An Invitation to Scandal (2 page)

But if not now, then when? She had waited eight months to face Lord Roxton and make him admit his wrong-doings, but the man had made himself scarce. It seemed he went out of his way to avoid her family. If she hadn’t known better, she would think guilt provoked such evasion. But she did know better. He, like everyone else, simply preferred to ignore their existence.

“Since when have you ever had anything resembling a good conscience?” Abigail sucked in a deep breath. Her limbs ached from treading water and she desperately wanted to stop, but pent up anger gave her the strength to carry on. “I am quite certain you would not recognize a good conscience if it waltzed up and sank its teeth into your be—”

“Abby, no!”

Caelie’s shocked tone stopped her from finishing her rather improper remark, but she continued to glare up at Lord Roxton, clamping her teeth together to keep them from chattering.

“Miss Laytham, you are shivering. Give me your hand.”

She stared at his hand. She knew the sad effect his touch had, even in the limited contact their brief courtship had allowed. It did strange things to her. She would rather drown than succumb to such foolhardiness.

“I will swim to shore, thank you.” At least then she might be allowed to hold on to an ounce of her dignity.

Lord Roxton’s gaze slid to the shoreline and Abigail’s followed. A small crowd gathered in the distance. Lovely. Had there been no witnesses, likely he would have paddled past her and continued on his way without sparing her a glance. But at this rate, everyone in Town would be dissecting this indignity by the time the dinner bell rang.

That they would Lord Roxton had saved her was a horror beyond measure.

“Nonsense,” Lord Roxton said, interrupting her thoughts. “Your skirts will drag you down before you make it half way. Allow me to pull you up.”

“Abby, please. Accept Lord Roxton’s help,” Caelie said. A thin line of tension creased her cousin’s brow. Guilt pinched Abigail’s conscience. She had made a promise to Caelie to keep their outing quiet and calamity free. A promise she had, thus far, not kept. Why was it each time she tried to protect her family she failed miserably? Could she do nothing right?

“Take it.” Lord Roxton thrust his hand toward her once again. She had drifted closer to his boat, the gentle current doing her no favors.

Swallowing her pride, a lump that did not go down easy, Abigail gritted her teeth and grabbed for it. This was beyond belief.

Lord Roxton drew her to the side of his boat until she found herself staring up into his handsome face. The sun hit at such an angle his silvery eyes sparkled as if diamonds hid beneath his irises. Was it any wonder the ladies of the ton tittered and swooned whenever he smiled at them? Well she was not a silly, simpering female to be undone by such nonsense. In fact, upon closer inspection, she decided it was all a trick of the light and, in fact, his eyes were nothing special at all. Quite ordinary, really.

His fingers curled around her hand, warm and solid. A niggling memory she thought long buried rushed to the surface. His hand on the small of her back as he whisked her around the dance floor. She had thought him the most handsome of men, then.

Now she recognized him for the beast he truly was.

He steadied his boat and kept the rocking to a minimum as he heaved her over the side and dropped her like a sack of potatoes at his feet. Abigail pushed herself into a sitting position with far less grace than she would have preferred. Her soaked skirts twisted around her legs and rode upward to an embarrassing degree. She grabbed at the hem and gave a quick yank to put things to rights, cringing at the sound of material tearing.

Oh, how the fates mocked her this day.

Lord Roxton unbuttoned his coat and struggled out of the sleeves. The motion rocked the boat slightly but not enough to concern Abigail. The command he had of his vessel irritated beyond measure.

“Put this around you.” His coat swirled over her head and landed heavily around her shoulders. She hissed in pain, unable to stop the revealing sound. He leaned down and took her arm. “You have hurt yourself.”

The pad of his thumb brushed lightly over the bruised area where the oar had accosted her. An uncomfortable sensation tripped up her arm and made her momentarily forget the throbbing.

“Kindly let go of me. I am fine.” She tried to pull her arm away, but he held it firm. His warmth seeped into her skin. Her mind rebelled against the sensation as much as her body embraced it.

“You are not fine,” he said. “You are injured.” His dark eyebrows dipped and an expression she couldn’t read crossed his face. It added an unexpected depth to his natural handsomeness.

