All's Fair in Love and Scandal (2 page)

C
HAPTER
T
HREE

M
adeline Wilde was almost relieved when Douglas Bennet gave her an excuse to leave the crowded and rather dull ball. Her deliciously fashionable shoes were beginning to pinch, and she was tired. When she had claimed her cloak, she stepped out onto the broad steps of Creighton House and took a deep breath of cool night air. Even ripe with the scent of horses, it was refreshing.

Given the size of the ball, there were a number of carriages for hire loitering nearby. It was only a short journey to her house, but she wasn’t about to walk. Just closing the carriage door between her and the dark night outside made her breathe easier, and within ten minutes the hired hack stopped in front of her house. “One shilling, ma’am,” said the driver.

She stepped down and handed him the money. “Plus an extra, sir, if you remain here until I’m safely inside.” She showed him the promised shilling.

“Expecting trouble?”

“No,” she said, “but a lady alone at night cannot be too cautious. Will you wait?”

He hesitated, then put out his hand. “Aye.”

She gave him her best, most grateful, smile as she handed over the coin. She’d learned to choose her drivers carefully after one took her extra shilling and drove off early. But this man had a kind face and she sensed he’d keep his word. “Thank you.”

The key was already in her other hand. She walked briskly to her door and put it in the lock. Her maid would come to the door if she knocked, but Madeline didn’t want to wait on the step. She couldn’t quite put her finger on anything threatening, but lately she’d been dogged by a suspicion that someone was following her. She lived on a moderately quiet square, yet for the last fortnight, there always seemed to be a man lingering nearby when she arrived home. No matter how often she told herself she was being silly—there were drunks everywhere, and it was a public street, where anyone might walk at any hour of the day or night—she couldn’t shake a slight feeling of unease. Now she carried her own key and did her best to make certain someone was about, even just a hack driver.

For a moment Douglas Bennet’s face—and figure—flashed through her mind. No one would bother her if she had a man like that at her side. And he certainly could make her heart race, for reasons both good and bad. She wondered what had brought him over to the quiet corner where she lurked tonight. Mr. Bennet was notorious for his wagering, but when he leaned over her and focused that heart-stopping smile on her . . .

Mercifully the lock turned. It had grown a bit temperamental of late and didn’t always open at once. With a sigh of relief, she slipped into her house. From the street, the hack driver touched his cap and said a quiet “G’ night, ma’am.” She raised one hand in thanks and shot the bolt as the hack drove off, its wheels rattling loudly in the midnight quiet.

Madeline felt the peace of the house envelop her. The quiet was very welcome after the din of the ball, and she took a deep breath, glad to be home. Carefully she lifted her hood free of her hair and took off her gloves. Like her cloak, they were warm, thick green velvet lined with silk, and one of Arthur’s last gifts to her before he died. She’d taken good care of both, for it made her feel a little bit of him was still here, comforting her.

“Home at last.” Constance, her maid, hurried down the stairs. “I just stepped away for a moment, madam.”

“There’s no need to apologize.” Madeline untied the cloak and shrugged it off. “I’m considering hiring a regular driver, to avoid taking hacks all the time.”

“An excellent thought!” The maid took the cloak. “Hire a strapping one who will sleep in the kitchen.”

Madeline raised one brow. “I must not give you enough work to do.”

“Just observing that if you’re going to have a man about the house, he ought to be a fine, big one able to defend us.”

“And handsome to look at.” Madeline tried not to think of Mr. Bennet again.

“Wouldn’t hurt a bit,” agreed Constance without a blush. “Someone tall and dark-haired, with piercing blue eyes. He’d be called Jeremy, or Philip, or some other posh name . . .”

“We shall have to make do without him for at least one more night.” She rubbed her bare arms, feeling the chill. “I’ll take some tea in my room.”

“Yes, madam.” Constance hurried off toward the kitchen. She was a very efficient and capable maid, despite her sauciness.

Madeline climbed the stairs to her private sitting room and bedroom. The rooms were meant to be used as adjoining bedrooms, but since she had no husband now, the second room was her personal retreat. The whole house was hers, but somehow this small room was special. Here she felt completely at ease, able to do as she pleased and say what she thought—and most importantly, write what earned her keep.

