Once Upon a Scandal (13 page)

Her eyes widened. “This has nothing to do with my inability to give him another chance. This has to do with my inability to become the woman I know he wants. The woman he has always wanted, but one I was never fully capable of being. Though I had once tried to be that woman for him, I only suffered for it, and will not suffer through it again. Remington is not like you or any other man. He never settled for less than the moon and the stars and always lived and breathed through his own emotions like a child unable to control what it is he feels and thinks.”

“Knowing what divides you is what will bring you together.” Moreland rubbed her arms affectionately. “It is with regret, I must withdraw my name.”

Her breath caught. “No. No, you can’t. Moreland. If you withdraw—”

“Yes. Exactly.” He released her and rose, his lean face tightening. “If you had allowed yourself to love him once, Victoria, you can allow yourself to love him again. Despite what you think.”

Victoria threw up her hands and let them drop in exasperation, wondering why she ever told him anything at all! It was as if he had purposefully asked for her entire history so he could better use it against her.

He crossed his arms over his chest. “You will love him as you once had. You will see.”

The scoundrel! Who was he to play God with her heart?

Victoria rose to her feet, leaned in and poked him in that solid chest of his, right below his cravat and between the buttons on his waistcoat, above his crossed arms. “You seek to subject me to misery.”

“Misery brings forth enlightenment.”

She glared at him. “Since when did you become a philosopher?”

He tsked. “Grow up, Victoria. Life isn’t about always getting what you want. And if you ever thought otherwise, you are not living in reality.”

She swallowed and stepped back. It stung to hear those words. It really did. Because he was right. She had never been one to get what she wanted. And that was indeed life. That was indeed reality. “You owe me an apology.”

Moreland dropped his folded arms to his sides and drawled with faint amusement, “I owe you nothing.”

“Oh, yes, you do. You promised that if I disclosed my history with Remington, you would set aside your misgivings and allow me to decide how I should proceed. Only now you are walking away!”

“I know when to walk and when to stay.” He leaned in and dabbed at her nose. “And you, my dear, need to learn the art of staying, for you have already perfected the art of walking away. Good night.” He casually rounded her and strode toward the door.

She honestly didn’t know whether she was to be impressed by his unprecedented understanding of her as a person or whether she should start screaming in overwhelmed paranoia at the fact that she was being thrust back into Remington’s arms.

Pulling open the door, Moreland paused and swung back toward her. As if sensing her confusion and misery, he sighed and strode back, pausing directly before her. “Victoria.”

She glanced up to meet his dark gaze.

He softened his voice. “You will thank me in time.”

“Not in this lifetime,” she grouched. “May you come back a woman, Moreland, and may you be subjected to the vile passions of a man such as Remington.”

He let out a laugh, shook his head and gathered her into his arms, squeezing her tightly against himself. “Men don’t have it any easier, despite what you think. Man. Woman. We all suffer. We merely suffer in different ways.”

She pinched her lips together at the unexpected words and affection, her right cheek forcefully mashed against his waistcoat. She instinctively tightened her hold on his waist, desperately needing some form of assurance that everything that was happening to her could somehow be righted, and that she would somehow survive.

The open door banged hard against the wall behind them, causing Moreland to release her. Victoria choked back a yelp as she scrambled back and away.

Remington loomed in the open doorway as the clock on the mantel of the hearth started chiming. He narrowed his icy blue gaze, flexing his gloved hands at his sides. “I thought I would announce myself,” he said in a strained, clipped tone. “Considering the both of you were far too occupied to notice that your time is up.”

Mr. Parker leaned in from behind Remington.

Victoria cringed.

Moreland cleared his throat. “Remington. I can assure you—”

“I would rather not hear it.” Remington met Victoria’s gaze. Vivid anger bubbled within that piercing look. “Victoria.” His voice was rough. Almost breathless. “I wish to address Lord Moreland. Alone.”

