Scandal of the Year (12 page)

“Considering? Did you have one in mind?”

“Yes. Perhaps … Prince Nicolai of the tiny nation of Ambrosia.”

James stared at her, then threw back his head and laughed. “You cannot be serious. You’re intending to
invent
a prince—as well as an entire country?”

Miffed by his incredulity, Blythe said, “The hoax
can
work, truly it can. I’ve thought it through and formulated a plan.”

“I can’t wait to hear it.”

Her skirt rustling, she walked back and forth. “Ambrosia is a small kingdom nestled in the mountains north of the Caspian Sea. It is so remote that very few Europeans have ever traveled there.”

“But it must be rich beyond compare, lest Lady Davina turn up her patrician nose at your prince.”

“Quite so. The prince will own fabulous reserves of gold and precious stones. And he will be exceedingly handsome. You see, I will put out the word that I met him once, when he visited the Maharajah of Mumbai.”

“I’ll concede such a ruse would not be entirely impossible.” All humor vanishing, James regarded her with a strange intensity. “It can be easier to fool people than one might think. They see what they expect to see.”

“Precisely.” Blythe quickened her steps. “I’ll whisper in a few ears and start a rumor about the imminent arrival of the prince in London. Soon, everyone will be abuzz with the news. Then Lady Davina will begin to receive letters from Prince Nicolai. He will say that tales of her legendary beauty have traveled all over the globe.”

James cocked an eyebrow. “I presume
I
would be expected to deliver these letters.”

“Would you?” Stopping in front of him, Blythe laced her fingers at her waist and looked at him from beneath the screen of her lashes. “I promise you will not suffer any trouble for it. I’ll make absolutely certain of that.”

James knew he was being maneuvered. Yet as he gazed down into her beautiful face, he lost all ability to think. Those come-hither hazel eyes were almost green today, and her lips formed a pleading pout that drove him half-mad with lust. Were he not clad in this damnable footman’s outfit, he would demand a kiss to seal their bargain.

Not that Blythe would acquiesce. A passionate encounter with a servant would run contrary to her stubborn insistence on selling herself to the Duke of Savoy.

James cudgeled rational thought back into his brain. “So you’ll attempt to distract Lady Davina with flattering notes from an imaginary prince. I must say, I fail to see how such a scheme will wrest her from her father’s side long enough for you to entice Savoy.”

“Oh, I have a plan for that part, too.” Blythe strolled to the bed and wrapped her arms around the post, leaning against it while again giving him that sultry look. “You see, she’ll have to actually meet the prince.”

“But the fellow doesn’t exist—” James bit off his words as her meaning struck him like a fist. “What the devil. You expect
me
to play this prince?”

“Of course. What else did you think I meant?”

He shook his head, feeling like an utter fool for not realizing her intention from the start. He had been far too caught up in dissolute fantasies to consider all the implications. “No. Absolutely not!”

She dipped her chin and gave him a beseeching look. “But you’d be perfect for the role, James. You’re handsome and well-spoken—and I suspect you can be very charming with the ladies, too. I, of course, would provide you with the proper attire for a foreign prince. It would only be a matter of arranging a few discreet assignations with Lady Davina.”

Like hell! James had a vision of his own plans going up in smoke. He wanted to unmask her parents, not play dangerous games that could result in him being tossed out of this house, his mission in ruins.

“You ask the impossible. I haven’t the freedom to play at such a scheme.”

“I’ll require you to accompany me about town. That should give us ample time to accomplish the ruse.”

“I’m sorry, Miss Crompton, but you’ve put me in an awkward position. I’ve too many duties to perform right here. If I fail, I’ll face the wrath of God.”

Confusion wrinkled her brow. “The wrath of…?”

“Godwin, the head footman,” James explained. “He’s quite the fierce taskmaster, and since I’m new, he’s keeping a close eye on me.”

“God is watching you.” She clapped her hand over her mouth and giggled, much to his surprise. “How terribly irreverent of me to say such a thing.”

James found himself grinning back at her. “God really will punish me if I set one toe out of line.” His face sobering, he willed Blythe to abandon the ludicrous proposal. The last thing he needed was the complication of pretending to be a prince. “In all sincerity, Miss Crompton, I must beg your understanding. Surely you can see that I dare not partake in this intrigue of yours.”

