Once Upon a Scandal (21 page)

She choked on a silent sob and tried to control her breathing to prevent herself from fainting. Her only air was coming through her nostrils, which were pressed tightly against the hard contours of the porcelain mask. The porcelain stuck to her face, growing moist from the silent tears streaming down her cheeks and the perspiration dewing her entire face.

He grabbed hold of her corseted waist and forced her in the direction of another, darker aisle in a far corner of the shop. She stumbled to get away, her legs tangling against her skirts in her effort, but he rammed her against a shelf and pressed his massive body against hers, keeping her from moving.

Bending his head toward her, he trailed soft kisses down her exposed throat, his lips warm. “Lascia che per sempre inizi stansera,” he murmured with a staid, haunting calmness.

He jerked up one side of her skirts and buried a hand beneath them, yanking up her chemise. A large, warm hand was now gliding up the length of her thigh.

Tears overwhelmed her ability to see through the round openings of the mask. She screamed more forcefully against the gag and tried to use her own body to shove him and his hands away, but he only pressed into her harder, impaling her against the shelves behind her, making it impossible for her to move.

Where was Cornelia? Where was anyone? Why—

The man’s fingers playfully grazed the outside of her lower thigh, back and forth, back and forth. “You need this,” he murmured.

Victoria gagged against the handkerchief, the acrid taste of bile rising against her throat. The endless shelves of masks around them seemed to blur into one another.

He coolly watched her, his chest heaving against hers as though he were restraining himself from doing far, far more. He leaned into her and slid the tip of his tongue down her throat. “I can sense you defy every man who desires you,” he rasped below her ear. “Why?”

She let out a muffled sob, his words slashing through her soul. It was as if he was stripping far more than her dignity. He was trying to dig his hands into her soul. Unable to properly breathe, she felt her vision fraying.

“You smell of lavender,” he murmured against the curve of her shoulder. The hand touching her lower thigh fell away and her skirts dropped.

He reached behind her head and unlaced the mask, tossing it back onto the shelf beside them. Sliding his hands around her corseted waist, he unraveled the cravat that bound her wrists against each other and draped it around his throat.

He smiled, then gently pulled out the saliva-moistened handkerchief from her mouth and stepped back, stuffing the handkerchief into his pocket. “We will finish this another time.”

Victoria gasped, gulping in the air that she had been deprived of as she fell back against the shelf and stumbled away from him. She wanted to run and scream and punch and butcher and maim him for what he just did, but for some reason, her body and her tongue would not cooperate. She only trembled.

“Victoria?” Cornelia called from behind them.

Victoria sagged out a sob, relieved she was no longer alone with him.

The man turned away and faced Cornelia. His deep voice cut into the pulsing silence. “Baronessa. I was wondering when you would join us. I must say, you keep such wonderful company. I wish to call upon your fidanzata tomorrow night at eight. I understand she has a husband. See to it he is not at home when she receives me. That is not a request.” He weaved past them and disappeared down one of the aisles, moving deeper into the shop, his boots echoing heavily.

Cornelia gasped, turning toward the direction the man had gone before whipping back toward her. “Victoria! What happened? Where is your bonnet?” She rushed toward her, shoving the parcel in her hand beneath her arm. “Oh, God. What did he do? Did he hurt you? I tried to find you. I did, but…didn’t you hear me calling for you?”

“No.” Victoria drew in several ragged breaths, pushing herself away from the shelf, and placed a shaky hand against her stomach, the frantic beating of her heart still not at ease. “Who is he?” she demanded, still gulping for breath. “I want his name. I want that disgusting bastard’s name! I want him hanged. Hanged!”

Cornelia’s eyes widened, the parcel slipping from her hands and clattering to the floor. “What did he do? Dearest God, did he…?”

Victoria fought the trembling in her body and the sob clenching her throat as she pointed rigidly in the direction he had gone. “That…savage slathered himself all over me as if it were his right. This is outrageous! For a woman of my standing to be—”

Cornelia gathered Victoria into her arms and pressed her close. “We must tell Jonathan at once! He will resolve this. He will resolve this misunderstanding. You will see.”

Victoria flung Cornelia’s arms away and stepped back into one of the shelves. “What sort of misunderstanding do you think this is?” she shouted. “That—that shopkeeper treated me as if I was not a customer but a Drury Lane whore!”

“Shh! We must leave. Come. Hurry!” Cornelia grabbed her arm and dashed them down aisle after aisle. They veered around a corner and were suddenly at the front of the shop again. Cornelia flung open the door, shoved Victoria toward the direction of their waiting gondola and slammed the shop door behind them.

Victoria scrambled into the gondola and stumbled into her seat. “I did not encourage him! I didn’t!”

