Once Upon a Scandal Read online

  She caught sight of herself in a gilt-edged mirror and stopped short. Sweet heaven, she looked a fright. The wind had wreaked havoc with her appearance, slapping bright pink color into her cheeks and luring wisps of silvery-blond hair from beneath the edges of her bonnet.

  Swiftly she repaired the damage by rewinding the exposed curls around her forefinger into a girlish style. She had grown accustomed to hiding her beauty beneath drab clothing and mobcaps. But today it was imperative that she look her best, and she had spent the previous day refurbishing the single remaining gown from her trousseau, a lilac silk with puffed sleeves and a perky yellow ribbon tied just below her breasts. With the modesty piece tucked into the low-cut bodice and the straw bonnet framing her big blue eyes, she appeared the epitome of the frail female.

  The effect always worked on men, and Lucas himself had fallen victim to it once before. Luring him into an impetuous marriage had been as simple as stealing a diamond from an unlocked jewel case … .

  “My lady.” With noiseless steps, the footman entered the drawing room. The faintly haughty smirk was back on his face. “His lordship has a full schedule today. He said perhaps if you might make an appointment for later in the week …”

  Emma compressed her lips around an exclamation of dismay. Dear God, she couldn’t fault Lucas for not wishing to see her. Yet she wanted to settle her future once and for all. Now, more than ever, Jenny needed a father who would give her both material comforts and unquestioning love.

  Lucas could never be that man.

  She studied the footman through the screen of her lashes. “What is your name, please?”

  “’Tis Stafford, m’lady.”

  “Stafford,” she repeated, lowering her voice to girlish coaxing. “Would you kindly ask my husband if I may return on Thursday afternoon?”

  “I’ll be happy to relay the message to his lordship’s secretary.”

  “Oh, do ask Wortham now. I cannot leave without having his promise of an audience.” Seeing Stafford’s hesitation, she turned the full force of her pleading gaze on him. Making her lips quiver, she dabbed at the corner of her eye with a lace handkerchief. “Please, sir, speak to my husband. You would have my undying gratitude.”

  The severity melted from the servant’s face. “As you wish, m’lady.”

  Emma held her woebegone expression until he vanished out the door. Then she darted after him into the corridor, just in time to see his stiff-shouldered form turn the corner. Her slippers made only the faintest sound on the marble floor. Keeping a circumspect distance, she followed him through a maze of corridors toward the back of the house, where he knocked on a door before entering. The library.

  Lucas was in the library.

  Armed with that information, she slipped into the nearby conservatory and hid herself behind the drooping fronds of an aspidistra plant. And not a moment too soon. The library door clicked open and shut again; then she heard the tapping of Stafford’s returning footsteps.

  The damp smells of earth and plants surrounded her The wind rattled the many panes of glass in the domed roof. She shivered, less from the chill in the air than from the prospect of facing Lucas again.

  Especially if he hated her.

  A fresh attack of cowardice seized Emma. She wanted to slink out of the house, to handle her business by letter. But that would be unfair of her.

  She owed Lucas the courtesy of making her proposal in person.

  “I knew it would happen someday. Didn’t I, Toby?” Reclining on a chaise in the library, the dowager Lady Wortham addressed the old white terrier curled in her lap, then looked at Lucas. “I knew the chit would come here and demand her rights. I’m only surprised she waited so long. She must be planning to win her way back into your good graces, and you must promise not to allow it to happen.”

  At one time, Lucas had resented being talked to like a child, but now he merely smiled, bending to give his mother a distracted kiss on her cheek. “Don’t fret, Mama. It isn’t good for your health.”

  “Bah, those doctors are a flock of fussy geese. They would have me lying all day in bed like an invalid. I’ll have you know, my heart is as hale as a newborn babe’s.”

  “You were overcome by exhaustion on the day of my return. And you will rest accordingly.”

  She pursed her lips as if to protest. Then a rueful smile brought vivacity to her ghostly pale cheeks. “You’ve grown autocratic, just like your father. You speak with such confidence now. Ah, Lucas, how good it is to have you home again.”

