A Scandalous Ruse (Scandalous Series Book 6) Read online

  “So nice to see you again,” Cordie said softly, then touched a hand to her own cheek. “Arabella, you have something on your face. Here.” She glanced back at Greg. “Do hand her your handkerchief, Gregory.”

  Greg closed the distance between himself and the lady, as though drawn to her by some force he couldn’t see. Up close, her silvery eyes twinkled ever so softly and his breath caught slightly in his throat. Even that green smudge on her cheek, didn’t diminish her overall loveliness. In fact, it made her the tiniest bit more endearing. Strange, that.

  “My face?” the girl asked, brushing a hand across her cheek and then staring at a green smudge that now stained her fingers. “Oh, goodness!” Her face flashed crimson. “I’m so sorry. I must look affright. Do excuse me.” She turned as if she meant to dash from the room.

  But before she could escape, Greg stepped in front of her and said, “Here you are,” as he lifted his handkerchief out to her.

  When Lady Arabella blinked up at him, a tightness squeezed Greg’s heart. Before he could think the better of it, he brushed his handkerchief across her cheek, removing the green smudge that, up close, appeared to be paint of some sort.

  Damn it all, her silvery eyes pierced his soul. She looked so frightened, so haunted, so embarrassed. He couldn’t help but wish to put her at ease.

  From the settee, Cordie cleared her throat. “Arabella, I believe you’re already acquainted with my brother, Baron Avery.”

  “Umm.” She shook her head slightly, her raven curls brushing against her shoulders, her grey eyes still locked with Greg’s. “Well, we haven’t been formally introduced.”

  “Gregory Avery,” he said softly, hardly recognizing his own voice. “At your service, my lady.”

  A shy smile settled on her lips. “Bella…er…that is, Arabella Winslett.”

  Bella? Beautiful in Italian, wasn’t it? The name suited her, perfectly. “Very nice to meet you, Lady Arabella.”

  And it truly was. God, she was radiant in a very innocent sort of way.

  She blushed, and Greg bit back a smile. Blushing Bella. Some part of him decided in that instant that he would dearly love to make her blush as often as he was able. It wouldn’t be so awful playing her fiancé, would it? She did need someone’s help, at least if his sister was to be believed. With him she’d be safe, safer than she’d be with any other fellow that his sister might engage for the role.

  Cordie caught his eye, a questioning glance in hers, and Greg heaved a sigh as he nodded in agreement. All right, he’d do it. Though he suspected Cordie had no intention of letting him leave Chatham House without his agreement.

  His sister beamed in response. “Arabella,” she began, “do come join me so we can talk through our plan of action. Time is of the essence, after all.”

  Bella, as it was hard to think of her as anything else, dragged her gaze from Greg’s and then crossed the room to settle beside his sister.

  He followed her, then sat in a chair across from the pair of ladies. “Yes,” he began, “let’s do hear this plan of yours.”

  Cordie flashed him a winning smile and then shifted on her seat to better see Bella. “I’m certain you’ll be relieved to learn that Lord Avery has agreed to play your fiancé.”

  “Truly?” Bella’s eyes darted back toward Lord Avery, and her gaze locked with the handsome baron’s once more. Heavens, he was still as dashing as he’d been when she first spotted him at the Astwicks’. She gulped as uncertainty spiraled about her.

  “I truly am at your service, my lady,” he replied.

  Her heart nearly melted. He was at her service? Gooseflesh rippled across her skin. She’d never imagined so handsome a man saying such words to her. Honestly, she hadn’t ever imagined any man saying such words to her, handsome or otherwise. But to hear them from Lord Avery, his serious green eyes, staring so intently at her…well, she wasn’t certain what to think, let alone what say in response.

  She couldn’t help but wonder, however, why he was so willing to be at her service. Not that Bella wasn’t grateful that the baron was willing to help her. She was. Truly. But why would he so willingly agree to play her pretend fiancé? Was it simply because he was Lady Clayworth’s brother? Or did it have something to do with the debt the lady had mentioned the day before? And if it was the latter…

  “Tonight is the Duchess of Kelfield’s ball,” Lady Clayworth said, interrupting Bella’s musings. “I think it would be in everyone’s best interest if we announce your betrothal there tonight, don’t you agree?”