And leave the poor man to die? This was exactly what she didn’t want! Endless complications brought on by Remington’s insufferable idea of what passion was, that blind, raging passion he couldn’t control, which had made her life so damn unpredictable and miserable.

Victoria set her hands on her hips. “I suggest you not overreact, Remington. This isn’t what you think.”

“No. I dare say it is probably much worse.” Remington stalked into the room, heading toward Lord Moreland. “I will not relinquish her. Not to you. Not to anyone.”

Moreland glanced back at Victoria, his brows rising. To her surprise, he winked. He then smirked, swung back to Remington and drawled saucily, “I do beg your pardon, but she just promised to have all ten of my children.”

Victoria’s eyes widened in disbelief, before she altogether burst into laughter.

Remington paused, then turned and stared at her, his lips parting. “Do you find my situation amusing? Is that it?”

She straightened and cleared her throat, trying to regain an ounce of composure. But it was no use. “No, I—” She laughed and shook her head in disbelief that she was actually still laughing at something so stupid. “Forgive me, I—” She laughed and laughed, wishing she could stop. “I can’t seem to—” She gasped and pointed at Moreland. Repeatedly. “Drat him!”

A muscle flicked in Remington’s shaven jaw. He half nodded, turned and stalked out, shoving past Mr. Parker.

Victoria’s laughter died within her throat. She eyed Moreland in complete exasperation. “You ought to be hanged.”

Moreland slowly grinned and jabbed a quick thumb toward the door. “I recommend you save your inheritance. Convince that fool. Not this fool.”

She drew in a ragged breath, disgusted to no end by all the men trying to manipulate her, and whisked past. She paused in the corridor and turned.

Remington was already at the far end. He veered toward the staircase and out of sight.

Why did he always, always have to allow emotion to rule every aspect of not only his life but the lives of those around him? It was what she hated most about him. He couldn’t let anyone live in peace. Not even himself. And to think, he was her security. It was either marry him or live with Grayson. Dearest God, her father had given her a choice between hell and hell.

To the devil with trying to catch up to legs as long as Remington’s. She cupped her hands to the sides of her mouth and shouted, “Remington! I am not done with you!”

Her voice echoed across the length of the corridor. She was being exceedingly rude and to the point. But then again, that was exactly what the man deserved. She lowered her hands, set her chin and waited for him to reappear.

Within moments, his large frame edged back into the corridor. He turned and faced her, his stance rigid as he stood there, staring her down. Waiting for whatever she had to say, but stubbornly unwilling to move.

He really should have been an actor.

Seeing he had no intention on coming over to her, she supposed she had no choice but go to him. She lifted the hem of her skirts and closed the seemingly enormous distance between them, her shoes echoing rhythmically. She eventually paused before him, her gown rustling around her body. It appeared the bastard was getting everything he had ever wanted: her.

Remington stepped back, as if she stood too close for his liking. “I have nothing more to say.”

“There is nothing more to say.”

He angled toward her and gritted out, “You truly seek to perpetuate my suffering, don’t you? Damn you, Victoria. Damn you for always making me crawl. I have been crawling and crawling ever since you and I first met.” He really should have been an actor. “This isn’t about making you crawl. Right now you represent an inheritance I am unwilling to part with.”

He stared. “A certain word comes to mind for women like you.”

As if he could hurt her anymore. “Let us be done with this. You wish to marry me? Fine. Marry me. You win. I lose. La la la.” She dug into her bodice pocket and retrieved his ring. It slipped from her fingers and made a tink against the floor as it rolled off to the side.

Victoria held up a finger and then scurried off toward the ring. Plucking it back up, she straightened and huffed out a breath, preparing herself for the inevitable. Veering back toward Remington, who continued to watch her silently, she grabbed his gloved hand and shoved the ring into it. She then presented her hand to him and boldly met his gaze, praying no other words were necessary. Because in that moment, she didn’t have any more words to offer, knowing she was committing herself to matrimony. But just because she was marrying him didn’t mean she was handing everything over.

