A Dash of Scandal

Seven

“Things without all remedy should be without regard, what’s done is done”—just ask Miss Donaldson. It’s reported that her father will soon make an announcement about her upcoming engagement. Miss Pennington danced with Lord Dugdale twice last night. Hmm. Are there bets the earl will be the fourth gentleman to offer for her hand this Season? And what is being done to find the Mad Ton Thief, or should he now be called the Mad Ghost Thief?—Lord Truefitt, Society’s Daily Column
She was easy to identify in the flowing white gown and crown of small white flowers in her hair. The modest, round neckline of her evening dress was held on the shoulders by small capped sleeves and gold satin bands. Gold-colored bullion fell from the shoulders down her back like a shawl. A small band of gold satin fit snugly underneath her breasts. Chandler watched as she calmly made her way through the crowded room before being stopped by two older ladies of the ton.

He wanted to get closer to Millicent Blair, talk to her again, ask her to dance. But that wasn’t all he desired. He wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her tempting lips as he had this afternoon in Lady Beatrice’s garden.

He was quite proud of himself for not getting caught by that meddlesome dog. It was close, but thankfully he made it through the hedge, but not without wounds on his hands and a scratch on the side of his neck that he was able to hide with his neckcloth. Though, he admitted to himself with a smile, all the wounds were worth the kiss.

But, he must remain at a distance tonight. He had overplayed his hand last night in telling her he planned to discover the way to her heart. And perhaps he should have waited a few more days before trying to see her, but he hadn’t been able to stay away. He had needed to see her.

What had happened to the man who used to be so aloof?

What a sentimentalist he must have sounded like last night. He might as well be wearing his heart on his sleeve, but she intrigued him. That was all. She had been deliberately evasive to his questions just so he would want to seek her out again and again to know more about her.

And he had fallen for it. Hard.

Chandler shook his head. He didn’t know if he had ever been so charmed by a young lady who seemed to have no interest in him whatsoever.

He walked closer to her as he greeted friends and acquaintances in the crowded room. She was nodding, listening intently to the lady who was speaking to her. She looked sweet and pure, as if only thoughtful and congenial things would come out of her mouth, but he knew without a doubt that she could be direct or difficult, whichever suited her purpose.

Over the years, many young ladies and his mistresses, too, had excited him, but there was something different about Miss Millicent Blair.

Never had he met a lady so enchanting and so clever in avoiding his questions. Was she playing him in hopes of getting him to ask for her hand or was she truly not interested in him? Could it be that his reputation was so marred by his youthful indiscretions that now that he was interested in a proper young lady she feared he would only trifle with her affections?

She had been surprised to see him in the garden today, but she hadn’t been angry. He liked that about her. And she was very slow in rebuffing his attentions, allowing him two kisses before she retreated. Obviously she was not afraid of him.

He wondered why she was so secretive about her family. That certainly put credence to what Andrew had said about her being from a poor family and only being interested in making a wealthy match. It wasn’t unusual for a lovely country girl to come to Town hoping some young buck would become besotted with her before he probed too deeply into her family’s background. If that was the case, it was no wonder she wasn’t interested in him. Anyone in Society could tell her that he had never given serious consideration to marrying any young lady.

Chandler’s intuition was usually sharp, and he had a gut feeling that there was more to Miss Blair than simply looking for a suitable match. But what?

A gentleman Chandler had never seen before caught his attention, and he let his gaze stay where the fellow lounged near the front door. Suddenly Chandler’s senses went on alert.

The man was properly dressed in evening attire like every other gentleman at the party but something about the man made him appear uncomfortable and out of place. This was just the sort of fellow he suspected the Mad Ton Thief to be, a man who obviously knew how to dress like a gentleman but didn’t look at ease being one.

Chandler decided to walk over and present himself to the man and find out who he was. He turned back for a quick glance at Miss Blair.

He liked the way she remained serene and gave her complete attention to the ladies. Her eyes didn’t search the room looking for a distraction or a reason to move on to someone else. That was an admirable quality. He had decided a couple of nights ago there were too many things to like about that intriguing young lady without adding more to the list.

“Good evening, sir,” Chandler said as he approached the gentleman. “I don’t believe we’ve met before. I’m Chandler Prestwick, the earl of Dunraven.”

The tall, sturdily built man bowed graciously, then said, “I’m pleased to meet you, Lord Dunraven. I’m William Hogarth, in the employ of Mr. Percy Doulton. We’re here watching for suspicious-looking characters.”

Chandler smiled to himself. Hogarth was the suspicious-looking character.