“It is just a silly bruise.” She did not like this side of him. His feigned concern existed only for the benefit of Miss Caldwell, to prevent her from seeing the wolf lurking beneath sheep’s clothing. But she knew better. The man did not have an ounce of compassion housed within his lean, muscular frame.

Abigail jerked her arm away and this time he let it go.

“Did you walk to the park?”

She glared up at him. “Of course we walked.”

What other choice did they have? They were down to one carriage which Benedict had required for business that morning. Hailing a hansom cab was an extravagance they could ill afford. Besides, it was a perfectly lovely day, and they did not live far away, as Lord Roxton well knew, his bachelor residence located only two houses down on the opposite side of the street. She could see his well-appointed townhouse from her bedroom window, if she chose to look.

Which she no longer did.

“You cannot walk back,” he said. He sounded no less perturbed by this fact than she. “My carriage is at the end of the lane. I will convey you—”

“You will do no such thing.”

Abigail tried to push herself up into the middle seat, but the boat pitched unsteadily with her sudden movement and she fell forward. He caught her about the waist and they stayed like that, nose to nose, until the boat steadied. This close, she could smell his cologne.

He positively reeked of outdoors and masculinity.

His hands on her person left her disconcerted. They had touched like this only once before, during a waltz at Almack’s. But they had been in a room filled with people then, not sitting in a boat, soaking wet. She did not care for the way his hands on her waist injected heat into her body to battle the cold. She most certainly did not like the way said heat went deeper than just her skin and began to seep into areas where it had no business—

“Perhaps, Lord Roxton,” Miss Caldwell’s stringent tone brought Abigail hurtling back to reality. “When we reach shore, someone else could assist Miss Laytham home?”

No doubt Miss Caldwell felt anxious to retreat from the embarrassing display Abigail had provided before it colored her pristine reputation.

Lord Roxton gently settled her onto the middle seat, then looked past her to Miss Caldwell. “I will take her.”

Abigail did not care for being discussed as if she was not there. “You have done quite enough. We will make our own arrangements, thank you.”

He raised one dark eyebrow. “If I do not assist you, who will?”

His question infuriated her, the truth behind it hitting a direct blow. Who indeed? There was not a lady or gentleman left who would even look them in the eye when they passed on the street. But to have Lord Roxton—the man who had created the circumstances that sent Uncle Henry into the emotional spiral that made him take his own life—point this out…it was beyond intolerable.

“Someone surely will.”

“No,” he said, with grave finality. “They will not.”

Abigail wished to refute his claim, but she had no evidence to offer. He was right. No one would assist them. Even relatives of her father pretended the relation did not exist. Papa had been excommunicated from his family well before she was born and with his death long past, it seemed the newest scandal proved enough to keep their familial attachments at bay.

She beat back the sense of shame and dismay that threatened. She could not allow Caelie to see her weaken. She had promised herself she would remain strong for her family. Looking over at her cousin, she could see the anxiety framing her pretty features. Her knuckles whitened where they gripped the edge of the boat.

“Abby, you cannot walk home as you are.”

Abigail glanced down at the sodden mess she had become. A clear outline of her stays and undergarments showed through the soaked, pale blue muslin. Her skirts molded to her body and left little to the imagination. She hugged the coat tighter and tried to ignore the male scent that wafted up from the superfine wool. Much as it grieved her, Caelie was right.

“Fine. We would be most…pleased,” she stumbled over the word, “to accept your assistance.”

“Good,” he said, his manner turning brisk. “Lady Caelie, toss me the rope. I will tie your boat to mine and tow you to shore.”

Caelie did as he requested and within minutes they were underway. A few minutes after that, they reached the shore to the cheers of those standing along its edge. It did not go unnoticed by Abigail that the hearty congratulations were directed at Lord Roxton, while the most she and her cousin received were pitying glances.

She reached over and squeezed Caelie’s hand. They would get through this. They had weathered worse.

