Love With a Scandalous Lord (28 page)

“He was young when he ran off, nineteen I believe. He had yet to make any dent at all in the social scene. As the spare, he held little interest to anyone. Besides, Quentin commanded attention.

“By the time I saw Rhys again, he’d aged considerably—if not by years, at least by appearance, by experience. The hard life he’d endured during those years was clearly carved into his face. I created a fantastical story about his origins. A commoner with a talent for seduction. A roué. A man who’d dedicated his life to sensual pleasure.”

Lydia’s revulsion for this woman continued to grow by leaps and bounds.

“How did they find out who he was?” Lydia asked.

Lady Sachse gave her a pointed look, and Lydia’s heart sank. “Because he attended a ball,” she whispered.

“He wished to see you meet with success. I thought my ladies would hold their tongues. Apparently someone didn’t.”

For her Rhys had risked exposing his past. Because of her dream, he was more of an outcast than he’d ever been.

“Who all knows?” she asked.

“Unfortunately, the rumors are rife over London. Before the day is done not a single peer will not have asked his wife if she visited Rhys.” Unsteadily she
placed her glass beside the decanter and looked at Lydia imploringly. “He has told people I was not privy to his actions. Why would he do that? Why would he spare me the shame I so rightly deserve?”

“It’s not in his nature to hurt people. I have seen him turn his cheek far too many times. Tell me what I need to do to help him.”

With tears in her eyes, the Countess shook her head. “It is too late. Everyone knows what he did, and they will soon know everyone he did it with. There is no hope for him. He is well and truly ruined. He will be ostracized, reviled, shunned. Accept it, girl, and get on with your life.”

“And if I can’t?”

“You must. It is the kindest thing you can do for him. His greatest fear was that he would drag you into the sewer with him. Do not let his efforts to protect you be for naught. You must show you are better than he. You must. Or you will destroy what is left of him. That I can promise you.”

T
he Duke of Kimburton’s ball was without a doubt the most elegant affair Lydia had ever attended. With Lord Sachse and Lauren at her side, she was also aware the guests were more interested in the latest gossip than they were in dancing.

Not only were they whispering about the wicked Duke of Harrington, but they were also speculating on the recent rumors that the new Earl of Sachse was to wed an American heiress. Lydia had yet to give him her answer. Strange how it seemed as if her dream had suddenly shifted around her until she wasn’t quite certain what it was anymore.

Tonight it was easy to get caught up in the glitter of London when it sparkled so magnificently.

“This is one of the grandest events of the Season,” Lauren whispered.

“I’m surprised we were allowed through the door,” Lydia said.

“Don’t be silly. No one blames you for the Duke’s indiscretions. Besides, it doesn’t hurt to have the attentions of Sachse. Especially when Lady Sachse is a victim in all this scandal as well.”

A victim?
The woman had instigated and been responsible for most of it, as far as Lydia was concerned.

“How is Lady Sachse holding up?” Lauren asked.

“Quite well,” Lord Sachse responded. “I visited with her only briefly this afternoon, but she seems to be rising above all this.”

“I’m not surprised. In all matters, she places herself first,” Lydia said quietly.

“Lydia!” Lauren whispered harshly. “Your acceptance into polite society has been facilitated by Lady Sachse’s influence.”

But at what cost to Rhys?

“Miss Westland?”

Lydia turned to see Lord and Lady Whithaven. Glad for the distraction, she smiled warmly. “Lady Whithaven.”

The Countess took her hands and squeezed gently. “My dear, you look lovely this evening.”

Lydia blushed. “Thank you.”

“My dear husband was hoping you would honor him with a dance later.”

Lydia looked past her to the Earl. “Yes, I’d be honored.”

“The eighth dance would serve me well,” Lord Whithaven said. “And you must comprehend the honor I am bestowing upon you, since I fully intend to dance every other dance with my wife this evening.”

Beaming with joy, Lady Whithaven patted her husband’s arm. “Isn’t he simply delightful?”

“Yes, he is,” Lydia assured her. Much more so than when she’d last seen them.

Lady Whithaven turned to her husband. “You were going to introduce Miss Westland to your cousin, were you not?”

“Oh, yes,” Whithaven said, as he glanced around. “A marquess, but I must find him first. So many people at this gathering. As soon as I spot him, I’ll bring him right over. He’ll want a dance. A most agreeable fellow. Above reproach.”

Lady Whithaven again took Lydia’s hand and squeezed. “If you need anything, my dear, know we are here for you.”

She and her husband walked away.

“That was interesting,” Lauren said. “It’s always been obvious Lady Whithaven loved her husband. Tonight he seems equally besotted.”

Before Lydia could respond, she heard a voice that grated on her nerves.

“My dear Miss Westland.”

She forced herself to smile. “Lady Sachse.”

“If I may say, you look quite stunning this evening.”

