An Invitation to Scandal (27 page)

“If shown outwardly in their behavior, yes.”

Nicholas shook his head. There were no gray areas with her. There never would be. It was either black or white. Night or day. But he lived in a world of dawn and dusk and he could not reconcile himself to spending the rest of his life with someone who could not see or experience the colors and shadows.

He stood. “Forgive me, Miss Caldwell. I did not come here to argue with you. I simply meant to convey my feelings with respect to any hopes I may have given you regarding the prospect of a future engagement. I am afraid, in this regard, I must disappoint.”

She did not move, did not blink. She reminded Nicholas of a fine marble statute molded by the masters into a hard kind of beauty.

He made a fruitless attempt to explain his reasoning. He owed her that much. “When I vowed to turn my life around, I thought to turn my back on passion and desire. I realize now that is impossible. I have no wish to return to the life I had lived previously, nor do I wish to live a life void of those two things. I don’t think I would survive it.”

“It is inappropriate for you to mention such…things to me.” She said the words as if the very notion of them mortified her.

“Forgive me. I do not mean to cause you discomfort.” Although in truth, he thought she could use a healthy dose of it. Her corset was laced so tightly he marveled she could breathe at all. “I only mean to illustrate to you my feelings—”

“Feelings are irrelevant, Lord Roxton. The only thing of importance is that our respective parents expect us to marry, and marry we shall.”

Nicholas shook his head. “No,” he said. “We won’t.”

Surprise registered in her eyes, but it quickly faded, replaced by something harder. For a brief instant, she reminded him of Opal and the sensation did not sit well. He knew what his former mistress was capable of.

“And what, pray tell, has brought on this change of heart?”

Nicholas turned and gazed at the fire. It burned low in the hearth and chased away the dampness that permeated the air around them. It had rained again last night, and while it had since stopped, the clouds lay low and heavy in the sky giving the afternoon air a heavy, oppressive feel.

“I have discovered I have an affection for someone else,” he admitted, turning to face her. “In truth, it is an affection that has long-existed.”

“Miss Laytham, I presume,” she said, each syllable brittle and angry. Had she suspected all along? Did others?

“Yes,” he said, unwilling to deny it. What did it matter? Once he finished speaking with Miss Caldwell, he planned on tracking down Glenmor to inform him of his plans to propose to Abigail. If all went as planned, he would be announcing their betrothal at tonight’s ball, and then everyone would know.

“You will not marry her.”

The words were clipped and completely, utterly, final.

“I beg your pardon, but I have every intention of doing just—”

Miss Caldwell stood abruptly forcing Nicholas to take a step back. The placid expression Miss Caldwell had worn since she arrived altered. The change was subtle, almost unnoticeable. Something one felt as opposed to saw. The air in the room took on a chilled aspect.

“You will not marry her and I will tell you why.” She clasped her hands in front of her as she spoke, a slight tremor affecting her tone. “It appears your Miss Laytham is not so different from her uncle, the late Lord Glenmor.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“It has been brought to my attention Miss Laytham has recently attended one of Madame St. Augustine’s parties.”

Nicholas tried to respond, but words failed him as the enormity of what Miss Caldwell suggested dawned on him.

“Do not look so surprised. I am not so sheltered I do not know of such things. It was your own disgusting habits that brought them to light last year upon Lord Glenmor’s death. I have chosen to overlook your past despite this. I have every intention of marrying you, Lord Roxton. I will become the next Lady Blackbourne. I will elevate my family’s status, alleviate their financial strain and ensure my sisters marry well. And I will not let Miss Laytham or your own misguided needs stand in my way.”

Nicholas’s heart pounded in his chest. “How did you know?”

She waved the question off as if that part were inconsequential. “Servants are a wealth of information. It does not say much about the loyalty Miss Laytham engenders that her own maid would come to me with such information, laying it at my feet. I’m not sure what she expected from me. Certainly I would never employ such an individual, knowing their loyalty changed with the wind. Regardless, I will not allow Miss Laytham to ruin my plans.”

“What do you mean to do?”

