Wickeds Scandal by Kathleen Ayers

10

Alexandra sat down on the drawing room couch, a tray of tea before her. She pressed her fingertips to her temples and took a deep breath. Lord, how her head ached. Dinner had been a long and drawn-out affair. The meal exhausted her. Her appetite usually so robust, deserted her. A few sips of consommé were all she could stomach. Odious Oliver cheerfully stuffed his face full of food, ignoring the fact that the duck was dry, the fish overcooked and the vegetables mushy at best. Mr. Runyon noticed. He ate mostly bread, downed with a glass of red wine. Alexandra cared little only wishing for the meal to end. Mr. Runyon had visited with Mr. Meechum and she desperately needed to know of Mr. Meechum’s response to her note.

The door to the drawing room opened and Mr. Runyon entered with Lord Burke trailing behind him.

“May I have a word alone with your niece, Lord Burke?” It was phrased as a question, but the words from Mr. Runyon sounded more like a command.

Her atrocious uncle gave one of his pig-like snorts. He disgusted her. She thought him larger, getting fatter like a goose before Christmas.

“Of course. I’ll just have a glass of port in my study. Leave you two lovebirds alone.” Odious Oliver blinked one bleary eye at Mr. Runyon.

Alexandra watched her uncle with apathy.

“Try to stay awake to entertain Mr. Runyon, Alexandra. It amazes me he’s interested in anything you have to say. I certainly am not.” Her uncle gave a huge wheezing chuckle and headed towards the door.

“You will not speak to Alexandra in such a way again, Lord Burke. Do I make myself clear?” Mr. Runyon glared at her uncle, his knuckles white as he clenched his fists.

What a lovely man to defend her. Mr. Runyon stood firmly in Alexandra’s corner. He didn’t take advantage or try to seduce her on books. Not like Lord Cambourne.

Alexandra’s eyelids fluttered down as she thought of Lord Cambourne. He toyed with her. But she ached for him all the same. She dreamt of the dragon tattoo and the earring nearly every night. Felt the dark sable hair beneath her fingers. Oh, she knew how foolish her feelings for the notorious Lord Cambourne were. Ridiculous actually. His torturing of her was merely a game for him, ruining women a hobby. Oh, but to be ruined by a man such as that. A wistful puff of air escaped her lips as she imagined such a thing.

“Um, yes, Runyon. I meant nothing by it. Alexandra doesn’t take offense, why should you?” Her uncle shuffled his feet as his fat fingers nervously tapped against a thigh.

“I will join you later, Lord Burke.” Mr. Runyon gave a chilly dismissal.

Odious Oliver nodded with a warning glance at Alexandra. He needn’t have bothered. She would never say anything to hurt kind Mr. Runyon.

Mr. Runyon sat down gingerly next to her on the couch. His golden hair gleamed in the candlelight. She found him attractive. He did not have Lord Cambourne’s angelic beauty, but he was a rather good-looking in his own way. He took one of her hands, rubbing it gently in his larger one. His hand circled her wrist, squeezing for a moment, then, letting go. The pale blue gaze settled on her, the pupils dark as he squeezed her fingers.

“Miss Dunforth,” Mr. Runyon sighed. “I spoke at length with Mr. Meechum.” His voice trembled slightly.

Dread settled over Alexandra like a dark mist. The consommé threatened to leave her stomach.

She took another sip of the tea. Her head began to throb. “Yes?” How pathetic and hopeful her voice sounded, even to her own ears.

“I am sorry, Miss Dunforth. I regret to inform you that apparently your aunt may have misled you.” He glanced away and refused to meet her eyes. “Unintentionally, I’m sure.”

She put the tea down, sloshing a bit on to the saucer. She tried to pull her free hand from Mr. Runyon, but he resisted. “Misled me? How?”

Mr. Runyon coughed. He gave her a wan smile, his blue eyes troubled. “The terms of the will, I’m afraid. There is no expiration on your uncle’s guardianship and Helmsby Abbey most assuredly belongs to him. Not you.”

Her vision narrowed to pinpoints.

“What do you mean?” Aunt Eloise lied?

“I’m afraid that your uncle is your guardian until you are married. Helmsby Abbey and everything that goes with it,” he paused, “belong to your uncle. It is you that has no claim on the estate.”

Alexandra sat back against the cushions of the couch pulling her hands free from Mr. Runyon. A giant whoosh of air forced through her lungs and out. She told herself to breathe. Her hands clutched at the arms of the couch.

“Please, Mr. Runyon. Please do not say this to me.” My God. What would she do? Odious Oliver would sell the estate. She had failed Helmsby Abbey and all who depended on her.

“Miss Dunforth. I am deeply sorry to bring you this news.” He moved closer to her on the settee, his voice low and empathetic. “I suspect your aunt misled you to keep you from leaving her. She never encouraged you to marry, did she? Perhaps she didn’t wish to be alone or perhaps she was incapable of running the estate without your assistance.”

Alexandra’s stomach clenched. A deep wracking pain centered there. Could it be true? Her mind, sluggish and tired as it was, searched for a rationale.

“Dearest?”

