A Dash of Scandal

Twelve

“Tempt not a desperate man,” Shakespeare wrote in Romeo and Juliet, and the Society papers are writing it, too, as all of London is buzzing about the news that the Mad Ton Thief has struck again and those on Bow Street have no suspects.—Lord Truefitt, Society’s Daily Column
“Lord Dunraven,” Millicent greeted as she walked into the front parlor, her modest afternoon dress swishing across the tops of her satin slippers. Glenda followed her into the sunny room but stayed near the entranceway.

“Miss Blair,” he said and strode toward her. “Thank you for seeing me.”

Millicent knew immediately that something was wrong. The earl was his usual handsome self, she thought, but something made him appear different. His hair had been ruffled just enough by the wind to make it attractive, but that wasn’t it. His collar was straight and his neckcloth simply but superbly tied. His lips, those full, masculine lips, were the same as yesterday when he kissed her, so what was wrong?

Ah, yes, she found the problem. The only thing that seemed out of place on the dashing gentleman was the wrinkle of frustration that settled between his beautiful blue eyes.

A hint of worry knocked in Millicent’s chest, but she managed to brush it aside, lift her chin and her shoulders a tiny bit higher.

“I’ve just had another visitor leave, so I’m afraid I don’t have much time.”

“Yes, I saw Lady Lynette leaving as I arrived.”

Oh, dear. “Did she see you?”

“No.”

Thank goodness. Lady Lynette would question her unmercifully if she got wind of Lord Dunraven’s visit. Remembering Lady Lynette, Millicent looked at the earl’s empty hands and realized that he had not brought her apricot tarts. If what Lady Lynette had said about Lord Dunraven always bringing apricot tarts was true, and everything she had told Millicent so far had been, she couldn’t help but wonder why there were no tarts for her. And should she see that as a good sign or a bad one?

Millicent relaxed a little and turned to her maid and said, “Glenda, would you mind asking Mrs. Brown to speak to the cook about a fresh pot of tea for us and perhaps some of her delicious fig tarts?”

“Yes, miss.”

As soon as Glenda was out of sight, Millicent advanced on Lord Dunraven with purpose. She clasped her hands together in front of her plain day dress and said, “I find it most disconcerting that you have gone against my wishes and called on me after I have repeatedly asked that you not do so. I must ask you to leave at once.”

His expression remained sober, and he didn’t appear the least bit cowed by her firm accusation. If anything, his shoulders seemed to lift a little higher, too. “Something important made me decide to ignore your wishes and come. I’m not leaving right away.”

Determined to keep her aggressive attitude, Millicent said, “What could be that important, sir?”

“This.” He took a piece of newsprint out of his pocket and held it in front of her.

Millicent remained unflinched, she hoped. She couldn’t let Lord Dunraven know she didn’t have to read the piece of paper to know what it said. She had put the finishing touches on it not more than a few hours ago.

Knowing that it was crucial that she remain calm and collected she said, “An old piece of newsprint? What about it?”

“It’s Lord Truefitt’s column from The Daily Reader. You’ve heard of it?”

Keep your answers short and do not offer anything he doesn’t ask for.

“Yes.”

“Do you know what this particular column says?”

“I’m not sure which edition you are holding.”

“It’s today’s. Now, do you know?”

If the stakes weren’t so high, she would enjoy this question-and-answer game they were playing.

“I believe I do.”

“Do you have any idea how it came about that it was written?”

Millicent had to keep her wits about her and remain confident that he did not know she had anything to do with the writing of that column. She didn’t know what she was going to do, only that she couldn’t fib to him without her conscience bothering her and no doubt he would see through her attempts to blur the truth.

She worded her answer carefully, “What specifically are you referring to?”

“The fact that your name is linked with mine in the title-tattle.”

Maybe this is a good time to change the subject.

“Perhaps because we have danced together at the last two parties.”

“I dance with many young ladies at every party.”

On watery legs she walked past him and over to the window with seeming indifference. She brushed back a sheer drapery panel and looked outside to the street before turning back to him and saying, “How fortunate for you. You are quite the dashing dandy. I’m sure many ladies desire to dance with you each evening, Lord Dunraven.”

The furrow between his eyebrows deepened. Flattery was not going to work. She hadn’t expected that it would, but that maybe it would buy her a little time to figure out how to handle his questions. She watched him walk across the room with confidence born of knowing exactly what he wanted and expecting to get it. He stopped beside her at the window.

