Scandal of the Year (17 page)

Appalled and mortified, she scrambled to her feet. Unfortunately, the tangle of her gown along with a residual weakness in her legs, caused her to stumble.

James sprang up and caught hold of her arms to steady her. Even with her heart bruised and hurting, the brush of his hard body stirred base urges in her. It shook her to realize how very susceptible she was to him—now more than ever.

She thrust away his hands. “How dare you touch me. You’ve no right to do so.”

Her attack wasn’t fair; Blythe knew it the instant the words left her lips. He’d only been trying to help her. It was just that her emotions still reeled from his blunt statement, and she’d wanted to lash out at him for ruining the magic of that kiss. Yet how could she blame him for indulging his desires when she herself had done the same?

His face a rigid mask, he stepped back. “Pray forgive me, Miss Crompton. It won’t happen again.”

She drew a shaky breath. Much as it pained her, she owed him an apology.

She forced her chin up and met his gaze. “No, it’s your forgiveness that I must beg. I’m sorry for snapping at you. Rather, I should thank you for being honest with me.”

A certain wariness entered his eyes. “I had to be frank. You’re too young and sheltered to realize the danger of being alone with a bounder like me.”

Was that how he thought of himself? “James, you’re far from being a cad. By calling my attention to reality, you behaved honorably. Would that I could say the same for myself.”

Frowning, he cocked his head. “I beg your pardon?”

“I’m more at fault than you for that kiss. You’re a servant, and I should never have taken advantage of you.”

“Taken advantage? Of
me
?” The deferential footman vanished. James slapped his palms on the desk and thrust his face closer to hers. “I’m the one who made that brainless statement about being a fool for helping you entrap the Duke of Savoy.”

In the light of the single candle, James radiated anger from the glitter of his eyes to the rigid tension in his jaw. But Blythe refused to back down.

She reached for the letter from the fictitious Prince Nicolai and carefully folded it. “Be that as it may, as a lady I’ve a responsibility to behave well. I should never have encouraged you to kiss me.”

“What? None of this is
your
fault. It’s entirely mine for lusting after you!”

Her gaze flew to his. Desire shimmered between them, vivid, undiminished, more intense than ever. It urged her to burn the wretched letter and abandon her scheme to marry Savoy. To throw her life away for a few moments of bliss in the arms of a footman.

Blythe could only imagine the reaction of her parents to
that
. They might never forgive her. Even worse, they would be devastated and hurt by her wild imprudence. Not just in their hearts but also in regard to their standing in society.

She could never bring such shame down on them.

Willing steadiness into her hand, she picked up the unlit taper, the one she’d earlier blown out. She touched the wick to the flame of his candle. “Then we shall compromise and accept that the guilt is mutual.”

“It most certainly is not—”

“I’ll hear no more about it. That is an order.”

He glowered, opening his mouth as if to argue the point.

Before he could gainsay her, Blythe thrust the note at him. “Seal this now and see that it’s delivered to Lady Davina on the morrow. Good night, James.”

Chapter 16

“Your Grace, you simply must sit with my daughter. She’s an avid card player and she would be quite desolate to be denied your company. Isn’t that so, my dear?”

Aware of her mother’s scrutiny, Blythe made a deep curtsy before the Duke of Savoy. “I confess I’ve been looking forward to this evening, Your Grace. It would be an honor indeed to share your table.”

It wasn’t difficult for Blythe to sound enthused or to give him a warm smile. After all, she was on a mission to further her acquaintance with the duke. For her mother’s card party, she had taken special care with her appearance, choosing a pale bronze gown that enhanced her eyes and enduring a long session of having her hair tied up in rags in order to create the curls that came naturally to her sisters.

Oblivious to her preparations, the duke gave her only a distracted nod. “That sounds agreeable enough,” he said, peering ahead into the Cromptons’ drawing room. “I’m always ready for a good rubber of whist.”

His daughter had lagged behind him to speak to one of the other guests. But now the elegant blonde glided forward to block their path. “Papa, pray don’t forget that you promised to be my partner. And Lady Anne has requested to join us, so we will need a
gentleman
to complete our foursome.”