Lydia was taken aback. She heard no cattiness in the woman’s voice. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure, dear. Miss Fairfield, you are equally stunning.”

“Thank you, Lady Sachse,” Lauren said.

“And Lord Sachse,” the Countess purred, “you are as handsome as ever.”

“And you, dear lady, are as charming as ever.”

“Hardly. It’s simply that everyone has been so kind to me this evening that I wanted to share my happiness.”

To Lydia’s great surprise, Lady Sachse took her arm and led her a few steps away. Then she said in a compelling low voice, “Listen carefully to what I am about to say. Archie, bless him, and your American cousin have not the sophistication to comprehend the delicate situation in which you and I find ourselves. For us, ruin has been avoided. But under no circumstances, in any public forum, are you to ever acknowledge Rhys. It is imperative that you heed my words.”

Lydia heard the unspoken words. Rhys would carry the weight of the scandal on his broad shoulders.

“Do you understand the gravity of what I am saying?” Lady Sachse asked.

“Perfectly.”

“Splendid.” Lady Sachse stepped back and glanced around.

Lydia did the same and spotted the Duke of Kimburton striding toward them. He was indeed handsome and in many ways reminded her of Rhys. Confident, he wore his title well. He smiled at Lauren and greeted her before turning his attention to Lord Sachse.

“My mother would like to meet you, Lord Sachse. As well as your lady.”

Sachse smiled. “We are honored, Your Grace.”

Lydia slid her gaze to Lauren, who was beaming as though Lydia had somehow managed to accomplish something wonderful.

“Miss Fairfield, perhaps you’d come with us as well,” Kimburton said.

“Certainly, Your Grace.”

“Will you excuse us, Lady Sachse?” Kimburton asked.

“Of course.” She leaned toward Lydia. “Remember,
my dear, among the aristocracy we must always travel the hardest path and never reveal how difficult the journey. Rhys understands that well. Do not disappoint him.”

Lydia wanted to ask her exactly what she was talking about, but the Duke was waiting—as was his mother. As soon as introductions were made, she’d seek out Lady Sachse and demand to know what she knew that Lydia didn’t.

Lydia felt eyes coming to bear on her as she followed the Duke. She wondered briefly if this was how the animals at the zoological gardens had felt when Sabrina had gone to see them. Every aspect scrutinized and measured.

She’d studied her books, had wanted to make a grand impression. Suddenly she wondered why she’d thought it was all so important. No one watched her as closely in Texas.

The Duchess sat in a large overstuffed chair as though it were a throne. The woman exuded regal bearing and grace—just as Lydia had expected of the aristocracy.

The woman smiled warmly. “Lord Sachse, I understand you are a scholar.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Explain to me what is to happen to all of us with these American girls invading our shores.”

“I suspect, Your Grace, we shall be the richer for it.”

She laughed, a throaty sound of pure enjoyment. “You are either very wise or very foolish.”

“Foolishly in love perhaps,” he admitted.

Lydia felt her cheeks grow warm. He was kind, well-mannered, and charming. Any lady would be thrilled to
have his attentions. While she was only mildly flattered.

The Duchess turned her attention to Lydia. “I must say, my dear, that you are very lovely.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.”

“There is scandal afoot, and yet you remain poised. I should think the Prince of Wales would like to make your acquaintance. Don’t you agree, Kim?”

The Duke nodded. “Yes, Mother.”

“And you, Miss Fairfield. I have been watching you, or more precisely watching my son watch you.”

“He is one of the most eligible bachelors in London, Your Grace. I imagine he watches a lot of girls,” Lauren said.

“Yes, I suppose he does.”

As the Duchess continued to speak with Lauren, Lydia couldn’t help but feel as though she’d somehow, in spite of everything, managed to pass her test. She might actually rub elbows with the royal family. What sort of elegant affairs would she attend then?

How would her stepfather’s status rise? A man whose birth had denied him so much?

Lydia became aware of the din of surrounding conversation falling into silence like the ocean receding from the shore. Music ceased to fill the huge room.

“Well, this should prove interesting,” the Duchess murmured. “I had not expected him to show.”

Lydia glanced over her shoulder to where the Duchess was looking.

And there stood Rhys.

In the doorway, tall, proud, handsome—even with his bruised face. He’d come. She hadn’t really thought he would. Thought he would have spared himself this
humiliation of feeling all eyes trained on him, of knowing the low opinion held of him.

She turned completely to look at him and felt a hand close around each of hers—Lauren on one side, Sachse on the other.

“Don’t do anything rash,” Lauren warned.

“You must not acknowledge him,” Sachse said.

Not acknowledge him?
Not acknowledge the man who caused her heart to beat, her lungs to breathe? Ignore the man who had taught her what was not written in her books?

He stood there as he had been his whole life—alone.

She was on the verge of achieving everything she desired. All she had to do when he caught her attention was look away.

