Duke of Scandal (Moonlight Square, Book 1) (6 page)

“Indeed,” said Jason, his cold stare fixed on Gerald.

“Good afternoon, coz.” Setting his hat at just the proper angle, Charles hastened out the door, but Gerald lingered a moment longer, bristling, his thick legs planted. He reminded Felicity a bit of a wild boar as his beady eyes shifted back and forth angrily between her and Jason.

“This isn’t over,” he informed them both.

“Oh, but it is, Mr. Carvel,” Jason said softly. “Good day.”

Whatever Gerald read in Jason’s eyes made him back down, at least for now. He stomped toward the door, snatching his hat off the coat hook on the way. “You’re as mad as the old dame was, Felicity,” he muttered. “No wonder you’re a spinster.”

The front door slammed a moment later.

“Spinster?” she cried, turning to Jason, who scowled at her.

“Neighbor boy?” he retorted.

But staring matter-of-factly at each other, they both started laughing at the absurdity of the exchange.

Felicity shook her head and cupped her temples. “Why in the world would I want to marry Cousin Gerald?”

“Why would anyone want to marry him?” he countered.

“Good point,” she replied. “That boor!” She sighed, then shook her head again with a chuckle, holding his gaze. “Remember the battles you boys used to have?”

“Do I ever. Hurling everything from rocks to mud pies at each other.” He grinned. “Good fun.”

Propping her hand on her hip, Felicity looked him up and down. “Well, you might have got rid of him for me, Duke, but don’t think this changes anything. I am still cross at you. And rather shocked you actually showed up.”

“Eh, don’t get too excited.” He gave her a sardonic look. “I’m only here to see the papers.” He brushed past her, folio in hand. “Arrived not a moment too soon, though, by the look of it. Oh, what fun you have in store, Miss Carvel. If you think your cousin is obnoxious, wait till word of your inheritance really gets out. Trust me, you’ve entered a whole new realm of false friends and toadies. Welcome to my life,” he added under his breath. “I need more light. This writing’s tiny.”

He stalked through Aunt Kirby’s pretty stone house—or rather,
her
house now—as if he owned it, breezing out through the back door onto the shady terrace, where he headed for the wrought iron table and chairs.

Felicity followed. “I noticed that about the print on all those documents. Why do they make it so small?”

“Because they’re hoping you will never actually read it.” He pulled out one of the cushioned chairs for her and waited for her to sit.

Felicity fought not to get drawn in by his charm or the wonderful air of command that he was capable of when he chose to use it. “Is this really necessary?” she asked.

“You might show some gratitude,” he said crisply, though his eyes still danced like the stars at night. “Do you think I would subject myself to the torture of reading legal jargon for just anybody?”

She tried not to smile at that.

“Chop, chop, girl, before I change my mind and leave you to the parasites and sharks.”

“Humph.” She plopped down into the chair while Jason sat down beside her in the shade.

He opened the leather binder and began turning the pages, assessing what was there.

“Why
did
Her Ladyship leave everything to you, anyway?” he asked as he skimmed another page, only glancing briefly at her. “It does seem slightly surprising.”

Felicity smiled and propped her elbow on the table, resting her chin on her hand. “Aunt Kirby had rather particular ideas about the role of a woman in the world. That’s why people called her eccentric. She loved being a wealthy widow because she didn’t have to abide by anyone’s rules.”

“She didn’t like her husband?”

“Oh, no, that’s not what I meant. She adored him for the decade she had him, but he died so young. After that, all she had was his money. She told me once that she wouldn’t have remarried for the world.”

He eyed her curiously. “What if she fell in love?”

“Oh, she did fall in love. Lots of times. But she preferred to keep her independence.” Felicity paused. “Did you know she took herself on a Grand Tour well before the French Revolution?”

He smiled. “No, I didn’t. Sounds as though Pete’s not the only adventurer in the family.”