  “It’s good to be back.”

  It was true. The library had always been his favorite room, his sanctuary, and it looked exactly the same, as if he’d never gone away. A fire crackled on the grate, and leather wing chairs flanked the hearth. Filled with nervous energy, he paced around the room. The walls held row upon row of books collected by his father, who had devoted himself to scholarly historical research. Lucas had spent many a happy hour here, reading about the strange customs of foreign peoples.

  He’d feel at peace now were it not for Emma. He sensed her presence like a pall on his good humor. Of course, she would be gone once Stafford relayed the news that her husband had no time for her today.

  Was she still the blond temptress? What the devil did the bitch want from him? Money, no doubt.

  Lucas forced his attention to the pile of wooden crates that littered the Turkish carpet. Picking up a crowbar, he inserted the pointed end between a crate and its lid. He did not wish to think about Emma. He did not want to know if her appearance had changed, if she still could melt a man with her baby-blue eyes.

  Lucas shoved downward, applying pressure to the crowbar. The dry wood gave way with a protesting squawk, and the top of the crate came off. “I’ve brought you several gifts,” he told his mother, tipping the box toward her. “Jade from the Orient, ivory from Africa, jewels from India.”

  Lady Wortham hardly glanced at the exotic offerings, though Toby watched dolefully from her lap. “I’ve been thinking,” she said. “Perhaps you should see Emma. The sooner, the better. Before she has the chance to concoct more of her mischief.”

  Lucas’s fingers tightened on the box. The straw inside the crate prickled his skin and exuded a musty odor. “I’ll deal with her in my own way. And in my own time.”

  As if she hadn’t heard, his mother went on. “My dear, you mustn’t blame yourself for what happened. Forgive me for speaking so frankly, but when Emma moved back to her grandfather’s house and was brought to childbed not five months after the wedding, everyone in society deduced the truth. Rest assured, your peers regard you as an honorable man.”

  The warmth of love flowed between them, but Lucas also felt the sting of resentment. Damn Emma for driving him away from his family. Over the past seven years, a lacework of lines had aged his mother’s patrician features. Noticeably thinner, she had to stop and rest whenever she walked up the stairs. His ill-advised marriage and prolonged absence had affected her deeply, he knew, coming so soon after his brother Andrew’s death in battle. Lucas would not permit anyone to upset her further.

  Especially not Emma.

  He met his mother’s gaze. “My only regret is the scandal I brought upon you and my sisters.”

  “It brought worse upon Emma, and justly so. We became objects of sympathy. She became an object of scorn.” As she stroked the terrier, Lady Wortham’s hand trembled. “Emma herself confessed to her wicked behavior the next day, after you’d gone away. She stood in front of me, as bold as brass, and admitted she’d entrapped you.” His mother bent over the dog as if to take comfort from his unconditional devotion. “Isn’t that so, Toby?” The animal licked her hand.

  “I shouldn’t have left you to face her on your own,” Lucas said with a shadow of guilt. “It was unforgivable of me.”

  “You were too kind to recognize her true character. She acted the flirt, luring all the gentlemen to herself, even the married ones. Given her lack of morals, she might even have dallied with a se
rvant.” Lady Wortham made a disapproving noise in her throat. “We can be thankful she did not bear a son. A footman’s get might have been your legal heir.”

  That possibility had galled Lucas, and he’d wasted months agonizing over the identity of her lover. But no more. He refused to expend energy on bitterness and regrets. His memories of Emma held no more significance than an old, aching wound.

  “There is no point to idle speculation.” Lucas bore down on the crowbar and another crate creaked open. “The matter is closed.”

  His mother sat up straighter, and Toby snuffled a protest in her lap. “But that’s where you’re wrong,” Lady Wortham said. “Have you considered your future? If you were to speak to the archbishop about an annulment …”

  His jaw muscles clenched, but he spoke calmly. “You know as well as I that the banns were announced. I was not coerced into speaking my vows. The bishop himself presided over the ceremony. There can be no doubt that it was all quite legal and valid.”