“Good. I’m glad to see Doulton acted promptly in securing men to be available at the parties.”

“Yes, sir. He went right to work on that. There are two of us at several of the homes where there are more than fifty guests attending this evening.”

Chandler was impressed at how quickly Doulton had acted and that there were so many new men added on such short notice.

“Have you seen anyone or anything out of the ordinary?” Chandler asked.

“My partner and I have everything under control. He’s watching the rooms where the guests are, and I’m looking over everyone who leaves by this door. If a gentleman tries to walk out with anything bulging from his pocket or his coat, I have orders to politely stop him and search him.”

“Thank you, Hogarth. It seems like you are handling everything adequately.”

Chandler nodded to the man and started to take his leave.

A feather brushed across the back of his neck and, before he could turn around, he caught sight of a woman from the corner of his eye as Lady Lambsbeth stood before him. A chill of warning flashed down his back.

Chandler folded his arms across his chest and said, “Lady MacBeth—” he cleared his throat and irreverently added, “That is to say, Lady Lambsbeth.”

She smiled cunningly at him and slowly batted her long lashes. She was beautiful, with large, expressive blue eyes that seemed always to be beckoning. Curls of shiny blond hair framed her round face.

“My, but you are so delightful when you’re cruel. You used to call me Olivia, Chandler. Why so formal?”

“I want it that way.”

“I’ll have to change your mind. I’ve missed your charm.”

“I doubt that.”

She stepped closer to him. “What a devil you are. You wound me with your words.”

“Has your husband died again this Season, or perhaps Paris is too hot for you this time of year?”

“Nothing could be as hot as your arms, dearest Chandler.” She smiled seductively. “And, yes, it just so happens I am a widow—this time. Truly.”

Chandler looked around to see if anyone could see him talking to her. Thankfully there was no one else near the front door but the Runner he had just left.

“My condolences,” he said with no concern in his voice.

“I know you have no reason to believe me, but it’s true. My husband was killed in a carriage accident shortly after we returned to Paris last year. I’m surprised you haven’t heard.”

“That is of no concern to me. If you’ve come back to create more mischief, you’ll have to find some other willing soul. This one is not available.”

She breathed deeply, lifting her ample breasts, which showed from the low-cut gown she wore. “Tsk, tsk. You’re still angry with me for lying to you.”

“I don’t care enough to be angry.”

“My but you’ve grown a hard edge, Chandler.” She reached up and pretended to straighten his neckcloth. “I like it. It could prove interesting in bed.”

Chandler stepped away from her and said, “Excuse me, I’m meeting someone.”

He started to pass her, but she grabbed his arm and stopped him. She gave him a beguiling smile, showing beautiful white teeth. Chandler was reminded of why he once wanted to possess her. Her skin was soft, her body beautiful, and she adored being touched and worshipped by a man. She was a skilled lover… and a practiced liar.

Chandler forced his gaze to slide past her face, down her slender neck, over her full breasts to the long feminine fingers that gripped his arm like a vise. Animosity caused his muscles to work involuntarily beneath her hand. He stared down at her firm grip and then up to her lascivious expression.

His eyes narrowed and his mouth tightened.

Slowly she relented and let go of him. “How distasteful of you to hold a grudge, Chandler. We’ll kiss and make up.” She lifted her face toward his.

He never had been downright rude to a lady, but tonight he was tempted to tread those uncharted waters, for surely no other woman deserved it more. It was on his mind to tell Lady Lambsbeth what he thought of her, but the last thing he wanted was to be seen talking to her.

“You are beautiful, Lady Lambsbeth, but your mind and your heart are deceitful. I no longer have an interest in you.”

Her eyes narrowed. An attractive pout formed on her full lips, puckering the corners. She should have been furious about his nasty remark, but she didn’t even blink an eye. She was a coldhearted woman.

“I know you think I’m the one who let it slip to the gossip sheets about our love affair, but I swear it wasn’t me. I don’t know who found out about us. I was going to tell you the truth before my husband came to Town. It was not my desire for him to catch us in bed. Henry would have killed us both had you not escaped in time.”

He didn’t even like to hear the word love come out of her mouth. “So whoever told him wanted to see only me dead? That’s comforting. I don’t care if it was your personal maid who betrayed you. What’s done is done. My affair with you is over.”

“If that must be so, I will accept it, but dance with me and let’s show everyone there are no hard feelings between us.”

“Oh, but there are. You no longer captivate me, Lady Lambsbeth. Find someone else to believe you are a lonely widow. I’m not a taker this time. Accept it, I’ve had my fill of you and I’m no longer interested.” He turned and walked away.

