Once Upon a Scandal (12 page)

“Remington.” Victoria grabbed his shoulders, her fingertips savagely digging into his evening coat. Though she did not push him away, she did not allow him to lean any closer, either. She continued to rigidly hold him in place, her arms visibly trembling. “No. Enough. I cannot submit to this. I intend to marry someone else. Anyone else. Anyone but you.”

“You do not mean it.”

“Yes. I do.”

“No. You cannot.” He pushed away her arms and savagely reached up and held her face in both hands, forcing her to look at him. Those beautiful jade eyes he’d thought he’d never see again met his. He focused on nothing else but those hauntingly sad eyes, and tried to keep himself from claiming her mouth and her body, whether he had the right to or not.

It wasn’t mere lust and desire that raged within him and demanded he do so. No. It was the last of his soul, that wanted to be saved. A soul that desperately needed to erase all memories of the marchesa from his skin, from his body and from his mind. He wanted to replace all of it with what he had always needed. His Victoria.

“Tell me you want to return to what we once had,” he demanded, his thumbs repeatedly tracing the soft curve behind her ears as he continued to fiercely cup her face against his hands. “Tell me, bella. I need to hear it.”

Her eyes widened as her breath came in more frantic takes. “Whether or not you choose to accept it, I am changed. I have moved on. And so should you. We cannot return to what we once had.”

Jonathan released her and leaned back, his arms dropping heavily to his sides. She was going to let this opportunity drift by without even giving them a chance. And here he thought his soul was going to cast shadows. Hers appeared to drift in a fog.

He stumbled to his feet, away from the sofa. Adjusting his evening coat to hide his arousal, he strode toward the other side of the darkened room, trying to put as much distance between them as possible.

The clock on the mantel chimed. Fifteen minutes were all that remained. What could he possibly say in fifteen minutes that would enable her to understand that although he was not the same man, he had kept a sliver of the old Jonathan meant for her and her alone?

Common sense and his own goddamn pride demanded he leave her and London and return to Venice to what little family he had left, but how could he abandon the only true sweetness he’d ever known in his life? Her. Them. Happiness could have been theirs had he not been so irresponsible. He had to fight for her. He had to.

He strode back toward her and rounded the sofa. He swept up his gloves, which still lay at her slippered feet and pulled each one on, adjusting his fingers against the leather. “I want you to know everything. Where I went. What I did. Who I associated with all these years and why. All I ask is that you try to forgive me for what I submitted to. For that, I am not proud. But everything I did, I did for Cornelia and my stepmother. And that I hope you can respect.”

She blinked rapidly, fighting tears, and rose to her feet, shaking her head. Bringing her hands together, she frantically fumbled with them. After a few solid tugs, she removed the ruby ring from her finger and held it out. “I have suffered enough at your hands and wish to suffer no more. Please. Take it. We are done.”

He drew in a ragged breath and let it out, willing himself to remain calm. Willing himself not be angry with her. “You wound me, bella.”

“I do not mean to wound you.”

“And yet you do. Why? Why do you refuse to listen to the words I have to say? It is because you fear that in the end, you will submit to me and wound that stupid pride?”

“No. If you haven’t noticed, Remington, I have grown into a woman. A woman who has no need to reattach herself to a past created by her own naïve understanding of relationships. Which is why I intend to give my hand to Lord Moreland, not you. I have known him since the age of ten and can trust him in a way I cannot trust you. I think it best for everyone. I really do.”

And he thought letting her go the first time had been suicide against his soul. This was far worse. For at least then, he hadn’t lost her to another man. He stepped back, fisting his hands. “It may be best for you, but it is not best for me.”

She lowered her hand with the ring and turned away. “Suffering has a way of sharpening one’s understanding of the real world.”

“It also has a way of sharpening your tongue.”

She glared at him. “I have suffered far too much in your absence to stand here and listen to this.”

He shifted his jaw. “Have you considered that perhaps you are not alone in your suffering? Do you have any idea what I have been through since you last saw me? Any? Neither you nor I are the same, but that doesn’t mean—”

A loud knock and the creaking of hinges caused them both to swing around.