A brunette with slightly buck teeth stood at Lady Davina’s side, smiling coyly at the duke. Lady Anne, Blythe recalled, had been one of the clique who had eyed her with derision at the ball here over a fortnight ago. That was the same night Lady Davina had insulted Blythe.

The same night Blythe had met James.

The thought of him stirred a delicious warmth in her, as did the memory of that mad, impetuous kiss of two nights previous. She couldn’t resist scanning the crowd of guests and looking for his tall figure. Several footmen were distributing glasses of champagne, but James was nowhere to be seen.

Thank goodness for small favors. She didn’t need any distractions tonight. She’d already lost track of the conversation.

“I’m sure Lady Anne won’t mind sharing another table,” Mrs. Crompton was saying. “In fact, Lord Ainsley asked after her specifically.”

“Did he?” Lady Anne asked, then giggled behind her fan. “He’s very handsome. Oh! But … but
you
, Your Grace, you put all the other gentlemen to shame!”

Only Blythe noticed that in the middle of that discourse, Lady Davina had given her friend a sly pinch on the arm. It was clear that the duke’s daughter had made plans with her friend ahead of time in order to deny Blythe the duke’s company.

She’d had quite enough of Davina’s trickery.

“Look over there, Lady Anne,” Blythe said with a nod toward the grand staircase. “I do believe I see Lord Ainsley beckoning to you right now.”

“Truly? Where?”

While the girl peered myopically into the throng, Blythe slipped past her to take hold of the duke’s arm. “I’m pleased we are to share a table. Do you enjoy making wagers, Your Grace?”

An avid gleam entered his pale blue eyes. “Absolutely!”

“Then I’ll lay you a gold guinea that you cannot win three straight games against my partner and me.”

“Wager accepted.” He waved to a young man with golden-brown curls who was passing in the crowd. “Ho, there, Kitchener, you’ll make our fourth. Come along, Davy, we’ve settled the matter quite satisfactorily. You will be my partner and Kitchener will play with Miss Crompton.”

Now
that
was a stroke of bad luck. Blythe had no wish to associate with Viscount Kitchener after the incident in which he’d nearly embarrassed her while under the influence of opium. But at least she could take satisfaction in the fact that Lady Davina looked peeved at her father for overriding her arrangement.

Mrs. Crompton gave Blythe a slight smile of approval, then looked at the duke. “Allow me to show you to your table, Your Grace.”

Slim and dignified in dark blue silk, she led the way into the drawing room. The place had been beautifully arranged with tall green draperies, gilt furnishings, and branches of candles glowing everywhere. The chaises that usually scattered the cavernous chamber had been removed to make space for several dozen tables with four chairs at each.

Mindful of her prize, Blythe kept her hand tucked in the crook of Savoy’s arm. His Grace made an impressive appearance in a maroon coat with gold buttons fitted tightly over his slightly stout form. People stepped back to allow them to pass, the ladies curtsying to the duke and the gentlemen affording him respectful bows. His chin raised in a proud manner, Savoy appeared to take for granted all the attention directed at him.

But Blythe didn’t. She reveled in the envious looks and admiring glances. She smiled serenely at the ladies who whispered to each other behind their fans, no doubt making catty remarks about the upstart heiress. She would show them up by winning the greatest trophy of all, the hand of the Duke of Savoy in marriage. She would achieve the highest pinnacle of society and have a most beautiful life.…

James stood waiting at their table. Clad in footman’s livery and powdered wig, he stared straight at their approaching party.

She faltered to a stop. Her heart took flight, fluttering against her ribs like the wings of a caged bird. More so than before, the hot memory of their passionate kiss permeated her body and weakened her legs.

Savoy cast an irritated frown at Blythe, and she snapped to her senses. The episode took no more than two blinks of an eye; then they proceeded to the place of honor at a table in the center of the drawing room.

His face impassive, James held the chair for Lady Davina. Luckily, she paid him no heed, not so much as glancing his way. She continued to carry on a gossipy conversation with Viscount Kitchener.

Blythe’s alarm swiftly turned to relief and then to anger at James. Blast him for taking such a risk! If Lady Davina were to look at him, she might remember him later. Then how would he ever succeed at posing as Prince Nicolai?