Chandler realized that he felt damn good as he eased back into the crowd gathered in the front parlor. He picked up a glass of champagne from a tray and took a sip as he kept walking. He had wanted to tell Lady Lambsbeth what he thought of her since he found out she had lied to him about being a widow.

He was no saint. He’d done his share of slipping into gardens, parlors, and bedrooms, but he’d never knowingly taken a married woman to his bed. He had his own code of honor and he didn’t knowingly step over it. There were too many available ladies eager for his attentions. He had no desire to pursue another man’s wife.

He stopped, took a deep breath, and smiled. He was glad he no longer desired her. There was only one set of lips he desired beneath his, and they were on the lovely face of Miss Blair. He had every intention of finding her again before this evening ended.

Minutes passed as he wandered from room to room. He brushed elbows with a duke, smiled at Miss Pennington, nodded to a duke and duchess, and greeted friends as he searched the crowd for Miss Blair. He knew she had to be at the party because Lord Heathecoute and his lady were still in attendance. Miss Bardwell caught up with him again, but he was clever enough to avoid asking her to dance. He ducked into a packed room to avoid being seen by Fines.

Chandler continued walking and eventually found himself in what appeared to be a deserted section of the house. He stood at the beginning of a long, narrow corridor that had several doors opening from each side. Oil lamps on the wall lit the passageway, and at the end of the hall stood a tall clock with a large white face.

“Time changes a lot of things,” he said softly as his thoughts drifted to the past.

Just after the Season ended last year he began his torrid affair with Lady Lambsbeth. He’d met her at the last big ball of the Season. She had told him she was a widow who was back in Town after several years in Paris. She invited him to call on her and he did so the very next day.

He’d had his chef prepare apricot tarts, thinking to enjoy them with a cup of tea and a smile from the beautiful Lady Lambsbeth. He had no idea that he would spend the entire afternoon in her bed with not a sip of tea or a bite of food. And her bed is where he’d spent every afternoon for the better part of three weeks.

Until rumor of their liaison ended up in the “Society’s Daily Column.” He’d like to personally strangle Lord Truefitt, and would if he ever discovered the true identity of the gossip writer.

Chandler had been in the columns for years and he didn’t let the rumors keep him from visiting Lady Lambsbeth, but it was hardly a week later that her husband unexpectedly and miraculously returned from the dead while Chandler was in her bed.

He had to jump from her second story bedroom with his clothes in his hand. An evening or two later, he was in White’s when her husband stormed in with his sword drawn. Chandler would be missing an arm, if not his head, had not some of Lord Lambsbeth’s friends held him down and relieved him of his weapon.

Chandler was forced to do the only thing a decent gentleman would do. He denied ever being in Lady Lambsbeth’s bedroom, and his friends, who had gathered round him, offered their support of his lie. He’d never seen her again until just a few moments ago. He was glad to know he had no desire to see her again.

Chandler put his glass to his lips and found the glass was empty. He hadn’t even realized he’d drunk the champagne while he relived the past. He looked down toward the clock again and noticed the shadow of a person moving in the room at the end of the hallway.

A wary feeling washed over him. Someone was in that room. But who? The master of the house or the Mad Ton Thief? Chandler had to know. He silently placed his empty glass on the table beside him and slowly, as quietly as possible, moved down the hallway. He peeped around the door and was surprised to see Miss Millicent Blair.

She stood in front of the fireplace looking up at a painting over the mantel, then wrote on her dance card. Was she making notes again? Thank-you notes? He grimaced. Surely not. He wasn’t falling for that explanation again.

Hell, no.

Chandler stepped backward away from the door. She was alone in a private study. Clearly a place that wasn’t usually available to the ordinary guest. Should he let her know he was present?

Suddenly a thought struck him like lightning streaking across a dark gray sky. Chandler’s body went rigid. He didn’t want to believe what his thoughts were suggesting. But he couldn’t keep the idea from taking shape in his mind. Could Miss Blair be making notes about valuable objects in the house in preparation for stealing something?

He refused to consider that, but he couldn’t deny the possibility that she might be jotting down notes and relaying them to an accomplice. Things that might be easily taken out of a house without, anyone seeing them.

He didn’t want to consider it. But what else would she be doing in an area of the house where she shouldn’t be, for the second time, writing on her dance card? She had been making notes the first night he saw her. His mind continued digging up facts. Last night she refused to let Lady Heathecoute see her dance card.

No one knew much about her. She certainly hadn’t told him anything about herself. Damnation, he didn’t like the way things were adding up. He couldn’t believe she was stealing things from the homes, but she could be someone’s accomplice.

