “Your uncle did not do justice to your looks or charm.”

Alexandra
nodded to him, wondering at the oddity of having two handsome men flirt with
her in the same evening.  And Mr. Runyon was handsome.  She’d wrongly
assumed that her uncle would try to marry her off to one of his gambling
cronies, most of who looked like wrinkled trolls.  Not someone so
obviously wealthy and attractive.

“I’m sure
you are full of questions, Miss Dunforth, as well I would be if our situations
were reversed.  I would like to answer them.”  He turned to her
uncle.  “Lord Burke, if you don’t mind I would like to take Miss Dunforth
for a turn about the terrace.   I’m sure she could do with a
respite.”

Her uncle
looked at if he might object.  His eye twitched again.

“Of course,
I-“

“Will wait
for Miss Dunforth in your carriage.  You should escort her home as it is
quite late.”  Mr. Runyon’s pale blue eyes bored into her uncle.

Odious
Oliver nodded dumbly.  He held up one pudgy finger, meaning to admonish
her with it, before Mr. Runyon cleared his throat. 

“Good
evening, Lord Burke.  You may call on me tomorrow.”

Mr. Runyon
turned his back on her uncle, dismissing him.  “Come, Miss Dunforth. 
We shall take a turn around the terrace and get to know one another.  I am
not a monster.”  His eyes twinkled at her.  “I’ve no wish for you to
think me one.”

Alexandra
flushed, charmed by Mr. Runyon’s easy grace. Her mind raced with the possibility
that perhaps he would help her. 

He guided
her deftly to a row of tall doors, thrown open to let in the air at the back of
the ballroom.  A blast of cooler air slid across her arms and she sighed
in relief.

Mr. Runyon
chuckled.  “Dreadful in there isn’t it?  Too much hot air!” 

Alexandra
laughed in return, delighted with his joke.  “You are not fond of these
events, Mr. Runyon?”

“No, I fear
I am more of a homebody, thus my unmarried state.”  He grinned ruefully at
her.  “I have spent many years living abroad and have only just
returned.”  He brought her over to the edge of the terrace. 
Alexandra could see the outlines of the garden lit dimly with colored paper
lanterns.   The muffled whispers of other couples hidden along the
terrace reached her ears.  Kisses were being stolen.  She touched the
side of her mouth briefly.

“I met your
uncle quite by chance while playing cards with a group of friends.  He
mentioned during the game that he had a niece who he wished to have
marry.”  He gave her an apologetic look.  “Lord Burke proceeded to
list your long list of undesirable traits, education, love of books, how you
expressed your opinions…”

“Did
he?”  Alexandra interjected defensively.  How dare her uncle discuss
her in such a way.

Mr. Runyon
squeezed her arm.  “Pray do not take offense!  I found all of your
supposed flaws to be highly valued.  At least to me.”  The wind
ruffled his light colored hair and she caught the light masculine scent of
him.  She thought of Lord Reynolds and the smell of cinnamon.  “I am
quite shy Miss Dunforth and not at all good at courting.  Which is why I
agreed to our meeting.”  One slender hand reached up and stroked his
beautifully tied cravat.  “Your uncle wishes you to marry and I
–well – I am in need of a wife.  My father, who is quite
elderly, and I are estranged.  I was quite the social disaster in my youth
and much too naïve.  I acted foolishly and brought some shame to my
father.”  He held his hand up.  “Nothing nefarious I assure
you.  I made a cow of myself over a woman.  I became quite
despondent. I was the laughingstock of the
ton
.  I’ve been loathe
to pursue a woman since.” 

“I will not
agree to marry a man I do not know.”  Alexandra stated firmly.

Mr. Runyon’s
nostrils flared and a glint of anger flared in his ice, blue gaze.  He
smiled kindly again and Alexandra thought she must have been mistaken.

“Your uncle
is
pressing me to sign a betrothal agreement, but I have been very clear with him
that I would not force you.  We should try to know one another better
before making such a decision.  I wish a joyful marriage, Miss
Dunforth.  I do not want an ill beginning.”  He stroked his cravat
again.