  Goodness. As soon as they announced this betrothal, it would be real. Or as real as a pretend betrothal could be. Bella sucked in a breath.

  “Before we get that far,” Lord Avery began, drawing Bella’s attention back to him, “are you certain your father will even accept my suit?”

  Papa would probably welcome a dockworker’s suit if it meant marrying her off, not that she wanted to admit as much.

  “What could he possibly find at fault with you, Gregory?” Lady Clayworth asked, a bit of sisterly pride in her voice.

  “Well, I’ve never met the man.” The baron heaved a sigh. “He might think my sudden interest in his daughter odd as I’ve never stepped foot in this house before today.”

  Bella shook her head and forced a smile to her face. “Papa will accept your offer, my lord. Hellsburg, my cousin, will take me with him to Prussia otherwise, and I believe my father would prefer that I remain in England.” At least she hoped he did. He had made it sound that way when discussing the situation with her grandfather, hadn’t he?

  “Noted.” Lord Avery nodded as though that made sense. Then he asked, “How did we meet? I assume he’ll want to know details such as this when he interviews me. It would be best for our stories to match.”

  Lady Clayworth shook her head. “I believe simple is best in this case. You’ve only had a few instances where you could have met each other.”

  “But we did meet,” Bella said softly, and both the baron and countess turned their attentions back to her. She shrugged a bit. “The other night at the Astwicks’.”

  “I’d hardly call that meeting you.” Lord Avery frowned a bit.

  But Lady Clayworth nodded in agreement. “I think it’s perfect, Greg. You met Lady Arabella briefly at the Astwicks’ and you’ve thought of nothing but her since that encounter. You’ve never been a believer in love at first sight, but now you can’t imagine your future without her by your side.”

  Lord Avery’s frown deepened. “Have you been reading horrid novels again?” he asked his sister.

  She waved off his remark with a sweep of her hand in the air. “We want the marquess to accept your offer, Greg.”

  “Yes.” He nodded. “But we don’t want to do it up too brown, Cordie, or no one will believe it when she cries off in the end.”

  Lady Clayworth heaved a sigh. “We have a while before we have to worry about the end. It’s the beginning that we need to concern ourselves with at the moment.”

  “Just tell him,” Bella began, “that we had a conversation that night about paints.” She hated to broach the subject, but Papa knew next to nothing about art, other than his wife had scandalously abandoned him and their children to tour the continent with her painting master, never to return. “He won’t look for any details in that regard. Tell him you think we’ll get along well. That’s all he’ll care about, I’m certain.”

  “Paints?” Lord Avery echoed.

  Bella nodded quickly. “Tell him you have a passion for painting. He won’t ask questions, I assure you.”

  “I haven’t an artistic bone in my body,” the baron admitted.

  That was unfortunate, but neither did Papa. Regardless, that was neither here nor there. “He doesn’t need to know that.”

  “No, I suppose he doesn’t,” Lord Avery agreed, his green eyes assessing her once more.

  Lady Clayworth clapped her hands together. “Perfect. After you get him to agree to your offer, Greg, do talk him into
announcing the betrothal at Livvie’s ball tonight.” Then she smiled in Bella’s direction. “The Kelfield ball, that is.”

  Goodness! This time tomorrow everyone would think she was betrothed to Lord Avery. Her heart sped up at the thought.

  “Yes, yes,” he grumbled slightly. “You’ve made that quite clear, Cordie. But first I should speak with Lord Aylesford, don’t you think?”

  Chapter 7

  “So you like to paint?” Greg asked Lady Arabella as she led him toward the library. Damn it all, she was enchanting. “That’s what you were doing when we arrived?”

  Her face drained a bit of its color and she gazed up at him. “You probably shouldn’t mention that to him.”

  Hadn’t she said to tell Lord Aylesford that they both enjoyed painting? Greg frowned. “I thought you said—”

  “Don’t tell him I was painting today. It might put him in a mood.”