He felt confident that she wouldn’t order him to participate. In the short time he’d known her, Blythe Crompton had proven herself to be a fair-minded girl who would respect the wishes of a servant. She would find some other means to accomplish her scheme, leaving him alone to conduct his own detective work.

But in the next breath, she shattered his assumptions.

“James, you told me that you wanted to travel to India. If you cooperate in this, I shall give you the means to go.” She stepped closer, her gaze intent on him. “Fifty pounds.”

“What?”

“You heard me. I’m offering to pay you more than two years’ salary to become Prince Nicolai.”

James went cold all over. For the second time in five minutes, he felt as if she’d knocked his feet out from under him. She couldn’t begin to guess how neatly she had backed him into a corner. No footman in his right mind would turn down such an enormous sum for the work of a few hours.

Still, he had to try. “You’ll be in trouble if your parents discover what you’re doing.”

“They won’t find out.” She gazed up at him with the charming entreaty of a seasoned flirt. “Please, James. Won’t you do it for me? I truly need your help.”

That winsome smile did him in. He resigned himself to his fate. There was no way for him to refuse, anyway, without stirring her suspicions.

He bowed. “As you wish, Miss Crompton. I’ll play the prince.”

Chapter 12

“Do straighten your necklace,” Mrs. Crompton instructed in the coach that evening. “The clasp is showing, and it’s essential that you look your very best tonight.”

Blythe obediently reached up to rearrange the dainty pearls around her neck. “There, is that better?”

“Lovely,” Mrs. Crompton said with a nod of approval. “I daresay, you are certain to attract the attention of His Grace tonight. That pale green is perfect with your complexion and so are the white rosebuds in your hair. It would not surprise me to see Savoy fall to his knees and propose at the sight of you.”

“Oh, Mama. Don’t be silly.”

“Well, then, your dowry will sweeten the pot. Either way, you
will
be the Duchess of Savoy.”

The coach swayed slightly as it inched forward in the line of carriages outside Almack’s. The soft glow of a lamp illuminated the plush interior with its crimson velvet cushions and the gold fringe on the window shade. Elegant in cobalt-blue striped silk, Mama sat with her hands folded in her lap. She looked utterly cool and confident.

Glancing out into the purple dusk, Blythe hoped her mother was right. Given half a chance, Blythe could charm the duke. But would she have that opportunity tonight? It was doubtful, since there would be scores of other pretty girls in the ballroom, bluebloods who would not inspire Lady Davina’s bile the way Blythe did.

I would never permit my father to marry so vastly far beneath him.

Mama still clung to the belief that the duke’s daughter could be coaxed into approving of the match. But the trick she’d played with Lord Kitchener had erased all such illusions in Blythe. Her future couldn’t be left to happenstance. She needed to orchestrate the situation to her advantage, which meant removing Lady Davina from the picture.

That was why Blythe had commandeered James as her ally.

She frowned out the window.
Unwilling collaborator
was a more accurate description of his role in the scheme. His initial refusal had been understandable. After all, she was asking him to take a great risk that might jeopardize his position in the house. But then she had offered him a very generous sum—and yet still he had seemed reluctant.

Why?

Perhaps James was worried about his ability to convince Lady Davina he was really a prince. That had to be it. There was no other rational explanation. When Blythe had dismissed him from her bedchamber, his gait had been stiff, his expression closed. She had not seen him since.

Well! At least James would have a few days in which to accustom himself to the notion. She would allow him plenty of time to practice, too, if he liked. But first, she had to set the stage for the hoax by spreading a rumor that a foreign prince was on his way to visit London. Whispering the news in a few key ears was Blythe’s task for the evening.

“Ah, here we are at last,” her mother said as the coach came to a halt. “A pity your father couldn’t have come with us tonight.”

“Papa would have been bored silly. From what I’ve heard, there’s nothing to do at Almack’s but dance and drink warm lemonade.”

“Well, darling, you are extremely lucky to have received a voucher. Neither of your sisters had that honor until they were betrothed to noblemen.”

A footman opened the door and let down the step. To Blythe’s regret, the fellow was not James. Somehow, she had to finagle a way for him to accompany her on trips around the city. When the time came for James to pose as the prince, it would be necessary to have a reason for the two of them to go off together. The thought filled her with a sense of giddy excitement. That moment could not come soon enough to suit her.

