To Tempt a Scandalous Lord by Liana De la Rosa

Chapter Twenty-One

“Marriage looks good on you.”

Alicia glanced up at Effia, who sat on the other side of the narrow table in their favorite coffee shop. “What do you mean? I’ve been married before, you know.”

Effia nodded, dimples bracketing her small smile. “So you have. But I’d wager that your marriage to Lord Inverray is quite different than your union with Lord Lindsay.”

“Well, they are different men, are they not?”

“Of course they are.” Effia chuckled. “But happiness is a part of this marriage when it didn’t seem to be in the first. You deserve to be happy.”

She fought not to fidget in her seat. “The marquess has been a kind husband.”

“And do you not feel you deserve his kindness?”

Alicia smoothed invisible wrinkles from her skirts. “No. Because he deserves my honesty.”

Her friend brandished a hand. “And you will be honest with him…after you’ve done everything you can to help his campaign by pushing public opinion on reforms.”

“I know. I know.” She plucked at the button on her glove. “It’s just…if he finds out before I have an opportunity to tell him myself, everything we’ve gained will be…ruined.”

“We’ll be more cautious.” Effia sighed, glancing quickly around the crowded coffee shop. “We should refrain from meeting in person again until you’ve told your husband. How does that sound?”

“Along with that, I think we should wait until after the party vote,” she said quietly, covertly studying the patrons around them.

At Effia’s nod of agreement, Alicia reached into her reticule, darted her gaze about to ensure no one was watching, and slid her new essay quickly across the tabletop to her.

Her friend stared at the nondescript envelope. “Do you intend to tell him after the party vote?”

Alicia swallowed. “Yes.”

“You’ve risked quite a lot to do this, and I believe all will be well…but I think you quite brave, my friend,” Effia murmured.

Blinking rapidly, Alicia looked away.

They sipped their coffees in silence for a spell, before Effia told her about a series of investigative articles another of her writers was working on about how child labor was exploited within collieries, actually going undercover to get firsthand accounts. Alicia listened in awe, amazed at the anonymous writer’s fortitude and bravery, and the very real difference their work could make in altering the public’s perception of the child labor plight. Her work listening in on vapid conversations amongst members of the ton paled in comparison. She told Effia as such.

“And yet you are risking your reputation and quite possibly your marriage to do this.” Her friend plopped her cup on the table with a thud. “To enact real, comprehensive change, we need to educate people at every level of society. The voice of a titled marquess holds more sway over the opinions of those in government than a hundred working-class men. It’s horribly ignorant and unfair, but it’s the reality we must work with.” Effia leaned forward and lowered her voice. “You’re married to the man who could be our next Prime Minister. Every insipid event you’re forced to attend or tedious conversation you’re made to engage in allows you an opportunity to help win over the hearts and minds of those in power.”

Hours after they parted ways, Alicia replayed Effia’s words in her mind as she sat at her Davenport desk in the solar that overlooked the garden. She had been studying her and Niall’s social calendars, sorting through the stack of invitations they’d received and who would be in attendance at each event. She had to consider how she and her friends could target those people for their whisper campaign.

A knock on the door drew her head up. Stewart appeared in the doorway, a pinched expression on his normally placid face.

“Your ladyship, Lord Matthews has come to call.”

With a frown, Alicia turned about in her seat. “Did you tell him the marquess is currently at Westminster?”

“I did.” The older man cleared his throat. “But he said he was here to see you.”

Before Alicia could form a thought about this, a figure appeared in the entry behind Stewart and her blood turned to ice.

“Lady Inverray, how do you do?” Viscount Matthews swept into the room, moving past the butler as if he were a piece of furniture. His glacial eyes never wavered from her face as he swept her a polite bow.

Rather than answer, she bobbed a quick curtsey. “What do I owe the pleasure of your visit, my lord? I’m sure you’re aware my dear husband is not here at this time.”

The viscount turned to look with raised brows at Stewart, who was still planted like a sentinel by the door. With an expressionless mien, he ignored Matthews, instead keeping his attention on her. At Alicia’s reluctant nod, Stewart stepped from the room but left the door ajar. With the knowledge Stewart or a footman lingered nearby, she turned to the viscount with a stiff smile.

