An Invitation to Scandal (18 page)

Granted, he had not actually stated he
was
someone else. But he had distinctly left out the truth of his identity, which was tantamount to a lie. For had she known she cavorted with her sworn enemy, she would never have allowed him to take such liberties, never have allowed herself to throw caution and propriety to the wind and…and…

Her face flamed.

“Miss Laytham, how nice to see you again. You are well, I trust?” Lord Roxton’s intense gaze did little to settle her tangled thoughts.

“As well as one can be.” In truth, his presence unsettled her and put her emotions at war. She loathed him—surely she did! But even such loathing could not erase the memory of being held against him. Even knowing whose arms had held her did nothing to lessen the perplexing need to experience it again.

“Are you on your way back to the main house? Perhaps I could escort you.”

“That would be lovely,” Caelie said.

Abigail glared at her. True, they were on their way back to the main house, but couldn’t Caelie fib just this once and tell him it would be several hours before their planned return?

“I hear Lord Tarrington will also be in attendance.” Lord Roxton looked directly at Abigail. He had the oddest way of making her feel as if he were looking into her rather than at her. “I understand he is a particular friend of the family?”

Was that concern she saw flicker in his silvery eyes? Thanks to his ruse, he knew circumstances dictated she marry a much older man, and no doubt he had enough mental acumen to put two and two together after seeing her at Lady Perth’s garden party. Although, why her impending marriage should cause him any great distress mystified her.

“Indeed. Lord Tarrington is cousin to my aunt,” she answered, keeping her tone neutral. “Do you know him well?”

Lord Roxton shook his head. “We have only met on a few occasions. We do not run in the same circles.”

“No,” Abigail failed to smother a smirk. “I don’t expect you do. Lord Tarrington is an upstanding gentleman of impeccable manners.” Albeit very backward in his thinking with respect to a woman’s abilities and intelligence, and horribly boring when he droned on about his roses. Not to mention he made Croesus look like a young buck. But mannerly nonetheless.

“Abigail.” Caelie drew out her name in warning.

Lord Roxton chuckled. The sound awakened something deep inside of Abigail despite everything he had done. She remembered a time when she’d welcomed his laughter, reveled in it. “No, it is quite all right, Lady Caelie. I’m afraid your cousin thinks the worst of me and I cannot argue her impression. Up until recently it would have been accurate.”

“Until recently? Define recently? Last week perhaps?” Abigail asked, biting down before she let anything else out in front of Caelie. She had desperately wanted to confide in her cousin about her last encounter with Lord Roxton, but in the end, she feared unburdening herself would only cause Caelie more worry. It turned out she and her cousin had a secret between them after all.

“I am not the man I once was, Miss Laytham.”

The gravity with which he said those words almost made her believe him. Almost. But too much had passed between them for her to be swayed by his false claims now. She had seen nothing to indicate a change in his behavior. The attentions he paid to Miss Caldwell were nothing more than a sham. If he had any true feeling for the young woman beyond what her reputation could do for him, he would never have led Abigail into the music room and seduced her.

“A leopard does not change its spots, Lord Roxton.”

“Ah, but I am not a leopard, Miss Laytham,” he said. “I am but a man. Are you to say a man cannot change once he has seen the error of his ways?”

For a brief moment, the sincerity behind his words made her doubt her convictions once again, but she caught herself.

“I don’t believe many men ever see the error of their ways, Lord Roxton. That is the way of men, is it not? They believe whatever they do, say, or think is akin to the word of God and Heaven help anyone who has the audacity to tell them different.”

“Is your brother such a man?”

She glared at him. He knew how much she revered her brother. “My brother is a wonderful man. An exceptional man. He does not need any correction in his thinking or perception.”

“High praise, indeed,” Lord Roxton said. A sad smile flitted across his face, then disappeared. “I hope one day my change in behavior will give my own sister cause to speak so highly of me.”

She wanted to suggest he not hold his breath, but something in his expression halted her tongue and the words withered on its tip.

Look at a man’s eyes. They mirror his soul, Abby, and that’s where the real story lies.