Constance had left the fire banked, and she stopped to stir it up. It was cool tonight, and without the crush of guests in a ballroom, her fashionable gown was inadequate. For a moment she stood in front of the fireplace, soaking in the warmth from the reviving fire. Unbidden, the thought ran across her mind that she could have had Mr. Bennet here tonight, and he would have kept her warm all night long.

Warm until morning, when he would leave without a word
, she told herself. She had more important things to think about than that man, even if he really was a handsome devil. “Mr. Nash! Where are you?” When there was no stirring in the room, she lit a lamp, holding it high. “Mr. Nash,” she scolded. “Come sit by the fire with me.”

With a wide yawn, Mr. Nash emerged from his hiding place, a knitted throw on the chaise longue by the window. Stretching his legs, he strolled forward as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

“You heartless creature,” she told him. “It was too much to hope you’d keep my chair warm, wasn’t it?”

For answer he only yawned again. Madeline bent down and picked up the black and white cat, scratching under his chin until a loud purr rumbled through his body. She smiled. “I know what you want. You’re so predictable, Mr. Nash.” He kneaded his paws against her shoulder. She kept scratching his neck until a careless claw snagged on her gown, at which point she reluctantly put him down. He’d ruined a bodice last week and she was particularly fond of this one.

“Just like a male, to tear at a lady’s clothing with no thought for her convenience.” Mr. Nash seemed to shrug it off. He began licking his paw and swiping it over his ear, almost like a dandy primping for a night out. It brought a smile to her face, imagining him strutting among the female cats of London.

She took off her bracelets and swung a shawl around her shoulders. From a small box on the mantel she produced a key, which unlocked her writing desk near the fireplace. Madeline set out her materials, mentally framing her narrative. Sometimes she wished for more company than Mr. Nash, who was an excellent listener but a terrible conversationalist. He also had a tendency to lie down on top of her papers and smudge her ink, which had led to him being banned from the desk. When she pulled her chair out, Mr. Nash leapt lightly into her lap and curled up, hiding his face under one paw. She gave his ears one last scratch, then opened her ink and took up her pen.

But instead of writing her usual piece, breathless with suggestion and slyly underpinned with innuendo, she found herself hesitating. Again the infuriating Mr. Bennet swaggered across her mind’s eye, unspeakably fit and impossibly charming. If she hadn’t known who he was, Madeline was half afraid she would have fallen for him tonight. Observing him from across ballrooms hadn’t prepared her for the sheer size of him, or the force of his charm, or the warmth behind his smile. In her experience, rakes were predators, serpents in disguise, and if one observed closely, there was a coldness at the core of them. Mr. Bennet, though, seemed to hum with energy and life and blazing hot interest—and all of it focused on her.

Well. She prepared her pen, forcing her mind away from him. He wasn’t the first man to look at her that way, and he probably wouldn’t be the last. After all, she did encourage it in certain situations. It made her job much easier, and she was hardly immune to a little flattery. What woman didn’t enjoy being the subject of a handsome man’s attention? The fact that she knew it was only transient made it easier to refuse them, but in their first rush of determination and desire, some gentlemen were quite charming and amusing.

It was less enjoyable now that they’d started wagering about her, though. She thought about that, trying to consider all the possibilities. Mr. Bennet had admitted that he approached her on a wager, although a fairly stupid one in her opinion. A dance? That was all he wanted? She would have sworn not . . .

“Here we are, madam.” Constance’s entrance with the tea jerked her out of her thoughts. “I brought the brandy as well, since it’s cool out.”

“Thank you.” She took the tea her maid poured and sipped it with a sigh of contentment.

“Do you think you’ll be late tonight?” Constance picked up the discarded bracelets and put them away.

If she could keep her thoughts away from charming rogues, it shouldn’t take long to write her piece. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Do you need anything else, then?”

Madeline shook her head. She could dress for bed without help. “There’s no need for you to stay up. Go to bed, Constance.”

The girl gave her a grateful grin. “Sleep well, madam.” She let herself out and closed the door.

