An Invitation to Scandal (21 page)

Nicholas shook his head, disbelief stamped into the hard planes of his face. Her fingers itched to reach up and smooth it away. Instead, she curled the offending digits into her palms and held them tight.

“I stopped courting you because when I broached the subject of marriage, your uncle refused my suit. He said he would never countenance a union between us.”

Nicholas’s words rocked her. Marriage? “That can’t possibly be true. Uncle Henry knew I held an affection for you. He would never hurt me in such a way. He would not have made such a decision without consulting me first.”

Nicholas ran a hand through his hair, ruffling its already mussed appearance. He looked around them, as if the answer he sought could be found amongst the foliage dotting the meadow. “I cannot say what he did or did not discuss with you. All I can tell you is when I broached the subject of a union between you and I, he refused me outright and would not listen when I wished to plead my case.”

Abigail took a few steps away from him, needing to find a place in her mind where the things he claimed made sense.

“Why would he refuse you? You are Lord Blackbourne’s heir.”

“But I am not his son.”

Abigail swayed, her balance compromised as revelations buffeted her from all sides. Then the rumors were true. But still, when it came to parentage, there were any number of the ton who could be questioned in such a way. If one began casting stones, how soon before the impact rocked their own house?

“Who is your father, if not Lord Blackbourne?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. My mother loved another before her family forced her to accept a more suitable marriage to Blackbourne. When her old lover returned after her marriage, they had a brief affair. Shortly thereafter, I arrived. My mother never revealed my true father’s identity, nor do I expect she ever will. It was a promise she made to Blackbourne to have him recognize me as his own.”

He shrugged as if it was of no consequence, but Abigail knew differently. She could see it in his eyes. His past and future were built on a lie. The truth he would never be privy to. How could such a secret not torment a man?

Still…why would Uncle Henry refuse him? Lord Blackbourne’s true son or not, the earl recognized him as such and eventually he would inherit the title and all that came with it.

“There has to be more to it than that.”

“To my parentage?”

“To my uncle refusing you.”

Nicholas cleared his throat and straightened. He lifted a hand and rubbed at his smoothly shaven jaw. “There might have been some mention of my, uh, somewhat reprobate behavior.”

Abigail lifted an eyebrow, unable to help the sarcasm that dripped off each word she spoke. “Is that what they call it?”

“Your uncle feared I would not change my rakish ways and he refused to see you hurt because of it.”

“And you did not change your ways, did you? In fact, you became worse.” It was said the man had committed enough sins to make even the Devil blush.

“I would have been faithful to you,” he said, the words so soft on the air Abigail thought she had imagined them. But she hadn’t, and they lingered between them like a broken promise.

She looked away. His eyes teemed with possibilities never fulfilled. It hurt to look at him. He stirred things within her, a need she couldn’t place, or didn’t want to, afraid if she did, it would knock down her defenses and resurrect all the hopes and dreams she had placed upon him two years ago.

“How can I believe such a statement when, while courting Miss Caldwell, you show up at Madame St. Augustine’s party and kiss me?”

“I was there because of you.”

“I beg your pardon?” She stumbled back a step.

“Madame St. Augustine informed me of your intentions to go to the club that night. I followed you.”

“Followed me? She told you?”

“With great pleasure. The key was not meant to be delivered to your address.” He looked at her. “But you knew that, didn’t you?”

Abigail looked to the placid surface of the lake. “I was certain you would be in attendance and I thought it the best way to corner you. To convince you to take public responsibility for what you had done to Uncle Henry. To my family.”

“At such risk to your own reputation?”

“What risk? My costume kept me fully covered. No one knew of my attendance.”

Nicholas took her hand and held it against his chest. “Opal knew. She knew and she used it against me.”

Abigail cast a furtive glance at the other guests, then pulled her hand back before anyone took note of the improper contact. But she failed to stop the sizzle of sensation that danced up her arm.

“Used it against you how?”

Nicholas had frequented Madame St. Augustine’s parties with alarming regularity after he’d stopped courting her. Why would he need to be coaxed back?

