Wickeds Scandal by Kathleen Ayers
14
Nicholas Tremaine, Viscount Lindley, strolled into White’s, watching with amusement as liveried toadies ran to take his cloak. He shrugged the wet wool off his massive shoulders and threw the cloak at one of the scurrying men. The other toadies looked at Nick in thinly veiled disapproval, but their mouths remained firmly shut. Nick was barely admitted at White’s and he was sure the admittance committee brought up his disbarment from the establishment on an annual basis. It was of no import. If one was the heir to a wealthy dukedom, no matter the infamy of that dukedom, one was admitted to White’s. Besides, he wasn’t here to bask in the aura of the indolent gentlemen that filled the rooms. He was here for Satan Reynolds.
Nick called earlier for Cam at his friend’s home only to be told by the butler, some arrogant Scot that Cam employed, that his lordship had left that afternoon to hear Lord Bishop speak. No one adored a boring, tedious lecture more than Cam, but it was past the dinner hour and his friend had not returned home. Given that Cam seemed to attract persons who wished to murder him since his return from Macao, Nick thought it appropriate to locate his best friend.
Nick next visited Cambourne House, praying as he rarely did, that he would not have to make polite niceties with Cam’s stepmother, the Marchioness. Lady Cambourne annoyed Nick so fiercely that when he saw her his hands itched to snap her neck. He well remembered her treatment of Cam during his entire childhood, and how she’d forced his departure to Macao. Nick hated the woman.
He had started to ask for the Dowager at the door but was stopped by the appearance of Miranda. Cam’s sister was not a woman given to hysterics. She looked quite lovely in her distress, but Nick ignored the attraction as such a thing could cost him a valued friendship. Miranda was firmly off limits.
Instead, he sat down with Cam’s sister and gently asked her what in bloody hell had happened? Between sobs, Miranda related that Archie Runyon was back in London and betrothed to someone named Alexandra. Before Nick could ask why any of that mattered, Miranda flew up the stairs in a fit of tears.
Nick pushed aside Miranda’s behavior earlier and returned his attention to the great room of White’s. Ah! There he was. Satan Reynolds! Nick adored calling Cam by that hideous nickname since he knew how his friend detested it. Ridiculous though the name was it suited Cam. Cam was entirely a devil when it came to women. He avoided innocents and those women who seemed to be in love with their husbands, although those females were few and far between in the ton. Nick thought that sporting of Cam, not to take undue advantage. Because Cam could, if he wished. Women flocked to him like bees to honey, throwing themselves at him like lemmings going over a cliff. Cam said he only seduced the women that deserved to be seduced by Satan Reynolds.
Nick lifted one dark brow at the sight of Cam holding a glass of whiskey with one unsteady hand. How the ton would be shocked to know that the terribly foxed man sitting before Nick spoke five languages, wrote travel essays under a pen name, and would have done well as a professor or scholar.
Cam sat in a dank, dark corner of White’s with a large, expensive bottle of whiskey his only companion. He grunted in greeting at Nick and proceeded to wave an unsteady hand towards a chair to his right.
Nick assumed that an invitation of sorts. Eyeing the narrow leather chair, he grimaced. Did White’s have nothing bigger in this blasted place? For God’s sake, what did he pay a fortune in dues for? White’s should provide proper furniture for all its members. He twisted, trying to mold his large, muscular frame into the fragile chair. The chair protested his weight, squeaking and wobbling a bit, but held. Nick sighed in frustration.
“Dear God, Nick.” Cam slurred. “Pray, do not destroy yet another piece of furniture. The Dowager is still distressed about the couch in her music room.”
“Hmm. Well that was shoddy workmanship, although I didn’t wish to risk her offense by saying so.”
Cam grinned. “Cobbs!”
A man standing discreetly in the shadows stepped forward.
“A glass for Viscount Lindley.”
“Yes, my lord.” The unflappable Cobbs scurried off.
“So, this is what has become of the great and dangerous Satan Reynolds. Sitting alone with nothing but an overeager servant and an expensive bottle of whiskey.” Nick peered at the bottle. “Looks Scottish. Likely quite peaty.” As he sat back the chair groaned in protest. “You’re horribly foxed, Cam. What calamity has occurred to put you in such a state? Did Bishop’s lecture not sufficiently bore you to tears? Did your latest volume of the history of the pyramids not arrive on time?”
Cam scowled at him.
“Oh, I know. A woman was immune to your charms.” He winked at Cam, grinning evilly. Nick was afraid of nothing in this world, certainly not Cam in a foul temper. Now the next world, if one believed in such things, was open for discussion. Nick wasn’t concerned. Being one of the damned, and already destined for hell, meant one didn’t worry about such things.