  How very odd. Why would the marquess care one way or the other if his daughter had been painting today? She must have interpreted his thoughts or the expression on his face because she drew him to a stop in the corridor.

  She picked at the bit of dried green paint on her finger and said very softly, “When I paint it reminds him of my mother, and I try very hard not to do that.” Then she glanced up to stare directly into Greg’s eyes. “You might as well know, Lord Avery, despite the fact that my grandfather is a rather powerful duke, my family doesn’t have the most pristine of reputations.”

  Was that why her suitors were scarce? Some skeleton in her family’s closet? Greg was certainly not one to cast stones, not considering the fact that he lived in a glass house of his own. Still, he was curious, and he hadn’t stepped foot in Town for nearly a decade. Whatever was being said about her family had never reached his ears in Nottinghamshire. “What is the Winslett reputation?”

  “I suppose you have a right to know if you’re to involve yourself in this plan.” A mirthless laugh escaped her. “Where to begin? Well, firstly, my grandfather is a tyrant of the worst variety. He’d make Ivan the Terrible shake in his boots. The only person he ever has a kind word for is Prissa, my sister, who is a veritable saint. Then there’s my mother. When I was a child, Mama ran off with her painting instructor. She left all of us in pursuit of art, and none of us have heard from her since.”

  Her mother left her when she was a child? Greg did flinch at the thought. He’d never heard of such a thing. No matter how terrible his own mother was – and she was, most assuredly terrible - she’d never abandoned her children, much as some of them might have wanted her to.

  “My father is the soft spoken sort, and he keeps to himself,” Lady Arabella continued, breaking Greg’s reverie. “And my brother is a hopeless drunkard, though you’ve probably already sorted that one out.” Her silver eyes, so sad, pierced his heart, and Greg had the overwhelming desire to brush his fingers across her cheek, to smooth away the worry that creased her brow and to vow that he would make everything right for her.

  The poor girl. Cordie was right. Someone did need to help her. It might as well be Greg. After all, her secrets were safe with him, and when this sham of a betrothal was over, he’d never breathe a word of any of this to another living soul.

  “If you don’t want to align yourself with us, even for such a short period of time, I’ll understand, Lord Avery.”

  And abandon her after he’d given his word? No. She did need his help. Besides, Greg was far from perfect himself. He shook his head as he offered her his arm. “I will be honored to call you my pretend fiancée, Lady Arabella.”

  She smiled softly as she slid her hand around his arm, and that pretty blush of hers stained her cheeks once more. Damn it all, she truly was lovely. And her innocent touch might very well drive him wild.

  “In that case,” she said, “I mean, if you’re to be my fiancé, you should probably call me Bella. That’s what Papa calls me.”

  Greg’s heart lifted a bit. “Then you should call me Greg. My family does.”

  “Greg,” she repeated as though testing the name on her tongue, and the sound of it swirled around Greg like a caress. “Thank you. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you for your kindness and assistance.”

  He’d settle for a kiss. Of course, saying as much would hardly be appropriate. So he shrugged and said, “No need, Bella. I’m happy to be of service. Besides, I have a saint for a sibling myself. Tristan. I believe he helped your brother to your coach the other night.”

  The lieutenant was the baron’s brother! They did have the same eyes, though Lord Avery was a bit taller. “He was very kind.”

  “As I said, a saint.” Greg shook his head, hoping to charm her just a bit. “We less saintly siblings have to stick together, Bella.”

  At that, she laughed. “After this favor you’re doing me, I think you shall be the saintly one in your family.”

  Greg managed not to snort. One good deed would hardly qualify him for sainthood. A lifetime of atonement wouldn’t even bring him close. “Why don’t we find your father, shall we?”

  They did find her father in the library as Bella had first suggested they might. The Marquess of Aylesford, an older man with a bit of grey at his temples, sat in an overstuffed leather chair, an old worn tome in his lap. At their entrance, the man’s brow lifted at seeing his daughter. “Bella?” he said as he rose to his feet. “What a surprise.”

  “Papa,” she said, dropping Greg’s arm and stepping closer to her father. “I’d like to introduce you to Lord Avery.” Then she glanced behind her and smiled at Greg. “My father, the Marquess of Aylesford.”

