A Scandalous Past (Regency Romance, Book 4) (5 page)

Haversham’s mouth fell open. “God,
Clayworth, you took your own sweet time winning the round.”

Brendan was dumbfounded. He couldn’t believe
he’d won either.  The odds had not been in his favor.

“Well,” Haversham finally drawled, now
seeming bored with the turn of events, “enjoy your advantage. When
the fortnight is over, Miss Avery will be mine.”

He’d won two weeks with the sharp tongued
Miss Avery. Now he just had to figure out what to do with her.

***           

“My lord,” Higgins greeted Brendan, as he
held open the front door.

“You do know, Higgins, it’s not necessary to
wait up for me. I’d hate to disrupt your schedule.”

The butler shut the door behind him and held
out his hand for Brendan’s hat and cane. “You have a visitor,
sir.”

A visitor? It was the middle of the night!
Hardly a time for social calls. No, not social calls—but perhaps
something else. Had something happened in Derbyshire to Rosamund or
Thomas in his absence? “Who is it?” he asked in a hoarse voice.

“Lady Staveley, sir. She insisted she be
allowed to wait.”

Brendan took a sigh of relief and handed his
cane and beaver hat over to Higgins. What was Caroline up to?
“Where?” he asked with a frown.

“Blue salon, my lord.”

The blue salon. He hated that damned room.
Brendan stalked down the corridor, his heart still racing from his
earlier scare. He pushed the door open and found Caroline waiting
for him, seated at a small desk, writing on some foolscap.

At his entrance, she looked up from her work
and smiled radiantly.  “Brendan Reese,” she chastised him as
she stood, “would you care to tell me just why exactly you left my
little ball so early?”

He rubbed his brow. It had been a long day.
Traveling, attending balls, gambling. He wasn’t in any mood to
rehash the Spanish Inquisition. “Does your husband know you’re here
at a most unfashionable hour?”

She had the audacity to wink at him. “Don’t
think you can distract me, Brendan. And, yes, Staveley is well
aware of my location. He’ll be so pleased you’re concerned for my
reputation.”

He resisted the urge to snort. Though
Caroline was meddlesome and could make an overall nuisance of
herself, her reputation was spotless—a grande dame of the
ton
.

“I did not beckon you all the way to Town so
that you could leave at the first sign of trouble.”

This time he couldn’t hold back his snort as
he fell into a high back damask chair.  “The first sign of
trouble?” Lady Avery’s scene could more readily be called a
travesty of epic proportions.

***           

Cordie awoke with a smile on her
face—perhaps the biggest one ever.  After spending the last
fortnight in abject isolation, the fog of doom and gloom seemed to
have lifted from her soul. She sighed happily, remembering her
glorious dream about a certain scandalous marquess.

She rolled over in her bed, towards the
window and the light of day, wishing her dream hadn’t ended. Would
she ever see Haversham again? Not if her mother had anything to say
about it. Lady Avery had ranted and raved the entire ride home from
the Staveleys’, certain Cordie’s future was a complete loss.

Though, she’d turned a deaf ear to her
mother’s ravings, choosing instead to bask in the glow of her
body’s reaction to Haversham. She’d tingled everywhere he’d touched
her. She sighed at the memory of his hand stroking her back. He was
heavenly—exactly what she was looking for. Handsome. Wicked.
Perfect.
He
always did exactly what he wanted, so certainly
he wouldn’t begrudge her the same freedoms.

Without a doubt, she was head over heels in
love with the man.

She’d never felt this way. Giddy. Silly.
Wanton. Not even with Captain Seaton. Cordie closed her eyes again.
In her mind, she could still see his wolfish grin and soft blue
eyes, promising delicious wickedness.

A determined knock came from the door. 
Cordie closed her eyes tighter, not wanting her daydream to
end.

“Cordelia!” her mother’s voice hissed
through the door.

Cordie groaned and rolled over, burying her
face in her pillows. It was too early to deal with her mother, so
she said nothing, pretending to still sleep.

Then her door was thrown open and the
counterpane was unceremoniously stripped away from her. “Cordelia!”
her mother barked. “Get up quickly and get dressed. You have a
guest.”

