The Scandalous Flirt Read online

  The prospect of improving his properties filled Lucas with firm resolve. No minor qualms must be allowed to interfere with his plans. He would call on her father tomorrow and ask his permission for the marriage. The request would be a mere formality; it was clear that his offer would be eagerly accepted by Alice and her social-climbing mama.

  Jarvis entered the drawing room. The short, balding butler approached at a dignified pace and bowed to Lucas. “Pardon the intrusion, milord. If I might have a word in private.”

  Lucas arose at once. “Excuse me, ladies.”

  He followed the servant into the corridor. When they were out of earshot, he said stoically, “Is it Mama? Has she driven off yet another servant?”

  The last one had departed only the previous day. He’d had high hopes for that no-nonsense, middle-aged matron. She’d stayed a month—longer than most. But even she had declared the Marchioness of Dashell to be impossible.

  “No, milord,” Jarvis intoned. “Rest assured, Mrs. Jarvis is sitting with her ladyship for the moment, though to the neglect of her housekeeping duties. Rather, I need to inform your lordship of a visitor. A Miss Paxton.”

  The name struck Lucas like a blow, emptying his lungs of breath. Rory Paxton? She was here?

  Impossible!

  From out of the mists of the past came the image of her laughing brown eyes, the jet-black hair that framed a face so lovely he could have gazed at her forever. Yet it had been more than mere looks that had fascinated him. It was the life radiating from her, the sheer exuberance and joie de vivre. Her vitality had drawn him like a magnet, though he had disciplined the urge to act upon his imprudent attraction. She had been far too rash and reckless for his tastes, not at all the well-behaved lady that he preferred. Back then, he had expected Rory to disgrace herself, and that was precisely what had happened.

  “The footman bade her wait in your study,” the butler went on. “I apologize for the interruption, but Miss Paxton was most insistent on speaking to you immediately, milord.”

  Nothing about this made any sense. Why the devil would Rory Paxton call on him? He’d scarcely known her. There had been only that one moment of weakness when he’d succumbed to temptation and asked her to dance. It had been a waltz, and he would never forget the pleasure of holding her delectably curvy body in his arms. At the end of the set, she had gone back to her flock of suitors with nary a backward glance at him.

  Eight years had passed since then. After that ghastly scandal, she had been disowned by her parents and banished to the country. Why would she now be back in London? And desiring to speak to him of all people?

  She wouldn’t.

  All of a sudden, the fog cleared from his brain. He almost laughed out loud at his foolish assumption. Miss Paxton didn’t necessarily mean Rory. His caller must be her younger sister, Celeste, whose betrothal to Whittingham had recently been announced.

  The band of tension around his rib cage eased. Yes, that explanation made far more sense. Since they belonged to the same club, Lucas considered the duke a friend. Perhaps Whittingham wanted him to perform some service in his upcoming nuptials, such as offering a toast at the wedding breakfast. Or perhaps Miss Celeste Paxton merely wanted advice on a gift for her fiancé. He was only slightly acquainted with the girl, but such a request could explain why she had come here in person rather than write a letter.

  “I’ll speak to her in a moment,” he told Jarvis.

  He returned to the drawing room. Henry was leaning in his chair to whisper something to Perry, and they shared a smothered chuckle. Lucas peered sharply at them. What was it that amused them now? At twenty, Henry really ought to act more grown-up.

  “I must excuse myself for a moment,” Lucas announced. “Henry, I will depend upon you to converse with our guests until my return.”

  His brother waved a desultory hand. “Run along, Dash. Never fear, you can trust Perry and me to keep the ladies entertained.”

  Lucas subdued any qualms over leaving his brother with the Kiplings. Doubtless, Henry would flirt shamelessly and tell outrageous tales, but it would not put off Alice and her eager mama. Alice was smiling adoringly at Lucas right now. His bride-to-be was already hooked, and it was only a matter of reeling her in.

