Once Upon a Scandal Read online

“Let’s get on with it,” he said crisply.

  His palms felt damp as he looked inside her mouth. Carefully he approached the tooth with the starched linen.

  “Thtop!” Jenny lisped.

  He snatched back his hand. “Did I hurt you?”

  “No. But don’t forget to say the magic words.”

  “The magic words.”

  “You know. The ones Mama always says. To scare the hurt away.”

  “What words are those?”

  “I don’t know. Mama says they’re a secret between her and the tooth fairy.”

  Jenny looked up at him so earnestly he didn’t have the heart to scoff at magic spells and fairies. Nor could he bring himself to tell her that words had no power over pain. That left him with only one alternative. To fib.

  “All right, then,” he said. “But as it’s a secret, I shall say the spell to myself.”

  He reached into her mouth again. He could feel the wobbly tooth. If he hurt her, she would think ill of him. He didn’t know why that disturbed him, except Jenny seemed to have complete faith in him, and he hated to fall short of her expectations. How the devil did Emma extract a tooth painlessly? A tug downward? A twist? Did she do it fast? Or little by little?

  Bloody hell. It was only a tooth.

  He took firm hold of it and moved his lips soundlessly as if uttering an incantation. Before he could even wrench downward, the tooth came free into his handkerchief. An absurd sense of victory suffused him—as if he had negotiated the purchase of a rare artifact. He held out the baby tooth for Jenny’s inspection. A droplet of blood reddened the end.

  She took the tooth and examined it, then stuck it into the pocket of her pinafore. With the tip of her tongue, she probed the gap in her front teeth. “You did thay the thpell,” she said, her eyes rounded. “I thought you might be jutht pretending.”

  He bent down to meet her at eye level. “Now where would you get a silly idea like that?”

  She retracted her tongue and gravely regarded him. “Because Mama says you’re not my real father. But I think … I think I will call you Papa, anyway.”

  Her announcement knotted Lucas’s throat. He could only gape at the little girl, who beamed as if he had just passed a test and received his reward. Before he could fashion a reply from the blankness of his brain, she added generously, “You may go out tomorrow with Mama and me to celebrate my half-birthday.”

  “Half-birthday?”

  “I am exactly six and a half tomorrow. Mama always lets me celebrate twice a year. Because, you see, I’m her only child.” Like a miniature governess, she shook her finger at him. “Mind, you must be ready at ten o’clock. Mama doesn’t like tardiness.”

  Quite unexpectedly, she threw her arms around his middle and hugged him. He could think of nothing else to do but hug her back. How small she was, how defenseless. “Good-bye, Papa,” she said, and skipped out of the bedroom.

  Papa.

  Lucas gripped the handkerchief in his fist. His throat felt unnaturally taut, as if his neckcloth were suffocating him. Uttering a low curse, he stalked into the dressing room to retie his cravat.

  This incident should not have happened. Emma should not have gone off without a word to anyone. Then he would not have been thrust into the role of tending to her child. He had more important business awaiting him at the docks.

  So where the devil was his wife?

  Emma sat on a gold-striped chair in the drawing room of Sir Woodrow Hickey’s town house and looked about her with interest. Because of his high regard for propriety, she had never been here before. It was more tastefully decorated than she had expected of a bachelor’s dwelling. The soothing yellow walls complemented the parquet floor and gold-sprigged white draperies. Glass-paned doors were opened to a small conservatory, where roses bloomed and ivy climbed.

  Setting down his teacup, Sir Woodrow sat bolt upright on the chaise across from her. “Are you quite certain it’s wise for you to come here?” he asked for what seemed like the tenth time.

  Emma hid her annoyance. “I hardly know what is wise anymore,” she said. “Nor do I care.”

  “But I don’t understand why you couldn’t simply have sent me a message. Do you have reason to believe that you may already be”—he paused to clear his throat—“carrying Wortham’s child?”

  “No.” Because I’ve been too afraid. Afraid of intimacy. Afraid of my own passion.

  “Ah.” Relief flitted across Sir Woodrow’s face, and he leaned forward, his fair eyebrows drawn together. “Then you can still reconsider the cruel bargain he forced upon you. It is unthinkable that you should tie yourself to Wortham for months, perhaps years. You scarcely know the man. It isn’t too late to change your mind.”