If that was true, it meant Millicent Blair, the beautiful young lady who had him mad with desire, was partners with the Mad Ton Thief.

***

Millicent rejoined theparty feeling quite satisfied that she had written down enough gossip for Aunt Beatrice. She had filled the back of her dance card with notes and was in the process of trying to retie it to her wrist with one hand as she walked back into the crowded room. Most of what she had written had come from Lady Lynette. After just a few minutes with her new friend during the evening, Millicent had plenty of news for her aunt’s column.

She was surprised that Aunt Beatrice or the viscountess hadn’t already realized that Lady Lynette knew more gossip than any of the scandal sheets reported. Millicent supposed it was exactly what Lady Lynette had suggested. She was easy to overlook by everyone in Society because they all wanted to pretend she wasn’t around so they wouldn’t have to look at her birthmark.

It was such a shame. Lady Lynette was a lovely person and obviously starved for friendship. Millicent made a mental note to call on—

A bump from behind jolted Millicent forward. Her pencil and dance card went flying from her hand as she stumbled to catch herself from falling forward. Strong, heated hands grasped her upper arms and kept her from hitting the floor. She didn’t have to see his face or even hear his voice to know that it was Lord Dunraven who had saved her from tumbling onto to her face.

“My sincere apologies, Miss Blair.” The words were whispered close to her ear as the guiding hands turned her to face not her guardian angel who saved her from a spill to the floor, but her nemesis.

“Some ill-mannered oaf knocked me right into you. Are you all right?”

“Quite,” she answered breathlessly and smiled, realizing several people were staring at them and wanting to minimize the attention to herself.

“I didn’t mean to crash into you.”

“Of course, you didn’t,” she said, but could have sworn she didn’t see any real expression of regret in the depths of his blue eyes. For the first time she felt a distance in him.

He looked around the room. “I haven’t the faintest idea who the devil was so clumsy.”

“It’s quite all right. Really, I’m not injured and you don’t appear to be.”

“Not at all.”

“Good. Don’t give it another thought,” she said and immediately started searching the floor for her dance card and pencil. All she saw were polished boots, satin slippers, and the hems of dresses.

“Did you lose something? A piece of your jewelry?”

“No, no,” she said, determined not to panic. Instinctively she reached up and felt for her pearl earrings and necklace and found everything in place.

“I dropped my pencil and dance card.”

“Allow me to find them for you.”

“No, no. I’ll find them.”

But Chandler was already in motion. In a courtly manner, he asked men to watch their steps and ladies to move to the side. Within a few moments, he reached down and picked up her dance card and pencil.

Cupping both in his gloved hand he returned to Millicent and said, “How have you been, Miss Blair?”

She was surprised and apprehensive when he didn’t immediately return the card to her. However, she couldn’t let him know how desperate she was to get those notes back in her hands.

Politely she brushed her hands down the sides of her dress and answered, “Very well, sir. And you?”

“Same, thank you. I’ve been to three parties this evening looking for you.”

“Well, it seems you finally ran right into me.”

His smile was more than a bit roguish as he answered, “Yes. I apologize again for such a brutish greeting.”

“No need. Thank you for finding my dance card and pencil.”

She held out her gloved hand palm up, but again he made no offer to give them to her, and she was forced to lower her arm because some guests continued to stare at them. It was clear he was going to hold her things hostage until he was ready to return them.

“I should like to call on you tomorrow afternoon, Miss Blair. Would that be acceptable?”

His question was so unexpected she just looked at him for a moment, but regained her wits and said, “No, I don’t think I should like that, sir.”

His eyebrows shot up in a challenging manner. “Do you find me unattractive, Miss Blair?”

“No, you are quite aware that the opposite is true. You are a most attractive man.”

She watched as his gaze swept down her face and back up to her eyes. Something inside made her yearn to give in to his wishes and for a moment it was difficult to catch her breath.

“Thank you. Though, I wasn’t soliciting compliments. I’m trying to understand why you consider me an unacceptable suitor?”

She looked away for a moment before turning back to look into his eyes. “Unacceptable is too harsh a word.”

“Then I’m confused. Explain why you won’t agree to receive a call from me?”

Millicent had feared something like this from Lord Dunraven after this afternoon. If not for how she was helping her aunt she would be thrilled to accept a call from him, even knowing he was a rake and a scoundrel not to be trusted. It was because he was a man who flirted with a lady’s emotions that she must rebuff him.

“I’m quite busy enough, but I do thank you for your kindness in wanting to call on me.”