Settling beside her on the seat, Cornelia eyed her and said in a hushed voice, “I believe you. I do. I am…beyond words. But that…that was not the shopkeeper. That was Marchese Casacalenda. Jonathan was in service to him and his wife all these years. Did my brother ever tell you that?”

Victoria’s heart about popped from her chest. She gasped, willing herself not to heave up everything she had eaten, and shook her head. Oh, dearest God. Oh, God.

“Jonathan will resolve this,” Cornelia insisted. “He and the marchese have always had an amiable understanding. Despite the man’s reputation, I can assure you, he was always very good to us. Always. We owe him everything we have.”

Victoria shifted toward Cornelia, her throat tightening. “That man—” Victoria seethed out, trying to keep herself from shouting “—has never done anything worthy of praise. Whilst you may think he saved you and your mother from debt, in truth, he destroyed Jonathan. That man forced your brother into becoming a whore to his wife. What happened to me in that shop is nothing compared to what happened to my poor Jonathan. And if you doubt anything I say, go speak to your brother about this. Because I…I am—” Victoria choked, unable to keep herself calm. She slapped a shaky hand against her mouth in disbelief of what had just happened. Out of all the shops in Venice, out of all the women in Venice, why her? Why? Why did fate always have to be so cruel to her and to Jonathan? Why?

Cornelia fiercely gathered Victoria into her arms, an anguished sob escaping her. “I don’t…I don’t understand,” she insisted against her bonnet. “Jonathan never told me. Why didn’t he tell me? We tell each other everything.”

Victoria swallowed, realizing that in her anger she had betrayed Jonathan’s request that Cornelia never know. “Forgive me, Cornelia. I…I shouldn’t have told you. Please don’t tell Jonathan I told you. He didn’t want you to know. The truth is, he wanted to leave their service, he really did, but when your life and your mother’s were threatened by the marchese, Jonathan chose to protect you instead by cooperating. I sensed there was something revolting about that man long before he even touched me.”

Cornelia openly sobbed against her. “I let him do it. I…let him. Mama insisted it was the only thing to do. And Jonathan…my poor, poor Jonathan, he swore they were treating him very well and that—” Cornelia sobbed and sobbed, her arms trembling around Victoria. “Jonathan loves everyone too much. And I hate him. I hate him for it. I really do. Because he is forever getting hurt. And he doesn’t deserve it. He doesn’t.”

Victoria tightened her hold on Cornelia as tears streamed down her face. Jonathan had indeed always loved everyone too much. Including her.

She had always loved him, always, but had refused to acknowledge it, thinking she was protecting herself from another loss. But in the end, she had only been hurting herself and Jonathan. “I will see to it that Jonathan never gets hurt again, Cornelia,” she whispered hoarsely against her. “That I vow. I will see to it with every last breath left within me.”

They said no more as the world floated by in a blur, taking them back home.

When a lady becomes a wife, she is not by any means exempt from the rules of scandal. The rules are simply reorganized to reflect the expectations set by her husband. Sometimes, those expectations will exceed those of society. It can become annoying and extremely daunting.
—
How To Avoid a Scandal, Author Unknown

“GIOVANNI!” CORNELIA’S voice thundered from the corridor at the front of the house with a heightening hysteria. “Where are you? Giovanni? I must speak with you at once! For heaven’s sake, Giovanni!”

Jonathan froze, then threw down his playing cards onto the lacquered walnut table and rose, glancing toward Giovanni, who had also dropped his cards and risen.

They both dashed across the length of the drawing room, their boots echoing in frantic beats.

Oh, God. Oh, God. What—

“Cornelia?” Jonathan yelled, his pulse thundering as he sprinted down the corridor toward the entrance hall. He stumbled out into it just as Cornelia and Victoria released each other from an embrace.

Giovanni skidded past Jonathan, coming to a thudding halt, as well. “Ti sei fatto male?” he demanded.

Cornelia stalked past Giovanni, ignoring him, and veered toward Jonathan. Her round face was flushed, her eyes red and swollen with tears that the shadows from the rim of her wide, pleated bonnet could not hide. Her lip trembled as she glared up at him. “How could you? How could you do it?”

Jonathan sucked in a breath and searched her face. He’d never seen her this angry with him. Ever. “What? What have I done?”

“You cannot claim to love others if you do not love yourself!” she shouted up at him, her throat straining. “I would have preferred death over what you agreed to! Have you no respect for yourself? At all?”

A solid smack across his face snapped his head aside and stung his shaven cheek straight to the jaw. He froze.

“Cornelia!” Victoria rushed over and shoved her aside. “He doesn’t deserve such disdain. Not from you. Not from anyone. Leave him be. Leave him be!” Victoria fell against him, her arms tightening around his waist as she pressed against him.

His eyes widened, realizing Cornelia knew the truth about him and the marchesa. She knew he had been a paid whore. Whatever had been left of his honor and pride and good name was…gone. The only thing he had left. Gone. Because of Victoria. The woman he thought he could trust. The woman he thought he could love, despite her refusal to love him.