Her uncle’s words reverberated in her memory. She chanced a look at Lord Roxton and what she saw shocked her. For if her uncle had been right, then Lord Roxton possessed a tortured soul indeed.

Could he possibly understand the gravity of what he had done? Did he repent his actions? Or was this more trickery performed by a consummate actor who toyed with emotions like a cat did a cornered mouse?

Abigail no longer knew for sure. The uncertainty left her off balance more than she cared to admit. She lapsed into silence for the duration of the walk, letting Caelie pick up the conversation and keep it on neutral footing. She did not trust herself to take part, afraid if she steered their talk back to dangerous waters, she would find herself drowning in doubt once again.

* * *

“Grandfather feels the coffee plant will be most lucrative. The climate is perfect for growing the beans and labor is cheap. He is thinking of sending poor Bowen back to the island to set up affairs there and get the plant running. The previous owner had been rather lax in that regard and there is much to be done to put it to rights.”

Spence plucked at a passing plant and pulled the blossoming bud off with a deft snap of his fingers, then settled the trumpet-shaped flower into his lapel. “What is this?”

Nicholas glanced over at his friend as they sauntered down the pathway that led to the hunting lodge. Neither of them intended on hunting, but the lodge offered a respite from the matchmaking mamas who chased after Spence and his future title, and Nicholas needed a breather from behaving the perfectly mannered gentleman. To be more exact, he needed to get away from his father’s critical eye. The old man watched and waited for him to revert back to his old ways. It did not help matters that the earl’s mood had blackened considerably when he discovered the Laythams were on the guest list. A small fact his mother had not bothered to share until after their arrival.

“It is stinkweed, I believe.”

Spence dislodged the flower and tossed it over his shoulder.

“Needless to say, Bowen is not thrilled with leaving again so soon, not that he would dare say as much to grandfather. The island life does not agree with him, though for the life of me I can’t imagine why. There is such a wonderful sense of freedom there. I think you would quite like it.”

“I’m sure I would.” Nicholas lifted his gaze to the sky. Dark clouds scuttled across the brilliant blue, though not in such abundance they threatened the afternoon’s activities. His mother had planned an excursion through the pathways that led around the extensive meadows. He could stand to expend a little energy. He’d been restless and out of sorts since his arrival at Sheridan Park.

No. That was not exactly accurate. His restlessness had not begun until after Abigail had arrived.

Dinner last evening proved both a lavish affair and a torturous event. His mother had spared no expense and planned each course down to the smallest detail. For his part, he planned to avoid Abigail and her family as much as possible. He hoped the less they saw of him, the more comfortable they would be. Inviting them to the house party had been a good idea in theory, but he had not thought through the particulars. Like how it would feel to see her day in and day out. How her presence would prey upon his mind—and his desires.

He had not considered how it would feel to sit across the table from her and see the recriminations darken her arresting blue eyes. Recriminations he had more than earned and heartily deserved.

He wanted to make up for all he had done—to her and to her family. It was the main reason he had suggested to his mother they be invited as special guests to the party. His mother carried a lot of weight in society, though she rarely threw it around. And she had always held a particular fondness for Mrs. Laytham. In truth, Nicholas believed his mother admired the other woman for following her heart, regardless of the cost. How different would his mother’s life have been if she had done the same?

How different would his life have been?

“I believe Bowen is worried the natives will take off with him as they did the last time and use him as a sacrifice to the lava gods, tossing him into a deep, dark pit in the hopes it will appease them and prevent the molten liquid from spewing over the island destroying everything in sight. A perfectly reasonable fear, I think. Don’t you agree?”

“Yes, of course,” Nicholas mumbled, rubbing at his chin. Perhaps he could ask his mother to re-arrange the sitting for this evening’s meal. It wreaked havoc on his digestion when each bite he took had to be swallowed with a large dose of culpability.

“Bloody hell, Nick! Have you heard a word I’ve said? I’m discussing our dear friend’s unhappy future and you are ambling along, wool-gathering as if it is of no great concern.”

