Читать книгу Nothing But Scandal - Allegra Gray - Страница 10

Though the Grumsbys’ house was spacious and well constructed, the walls could not completely mute the sounds of the ongoing party. Elizabeth willed herself to ignore them, but the occasional clink of a glass and low rumbles of laughter were excruciating reminders of how much she had lost.

She’d thought she’d reconciled herself to her new station. But knowing he was downstairs, likely surrounded by fluttering women vying for his attention…remembering how desperately she’d wanted his attention for herse…well, she simply could not concentrate on responding to Bea’s most recent letter.

At least the duke had left her alone since that first morning, reducing her opportunities to further embarrass herself. Not to mention reducing her own opportunities to gaze longingly at the man who obviously found her charms lacking.

Did he think her a charlatan in her new role as governess? Thank the heavens he hadn’t said anything to Lady Grumsby about their last encounter, or she’d have been fired and back in Harold’s clutches for certain.

Perhaps it was like Bea had said, and he’d dismissed her from his mind entirely. If only she could do the same about him.

Instead, Elizabeth wished that for one day, she could have the luxury Alex Bainbridge did—not the material items, but the luxury to behave however recklessly he desired, and emerge unscathed.

Another rumble of laughter sounded, and she imagined him at the center of an admiring group.

Finally she gave up all pretense of writing. If Bea didn’t receive a response immediately, she was unlikely to worry.

Elizabeth couldn’t sit still any longer. She pulled a light shawl around her shoulders and quietly left her room. A walk in the gardens was in order. To be so near the duke, and yet so far, made her heart ache. But she’d stay well away from the party. She’d no desire to see the other guests—it was only too likely she’d be recognized and pitied.

The faint scent of earth and new growth lingered in the air as she stepped away from the house. She breathed it in, relaxing slightly. The moon hung low and bright in the sky. She and the solitary orb had something in common: they were alone. She forced her mind to focus on it, letting the tinkling sounds of the house party wash over her like harmless waves.

She was away from Harold, and she had employment. She’d just never realized how lonely her new life would be.

Inside, Alex smiled obligingly at the comely miss—what was her name?—with whom Marian had set him up. He stifled a yawn.

Alex loved his sister dearly, but this party was beyond mundane.

“I think I need a bit of fresh air,” he lied.

The young lady brightened, no doubt imagining a romantic interlude. “Shall I accompany you, Your Grace?”

“No.”

Her face fell. She gathered her skirts and, with a hasty curtsy, rushed off to join the gaggle of women surrounding his sister. Perfect. Marian would undoubtedly hear firsthand about his beastly behavior. Alex tossed back his wine, wishing it was brandy. Marian could scold him if she wanted, but he wasn’t about to start encouraging every vapid miss that came his way. His heart wasn’t in it.

Before another of Marian’s guests could attach herself to him, Alex made a hasty exit, heading outdoors to back up the claim he needed air. He could always come back in through another entrance and seek the solace of his rooms.

Perhaps he’d become too accustomed to more wicked pursuits, because tonight, when the “entertainment” consisted of sipping wine and politely listening to pianoforte performances, he felt as though he were dying a slow death.

As he rounded a path outdoors and spied the silhouette of a young woman standing alone in the garden, the evening became infinitely more interesting—particularly because the gleam of moonlight on auburn hair immediately gave her identity away.

Unconsciously, he softened his step. This time, she’d not be able to avoid him.

He waited until he stood just behind her before asking the question he’d been pondering since discovering her in his sister’s employ. “Why are you here?”

She whipped around, eyes large. “Your Grace.”

He inclined his head.

“I was just, that is”—she gestured toward the sky—“the moon is lovely tonight.”

“So it is. But that only answers part of my question.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“What brings you here, Miss Medford? To Garden Home?”

“You know the answer to that, Your Grace. I am governess to your nephew and niece.”

“Of course.”

“What do you mean, ‘of course’?” Her chin went up. “Your sister was kind to hire me, and I am thankful for the position.”

He admired her unique combination of spirit and humility. She wasn’t too proud to admit she was grateful to have work, but she was strong enough to defend her choice. And now that he’d met Harold Wetherby, Alex had an inkling of why she’d made that decision. But he wanted to hear it from her. Why had she run away, when so many other women in her plight would have submissively married the prig?