“You know that’s not what I meant.”

“Nevertheless, every eligible young lady and most of the widows seek your favor and attention.”

“Miss Blair, are you deliberately trying to compliment me again?”

His gaze never left her face as he challenged her, still she didn’t flinch.

“Lord Dunraven, I speak the truth. If you are flattered by it, then that is your problem or pleasure, whichever the case might be.”

“No, I think you are trying, unsuccessfully, I might add, to change the subject?”

“I didn’t realize the subject was changing.”

“Didn’t you?”

“We were and are talking about you and dancing.”

He stepped even closer to her. Millicent wanted to retreat, but there was no place for her to go except against the wall. She remained unmoving with her gaze held fast to his.

“No, we were talking about you and I being romantically linked in this column.” He dropped the paper to the rosewood table that stood against the wall near him.

She looked up at his handsome face, still marred by the frown of anger. “I’m sorry that it displeases you to have your name so closely linked to mine.”

“That’s not the problem and I think you know it. I’m not upset to have your name connected to mine.”

She made a point of taking a deep breath and a loud sigh of relief. “That is good to hear.”

“Millicent, it always displeases me when my name is stewed in scandalbroth, and recently it seems a daily occurrence. Tell me, how do you think Lord Truefitt found out that I blew you a kiss?”

“I suppose he must have seen you,” she answered with certain confidence.

“I don’t think so.”

“You seem sure of yourself.”

“I am. Have you forgotten that we were alone in that darkened hallway together when I blew that kiss? Just you and I and the candlelight.”

Millicent felt her eyes grow wide. Her heart slammed against her ribs. Angels above! She had been caught, and she had done it to herself.

“How can you be sure?” she asked.

“If anyone had seen us together that night it would have made the papers the next day or no later than the day after. So why has it suddenly shown up today?”

Millicent’s mind whirled. Perhaps there was still some way she could save herself and her aunt. She had to try. She couldn’t just give up without an argument.

“Perhaps Lord Truefitt is a spiritualist. That would explain why he knows so much.”

“A seer? I don’t think so.”

She hated to feel desperate! “It’s possible. There’s talk that the Mad Ton Thief is really Lord Pinkwater’s ghost.”

“I don’t believe that for a moment, and you are far too sensible and levelheaded to believe it.”

“Of course, I don’t believe the thief is a ghost. I’m merely pointing out there is the possibility of more than one way that Lord Truefitt could have known that you blew me a kiss.”

She moved to walk past him and away from the window where they stood. Chandler quickly stretched out his arm and braced his hand against the wall, stopping her from passing.

Suddenly he was much too close to Millicent.

He spoke in a low but firm tone. “I’m not going to let you change the subject, Millicent. We are talking about the column, not dancing, not the thief, not a ghost. The column with my name and your name in it. Remember?”

“I believe I do.”

“Good.” He folded his arms across his chest in a comfortable relaxed manner. “I have a theory regarding how this came about.”

“I’m sure the authorities would welcome any conjecture you have on the thief.”

His voice remained low and calm. “Nice try, but it’s not going to work. I’m talking about Lord Truefitt’s column, not the thief.”

“Oh.”

“Would you like to hear it?”

“No, I don’t believe I would,” she answered honestly. “And I think we’ve said about all there is to say on the subject.”

“I think you should hear it. I insist.”

She took another deep breath. “All right.”

“I think you are a spy for Lord Truefitt and his gossip colum—”

Before he finished the last word, Millicent stepped forward and placed her fingers against his lips, silencing him. “No, Lord Dunraven, please don’t say it aloud.” She glanced around to see if Glenda had returned and then quickly back to Lord Dunraven. “You mustn’t breathe a word out loud about your theory.”

While her fingers rested upon his lips, their eyes met and held for far too long. She felt as if he were trying to look into her soul and see the Millicent Blair she didn’t want him to know. Millicent felt his warm moist lips against her fingers, and didn’t want to take her hand away.

He grasped the palm of her hand and kissed the pads of all four of her fingers before lowering her hand and letting go of her.

“I can’t let you tempt me.”

Millicent was hardly breathing. Tempt him? She was the one being tempted. Didn’t he know how easy it was for him to distract her and make her forget everything but his presence?

“I’m sorry,” she said, taking a step away from him and toward the window. “That was impolite. I shouldn’t have touched you like that.”

“Don’t apologize. I don’t mind that you touched me, but I can’t let it distract me.”

