An Invitation to Scandal (10 page)

Spence shrugged beneath his tailored jacket and smiled. “Of course. Perfectly. Very simple. What could go wrong?”

Nicholas pursed his lips. He did not want to contemplate.

* * *

Abigail skirted the edges of the party. How strange to be back amongst the ton, knowing the only reason they did not shy away was because they did not recognize her. How perfectly ridiculous, that a mask was the only thing that kept her from being shunned. As if each one of them did not wear their own masks. Every day they put on the polite veneer society dictated as fashionable, decorating it with false sincerity and inane conversations that meant nothing. Yet once you turned your back they did not hesitate to stab you with rumors and innuendo and gossip.

The sudden release from convention, the constant need to always ensure she did the right thing at the right time with the right person while wearing the right outfit, was the only welcome benefit of her family’s denunciation from polite society.

Still, she would take it back in a heartbeat if it meant seeing her family whole again. If it would heal Caelie’s broken spirit, wipe the loneliness from her mother’s eyes, and erase the worry lines creasing Benedict’s face, she would wear the hypocrisy until her dying day and not bat an eye.

But it wasn’t that easy. For eight months, she had been trying to worm her way back into society with the hopes it would ease the path for Caelie, but to no avail. Most barely tolerated her presence, others completely ignored her. It was as if she was contagious.

Lady Blackbourne found them within the crowd and approached with her daughter in tow, a generous smile on her face.

“How glad I am to see you,” she said, reaching out with both her hands to clasp Abigail’s mother’s.

“We wouldn’t have missed it,” her mother replied. Abigail looked at her and realized it was true. Relief lightened her mother’s hazel eyes and smoothed the lines around them. Despite her affiliation to the horrid Lord Roxton, Abigail could not help but feel a sense of gratitude toward his mother for her public acceptance of her family.

After a quick exchange of pleasantries, and a determination that Lord Roxton had indeed come, Abigail extricated herself from their group with the excuse of taking care of personal business. She started toward the ladies’ room, then veered off, doubling back into the crowd to search for her accomplice from the other night.

Her efforts proved fruitless, and after a second cursory look, she left the crush and sauntered out onto the terrace overlooking the gardens. A gentle breeze caressed her skin, but the goose flesh that followed had little to do with the weather and everything to do with anticipation. He’d promised he would come, and for reasons she could not pinpoint or make good sense of, she trusted him.

She stared out over the gardens and prayed she would not be disappointed. Time trickled away. Soon Lord Tarrington would make his offer, and once she accepted, her chance to face down Lord Roxton and demand he make amends would be gone.

“Lady X?”

The touch at her elbow startled her and for a fleeting second, her heart roared to life, only to settle back down when she realized it was not her mystery man from the other night.

“What did you call me?”

He smiled. A lovely smile, really. Most engaging. Curiosity overrode any sense of trepidation. Though sparsely populated, she remained in full view of the ballroom through the open French doors, and there were others within shouting distance, should she require assistance.

“Lady X. We did not exchange names the other evening, so I thought to name you—”

“The other evening? When did we meet the other evening?”

“At the
party
,” he said, stressing the last word. Her confusion must have shown. He leaned in and whispered. “At Madame St. Augustine’s.”

Her heart pounded beneath her breast. Did he recognize her mask? And if he did, were there others here who would as well? “I am afraid you have me confused with someone else.”

He took a step back. “I do?”

“Indeed you must. For I have never attended such a party.” She tried to put as much effrontery in her tone as she could muster.

“But you requested that I meet you here.”

“I did no such thing.”

This was not her mystery man. He wore the same type of mask and dressed in the same unrelenting black. But it was not him. No hint of the strange accent existed. And his scent. This man reminded her of exotic spices and sunshine.

If she kissed this man, it would feel different. She didn’t know how she knew, but somewhere beneath her skin, deeper than muscle and bone, she could feel it.

This man was an imposter. But why?

“But I…” His words trailed off and he looked behind him as if searching for something, or someone.