  “I cannot renege on my promise to him. Once I give Lucas a son, I’ll be free.”

  Scowling, Sir Woodrow jumped to his feet and began to pace before the white marble fireplace. “And meanwhile, when am I to see you and Jenny? Only when you can creep out of his house unnoticed. That is no way for us to live. The three of us used to go on outings, share our meals, sit together in the evenings. And now I must allow you and Jenny to live with him.”

  They had been like a family, Emma reflected, caught in a mixture of nostalgia and guilt. She had never, ever meant to hurt Woodrow. “You haven’t lost us,” she said gently. “Jenny regards you as her father. Not Lucas.”

  Woodrow clenched his fists. “How is he treating Jenny? I cannot imagine so proud a man welcoming her into his house.”

  “They never see one another,” Emma assured him. “Jenny stays in the nursery or with me, in my room.” Except for the time when Jenny had been playing with Toby in the library and had encountered the dowager.

  Emma took a sip of tea without tasting it. She dared tell no one about her mother-in-law guessing the identity of Jenny’s sire. Not Woodrow. And especially not Lucas.

  “And so the dear girl must suffer the lack of a father.” Woodrow brought his fist down onto the mantelpiece, rattling a pair of small porcelain spaniels. “This situation is intolerable. I wish to heaven Wortham had granted you a divorce. And Briggs hadn’t stolen that blasted tiger mask.”

  Emma’s fingers tensed around the delicate handle of her teacup. She stared up at Woodrow, startled as much by his vehemence as his words. He was usually so mild mannered. “What do you know about the mask?”

  “Forgive me,” he said stiffly. “I wasn’t supposed to mention what your grandfather told me. But I can no longer hold my tongue when your honor is at stake. I know he took the piece to compensate for all Wortham owes to you. And when you returned it, Wortham unjustly accused you of stealing the mask.”

  “Yes,” she murmured, gazing down into her empty cup and turning it in her hands. “I’ve had a time convincing him to trust me. But I think … I hope he is beginning to do so. He’s even asked me to help him catalog the rare artifacts he brought back from the East.”

  Yet seldom did Lucas work with her on the fascinating project. Where did he spend his days? With his mistress? The questions burned like poison in Emma. And if he was developing faith in her, had she destroyed it when he’d caught her prowling in Lord Gerald Mannering’s bedchamber?

  What was worse, she would have to play the Burglar again, and soon. She didn’t know any other way to repay Grandpapa’s gaming debt.

  To her utter surprise, Sir Woodrow dropped to one knee in front of her. “My dear Emma, you fret overly much about gaining a place in Wortham’s good graces. I confess to fearing you will forsake me.”

  In his charcoal breeches and silver-gray coat, he reminded her of a knight kneeling before his lady fair. How stalwart and honorable Sir Woodrow was, how loyal and devoted. Yet why did he never seize her in his arms and kiss her passionately? Why did he not sweep her off her feet and carry her to bed? Her wayward fantasies turned to Lucas holding her in the darkness, Lucas kissing her deeply and intimately, Lucas stroking the places that ached for him alone … .

  Flushed, she r
ealized Sir Woodrow was gazing at her, awaiting an answer. “I shan’t forsake you.” The words sounded so hollow, she added on impulse, “In fact, perhaps you’ll join Jenny and me tomorrow; We’re taking a picnic luncheon to Hyde Park to celebrate her half-birthday.”

  He acquiesced with such eagerness that she felt a renewed surge of dismay. When he kissed the back of her gloved hand, she experienced no tingling sensation, no thrill of excitement as she did whenever Lucas touched her. Lucas had only to look at her, and she melted with longing.

  Did that mean she loved Lucas? Or were desire and love two separate forces?

  Emma had not arrived at an answer by the time she descended the grand staircase the next morning. For all that she told herself to be glad Lucas had not come to her bed the previous evening, she felt an undeniable disappointment. It was the second night since their encounter in Mannering’s bedroom that her husband had stayed away. She was uncomfortably aware he was angry at her.

  That’s the sort of woman you prefer. A strumpet who will engage in lewd acts. And you’re trying to turn me into a slut like her.