Nicholas dragged a hand down his face. His chest lifted and fell on a deep breath.

“Opal—Madame St. Augustine—has suffered a downturn since your uncle’s death,” he said.

“As well she should. She bled him dry and then cast him aside,” Abigail said, her voice laced with the bitterness that had been burning inside of her these past eight months.

Nicholas did not refute her opinion. “After your uncle’s death, I…” Emotions raced across his chiseled features, darkening his eyes to a stormy gray and haunting his handsome face. Remorse, guilt, regret?

“You what?”

“It changed me,” he said finally. “In ways I’m not sure even now I am fully aware. It made me look at my life, at my behavior. What I saw disgusted me.”

Remnants of hurt clung to the air around him like a dark cloud. Abigail sensed it. Her own anger and pain had made her blind to it before, but now she could no longer deny its existence. Much as she may have wanted to.

“When your uncle died, the way he died, I held myself responsible, at least in part. Both Opal and I carried on our affair with little regard for your uncle. We laughed over his obsession with her, never truly realizing its depth. We thought it amusing. It fed both our egos—me to have taken something of value away from him as he had me, and Opal for being so valuable a man would torture himself for not being able to have her. I thought in time he would find another mistress and move on.”

“But he did not,” Abigail said. She remembered those months. The increasingly erratic behavior of her uncle. His complete lack of propriety and good sense as he made a spectacle of himself in public over this woman. It had left Aunt Edythe humiliated, Caelie devastated, and the rest of the family helpless to stop him. He became a man possessed.

“No, he did not. And when he…died,” She appreciated he did not use a more descriptive word, “Men in our circle began to view Opal in a different light. They blamed her for your uncle’s downfall, as if she had lured him into it. They closed ranks and shut her out. She has been unable to find a new…protector and now finds herself in dire straits.”

Abigail wondered if he meant for her to feel pity for this woman. If so, he was to be sorely disappointed. Opal St. Augustine had brought this on herself. Abigail’s forgiveness did not extend that far.

“What does any of this have to do with you following me to the party?”

Nicholas held up a hand, a silent plea for patience. Abigail bit her tongue and waited. She wanted to tell him she did not care to hear it, but the lie would not come. She did care. More than that, she needed to know, to understand how he could have done what he did.

“Opal hoped if she could lure me back to her parties and advertise my return as such, it would show the others she had been forgiven. It would pave her way back into the good graces of the men and women she catered to. When she realized the invitation had gone astray, but that you had answered it anyway, she informed me if I did not attend she would ensure the ton would hear of your presence there, effectively ruining you and showing the ton debauchery runs through your entire family, thereby absolving her of any guilt in your uncle’s demise.”

Abigail stood stunned, unable to fathom how one woman could be so devious and cruel.

“So you…you came to the party to…save me?” She found it difficult to wrap her mind around the idea. For so long she had reviled him, blamed him for every heinous act she could. He was a debaucher, a rake of the first order, a man with no conscience or soul.

Yet when her virtue and reputation were on the line, he had stepped up and kept her safe. Even at the masquerade, she had been the pursuer. He had tried to avoid her, sending Lord Huntsleigh in his stead. But she had tracked him down, demanded he help her. Practically begged that he kiss her.

“I owed you that much at least,” he said, pulling her from her chaotic thoughts. “I could not stand by and allow her to ruin you when I had it in my power to prevent it. Your family has suffered enough.”

“You tried to convince me to leave.”

He nodded.

An ironic smile pulled at her lips. “How shocked you must have been to discover you were the reason I was there.”

“Shocked would be an understatement. You had always been impetuous, but I did not think you would be so bold as to endanger yourself so.”

“What did I have to lose? My family was already ruined. Why did you agree to help me then? Why carry on the ruse?”

“I feared what would happen to you if you propositioned another gentleman with your plan. I knew you would be safe with me. I hoped to convince you that confronting me and demanding I restore your family’s good name would only make things worse. Once I had accomplished that, I would simply disappear.”

Again, he had saved her.

The man she reviled. Hated. Adored. Whose touch she craved and whose kisses made her knees weak and sent her senses reeling. He may have saved her from another man’s dishonorable intentions, but there had been no saving her from her own.

