Bargaining With a Rake (A Whisper of Scandal Novel) Page 10

  “I’m sorry, Sally. Do continue.”

  “Let me see…” Sally tilted her head to the side. “Where was I?”

  “I believe you were speaking on his mother’s character flaws,” Alex said, trying to control his impatience. At this rate, this could bloody well take all night.

  “Ah, yes! Before you interrupted me” ―Sally hitched her brows at him― “I was going to tell you that Mother chanced upon Lady Westonburt scolding her son in the garden of a party about a year ago. It seems she wanted him to pay attention to some chit, and he refused on the grounds the girl resembled a cow or some such nonsense as that. Anyway, Mother says Lady Westonburt blistered his ears, telling him to march back in to the musical and woo the girl even if he had to ruin her to get her to the altar. Apparently, Lady Westonburt desires her son to marry any girl who has the highest title and the biggest dowry.” Sally shrugged. “Commonplace in the ton,really. What’s not acceptable is to ruin a girl to achieve this.”

  He ignored the pointed stare from Peter. He had no intention of simply ruining Lady Gillian. He would be providing her an opportunity for a much better life than she would ever have as Westonburt’s wife.

  Alex focused on Sally’s information and put himself in Westonburt’s shoes. If he were Westonburt and wanted to marry a woman with a title and a large dowry, why not ask for Lissie’s hand? Westonburt had been bent on revenge. Wouldn’t the ultimate revenge have been marrying into Alex’s family? So why would he not try?

  He could think of only one reason. He slammed his fist onto the desk. “Father.”

  “Pardon?” Sally said.

  “Sorry. I’m thinking out loud.” Father’s attitudes of rank and order were well known among the ton. Westonburt must have known his suit of Lissie would be met with disdain. The only thing that wasn’t falling into place was Lissie’s pregnancy. Westonburt couldn’t have known about the child or else he would have approached their father. Father would have had no choice but to acquiesce.

  Did she not tell Westonburt about the child? Possibly not. She was as prideful as they all were. If she had suspected the man had used her, she would not have said a word.

  No matter what the answers were, Westonburt seduced his sister ,then killed her with his selfishness and callousness. The man would pay. “Sally, do you know if Lady Gillian is planning on attending her aunt’s house party?”

  Sally grinned slyly. “I was hoping you would ask me that.”

  “You were?” He had planned to threaten to spill all of Peter’s secrets to Sally if that was what it took to ensure Peter did not tell his wife what Alex was up to, but things would be so much easier if Sally actually wanted to help him.

  “Of course, darling. I’m very intuitive, you know.”

  “And what are your instincts telling you?”

  “That you want to steal Lady Gillian away from Lord Westonburt to get your revenge.”

  Alex shot Peter a warning look when he coughed and sputtered. “My, you are intuitive.”

  “I knew it!” Sally clapped her hands together. “When I saw the two of you together at the ball, I positively knew you would suit, even when she told me she wanted to marry your business partner. An American. Imagine that! I can’t think what led her to such a ridiculous notion. You would make a much better husband for her.”

  This time Alex nearly choked. He covered his cough with his hand.

  “What is it, darling? Are you all right?”

  He nodded, wiping at the tears seeping out of his eyes. “Air went down the wrong way.”

  “Alex,” Peter growled from the other side of the room.

  “Keep quiet,” Alex snapped.

  Peter strode across the room to stand by Sally. “You know I can’t do that. I can’t mislead my wife.”

  “Mislead me in what?” Sally demanded.

  Alex sighed. He supposed Peter was right. It wouldn’t be fair to ask a man to lie to his wife. “I’ve no intention of marrying Lady Gillian.”

  Sally’s eyes narrowed on him. “What were your intentions?”

  “The first part of my plan is to seduce her and get her to publicly break her engagement to Lord Westonburt, so he will be humiliated in front of the entire ton.”

  “That’s your whole plan?”

  “Well, no.” Alex shook his head. “I’m going to take all the man’s money, his house and his overblown pride. Everything he holds dear.”

  Sally waved her hand at him. “I didn’t mean your plan in regards to that man. I was referring to your plan in regards to my friend.”