He stretched out his long legs deciding how to broach the subject of Runyon, without Cam going completely mad. Nick suspected the unknown Alexandra played a part in Cam’s drunken revelry. Curious. Cam did not drink himself into a stupor over women. Time to go fishing and see what he caught.
“Who is she?” He took a sip of the whiskey savoring the warmth that flowed down to his stomach. Delicious. A bit peaty, with a smoky finish, as he’d assumed.
Cam huffed and looked away.
Nick swirled the whiskey around the inside of his mouth. The stuff really was quite good. He held his glass out to Cobbs, who promptly refilled it. “Give over, Cam.”
“Alexandra Dunforth.” Cam muttered. One of his eyes nearly shut, then snapped back open. He spilled a bit of the whiskey on his breeches.
Nick tried to keep the shock from his face. It took an enormous amount of liquor to make Cam unsteady. In fact, the last time Nick heard Cam slur in such a fashion had been at Eton. Whiskey was the culprit that time as well. Cam’s tolerance for alcohol added luster to his nickname at Eton, since he drank like the devil, with few ill effects. Unlike poor Colin, who could be found stumbling after two glasses of Madeira.
“Alexandra Dunforth? I don’t believe I’ve made her acquaintance. I rather thought someone died with the long face you’re wearing and your sister sobbing away on my shoulder.”
Cam sputtered.
“Oh, don’t frown so, I didn’t touch Miranda. She cried properly on my shoulder.” Nick popped his knuckles and took another sip of the whiskey. He waited.
Cam remained stubbornly silent.
Nick shrugged. He had no other entertainments scheduled for tonight and his curiosity was piqued. Cam’s face had grown dark and he resembled an angry, avenging angel. St. Michael or another enraged cherub, perhaps. A multitude of women would swoon over Cam should they see him so upset. Females found Cam most attractive when he brooded.
“I’m not sure what the problem is,” he chuckled. “One woman is much like another. You lift their skirts over their heads, and it’s difficult to tell them apart. I find throwing the skirts up cuts down on female chattiness. The silk tends to muffle the noise.”
Cam shot him a look of distaste.
My, this is serious indeed.He assumed a stern demeanor, determined to get to the bottom of things. “Really Cam, what is this Alexandra Dunforth to you? You’ve shown no pointed interest in any woman since your return. I’ve never seen you give a fig for any of the fairer sex, excepting your sisters and the Dowager. Did she injure you in some way?” Nick’s opinion of females tended to be low in general, although he did have a deep affection for his own sister and a healthy fear of Cam’s grandmother, which he supposed could be construed as a type of affection. “Is she trying to have you murdered? London is suddenly populated with assassins and you their prey.”
Cobbs coughed delicately from the shadows.
Cam’s head lolled sideways. It took more than a moment for him to respond.
“No! She is a tiny, foul-tempered, opinionated little Badger! With curling hair. Lots of it.” Wistfully he sighed, sloshing whiskey over the fine leather chair.
Cobbs pursed his lips and immediately wiped up the spill.
“You know how I love curls.” Cam struggled to focus. “Love them.”
Nick would soon need an interpreter if the evening went on much longer. Cam was very drunk. “Yes, you’ve mentioned that to me before. Every curly-haired whore in London propositioned you after you voiced your preference at Covent Garden. Ladies of the ton swarmed Bond Street purchasing every curling iron available after you spoke of your obsession at Lord Meriam’s fete. So, this Alexandra is curly-haired. That is not an excuse for your present state. Did she refuse your attentions? Is she insane? Crazed? Does she not know you are a great seducer of women?”
“Yes. I mean, no. Well, I don’t know. I don’t think she’s mad.” Cam struggled to sit up. “Nick, she is betrothed.”
Nick had never seen Cam so unhappy. Especially not over a woman. He must tread carefully. “Perhaps you can have Alexandra after the wedding? I’m not sure a husband in the picture presents much problem if a woman is willing. I still remember Lord Ranson shooting off his toe.” A deep belly laugh erupted from Nick.
Across the room, a group of gentlemen sat discussing politics or something equally dull. The men turned towards Nick in unison all bearing frowns of disapproval. One man, overdressed in a hideous dark plum jacket, put his pudgy fingers to his lips and made a shushing noise. The man turned back to his friends, nodding as if to say he’d taken care of the issue.
Nicholas bared his teeth and growled.
A portly man sitting next to Mr. Hideous Plum Coat mouthed the words “Devil of Dunbar” and attempted to point discreetly at Nick.
Mr. Hideous Plum Coat looked chagrined and much less smug. He swallowed, and Nick saw the folds of fat around the man’s chin shake. After a moment, the men scattered like a flock of frightened geese.
“You see, Cam, I can clear a room in no time.” Sometimes, Nick mused, it was hard to be one of the damned.