  Leaving them, he descended the grand staircase to the ground floor and proceeded past the cavernous library. This great old pile of a house had been built by a more prosperous ancestor and was now in sad need of repair, from the cracked marble floor tiles to the shabby furnishings in the reception rooms. It was a constant reminder of the pressing need to settle his future. Whatever this visit with Miss Celeste Paxton entailed, it shouldn’t require more than a few minutes of his time. He would go back to his guests then. And he would inform Mrs. Kipling of his intention to call on her husband in the morning. Once permission was given, Lucas could present his offer to Alice.

  By this time tomorrow, he would be affianced to his heiress.

  Satisfied with the plan, Lucas approached his study. The door was partly closed, and he pushed it open without knocking. He stepped inside and came to an abrupt halt.

  Every particle of his body froze. He could not move or speak. It wasn’t Miss Celeste Paxton, after all.

  It was her.

  Like a nymph from his dreams, Rory Paxton stood behind his desk, gazing down at an open ledger book. Her ebony hair was gathered up in a simple coil at the back of her neck, exposing the pale elegance of her throat. A soft green gown skimmed her womanly form, and the lace fichu tucked into her neckline did little to hide the full curves of her bosom. The passage of time had only made her more sinfully enticing than ever.

  His mouth went dry. His pulse pounded. He could not fathom her purpose in being here. He could not think at all, for that matter.

  Lifting her head, Rory Paxton spotted him and straightened to her willowy height. Her sherry-brown eyes had a bold directness that lacked proper modesty. Healthy color glowed on her creamy skin as if she’d spent a good deal of time outdoors without bonnet or parasol.

  For one long moment, they stared at each other. Only as she stepped out from behind the desk did he notice that her gown appeared rather outdated, the lace frayed, the fabric faded. With a hint of naughtiness, a pair of garnet-red slippers peeked out from beneath her hem.

  They advertised her status as a fallen woman.

  Maybe Rory had come here with an immoral proposition. Maybe she was so desperate for money she would do the unthinkable. Maybe she intended to offer her services as his mistress.

  Lust seared his veins in a hot, unwelcome wave. He’d be a fool to succumb to fleshly urges when he was as good as engaged. He wanted nothing whatsoever to do with Rory Paxton. She was trouble with a capital T.

  She dipped a curtsy, imbuing even that proper ladylike act with carnal undertones. Her soft rose lips curved in a smile as she extended her gloved hand. “Lord Dashell, what a pleasure to see you again. I’m Miss Aurora Paxton, though my family calls me Rory. We met some years ago.”

  “I remember.”

  The hostile growl of his voice daunted Rory. He ignored her hand, and after a moment she withdrew it. Inheriting the title of marquess had only enhanced Lucas Vale’s chilly manner. His features were chiseled from granite.

  Nevertheless, he might be deemed handsome by those who favored haughty aristocrats. The navy blue coat had been tailored to fit his broad shoulders, and a starched white cravat contrasted with his swarthy skin. The penetrating gaze beneath his coffee-brown hair made a shiver tickle down her spine. Those iron-gray eyes regarded her with cold, unwelcoming hauteur.

  What was he thinking? Was he remembering her fall from grace? Or worse, had he guessed her visit had to do with the packet of letters that he’d stolen? The latter seemed likely. She was, after all, the stepdaughter of the woman he was blackmailing.

  Rory regretted peeking at that ledger without first closing the study door. It only served to make her look guilty. But she’d been hoping to compare a sample of his writing t
o the blackmail note. The effort had been in vain, for the page had contained mostly figures.

  Now, she must allay his suspicions or he would know for certain that she had come to investigate him. It would take charm and finesse to convince him to hire a woman of her ruined reputation.

  She dipped her chin in a coquettish pose. “I hope you’ll pardon the intrusion, my lord. You must be a very busy man.”

  “State your business, then, and begone.”

  It was not an auspicious beginning. Perhaps a more direct manner would work better. “As you wish. I’ve come to inquire about Lady Dashell. I understand that she is bedridden.”

  His eyes widened slightly as if he’d expected her to utter something else. “My mother? I can’t see how her health should concern you. The two of you were never acquainted.”

