A Scandalous Past (Regency Romance, Book 4) Read online

  The butler shut the door behind him and held out his hand for Brendan’s hat and cane. “You have a visitor, sir.”

  A visitor? It was the middle of the night! Hardly a time for social calls. No, not social calls—but perhaps something else. Had something happened in Derbyshire to Rosamund or Thomas in his absence? “Who is it?” he asked in a hoarse voice.

  “Lady Staveley, sir. She insisted she be allowed to wait.”

  Brendan took a sigh of relief and handed his cane and beaver hat over to Higgins. What was Caroline up to? “Where?” he asked with a frown.

  “Blue salon, my lord.”

  The blue salon. He hated that damned room. Brendan stalked down the corridor, his heart still racing from his earlier scare. He pushed the door open and found Caroline waiting for him, seated at a small desk, writing on some foolscap.

  At his entrance, she looked up from her work and smiled radiantly. “Brendan Reese,” she chastised him as she stood, “would you care to tell me just why exactly you left my little ball so early?”

  He rubbed his brow. It had been a long day. Traveling, attending balls, gambling. He wasn’t in any mood to rehash the Spanish Inquisition. “Does your husband know you’re here at a most unfashionable hour?”

  She had the audacity to wink at him. “Don’t think you can distract me, Brendan. And, yes, Staveley is well aware of my location. He’ll be so pleased you’re concerned for my reputation.”

  He resisted the urge to snort. Though Caroline was meddlesome and could make an overall nuisance of herself, her reputation was spotless—a grande dame of the ton.

  “I did not beckon you all the way to Town so that you could leave at the first sign of trouble.”

  This time he couldn’t hold back his snort as he fell into a high back damask chair. “The first sign of trouble?” Lady Avery’s scene could more readily be called a travesty of epic proportions.

  ***

  Cordie awoke with a smile on her face—perhaps the biggest one ever. After spending the last fortnight in abject isolation, the fog of doom and gloom seemed to have lifted from her soul. She sighed happily, remembering her glorious dream about a certain scandalous marquess.

  She rolled over in her bed, towards the window and the light of day, wishing her dream hadn’t ended. Would she ever see Haversham again? Not if her mother had anything to say about it. Lady Avery had ranted and raved the entire ride home from the Staveleys’, certain Cordie’s future was a complete loss.

  Though, she’d turned a deaf ear to her mother’s ravings, choosing instead to bask in the glow of her body’s reaction to Haversham. She’d tingled everywhere he’d touched her. She sighed at the memory of his hand stroking her back. He was heavenly—exactly what she was looking for. Handsome. Wicked. Perfect. He always did exactly what he wanted, so certainly he wouldn’t begrudge her the same freedoms.

  Without a doubt, she was head over heels in love with the man.

  She’d never felt this way. Giddy. Silly. Wanton. Not even with Captain Seaton. Cordie closed her eyes again. In her mind, she could still see his wolfish grin and soft blue eyes, promising delicious wickedness.

  A determined knock came from the door. Cordie closed her eyes tighter, not wanting her daydream to end.

  “Cordelia!” her mother’s voice hissed through the door.

  Cordie groaned and rolled over, burying her face in her pillows. It was too early to deal with her mother, so she said nothing, pretending to still sleep.

  Then her door was thrown open and the counterpane was unceremoniously stripped away from her. “Cordelia!” her mother barked. “Get up quickly and get dressed. You have a guest.”

  Cordie didn’t move, wishing desperately that her mother would leave her in peace, but then the bed dipped down as Lady Avery sat next to her. “Get up, you silly girl. By some stroke of luck, you may just survive this scandal.”

  Cordie blinked her eyes open. “What are you talking about, Mama?”

  “I knew you weren’t sleeping. Why didn’t you tell me you waltzed with Lord Clayworth?”

  Ugh! Clayworth! She’d nearly forgotten about him. “Because you spent all evening berating me for dancing with Haversham. There wasn’t time to tell you anything else.”