  What did she want him to say? “I’ll provide her with plenty of money to live extremely comfortably for the rest of her life. I’ll be saving her from a marriage she likely had no idea how to get out of. And she will be free to pursue her wish to live in America on the freedom my money will afford her.”

  Sally shook her head. “Men really are fools.”

  “Keep me separate from the anger you’re directing at Lionhurst,” Peter said.

  She glared at both of them before resuming her usual sweet smile. “I’m not angry. Why should I be? You”― she poked Alex in the chest― “are a fool. You underestimate Lady Gillian. She will never succumb to your seduction.”

  “I can be quite persuasive,” Alex said.

  “If you do manage to seduce her, I can promise you this― you will want to marry her. I know you. You just no longer know yourself.”

  “I won’t want to marry her, Sally. But I promise you, I have every intention of telling the lady exactly what I plan to do. She will know I intend to seduce her. I won’t bring an innocent down under false pretenses.”

  “How noble of you, darling. Just as I said, this will work out.”

  Sally’s attitude was grating on his nerves. “Now, listen, Sally―”

  “This is actually perfect,” Sally said, interrupting him. “The ton will forgive her for running away and marrying you. The scandal will be salacious, of course, but everyone forgives you everything.”

  “Sally,” Alex barked and raked a hand through his hair.

  She paused in her pacing and looked at him. “What?”

  “I am not going to marry Lady Gillian.”

  “You will. You’ll see. Shall I tell you a bit about your future wife?”

  “No.”

  “I visited her right after her mother died, but you wouldn’t know this.” Sally stared at him as she spoke. He shifted, uncomfortable with the pain in her voice and of learning anything favorable about Lady Gillian that might make him question what he was planning.

  “It was the dinner hour, and Gillian was alone in the kitchen eating. Her father and sister were eating in the formal dining room. I’ve never forgotten it.” Sally’s blue eyes bore into him. “I have often wondered if her father made her eat every meal alone. Wretched man.”

  These were exactly the kind of details Alex didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to like Lady Gillian or feel bad for her. Thinking of her as a schemer was easier. Damn Sally. Begrudging regard lodged in his chest. He understood loneliness and pain and what both could drive you to do in desperation. Was she desperate? So desperate that she would scheme to seduce a man simply to escape her life?

  Should he ask Sutherland if he was amenable to the lady’s plan? No. Alex dismissed the thought. The revenge was his to complete. He could not use his friend. Besides, Sutherland was a controller to a fault. Lady Gillian would regret her vows a month after she said them. Alex rocked back on his heels, considering his plan. He would be ruining her, but he would also be giving her freedom. Something she would never have without his money.

  “Sally, I may need your help getting Lady Gillian alone this coming week.”

  Sally’s gaze searched his for a second, and she smiled, more to herself than at him. “We won’t be at the house party until Monday, but I feel certain you’ll manage to find some way to get her alone on Sunday.”

  Several ideas, all inappropriate in the extreme, came to mind. Now the
problem was which tactic to take. He smiled, settling on a plan and a backup, in case Lady Gillian proved difficult. It was a very good thing he had never minded breaking a few rules, because he was about to embrace the destruction of them all.

  Gillian fingered the emerald brooch pinned to her bodice as she examined her appearance in the looking glass. She traced the oval cut of the smooth stone, a little sigh escaping her lips.

  When Whitney cleared her throat, Gillian met her sister’s brown gaze over the edge of the looking glass. “You’ve never worn that brooch.”

  “No. I suppose I was afraid of losing it.”

  Whitney reached out and touched the stone. “You’re not afraid anymore?”

  “Yes, but it somehow seems fitting to wear Mother’s brooch today.” Gillian pushed her arms through her coat and arranged the material to cover the brooch. “Mother had a certain flair, and I need all the help I can get in catching Mr. Sutherland’s attention.” That half-truth was all Whitney would get. “Just look at this.” Gillian pointed to her eyes, wanting to move away from her reasons. “Blue shadows. Not exactly the come-hither look.”

  Whitney’s lips curled into a smile. “I hardly think Mr. Sutherland will notice your face.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  Whitney lowered her gaze to Gillian’s bodice.