  “Yes, that’s true. However, I have reason to believe that I can be of service to her—”

  “She isn’t receiving callers,” he rudely cut in. “Especially not from someone who has been tainted by scandal. Good day, Miss Paxton.”

  As he turned to go, Rory sprang past him and into the doorway to block his departure. “Please, my lord, I only require a moment of your time. I’ve heard that you’re seeking a companion for Lady Dashell. I would very much like to apply for the post.”

  Lord Dashell cocked an eyebrow. His lips thinned, he looked her up and down. The scorn in his gaze could not have been more obvious. “No.”

  “Has the position already been filled, then?”

  “I meant that it is not open to you, Miss Paxton. I’ll have one of the footmen see you out.”

  Rory seethed inside. Really, the man was insufferable. He didn’t care how rude he was. She wanted to whip back her arm and slap his cheek just to rattle that disdainful arrogance of his.

  Determined to win the job, however, she clasped her folded hands at her waist. “Perhaps you shouldn’t be so swift to dismiss me. You don’t even know my qualifications.”

  He glowered down at her from his superior height. “I know that your character has been blackened by your own misdeeds. For that reason alone, you are unsuited to the role of companion to a marchioness. I won’t have my family subjected to tawdry gossip.”

  “If Lady Dashell is confined to her bed, then we shan’t be going out into society. No one of consequence need know that I’m even here.”

  “Nevertheless, my answer remains the same. Move aside now.”

  He took a menacing step toward her, but Rory refused to budge from the doorway. “I’ve heard she’s a rather difficult woman,” she persisted. “And that she’s driven away scores of companions.”

  “Then I will save her the trouble of driving you away.”

  “I am not so easily intimidated as all the others. That is precisely why you need me, my lord.”

  Even as the words left her lips, Rory realized the double meaning of her statement. Something hot flashed in Dashell’s eyes, and it had to be anger, for he was too cold a man to feel anything so human as desire. Nevertheless, her heart galloped within the confines of her corset. She could detect his alluring scent of pine and leather, and it had a powerful effect on her senses, making her feel soft and languid when she needed to be strong.

  How long had it been since she’d stood so close to a man who wasn’t an old drunkard or a peach-fuzzed youngster?

  The answer didn’t signify. She had no interest in men anymore, except as subjects for her essay writing. Her only purpose here was to locate the packet of love letters that Lucas Vale had stolen from Kitty.

  She hastened to clarify, “I’ve developed quite the knack for dealing with irascible older ladies. You see, I’ve been living with my aunt in Norfolk for the past eight years. Aunt Bernice was peevish and cross when I first arrived, but we’ve since become the best of companions. All it took was patience and fortitude.”

  His lips twisted in a humorless parody of a smile. “You would need an endless supply of stamina to deal with my mother. For one, she throws things.”

  “Then I shall become adept at catching those things—or at least ducking out of the way. You’ll find me to be a resilient, hardworking employee, and more than capable of handling Lady Dashell. I vow, you’ll wonder how you ever survived without me.”

  As she uttered that audacious statement, he subjected her to a sharp, reassessing stare. Rory held her breath, hoping that she’d broken through his stony resistance. If Lady Dashell was as petulant as he’d implied, he must be eager to find someone strong enough to tolerate her, thus allowing him the freedom to spin his spiderweb of blackmail.

  She’d been dubious at first when Kitty had claimed he was deeply in debt and in desperate need of funds. But now she could believe this man capable of any nefarious deeds. His callous manner would befit the most hardened criminal in Newgate Prison.

  Lord Dashell walked away a few steps, then swung to face her. “You were banished. Why have you been allowed to return to London?”

  He must be wondering if she was conspiring with Kitty. It was best to quash that notion once and for all by convincing him she was here of her own accord.

  Rory adopted a woeful expression, lowering her chin and gazing up at him through the screen of her lashes. “If you must know, I wasn’t precisely allowed to return. My stepmother was most unhappy when I showed up on her doorstep. Yet I had no choice but to come to the city, for I was facing impossible circumstances.”