“You thank me for my kindness. That’s not what I wanted to hear. Are you so busy receiving calls from other gentlemen that you don’t have time for me?”

“To be perfectly honest, Lord Dunraven, we really don’t get on together very well. And I see no reason to make us suffer through an afternoon together.”

He questioned her with his eyes. “Surely that is not an honest answer, Miss Blair.”

No it wasn’t.

“A gentleman wouldn’t challenge a lady’s honesty, sir?”

“I’m not feeling the gentleman right now.”

“I noticed.” Millicent was very close to being flustered, and she never became flustered. She took a deep, steadying breath. “I really don’t see the point in carrying this conversation any further, Lord Dunraven, but, yes, I do thank you for asking to call on me.”

He stepped closer and lowered his voice so those who were standing nearby would not hear him. “It’s not as if I’m asking you to marry me.”

“I should think not.”

“You sound as if the very idea horrifies you.”

“What? You calling on me?”

“No, the idea of marrying me.”

Her eyes widened. “Sir, are you asking me to marry you?”

“Damnation, no,” he said too loudly, causing a few glances their way.

Several people stared at them, and Millicent noticed frowns on the faces of the men and shocked expressions on the faces of several ladies.

“I apologize for my manners, Miss Blair, but I’m finding you extremely frustrating at the moment.”

“In that case, return my card and pencil and we will bid our farewells.”

“Not so fast and not until I get a reasonable answer about why I shouldn’t call on you tomorrow afternoon.”

Millicent had to remain firm, no matter how she felt to the contrary. She had no doubt that an afternoon with him would be thrilling, but she couldn’t afford the attention Lord Dunraven would bring to her.

“Very well, I tried to spare you, but if you must know the truth, not only am I quite aware of your reputation among the ton, I have experienced it firsthand. I don’t feel it would be in my best interest for you to call on me.”

“So, you refuse to believe my reputation might have been exaggerated by the gossips?”

“No, I believe some of the rumors have been overstated,” she said, remembering the things Lady Lynette had said. “But the fact remains that an association with you could ruin my reputation and I’m not willing to chance that. I would like for you to return my dance card and leave me be.”

An unfamiliar wrinkle formed in his brow. “So you have no desire to get to know me better.”

Millicent hesitated for a moment but finally said, “That’s right. That is exactly what I want.”

“Not to know me better or for me not to know you better?”

She took a deep breath. “You are far more frustrating than I am, sir. Either or both will do, Lord Dunraven. Let me see how much plainer I can be on this subject. I have no wish to associate with you whatsoever. Does that make it clear enough for you?”

For a moment he looked wounded, and she hated that she was so harsh. If only he knew how much she would enjoy getting to know him better.

“Yes. I believe I’m clear on that now and so is everyone else in the room.”

Millicent glanced around, and suddenly it looked as if a thousand eyes watched her. She willed her cheeks not to flame red. Aunt Beatrice was going to consider her an utter failure. She would be sent packing to Nottinghamshire in shame just like her mother and all because of this handsome rogue.

“I didn’t mean to be so loud or so harsh. You’ve forced me to be that way by insisting you want to call on me when I’ve tried politely to discourage your interest.”

“I do believe I understand now. And I know exactly what I need to do.”

She took a deep breath. “Good. Now would you mind ever so much returning my dance card and pencil so that I might take my leave?”

“Certainly.” He pulled his hand from behind his back and laid the items in her outstretched palm. She quickly folded her fingers over them.

“Here they are. Why don’t you put them inside your reticule? That’s where you like to keep your dance card, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Yes, that’s a very good idea. I—I find it easier to keep up with it.”

“Easier than tied to your wrist, Miss Blair?”

An odd feeling shook Millicent. Sometimes he said things that made her feel like he could read her mind and knew what she was doing for her aunt.

“Millicent, dear, how are you? Are you hurt?” Lady Heathecoute came rushing over to her as fast as her large frame would allow her to move. “I just heard you were knocked to the floor and trampled upon and Lord Dunraven was kind enough to help you up.”

“Angels above, my lady, where did you hear that? I was only lightly bumped. I didn’t fall and I certainly wasn’t stepped on. I am fine.”

“Are you sure? You do look a bit flushed in your cheeks. Do you need smelling salts?”

“No. I’m positive, I’m quite all right.”

When the viscountess moved from in front of her, Millicent saw that Lord Dunraven had disappeared and there was only a crowd of strangers standing around her.

She should have been relieved that he was gone. Any kind of relationship with him would only mean trouble for her. She’d had an unexpected kiss from him. That should have been enough, but instead, she found it only left her wanting more.