Alexandra looked up at Mr. Runyon, startled out of her despair by the endearment on his lips. An odd thought occurred to her, of watching cows run about the pen as the herders manipulated the animals to drive them down the chute. The cows fought the men’s guidance, but in the end allowed themselves to be led down the chute, where the butcher awaited them.

“Forgive me for having to be the one to destroy your hopes.” He reached for her hands again, this time clutching her fingers tightly. “To tell you of your aunt’s betrayal.”

Alexandra’s throat was very dry. A feeling of hopelessness, of having her choices all taken from her, like the cows, hit her.

“You have nothing to apologize for, Mr. Runyon. You are unfailingly kind and a true friend to me.” Panic made her voice shaky. “Thank you for speaking to Mr. Meechum.”

“Miss Dunforth, I wish to be so much more than a friend.” He peered at her with fervor. “I desire to be your true companion. I wish to be your husband. Pray forgive me for the timing of my proposal coming, as it does, on the heels of you finding yourself without recourse.” He squeezed her hands. “But you are not without recourse. I wish to be your knight in shining armor. I spoke to your uncle before dinner. I have told him that I wish to purchase Helmsby Abbey from him.” His eyes gleamed in excitement. “Your uncle drove a hard bargain, but in the end I triumphed. Paid him more than he asked to assure your future happiness. We shall live there always, if you wish it. Your family, your beloved servants, shall be safe. I will grow to love them as you do, my dearest!”

“You would do this for me?” Her voice sounded far away. “Ensure that all whom I love there would always be welcome? Helmsby Abbey, my home, would forever belong to me?”

“Oh, my foolish little dove. Of course. Just say yes and all shall be returned to you.”

Alexandra closed her eyes. The chute gaped wide. All of the exits, blocked. The butcher waited. What choice did she have? An image of Helmsby Abbey at sunset, floated through her mind. She could smell Mrs. Cowrie’s scones. The housekeeper sent a letter just yesterday, asking Alexandra when she would return. All of her extended family had no idea how precarious their situation actually was.

“We would live at Helmsby Abbey? Truly?” She sounded like a beggar in the street. Shame washed over her. The choice remained simple. Marry Mr. Runyon and keep Helmsby Abbey safe. There really was no other choice.

“Miss Alexandra Dunforth, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

The smile on Mr. Runyon’s lips did not match the look in his eyes but she ignored the wave of dread that filled her. He had promised to restore her home. He would make a decent husband. Most marriages started with less.

Mr. Runyon’s nostrils flared as he waited. A lopsided grin crossed his face, giving him the look of an earnest puppy. “Please say yes, dearest. I know I am not perhaps the man of your dreams, but I shall strive to be.”

Her heart, the heart that yearned for the smell of cinnamon and dragon tattoos, screamed her refusal. It was her mind, ever logical, that answered. “Yes, Mr. Runyon. I’ll marry you.”

* * *

Archie watchedin pleasure as his little Hampshire rose agreed to the match. She must adore that pile of manure in Hampshire. She practically salivated as he mentioned returning the estate to her. The very thought of her dusty group of ancient retainers at the estate becoming homeless nearly made his pigeon faint. He would have to watch her future attachments to servants. He simply did not approve.

Archie had practiced his proposal all day in front of the large mirror that hung in his chambers to ensure he conveyed the correct amount of emotion. He toyed earlier with the idea of getting down on one knee, but honestly, the thought of kneeling before Alexandra was so preposterous, he was afraid of bursting into a fit of laughter. Playing the besotted suitor had been a rather laughable annoyance and he would be glad to discard the façade. On their wedding night, he would explain in great detail how he’d fooled her. That he tore up the note to Mr. Meechum. That Helmsby Abbey was gone and her retainers sent from the estate without a farthing. Lord Burke informed Archie of the sale of the estate two days ago. His dove would be devastated.

He pressed a kiss to Alexandra’s cold cheek. “Wonderful. This is just wonderful news. You make me the happiest man in the world. I shall inform your uncle right away.” And he was happy. The thought of having Alexandra completely in his control made him lightheaded. The special cuffs he’d ordered from France would arrive by the end of the week.

Alexandra closed her eyes. Her small hands shook as she pressed against her temples with the tips of her fingers.

Archie wasn’t pleased. This was not quite the reaction he hoped for. She had acted odd, at dinner, but he put that down to nervousness over his supposed meeting with her solicitor.

“Alexandra, dearest?”

Sweat beaded on her forehead. “I’m so sorry. I fear I’m a little tired. I have not been sleeping well. Would you mind ringing Tilda to bring another pot of my special tea?”

“Special tea? Are you ill?” If Burke sold him a sickly bag of goods, the fat man would pay dearly. Did Alexandra have consumption or some other distasteful disease? She seemed well enough on their recent outing to Thrumbadge’s. He noted the paleness of her skin. The way her hands shook.

“It’s nothing, Mr. Runyon. The doctor told me I am prone to nervousness and stress.”

Archie found that statement absurd. He rang for Tilda.