For this time, things would be different. This time, she wasn’t going to hand over her heart, her mind, her soul and her entire life. Oh, no. This time, she would be setting all of the rules. This time, she would ensure she never suffered again.

The manner in which a gentleman offers matrimony will deeply reflect the sort of husband a lady can expect. If there are no flowers and no effort gifted during the proposal itself, she should not expect flowers and effort to be gifted during matrimony. It is as simple as that.
—
How To Avoid a Scandal, Author Unknown

JONATHAN OPENED his fist, revealing the ring Victoria had placed into his palm, and eyed the hand she held out to him. A fool he was not. Only moments ago she had been in the arms of another, her entire cheek pressed against Lord Moreland’s chest. A cheek that had never once been pressed against his own chest. “You appear to be confused about the amount of men you can involve in your life.”

“Lord Moreland and I are friends. That has always held true.”

“Friends? So what does that make us?”

“Engaged. Because I am obligated to the duty set upon me by my father. Now, I am asking you to place your mother’s ring back onto my finger. ’Tis mine and the only thing of worth ever given to me by you.” She pushed her hand closer.

The floor beneath him swayed. “You chose me?”

“Yes. I would like to point out, however, that my submission does not denote love. Because that emotion has long flown and I assure you it will not return. This would merely be a marriage of convenience for which I will be setting all the rules.”

He lowered his chin. “I do not engage in anything for mere convenience, and I most certainly do not abide by anyone’s rules.”

“I am not about to start arguing another one of your pathetic points about what you want. There are other people living in this world aside from you, Remington.” She rattled her hand. “Now be done with it. I’m tired and wish to go home.”

Her continued indifference toward him and their union choked him. He didn’t want her to be indifferent. Not about him. It was as if Victoria had truly murdered the last of whatever softness she was capable of.

Although…she was giving them a chance. That was worth something, was it not? Yes. Yes, it was.

Jonathan clasped her soft hand and lifted it, pressing his lips against her skin, willing her to feel that her disdain brought on by pride would never triumph over the tenderness and the love he had to give. Closing his eyes, he gently breathed in the tantalizing scent of soap and continued to hold his lips against her hand, wanting to believe that in time, she would learn to love him again. The way she once had. But before he could earn such love, he knew he had to earn her trust by telling her everything.

Opening his eyes, he lowered himself onto one knee before her, still tightly gripping her hand. He held up his mother’s ring by the tips of his fingers. “This will always be yours. Whatever becomes of us.”

She stared down at him coolly, showing him about as much emotion as a corpse before it was laid to rest.

Jonathan clenched his jaw in an effort to control his overwhelming regret, bitterness and agony. To think that the Victoria he’d once known and loved could be this emotionless was as evil as it was heart wrenching. He had abandoned her for too long. He only hoped he could right this. He only hoped he could right her and reattach her emotions to her soul.

Jonathan lowered his gaze to Victoria’s left hand and focused on slipping the ruby ring onto her third finger—a finger believed by Venetian superstition to lead straight to the heart. His ring slid into place effortlessly, as if it were always meant to be there.

He brushed his lips against the stone, and in honor of his mother, who had insisted he always carry her ring in his pocket until he found a wife worthy enough to wear it, he whispered against the ruby, “I have found the one I wish to wed. Give me your blessings, Mother, and may nothing ever come between us. Not even the words I am about to speak in an effort to illuminate the secrets that remain between us.”

Jonathan glanced up at Victoria, remaining on his knee, and tightened his hold on that soft hand, hoping she would finally understand and forgive him for abandoning her all these years ago. And he didn’t care if Mr. Parker, Lord Moreland or the rest of the world bore witness to his shame and testimony. All that mattered was revealing who he really was and what he had really become.