“I had the pleasure of meeting your fiancé,” he announced, keeping his tone jovial.

She frowned. “My fiancé?”

“Wetherby informs me you two are to marry.”

Even the moonlight couldn’t hide her deep flush. Embarrassment, or something else? Anger, perhaps?

“Oh, yes. We’re very much in love,” she choked out.

“So Wetherby says,” Alex lied. “He is…really something. However did you manage to catch him?”

A strangled laugh escaped her throat. “Sheer luck, I suppose.”

“Oh, come now,” he teased. “A beauty like yourself? Wetherby must have done away with all your other suitors to even have a chance.”

“Something like that,” she said faintly, and pulled her shawl closer around her shoulders.

Ah. So she hadn’t had other offers. At least none her father had accepted prior to his death. Elizabeth was attractive, but her lack of dowry was public knowledge. Guilt pricked him, and he resisted the urge to draw her close and protect her.

Instead, Alex decided to raise the stakes of their verbal game. “So, tell me. How does Wetherby feel about his fiancée working as a governess?”

Some unidentifiable emotion flickered in her eyes, but she kept her stance proud. “I was quite grief-stricken when my father died, and not at all ready to wed. Harold understands that. And he understands the necessity of working to support oneself, having done so himself.”

Alex was willing to bet Wetherby would happily live off another’s largess, given the opportunity. But that was not his main concern.

“Ah. So he does know you’re here.”

She hesitated.

The game was up.

“Elizabeth? The truth, if you please.”

She looked away, her posture so rigid that, especially in the moonlight, she could have been made of marble.

“All right. If you must know, Harold does not know my new location,” she murmured.

“And you wish to keep it that way,” he surmised. She’d rather toil in obscurity than marry that cretin. It was a decision few of her sex would make, but one he could respect.

“You won’t say anything to him, will you?” she pled, stepping closer and placing one hand on his jacket. There was real fear in her voice.

He placed his hand over hers. Wetherby was more of a bastard than he’d thought, if he frightened her so. Alex gentled his tone. “No. I will say nothing.”

She breathed a sigh of relief. She made a tiny motion to withdraw her hand, but he held it firm.

“But you must make me a promise in return.”

“My lord?”

“I’ve yet to have a dull encounter with you, Miss Medford. Which sets you apart from most of your female counterparts.”

“Thank you, I suppose,” she answered. Her tongue darted out nervously to wet her lips.

A flash of heat, of pure sensual awareness, passed through him. He released her hand in surprise. “It was indeed intended as a compliment,” he told her.

“But what must I promise you?”

Never taking his gaze from hers, he gave her his most wicked grin. “Stop avoiding me.”

Her features registered surprise. Alex was tempted to kiss away the expression, but settled instead for a light brush of his fingers against her cheek before he strode back to the house. He’d learned what he needed to know—there was no point in scaring her off.

His sojourn in the country had suddenly become far more entertaining. If Elizabeth had the guts to keep that promise.

The Viscountess Grumsby didn’t know it, but she was torturing Elizabeth. The small house party was supposed to last a week. It was the morning of day three, and Elizabeth felt trapped.

She’d been on edge ever since Alex Bainbridge had galloped, literally, back into her life. Blast her awful red hair. But for it, he might not have recognized her so quickly. The moment she’d looked up into those mocking dark eyes, she’d been struck by both embarrassment and longing. This was the man privy to, and in some way responsible for, the most excruciatingly humiliating moment of her life.

And yet one look into that sinfully handsome face, one moment spent observing his obvious caring for his niece and nephew, and Elizabeth was once more lost. Only this time she couldn’t afford to humiliate herself. Her position depended on model behavior.

Decorum. Responsibility and decorum. She’d breached them once in her proposal to Alex, and once more in leaving home. A third indiscretion would surely mean her destruction.

And after their conversation in the garden last night, Elizabeth worried that indiscretion was exactly what the duke had in mind. If only the idea wasn’t so tempting.

If Viscountess Grumsby had any notion of the thoughts Elizabeth harbored toward her brother, she’d be cast out without reference. And while being a governess was not a life of luxury, Elizabeth was content, at least for now. The Grumsby children were sweet-natured and eager to learn and explore. The lord and lady of the house treated her kindly. Her own family had, thus far, left her alone. Eventually, Elizabeth figured, she would come up with a more permanent solution for her future. In the meantime, her governess’s work provided just the haven she needed.