  “Is it too much?” Gillian tugged the deep plunging neckline of her riding habit up a bit, but no matter how she pulled on the material her breasts still swelled above the rich, dark fabric.

  “I’d say it’s not enough. Material, that is. But I suppose you have to display your wares in order for the man to buy the goods.”

  That did it. She strode over to her wardrobe. She should never have listened to Madame Beaupont and allowed the modiste to make this special “French-flair” riding habit. Her sister’s quiet snicker stopped Gillian. She whirled around, took one look at Whitney’s smiling face, and threw the hairbrush gripped in her hands. The brush knocked Whitney on the side of the head.

  “That hurt!”

  “It was meant to hurt,” Gillian replied, retrieving the brush from the floor. She tugged the brush through her tangled mass of hair, which hung heavily down her back. “I’m dreadfully self-conscious in this clothing, but Auntie and Madame Beaupont assured me it was necessary to get Mr. Sutherland to come to heel immediately. And frankly, after the dazzling displays of creamy white flesh I saw at Sally’s ball, I quite agree.”

  “I was only teasing you. You look lovely. Well, except for your hair.” Whitney snatched the brush from Gillian’s hand and yanked it through her hair.

  “Ouch! You little vixen!”

  “Oh dear. Did that hurt?”

  “Truce,” Gillian declared with a laugh. “Now help me dress my hair.”

  “Why me? Where’s Clara?”

  “Toothache,” Gillian mumbled, trying to get a pin in her hair. But the pin popped right out, and her hair fell back into her eyes. How did Clara make dressing hair look so easy? She would have to praise her lady’s maid more when she next performed the service.

  “Perhaps you should wear your hair down for the hunt?” Whitney suggested. “Look at my hair.”

  Gillian obliged, then stifled a giggle. Whitney’s hair was a wild mass of blonde curls with a few pieces plopped on top of her head in the most haphazard fashion Gillian had ever seen. “Did you fix your hair this morning?”

  “Indeed I did. Do you now see my point?”

  “I do.” Gillian ran a hand through her hair, thinking on the matter of her attire and hair. “It’s one thing to make a bold statement with this outfit, but if I wear my hair down to boot, I’m afraid Mr. Sutherland might proposition me for a night of pleasure instead of contemplating marrying me.”

  “I see your point. Come closer.”

  Gillian moved toward her sister and leaned her head back. “How’s this?”

  “Good.” Whitney began pulling up sections of Gillian’s hair, twisting them into some unknown creation and then jabbing Gillian’s head with sharp pins to hold the masterpiece in place.

  Gillian grimaced as the last pin stuck her especially hard. “I think you enjoy inflicting pain.”

  “Not at all,” Whitney declared, her voice trembling with laughter. “It’s just that your hair is so thick, and I’m dreadfully bad at dressing hair.” She patted Gillian’s head. “Do try for once not to ride so recklessly. This up do is likely to tumble down with too much motion.”

  Gillian nodded, but she could already feel the wind in her face and the strength of her horse underneath her as they soared across the countryside.

  Descending the stairs with Whitney beside her, Gillian paused at the bottom and took a deep breath. Everything rode on this week. Sally’s note assured her Mr. Sutherland was coming for the entire week, and Father’s gout was bothering him, so maybe he wouldn’t attend any of the functions.

  She tried to suppress her smile, feeling slightly guilty that she considered her father’s ill health fortunate. It wasn’t his ill health precisely, but rather that she needed a bit of luck and having his keen gaze off her was very lucky. She said a quick prayer that he would recover―next week.

  Today was the beginning. If she was going to get Mr. Sutherland alone, there was no better time than in the woods amid the underbrush and confusion of the hunt.

  Male voices drifted from Father’s study as she strode down the hall with Whitney on her heels. She did not pause at the study door; instead, she inclined her head to Mr. Percy, who scrambled to open the door for her. Sweeping into the sunshine, she called over her shoulder, “Tell my father we’ve gone to my aunt’s and that we shall see him later in the evening.”

  As she neared the stable, she motioned to the groom. “Mr. Ganter, please replace the saddle so I can ride astride.” The groomsman gaped at her, but to his credit, he recovered quickly and rushed to do her bidding.

  “What are you doing?” Whitney cried, looking truly concerned.