  “An honor to meet you, my lord,” Greg said, dipping his head in greeting. “Bella has spoken so highly of you.”

  “Has she?” the old man asked, his eyes sweeping across Greg’s person. “Then you have me at a loss, Avery. I haven’t heard your name before.”

  Of course he hadn’t. Bella had only met Greg an hour ago. “I do hope you’ll hear more of me in the coming years, Aylesford.”

  “Indeed?” Surprise registered on the old man’s face and a bit of hope flashed in his eyes.

  For a moment, remorse washed over Greg. Aylesford would only be too happy to believe the story he was about to hear, of that Greg had no doubt. No, he would never qualify for sainthood. Liars were excluded from such accolades. He looked from the marquess to his daughter and nodded. “If you don’t mind, my dear, I’d like a private word with your father.”

  “Of course.” She nodded quickly and then bustled from the library, and Greg couldn’t help but stare after her departing form and the mesmerizing swish of her skirts.

  “What’s this about, Avery?” her father asked, drawing Greg’s attention back to the marquess in the middle of the library.

  Greg steadied his shoulders and hoped he could convince the man. “I would very much like to marry your daughter.”

  Aylesford touched a hand to his heart. “You want to marry Bella?”

  Greg could certainly think of worse ways to spend one’s future, but this was all just pretend, he had to remind himself. He nodded quickly in response, though. “Yes, sir. I’ve thought of little else since meeting her.”

  The marquess smiled, then gestured to a chair across from his. “Please do have a seat, Avery,” he said as he dropped back into his own chair.

  Greg quickly complied though his stomach twisted in a knot as he did so.

  “I’m afraid you have quite taken me by surprise,” Bella’s father began. “I hardly expected to be having this conversation today.”

  Of that, Greg had no doubt. Still, he shook his head. “I imagine you turn away Bella’s suitors on a regular basis, sir, but I do hope you’ll find it in your heart to accept my suit.”

  The marquess narrowed his eyes slightly, and Greg shifted a bit in his seat. Damn it all, was he playing this wrong?

  “And why should I accept your suit, Lord Avery? What makes you different from the others?”

  Were there others? He got the im
pression there wasn’t anyone else, which was why he’d been roped into this. But perhaps the marquess was simply trying to keep from showing his hand. Either way, Greg had no idea how to answer Aylesford’s question. If Cordie and Clayworth hadn’t eloped, if the earl had asked Greg for Cordie’s hand instead, what would he have wanted to hear from the man? “I don’t know that I am different,” he began, “but I can promise you that I’ll love and care for her all of my days. She’ll never want for anything. I’ll make her happiness my top concern from the moment I wake ‘til the moment I fall asleep. I am quite in love with her.”

  The marquess’ face softened a bit and the knot in Greg’s stomach tightened even more. Cordie had said to focus on the beginning, not the end; but Greg couldn’t help but feel more than a bit guilty about what their ruse would do to Aylesford when this was all over. The man clearly cared about his daughter, he clearly wanted the best for her.

  “I don’t know the first thing about you, Avery. I never even heard your name until just now. You can’t just expect to walk in here and that I’ll accept your offer when I know nothing about you.”

  Probably not. In Aylesford’s place, he’d want more than that too. “What can I tell you, sir? What would you like to know? I’m the 12th Baron Avery. My family seat, Rufford Hall, is in Nottinghamhshire. It’s where I’ve spent most of my life and I imagine that when the season is over, I’ll return home rather quickly.”

  “You’re not fond of Town, then?”

  To put it lightly. Greg shook his head. “I’m only here this season at my sister’s request, the Countess of Clayworth. And if I hadn’t met your daughter, I might very well be on my way home right now.” What had Bella said would convince her father…? Oh, yes… “My paints await me at home, you see.”

  “You paint?” the marquess asked, his eyes turning a bit dull.

  On second thought, mentioning paints might not have been the best idea. But Greg had already started down that path. “Bella and I have had the most interesting conversations about painting techniques. Honestly, sir, I think we will suit rather well. If there’s anything I can do or say to convince you of that…”