Madeline finished her first cup of tea and poured a second. The tea banished the chill from her fingers, and the respite steadied her thoughts. Douglas Bennet was a rogue like many others. Just because she found him more physically appealing didn’t mean he was different from the rest. He would have to be another one of her mystery men, alluded to in her work. It made her smile. Perhaps there was a benefit to her unexpected fascination with him after all. She picked up her pen and set to work.

The clock struck three before she finished, poking her pen back into the ink pot and stretching her cramped fingers. She scratched Mr. Nash’s head as she read over what she’d written. Yes, it would serve.

“Let’s go to sleep,” she told her cat, who barely woke enough to meow at her for carrying him into the bedroom and depositing him on the bed. “That’s enough for one night.”

S
he thought no more about it until the afternoon, when she went to her weekly appointment at Wharton’s Bank. Mr. Sloan, the manager, showed her into the back office as usual. But this time, unusually, the man she’d come to meet was already there, standing in front of the desk with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Liam.” She gave him her hand. “Punctual, for a change.”

Liam MacGregor smiled. “Perhaps I’ve decided to mend my ways.”

Madeline regarded him as she seated herself. “What is it really? Often I wait half an hour for you.” She opened her reticule and took out the papers she’d written last night. “Here you are.”

He took them and hesitated a moment, tapping the packet against the desk beside him. “Will I find aught of Douglas Bennet in here?”

She didn’t reply, struck motionless by the name. How on earth . . . ?

“I ask,” he went on, slowly and carefully, “because it’s not yet four o’clock, and already I’ve heard you made a fool of him last night.”

“A fool!” She laughed in surprise. “He asked me to dance. I refused. He asked again, and I left him. If this makes a man a fool—”

“Whatever you said, it left him standing there looking furious, and then—in the words of one old biddy—you laughed in his face and pranced away.”

Madeline’s mouth flattened. “I do not prance.”

Liam gave a sharp bark of laughter and prowled around the small office as though he longed to smash something. “You’ve never seen yourself walk away, my dear. To a man deep in lust, there might be an element of prancing to your walk.”

She shot to her feet. “Is there? Here, tell me if you notice it as I walk away from you right now.”

He waved one hand irritably. “Sit down. I’m not dying of lust for you.”

“Thank heavens,” she murmured, reluctantly sinking back into her chair.

“God save me if ever I made that mistake,” he agreed. “I thought you knew how to turn them down sweetly.”

“I do.” She did. And yet . . . she hadn’t really made the effort with Mr. Bennet. She had been blunt and almost crude to his face. Not that it mattered. “Are you frightened because someone is whispering that I teased him? You must know it helps me do my job to tease a man now and then. Besides, he asked for it. He approached me. My every lighthearted word, he batted aside. He was persistent, and he grew distracting. Yes, I sent him away, and if he wasn’t amused by the manner of it, I plead guilty.” She shrugged. “I wasn’t amused by his attentions.”

Liam gave her a narrow-eyed stare. “If you’re certain,” he said at last, grudgingly. “I was surprised to hear of it, that’s all.”

Not half as surprised as Madeline was to hear that her encounter with Mr. Bennet was being talked about, so soon and so widely. Besides Madeline herself, Liam had one source of information: his mother. Mrs. MacGregor was very fond of gossip, but she wasn’t part of the same social circles as Madeline, let alone Douglas Bennet. Mrs. MacGregor hadn’t been at the ball last night, and quite likely none of her friends had been, either. If she’d already heard of it, all of London must be murmuring about it. “If you didn’t take tea with your mother every day, you wouldn’t have heard anything to trouble you.”

He grinned. “I know. But it makes her happy and gives me a chance to gather real intelligence.”

“As if the sales numbers are not enough to persuade you that I gather real intelligence,” she said wryly. “Are you concerned about something else? It isn’t like you to take gossip so seriously—not in this way,” she amended quickly.

“Gossip is my business.” He tucked her latest effort into his coat pocket. “But from time to time, I worry about you.”

Madeline felt a little touched in spite of herself. She knew he meant it in a brotherly way. Liam could be impatient and cutting with her at times, but she never doubted he would rush to her aid if she asked him. “That’s not part of our partnership.”