Wickeds Scandal by Kathleen Ayers

17

Bored, Alexandra dozed against the cushions of the divan. How long since the visit from Miranda? It felt like ages. Likely her friend had forgotten all about her and even now wove across the dance floor with a handsome beau.

She stood, feeling the pinpricks in her legs as they woke up. Smoothing down the gray silk ball gown, she admired the beauty of the garment. For once she didn’t look like the poor country mouse she was. If Sutton saw her, would he find her beautiful?

A dull pain radiated from her stomach. Thinking about Sutton caused the most dreadful agony. Not even the tea could mask it. As she relaxed on the divan, she searched the crowd endlessly for his dark visage and finally gave up. It was terrible disappointment. She just wanted to look at him. Just a glance. He need never know. Alexandra wanted just a bit of him to remember, especially tonight. The most horrible night of her life. The betrothal already signed by her uncle made her marriage to Mr. Runyon a foregone conclusion. Tonight’s announcement a mere public formality.

Alexandra put a gloved hand to her stomach. Truthfully, she felt a bit ill. The air in the ballroom was heavy with the smell of roses and too many bodies. A brief respite would refresh her. Unsteadily, she made her way to a short, impeccably uniformed man introduced to her earlier as Zander, the head butler.

Zander was a slightly built man, but one of imposing presence. In one hand he clutched a sheaf of papers dense with notes that he seemed to study over and over as he directed the team of servants at his disposal. Seeing Alexandra approach, he executed a perfect bow.

“Miss Dunforth. Is there something I may assist you with?” Zander smiled helpfully.

Alexandra pursed her lips to stifle the words her mind screamed her lips to utter. Yes. You can assist me by packing me back off to Hampshire immediately. Tell Mr. Runyon I have expired of nerves.

“Miss?”

“Yes, Zander. I feel the need for some air. Can you direct me to the easiest path to the terrace?”

“Oh, Miss, you cannot go around the terrace and gardens just now. The lamps are just being lit and you could hurt yourself. The gardens are quite dark at night. Shall I find Mr. Runyon?” Zander’s tone, coolly polite, held a note of dislike at the mention of her fiancée.

“No. No, that won’t be necessary. I simply wish to sit in the quiet for a moment. I find the celebration overwhelms me.”

Zander shot her a look of concern. “Just so. Miss Miranda told me you are from Hampshire.”

“Yes.” And I want desperately to return.

The butler smiled kindly. “I know a place where you can collect yourself, safe from prying eyes. Let me direct you to the orangery.”

“The orangery?” She really needed some air. Pain twisted between her eyes.

“Gray Covington’s is one of the finest. I had the privilege of assisting Lord Cambourne in the building and installation. His lordship adored oranges. The orangery is quite safe. No one will bother you. Besides, the smell of the orange blossoms is quite soothing for nerves, I’m told.”

“Thank you, Zander. You are so thoughtful.”

Zander led her down the hall to a small alcove one would never find unless looking for it. Stone steps lead to a paved walkway that ended in a small, gated door. He turned the large brass handle carved in the shape of a tree and swung open the door. “Just through there, Miss. Stay on the path. When you have recovered, come back up the steps and turn left to return to the ballroom. His gaze looked back up to the entrance of the alcove, skewering a serving boy who was leaning against the wall. The butler made a short bow to Alexandra and marched back up the stone step barking orders at the boy.

Alexandra walked through the doorway, sighing as the smell of oranges filled her nostrils. Zander was right. The smell of oranges was incredibly soothing. She tilted her head back. The ceiling of the orangery was glass. Horribly expensive. Hundreds of stars, real stars, unlike what could be found in the ballroom, twinkled merrily. The moon, pale and full, hung heavy in the sky, seeming so close Alexandra wondered if she could touch it. A sigh of relief left her lips as she enjoyed her brief escape from the excess and false gaiety of the ballroom.

The smell of orange blossoms and damp earth lured her deeper into the greenhouse. Alexandra had read about orange trees but had never actually seen one. Oranges did not often grace the table of Helmsby Abbey. The ache in her head and heart eased a bit. The outline of a bench was before her and Alexandra walked towards it, marveling at the sky above her.

“Bitch!”

Alexandra froze at the sound. The toe of her slipper connected with the hard wood of the bench and she winced.

“Shall I show you who is really master? You spread your legs willingly enough earlier. Now it’s time to play some more.”

Alexandra held her breath as her heart raced with fear. What had she happened upon?

“Ow! M’lord your ‘urtin me.” The female voice etched with pain and sexual excitement lingered in the quiet air of the orangery. “Not so rough.”

Two bodies scuffled in the dark. Alexandra moved back from the bench, sliding herself along the wall. Her foot nudged a clay pot. She froze for a moment, but the pair didn’t seem to notice they weren’t alone. Shaking, she lifted her foot over the clay pot.

The sound of a riding crop cracked through the air.

Alexandra halted. A riding crop?

“Please, sir. I’ll be a good girl. Ye don’t have to hit me so hard. I’ll do whatever ye wish,” the female voice pleaded.

The bushes directly in front of Alexandra shook, parting to allow her a glimpse of two bodies moving in unison. The figures of a man and woman shone with the light of the moon. The woman’s gown sagged down around her waist, exposing her breasts. The man behind her had one hand on the woman’s back and her skirts clutched in his hands. The woman’s buttocks appeared ghostly against the dark of the orangery.

Alexandra heard a whistle then a snap of leather against flesh.

The woman jerked, whimpering in pain.

Alexandra pushed her fist against her mouth to keep from screaming. The man thrust his body forward in an urgent manner. “Who is your master?” the man commanded the woman, his voice laced with lust. But even lust could not disguise that voice.

Bile rose in Alexandra’s throat.

“Who?” The crop came down.

The woman moaned and jerked.

Alexandra flinched as the crop made contact again. Her body collided with a clay pot and the pot tipped over, shattering on the stone floor.

The woman lifted her head. Her eyes, dull and heavy-lidded stared at Alexandra through a hole in the bushes.

Mr. Runyon followed the woman’s stare. He stopped thrusting.

His breathing came out in gasps. He leered at Alexandra, white teeth reflecting the light of the moon. His eyes never left Alexandra’s face as he moved his hips into the woman, grunting softly.

“Care to join us, my sweet? Archie can please more than one, can’t I?” He pushed into the woman and brought the crop back down on her buttocks.

Alexandra ran.