Wickeds Scandal (The Wickeds)

This
book is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events
portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are
used fictitiously.

WICKED’S
SCANDAL

Text copyright
© 2013 Kim M. Mercier

All
Rights Reserved

“I have
arranged a marriage for you.”

The words
thundered in Alexandra Dunforth’s head, echoing so loudly they made her teeth
ache.  Her uncle’s breath, smelling of port and ill humor wafted over her
cheek.  Try as she might, she could not stop cringing in disgust from the
man.  Oliver Burke squeezed her upper arm and shook it, as a cat would do
to a mouse in its jaws. 

“Stay
here.”  One fat, ham like hand pushed Alexandra against the wall. 
“Don’t try anything.” His moon-like visage, sweating as a piece of cheese does
in the sun, leered at her. “If you do not, your precious friends at Helmsby
Abbey will all be out on the street with no references.” 

Alexandra’s
back bumped against the smooth paneling that covered the wall of Lady Dobson’s
ballroom.  She took a deep breath to calm herself and nodded mutely.

Lord Burke
snorted, smiling in approval at her compliance.  He waddled away towards
the gaming tables.

Alexandra
sighed in relief.   She squeezed her eyes tight, wishing the noisy,
crowded ballroom could be nothing more than the result of eating too much
treacle the night before.   Cautiously, she opened her eyes. 
Dozens of the titled
ton
swirled about Lady Dobson’s parquet
ballroom.  This was no dream.

“Bloody
hell.”  The words flew out in a whisper.  She looked around to see if
anyone noticed her language but no one was paying the least attention to her.

Invisibility
suited Alexandra well.  Left alone in Hampshire since Aunt Eloise’s death,
she ran the family estate, Helmsby Abbey, blissfully forgotten by Odious
Oliver.   Lord Oliver Burke steadfastly ignored his wife and niece,
much too busy with spending the vast Dunforth fortune as fast as he
could.    He never paid the least attention to his family in
Hampshire.  Until now.    How she detested Odious
Oliver. 

“Miss
Dunforth!”  The shriek came from behind her left ear.

Alexandra
turned to face her erstwhile sponsor and chaperone, Lady Agnes Dobson.

“Stand up
straight.  Try to look attractive.” 

Lady Dobson
reminded Alexandra of a praying mantis.   Tall and thin, her arms
overlong, she looked about to pounce on unsuspecting prey.  Namely,
Alexandra.  For tonight’s festivities, Lady Dobson wore an enormous purple
turban, a spray of feathers anchored to the center held firmly in the middle
with a large ruby. She looked down her thin pointed nose at Alexandra and gave
a sniff as if Alexandra were spoiled pudding. 

“Stop
slouching!  Attempt to look demure.”  A boney finger wagged at
Alexandra.  Lady Dobson’s lip curled.  Her duty done, she dismissed
Alexandra.  Lady Dobson spun in a neat semi-circle, her purple skirts
fluttering around her stick-like finger, and faded back into the glittering
crowd.

 Alexandra
clasped her hands in front of her and pressed herself deeper into an alcove,
wishing fervently she could simply disappear.   Dread, suffocating
and thick, rose up in her breast.  The insane notion to run as fast as she
could for the front door and hail a passing hackney made her legs twitch. 
Lady Dobson’s home nearly burst with the glittering
ton
; surely, no one
would notice one slight spinster from Hampshire running for her life.  She
chuckled ruefully.  
I am very neatly trapped.  Outsmarted,
and outmaneuvered by a man who has all the intelligence of a turnip. 

“A green
dragon tattoo?  How positively scandalous! “

Alexandra
looked to her left.  A beautiful brunette waved her fan and gestured
towards the ballroom.  Lady Martin licked her lips as if she had just
eaten a sugar biscuit. She didn’t look the least scandalized.  She looked…
hungry
.

“Richard has
seen
it
at the club.  Satan Reynolds took off his shirt after a
fencing match.  His opponent scratched him,
accidently
.”  The
buxom blonde standing next to Lady Martin wiggled her eyebrows as she relayed
the information.  “Then his opponent had the unfortunate notion to make an
assumption about Lord Reynolds’s mother.  His
real
mother.”

Lady Martin
gave a small gasp.  “What type of idiot would insult the Marquess of Cambourne? 
The very wealthy and powerful Marquess of Cambourne?”

The blonde
shrugged. “Lord Reynolds nearly beat the man to death.  Some baron’s
son.  He’s now recuperating at his father’s country estate.”

Intrigued,
Alexandra took a step out of the alcove that sheltered her.  She loved
lurid gothic novels when not running Helmsby Abbey and avoiding her
uncle.  The hero of her favorite series, Lord Thurston, sported a tattoo,
and he often engaged in swordplay with unsavory characters.  Listening to
gossip was much better than worrying about when her uncle would arrive with her
unwanted suitor.

“Richard
says the tattoo is actually quite beautiful.  The dragon’s head takes up
the whole of Lord Reynolds’s back.  The tail,” the blonde paused
dramatically, “winds around his
navel
.”  She said in a
whisper. 

Lady Martin
twittered behind her fan.

Alexandra
stood on tiptoe.  Her height kept her from all but a peek of a tall man
with glossy blue-black hair making his way across the ballroom.  The
aristocrats parted as if they were the Red Sea and the dark haired man were
Moses.  She doubted though, that Moses had sported a tattoo.