Cordie didn’t move, wishing desperately that
her mother would leave her in peace, but then the bed dipped down
as Lady Avery sat next to her.  “Get up, you silly girl. By
some stroke of luck, you may just survive this scandal.”

Cordie blinked her eyes open. “What are you
talking about, Mama?”

“I knew you weren’t sleeping.  Why
didn’t you tell me you waltzed with Lord Clayworth?”

Ugh! Clayworth! She’d nearly forgotten about
him. “Because you spent all evening berating me for dancing with
Haversham. There wasn’t time to tell you anything else.”

“Don’t even utter
that
man’s name.”
Her mother shuddered dramatically. “I’ve been beseeched with
visitors all morning long.  Evelyn Greywood, Nicola Dearden,
and Beatrice Peake, just to name a few. Everyone wants to know what
you did to capture the earl’s attention.  He
never
dances, Cordelia. Did you know that?  I never realized it.
After poor Marina, I never paid Clayworth any attention at all—but
he might be your savior in disguise. Everyone is much more
interested in your dance with Clayworth than anything else that
happened last night.”

How was that even possible? She’d danced
scandalously close with one of the most notorious gentlemen in
Town. Then her mother had created a huge scene by screaming and
hitting the man with her fan.  But all of Mayfair was abuzz
because of her dance with
Clayworth
? That was simply
ridiculous. Haversham was much more interesting than Clayworth.

“Anyway, I’ll send Bessie in to get you
dressed. You have a guest waiting downstairs. So do hurry.”

“Who?” Cordie asked, sitting up in her
bed.

“The earl himself. Lord Clayworth is in the
yellow parlor waiting for you.”

Cordie’s mouth fell open. What was
he
doing here? He didn’t like her any better than she liked him.

Brendan paced around the Avery parlor,
cursing himself for a fool.  What the devil was he doing here?
What if the Averys were not only in possession of his mother’s
letters, but they’d read them as well? What if they threatened to
turn them over to the Home Office? Something told him Cordelia
Avery would like nothing better than to see him dangling from the
gallows. It would certainly explain her cool demeanor towards
him.

The night before, she’d laughed gaily with
many people and had bestowed an earth-stopping smile on Haversham
of all people. If anyone deserved the scowl she’d saved for
Brendan, it should have the Marquess of Haversham.  So the
Averys must know the contents of the letters. It made perfect
sense. She thought he was a traitor.

Technically, he was.

Every voyage to France. Each visit to his
mother’s family. The countless trips he and his sisters had taken
with their mother. He now didn’t believe that even one of them had
been a simple trip to visit family. All of them lies. If he hadn’t
taken her to Paris time and again, she couldn’t have passed off
sensitive information to the enemy. He was just as culpable as she
was. His ignorance of her crimes did not excuse his guilt. He
should have known. He should have realized where her loyalties
laid.

Brendan glanced down at his pocket fob. One
o’clock. How long did Miss Avery intend to keep him waiting?

Ever since he’d won his fortnight advantage,
he’d been bombarded with thoughts. He couldn’t just ask Lady Avery
for the damning letters. That would be the quickest way to get a
dark, dank cell in Newgate. Young Lord Avery was in the
country—that he’d learned from a fellow over hazard the night
before. So he couldn’t strike up a friendship with the chap. And
his two younger brothers were apparently in France among a small
troop of soldiers who had yet to return home from the war. Even if
Russell and Tristan Avery were in the country, associating with
someone they considered in league with the French wouldn’t be high
on their list. Since it wasn’t likely that the baroness would
invite him to join her sewing circle or some such nonsense, the
only conceivable person he could visit at Avery House was the
lovely Cordelia.

Astwick had been correct the night before.
Word was already spreading around Town, thanks in large part to
their waltz, that he was interested in courting Miss Avery. It was
another lie.

His whole life was a lie.

What was one more? Not that in his younger
years he might not have been interested in the girl. She was
pretty—but then so was Marina all those years ago, and that had
been an abysmal union. It was best to keep one’s mind sharp when
dealing with beautiful women—truly the most dangerous of all God’s
creatures. Brendan couldn’t afford to let his guard down. His
family’s future depended on him finding those letters, destroying
them.