“Victoria.” For some reason, damn his soul, he could only manage a hoarse, low tone. “Five years ago, I commenced service as Cavaliere Servente in return for amnesty against all of my debts. I was approached by a Venetian widow who was set to remarry a powerful nobleman, who agreed to her taking a cicisbeo. With debtor’s prison hanging over my head for my debts of ten thousand lire, I was desperate enough to agree to anything. I signed a five-year contract that bound me as their servant.”

He lowered his gaze to her hand, unable to look at Victoria, who stared intently down at him, no longer appearing quite so indifferent.

He forced more strength into his voice. “After I’d passed several amiable months of service, the marchesa grew fond of me. Overly fond. Cornelia and my stepmother were thanking me for lavish gifts I never sent and soon I found myself being asked to dine with the marchesa whenever her husband was unavailable. Eventually, the mandated livery I wore was replaced with extravagant clothing. At the time, I assumed I was being extended respect due to my nobility, for she never once indicated amorous interest. Until one night, my belongings were casually moved from the servant’s quarters to the room connected to her bedchamber.”

He shifted his jaw and struggled to keep his voice steady. “I informed her that nothing could persuade me to degrade myself in so vile a manner. I also informed her that the moment her husband returned from his travels, I would seek to remove myself from their service. I was true to my word. Upon her husband’s return, I informed him of my resignation, requesting all debts be returned to my name. Out of respect for their marriage, I offered no explanation, only apologies. Marchese Casacalenda was not by any means pleased. He—”

Victoria gasped, her hand tightening against his. “Marchese Casacalenda? The man responsible for the merchant rape?”

Jonathan drew strength from the squeeze of that hand. He wasn’t in the least bit surprised Victoria knew the man’s name after the notorious rape of a British merchant’s daughter a little over a year ago. “Yes. I take it you’ve heard of him.”

“His vile deeds were printed and reprinted in every rag across London. Even my father, when he was still of sound mind, was outraged when the Austrian government in Venice only fined him a thousand pounds and waved him off after what he did to that poor girl. She was barely fifteen and will never be the same.”

“Yes. The Austrian government is good at looking the other way when crimes are committed by men as powerful as the marchese.”

She leaned down toward him, shaking his hand. “So what happened? You didn’t remain in his service, did you?”

“Yes. I did. All five years.”

“Oh, Remington. How could you? How could you take his money and—”

“Allow me to finish, Victoria,” he bit out in riled agitation. “At the time, I was unaware of the sort of man I was dealing with. Until I tried to leave his service. After refusing the money he threw at me, the marchese retrieved a pistol and set it against my head. He announced his wife desired very few things in life and that it was my duty, as her cicisbeo, to oversee those desires.”

“Oh, dear God,” Victoria whispered.

He swallowed, remembering the feel of the metal digging into his temple all too well. “He assured me that if I ever tried to leave before my contract was over, Cornelia and my stepmother would find themselves at the bottom of the Adriatic Sea. That is when I ended all forms of contact with you, in fear he would discover my attachment to you and use you against me, as well. And so I…stayed. What was my sense of honor and pride compared to the deaths of those I loved? I had no financial means to protect them or a means to send them away and I—”

Victoria’s other hand jumped to his lips and pressed them firmly together, preventing him from saying any more.

He stiffened and glanced up.

Her tear-glossed jade eyes met his.

He stared up at her in astonishment, unable to believe he had finally shattered that stone façade of hers. It gave him hope that perhaps the Victoria he’d once known and loved was still buried within that soul somewhere, and was merely waiting to be rescued. Much like him.

She sniffed against tears that trickled down her face. Releasing her quivering fingers from his lips, she squeezed his hand with both of hers. “Stand. There is no need for any more of this. Stand. I forgive you.”

He drew in a harsh breath. She…forgave him? Already? When he had yet to forgive himself for his own stupidity in entrusting his entire family into the hands of a savage?

Jonathan grabbed hold of her arms and dragged her down onto the marble floor. He forced her onto her knees before him in the corridor, spreading her gown against his thighs and the floor around them. He didn’t have the strength to stand in that moment. “You are forgiving me?” he demanded achingly, searching her face.

