The Book Of Scandal (9 page)

She moved again, sitting heavily on the edge of her bed. She was shivering again—nothing overt or anything a casual observer could detect, but from some place deep inside. Apprehension churned in her belly, along with desire, confusion, loathing, and fear, all of it mixing in one toxic brew.

The history that lived within these walls surrounded her, suffocating her. She could feel it, seeping in under the doors and through the windows, spreading like a bloodstain across her path.

Robbie, beautiful Robbie. She could almost hear his laugh. She could picture him running to her as fast as he could manage on his chubby little legs, his arms held out for balance, his toes pointed in so that he rocked from side to side in his haste.

And his cough, a cough that had plagued him from birth.

Evelyn dropped her head and closed her eyes, trying to recall his face. It was slowly but surely fading from her memory. He had the blue eyes of his father, her gold hair. But she couldn’t remember his smile—hard as she tried, it was as if she was looking through a veil. What did his smile look like? How was it that she could forget something as cherished as his smile, but remember with such stinging clarity that early spring day when the weather held after days of cold rain and weak sunshine had allowed them in the garden? The gamekeeper had brought round a pair of puppies that would be trained as hunting dogs. Robbie had squatted, holding his hands out for their lapping tongues. He’d laughed, and the rattle in his chest had made Evelyn turn.

Robbie turned around. “Mam-ma!” he’d said happily, but all she had seen was the bright glow of fever shining in his eyes, turning his cheeks rosy.

She couldn’t say how she’d known—call it a mother’s instinct or perhaps a nudge from the heavens above—but she’d dropped the basket into which she was putting cuttings and run to her son. She could never forget the way his skin felt when she touched her mouth to his forehead. He’d been burning with fever. Burning, burning.

Evelyn squeezed her eyes shut. Would she ever stop reliving that moment? Would she ever stop dreaming about his bright, fevered eyes? In this house, how could she? Robbie was everywhere. Her failed marriage was everywhere. And perhaps the cruelest curse of all—when she looked at Nathan, she saw Robbie.

There was only one way she might survive until she could return to London. Avoid all the places—and people—in this house that reminded her of Robbie. Don her blinders, never look back, only forward. She could endure this indeterminate exile only if she could avoid her past. And by God, if she could survive the death of her child, she could surely survive Nathan.

Donnelly and Lambourne, two of Nathan’s three perennial house guests, were surprised to see Nathan when he strolled into the billiards room with whiskey in hand, judging by their twin expressions. Perhaps because they’d expected him to be away longer. Or perhaps because they were in the presence of two attractive young women, sisters from Eastchurch, the daughters of the village cobbler. Nathan’s phaeton had been dispatched frequently of late to retrieve them to the abbey.

“Lindsey! Good evening, lad!” Lambourne, slightly taller than Donnelly, with coal-black hair and vivid gray eyes, cheerfully clapped Nathan’s shoulder. “Did London no’ appeal to you, then?”

“At least as much as having a broken bone set,” Nathan drawled, and sipped from his glass. It was his third whiskey, following the two he’d had in the privacy of his study after Evelyn had balked at having her old suite of rooms connected to his.

He’d watched her following Benton like a doomed prisoner, and he, in turn, had retreated to numb the headache that resulted from a very long day in which he’d abducted his wife, fought highwaymen, and then experienced the feel of a woman’s body next to his.

It had felt so damn right, so bloody natural.

And now, the whiskey had gone to his head, that was all. Contrary to his reputation as a libertine—which he’d certainly once been—he’d long since lost his desire for drink to numb himself completely.

Even a long, hot bath had done nothing to relax him. He felt like his old broken self, just arms and limbs moving disjointedly through space with no cohesive thought.

He smiled at the two young women. “Good evening, Miss Franklin. Miss Sarah,” he said, slurring the latter’s name a little.

The two sisters curtsied in perfect unison.

“And what have you done with Wilkes?” Donnelly asked as he extended his hand. His golden brown hair and brown eyes were unusual for an Irishman. “Left him aside of the road, I’d suspect, ogling a wench in a public house.”

“He remained in London,” Nathan said. “He had unfinished business.”

“Unfinished,” Lambourne scoffed. “A game he could no’ pass up, aye? No man enjoys a wager quite as much as he, especially at the prince’s table.”