“He’s this
season’s biggest catch in spite of his rather dubious character.  Do you
remember that business with Lord Ranson’s wife?   I’m told Reynolds
did the honorable thing by firing into the air and allowing Ranson the
opportunity for a clear shot.  Ranson, the idiot, became so startled by
Reynolds’s actions that he put his gun down and shot his own toe off.”

Alexandra
rolled her eyes.    Duels sounded very romantic but they rarely
turned out well.   She found it a stupid way to settle an
argument.  Aunt Eloise instructed Alexandra that the honor of men,
particularly a titled gentleman, was questionable at best.  ‘
Just look
at the man I married with his immaculate pedigree,’
Aunt Eloise sighed
as
if in pain
, ‘for an example of how perfect breeding can equal a foul
nature.’
 Alexandra agreed with Aunt Eloise on that point. 

“Satan
Reynolds –“

“Watch your
tongue, Lady Norris!”  Lady Martin looked around, saw Alexandra, and
dismissed her.  “It would not do well to run afoul of the Dowager
Marchioness.  She does not care for her grandson to be called
Satan
Reynolds or for the reputation he has garnered.”

What a
ridiculous nickname!  Alexandra gave a small snort.   Oh, she
supposed it sounded very deadly and all, but really, she mused, Lord Reynolds
likely came up with the moniker for its seductive quality on women.  Lady
Martin practically salivated as she studied the man. 

Alexandra’s
eyes flicked over the blonde. In addition to being stuffed into her dress, an
annoying spray of ostrich feathers rose from the side of Lady Norris’s
head.   She resembled an overstuffed capon. 

Lady Norris
sniffed and lowered her voice.  “Of course you know all about him living
in Macao with the heathen Chinese. He went native, smoking opium and keeping a
harem
like a Chinese warlord. ” The words dangled in the air above Lady Martin,
waiting for her to take the bait. 

Macao? 
Chinese harems? Alexandra moved as close as she could to the two women. Having
never really left the safety of Hampshire, and certainly having never been any
farther than London, Alexandra adored tales of faraway places and exotic
locales.  Many nights she would sit in the Helmsby Abbey library with a
cup of tea, brought by the aged butler, Jameson, and read an entire book on
geography in one sitting. 

  “Oh,
my
! 
He
is
something, isn’t he?”  Lady Martin clutched one hand to her
breast as if she were about to swoon.

Alexandra’s
attention snapped back to Lady Martin.  She tilted her head to hear
better.  The women of the
ton
were incredibly silly.  
Alexandra never found any man to be worth swooning over – even if he
did
have a tattoo.   She stood on her toes to try to catch a better look
at the man who caused such dramatic behavior. 

Satan
Reynolds burst through the crowded mass of dandified gentlemen and preening
ladies into Alexandra’s line of vision.   She gaped, realized her
mouth hung open, and quickly shut it.  The man striding through the
ballroom did indeed resemble the name he had been given, for after all, wasn’t
Satan supposed to be the most beautiful angel of all? 

Lord
Reynolds was tall and lithe with broad shoulders that stretched the limits of
his perfectly tailored coat.   He walked slowly through the crowd,
never acknowledging the stares of the men and women who stood aside to let him
pass.   Nervous whispers and gestures followed in his wake.  The
long, dark hair danced above the top of his expertly tied cravat, in defiance
of the current fashion.  He looked down his patrician nose and across his
elegantly carved cheekbones to survey his surroundings with bored
arrogance. 

Alexandra
thought him the most stunning creature she had ever seen.  The lads in
Hampshire weren’t even the same
species
as the man sauntering across the
ballroom.

A tall
voluptuous redhead in black silk pushed her way through the crowd, blocking his
path.  Satan Reynolds quirked his full mouth in amusement, but gave the
woman his attention.  The woman dipped into a curtsy so deep that even
Alexandra could see directly down the woman’s bodice.  No doubt Satan
Reynolds could as well.  He smiled and brushed a kiss across the redhead’s
hand.

“Lucky Lady
Fellowes!”  Lady Martin opened her fan. “How convenient for her that Lord
Fellowes’s heart finally gave out last year, but the man was eighty if he was a
day.    She looks quite stunning in her black, doesn’t
she?” 

Alexandra
had to agree.  The black of Lady Fellowes’s dress set off her red hair and
creamy skin to perfection. 

Lord
Reynolds leaned into the redhead, cocked his head to listen to something she
said, while his fingers glided over her arm.

“Did I ever
tell you that Richard attended Eton with Satan Reynolds and the other
Wickeds?”  Lady Norris said in sotto voce to Lady Martin.

Lady Martin
shook her head.

“Reynolds,
that Irish earl and Viscount Lindley were roommates.  Teased by the other
lads.  Satan Reynolds for his possible illegitimacy, though it’s never
been proven,” Lady Norris added carefully. “The Irish earl’s mother a murderess
and Viscount Lindley…” She snapped her fan shut.  “Well, I think we all
know about
his
family don’t we?  Even I am not bold enough to
discuss him
openly
.”

Lord
Reynolds nodded politely again to Lady Fellowes, brushing her knuckles against
his lips before moving again through the mass of the ton.  He likely knew
he was the subject of much speculation by the number of whispers and hands over
mouths, but he never slowed or even spoke to anyone else.  Alexandra wondered
if it bothered him – to be on display.  He had to be. His looks
alone, regardless of his reputation, would garner attention wherever he went.

Lady Norris
nodded towards Lord Reynolds.  “The three lads visited a gypsy in the
woods – a woman who could see the future.  The lads wished to learn
their fates.”

Lady Martin
gave her friend a skeptical look and pursed her plum colored lips into a
perfect rosette.