“That’s true. Aunt Kirby said the fortune she’d inherited from her husband permitted her the freedom to live an extraordinary life. She wanted that for me, too.” She heaved an unhappy sigh. “That’s why she left me this ridiculous pile of money.”

“I see.” He closed the binder, studying her. “So what kind of extraordinary life do
you
envision, Miss Carvel?”

She looked at him for a long moment, a slight flicker of panic rising in the back of her mind at the question. Not a single answer came to her. Not a single dream dared present itself for her to chase, and that in itself frightened her.

Good God, was she really this boring? Or just locked in a cage of her own making?

No,
she realized. Her heart refused to suggest any grand wishes because, deep down, she thought,
What’s the point? Why let yourself long for anything when it’ll never happen?

She glanced at him.
That was the lesson
you
taught me, Jason.

Floundering, she hid her teeming inner conflict from his searching gaze with a polite smile and just shrugged. “I hardly know.”

“Well, you’d better think of something, because I don’t recommend you spend it all. A wise schedule of investments will preserve it for future generations and help to make it grow. That is one reason it was wise of your aunt not to split the money up and dole it out among you and your cousins. Lesson one in being rich: a large sum is much easier to grow.”

She tilted her head. “You actually sound like you know what you’re talking about.”

He snorted and leaned back in his chair, slanting her a wry smile, then he read on.

“You’re looking better than before,” she remarked after a moment, studying him.

“You shouldn’t stare at someone while they are reading. It’s considered rude,” he said.

“Who were they?” she ventured in a confidential tone.

He went very still, but his glance shifted uncomfortably from the page to her face and then back again. “I presume you mean the girls.”

“Yes.”

He avoided her gaze. “They were no one.”

“Which one is your lover? Or…surely not
both
?”

His cheeks actually colored a bit as he sent her a brief scowl. “Neither!”

“Don’t lie to me. I’m not a child.”

“I’m not lying! I wouldn’t use the term
lover
for women of their sort,” he mumbled.

“Oh. I see.”

He shot her a glower and then looked away, clutching the papers in both hands as he stared very hard at them, sinking down a bit in his seat.

Wickedly, she was rather enjoying his discomfiture. “So…what
would
you call them, then?” she asked after a while.

He refused to look at her. “If you must know, they
told
me their names were Ginger and Velvet. So that’s what I call them.”

She stifled a snort of ridicule. “
Ginger
and
Velvet
?”

Jason eyed her, clearly hearing the humor in her voice and apparently relieved she had not fainted. He returned his gaze resolutely to the papers and mumbled, “I’d wager their real names are closer to Fannie and Jane, but, you know, I didn’t really ask.”

“You mean you didn’t care,” she needled.

“Obviously.”

“Jason!”

“What?” he bit out, tossing the folio aside. “I suppose you want me to apologize for something that doesn’t concern you. Fine, if it makes you feel better. I am sorry. Though for what, I am not sure.”

“I don’t want your apology!”

“What, then? What do you want from me, Felicity Carvel? Please tell me, because I’ve no blasted idea.”

She knew exactly what he was talking about and shut her mouth abruptly.

He waited as though daring her to admit something she never would.

“I want you to be happy,” she managed at last. “And sane. And to stop killing yourself bit by bit and racing full tilt down the road to perdition.”

There.
It was close enough to telling him that she still cared. And frankly, she’d been dying to say those words to him for years—tell him what she really thought of his wild mode of life.

“I see.” He tapped the pencil he’d been using as a pointer through the legal pages on the table a few times, then chucked even that aside.

“See what?”

“You’re going to sort me out, are you, my darling?” he taunted, the most cynical of challenges in his midnight eyes. “Do you know how many times I’ve heard this speech from well-meaning women?”

She looked at him for a long moment, taken aback by the tactic. What could she do but shrug and deny it?

“I’m not going to do anything with you, Jason. I tried that, as you’ll recall. It didn’t work.”

“Oh, yes, I do recall. Your attempt to rob me of my honor. That, or get me killed.”