Nicholas stopped, realizing Spence had done the same several paces behind him. He turned and offered him a contrite smile. “My apologies. You’re right. My head is somewhere else today. Perhaps you could speak to your grandfather, convince him to send someone else in Bowen’s stead. Although I would leave out the part about the potential lava god sacrifice. That may be stretching it.”

Spence caught up with Nicholas. “I cannot ask my grandfather for anything, as you well know. If I do, he will merely place the condition of granting the favor contingent upon my marrying some proper chit. And you know how I feel about that.”

“You’d rather be sacrificed to the lava gods?”

“A hundred times over.”

“Then perhaps you can go to the island with Bowen, and offer yourself in exchange for him when the lava gods come calling.”

Spence flashed a bright smile. “A capital idea, old boy. Perhaps I will do just that. It seems a less painful end than a lifetime of being shackled to a wife who loves my title and bank account more than she does me.”

Nicholas nodded. He knew full well his own future mirrored Spence’s sentiment once he proposed to Miss Caldwell.

How had his life come to this?

But he already knew the answer to that. He had coveted a prize he was not fit to possess, and in losing it, he reacted with the petulance of a child whose toy had been taken away. Yet, unlike the tears of a child that quickly dried, his petulance had inflicted far greater damage. Lives were destroyed, fortunes changed, futures altered.

He wished now he had been a braver man, that he had defied Lord Glenmor’s claims of his inadequacy. But he hadn’t. Instead, he had stomped away and vowed to make Lord Glenmor pay. A vow he’d made good on.

* * *

Lady Blackbourne had outdone herself. Abigail looked beyond the ballroom, through the French doors to the garden beyond. Candlelight twinkled and wavered in the light breeze. The full moon shone down from above casting an ethereal glow over the shimmering gowns and jewels of those outside enjoying the warm air. It reminded her of a scene from A Midsummer’s Night Dream. She half-expected Puck to pop out from behind one of the hedges at any moment.

Smiling at such fanciful thoughts, Abigail glanced down at her silvery blue satin adorned with tiny pearl beading across the bodice. It lacked extravagance, but it suited her coloring well and brought out the blue of her eyes. Muri, who had proven quite adept with the needle, had sewed a new ribbon around the hem, adding a nice bit of detail. It was the one expense Abigail had allowed Benedict to indulge her in. He had been adamant to the point of threatening not to come if she did not allow him to spoil her just a little.

Having Benedict accompany them filled Abigail with relief. It had taken some doing to convince him to leave behind the stresses of nagging creditors and unbalanced ledgers, but eventually she had managed to wear him down. Or rather, the creditors had, until he deemed it a good idea to leave town for a period and get away from it all. Though Abigail doubted such a place existed.

She knew he felt guilty he could not do more for her, but she understood. They did not come from wealthy beginnings, and though it had been over ten years since Uncle Henry had taken them in, Abigail had not forgotten their humble origins.

Besides, her mother had oft reminded her that sometimes the best way to enhance one’s beauty was to let it shine through on its own, rather than trying to compete with a bunch of shiny bobbles or overdone fripperies. Abigail hoped she was right. She patted the pearls where they threaded through her upswept hair. Her dress was a far cry from many of the ensembles she saw moving about the marbled dance floor.

“It all looks so beautiful,” Caelie breathed. The small orchestra played a lively tune and the men and women moved in tandem with the music. The spectacle took her breath away and it thrilled Abigail she could share it with Caelie.

Benedict leaned in and whispered in Abigail’s ear. “A far cry from the lion’s den you expected?” She couldn’t help but grin. Ben did not share her animosity toward Lord Roxton—it seemed no one in her family did save Aunt Edythe. Though, her aunt held everyone in contempt, so perhaps that was not a true measuring stick.

Despite his brotherly ribbing, lines of tension and worry still pulled at Benedict’s eyes and made her determined not to burden him with her bad behavior. What good would it do? Even if Lord Roxton publically took responsibility for his actions, it would still not change the one thing she wanted most.

Uncle Henry would not become less dead.

“I see some old friends from school,” Benedict said, giving her hand a squeeze.