A Proper Scandal (Ravensdale Family Book 2) (30 page)

Master Rauldaundi held his arm out for her join in, hundreds of eager eyes waiting for the reveal. His profile was handsome, classically Roman. There had been rumors that they were involved romantically. In truth, he had been the closet thing she had to a friend as she sat for the portrait. They had shared easy conversation and for once, in a very long while, Minnie had slipped into the habit of talking freely. The scandal was excellent news for Rauldaundi, whose reputation soared overnight. His work was very much in demand now.

Her eye caught the loosened clasp once more. She could not fix it while everyone watched her and listened to Rauldaundi give his speech. But Minnie couldn’t help but stare and wish to make the clasp do the one job it must.

Then a whoosh as the velvet pulled away from the large canvas. The collective murmuring buzzed before the applause. She joined in too, staring blankly at her portrait. The other paintings were revealed with the same ceremony, but Minnie couldn’t help but stare at the sad eyes gazing back at her—her own hazel eyes. He had captured her perfectly. Dressed in black, her hair swept up beneath a flouncy black hat, dotted netting draped over her face. The only thing of color was her red mouth, stretched into a Mona Lisa smile, begging for someone to make sense of the world.

The answer never arrived.

She shook off her discontent and smiled at the crowd awaiting her reaction. Minnie thanked Rauldaundi and made sure to blush as he raised her hand to his lips, all the while wishing to disappear and return to her quiet home. Despite it not being early evening any longer, it was still early for her to retire, so she pushed off into the crowd, immediately swarmed with requests to perform, praise, and blatant invitations to join gentlemen’s beds.

Her lips were curled around another glass of champagne, her head nodding in agreement to someone’s foolishness. It was easier to agree than to show one had a mind of one’s own in a crowd such as this.

“And you must meet…” a woman was insisting at her side. And maybe Minnie had agreed because the woman was reaching out to boldly touch the shoulder of someone who had their back to the crowd, engaged in another circle of conversation.

The face was familiar, but the person overall was changed. It took some time to register who the stranger was staring back at her.

“We’ve met before.” Alex smiled and her heart stopped, as always.

Minnie dropped a bracing hand down to her stomach and threw back the rest of the champagne, her hand too unsteady to pass it off to the waiter skirting by with a tray. It fell to the floor and shattered at her feet, but she was already rushing through the crowd to make her way outside.

T
hree years. Three. God damn. Miserable years.

And she ran.

The woman in front of him, some Mrs. Asherly or Ashber, looked offended to be brushed off, but Alex hadn’t come to Paris to please a room full of overdressed buffoons. The sole reason was running away from him, wrapped in yellow silk and looking like a dream. She had been a dream for a while now. He was hoping to bring that to an abrupt end.

He chased after her because he had always done that, ignoring the shocked gasps as they made a spectacle of themselves across the Paris gallery.

His hand grabbed above her elbow as she ran into the rain. “Please, don’t.” She froze at his touch. He had neglected to wear gloves that night. Feeling her skin under his was akin to a lightning bolt striking the lone tree in the field. Bright, burning, consuming.

She looked as if she would rear back and bite him, her eyes full of anger. But her body relaxed a little under the falling rain before he guided her back inside. Alex dragged her into the first empty room he could find and slammed the door shut.

Minnie backed away, standing in the middle of the room. She rose and fell in his horizon as he struggled to catch his breath. The rain slashing at the window was the only sound between them.

“Don’t you recognize—” He ducked as she threw the vase from the table at him. The china shattered, raining down the door. Alex brushed the broken bits from his shoulders. “—your own husband?”

Her skin still wet, Minnie glowed in the dim room, even as her head hung low and her shoulders rose and fell on staggered breaths. “What do you want?” she asked, crossing her arms over her chest. She folded into herself, unable meet him in the eyes.

His fingers tapped against the back of the door as he tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t come as he sipped in the beautiful sight of her in the same room. He had fought hard for this moment and she had cried off as if he were some monster. He might not be a monster, but certainly felt like a cad for surprising her. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to call on her that afternoon when he arrived in Paris. Nerves or some such. Probably the same ones that coursed through him now.

The room filled up with quiet, the tension rising and rising like a summer thundercloud. He exhaled and pushed off the door.

“Alex.”

He was a little relieved after having seen her so ruffled. Let her be angry; at least he would know she hadn’t lost her fight. “I’ll be brief,” he said, somehow walking past her without wrapping her in his arms. He stopped in front of the window, watching the carriages pass on the streets below. “I’ve a business proposition.”

“You could have sent a letter.”

He ignored her anger. “There is a new play to debut in London, and a role meant solely for you.”

“If that’s all,” she said, heading for the door, “excuse me.”

As she stepped forward, it felt as if she had taken a step onto him, the air painfully crushed in his lungs.

“No one could play the heroine like you.” He spoke to the unwelcome sight of her back.

“I suppose you have some tiny theater lined up,” Minnie answered smartly, brushing her hands over her skirts. She spun around, holding her chin high.

“Oh, you haven’t heard?” Alex crossed the room, stopping a few paces away. “I’m a big success now.”

Her eyes shut tight. “How…lucky for you.”

“There was no luck involved. I bled for my successes.” He stepped closer and Minnie held her breath. “You’ve been crying,” he whispered, closing the distance between them.

“What do you want, Alex?”

“Do you have enough pretty things now, darling?”

The small laugh that escaped her painted mouth was ugly, heartless. “Yes, I do. Now if you’re finished—” She swayed as if she was going to skirt around him to the door, but rushed forward instead. Minnie shoved her hands into his chest, as he smiled down at her, trying to keep his patience in check. She raised her hand to slap him but he was too quick and grabbed her small wrist. She raised her other hand, except he trapped that one, too. He brought them to her side, their eyes locked on one another.