“One man’s vice is another man’s curse, Jack,” Donnelly said. “He gambles. He’s not got the gift of strutting about like a bloody peacock to win the charms of ladies like you, has he?”

“Ach, Declan,” Lambourne laughed. “There’s a persistent twinge of jealousy in your voice, lad.”

Donnelly snorted and retrieved a billiard cue from the wall rack and held it out to Nathan. “Will you join us?”

Anything to shut them up. Nathan shrugged and caught the cue Donnelly tossed him. He put aside his whiskey, ran the cue between his fingers. “Stand aside, lads,” he said, and winked at the Franklin sisters, who both giggled in response.

Unfortunately, Nathan wasn’t much of a billiard player this evening—Donnelly took the first match and Nathan finished his whiskey. Donnelly took the second match and Nathan poured an uncharacteristic fourth whiskey as he flirted shamelessly with the youngest Franklin sister. How old was she, he wondered as she prattled on about some church social. Seventeen years? Perhaps eighteen? Eighteen…the age Evelyn had been when he married her.

“How did you find London?” the young woman asked.

He didn’t want to be reminded of London. “I found it ridiculously close,” he said, moving away from her to take his turn. “The entire city is caught in the grip of the scandal—one is either firmly in the camp of the prince, or firmly in the camp of the princess, and everyone eagerly awaits the next bit of titillating gossip like vultures at a hunt.”

“Gossip?” one of the girls asked.

“Who is bedding who, love,” Donnelly offered helpfully.

The two young women exchanged a wide-eyed look, but were obviously enthralled with the prospect of royal gossip, and turned eagerly to Nathan.

Nathan focused on the older one. Specifically, her bosom. Small, he thought. He preferred a woman with some curves. Evelyn had curves. “Seems like there is hardly a soul in London who isn’t caught in the vice of adultery,” he said, surprising himself. “It is my impression that everyone in the company of the royal family has the morals of a bloody snake,” he said, and punctuated that remark with a horrible shot. He studied the table a moment, his thoughts wandering to Evelyn.

It took him a moment to realize no one was responding, and that in fact, Donnelly had cleared his throat twice now. Nathan glanced up; all heads were turned toward the door.

He knew instinctively what they saw and felt like a boy caught looking up a woman’s dress. “Bloody hell,” he muttered, and turned around to face his wife.

Evelyn was standing framed in the doorway, wearing her traveling gown of russet gold and red. He noticed a few spots of blood near the hem of the gown. Her expression was impassive as she calmly surveyed the room. She had a regal bearing now, a stark contrast to the young bride who used to fly into the room and kiss him, whether it was appropriate or not.

Nathan was vaguely aware that Donnelly and Lambourne were bowing, that the Franklin sisters were curtsying. “My lady, please forgive our ill manners,” Lambourne said. “His lordship had no’ mentioned you’d come home.”

“How surprising,” she said as she took in the Franklin sisters, her hazel gaze now glistening with ire. “I should think he’d be about the business of bragging how he abducted me from the streets of London.” At the gentlemen’s looks of surprise she smiled coolly. “No? Then certainly he mentioned how he thwarted a robbery?”

“Aye?” Lambourne asked, looking at Nathan.

“He likewise failed to mention we had guests,” Evelyn continued, “or I would have been down to greet you sooner.” She smiled then, a pretty, warm smile. “How good to see you again, my lords Donnelly and Lambourne. And look at you, Miss Franklin, Sarah, all grown up.”

“Thank you, my lady,” the elder sister murmured.

Evelyn walked into the room, still smiling, but her eyes were trained on the Franklins. “Shall I have a carriage brought round for you?” she politely asked Miss Franklin. “The hour has grown so late. I am certain your mother is frantic for your safe return.”

“Oh no, mu’um—”

The older stopped the younger from saying more with a sly hand to her arm. “Thank you, my lady, that is most kind.” With a sharp look for her younger sister, Miss Franklin curtsied. “Good night.” She took her sister in hand and moved to the door. Her sister reluctantly allowed herself to be pulled along.

“I’ll call for a carriage, then,” Lambourne said quickly.

Donnelly must have thought to help him do it, because he moved to offer his arm to the older sister. The four of them went out, dancing around Evelyn, who smiled and nodded as they left. When they were gone, only Nathan, Evelyn, and a footman who looked positively dumbstruck by her presence remained.