  “Then seek a divorce. There is surely enough proof of her infidelity to win your suit. And you could marry again. I know any number of lovely young ladies who would make you the perfect wife.”

  Lucas only just stopped himself from snapping out an order to stop interfering. He would not quarrel with his mother. The anxious hope lighting her hazel eyes revealed her good intentions. Having been blessed with a loving marriage before his father’s death, she viewed wedlock as the cornerstone to happiness. But Lucas no longer shared her belief.

  The thought of divorce had tempted him in the past. He could end Emma’s connection to him once and for all. No longer could she claim the distinction of Wortham.

  Yet were he free, his mother would make it her mission to introduce him to a succession of well-bred ladies. He would be forced to tell her about Shalimar, that he had already found the only woman who mattered to him. A foreigner who, like Emma, had borne a bastard child by another man.

  Christ, he despised the need for deception. He didn’t want to hide Shalimar in a discreet house in St. John’s Wood as if she were a dirty secret. Yet he could not—he would not—risk his mother’s health.

  Carefully, he drew a gold jeweled mask from its nest of straw in the crate. “The future can wait for another day,” he stated firmly. “Now, I promised to show you what I brought back from my travels. This piece came from a maharajah’s palace. It’s reputed to bring great luck to its owner.”

  He crouched beside the chaise and presented the tiger mask to his mother. She raised a thin eyebrow as if to argue further, then lowered her gaze to the mask. In the shape of a tiger’s head, it was designed to cover the upper half of the wearer’s face. Rows of yellow diamonds alternated with strips of dark brown jasper to form the striped head. Slits framed in tiny emeralds comprised the eyeholes.

  Lady Wortham stroked the pointed gold ears, much as she had stroked the old terrier nestled in her lap. “It looks quite valuable. Be sure to lock it up. During your absence, there have been a rash of robberies by a ruffian known as the Bond Street Burglar.”

  “The mask won’t be here long. I plan to donate it—and several other pieces—to the museum at Montague House.” His voice warmed. “My hope is to organize an exhibit displaying artifacts from all over the world.”

  She smiled fondly at him. “Much as I missed you, I’m glad you had the chance to travel. It’s always good for a young man to take the grand tour before he settles down.”

  Her words jolted Lucas. She thought he was home to stay.

  Now there was something else he couldn’t yet tell her. Eventually she would have to learn he did not intend to remain in England, that he would return abroad after he located Shalimar’s kidnapped son. London held too many unhappy memories.

  A discreet knocking saved him from answering. Stafford entered the library again, his steps hesitant. “My lord, beg pardon for disturbing you again. But the marchioness”—he looked at Lady Wortham and gulped—“er, the younger marchioness, well, she refuses to leave until you promise her an audience. On Thursday afternoon.”

  Lucas’s stomach clenched. Emma was still here, haranguing his servants.

  He might as well find out what she wanted from him. It was childish to play waiting games. “I’ll see her in the drawing room in ten minutes.”

  As the servant left, Lady Wortham swung her feet off the chaise. “I shall go with you. It will give me great pleasure to send that brazen hussy packing.”

  “No. I’ll deal with her myself.” Rising, Lucas bore the priceless mask over to the desk at the far end of the room. He moved a row of books from the shelf behind the desk, revealing a small iron door nestled in the wall. With cool efficiency, he inserted a key and opened the hidden repository, then reached for the tiger mask.

  He would use the same cool efficiency with Emma. He would permit her a brief, formal interview, the shorter, the better. Now that he knew her true character, seeing her again would be no different than brushing off an annoying tradesman in the Calcutta bazaar.

  Toby loosed an excited yap. Ears perked, the terrier sat up on Lady Wortham’s lap, then leaped to the floor. He raced past the heap of crates, short legs pumping, and reached the door just as it opened.

  Tail wagging furiously, the dog danced a welcoming jig on its hind feet as a woman stepped into the library.