  “Explain yourself.”

  “There are very few opportunities for genteel work in Norfolk,” she improvised glibly. “My aunt is destitute, you see, and I need to find gainful employment so that I might send my earnings back to her.”

  “You’ve no funds of your own, then?”

  “None whatsoever. I was cut off without a penny.” It was the truth, for she hadn’t yet earned the reward that Kitty had promised her.

  Scowling, Lord Dashell paced back and forth on the threadbare oriental rug. “Your sister is soon to wed Whittingham. I cannot imagine your family would want it known that her ruined sister is seeking to go into service.”

  “My father passed away seven years ago, and my stepmother will be glad to be rid of me. In fact, she ordered me to stay out of sight during the wedding preparations.”

  “For good reason. You don’t appear to have lost your propensity for rash behavior.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  He stepped closer, his gaze intent. “You were snooping in my ledger just now. Why?”

  Her heart fluttered as he stopped directly in front of her. Though taller than the average lady, Rory had to tilt her head to meet his gaze. Even so, it was impossible to read the thoughts behind those flinty features.

  He mustn’t guess that she’d been seeking a sample of his penmanship.

  She shaped her lips into a contrite smile. “I confess I was tempted by the desire to learn how much the position pays, my lord. My pockets are quite to let, you see. I pray that you can find it in your heart to forgive me.”

  His eyes were granite chips that lacked human warmth. How foolish of her to hope that a plea might soften him. He did not have a sympathetic bone in his diabolically masculine body. He was a blackmailer who had extorted a valuable diamond necklace from her stepmother and had demanded a thousand pounds as the next payment.

  What more could she say to win over such a villain? None of her wiles had worked. He was oblivious to persuasion and immune to flirtation.

  “The salary is sixty pounds per annum,” he said abruptly. “You will be expected to attend to the marchioness day and night, including sleeping on a cot in her dressing room. You must pacify her quarrelsome nature and humor her demands. I will not have the rest of the household disrupted in any way.”

  Her heart commenced a wild knocking. “You’ll hire me, then?”

  “If you’re willing to meet those conditions, be here tomorrow morning at seven. Good day, Miss Paxton.”

  With that, Lord Dashell thrust past her and left the study.

/>   Stunned by her success, Rory felt the urge to twirl around in the cavernous corridor, to laugh out loud with delight. Instead, she scurried after her new employer as he stalked down the passageway toward the front of the house, his shoes clicking on the marble tiles.

  What had made him decide in her favor? Did he suspect her true purpose here? Perhaps he thought it best to keep her under close observation.

  No matter. This was her golden opportunity to earn a portion of her dowry. Half of her itched to begin the investigation at once; the other half wanted to return home and see if Celeste had returned …

  As Lord Dashell reached the newel post and pivoted to ascend the grand staircase, he spied her. His face hardened into an iron mask so that he appeared even more inhospitable than ever. “Why are you following me?”

  “I’m on my way out. You did say that I wasn’t to start today.”

  “The servants’ door is at the rear of the house.”

  Of course, she was now a member of the staff. The entrance hall in which they stood was reserved for the family and aristocratic guests. The realization might have been galling had she not been so elated over her victory.

  She bobbed a breezy curtsy. “Do pardon me, Lord Dashell. For a moment, I had quite forgotten how far I’ve fallen in the world.”

  As he eyed her impish expression, a muscle tightened in his jaw. His gaze was so intent that it kindled an unsettling warmth inside her. His eyes fascinated her, the irises steel-gray rimmed by charcoal. He looked fit and strong, and again she felt that tug of unwanted attraction to him.

  If he would just smile, he’d be an extraordinarily handsome man. And if he would thaw his heart, he might even tempt her from her self-imposed moratorium on romance. What would it be like to bury her face in the crook of his shoulder and breathe in his masculine scent? To feel his hands clasping her close, his lips tasting hers? To learn if she had the power to delve past his wall of reserve and make him wild with passion?