She sighed and nodded, but would not look at him. “Since I last saw you, I have learned many things. I have learned that sometimes we must turn away from ourselves and what we hold to be true in order to survive. You learned to survive as best you could and I learned to survive as best I could. Hold your head up again, Remington, and know that I do not judge you for it.”

Jonathan tried to swallow against the tightness in his throat. But couldn’t. He felt as if a huge burden had been lifted from his soul. One he had not been able to dislodge all these years.

With his strength returning tenfold, he circled an arm around her waist and rose, yanking them both onto their feet. He dragged her closer, bringing her entire body against his own, wanting to remember this moment for the rest of his life. Upon whatever was left of his soul, he vowed that nothing would ever come between them ever again. Nothing.

She tilted her chin up toward him, her gathered blond hair falling away from the sides of her face and swaying. “This changes nothing between us. Understand that I have nothing left to give.”

Disappointment bit into him, although he sensed himself beginning to understand her more. He tightened his hold on her, digging his fingertips into her curves. “You are misleading yourself into thinking there is nothing left within you. You offer me forgiveness, and that requires an astounding strength few have.”

Someone cleared his throat. Twice.

Jonathan glanced up, his arms tightening around Victoria, pressing her softness against him. She tried to scramble out of his embrace, but he only tightened it savagely, causing her to gasp against him.

Grayson shifted from foot to foot and adjusted his evening coat, glancing sheepishly toward Lord More land, Mr. Parker and Sir Thorbert, who were all awkwardly loitering in the corridor barely a few feet away.

Jonathan didn’t even want to know how long they had all been standing there. Of course, it wasn’t as if he had any pride left. He swallowed and released Victoria, sensing she did not wish to be held anyway. He coolly stepped away.

Lord Moreland set his hands behind his back and grinned. “Good night.” He offered a curt nod to everyone and disappeared toward the staircase.

Victoria touched a hand to Jonathan’s arm. “He withdrew his name. In your honor.”

Jonathan glanced toward her in astonishment and though he fought it, disappointment bit into him all the same. That was why she’d chosen him. Not because she was giving them a chance, but because she’d been forced to take him. Her inheritance depended upon it. Just like she had said.

He nodded, trying not to let the tone of his voice betray what he felt in that moment. It should have been enough to know he was going to be her husband and yet… “I suppose I should thank Lord Moreland.”

Without meeting her gaze, Jonathan rounded her and stalked toward the staircase. “Lord Moreland?” he called out.

The man paused on the staircase and turned toward him, his dark brows coming up. “Yes?”

Jonathan cleared his throat and made his way down toward him, jogging down a few steps. He paused directly before him and stiffly held out a gloved hand. “I wish to apologize for my earlier behavior. I did not realize you withdrew your name. Might I ask why?”

Lord Moreland grabbed hold of his hand and shook it. “Need there be a reason? It is what it is. Good night.” Lord Moreland released his hand and trotted down the remaining stairs, rounding out of sight.

Some men, like Lord Moreland, were born with admirable qualities that saved them from the noose known as folly. Whilst some men, like himself, were born with damnable qualities that sent them straight to the gallows in the name of stupid love.

Jonathan blew out an exhausted breath and pushed himself away from the railing. He made his way back up toward the small crowd gathered at the top of the stairs. “Is it midnight?”

“Not quite,” Mr. Parker announced, yanking on his chain and pulling out his pocket watch. He glanced at it and shrugged. “But all is as it should be. The earl expected her decision to rest with you.”

Jonathan refrained from growling. Victoria’s decision hadn’t rested with him. She had been forced into accepting him. And he couldn’t help but feel betrayed by her. He expected more from her. Not this.

He paused on the landing beside Grayson and eyed him. “I require some time with Victoria. There are many things she and I have to discuss. Am I allowed to escort her home and allot that time for that purpose? Or would I be overstepping my bounds by assuming I can do so without a chaperone?”