Gritting his teeth, he ripped Victoria’s arms from his waist and grabbed hold of her shoulders. “You told her? When I specifically asked you not to? Why would you tell her? Why?”

Victoria lifted her gaze to his, her eyes also red and swollen with tears. “Please don’t be angry. Please. Forgive me. I didn’t mean to tell her. I—”

“It wasn’t your right!” he boomed, shaking her, causing sections of her hair to fall out of her pins. He shook her again, his fingers digging into her shoulders in an effort to rein in his anger. “It was my right, Victoria! Mine. Not yours! Have I not crawled enough for you? Is that it? Now you seek to strip the very last of my honor by degrading me before the only family I have left?”

Victoria’s eyes filled with tears as a sob escaped her lips. “Jonathan, please. Forgive me. I—”

“Remington!” Giovanni shoved him away, breaking Jonathan’s hold on Victoria. “You are hurting her. Enough! Enough of this.”

Jonathan turned away, raking shaky hands through his hair, unable to look at Cornelia or Victoria. He would now forever be nothing more than a worthless whore. Even to his own sister. He could never forgive Victoria for this.

Cornelia stifled a sob. “Giovanni, you must do something. Marchese Casacalenda is coming for Victoria. He is coming tomorrow night. What are we to do? Will the authorities do anything, given his power? Surely, they must do something! They cannot allow him to terrorize a woman like this.”

Jonathan choked and swung back toward Cornelia and Victoria, his chest heaving. His arms and legs felt numb as he frantically tried to make sense of her words and what was happening. “What do you mean? What happened?”

“The marchese.” Victoria’s teary, anguished gaze met his. “He was in the mask shop. I…I didn’t encourage him. I didn’t. I don’t think he knew who I was. I thought he was the shopkeeper. And then he made an offer to me. When I denied him and tried to flee, he grabbed me, bound me and…” She pinched her lips together, shook her head and looked away.

Jonathan could feel the veins of his neck swell as his mind, his breath, his body and his heart pulsed with a seething agony and hate he had never known in all his God-given years. Never once had he ever entertained the thought of murder. Until now.

Violently stripping his coat from his shoulders to free his arms and his body of the heat rising within him, Jonathan whipped it to the floor. “He will die for this,” he rasped in a suffocated tone. He glanced toward Giovanni. “I will need your best pistol, a dozen lead balls and gunpowder.”

Victoria swung toward him, her eyes widening. “What is it you intend to do? Kill him?”

“Yes.”

“Are you mad?!” Victoria shouted up at him. “He may deserve death, but I will not see you hang for it!”

Jonathan knew it was best not to look at Victoria, lest he altogether lose his sanity knowing he and he alone was responsible for exposing her to this situation. Of all the women in Venice the bastard would want. Out of all the women, the marchese would seek to claim his Victoria.

“I will kill the bastard as legally as I know how,” Jonathan pointed out in as cool a tone as he could. “In a duel. Giovanni. I am asking you to be my witness and my second should I be unable to finish.”

A gasp escaped Cornelia. “Giovanni.
No. Tell him no. You cannot allow for this. Both of you could be killed! Serving as a witness, let alone a second, is no different from holding the pistol yourself. You know that! Your own uncle was killed serving as second.”

Victoria grabbed hold of Jonathan’s arm, pulling him toward her, and shook it. “Jonathan. Jonathan, no. Please. Please. I am begging you. If you’ve ever loved me, please do not do this. There are other ways of bringing a man to justice.”

Her words, let alone the anguish in her voice, should have compelled him to relent. It should have. But when the honor of the only woman he had ever loved was being threatened by the same man who had taken his own honor, nothing was about to compel him to change his mind. “There is no other way. I intend to duel.”

Giovanni’s dark gaze intently met Jonathan’s. “I have three children and a wife to consider.”

Jonathan stepped closer to Giovanni and said in a low, even tone, “If a man who wronged you in the most heinous of ways whilst using your own family against you wronged you again by seeking to make your own wife a whore, what would you do? Go to the authorities, who you and I both know will do nothing? Or would you protect your wife from a man who will not yield unless dead?”

Giovanni swiped his face and muttered, “I would kill him.”

Jonathan half nodded. “Quite so.”

Giovanni eyed him. “If you seek to do this, Remington, you must abide by the code of honor or Venezia and its courts will incriminate you. He must be given an opportunity to redeem himself. If he does not yield, I will gladly be your second and testify in court if he is killed.”

“Giovanni!” Cornelia exclaimed. “No. I will not allow for it. I will not! How can you—”

“Aver detto abbastanza!” Giovanni boomed, sweeping out a rigid hand toward her. “We all know what the marchese is capable of. He is better off dead. Let the devil take his soul.”