Evelyn glanced at the poor man.

Nathan gestured lamely. “Wilson, meet your mistress, Lady Lindsey. She is home for a time.”

“Oh, I am certain the news has already traveled downstairs, my lord,” Evelyn said cheerfully. “How do you do, Mr. Wilson?”

“Ah…very well, mu’um.”

“That will be all, Wilson,” Nathan said.

Wilson bowed and hurried from the room, stealing a glimpse of Evelyn from the corner of his eye as he went.

When he’d departed, Evelyn picked up a billiard cue. Nathan was reminded of the time he’d taught her to play. “It won’t do for a lady to play billiards,” he’d said, standing behind her, his hands on her waist. “This must be our secret.”

“I adore our secrets,” Evelyn had said, and giggled as he’d cupped her breasts when she bent over to try her hand.

She leaned over the table now, put the cue between her fingers, and expertly struck a ball. It glided into a pocket.

“Well,” Nathan said with some surprise. “It would seem you have honed your skill at Buckingham.”

“Not at Buckingham. The queen would never abide such a game.”

“Then at Carlton House,” he remarked as she moved around the table and examined the choice of billiard shots. “I rather doubt the prince has such lofty notions of propriety.”

“It might surprise you to know that the atmosphere at Carlton House is often quite subdued,” she said. “The Prince of Wales admires his sisters and is on his best behavior when they are about.”

“He allows them to play billiards?”

She made another shot that landed squarely in the pocket. “Certainly not his sisters,” she said pointedly, and smiled devilishly.

A variety of images of when and how Evelyn might have played billiards instantly sprang to Nathan’s mind, the most prominent of them involving a host of gentlemen offering her their expertise in billiards—and other things—while the prince entertained the princesses.

Evelyn moved around the table and leaned over for another shot, revealing the line of a graceful arm, the curve of her breast, her slender back. An unwelcome ribbon of desire uncurled in Nathan. He did not want to desire her. He did not want to think of coupling with her. Cue ball, he thought. Cue ball, cue ball, think of cue balls. “It hardly seems proper for a lady of an exalted royal bedchamber to indulge in billiards, either,” he said.

“Oh?” Evelyn said lightly. “I suppose Londoners aren’t as provincial as the queen or country gentry.” She glanced at him sidelong. “In London, a bit of sport between ladies and gentlemen is expected. I would think you’d know that.”

His pulse leaped with resentment. “I know that a bit more circumspection should be expected.”

Evelyn laughed and moved again, this time passing so close to him that her skirts brushed his trousers. “That’s a rather amusing sentiment coming from the Libertine of Lindsey.” She paused and looked thoughtfully at him. “Correct me if I am wrong, my lord, but it was you, was it not, who hosted the infamous grouse shoot that ended with one gentleman shot in the foot, and the only game bagged a prized bantam rooster and his proverbial farmer’s daughter? I seem to recall that delightful tale circulating about London more than once.”

Nathan gave her a withering look. “That is not precisely what happened, if it matters. Surely you do not expect me to control everything that happens in the shire.”

“No…but I would hope as the earl, you could control at least a bit of it. Really, Nathan, the Franklin sisters?” She leaned over, made another shot. The ball just missed the pocket and rolled to the middle of the table.

“Did you come down here to persecute me?” he asked irritably—and, if he’d admit it, a little guiltily. It was true—there had been some rather raucous affairs at the abbey. But he’d been numb, so numb, drinking in order not to think or care—

“My, my,” Evelyn said with a laugh. “You’re rather cross. I didn’t come to persecute you, Nathan. I came to ask if a trunk of my clothes might be found, as I was abducted without my things, and to inquire what happened to the French secretary that was in my suite. I should like it returned along with vellum and ink, if you please.”

Nathan eyed her skeptically. “Vellum and ink?”

“Is that a problem?” she asked sweetly, turning to face him.

He abruptly put down his cue and walked around the table to where she stood, pausing directly before her, so close that Evelyn was compelled to back up against the billiards table. But she lifted her chin, her eyes glittering, and Nathan had the distinct impression that she relished a challenge.

“Not in the least,” he said as his gaze drifted down the long, smooth column of her neck. “As has always been the case in our marriage, you may have whatever you need or desire. I suppose you intend to correspond with Princess Mary?”