Was this some awful trick? Had someone discovered her identity and thought to have some fun at her expense? Anger burned inside of her. How cruel. How completely, utterly cruel!

“I do not know who you are, or what you think—” Her words were abruptly cut off.

“There you are, you smarmy little bastard!”

Their heads swiveled in unison at the booming voice. The bulky frame of Lord Franklyn lumbered toward them, his fist hammering the air. He’d pushed his mask off his face as if he cared little about revealing his identity.

“Oh dear.” The imposter swallowed. “Not good.”

“Do not even think of trying to escape. I heard you were back in town and I know damn well it is you beneath that ridiculous mask. We have not yet settled our differences, young man and I mean to—”

“Y-Your Grace. How lovely to see you again.” The impudent young man’s face paled slightly around his well-formed mouth. He stretched it into a false smile. “How is your lovely wife?”

“Why you little—” The older man charged forward.

“My apologies, Lady X. I am to tell you Lord Roxton will not be in attendance this evening.” He quickly lifted her hand to his mouth and dropped a quick kiss before letting go and sprinting across the balcony, vaulting over the balustrade into the gardens below. The Duke of Franklyn brushed past her without so much as a glance, huffing as he ran after the much spryer younger man, with no hope at all of ever catching him.

Abigail stared after them, too stunned to speak or think.

How did that man know about her search for Lord Roxton? And why was he sent to tell her something she knew to be false? Lord Roxton was in attendance, his mother had said so.

Unable to come up with any plausible answers, Abigail returned to the ballroom and resumed her search. She would find her mystery man, or Lord Roxton, before the night ended.

Another full hour passed before her determination came to fruition. After checking in with her mother who was happily ensconced in Lady Blackbourne’s circle, she excused herself once again, this time under the guise of getting punch and reintroducing herself to a group of old friends. Abigail sensed him first, as if his presence reached out and caressed some deep, instinctual part of her. Several moments later she laid eyes on him, but oh, the wait had been worth it. Even though she could not see his face, she knew him to be handsome. His sensual mouth promised untold delights, and she knew intimately how they delivered on every one of those promises.

Did she dare seek out another kiss? She didn’t necessarily need her mystery man’s assistance in finding Lord Roxton. Not with Lady Blackbourne present. But need and want were two entirely different things. His kiss haunted her dreams, and more of her waking moments than she cared to acknowledge. Would it be so wrong? She would be discreet. No one would know. Just one more kiss, filled with passion and desire, before she consigned herself to a life with a man old enough to be her grandfather. A man who only saw her as a means to procure an heir.

She gave herself a mental shake.

Focus. Tonight was not about stolen kisses in dark corners. It was about resurrecting her family’s reputation from the ashes. And by using her mystery man, it would keep Lady Blackbourne and Lady Rebecca out of the middle of things should it not go as she planned.

Abigail walked the edge of the crowd, then sidled up behind him and stood on her tip toes to whisper near his ear.

“I worried you had reneged on our deal.”

His shoulders tensed, then he turned slowly. Up close and with better lighting his eyes were even more potent against the midnight mask that covered the upper portion of his face. More elaborate than the one he’d worn the other night, this one covered all but his tantalizing mouth. Dressed as a swashbuckling hero, he had only partially covered his head, revealing hair the color of midnight.

Something tugged at her memory.

“What are you doing here?” His greeting held far less enthusiasm than she had hoped for. “Come with me.” He took her by the elbow and directed her firmly through the crowd until they came out at the entrance to the gardens. He kept to the shadows and led her through the maze of hedges and flower beds.

“Where are you taking me?”

“Hush!”

She clamped her mouth shut, more out of surprise than from any plan of acquiescence. He stopped outside another set of doors and turned the handle. They opened easily and he pulled her inside, shutting the door behind them. Abigail looked around, staring through the shadows. It appeared to be a music room. In the distance, she could hear the muted din of the other guests. They weren’t very far from the ballroom, but it felt a million miles away.

How were they ever to find Lord Roxton from there?