She gasped at his accusation. “And here I thought you might’ve become a gentleman now that you’re supposedly grown up!” Furious at him, she started to rise, meaning to leave him sitting there alone, but he grasped her forearm.

“Don’t you dare say I was not a gentleman with you,” he warned her, fire in his eyes. “You have no idea what that could have led to. None at all. You were
fifteen
.”

“And you’ve hated me ever since,” she said coldly, her insides turned to ice. “What are you even doing here?” She pulled her arm free of his hold. “You can’t be after the money. So why did you even bother? Oh, wait. I know why. Because you’re such a great
friend
to my brother.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he demanded.

She stared at him, amazed at how willfully obtuse he was being.

“What, you want to make me say it?” he countered. “Very well. I’m here because I care about you, Felicity. If that’s wrong, I’m sorry. It’s the truth.”

She stared at him, dismayed to find that she believed him. She dropped her gaze, though she could still feel his scrutiny. “Well, you’ve got a funny way of showing it, all but ignoring me for the past eight years.” She ventured a guarded glance, but to her surprise, he did not deny that he had done so.

“It seemed best to stay away from you,” he finally admitted.

“And why is that?”

“Why do you think, Felicity?” he exclaimed, then looked away.

A moment later, he shoved the papers toward her. “Everything appears to be in order here. I should go.”

“I do not understand you,” she said.

“Obviously,” he muttered again.

“If you care so much about my brother, then why did you send him off on this expedition? You should have talked him out of this whole daft notion, not
paid
for him to go! Must I lose my last remaining family member? Will you not be happy until I am left entirely alone?”

His angry gaze softened as tears rushed into her eyes.

She struggled to keep her composure, lowering her gaze. She shook her head. “I know Peter’s always liked science and travel, but he barely just got home from the war, Jason. I worried about him night and day for
six years
. Why couldn’t I just have my brother safe at home for a while? But no, you must always indulge yourself, living vicariously through him! Just like Aunt Kirby tried to relive her youth vicariously through me.”

“Felicity—”

“Well, it’s true, isn’t it? You send my brother off to risk his neck while you stay at home playing with y-your Gingers and your Velvets!” she finished in withering contempt.

He stared at her, looking taken aback to hear anyone dare address His Grace that way, let alone to grasp the anger she had been carrying around toward him.

“Well,” he murmured at last, “you
have
grown up, haven’t you?”

She glared at him.

“Very well,” he said. “I think it’s time we had that conversation.”

“What conversation?” she demanded, roughly brushing away the tear that had run down her cheek.

“Sit down. Please.”

Begrudgingly, she sank down into her seat across from him. He studied her for a moment, as though unsure what to say.

Around them, the birds chirped in the garden, and through the screen of shrubberies beyond the fence, a carriage clip-clopped by along the quiet Mayfair street where she lived.

“My dear, you may be Peter’s closest kin, but you’re apparently as blind as everyone else was to his true condition.”

“What are you talking about?”

He paused, watching her tenderly. “Felicity, your brother came back more damaged by the war than I think you realize.”

Her stomach promptly knotted up. “What do you mean? I know he got shot and slashed with cavalry sabers a couple of times, but he healed up fine. He told me so!”

“I’m not talking about physical scars, darling. Surely you noticed he wasn’t quite himself when he came back.”

Gerald’s words about her brother rang in her ears:
Not right in the head…

“You knew about the nightmares?” Jason asked gently.

“Well, yes, but he said he was getting better.”

“Of course he’d tell his sister that.” Jason shook his head as he held her gaze. “You can’t expect a man to hurl himself against the enemy continuously for years, and then toss him back into the streets of normal life as though nothing ever happened. Believe me, I didn’t want him to leave, either. I missed him just as much as you did. He’s the truest friend I’ve got. Which is precisely why I funded the expedition with the field crew and the naturalists and the artists and cartographers and the native Sherpa guides and the whole bloody lot. You think I
wanted
him to go? No. I feared what he might do if we didn’t find some project to keep him busy. Something big.”