  Emma winced again to remember the words she had flung at him out of the desperate need to deny her own passion. The knowledge of her cruelty weighed upon her conscience. She would seek him out tonight and tell him so. The decision lightened her mood so she could again look forward to spending the day with Jenny.

  But when she reached the foyer, Jenny wasn’t there. She hadn’t been in the nursery, either. According to the kindly old nursemaid, Jenny had gone downstairs to wait a quarter of an hour ago. Worry crept over Emma. Surely Jenny wouldn’t have ventured outside alone. Would she?

  Emma hastened across the foyer, her shoes tapping on the cream-colored marble tiles. As she neared the white-wigged footman, he swung open the door before she could question him.

  “M’lady,” he said, bowing. “His lordship and Lady Jenny await you in the carriage.”

  His lordship? Her heart leaping to her throat, Emma halted in the doorway. There, in a high-perch green phaeton at the curbstone, sat Lucas with her daughter on his lap. It appeared he was instructing Jenny on how to hold the ribbons.

  Stunned, Emma stood with her gloved hand pressed to her aching bosom. What an endearing picture they made, the loving father teaching his little girl. It was a glimpse into the joyous family they could never be.

  Jenny spied her and waved. “Mama, look at me! I’m driving the carriage.”

  A picnic basket was lashed to the back of the phaeton, and a groom held the single black horse. The sight gave Emma an unpleasant jolt. Lucas was going along on their outing? He couldn’t. She’d told Sir Woodrow to meet them at Hyde Park.

  “Don’t look so frightened,” Lucas called. “The seat isn’t so high as it appears.”

  He smiled at her, and she felt herself tremble as she walked forward to take his outstretched hand. How handsome he looked when he smiled. What had put him in such a good humor this morning?

  His fingers closed around hers, warm and firm, causing a flutter of anticipation inside her. She grasped the hand rail, placed her foot on an iron rung, and allowed him to swing her up into the open carriage.

  She settled herself beside him on the leather seat, and his smoldering appraisal of her seemed to heat the cool October morning. She was glad she had chosen a flattering gown from her new wardrobe. The gold and green satin spencer showed off a skirt of moss silk trimmed with pale green ribbons. A matching bonnet covered her upswept hair.

  Their legs were pressed together, and his enigmatic stare held hers for what seemed an eternity. Was he still furious about her unfair accusations? Or was he remembering their erotic encounter behind the screen, when dark desires had overwhelmed her, when he had plumbed her deepest yearnings and transported her to heaven?

  “Mama?”

  Emma felt a tug on her skirt. She pulled her gaze from her husband and looked down at Jenny, perched on his lap. “Yes, darling?”

  “Papa says I may help him to drive.”

  Emma was reaching out to tuck a stray curl into Jenny’s pert crimson bonnet. Only then did her words register. Papa?

  Appalled, Emma flashed a glance at Lucas, but he was giving instructions to the groom. And then she noticed just how dizzyingly far down the cobbled street lay. She clapped one hand on Jenny’s shoulder and the other on the flimsy side rail. “I don’t know if this is wise—or safe. Perhaps we should take the coach—”

  “Nonsense,” Lucas said crisply, his gaze boring into hers. “Have a little faith in me.”

  “In us,” Jenny piped up. “I’m driving, too.”

  Lucas flashed a grin at her. “Indeed you are, sweet pea. So long as you allow me room to see our way.” He shifted her on his lap and wedged her between his thighs.

  Emma had only a moment to wonder at his easy acceptance of Jenny. Then the groom mounted the rear pageboard and the phaeton set off with a jolt, the black horse prancing, harness jingling. The cool wind rushed at Emma, and she was torn between clinging to her bonnet or her daughter or the hand rail. Dear God. What was she doing? She was heading into disaster.

  Oh, why hadn’t she made up an excuse about forgetting her handkerchief? She could have dashed back into the house and penned a note to Sir Woodrow. The footman might have delivered it in time. But one look at Lucas had addled her brain.

  Jenny giggled in delight. “We’re having an adventure. Aren’t we, Mama?”

  Emma caught the flash of deviltry in Lucas’s eyes as he glanced at her, and suddenly all her worries blew away with the wind. The high spirits she had repressed for too long came forth in an overwrought laugh. “Yes, it’s an adventure. A wonderful adventure.”