Almack’s occupied a rather modest building with arched windows. Emerging from the coach, she saw a stream of well-heeled guests flowing past the iron gates to the nondescript entrance.

Mrs. Crompton caught hold of Blythe’s arm. “What luck!” Mama whispered, nodding toward the doorway. “There’s Savoy and his daughter right now. Their coach must have been just ahead of ours. Come, we must make haste and catch them.”

Blythe spied the pair disappearing into the building. Pleased by the prospect of furthering an alliance with the duke, she accompanied her mother in pursuit. Perhaps, just perhaps it wouldn’t be necessary to put her subterfuge in motion, after all. Perhaps a miracle would happen and Lady Davina would prove friendly this time.…

Perhaps elephants would fly.

Mrs. Crompton presented their vouchers at the door and they entered a foyer filled with people. A small crowd milled near the cloakroom where attendants were taking the wraps of the guests.

Blythe spied the duke handing his top hat to a servant. “There, Mama.”

Her mother deftly wove a path through the throng. “Your Grace,” she called. “May I beg a word, please?”

Savoy turned with Lady Davina on his arm. Of a similar height, they looked as if they’d coordinated their garb, she in blush-pink gauze and he in a coat of claret superfine with buff knee breeches and buckled shoes.

Blythe curtsied along with her mother. The duke gave a regal nod to accept their obeisance. He had the customary haughty tilt to his chin, and his ruddy features held a polite smile. “Ah, Mrs. Crompton, Miss Crompton. What a pleasant surprise.”

Lady Davina’s patrician face wore a mask of icy civility. “A surprise, indeed. I didn’t realize
you
two had vouchers.”

Her voice dripped with disdain. It conveyed the belief that the nouveau riche should be barred from this exclusive club. So much for hoping the girl might have softened her enmity.

Blythe arched a cool eyebrow. “I’m very much looking forward to the dancing. I presume you and His Grace are, too.”

“I shall be keeping Papa company. He will need me to screen his partners. I shan’t allow him to dance with just anyone.”

“Now, Davy,” the duke said, patting his daughter’s hand while looking completely oblivious to her rudeness. “It’s kind of you, but I am more than capable of managing on my own. Why, look at Miss Crompton for example. I’m sure she would accept my—”

“I’ve already arranged your program, Papa,” Davina cut in. “Come, you’ll want to greet the patronesses before the crush of people becomes too great.”

She started to draw him away, but Mrs. Crompton scurried into his path. “Your Grace, may I mention one item before you go? This afternoon, I sent out invitations to a small card party at Crompton House on Tuesday next. I do hope you and Lady Davina can attend.”

“A card party?” he said, his eyes lighting up. “I would be most happy to accept.”

“Papa!” Davina chided. “You mustn’t agree before I consult my calendar.”

“My dear, you needn’t attend if you’ve another engagement. But you know how very much I enjoy wagering on a few rubbers of whist.”

“Apparently, others know that, too.” Casting a black look at Blythe and her mother, Davina steered him away into the throng. She had her head bent to him, talking, as if she were apprising him of the dangers of associating with riff-raff.

Mrs. Crompton looked positively gleeful. Taking Blythe by the arm, she whispered, “There, you see? I knew the card party would appeal to Savoy. His daughter may be a bit difficult, but I’ll manage her, you’ll see.”

“A
bit
difficult?” Blythe murmured. “She prevented His Grace from asking me to dance.”

“Pish posh, the important thing is our party. Once we have the duke under our roof, it should be simple enough to ensure that he is seated right beside
you
for the entire evening.”

Blythe hoped so. But she suspected Lady Davina would concoct a scheme to spoil Mama’s party and separate Blythe from the duke. For that reason, she deemed it wise to proceed with her own plan to divert the girl with a trumped-up romance.

First, though, Blythe was required to greet the patronesses, who were seated on a dais at one end of the ballroom. She made her curtsies to each lady in turn, countering their critical examination with a modest smile. She was then dismissed with a cool nod by such illustrious leaders of society as the Countess of Jersey, Lady Sefton, and the Viscountess of Castlereagh. It was clear that tonight was a test, and Blythe would have to pass muster or see her voucher revoked.