  “Don’t even utter that man’s name.” Her mother shuddered dramatically. “I’ve been beseeched with visitors all morning long. Evelyn Greywood, Nicola Dearden, and Beatrice Peake, just to name a few. Everyone wants to know what you did to capture the earl’s attention. He never dances, Cordelia. Did you know that? I never realized it. After poor Marina, I never paid Clayworth any attention at all—but he might be your savior in disguise. Everyone is much more interested in your dance with Clayworth than anything else that happened last night.”

  How was that even possible? She’d danced scandalously close with one of the most notorious gentlemen in Town. Then her mother had created a huge scene by screaming and hitting the man with her fan. But all of Mayfair was abuzz because of her dance with Clayworth? That was simply ridiculous. Haversham was much more interesting than Clayworth.

  “Anyway, I’ll send Bessie in to get you dressed. You have a guest waiting downstairs. So do hurry.”

  “Who?” Cordie asked, sitting up in her bed.

  “The earl himself. Lord Clayworth is in the yellow parlor waiting for you.”

  Cordie’s mouth fell open. What was he doing here? He didn’t like her any better than she liked him.

  ~ 5 ~

  Brendan paced around the Avery parlor, cursing himself for a fool. What the devil was he doing here? What if the Averys were not only in possession of his mother’s letters, but they’d read them as well? What if they threatened to turn them over to the Home Office? Something told him Cordelia Avery would like nothing better than to see him dangling from the gallows. It would certainly explain her cool demeanor towards him.

  The night before, she’d laughed gaily with many people and had bestowed an earth-stopping smile on Haversham of all people. If anyone deserved the scowl she’d saved for Brendan, it should have the Marquess of Haversham. So the Averys must know the contents of the letters. It made perfect sense. She thought he was a traitor.

  Technically, he was.

  Every voyage to France. Each visit to his mother’s family. The countless trips he and his sisters had taken with their mother. He now didn’t believe that even one of them had been a simple trip to visit family. All of them lies. If he hadn’t taken her to Paris time and again, she couldn’t have passed off sensitive information to the enemy. He was just as culpable as she was. His ignorance of her crimes did not excuse his guilt. He should have known. He should have realized where her loyalties laid.

  Brendan glanced down at his pocket fob. One o’clock. How long did Miss Avery intend to keep him waiting?

  Ever since he’d won his fortnight advantage, he’d been bombarded with thoughts. He couldn’t just ask Lady Avery for the damning letters. That would be the quickest way to get a dark, dank cell in Newgate. Young Lord Avery was in the country—that he’d learned from a fellow over hazard the night before. So he couldn’t strike up a friendship with the chap. And his two younger brothers were apparently in France among a small troop of soldiers who had yet to return home from the war. Even if Russell and Tristan Avery were in the country, associating with someone they considered in league with the French wouldn’t be high on their list. Since it wasn’t likely that the baroness would invite him to join her sewing circle or some such nonsense, the only conceivable person he could visit at Avery House was the lovely Cordelia.

  Astwick had been correct the night before. Word was already spreading around Town, thanks in large part to their waltz, that he was interested in courting Miss Avery. It was another lie.

  His whole life was a lie.

  What was one more? Not that in his younger years he might not have been interested in the girl. She was pretty—but then so was Marina all those years ago, and that had been an abysmal union. It was best to keep one�
��s mind sharp when dealing with beautiful women—truly the most dangerous of all God’s creatures. Brendan couldn’t afford to let his guard down. His family’s future depended on him finding those letters, destroying them.

  He blinked when Miss Avery entered the parlor, finally deigning to meet him, and he immediately caught his breath. She was stunning in a gauzy, pink dress, which brought a pleasing color to her pretty cheeks. It annoyed him that he noticed such things, but she was nothing short of a vision—something she was obviously well aware of. He’d never done much courting in his younger years, but waiting over an hour for some chit was something he’d never done before. She was apparently used to wrapping men around her little finger.

  He wouldn’t be one of them. He couldn’t be.

  “Lord Clayworth,” she said crisply, “what a surprise.”

  Brendan bowed. “You are looking lovely today.”

  “As opposed to what?” she asked with narrowed eyes.