  “I have no hope of keeping up with Mr. Sutherland if I ride sidesaddle,” Gillian answered as she shoved on her gloves and tried to appear more confident than she felt. “Therefore, I’ll ride astride just as the men do.”

  With the help of the groom, Whitney swung her legs over the slowest mare in their stable and clung for dear life, though the mare was standing still. The horse moved and Whitney’s eyes grew round. “Blasted beast. Don’t move.” She glared down at Gillian. “Quit smirking at me. You know I hate horses.”

  “She senses your fear,” Gillian replied, employing the soft tones she had used for years to soothe her sister’s worries. “Just relax.” Gillian patted the mare’s nose. “May is perfectly harmless. She’s so old she can barely get a trot going.”

  “I do hope you know what you’re doing. Father will have an apoplectic fit if he sees you riding astride. Besides” ―Whitney swept a hand toward Gillian― “how do you hope to ride astride in that get up?”

  Grinning, Gillian mounted Lightning. “These new French riding habits are actually quite the thing for the bolder set of women. See?” She pointed to her split skirt. “Isn’t that wonderful?”

  “I suppose,” Whitney said, looking doubtful.

  “Don’t worry over Lady Gillian’s attire or her riding ability,” Mr. Ganter said, stepping toward Whitney and resituating the reins in her hands so she held them properly. “It’s you that has me concerned, since you never would let me teach you about riding. Your sister there” ―he hitched a thumb at Gillian― “is a fine horsewoman, better than most men I know. But you, little lady” ―Mr. Ganter shook his head― “need to just hold on tight and go real slow.”

  Gillian chuckled at the blush staining Whitney’s cheeks. It served Whit right for being so impudent. Mr. Ganter winked, and she winked back. She adored the old stable master, and he knew it. He had indeed taught her everything she knew about horses when Father had flatly refused to take the time. But more than that, Mr. Ganter had tried to soothe her wounded feeling
s by telling her Mother had loved her horse more than her husband, and Father couldn’t forget that. She would never forget how Mr. Ganter tried to make her think that it was not that Father didn’t love her, but that it was bad memories of her mother that made him act so coldly.

  She tightened her legs against Lightning’s muscular sides, and a fierce desire to ride recklessly into the wind shot through her and stole her breath. Whit would be fine. May knew the path to Aunt Millicient’s even if Whitney didn’t. Gillian caught her sister’s gaze. “I’ll see you there. Just do as Mr. Ganter said and allow May to lead you.”

  She tapped Lightning’s sides, and he dashed down the dirt road, kicking up dust as he gathered speed. Sweeping around the large iron gate that marked the entrance to their home, she raced toward the open green space before her.

  Rows of magnificent oak trees lined the countryside, and their sturdy presence comforted her. She took a deep breath, appreciating the heady freesia swirling around her. Burning wood and apple mingled with the freesia, and her mouth watered with memories of Cook’s apple tarts.

  An enormous sense of freedom and exhilaration swept over her as the crisp air caressed her face. The pounding of Lightning’s hooves caused the few pins binding her hair to loosen. She did not care. She encouraged Lightning into a faster gallop and laughed with the explosion of happiness coursing through her.

  As the countryside flew past, a bit of anxiety built within her, squelching some of her enjoyment. Her seduction of Mr. Sutherland needed to be fast. Each day she and Whitney were out in the ton, Gillian felt sure that was the day their enemy would reveal their secret and her sister’s life would never be the same. Whit never need know how their mother had really died. She never need live with the guilt. The long drive of Trent’s country home came into view, forcing Gillian to dismiss the possibility of her plan failing. How hard could it be to get a man to want to marry her?

  The sun glared down, and a little beads of perspiration stung her eyes. She swiped at them, trying to clear her blurry vision. The sun reflected off a stained glass window, blinding her, and she raised her hand in an effort to block the glare. Just as the path came back into focus, a rider loomed before her. With a gasp, she tugged on Lightning’s reins. The horse stopped with a jerk, and she hurtled over his head, landing with a jarring thud on her bottom. Her teeth clanked together with the force of her fall, but her senses returned swiftly, and she scrambled out of the oncoming rider’s path just as he veered the stallion to the right to avoid trampling her.