“Paris has had its way with you.” His voice was just as ragged as her breath. “Come back to England.”

“If your sole mission today was to convince me to leave, then you’ve wasted your time. There is no chance I’m returning to England. I’m a daughter of Paris now.”

“Start over in England. You deserve true recognition.” She moved her hands again in an attempt to slap him, but his grip remained firm. “Minnie, you don’t need to be afraid.”

“Let go of me.” Panic swelled in her weak whisper.

“There will be a carriage waiting outside your apartment tomorrow morning at seven. I have arranged for passage.”

“You’re always so sure of yourself.”

He drew her closer. She smelled of champagne and tuberose and the best years of his life. “I haven’t seen you in three years.” And that was what they had always excelled at—masters of the unspoken. It wasn’t simply that he had been gone for three years, but a mess of guilt and blame. “No,” she said firmly. “Find another.”

He raised an eyebrow as he loosened his grip on her wrists. When she didn’t fight him, he pulled her right wrist close. “This has been upsetting you all night. Let me see.”

Alex focused on the bent bracelet clasp, even when he heard her small surprised gasp. He squeezed at the soft metal until it stayed shut, then righted the bracelet. Diamonds. She deserved to be dripping in them without having to offer up part of herself. “Have some faith.”

Their eyes met for a moment, his request ringing in his ears as silence consumed them once more.

Minnie fingered the faceted diamond filigree with a pinched brow. “I don’t need rescuing,” she whispered, but there was no conviction left in her voice.

“No,” he whispered back, his mouth brushing the tip of her nose, the rainwater wetting his lips.

“I don’t need you to rescue me. I don’t, Alex.” Her voice trembled. “Alex?”

He never knew silence could feel so heavy, but it was, an impossible weight bearing down on him as he remained frozen. “I’m right here, Min.”

She moved her mouth to his and lightly sucked his bottom lip, pulling a low rumble from his throat. The tentativeness melted between them, the years all but erased as their mouths moved faster, deepening their kiss to match their hunger for each other. Alex trailed sweet kisses over her nose, cheeks, and down her throat. A soft moan escaped Minnie as his hand traced the line of her shoulder, still wet from the rain, before his fingers wiped away the water in a quick stroke.

Another sigh at that, encouraging him to gather her body against his, but a knock sounded at the door and she stepped away in haste, breaking the fragile connection they shared.

“Come in,” she ordered, watching Alex with such scared eyes.

The maid stuck her head into the room, flushed with embarrassment. “So sorry,” she whispered, before ducking back out.

“Are we finished?” she asked, staring down at her bracelet once more.

Try as she might to persuade him otherwise, they were in fact, not through. “Consider my offer, Minnie.”

“Best of luck to you and your play.” She walked to the window, keeping her back turned, shutting him out once more.

“I’ll be waiting at seven.”

Minnie might have said something. She always did favor having the last word, but he had already passed through the door, having no desire to listen to lies. He walked back to his hotel in the rain, not caring that he was soaked upon arrival, because he had an honest smile playing at his lips for the first times in years.

*

The carriage had arrived on time, but Minnie remained in bed. Alex had arrived a few hours later, but she hadn’t let him in either. When she finally the nerve to open the front door to her apartment, a note waited on the floor saying he was leaving.

That was all. He had asked and she had refused, and once again they were to be finished.

In the week since, her thoughts dwelled on Alex, on the possibility of his offer. And then tragedy struck.

Chantal arrived at her doorstep, begging for help, about to have a child. She was in the care of Peprin before he drowned while on a yacht in Greece. She had sold everything she could, but had little. Minnie took her in, but it was no matter. Chantal died in childbirth, her beautiful baby girl two hours later. The funeral had been a lonely business, for Minnie arranged it and was the only one in attendance.

She had returned, still dressed in black, staring out the windows from her writing desk. Her collection of orchids stood guard, reminding her of a life that seemed long since forgotten—that of a little girl who lost her parents in India. The daughter of a philandering botanist and a narcissistic socialite, not a ballerina. Minnie could run for the jungles forever, but eventually she’d always meet the sea.

As she sat that evening in her parlor, staring out her darkened windows overlooking the city that had given itself to her, demanding the same of her, she penned a letter to Alex. She posted it the next morning, having never been to bed.

3 weeks later

Off the coast of Donegal, Ireland

M
innie had crossed the ocean twice in a matter of weeks. Once to London, to secure a townhouse for herself, then to Ireland to make amends for a wrong that haunted her. She wasted no time on travel. Being in the company of Duke of Ashbornham helped expedite matters exponentially.

“Well, we’re here,” she announced, her words dripping in acrid distaste. The carriage rocked to a stop as her hand pressed against the fogged window.

In one painful breath, the mystery of Alex Marwick unfolded.

Without even having stepped outside, the horror of it all seeped inside her until her body felt filthy and repulsive. The piercing cries of seagulls echoed off the cliffs, the waves crashing against the stony shore, one violent hit after another.

“I never wanted to s-see this dreadful place again.”

She opened her eyes at that. If Isaac’s wife, Nora, had traveled five months pregnant to help, then Minnie could drum up the courage to finish this task. No matter how unpleasant.

“I wish you both would have remained in London. I could have dealt with this matter.” Isaac met Minnie’s stare, twirling his cane in his hand to quiet his obvious anger. Older though he was, Isaac would remain the young man who waltzed with her when she was a little girl at Burton Hall. The silly man who would make her laugh and act like a jester. He was the reason she felt as though Burton Hall was a home.