“But I shouldn’t have—”

“It’s all right, Millicent.”

She lowered her lashes. “Please don’t call me that. You really shouldn’t be so informal when addressing me, sir.”

“Why? After yesterday afternoon, I feel free to suggest we are intimate friends, and it’s quite acceptable for me to call on you and to address you as Millicent. And furthermore, you should call me Chandler.”

Her gaze met his again. “No, I was hoping you would forget what happened yesterday afternoon.”

“That won’t happen.”

“I forgot about it until you reminded me just now.”

He shook his head slowly and his eyes sparkled with perception. He said, “I don’t think so.”

How could he be charming even when he was mocking her? “A true gentleman would never remind a lady of an indiscretion.”

“We’ve already established that sometimes I’m not a gentleman.”

“Most times, I fear, and no truer words have you spoken.”

“And returning to the main subject we have to discuss, it is also true that you are a spy for Lord Truefitt, isn’t it, Millicent?”

It was on the tip of her tongue to deny it, but she saw in his eyes that there was no use. He knew.

She acknowledged him with a question of her own. “Were you only guessing when you first suggested it? Did I confirm it by my action?”

“Once I started adding things up, it became an easy answer to see.”

“How?” Millicent sighed, knowing how disappointed—no, devastated—her aunt would be to have lost her eyes and ears for the parties. “I have been so careful.”

“You were always making notes. I’ve watched how you walk around the parties and listen to people and then go off on your own to write down what you’ve heard. When I read what was on the back of the dance card you dropped on the floor, I assumed you were making notes so it would be easier to remember people’s names and their titles, since you were new in Town.”

“You found my missing dance card.”

“Yes, I needed to know what you were doing when you walked off alone.”

What must have really happened dawned on Millicent.

“You brute, you deliberately switched my dance card with another just so you could read what I had written, didn’t you? You changed cards with me and gave me the blank one?”

“Yes.”

“I should have figured that out myself. I’ve known from before I met you that you were a scoundrel and rake not to be trusted with anything. I knew there had to be a reason you were called one of the Terrible Threesome. You wear your title well, Lord Dunraven.”

“I’m not as bad as the tittle-tattle has led people to believe. I only switched the cards because I thought you were working for the Mad Ton Thief.”

“What? That’s ridiculous.”

“Think again, Millicent. It was a plausible idea.”

“No sane person could think that. Whatever made you come up with a connection like that?”

“Logic. The first item was stolen just about the time you came to Town. At two different parties, I found you in parts of the house where as a guest you shouldn’t have been—making notes on your dance card.”

She blinked. “You saw me twice?”

“The first time was the evening we met in the narrow hallway and later that week when you were in a private room in front of the fireplace.”

“You saw me in there?”

“Yes, writing on the back of your dance card, again.”

“You were watching me, hoping I would lead you to the Mad Ton Thief?”

“More or less that’s how it was, yes.”

“How could my making notes on my dance cards possibly connect me with the likes of a robber?” Millicent asked indignantly.

“I thought perhaps you were making notes of items in the house that could be easily stolen and hidden under a coat or cloak. Something that could be taken out of the house without notice.”

This was unbelievable. “Oh, my heavens! You think I’m a thief?”

“An accomplice. I thought you were giving your notes to the thief so that he could come back later and steal one of the items you listed.”

Millicent was almost speechless—almost. “That’s absolutely wretched of you. I don’t believe this. You were watching me all this time, talking to me, dancing with me, and you kissed me so passionately in that shop thinking that I was a thief. How could you have done that?” The thought mortified Millicent.

“No, I didn’t think that of you at the time I kissed you in the shop. By then, I had reasoned that you were merely making notes of names and titles and things about people so you could remember who they were next time you met them. I kissed you because I wanted to and for no other reason.”

Millicent shook her head. “This is too inconceivable. You only spent time with me because you wanted to watch me, get close to me until you discovered who I worked with.”

“Not entirely. I find you extremely attractive, Millicent. You must know that. But, I also want to find the thief and recover the raven.”

“I think it’s perfectly horrible that you thought I had something to do with that contemptible creature who is taking things that don’t belong to him.”

“It’s no more horrible than writing about people’s private lives and publishing them in the newspaper.”

“Oh but it is, sir,” she argued fervently.

“How? You seem overly indignant for a lady who writes gossip.”

“I’m not stealing anyone’s personal property.”

“No, you’re only stealing their privacy and their good names.”