  Deftly guiding the phaeton through the crowded streets, Lucas had the carefree look of a young buck. The wind whipped his dark hair into dashing disarray. The white cravat and buff-colored coat emphasized his bronzed skin, his well-muscled physique. She wanted to be here with him; she wanted it with all her heart and soul.

  Was this love?

  Instead of holding on to the rail, she slipped her hand beneath his arm and leaned against him. She had never before felt so … alive. The pressure of his thigh against hers spread warmth throughout her body. What would it be like to let him consummate their union and join their bodies? The prospect held a shining allure. She would go wherever Lucas wished to take her … .

  And then she realized they were heading northward rather than to Hyde Park. “Where are we going?”

  “Out of town,” he said with a keen glance. “To Hamp-stead Heath. Do you mind?”

  “No. No, of course not.”

  It was the answer to her prayers. Sir Woodrow would be perturbed when she and Jenny failed to appear in Hyde Park at the appointed time. But better that than a confrontation. She was in no mood for quarrels today. She would send Woodrow a mollifying note on the morrow.

  Within the hour, they left the hubbub of the city and drove through a rolling countryside dotted with ponds and striped by forest and pastureland. There were stone farmhouses and stubbled fields, shorn of their summer crops. An occasional manor house perched grandly on a hill.

  Jenny kept up an incessant chatter. When she asked for the twentieth time, “When are we going to be there?” Lucas chuckled, answering, “Now, sweet pea. Right ahead.” He pointed with his whip to a sunny meadow.

  They found the perfect spot for a picnic near a stand of tall beeches. A stream trickled merrily over the rocks. As Emma prepared to unpack their picnic luncheon, Lucas caught her arm. “Not yet,” he said. “I’ve a surprise first. For the half-birthday girl.”

  The groom brought over a large, flat package that had been lashed to the back of the phaeton. Jenny tore off the brown wrapping, and a fantastically decorated object fashioned of red paper emerged into the sunlight.

  “What is it?” Jenny asked. “There’s a strange creature on it.”

  “It’s a dragon kite I brought all the way from China.” As Lucas picked it up, the paper rus
tled in the wind. “Would you care to fly it?”

  The girl’s eyes and mouth rounded in awe. “May I, truly?”

  “Of course. Come, I’ll help you launch it.” He looked at Emma. “With your mother’s permission.”

  Emma could only nod. She couldn’t trust herself to speak, so touched was she by his gift to Jenny. What had wrought this change in him?

  Baffled yet happy, she followed them into the meadow, heedless of the heath grasses and bracken that brushed at her hem. Lucas tramped ahead with the kite, Jenny skipping at his side. Then Emma sat down on a large flat rock while he explained the principles of flight.

  “First, we’ll set the kite on the ground here, and I’ll get it airborne for you. Then you can take hold of the ball of string and fly the kite. But you must hang on very tightly, lest the wind snatch it from you. Ready?”

  Jenny nodded, her worshipful eyes fastened on him.

  Lucas peeled off his coat and gloves and handed them to Emma. She clutched them in her lap, inhaling the scent of him. Trailing twine behind him, Lucas took off at a run into the meadow. The kite caught the wind and lifted, then wobbled and dipped. Even as Jenny and Emma cried out in dismay, another gust carried it aloft, a red dragon with a long golden tail that flashed against the blue sky. Jenny went running after Lucas, who had slowed to a walk, his head tilted back to watch the bobbing kite ascend higher and higher. He handed the ball of string to Jenny and bent down to speak to her.

  Something very sweet tightened inside Emma. The sensation stung her eyes. She blinked, shaken by the blur of tears. She had not wept since that long-ago night of her wedding, when Lucas had spurned her because she had been pregnant with another man’s child. The very child he now taught to fly a kite. His brother’s child.

  If only she could tell him. Would it be so dreadful for Lucas to know the truth, to shed herself of this terrible secret?

  He stood watching Jenny fly the kite. Her laughter trilled on the wind. After a moment, he came striding toward Emma, his hair tousled and his bootheels crunching over pebbles and dry grass. The crease of dimples in his cheeks softened his harshly handsome features.