Alexandra
regarded him.  Mr. Runyon appeared to be nothing more than a kind, gentle
man who seemed a bit shy.  Having witnessed the way nearly everyone
gossiped since her arrival in London, she did not doubt the cruelty he’d
received.

“Surely
there are dozens of more appropriate women, Mr. Runyon.  I have been
raised far away from London and am not as sophisticated as many women.  Also,
I am considered to be long in the tooth and on the shelf.”

His gaze
shifted from her questioning look. Shyly, he looked back at her face.

“As I
stated,” he cleared his throat nervously, “because of my prior disgrace I fear
that many of the
ton
’s families find me
inadequate
for their
daughters.  Something of a milksop.  I was so young and stupid. 
Chasing a girl who strung me along. “I am pleased that you are not familiar
with my previous embarrassment.”  His eyes bored into hers as he clasped
her hands.  “Miss Dunforth, I am certain we would get on, as I find you
have a most pleasing disposition.”

“But my
uncle –“ A plan formed in her mind.  One that filled her with
remorse but one that could save Helmsby Abbey and those she held dear.

“Leave your
uncle to me, Miss Dunforth.  I will tell him we are getting to know each
other better and will sign the betrothal contract when we are ready. 
If
we are ready.” He winked at her like a conspirator.  “My attentions will
at least keep your uncle from casting his net, will it not?” 

Mr. Runyon
gave her a very firm look, his eyes full of protective furor.

As long as
her uncle assumed that she and Mr. Runyon were betrothed, Odious Oliver would
not attempt to find another suitor.  She was certain her uncle didn’t know
his control over her ended soon.  If she could just
use
Mr. Runyon,
for a bit.  

Mr. Runyon
looked so earnest.  Honesty emanated from him. 

Eventually,
after she explained, Mr. Runyon would understand her deceit.  
Alexandra gave Mr. Runyon what she hoped was a dazzling smile.  “Mr.
Runyon, I would be honored to accept your terms.”

“Wonderful! 
Simply wonderful!  I feel certain we shall form a strong friendship that
will grow into much more.”

Alexandra
ignored the twinge of guilt at his words.  She forced herself to push it
aside.  She would do what she must. 

Mr. Runyon
stuck her hand into the crook of his arm.  “Come, Miss Dunforth.  I
shall escort you to your waiting carriage.  I desire to call on you later
in the week, business permitting, would that be all right?”

She nodded
and smiled her assent as Mr. Runyon led her back through the ballroom to the
carriage where her uncle waited.

“I don’t
suppose the devil takes tea, so I should have nothing to fear.” Alexandra
smoothed the pleated folds of her yellow-sprigged gown and tried not to think
about the fact that she was about to be entertained by Lord Reynolds’s sister
and elderly grandmother.  Alexandra wondered again at the odd
coincidence.  Certainly, God must have a sense of humor.

A note
arrived that morning, written in a spidery, elegant hand.  The note
instructed Alexandra of the Dowager’s expectation that Alexandra join the
elderly woman for tea today.   She tossed the note at her uncle and
flew up the stairs to find something suitable in her wardrobe.  The
thought of escaping her uncle’s townhome, if only for an afternoon, filled her
with delight and an odd sense of expectation.  But what if she saw
him
?

Alexandra’s
fingers fluttered nervously until the digits found a curl lying across her
shoulder.  Her bottom wiggled against the settee as she tried to control
her agitation.  She twisted the curl round and round her finger, while she
imagined what she would do if Lord Reynolds appeared.   He won’t
remember me, Alexandra told herself for the tenth time.  I am fairly
plain, and he was toying with me.  Besides, if she would regain her
independence and save Helmsby Abbey, she didn’t need her meeting with the
biggest rake in London to become knowledge. 