She shrugged. “Nothing, if you do what is expected—which is to announce our betrothal. If you do not, then I believe the ton will witness another horrible downfall of a member of the Laytham family when they learn Miss Laytham is not the innocent she portrays herself to be but instead is nothing more than a cheap doxy given to insidious passions.”

Nicholas couldn’t breathe. The air in the room suffocated. This couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t.

“You wouldn’t dare.” Cold sweat prickled the nape of his neck.

“What choice do you leave me? Naturally, I would never appear to be the one who divulged the information, but it would get out nonetheless. She would be destroyed, as would the rest of her family. The Laythams may have risen from the ashes once, but it will not happen a second time.”

“What would you have me do?” But he already knew the answer to that. She had stated it from the beginning and had not wavered.

“You will forego any affiliation with Miss Laytham. You will set aside this silly notion that a marriage between the two of you will ever happen. At tonight’s ball you will announce our betrothal, and you will look quite pleased to do so as if this unsavory discussion had never occurred.”

Nicholas swallowed. “And if I do not?”

“Then Miss Laytham will be completely and utterly ruined. Not even Lord Tarrington would touch her then. I’m certain you can surmise the outcome for her family if that were to occur.”

Financial ruin, along with everything else.

“I thought you at least a decent person, but you had me fooled. You are cold and heartless. How could I not have seen it,” he muttered.

His harsh words appeared to stun her, but she quickly recovered. “I am what I need to be for the sake of my family. It matters not what you thought you knew of me, but know this. I will do what is necessary to secure my family’s future.”

The unspoken threat of what that meant hung heavy in the air. Nicholas had no doubt Miss Caldwell would carry out her threats. His guts churned. In order to save Abigail he must break her heart. And his. He must spend the rest of his days tied to a woman who now held their futures crushed in the palm of her hand.

He did not know if he had ever hated someone more than he did in that moment.

“Fine. You will have your announcement,” he said.

Pain tore through his heart as he watched his future disintegrate before his eyes.

Relief settled on Miss Caldwell’s features. It was the most emotion he’d seen from her during their entire association. “Thank you.”

Nicholas stood rooted to the spot as he watched her walk from the room in carefully measured steps expected of a proper lady, her posture giving no indication she had just ruined two lives without even the smallest hesitation.

In that moment, he wished Glenmor had not used the bullet on himself, but had aimed it at Nicholas’s heart and pulled the trigger.

Surely death was a better alternative than life with a woman he now despised.

* * *

Nicholas could scarcely believe how their lives seemed destined to intertwine and unravel. Each time, happiness hovered within their grasp, only to be yanked away. And when it was, Abigail’s family would be the ones to suffer. The best thing would be to remove himself from their lives for good, to give Abigail a chance at a happy life, instead of a cursed one with him.

Except he had taken her innocence. He had let passion overwhelm him.

A passion he would never feel again.

What if she found herself with child? What then? It would be just his luck. He wondered how long he would have to wait to know. Should he even broach the topic with her or let things unfold naturally?

The clock ticked on his betrothal announcement this evening. The earl had been informed and the bastard had gone so far as to plan to attend the event—likely to ensure Nicholas went through with it.

He needn’t have worried. Under any other circumstances, nothing in the world could force him to marry Miss Caldwell, but these were not normal circumstances, and he would do everything within his power to keep Abigail safe.

Even if it meant breaking her heart.

He needed to meet with her before the announcement, to explain to her as best he could, and to do so without alerting Miss Caldwell, for fear of what she might do if they were discovered. But he had to take the risk, to slip away with Abigail and warn her.

It was the least he could do.

The very least.

It was all he had left.

“Desmond,” he called into the other room where his valet prepared his suit for this evening’s festivities.

“Yes sir?” Desmond appeared in the doorway.

“Have this delivered to Miss Laytham’s rooms,” he said and handed over a folded note, sealed with his crest.

“Yes, my lord.” Desmond took the note and disappeared from the room. All that was left for Nicholas to do was wait.