Heat flushed her chest and face, her fair skin no doubt making her embarrassment readily evident.

“And that is why you told me you were leaving England.”

“I could think of no other way to make a clean break. I couldn’t allow our contact to continue, especially after what happened at the masquerade. I didn’t want you to discover who had…” He looked over her shoulder to the lake behind her and shook his head. “I should never have let it go so far. I had no right. How you must despise me for it.”

Torment darkened his handsome features and Abigail sensed the demons he wrestled. His confessions shocked, angered and humbled her. So much of what he had done in the aftermath of her uncle’s death had been out of guilt and remorse, two emotions she had convinced herself he did not possess.

She had been wrong. Seeing him now, the anguish deeply embedded in his silvery eyes, she knew the truth.

He had suffered as well. Perhaps the knowledge he could have prevented it all only made the suffering worse.

“I did not try to stop you the night of the masquerade.” If confessions were in order, she may as well be honest. She had welcomed his touch, reveled in his kiss, wished for more. “I requested that you kiss me.”

“It matters not. I had a responsibility. I had promised myself—”

“Do you regret it?”

“I regret hurting you.”

“But do you regret
it
?” She couldn’t say the words of what they had done, or even be sure what the appropriate words were.

He glanced at her quickly, surprised. After a brief hesitation, he shook his head. “No. I do not.”

His answer both scared her and thrilled her.

“There you are!”

Abigail looked around Nicholas, her nerves jumbled by the emotions racing through her. Caelie, Rebecca and Miss Caldwell walked down the path along the edge of the lake. Rebecca had called out the greeting. At the sight of Caelie’s concerned expression Abigail forced a smile to let her cousin know all was well.

Even though it wasn’t.

Nicholas’s revelations had turned everything she’d believed upside down.

“Can we join you on your stroll?” Rebecca asked, linking her arm into her brother’s.

Nicholas allowed himself to be pulled along, glancing only once in Abigail’s direction. They would have no further chance to discuss the unfinished business hanging between them.

Perhaps it was for the best. After all, what good would it do either of them? Abigail glanced at Miss Caldwell’s back. She had walked past her without as much as a nod of recognition and slipped her hand through Nicholas’s other arm.

Their fates were sealed. Everyone knew Nicholas planned on offering for Miss Caldwell. And she…well, she had marriage to Lord Tarrington to look forward to.

For lack of a better word.

Chapter Fourteen

“What did you and Lord Roxton discuss?” Caelie sat on the blanket Abigail had spread out earlier. Lord Roxton had left, walking Lady Rebecca and Miss Caldwell back to the main house.

Abigail busied herself with tearing the shards of grass in her hands to small tiny bits before she opened her palm and let the breeze whisk them from her hand. “Oh. You know. This and that, I suppose.”

“You looked rather serious for a simple this and that conversation.”

Abigail glanced over at her cousin. Caelie’s warm gaze invited confidence, but Abigail hesitated. If she told Caelie about Nicholas’s part in Madame St. Augustine’s party, it would lead to the incident at the masquerade. Caelie, who always strove to behave in a proper fashion, would be scandalized and Abigail did not want to put any more on her cousin’s narrow shoulders.

“Did you know Lord Roxton had offered for me?”

“Offered for you? But I thought he and Miss Caldwell—”

Abigail shook her head. “No, not today. Before. Two years ago. He asked Uncle Henry for my hand in marriage.”

“Oh.” Caelie’s gaze dropped away and her slim fingers traced the pattern woven into the blanket.

“Uncle Henry refused him.”

Caelie pursed her lips but said nothing.

Abigail pulled back a little, taking in her cousin’s lack of response to news that had left her floored. “You’re not surprised. Did you know then?”

Caelie took a deep breath and looked up. “I suspected. Lord Roxton had been so smitten, but his attentions toward you caused Father great concern. Mother made it known she found the association most scandalous and you know how she feels about scandal. I don’t believe she would have countenanced a marriage even with the lofty Blackbourne name attached to it.”