Elizabeth sighed and closed the door to the nursery. She’d just turned the children over to their nurse for a midday meal and rest. The Grumsbys’ guests were gone on an afternoon outing. She could relax.

“I thought I’d never find you alone.”

Elizabeth gasped and turned. Her heart gave a little thud. There, on the stair landing, stood the man she’d just been trying to forget.

“Your Grace.”

“You can be quite evasive, Miss Medford.”

He sounded amused.

Elizabeth kept her gaze about six inches below his chin, unwilling to see the mocking expression she knew he wore. “I don’t know what you mean, Your Grace. My position here keeps me quite busy.”

“You haven’t been avoiding me?”

To answer she’d have to lie or reveal too much, so Elizabeth kept silent. She dared a quick glance upward. The look in his eyes told her he knew.

“Whatever happened to your promise?”

She lifted her chin. “I don’t believe I actually made that promise.”

“You disappoint me, Elizabeth.”

She disappointed herself as well, for the secret joy she took in his presence. Decorum, she thought once more, but the mental reminder was drowned out by the pounding of her heart, which had doubled in pace when he stepped near.

“Well,” he said with a slow smile, “it appears you have a temporary reprieve from your many duties. Perhaps you will humor me with a stroll in the garden?”

“I’ve just recently come in from the garden,” she replied, trying to keep from sounding peevish.

“I see. Well, perhaps you’d allow me to show you the library?”

“What are you doing here?” she asked instead.

“I might ask the same of you.”

The deep timbre of his voice sent a shiver down her spine. “You haven’t—” She swallowed and tried again. “You haven’t told anyone what I did?”

“No. Though I do believe I am owed some answers. I am—how shall I say?—concerned, with what I learned last night. To the library, then?”

She was caught. After all, she’d promised, sort of, not to avoid him. He knew her secrets. She needed to keep his good favor. In all the years she’d hoped Alex Bainbridge would seek her out, she’d never imagined it quite this way. The bright side, she told herself, was that she had been meaning to look at the library.

“I would be most pleased,” she acquiesced, trying not to think about what exact answers the lofty duke thought himself entitled to.

He gave her a satisfied grin and offered his arm, as though she were still Miss Medford, the baron’s daughter, and not Miss Medford, governess to the nobility.

Feeling it would be churlish not to accept the gesture, Elizabeth placed her hand in the crook of his arm and allowed him to escort her downstairs and to the library. She already knew its location, of course, and was quite capable of conveying herself there, but for just a moment she chose to forget the past several months, to forget the vaguely threatening note in the duke’s voice or the fact that he’d once rejected her utterly, and allow this fantasy to play itself out.

It was the middle of the day and there were servants about. Surely no harm could come of this.

“Ah, here we are,” Alex said as he led her into a large, well-appointed library. Bookshelves, each filled to capacity, lined three walls. On the fourth, large mullioned windows overlooked the lawns of the estate. The chairs and chaises scattered about the room were designed for comfort. It was the perfect place to lose oneself in a book, or even just in thought.

“’Tis a lovely room, Your Grace,” Elizabeth said. “Thank you for showing it to me.”

He shot her a knowing look. “You wouldn’t be anxious to be rid of me, would you, Miss Medford?”

“Of course not.” It was a lie, and he knew it as well as she. She pressed her lips together and took a deep breath. “You said you wanted answers. Well, here is your answer, Your Grace. That moment in the park was folly. A rash and unwise move on my part. I have never done anything else like it, nor do I intend to.

“As for the man who fancies himself my fiancé, I have never agreed to marry him—or anyone else, for that matter. I need this position, and I will work hard to keep it. Again, I thank you for showing me the library.”

He threw her a grin and swept a gallant arm toward the many shelves. “You’re welcome. But I’ve hardly begun. Here, now, what shall we examine first?”

She sighed. There would be no getting rid of him. Worse, there was a wicked part of her soul that rejoiced with each moment he stayed.

He bypassed a wall full of scientific texts, then stopped suddenly before a shelf of Byron. “Ah! I know. You have a fondness for poetry, if I recall.”