His friend took a deep breath, his forehead creasing with consternation. Worry stamped every line of his handsome features. “Archie is back, Nick. He is here, in London. That bitch my father had the bad sense to marry neglected to inform the family. The news sent Grandmother to bed for two days.”
“A terrible pity that bastard didn’t die abroad. It would have saved you the eventual trouble of killing him. Shame your father spared his life. What is he up to, do you suppose? Does Elizabeth—?”
“No. She remembers nothing, thank God.” Cam’s brow furrowed again. “At least, we don’t think she does.”
“I would be happy to dispose of him, should you wish it. Consider it a favor.” Deadly serious, he sipped at his whiskey. Nick was quite good at killing men. A useful skill if one was already destined for hell for there were no repercussions to be concerned with.
“No. I will do...do…do it myself. When the time comes,” Cam stuttered.
Nick thought the time likely near. The hourglass measuring Archie’s life had started to run out the moment he foolishly returned to London. It was no coincidence that Archie returned just as the attempts on Cam’s life multiplied. “What does Archie have to do with your Miss Dunforth?”
“She’s…she’s…inclined to wed him.” Cam’s entire form deflated as if he would fall into a pool of despondency at any moment.
Nick wasn’t quite sure how to address that comment. “What would you want with a woman that is inclined to marry Runyon?” He pretended to pick a spot of lint off his coat. Archie Runyon was well known among the ton for his depravities, some acts so repulsive that even Nick was shocked by them. A rarity.
“She is a badger. Badgers are not like other women. She is only marrying him because of the Abbess.”
“She is marrying him because some papist nun is forcing her?” Good Lord he could barely make out Cam’s words.
“No. Jush lishen to me.” Cam’s head rolled around. “Abbey. I meant Abbey. Helmsby Abbey. It’s a place where all badgers wish to be.”
That didn’t make a bit of sense to Nick. The only thing that did make sense was Cam’s obvious infatuation with this Alexandra. Unless Archie Runyon had changed drastically after receiving a beating from Sutton’s father, which Nick found doubtful, a woman who would wish to marry Archie would have to share the man’s tastes.
“Are you sure, Cam, there is no possibility that this Alexandra just prefers Runyon to you? He promised her an estate she covets, and possibly they share common...interests.” There were some women who enjoyed the types of sex play that Archie and his cohorts engaged in.
“Women are shallow, vapid creatures, as well you know. I personally have dozens throwing themselves at me regardless of my faults.” Nick waved a large hand across his frame. “The Dunbar fortune and the possibility of being a Duchess is enough to entice any woman of the ton to spread her legs. Even if she is afraid of me. Perhaps Alexandra is no different, though possibly you wish her to be.”
Cam’s face contorted in rage.
“I shall beat you to a bloody pulp for that remark. She is a badger!” Cam turned and swallowed the entire contents of his glass, gesturing to the attentive Cobbs for more.
Nick wondered what Alexandra had in common with a large rodent. Certainly, the lady in question could not find it flattering.
A growl sounded from Cam. “I want her.”
Nick was certain, especially after this conversation, that what Cam felt for this Alexandra was a bit more than lust. He attempted to twist himself into a more comfortable position. Impossible. The chair was simply too small. Damn. Wasn’t it enough to be cursed with his freakish eyes? Must he also look as if he’d descended from giants?
A curious sense of déjà vu floated over Nick as he threw one leg over the arm of the chair. In his mind’s eye he saw three young men, misfits of the ton, tormented relentlessly by the other youths at Eton. The gypsy. She’d made a prophecy for each of them. A sense of unease filled Nicholas as he remembered what the old woman foretold for Cam. It was a coincidence, nothing more.
He pushed aside the prediction the hag had made for him.
“You want her, so have her. Cuckolding Runyon certainly could not cause you to lose sleep, besides you’re likely to make her a widow soon at any rate if I’m not mistaken.”
“But she is innocent. She is a badger.” Cam spilled whiskey onto the dark leather of his chair once more.
Cobbs rushed forward like an industrious mouse to mop it up.
“But yet, your paragon is willing to marry Runyon?”
Cam gave a despondent nod. A great sigh came from him.
Nicholas wondered how long Cam had sat at White’s nursing his whiskey along with his anger.
“Cobbs?” Nick said to the servant. “How long and how many?”
Cobbs held up one finger. “He finished the first bottle completely before you arrived. He’s been here since before tea.”
Good Lord. This was most serious indeed.
Nick stood and pulled at the cuffs of his jacket to straighten them over his wrists. The chair creaked in relief as his form left it. Nicholas shot the offending piece of furniture an exasperated look.
The drunken idiot sitting across from Nick muttered something incomprehensible, before closing his eyes.
“Cam,” Nick peered down at his friend. “You realize you are in love with her?”
A drunken snore was the only answer he received.
Nick waved an arm at the helpful Cobbs. “Help me get him to his carriage. I’ll see him home.