She had professed that his sins wouldn’t change her feelings for him. She understood now that she’d been mistaken, because she realized with startling clarity that knowing everything had caused her love to deepen. She could forgive him anything.

She turned to Lord Sachse. “My lord, you are an exceedingly kind man. But I’ve discovered I don’t wear the glitter and gold of London well.”

“My dear, I believe love has the power to spin straw into gold.”

Rising up on her toes, she kissed his cheek and whispered, “We shall see.”

She gave Lauren a tremulous smile and squeezed her hand.

“Don’t do it, Lydia,” Lauren whispered.

“I have no choice.”

She began wending her way through the crowd. She could see those who had already turned their backs on
Rhys were suddenly looking to see why there was any movement at all.

She heard the first stirring of murmuring. She could sense curiosity piqued.

“My dear.”

Someone grabbed her arm, stilling her progress. She looked to the side, and Lady Whithaven smiled at her.

“My dear, you have tears in your eyes,” Lady Whithaven said. “I’m certain you’re searching for a handkerchief. Here, you may use mine.”

Lydia started to shake her head, to tell her that she wasn’t searching for anything—she’d found what she wanted in Rhys—but her gaze fell on the handkerchief, on its solitary monogram—an R embroidered in red.

She suddenly remembered how surprised Lady Whithaven had been upon being introduced to the Duke of Harrington. And it all made sense. This woman had been with Rhys.

Lydia lifted her gaze to Lady Whithaven’s face. Tears sparkled in her green eyes.

“You mustn’t go any farther,” Lady Whithaven whispered. “Stay here with me, and all will be well.”

This woman had known Rhys’s touch, known his kindness. And yet she’d already turned her back on him.

Lydia looked at Lord Whithaven. His cheeks burning red, he studied a distant corner of the room. She remembered how little attention he’d paid to his wife before. Tonight he adored her, and Lydia couldn’t help but wonder what role Lady Whithaven’s liaison with Rhys had played in the Earl’s change of heart.

She clutched the familiar handkerchief in her gloved hand. “Thank you, Lady Whithaven. I know now, with
out a doubt, that all will be well.”

She barely heard Lady Whithaven’s gasp as she continued on.

And she knew the moment Rhys’s gaze fell on her, felt it like a welcome caress—even though she was certain he had not meant it that way. She quickened her step until suddenly nothing was between them but open floor, secrets revealed, and hearts wounded.

But wounds could be healed, and in the process hearts strengthened. She stopped before him.

“Did no one explain to you that you are to turn away from me?” he asked through clenched teeth, his lips barely moving.

“They explained. So did my books.”

“Then do it.”

Slowly she shook her head.

“Damnation!” he hissed. “Do you not remember the first ball you attended? The sadness and disappointment you felt because you were not welcomed as you’d hoped to be?”

Oh, she remembered it. Remembered it well.

“What will follow will be ten times worse,” he continued. “No balls, no dinners, no gentlemen calling. You will be ignored and gossiped about. To hold your dream of making a place for yourself among the aristocracy is within reach. Turn away from me.”

“No.”

“Lydia, you are worthy of a king, but not deserving of me. You need to return to Sachse.”

“I need to follow my heart.” She curtsied, gracefully, elegantly. Then she lifted her gaze to his. “My heart always leads me back to you.”

“You don’t know what you’re doing.”

She rose and smiled warmly. “Oh, but I do. I’ve al
ways dreamed of traveling to England and falling in love—and I did. I love you, Rhys. And nothing will change that.”

She watched as tears formed in his eyes, and he swallowed hard. “I would do anything to see you happy.”

She held out her hand. “Then take me away from here.”

He wrapped his hand around hers, drew her against his side, and escorted her out of the ballroom. Away from the glitter and gold of London.

And toward her dream.

Inside his carriage, Rhys took Lydia into his arms and kissed her deeply, desperately. As long as he drew breath, he would never forget how she’d looked as she walked toward him—a lioness, a woman who would not be tamed by society’s rules.

“You are a fool,” he rasped as he rained kisses over her face.

“I love you, Rhys.”

He leaned back, cradling her face between his hands. He’d never thought to be this close to her again. “Grayson will kill me. As will your mother.”

She smiled. “No, they won’t.”

“You must understand. When Annie died, I tried to hide in London’s underbelly. Five years I wandered. A man can easily get lost in London. A young man eaten up with guilt could risk never finding his way out.”

“But you did find your way out.”

He nodded. “Eventually. I never did anything during those five
lost
years for which I was ashamed. I worked menial jobs for food and shelter. Hefting, carting around, building, cleaning. I wasn’t particular. Then William got sick.”

“He told me. I spoke with Lady Sachse as well.”

“When Camilla made her offer, it seemed no hardship. What young man doesn’t dream of women wanting him? You must understand, the things I said the other night—I wanted you to run. I did not want my past to hurt you.”