Mr. Parker stepped into the doorway. “Lady Victoria. Lord Moreland will be joining you shortly. Lord Remington? Your time is done.” Mr. Parker swept his hand out toward the corridor.

Jonathan swung toward Victoria one last time and stared her down. “Though I have yet to redeem myself in countless ways, and I am more than prepared to crawl for you and set aside my pride, I cannot mend what has come to pass if you do not give me the opportunity to mend it. We can be happy if you wish it. But only if you wish it.” He offered her a curt bow, formally announcing that he was done speaking, then left the room, dreading the stroke of midnight and the news it would bring.

A lady must always uphold the promises she makes. Which is why it is imperative she never make the wrong sort of promises.
—
How To Avoid a Scandal, Author Unknown

WHEN REMINGTON had disappeared out into the corridor along with Mr. Parker, Victoria drifted back toward the sofa and sat, feeling as though she had no pulse and no breath left. She stared at the burning coals before her, mindlessly fingering Remington’s ring.

Despite everything, she had managed to remain true to herself. She had managed to remind herself that emotional attachments always brought pain and loss. Always. She’d known that since she was thirteen.

Victoria fingered the ring one last time, then raised the ruby stone to her lips and whispered, “Release us of each other. Tonight.” She tucked the ring into a small pocket on her bodice. Even though the stupid ring never did anything she asked, she had fallen into the embarrassing custom of still asking it for things. In many ways, it had been her only friend. Always there.

Steps approached, announcing another game was about to begin. She drew in a breath and let it out.

Mr. Parker gestured for Lord Moreland to enter. Moreland nodded to Mr. Parker amiably and stepped into the room. The door closed.

Moreland’s dark eyes captured hers.

Despite his chiseled, handsome face, there was no flutter in her stomach to be had. Not that she wanted there to be any fluttering. She was done complicating her life with fluttering. As she’d learned, it only led to a pathetic form of misery. She wanted simple and reliable. And Lord Moreland was simple and reliable. She had known that since she was ten.

Moreland adjusted his evening coat around his solid frame and made his way across the room, his booted steps and the movement of his long legs smooth and refined. He paused before her, withdrew the sealed parchment from within his inner coat pocket and presented it with a gloved hand.

She slipped the parchment from his fingers and brought it onto her lap. “Thank you.”

He gestured toward the space beside her. “Might I?”

“Of course.” She smiled. “I certainly wouldn’t ask you to stand for the next hour and a half.”

“I appreciate that.” He smirked and seated himself on the other end of the sofa, as far from her as possible, against the carved wooden arm.

She blinked, wondering why he was putting almost a rude amount of distance between them. It wasn’t as if they didn’t know each other. They had spoken repeatedly on the many occasions he had visited her father over the years.

He awkwardly smoothed his gloved hand against the side of his chestnut hair, as if he was rehearsing something in his head. He paused and glanced toward her, shifting against the cushion. “I should probably admit that I had no idea what I was getting involved with when your cousin arrived at my door.”

She sighed. “I can only apologize.”

“I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think you were of any worth, Victoria.”

“Let us hope that is a compliment.”

“It is.”

“Thank you.” She cracked the seal on the parchment. “I never realized you held any interest in matrimony. You’ve always led a quiet, solitary life, haven’t you?” She lifted a brow. “Might I ask why you are vying for my hand? Or am I being too forward?”

He leaned toward her. “You were always overly forward in nature, Victoria. Which, I will admit, I have always found charming. Why am I vying for you? Let us say I am challenging myself to step outside my usual way of life.” He cleared his throat and gestured toward the parchment in her hand. “Shall we proceed?”

“Yes.” Victoria unfolded the parchment, revealing twenty questions written in black ink, all of them in her father’s slanted, sloppy hand. The effort her father had put into this was astonishing. Especially considering he didn’t even know who she was anymore.

She missed her father, gruff though he had been at times. She missed the way he used to nudge her when he was trying to convince her to agree with him on something he knew she never would. She missed the way he used to say her name whenever he took it into his silly head to taunt her about something. That man was gone now. But at least she could say she’d known him and that he had been her father.