* * *

Nicholas poured himself a stiff drink and tossed it back, letting the liquid hit his throat with a burn. The bourbon did nothing to erase the image of Miss Laytham and the intense resentment rife in her light blue eyes. Amazing how a woman of such small stature could produce such an overwhelming amount of disdain.

But he deserved it, did he not? Yes, he more than deserved it.

Nicholas finished the glass and poured himself another. He had tried to avoid any contact with the Laythams since Lord Glenmor’s death eight months earlier. It had proven a rather easy feat, despite the closeness of their homes. The Laythams rarely ventured out into society now. First, because of the mourning period and then…well, humiliation was a hard thing to face in one’s peers.

No doubt his ability to walk away unscathed as if nothing had happened only made things worse. Except that something
had
happened. And while society may not hold him accountable, the Laythams did. Or rather one Laytham did. The one that meant the most.

And she was right to do so.

He had become so wrapped up in exacting his revenge against Glenmor; he had ignored what was happening right under his nose. If only he had not been so determined to show Glenmor how it felt to have something dear taken away. If only he’d recognized the man’s desperation and taken his threats more seriously. If only…

Well, if only.

He could fill a book with that list. But his old friend, Spence, was right—he could not go back, only forward. Bit by bit, he’d reevaluated the mess his life had become, the level of debauchery he had sunk to, the lack of compassion he had shown.

What he’d seen sickened him.

“Nicholas, do wipe that scowl from your face.”

Nicholas looked up from his drink as his mother and sister joined him in the drawing room before the dinner bell rang. He set his drink on the counter and left it there. Getting sloshed would do him no good. He’d learned that the hard way.

He forced a smile and crossed the room, taking a seat next to the sofa. “Forgive me, Mother. I had something on my mind.”

“The incident at the park, perhaps?”

Nicholas stiffened as the sound of his father’s voice announced his arrival. He had hoped the old earl would not be joining them this evening. He had been ailing, and while Nicholas would not go so far as to wish him ill, he had hoped the man would take his dinner in his room. Dinner with his heir had never been an event the earl cared to attend.

Nicholas stood and faced him. “What do you know of it?”

His father’s stern features did not soften. They never did where he was concerned. “One cannot behave foolishly in front of others and not expect it to spread like wildfire. You know what this town is like.”

Indeed Nicholas did. He had once reveled in the discomfort tales of his escapades caused the great Earl of Blackbourne. Now, however, he no longer had that luxury.

Nicholas adopted an air of indifference. He retook his seat and stretched his long legs out. He refused to let his father know he’d struck his mark yet again. “What is being said?”

Rebecca leaned forward on the sofa, her hands clasped in her lap. One dark curl bobbed near her temple. “They are saying you practically had to force your assistance on Miss Laytham when she did not wish it. No one blames you, of course. What else could you do? Leave her to drown? Eugenie insisted Miss Laytham behaved most rudely and in a very unladylike manner.”

“Is that so?” Nicholas could not fault the accuracy of the claim. Miss Laytham had made it quite clear she would rather sink to the bottom of the Serpentine than accept his help. Had Lady Caelie not been present to impart reason to her, she likely would have. She’d always had a bit of a stubborn streak. There had been a time when he had once found her spirited behavior quite amusing. Charming even. Funny how it didn’t feel quite the same when it was turned against him.

His father poured a drink and slowly walked over to where the others were seated, though he did not join them. Instead, he stared out the large bow window behind the sofa and took a slow draw on his drink.

“We have spoken about this, have we not?” The censure in his voice grated. “You cannot be seen to have contact with those people.”

Those
people. As if they were lepers who might infect others with their disease. Nicholas bristled at the suggestion. The Laythams had done nothing. He and Opal were the guilty parties.

“The Laythams are—”

“Social pariahs. Any interaction with them will only reignite the scandal. You can hardly afford that—especially now.”

Meaning now that Miss Eugenie Caldwell had set her cap for him. Or rather for his bank account. Despite her family’s vaulted respectability, their lack of an heir left the family’s future in peril. They could no longer count on the income from the entailed property to continue after her father passed. And with three daughters to marry off, plans had to be made to ensure their future financial stability. And those plans included him.