  He grimaced in response. Was there nothing he could say that she wouldn’t take offense to? Even after years of watching over his two fairly emotional sisters, he’d never encountered a more petulant woman. “As opposed to most foolish girls who court scandal on a regular basis,” he shot back at her. He probably shouldn’t have said that. If he was going to somehow get free reign to search Avery House from top to bottom, being on the outs with Miss Avery wasn’t the best idea. Still, he’d had all of her impertinence he intended to take last night. They wouldn’t continue in that vein.

  The pink in her cheeks darkened, which made her even lovelier, though Brendan pushed that thought from his mind. Miss Avery was a harridan, and it was best not to forget it.

  “I do not court scandal, sir,” she replied haughtily. Then she eyed him suspiciously from the corner of her eyes as she sat on a gold brocade settee.

  Brendan dropped into a chintz chair across from the aggravating chit. With any luck he could have his mother’s letters back in his hands before the fortnight was up, and then Haversham could do whatever he wanted with the spoiled little girl. However, that sudden thought irritated him to no end. As infuriating as Miss Avery was, it turned his stomach to think of her in Haversham’s arms. Really. Had she no sense? Someone should take a firm hand with the girl.

  The door opened again, and Lady Avery bustled inside, trilling anxiously, “Oh, Lord Clayworth, we are so pleased you have come to call.” She settled next to her daughter and batted her eyes.

  Miss Avery looked the furthest thing from pleased, as she toyed with the pink velvet ties on her dress. She looked bored. Fidgety. Restless. But no less stunning.

  “The pleasure is, of course, mine,” Brendan replied smoothly. “I was hoping, Lady Avery, that you would allow me to escort your lovely daughter in my phaeton through the park this afternoon.”

  Miss Avery looked as though she’d just been sentenced to hard labor in Australia, but her mother beamed. “Oh, my lord, Cordelia would be honored. Wouldn’t you, my dear?”

  Miss Avery’s green eyes flickered to meet Brendan’s gaze. “Yes, honored,” she dutifully replied. If he didn’t know better, he’d think she truly meant it. Cordelia Avery was as good a liar as he was. He made a mental note of the fact and smiled back at her.

  “Shall we then?” he asked, offering her his arm.

  ***

  As soon as they were outside Avery House and away from her mother, Cordie glared at the earl. What was he about? It wasn’t as if she’d charmed him the night before. That had been the furthest thing from her mind. However, he didn’t spare a glance for her, as if he knew she was frowning at him.

  They stopped before his conveyance, and Cordie gaped openly. The high perch phaeton was shiny black and sleek, looking like the sort of thing reckless men used for racing, not leisurely rides in the park. “Where exactly do you plan on taking me?” she asked in wonder.

  Clayworth chuckled. “Relax, Miss Avery, I have no plans to kidnap you.”

  “This is stunning.”

  “Thank you. Driving is a particular interest of mine. I’m afraid I do over indulge sometimes,” he replied, a look of devotion in his eyes as he stared at his conveyance. Then without further ado, he offered her his hand, helping her into the phaeton.

  The bench was padded nicely and smelled of expensive leather. Cordie glanced around the phaeton with appreciation. Through the years with three older brothers, she’d heard more about gigs, barouches, chaises, coupes, landaus, and phaetons than she’d ever cared to know. Those old conversations, however, did make her well aware of the excellent craftsmanship of the light four-wheeled carriage.

  Before she knew it, Clayworth went around the other side and propelled himself into the seat beside her.

  Heavens, he was agile. She hadn’t realized that before. In addition to having the body and face of a god, Lord Adonis apparently was quite graceful. Quite a feat for a man of his age.

  When she smirked to herself, he caught the look out of the corner of his eye. “Something humorous, Miss Avery?” he asked, directing his bays down South Audley Street.

  “I was just thinking that you are in marvelous shape for a man of your many years.” There, that ought to be offensive enough to make this sojourn end quickly.

  Unfortunately, the earl chuckled in response. “I’m younger than Haversham,” he informed her.

  Was he? Cordie shook her head and refocused on her escort. “Indeed? One wouldn’t know it. You’re so stuffy, making you seem older—almost ancient.”

  He quirked a grin. “No, my dear, you have it all wrong. In comparison to your Haversham, I’m simply an adult.”