Victoria swallowed, drew her brows together and read the first question. She sighed, forcing herself to say the words. “How many children do you want?”

Moreland’s brows rose a fraction, his shaven face actually flushing. He shrugged. “I never considered an actual number. Though I will admit to being drawn to larger families.”

“And what is your definition of a large family?”

He shrugged again. “Seven or eight. Ten, at the very most.”

Victoria’s eyes widened as she bit her tongue to prevent her from saying anything she oughtn’t. Heaven forbid her poor body have to endure that many pregnancies and that many births. Furthermore, to produce that many children, she imagined the man would have to be in her bed every night!

She cleared her throat at the thought and quickly moved on to the next question. She blinked down at the words and inwardly cringed, her fingers crinkling the edges of the parchment. Her father appeared intent on making her suffer through this. “Do you believe you are capable of being a good husband?”

“I wouldn’t be a horrible husband, that I know. Although I most certainly would pose more than the unusual set of challenges. The real question is, are you capable of being a good wife?” He shifted toward her and sighed. “If you and I were to marry, Victoria, is it your intention to take Lord Remington on as your lover? Or is he already your lover?”

Her cheeks burned, displaying just how mortified she really was. “You have no right to lay such accusations upon me.”

“Do not chide me. I see the way he looks at you and the way you look at him. And that earlier escapade of him dashing out into the corridor after you, followed by shouts, was rather revealing.”

She cringed.

He caught her gaze. “I’ve always liked you. Which is why I am still here. You are intelligent and spirited. Which I need. I find most women of the aristocracy retain no sense of character or strength the moment they are subjected to any form of hardship due to their sheltered upbringing. And I confess I will bring you hardship, though not in any form you would ever expect. So what sort of woman are you? Will I be able to trust you in a way I cannot even trust myself? Or will you pull away when I need you most?”

Victoria swallowed and looked away. “You are making me very uncomfortable, Lord Moreland.”

“Good. That means you understand what it is I am saying. Let it be known that I refuse to marry a woman who intends to place her affections elsewhere. I don’t expect you to love me, but I want my wife to be my wife. No one else’s. Whatever your involvement with Lord Remington is or was, do you really expect me to be accepting of it? What man would tolerate his own wife already having a history with another man? Hmm?”

Dearest God, it was as if he could see right through her. She sighed and tossed the parchment over the sofa, letting it flutter out of sight. She reached out a hand across the small expanse between them and grabbed his hand, squeezing it tightly, feeling as though she needed to offer him some measure of assurance. “You needn’t worry. He and I are no more.”

Lord Moreland paused, noting her hand on his, and lifted a brow. “So you do share a history with him?”

Victoria willed herself not to scream. It was as if Remington had branded his name upon her skin. And it was anything but fair. “Yes.”

He patted her hand. “I appreciate your honesty. I am not slighted, I assure you, but it doesn’t bode well for us. I confess I am not one to—”

“Please.” She tried to keep the panic from her voice at the thought that he was her only choice aside from Remington. “Please assume nothing. Our association was respectable.”

Lord Moreland covered her hand with his, his dark eyes searching her face. “Very well. Tell me more so I may be the judge of that.”

She tightened her hold on his hand, willing herself to remain calm and convince him to remain so, as well. “You cannot expect me to reveal details regarding my personal affairs.”

The clock on the mantel chimed. And kept on chiming until it clicked back into silence.

Lord Moreland blew out a breath. “Time waits for no one. And it most certainly won’t wait for you. ’Tis an enormous decision that awaits you come midnight. To choose a husband or lose all? Had I known this is what your father had in mind, I would have never included myself. I do not approve of this.”

“I do not approve of it any more than you do. It is what it is. My father has always marched to his own tune.”

He shifted toward her and lowered his voice. “We are friends. Are we not?”

She nodded. “Of course. Since youth.”