Chapter Eighteen

“Who was at the door, Muri?” Abigail called from the dressing room where she luxuriated in a warm bath, secretly dreaming of the night ahead and swirling around the dance floor in the arms of the man she loved. Not even Muri’s sullen mood dampened her spirits.

“T’was nothing miss. A servant with the wrong room. Can’t find good help these days,” she muttered as she returned to the dressing room and busied herself with brushing out the deep lavender silk Abigail planned to wear to the ball.

Muri had been in a snit since Abigail had reprimanded her for her inappropriate behavior. Perhaps she expected an apology, and had Abigail been in the wrong, Muri would certainly receive it. But she hadn’t been in the wrong. Muri had overstepped, assuming a familiarity reserved strictly for family and close friends.

The water from her bath reached her chin as she sunk down further. She hoped she and Muri could put this unfortunate incident behind them and return to a more stable relationship.

“You are still in your bath?” Caelie came into the room and sat on a cushioned stool near the tub, careful not to wrinkle her dress. Her hair still needed to be attended to and she had come to Abigail’s room to make use of Muri’s services in that regard.

“I will hurry,” she said. “Muri?”

The maid picked up a towel and helped Abigail wrap it around herself as she rose from the bath and stepped out. Excitement for night ahead filled her with giddiness. Would Nicholas propose? Perhaps under a blanket of stars?

“You are grinning like a fool, Abby.” Caelie’s voice contained an edge of suspicion. “What are you up to?”

Abigail cleared her throat and tried to rein in her emotions. She should not get ahead of herself. “I am simply excited about this evening.”

Caelie’s eyebrow lifted. “Is that all?”

“Is that not enough? I’ve heard the ball is a most spectacular event.” Lady Blackbourne had invited the local gentry. And being close enough to London, several prominent families had made the trek from the city, filling the local inns or opening their own summer homes to guests. Few who had received an invitation to the event turned it down.

“I suppose.” But her cousin didn’t sound convinced.

“Have you seen Benedict?”

Abigail had it on good authority an important announcement was to be made by Nicholas’s family that night. She smiled to herself.

Caelie glanced at Abigail through the mirror’s reflection. “I have not. I believe he spent part of the afternoon with Lord Roxton and Mr. Bowen viewing the stables.”

A thrill shot through Abigail and she sat on a stool next to Caelie. She had not spoken to Benedict. Had Nicholas had broached the subject of their intended marriage with him? And would Benedict accept? She knew her brother wished to find another way to rescue their finances other than a marriage between her and Lord Tarrington. If he could find a better alternative, surely he wouldn’t hesitate.

She wished she’d had the time to find Benedict and question him about the nature of their conversation. The anticipation had left her stomach riddled with unruly butterflies. She did not know how much longer she could wait.

“It will be a fine time, you’ll see.” Abigail turned to face Caelie, concerned with her cousin’s lack of enthusiasm. Once upon a time, such a night would have had her over the moon. “Are you enjoying yourself at least a little?”

“Of course. The break from Mother was worth the trip alone,” she said, but something lurked beneath her claims.

“What is it?”

Caelie hesitated as if weighing her words with care. “I have noticed the way you look at Lord Roxton.”

“It is nothing, really. We have called a truce of sorts, that’s all.” The description paled in comparison and she disliked hedging around the truth. She hated lying to her cousin. They had always shared everything. But Caelie had counseled her against doing anything rash or foolish and she didn’t want to worry her now by admitting she had blatantly disregarded her sage advice. “Caelie, are you all right? I had so hoped the party would lift your spirits.”

Is it possible her cousin’s advice to act with caution was more than just concern? Did the idea of Abigail becoming involved, possibly betrothed to the man who she once believed had been instrumental in Uncle Henry’s downfall leave her unsettled? Caelie had once suggested Abigail not judge him so harshly, but forgiving Nicholas and bringing him into the family were two vastly different things.

“It has. Truly. I just…” Her words drifted off, then she took a deep breath and shook off whatever melancholy that held her in its grip. “It’s nothing. I’m being silly. The party will be wonderful. I promise to enjoy myself immensely.”