Elizabeth was no budding poet, but she had attended a poetry recital held by the duke’s spinster cousin a couple months ago. The whole event had been awful, from the lackluster refreshments to the crowlike voice in which the duke’s cousin delivered what, presumably, were poems.

No doubt Alex remembered because, in Elizabeth’s haste to leave when the wretched event was over, she had tripped over a sagging flounce at the hem of her gown and stumbled into him. And while she’d seen any number of ladies swoon gracefully into the duke’s arms, she had landed there out of pure clumsiness.

She gazed up at him now and caught the telltale twinkle in the duke’s eyes. She grinned helplessly. “I do love a good poem.”

“Well, I cannot claim to share my cousin’s…ahem,…skill in recitation, but I can show you my sister’s fine collection of poets.”

“No performance?” Elizabeth feigned disappointment as Alex directed her to the shelf packed with leather-bound volumes. “Likely it’s for the best. If I recall, I was so carried away by the last one I attended, I lost my bearings and nearly ran you over.” She kept her tone light as she turned to look at the poetry books.

“Of course, I quite forgot. Perhaps I should steady you, then, as you peruse these tomes, in order to prevent a reoccurrence.”

Elizabeth sucked in her breath as his hands settled gently on either side of her waist. The temptation to lean back into him, absorb his scent and strength, was nearly overwhelming. She bit her lip, hard, in hopes the pain would distract her.

“I shouldn’t allow this,” she whispered.

“If I recall,” he countered, “you were willing to offer much more.”

“That was before.” But she closed her eyes as his thumbs gently stroked her sides. “I just told you—”

“Shh. You are an unusual woman, Elizabeth,” he murmured, his head bent so she could feel the warmth of his breath behind her ear. “I confess you have quite captured my interest.”

They were slipping into dangerous territory. Elizabeth knew it and tried to change course. She reached out to finger a volume of poetry, though by which poet, she had no idea. “You toy with me, Your Grace.”

“Nay, never that.”

“I know well you find me less than tempting.” Elizabeth spoke with more conviction than she felt.

“You’re wrong. I think you a temptress of the most dangerous sort.”

His breath tickled her ear, awakening a longing for him to touch that same spot with his lips. She tried to focus instead on how crushed she’d felt when he’d rejected her that morning in the park.

She turned to face him. “Forgive my skepticism, Your Grace. It’s only that I find it hard to believe that when I was a respectable member of the ton, when I offered myself to you with no strings attached, you found me lacking. And now here I stand, a mere governess, and your interest is piqued?”

He shrugged. “I don’t like Society women.”

The blunt tone made Elizabeth study him closely. “You toy with me, Your Grace,” she repeated.

“I assure you, I do not. Society women are cold and calculating. They measure and analyze everything, down to the slightest comment or the color of a person’s gloves, in their quest to rise to the top.”

Elizabeth tilted her head sideways. He had a point. Her own mother was one such woman.

“You, on the other hand, fascinate me, for you were willing to give all that up. And then, I’ve seen you with the children. You are so much more natural with them, and I’ve seen you show them real affection, even though they are not yours. Which Elizabeth is real? The brazen miss that concocted that outrageous, though sorely tempting, idea for her own ruination? Or”—he lightly touched her cheek—“the one who stands before me, a caregiver who puts others’ needs before her own?”

He drew her inexorably toward a nearby settee, until Elizabeth had no choice but to sit. He sat beside her and laid his hand lightly over hers.

Any reply Elizabeth had been forming fled her mind.

“See? You know I am right. Look, here we are, away from Society, having an actual conversation. How many conversations have you had at a ball that didn’t revolve around what someone was wearing, who danced with whom, and how to interpret that as currency in the marriage mart?”

Elizabeth laughed. That was exactly what most conversations at a ball were like.

“You have a lovely smile. Although,” he mused, fingering the plain gray fabric of her gown, then lightly touching the hair she’d scraped into a tight bun, “I did prefer your appearance as a young lady of the ton.”

Elizabeth did not have time to be offended at the implied insult, for he continued in that thoughtful tone. “Odd, isn’t it, how in Society women strive to appear soft and inviting, when underneath they are hard and brittle? Yet you, as a warm-hearted governess, are expected to appear utterly proper, even drab.”

“I’m sure that is appropriate for a governess,” she replied primly, though his lingering touch on her hair sent little flutters throughout her body.