  She frowned at her failed attempt to irritate him as they turned down Curzon Street. He’d been much easier to annoy the night before. What had changed? And why was he seeking her out anyway? He never courted anyone. He never danced. He never drove girls around the park in his exquisite phaeton. None of this made any sense.

  “Nothing else, Miss Avery?” he asked.

  “Nothing else?” she echoed.

  “You don’t have any other ruthless comments to make? Old and stuffy. Is that the best you can do?”

  Cordie’s mouth fell open. He knew she was trying to insult him? And he thought it was amusing?

  When they turned on to Park Lane, Cordie caught sight of Kelfield House—Livvie’s new home. She’d never even been allowed inside. The imposing mansion towered above them, reminding her of her goals. She needed a lenient husband who would love her and allow her freedom. She was wasting her time with Clayworth.

  She glanced up at her escort, knowing with all certainty he was the last sort of husband she wanted. He’d given Marina all sorts of freedom, which was a plus, but he had never shown her an ounce of affection. Cold and unfeeling—she remembered hearing his late wife’s long suffering complaints. It was good that she knew that aspect of his personality, or she might be flattered by his attention.

  Just as they entered Hyde Park, many sets of eyes focus on the pair. Cordie glanced around at the other open carriages, pedestrians, and those on horses. It was easier to count the number of people not looking at her. She sucked in a surprised breath.

  At her side, Clayworth seemed amused. “It appears you are indeed quite popular, Miss Avery.”

  Her mother’s words echoed in her mind. “I don’t think it’s me who’s caught their interest.”

  “Of course it is. You caught everyone’s attention last night. Mine. Haversham’s. All of the ton.”

  As if conjured up by Clayworth’s words, Cordie spotted Haversham just a few feet away, atop a magnificent grey hunter. He tipped his head in greeting and his light blue eyes twinkled devilishly. She had to catch her breath.

  Beside her, Clayworth grumbled something about a fortnight’s advantage and dishonorable men. Whatever that meant, Cordie had no idea. She smiled at the marquess and her heart leapt as he pushed his hunter forward, stopping at her side.

  “You are even more radiant out of doors, angel,” Haversham drawled
smoothly.

  ~ 6 ~

  Marcus Gray was even more devastatingly handsome in the light of day. A blush settled on Cordie’s face when she met his gaze. He looked at her with the same wolfish grin Kelfield always wore whenever he spotted Livvie. Her heart raced. Thank heavens her mother hadn’t scared the man away. “Thank you, my lord.”

  At her side, Clayworth sighed. “Haversham, how surprising.”

  “Indeed,” the marquess replied, “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen so much of you, Clayworth.”

  “I think I preferred it the other way.”

  Haversham tossed back his head and laughed. “Afraid of a little competition?”

  “Hardly. I would simply rather deal with honorable men. Those who are as good as their word.”

  The marquess quirked a grin at Cordie. “Pity. I believe Miss Avery prefers me just the way I am.”

  Cordie looked from one of them back to the other. Were they really quarreling over her? The saintly Lord Adonis and the devilish Lord Haversham? Two days ago she never would have believed it. In the park, everyone’s eyes were on them, and they must all appear to be participants in a poorly acted play. If her mother heard about this, Cordie would never be allowed to leave her room again. “Actually, I’d prefer not to have these sorts of conversations out in public,” she replied.

  Private conversations are my favorite,” Haversham replied with a wink.

  “Cordie!” came a friendly squeal from across the park.

  She turned in her seat, spotting Phoebe Greywood racing across the park towards them holding a blue bonnet to her head, with her brother, Matthew, quick on her trail. It had been weeks since she’d seen Phoebe—well, she’d spotted her at the Staveley ball, but hadn’t gotten the chance to speak to her. Cordie was relieved when Phoebe finally reached them—her silly friend was creating even more of a scene.

  While Phoebe tried to catch her breath, Matthew hissed something in her ear, but she paid him no attention. Her eyes were focused solely on Clayworth. Cordie glanced over her shoulder at the earl, who met her gaze with a frown. How could she have forgotten Phoebe intended to set her cap for Clayworth? This was perfect. Or it could be, if she had the chance to think the situation through.