He blinked when Miss Avery entered the
parlor, finally deigning to meet him, and he immediately caught his
breath. She was stunning in a gauzy, pink dress, which brought a
pleasing color to her pretty cheeks. It annoyed him that he noticed
such things, but she was nothing short of a vision—something she
was obviously well aware of.  He’d never done much courting in
his younger years, but waiting over an hour for some chit was
something he’d never done before. She was apparently used to
wrapping men around her little finger.

He wouldn’t be one of them.  He
couldn’t be.

“Lord Clayworth,” she said crisply, “what a
surprise.”

Brendan bowed. “You are looking lovely
today.”

“As opposed to what?” she asked with
narrowed eyes.

He grimaced in response. Was there nothing
he could say that she wouldn’t take offense to? Even after years of
watching over his two fairly emotional sisters, he’d never
encountered a more petulant woman. “As opposed to most foolish
girls who court scandal on a regular basis,” he shot back at her.
He probably shouldn’t have said that. If he was going to somehow
get free reign to search Avery House from top to bottom, being on
the outs with Miss Avery wasn’t the best idea. Still, he’d had all
of her impertinence he intended to take last night. They wouldn’t
continue in that vein.

The pink in her cheeks darkened, which made
her even lovelier, though Brendan pushed that thought from his
mind.  Miss Avery was a harridan, and it was best not to
forget it.

“I do not
court
scandal, sir,” she
replied haughtily. Then she eyed him suspiciously from the corner
of her eyes as she sat on a gold brocade settee.

Brendan dropped into a chintz chair across
from the aggravating chit. With any luck he could have his mother’s
letters back in his hands before the fortnight was up, and then
Haversham could do whatever he wanted with the spoiled little girl.
However, that sudden thought irritated him to no end. As
infuriating as Miss Avery was, it turned his stomach to think of
her in Haversham’s arms. Really. Had she no sense? Someone should
take a firm hand with the girl.

The door opened again, and Lady Avery
bustled inside, trilling anxiously, “Oh, Lord Clayworth, we are so
pleased you have come to call.” She settled next to her daughter
and batted her eyes.

Miss Avery looked the furthest thing from
pleased, as she toyed with the pink velvet ties on her dress. She
looked bored. Fidgety. Restless.  But no less stunning.

“The pleasure is, of course, mine,” Brendan
replied smoothly. “I was hoping, Lady Avery, that you would allow
me to escort your lovely daughter in my phaeton through the park
this afternoon.”

Miss Avery looked as though she’d just been
sentenced to hard labor in Australia, but her mother beamed. “Oh,
my lord, Cordelia would be honored.  Wouldn’t you, my
dear?”

Miss Avery’s green eyes flickered to meet
Brendan’s gaze. “Yes, honored,” she dutifully replied. If he didn’t
know better, he’d think she truly meant it. Cordelia Avery was as
good a liar as he was. He made a mental note of the fact and smiled
back at her.

“Shall we then?” he asked, offering her his
arm.

***           

As soon as they were outside Avery House and
away from her mother, Cordie glared at the earl. What was he
about?  It wasn’t as if she’d charmed him the night before.
That
had been the furthest thing from her mind. However, he
didn’t spare a glance for her, as if he knew she was frowning at
him.

They stopped before his conveyance, and
Cordie gaped openly. The high perch phaeton was shiny black and
sleek, looking like the sort of thing reckless men used for racing,
not leisurely rides in the park. “Where exactly do you plan on
taking me?” she asked in wonder.

Clayworth chuckled. “Relax, Miss Avery, I
have no plans to kidnap you.”

“This is stunning.”

“Thank you. Driving is a particular interest
of mine. I’m afraid I do over indulge sometimes,” he replied, a
look of devotion in his eyes as he stared at his conveyance. Then
without further ado, he offered her his hand, helping her into the
phaeton.

The bench was padded nicely and smelled of
expensive leather. Cordie glanced around the phaeton with
appreciation. Through the years with three older brothers, she’d
heard more about gigs, barouches, chaises, coupes, landaus, and
phaetons than she’d ever cared to know. Those old conversations,
however, did make her well aware of the excellent craftsmanship of
the light four-wheeled carriage.