As James rounded the table to approach Blythe, their gazes met for one brief moment. A glimmer of amusement in his eyes, he winked.

Winked
.

Her insides performed a cartwheel. Flushed, she looked around the table to be certain no one else had noticed. The rest of the party behaved as normal, talking and laughing, the duke settling into his chair and then picking up the deck of cards to shuffle them. With her mission accomplished, Mrs. Crompton hurried off to see to the other guests.

There was naught to fear, Blythe assured herself. It had been such a quick action that anyone else would have taken it for an involuntary twitch. She alone knew better. Hidden behind the blank-faced mask of a footman, James had a decidedly rakish way about him. And for some perverse reason, his boldness of manner held for her a forbidden allure.

As she sat down, he took hold of her chair to slide it in. Not once did his white-gloved hands brush against her. He behaved with the utmost decorum. The madness existed within herself, this longing to haul him into the nearest alcove and demand the pleasure of another fervent embrace.

Did he feel it, too?

I want to seduce you. And by God, I will do so if you give me half a chance.

A shiver permeated her depths. His blunt assertion had been intended to snap sense into her, but somehow it had had the opposite effect. In the two days since their kiss, she had done little but dream of him. What folly! Nothing could ever come of their association, and besides, the rogue likely made such romantic declarations to all the women in his life.

Blythe pursed her lips, remembering the time she’d seen him from her bedroom window as he’d stolen out of the house under cover of darkness. He must have been going to meet a female. Not, of course, that his private sins should have any bearing on Blythe. She had made a mistake in kissing him and it wouldn’t happen again.

He walked away to offer assistance to some of the other ladies in the drawing room. The duke was dealing out the pasteboard cards, while Lady Davina and Lord Kitchener traded tittle-tattle about people Blythe didn’t know.

To them, James was just another faceless servant like so many others. That boded well for the ruse, but perversely, she felt miffed that no one else had perceived his striking good looks. They were so caught up in their own insular world, they would never bother to find out that he had a dry sense of humor and a keen intelligence. They would never know that a mere accident of birth had relegated such a proficient man to a life of anonymous servitude.

The unfairness of it niggled at her.

Out of the corner of her eye, she could still see him. Now he was helping her sister, Lindsey, at a table across the crowded room.

Lindsey looked up and gave him a smiling nod of thanks. Or rather, she appeared to be studying him quite closely.

A jolt of unease struck Blythe. Good heavens, was her sister intending to use her detective skills to determine which footman would play the faux prince? After Blythe had expressly warned her to stay out of the matter?

“Are you intending to play?” Lady Davina drawled. “Or shall I summon Lady Anne to take your place?”

Blythe realized everyone was staring at her. She picked up her pile of cards and fanned them out while trying not to fret over her sister’s interfering nature. “I’m sorry, what is the trump suit?”

“Diamonds,” Kitchener said, slouching languidly in his chair as he took another gulp from his wineglass. “At least I believe so.”

The duke looked positively gleeful at the inattention of his opponents. “Quite. Now, do lay down your card, Miss Crompton. I find myself anxious to win that gold guinea.”

Blythe forced herself to concentrate on the game. A trio of spades rested on the green baize tabletop, so she played her ace and took the trick. Other than that, her hand was lackluster, so she decided it was a good time to spice up the conversation.

“Has anyone heard when Crown Prince Nicolai of Ambrosia will arrive in London?”

Lady Davina fumbled her cards. A blush tinted her porcelain skin. The mask of hauteur slipped and she appeared a trifle flustered. “Prince Nicolai? Why, I cannot imagine.”

Viscount Kitchener snickered as he tossed down a card. “You needn’t be so coy, Davy. Go on, tell Miss Crompton what you received in the mail yesterday.”

“Oh, all right, I suppose the news will come out soon enough.” Recovering her aplomb, Davina looked down her nose at Blythe. “His Royal Highness has written me a note begging an introduction upon his arrival.”

“Truly?” Blythe feigned an expression of surprise mixed with envy. “But he lives abroad. How did he know of you?

Davina’s lips tilted in a smirk. “It seems that word of my marital eligibility has traveled across to the Continent.”