  She glided like a ghost from the past. Slender as a girl, she reached down to pet the dog. “Hullo, Toby. I’m afraid I haven’t any treats today.”

  Then she straightened, spied Lucas, and smiled.

  The breath left him as if someone had driven a fist into his stomach. His fingers stiffened around the heavy, jeweled mask. The deep blue of her eyes drew him like magic. His tongue felt thick, and for the first time in years he feared he would stutter if he tried to speak.

  Damn Emma and her treacherous beauty.

  And damn his reaction to her.

  The truth hit him with searing force. He’d still sell his soul to have her legs wrapped around him in bed.

  Chapter 2

  The first thing Emma noticed was the startling difference in Lucas. It was more than his physical appearance, although he did look tanned and fit. Beneath the walnut-brown coat, his shoulders had widened, and his legs were long and muscled in buff breeches and shiny Hessians. He seemed to have grown taller, broader, more commanding. His boyishly attractive features had hardened into the arrestingly handsome face of a stranger.

  Yet the most disturbing transformation of all was the cold indifference in his dark eyes. Not a flicker of attraction shone there, only a faint annoyance, as if he’d been interrupted by an irksome servant.

  Emma held her smile with determined effort. Her heart was beating so fast she felt flushed from her cheeks down to her bosom. There was no reason to feel so overwrought. Now that Lucas was back in England, he surely wished to be rid of her. For good.

  “Good morning, my lord. Do excuse me for disturbing you at this early hour.” Wanting to spare him a tongue-tied reply, she curtsied to him and then to her mother-in-law. Reclining on a chaise, the elder Lady Wortham looked thinner and her face was unnaturally pale. Fine lines of age framed her eyes and mouth. “Madam,” Emma said with perfect courtesy. “I trust you are well?”

  “Perfectly so.” The dowager’s curt tone was just short of rude. “Toby, come here.”

  With one last worshipful look at Emma, the terrier trudged across the rug. He lay down beside his mistress, his head cradled on his paws and his eyes mournful.

  Did the woman begrudge her even a greeting from a dog? Emma stifled the resentful retort. She had not come here to antagonize the Coulters, but to do them a favor.

  Accordingly, she flashed another brilliant smile at Lucas. “Well,” she said in her sunniest voice. “You must be busy reacquainting yourself with friends and family after your trip abroad. I beg only a few moments of your time.”

  “As always, I place your needs above all others.” He enunciated each word with crisp contempt, unlike th
e boy who had once stammered out his proposal of marriage. He turned to the dowager. “If you would excuse us, Mother.”

  Lady Wortham remained stubbornly on the chaise. “My son brought back some fascinating artifacts,” she said. “He was showing them to me.”

  It was a polite way of saying Emma was intruding. Determined to stay, she stepped closer to her husband. “May I see?”

  A strange breathlessness came over her. Lucas’s long fingers held the piece, and she couldn’t help noticing his skin was burnished as if he’d spent many hours in the sun. She forced her gaze to the jeweled replica of a tiger’s head. “Why, it’s a mask. What marvelous workmanship—it must be priceless. Where is it from?”

  His fathomless expression hinted at secrets she could never share. “India.”

  His movements brisk and self-assured, he placed the tiger mask into the shadowy interior of the safe. How strange to think Lucas had traveled halfway around the globe and seen sights she could only imagine in her dreams. With a pang, Emma remembered the wedding trip they’d planned to the Continent. He’d dreamed of taking her boating on the Seine, drinking wine in a villa near Rome, walking the ancient steps of the Acropolis. He’d set off alone instead, less than twenty-four hours after he had bound himself to her by a vow of everlasting love.

  He closed the repository door and locked it, then crossed the library to the desk and tossed the key into a drawer. The essence of him lingered in the air, a faint whiff of musk along with something spicy and exotic, mysterious and masculine.

  “Don’t you think you ought to keep the key in a less obvious place?” she blurted out without thinking. “Any thief could find it in a moment.”