When the maid brought the tea, Archie poured Alexandra a cup. The dark steaming liquid gave off an acridly sweet smell. She’d barely eaten tonight. Her pupils were slightly dilated. The headaches.

Alexandra took a deep swallow of tea and relaxed into the cushions of the settee.

Damn Lord Burke! Damn him! Did Burke think Archie stupid? “I will be back, my dove.” He patted her hand. Burke had overstepped his bounds and risked damaging something that belonged to Archie. He’d killed men for less. “If it suits you, we will make a formal announcement of our betrothal at my cousin’s birthday fete.”

She nodded slowly. “Of course. Whatever you wish.” The words filtered out but her lips barely moved.

Archie stood and strode out of the parlor, pausing only to grab his wolf’s-head cane where it sat in the foyer. His angry footsteps echoed on the bare wooden floor as he beat a path to Burke’s study. Really! He was so incensed he considered killing Burke tonight instead of waiting until after the wedding. He flung open the paneled door. Burke sat behind an enormous desk, his eyes closed, his large, ham-like hands clasped across the bloated rise of his stomach.

Burke grunted in surprise as Archie entered. His hands flew down below the desk even as he wiggled to pull up his trousers.

Tilda crawled out from under the desk. Wiping her lips with the back of her hand she gave Archie a sly grin.

If only he had a pistol handy to shoot the shameless old whore. And Burke.

“Get out. Now.” He pointed the wolf’s head at Tilda.

Casting a baleful look at Archie, Tilda scurried from the room in a cloud of brandy laced with the aroma of body fluids.

Disgusting!

Burke faced him red-faced and blustering. “You should learn to knock Runyon. A man deserves some privacy in his own home.” Burke pushed away from the desk, still adjusting his trousers. His eyes were bleary with drink.

“Sit down you fat, disgusting toad.” Archie hurled the words at Burke.

Burke complied immediately with a wounded look. He mopped his brow with a hastily produced handkerchief as his eyes widened in terror, like a child who has been caught doing something vile by a parent.

Archie expected Burke was terrified. The fat man should be. Archie’s blood boiled with rage. He felt this same insane rage when he’d killed Lucia and her groom in Tuscany. No one defied him. Undermined him.

“Alexandra agreed to marry me.” He spat the words out, his voice choked with anger.

Burke sat back and resumed mopping his forehead with the handkerchief. “Well there was no need to barge in on me with the news. Isn’t that what you wanted? You didn’t want her forced. You told me she must come to you of her own free will. My congratulations.” Burke lurched one arm across the desk and poured himself another brandy.

Archie swung the cane over his head towards Burke.

Burke put his hands over his head in a defensive gesture, spilling the brandy. He sobbed in fear. The wolf’s head slammed down on the center of the desk sending pieces of wood into the air.

Burke jumped up, his chins wiggling.

“You’ve drugged her.” Archie was livid. “Laudanum. Do you think me so stupid I wouldn’t notice? No wonder she barely spoke at dinner. How long have you been drugging her?” He wished to tear the fat man limb from limb. This wasn’t how the game was played. Burke ruined it for him. Ruined it. Archie wanted to sob in frustration. He had such plans for Alexandra. The cuffs!

“I didn’t know what else to do.” Burke blubbered. “The night we dined at your home she told me you didn’t want her as a wife. She said her opinions put you off and you wanted a woman more biddable. I just made her biddable.”

“She was toying with you. She hates you.” He swung the cane again enjoying the pounding sound it made as it hit the wood of Burke’s desk.

Burke swatted away the bits of wood flying at his face as he tried to squeeze his corpulent form underneath the desk.

“You’ve made her an addict. She barely knows what is going on around her.” He clutched the cane in his hand. He wanted to beat Burke until the man’s head split open like a pumpkin.

“Wait.” Burke held up a fat hand. “Please. Don’t you see I’ve done you a favor? Alexandra is the most tiresome twit. She won’t break easy. She’s stubborn. But now,” Burke sputtered, “you have leverage. You can threaten to take away her tea. Use it to control her. Won’t you like that?” Burke’s brows lifted up to his greasy pate in an expression of hope.

Archie stopped swinging his cane. The suggestion had merit. Her addiction could prove useful.

“Think what she’ll do for her tea. Think how Alexandra pleading for the tea will entertain you. She’ll let you do anything. The laudanum will always give you control, especially once she finds out I’ve sold Helmsby Abbey.”

Runyon stroked his chin. A vision flashed through his mind of a naked Alexandra handing him the cuffs, allowing him to do anything if she could have her tea. Anything. He pursed his lips, tapping one finger against them. A begging Alexandra would amuse him.

He would give the fat man a reprieve. Pointing the cane at Burke he warned, “Tilda is not to increase the dose, do you understand? If Alexandra’s given any more, she’s likely to become a blithering idiot and she’ll be of no use to me. I want her to still have the presence of mind to fight me. Or beg.”

Burke nodded effusively. “I swear, Runyon. No more than she already takes. I don’t wish to be the man to spoil your fun.”

“No, I don’t expect you do.” Runyon looked at Burke, wishing he could just gut the man like a fish. He couldn’t wait to rid the world of Burke.