“I do not feel this silly cloak and dagger behavior is necessary. And I don’t appreciate being manhandled in such a fashion. Anyone could have seen us.”

“Exactly,” he said, his voice abrading her nerves until they sizzled to life. How could someone’s voice do that? Make her react like a physical touch? “I sent my…my man to find you. To give you a message. Did you not get it?”

Her eyes widened. That explained the identity of the imposter, but it did not explain why he’d sent someone in his stead.

“A gentleman pretended to be you, if that’s what you mean. Really, did you think I wouldn’t know the difference?”

He ignored her question. “I discovered Lord Roxton would not be attending this evening. I merely wished to have that information conveyed to you.”

“You could not do it yourself?” She had so looked forward to seeing him again. To have him purposely try to avoid her…well, it stung. More than it should have.

He looked away. “I thought perhaps after my behavior the other night, you may have wished not to see me.”

“Oh.” A blush crept upwards, warming her throat and cheeks. “No. I…I quite enjoyed it.”

His gaze shot back to her and the heat of her blush raged through the rest of her body.

“Your boldness surprises me.”

She had no response. What she had said pressed the far edge of propriety, but what did it matter? He did not know her. She did not know him. Neither of them intended to take this strange relationship beyond this night. No expectations and hidden identities offered a sense of freedom to speak one’s mind.

Abigail smiled. “Did I offend?”

A low chuckle rumbled deep in his chest. She quite liked the sound of his laugh. It reminded her of someone, but she couldn’t say who. Being near this man made thinking of anything beyond the moment difficult. “No. You did not offend.”

“Good. And you needn’t worry about Lord Roxton’s attendance. Your source provided faulty information, as his mother told my mother he is indeed here tonight. And given the way he’s been doting on Miss Caldwell, who is also present, I have no doubt if we watch her, we will find him.” In truth, once she stated the fact aloud, she knew she likely did not even require this man’s assistance. But she had wanted it nonetheless, if for no other reason than to see him one last time.

“And then what?”

“And then I will—” She clamped her mouth shut. She could not tell him her plans. If she did, it would divulge who she was, and she couldn’t chance it. Perhaps her instincts about this man were correct, and he would keep her secret. But given she had nothing to base this instinct on except two clandestine meetings, she could not take the risk. If she was wrong, it could ruin everything. “Let us just say Lord Roxton owes my family a debt and I mean to see that he pays.”

“And you’re willing to jeopardize your own reputation in order to achieve this end?”

“I would do anything for my family,” she whispered. Harnessing the boldness he accused her of, she took a step forward, leaving scant distance between them. If she wanted, she could reach out and rest her hand on his solid chest, feel his heart to see if it beat as rapidly as hers. The closer she stood, the more she realized how much she wanted to do just that. To experience the heady sensation of his arms around her, his thighs pressed into hers, his mouth and tongue hungrily invading her own. She had never experienced anything like it. “Please tell me you will help.”

“I do not know that I should.”

“For a highwayman you aren’t very adventurous.”

Her comment seemed to hit a nerve, though which one she could not rightly say. A curtain fell behind his mesmerizing eyes before she could decipher the emotion she saw flash within.

“Adventure is not always what it is cracked up to be. Sometimes it is nothing more than a road to perdition.”

“And sometimes it is a road to untold riches.”

He smiled and shook his head. “Does anyone ever win an argument with you?”

“Rarely. Most have stopped trying.”

“Hardly surprising.”

She mustered her courage, reached out, and laid a hand on his chest. The fine linen of his shirt slid smoothly beneath her fingers. He braved the edges of propriety with his lack of coat, and his waistcoat left unbuttoned. But that was the wonderful thing about a masquerade. You could tiptoe outside the restrictive boundaries and not be taken to task for it. “Will you help me?”

His hand came up to cover hers. Strong fingers caressed her own, sending little shivers quivering down her arm. She had only meant to touch and retreat, but he held her there, and she made no move to pull back. When he spoke, it came in a hushed whisper, urgent and pleading.