Millicent opened her mouth to tell him that she was only doing it to help her father’s sister, but even though Chandler had found out who she was, he still didn’t know who Lord Truefitt was, and, for her aunt’s sake, Millicent had to keep it that way. She turned away and said nothing.

“Why do you do it?”

Keeping her back to him she said, “I have nothing more to say on the subject.”

“Is it for the money?”

That made her to turn around and face him. “No.”

“Is someone forcing you to do this?”

“Of course not.” She walked away from him and closer to the settee, but unfortunately he followed her. She glanced toward the door. How long did it take Glenda to ask Mrs. Brown to speak to the cook about a pot of tea?

“Tell me why?”

Millicent wanted to tell him the truth and include the fact she didn’t find any satisfaction in what she was doing, but she dared not. She was caught, not her aunt. Millicent couldn’t let him know that her aunt was really Lord Truefitt. She came to help her aunt keep her employment, not expose her and force her to lose it.

“My reasons are of no concern to you and I won’t share them with you.”

“I suppose that the Heathecoutes and Lady Beatrice are not aware of what you are doing.”

Thankfully, he made that a statement and not a question. If she were careful she wouldn’t have to tell him any more than necessary.

“Lady Beatrice and the Heathecoutes have been very good to me. I would hate for them to know what you have figured out.”

“I could make it known who you are and you would lose your employment.”

“I would lose much more than that,” she whispered earnestly, loathe to think that scandal would drive her from London like her mother. “I’m sure Lady Beatrice would ask me to leave.” She would no longer be of use to her aunt.

Suddenly an idea struck Millicent. She was very still for a moment but turned and looked into his eyes. “I hope I can persuade you not to do anything rash, sir. I think I know of a way I can be of help to you.”

His eyebrows rose in question. “You help me? How? You torment me with your writings.”

Millicent cringed. He did make what she was doing sound horrible, but she wouldn’t let that stop her from telling him her idea. “I can help you find the Mad Ton Thief.”

He smiled, then chuckled. “You surprise me and the devil take me if I don’t enjoy it, Millicent. I wish I didn’t, but I do. How could you help me find the thief?”

“For one, I hear things you don’t hear. You are an earl. People watch what they say around you, but with me they are less careful. I am more apt to hear news concerning the Mad Ton Thief than you.”

“I am in daily touch with Doulton and others. I would think that would allow me to hear the news before you unless you have an informant on Bow Street.”

“No, of course not. But neither you nor your Runners can hear what is said in the ladies’ retiring rooms. For instance, I just overheard that there is a certain earl who is looking to make a wealthy match because he has misused his fortune and it has run out.”

“Really. Who?”

She gave him a knowing smile. “I see there is some gossip I’m privy to that you want to hear.”

He frowned again. “You do like to test me.”

She smiled. “I feel the same way about you.”

“How can a poor blade who’s run through his money help me find the thief?”

“Perhaps he is the one stealing the valuables in order to get the money he needs to keep him sound until he can make a desirous match.”

“Hmm. That’s possible, I suppose.”

“It has to be a member of the ton who is pilfering the homes. Everyone agrees to that, except for those who believe the thief is a ghost.”

“And that number seems to be growing.”

“No one has reported seeing a stranger at any of the parties.” She looked at him a little ruefully. “And I believe we’ve both already agreed that it is not a ghost walking out of the homes with the family treasures.”

“We are definite on that point. I suppose you could be of some use to me.”

“Lord Dunraven, you do make me sound like a piece of old baggage.”

“Old? No. Baggage? Never. Useful? Maybe. All right, Miss Blair, partners we shall be for a time. I won’t divulge your secret, and you will report any information you hear that might help me find the thief.”

Her chest heaved in relief. Thank goodness, she had kept him from demanding the name of Lord Truefitt. It was too close a call. “You have my word.”

“Now, who is this titled gentleman lackwit who’s lost his fortune?”

“You’ll have to read Lord Truefitt’s column tomorrow to find out the answer to that.”

“Is that how I will get information from you? Reading the tittle-tattle?”

“Not always, but it seems prudent to start this way. And, now I know why you didn’t bring me tarts.”

“What are you talking about? Are you changing the subject again?”

“Yes. I’ve been told that you take apricot tarts to every young lady you call on and that your chef makes the best in all of London.”

The wrinkle returned to his brow. “Am I that predictable?”

“Obviously not as far as I’m concerned.” She held her hands out palms up and smiled sweetly at him. “I have no tarts.”