This was wrong. But she was powerless to stop him.

“Perhaps.” His hand covered hers again. “But it makes me wonder…what would happen if I pulled those pins from your hair? Would I have a woman before me who was soft and warm both inside and out?”

“I’m sure I don’t know,” she whispered, as his hand came up to test his theory.

Common sense dictated she retreat, quickly, to the safety of her quarters. But the future spanned endlessly before her, devoid of passion. Was it so wrong to claim just one moment’s pleasure for herself?

She made no move to stop him as he slowly pulled one pin, then another and another from her hair. Piece by piece it fell, until the whole mass of it lay tumbled about her shoulders.

“Yes, here is the beauty I recall. Like a waterfall, set magically aflame.”

His tone turned husky and sent a shiver of anticipation up Elizabeth’s spine.

“Cold?”

He stroked her arm gently, and the heat of his hand warmed her to the very blood.

She gave him a sideways smile. “I believe you may have a bit of poet’s blood in you after all, Your Grace, for that was surely the most fanciful compliment I’ve ever been paid.”

Her smile vanished, all teasing forgotten, as he bent his head to hers. His lips met hers briefly before he pulled back. The dark, smoldering gaze she met when she raised her eyes took her breath away, just before he hauled her against him and crushed his lips to hers.

His mouth moved against hers with barely restrained passion, molding, tasting, testing. Elizabeth was drowning in sensation. He held her fast, one hand buried in the hair at the nape of her neck as he tipped her back to deepen the kiss.

His tongue gently parted her lips, then probed, dipping in to taste, to stroke, until a sharp need began to pulse low in her belly. She reached out, her hands gripping his firm shoulders, seeking an anchor in the storm of sensation. Somehow she was no longer sitting, but lying against the settee, with the delicious thrill of Alex’s weight above her. She returned his kiss as best she knew how.

When his hand moved to stroke her, moving up her bodice until it cupped her breast, she moaned low in her throat. Alex continued the pleasurable torment, teasing her through the fabric until her nipple hardened into a tight bud.

Only when he dipped into her bodice, and she felt the shock of his caress on her bare flesh, did Elizabeth remember any sense of propriety.

She jerked back, twisting from him until she landed in an unceremonious heap on the floor beside the settee. She stared at him, trying to catch her breath. The awkwardness of her position hastened the return of her senses. Luckily she was too mortified by her lack of propriety to be embarrassed by her lack of grace.

What had she just done?

Alex stared back, his eyes full of dark heat. Slowly he straightened and stood, formally offering a hand to assist her.

Mechanically, she took it and allowed him to haul her to her feet. She straightened her clothing, then began searching for her hairpins, all the while not saying a word to the man she’d just passionately kissed.

Even as she berated herself for her behavior, she already missed his touch on her skin. What must he think of her? Oh, Lord, she was a fool. Much as she might wish for the freedom the duke enjoyed, she did not have it. Dallying with the Duke of Beaufort would surely get her fired from her governess’s position. She snatched up her scattered pins and hastily jammed them into her hair.

Alex, who’d remained silent until now, gently stilled her hands. “Here, now. There’s no need to stab yourself. It can’t have been that bad a kiss.”

Alex may have been used to such casual dalliance, but Elizabeth was not, and she did not know how to respond to the light teasing in his tone. How could he be so nonchalant? Had the kiss not affected him as it did her? Perhaps not. After all, he was far more experienced. To her horror, tears welled in her eyes.

She turned away to hide them, but not before the duke noticed. He cupped her chin to turn her head back, then stroked her cheekbone with his thumb. Elizabeth closed her eyes and held very still, wanting more than anything to go to him, to let him fold her in his strong arms and comfort her. It made no sense, for he was the cause of her discomfort, but her emotions were too jumbled to care.

Finally she managed to whisper, “I should go.”

To her combined relief and disappointment, he stepped back. “As you wish. There’s more to you than I would have guessed. I find you very intriguing, Miss Medford.”

Elizabeth, desperate to recover some normalcy, reverted to their formal roles and dropped him a curtsy.

He regarded her with amusement, evident in the slight quirk of his full lips and the crinkles at the corner of his eyes. He bowed.

“You may leave now, Elizabeth. But do not think for a moment I will not seek you out again.”