Her face
grew warm in the cool air of the Dowager’s parlor.  Last night she had
dreamt of Lord Reynolds and the infamous dragon tattoo. Lord Reynolds had kissed
her and the dragon’s tail unwound from his torso to wrap around her.  Her
hands wove through the dark strands of his hair.  She awoke this morning
with her nightgown around her waist and a painful throb between her
thighs.  She could still smell the scent of cinnamon coming off his skin,
the sound of his voice whispering, “
Alex
.”

The clock
struck the hour and she jumped, her gaze flying to the door.  The dark
paneled walnut remained shut.  She had been waiting nearly thirty minutes
– giving her far too much time to dwell on fantasy.   Her aunt
had warned her about men and marriage long ago, using the examples of
Grandfather Dunforth and Lord Burke.  Men were trouble, Aunt Eloise
instructed her, titled men more so because they felt they
deserved
everything
.  Alexandra plucked at her sleeve.  Lord Reynolds was
nothing more than an adventure, something for her to remember in the autumn of her
life. 

She leaned
back into the couch and allowed her eyes to roam over the comfortable sitting
room that belonged to the Dowager Marchioness.  The walls were a muted
cranberry color with a motif of leaves drawn in a pattern around the edges of
the ceiling.  A large, plush Persian carpet in soft tones of brown and
green covered the floor.  The carpet’s weave was so deep that her heels
sunk into it when she walked to the settee.  She had never seen any room
so elegant.  Certainly nothing in her uncle’s garish townhome compared to
this.  A light breeze blew through the open window and Alexandra could
smell a combination of aromas, likely from the Dowager’s garden, waft
through.  The comfort of the room made her homesick for her study at
Helmsby Abbey.

She had
written out yet another note to Mr. Meechum, the family solicitor, the third in
as many days.  She wondered at his lack of reply, thinking that he
possibly was out of town.  Not trusting Tilda, the lady’s maid her uncle
hired to wait on her, Alexandra asked one of the stable boys to take the note
to Meechum and Sons.  The young lad tugged his forelock and went running
down the mews from her, in what she hoped was the right direction.  
Upon her return to the house, Tilda, her bulldog like countenance twisted into
a snarl, asked her what she’d been up to.  Alexandra ignored her. 
Tilda was more jailor than lady’s maid.  Alexandra did not owe the woman
an explanation.

Where on
earth
was
the Dowager?  When she’d arrived, the butler apologized
profusely as he directed Alexandra to the lovely sitting room.  The
Dowager was not quite ready to receive her, he said.  Alexandra tapped her
toe and struggled to keep her posture ramrod straight.  Aunt Eloise always
insisted on perfect posture, especially for Alexandra. 
“Sitting up
straight will give you presence, my dear!
”

“Hello!” 
A stunning young woman walked into the room, her long inky curls bouncing
jauntily against her tiny waist.  She walked into the room with broad,
unladylike steps, exuding confidence and a friendly air.

Alexandra
liked her immediately.  She stood and curtsied, assuming the girl in front
of her to be the Dowager’s granddaughter, and her host for tea. 

The
sparkling green eyes were so much like her brother’s that Alexandra was taken
aback. The young lady gave her a sly smile.  “You are Miss Dunforth. 
Grandmother has told me
all
about you.  You quite shocked her, you
know.”

“I
did?”  Alexandra wondered what shocked the Dowager more – her
cursing or her unruly hair.

“Why
yes!  She never expects to meet any young woman who is not a complete
dimwit.  The Dowager gets positively thrilled when she finds a girl who
seems to have a mind.  According to Grandmother, young ladies who can
think on their own are rather the exception.  I’m Lady Miranda Reynolds by
the way.”

Alexandra
bobbed her head, but Miranda caught her arm.  “Please!  Let us not
stand on ceremony.   I find that all tiresome.” She winked at
Alexandra and laughed, a light tinkling sound which made Alexandra think of
bells.   “I insist you call me Miranda. When people start saying
“Lady Reynolds,” I get all flustered thinking they are speaking to my mother or
Grandmother, but not to me.  At least they don’t call me
Satan
Reynolds
– they reserve that for Cam.”  She laughed again.