Jonathan set a hand on Giovanni’s shoulder and gripped it. “Grazie. I need to talk to my wife. Please. Alone.”

“Of course. Yes, of course.” Giovanni rounded Jonathan, grabbed hold of Cornelia’s arm and hurried her toward the stairs. “Come. We will visit with our children, cara, and leave Remington with his wife.”

Cornelia smacked at the arm that was dragging her up the staircase. “No! I am not leaving until this is resolved in the manner it should be resolved. How can you allow for any of this? Giovanni, he is my brother!”

“And I am your husband!” Giovanni roared. “Which is why you will do as I say and leave them to their business. Now!”

Though Cornelia ferociously argued with him all the way up, they eventually disappeared out of sight, the flurry of angry voices dwindling.

Jonathan turned to Victoria, willing himself to remain calm, despite the trembling of his hands. He wanted so desperately to gather her in his arms and to hold her and tell her how much he loved her and how sorry he was for ever bringing her to Venice to begin with, but he was genuinely afraid he would crack. And that would do her little good. “What did he do?” he whispered. “Did he…penetrate you?”

She blinked back tears and shook her head. She closed her eyes and after a few moments whispered, “No. But he might as well have. He bound me, lifted my skirts and touched my thighs against my will. I have never known such…fear. Such…humiliation. Not ever.”

His eyes widened as he sucked in a burning breath. The bastard had ravaged his Victoria with his putrid hands in a manner unfit for even a dockside whore. “I will duel him,” he seethed. “And I will kill him. Let there be no doubt about that. He cannot expect to touch any part of you and live.”

Victoria opened her eyes and slowly shook her head. She yanked at the ribbons of her bonnet, flung it aside and swept toward him. “Jonathan. Please. Do not do this. Let the authorities see to this.”

“The authorities will do nothing. They never do. He lines their pockets with enough to ensure he is always outside their reach. Even when his own servants were disappearing and their families demanded answers, the authorities did not ask questions. They did nothing. Nothing.”

“I will not allow you to destroy your life over this, Jonathan. Do you understand me? I will not!”

His gaze narrowed. “You do not know me very well, if you think I intend to let anyone defile you in so vile a manner without justice.”

She paused before him and lifted her jade eyes pleadingly to his. “Jonathan. My virtue and my honor are not as important to me as you are.”

Feeling as though the room were blurring, he roared, “That fucking prick will not live after what he did to you!”

Victoria jumped, her eyes widening.

By God. He was frightening her, and in turn, spewing rancid words she shouldn’t even be hearing. He swallowed and tried to regain whatever composure he could.

“Forgive me,” he finally said, his voice ragged and tired. “Setting aside his intent to return for you, you will never be the same. This will haunt you and in turn, it will haunt us. You already set me at a distance and I…” He looked away, feeling tears pricking his own eyes. “I myself have yet to touch you and make you mine.”

Victoria stepped closer. “I am yours, Jonathan. I am and always will be.”

She seized him by his waistcoat and yanked him hard against her with a surprising strength that caused him to freeze. Her hand jumped up to the back of his collar and yanked his head down toward her, forcing their lips to collide.

His heart lurched madly as their lips parted in unison and her hot tongue slipped into his mouth before he could even respond. All of him melted against her with an agonizing groan that echoed around them. In that moment, nothing existed except the movement of her tongue against his own. Her luscious, velvet mouth and its soft heat poured against him, making them one.

She loved him.

She wanted him—and she knew what kissing him meant.

She was committing to him.

Forever.

He savagely deepened their kiss and slid his arms around her body, pressing his hands against the soft curve of her back and molding her more firmly against him, forcing her to feel his love, his lust, his very breath. He was already rigid with desperate need.

A torrent of wild, whirling sensations took command of his mind and his body. Another moan escaped him, echoing again within the quiet entranceway. Her hot, wet mouth devoured his, taking away his ability to breathe and think. Her hands gripped his hair hard, tugging him downward toward her, as if demanding he give in to more than the kiss.

He lowered his hands to her full muslin skirts, his palms skimming the length of that soft fabric. She was kissing him. She really was.

He fiercely fisted a large handful of fabric in each hand, yanking her skirts above her ankles to allow her better movement, and then blindly stumbled with her toward the ballroom behind them.

He broke the kiss when they made it through the entryway of the ballroom and quickly turned away, stepping toward the open double doors. His chest heaved as he slammed the doors. The noise echoed in the vast space around them, emphasizing that they had the entire ballroom to themselves.

Spinning around, he stepped toward her with marked determination, grabbed her corseted waist and steered her backward toward the nearest wall.

Her jade eyes never once left his.

“You kissed me,” he challenged.

“Yes,” she tossed back, allowing him to move her backward. “Which means you are now obligated to oversee my happiness for the rest of your life. And I assure you, my happiness does not lie with a dead man.”