He nodded. “Good. As such, let me offer you this. If you tell me your history with Remington, I will set aside my misgivings and submit to whatever you decide. But if you don’t tell me your history, Victoria, I leave. For you cannot expect me to enter a lifetime commitment without knowing what I am committing to. Those are your choices in this and I will not repeat them again.”

She lowered her chin in complete disbelief of the ultimatum he was setting. He wanted her to tell him everything? She’d never once disclosed the details of her relationship with Remington to anyone. Not even Grayson.

Then again…what choice had she? Moreland was a good, reliable path through an open field whose horizon she could see. Even if that horizon was a tad crooked. While Remington? He was a cliff with jagged rocks and a raging ocean at the bottom. Moreland she could survive. Remington? Not so much.

Victoria tightened her hold on his hand, trying to draw strength from it. “If you swear never to discuss my history with anyone, I will disclose everything.”

“Agreed.” He leaned toward her and poked at her hand, which tightly held his. “Might I request you release my hand? In case Remington interrupts this conversation?”

She feigned a less than enthused laugh and slowly retrieved her hand, drawing it back onto her lap. “I wouldn’t worry about Remington.”

“Have you seen the size of his hands?”

She glared at him. She didn’t remember the man being this annoying.

He shifted, propping an elbow against the carved wooden edge of the sofa behind him. “It is an unprecedented honor. Proceed.”

She drew in a shaky breath. “The connection between Remington and myself was instantaneous. When it came to our words and glances, we were like children forever passing a ball back and forth with an amused, playful need to never let the ball fall. Needless to say, we grew very fond of each other, and the day he was leaving England, he asked me to marry him. Though I did not entirely submit, I eventually did during our time of correspondence.”

Lord Moreland let out a whistle. “And therein was your first mistake. Never put anything in writing. Much can and will go wrong.”

She sighed. “In that, Remington cannot be faulted. He never used my words against me. In fact, toward the end, he didn’t make use of my words at all. I lived for his letters. I truly did. They made me happy, gave me hope, and made me believe I was meant for the sort of relationship my parents shared. Then his finances disintegrated—or so he said—and in my desperation, I told my father everything, hoping he would allow us to marry and in turn mend Remington’s finances that way. My father threatened to disinherit me. Not that I cared. I would have done without everything for Remington. Only…Remington disappeared without bothering to offer me any words.”

She dropped her hand onto her lap. “And now, after five long years, he reappears and expects me to return to what we once shared.” She snorted. “Pardon me while I refrain from gagging.”

Lord Moreland’s brows came together. “Every man deserves a second chance.”

“This isn’t about second chances.”

He rolled his eyes. “Balderdash. Life is all about second chances. Who ever gets it right the first time? Or the second or third time, for that matter?”

She brought her hands together, clasping them. “In that, I will agree. No one ever gets life right, and no one knows that more than I. But there are times when a wrong simply cannot be righted. And this is one of those times. What little remained of the person he knew, he crushed. He filled an entire fountain full of his affection and promises that I grew dependent upon. Something I had vowed never to do, after I saw the way it destroyed my father. And when I truly did thirst, and I needed peace, he refused to even offer me a single drop. Which is why I…” She shook her head, unable to finish. She had never put so much into words. And it hurt. It hurt hearing them and knowing it had all once been real. Though no more.

Moreland sighed, slid closer and wrapped a muscled arm around her, pulling her toward him with a firm tenderness that didn’t make her feel in the least bit awkward. She allowed herself to be nestled against his warmth. The musky scent of cardamom drifted toward her from his clothes, further lulling her and making her feel less restless. He smoothed her hair with a gloved hand, the way a father would, and finally murmured, “Marry him.”

She stiffened and refrained from grabbing hold of his evening coat. “Marry him? Did you not—”

“Victoria.” Moreland released her and caught hold of her shoulders, squaring them firmly toward himself. “’Tis obvious he is still in great amours with you, and there is something to be valued in a flame that cannot be extinguished. If he is here, it is only because he is unable to move on with his life and will only suffer unless you forgive him and grant him peace. And I can tell you feel the same, though you may not realize it. Allow him to right his wrongs. Every man deserves another chance.”