“With you, nothing is predictable either. I was so worked up when I finally figured out what you were doing that having my chef prepare tarts was the last thing on my mind. Even now, knowing that you do something I despise, I want to take you in my arms and kiss you.”

“Angels above, sir. You must be more careful.” She glanced over his shoulder to the doorway. “Someone could come in and catch you saying something like that to me and we’ll end up married. If you’ll excuse me, I really must get dressed for the evening or I won’t be ready when my chaperones arrive.”

“Not so fast, dear Millicent.” He pulled her into his arms and cupped her close to him, bringing their faces close together. “Most business partnerships are sealed with a handshake, but I would rather we seal ours with a kiss.”

Millicent opened her mouth to protest, but what little sound she attempted was hushed by warm lips moving slowly to cover hers. Her mind told her to protest vehemently, and with her mind she did.

He is a rake.

He’s not to be trusted.

But he makes me feel so wonderful.

Within seconds her body relaxed into the warmth of his arms without effort. She thought only of the way he made her feel: wonderful, desired.

He increased the pressure of the kiss, and as if she’d always known what to do, Millicent opened her mouth and accepted his tongue with eagerness. She gave him her own, and he answered with a soft groan of pleasure. She slipped her hands around his neck, allowing his arms to tighten around her and pull her closer to his chest.

His hands slid down her back to her waist. He rested his palms on the soft flare of her hips for a moment before sliding them upward until he cupped her breasts, one in each hand.

At his warm touch Millicent’s legs weakened and she pressed closer to him, needing his strength to withstand his sensual assault. She didn’t know why her breasts were so sensitive to his slightest touch or why she felt such an eagerness to explore all these new and wonderful sensations with him.

His warm, soft lips left hers and he kissed her cheeks, her neck, behind her ear. Everywhere his lips touched her she tingled with awareness.

“I can’t understand why your kisses make my legs feel weak and my insides feel like they are fluttering.”

He raised his head and looked down at her and smiled. “That means you are extremely attracted to me.”

“Does it?”

He nodded.

“But how can that be when I think you are a rake and not to be trusted?”

“Perhaps that is some of the allure.”

She remembered what happened to her mother. Is this how her mother had felt?

Millicent shook her head. “No. I fear it is deeper than that.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing. I shouldn’t be in your arms. God forbid Glenda or Mrs. Brown should walk in here and see me kissing you.”

He gave her a reassuring smile and held her tighter. “No one will see us. I’ve told you that I have had years of practice avoiding chaperones and maids. They usually make a shuffling sound with their feet or some other noise to alert their charge that they are coming. They really don’t want to catch us in a compromising position, you know.”

“Chandler, do I make your legs feel weak and your stomach fluttery?”

He laughed softly, seductively, but his gaze never left hers. It was as if he wanted her to see inside him and know that he spoke the truth. “Yes, and it means I’m very, extremely attracted to you.”

“But I am not a rake. So where is the allure for you?”

“Not a rake, but you are a seducer.”

“And that makes me attractive?”

“It must because I desire you more than any other lady I have ever wanted. Every movement you make, every word you say makes me want to take you into my arms and kiss you like this.”

He dipped his head again and captured her lips with his. Gone was the kiss of his lips moving gently over hers. This was a wild kiss that plundered her mouth, bruised her lips and filled her with hunger and passion for more and more. She didn’t understand the feelings he created inside her, but she didn’t have to understand them to enjoy them.

At the farthest reaches of her mind, Millicent heard a noise—tea cups rattling on a tray. Chandler must have heard it too because he immediately let her go and stepped away.

He swallowed hard. “Your maid, I’m sure, bringing in the tea.”

Millicent gasped.

“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of her and give you a moment to catch your breath.”

He strode to the doorway and blocked it by standing in the middle with one arm braced against the doorjamb. “I’m sorry I can’t stay longer, Miss Blair. No, no time for tea. Not for me. Do tell Lady Beatrice I hope she is up and about soon. And I will give thought to those apricot tarts. Give my regards to Lady Heathecoute.”

Chandler continued talking nonsense for the benefit of Glenda, standing on the opposite side of the door, but Millicent ceased to hear. What was she going to do? She had no will when it came to Lord Dunraven.

He was charming and devilish and his kisses made her forget sound reasoning, made her forget what had happened to her mother. He was bad for her, but he made her feel good.

She walked back over to the window and looked out. Would this alliance with Chandler end up making her one of London’s biggest scandals?