Without waiting for her invitation, Matthews dropped into one of the winged-backed chairs situated near her desk. He linked his hands together over his stomach and gestured with his chin to her desk. “Is this where you write them?”

Alicia started, a ringing sounding in her ears. “I beg your pardon.”

“Yes, you may beg for pardon, but I’m not certain you will be granted it.”

She took a step back, unease running like an electric current over her skin.

“I don’t understand,” Alicia rasped, struggling to maintain her composure in the face of his cold contempt.

“Of course you do. You’re quite clever.” Matthews snorted. “You almost had me fooled, you know, with your pretty, wallflower widow routine.” He waved his hand up and down her body. “But then you captured Inverray’s regard in a way that nothing outside his service in Parliament ever has, and I knew I had underestimated you. When the fellow should have been focused on securing elector votes, he was distracted and not at all like the stalwart politician he’s known to be.”

The viscount paused, his eyes thinning into a glare as he studied her again. “For six years I’ve advised and shaped and molded Inverray, with an eye for the future and what a man with his magnetism could accomplish. And like that,” he snapped his fingers, “you were wed and ruined it all.”

“I don’t know what you mean, my lord.” Alicia skirted around the settee, intent to put a barrier between them. She anchored herself to the seat back with a tight grip. “Lord Inverray’s potential has not been lost, and I believe our happy marriage will be an asset for his career.”

“Do you suppose the marquess will be happy when he finds out about your illicit little hobby?”

The easy manner in which the viscount uttered the words emphasized their threat, and Alicia flinched back.

“It was your most recent tracts that caught my attention. The sudden focus on child labor reform, which has long been one of Inverray’s pet issues.” His lip curled. “Despite all the times I told him it was a nonstarter with electors, many of whom have an invested interest in keeping their work force intact, he stubbornly clung to his ridiculous ideals.”

“They’re not ridiculous,” Alicia bit out around her teeth.

“Another sentimental fool.” Matthews narrowed his eyes on her. “Which is why I’ve been having you followed.”

The room spun about her.

Alicia dug her nails into the upholstery of the settee until she regained her equilibrium. Not willing to concede so easily, she lifted her chin. “Why are you here, my lord?”

Gripping the armrests with both hands, Matthews angled toward her.

“I’m here,” he enunciated, “because I know your secret and I will happily reveal it to all of polite society if you do not do exactly as I demand.”

…

It seemed like mere minutes had passed since Niall had laid his head on his chair back for a quick repose when a sharp knock on the door tore him from his slumber. Scrubbing a hand across his eyes, he took a moment to straighten his cravat before he called out, “Come in.”

The door swung open to reveal Guillermo Torres. The color was high in his cheeks and his chest moved up and down as he panted for breath.

“It looks like you’ve been out for a run,” Niall remarked, hoping to offset the sense of alarm that was building in his blood.

“I have been. I stopped here first an hour ago, and you were not in.”

Niall cringed. “I was in a meeting until a short time ago.”

Torres ripped his hat from his head and ran a hand through his black hair. “Yes, well, I stopped at Campbell House, but the butler said you were not in. I stopped at Little Windmill, as well as your favored coffee shop, with no success. I’m glad I thought to check back here again.”

With the man’s agitation bleeding through to him, Niall slowly rose to his feet. “What’s happened?”

“I’ve discovered the identity of your writer.” The man swallowed. “And I fear I may not be the only one who has.”

He leaned forward to plant his hands on the desktop. Uncovering the writer was what he wanted…right? So why did his stomach churn at the prospect of this most awaited reveal? “Who is it?”

The name that fell from Torres’s lips wiped all thoughts free from his mind.

Niall did not remember gathering his things and leaving the office. The carriage ride home passed in a blur. If his secretary had said anything to him when he departed, or the driver asked him a question, he knew not. Niall hadn’t even thanked Torres or bid him goodbye.

All he had been able to think about was how he’d been lied to.

For months now, he’d lived with a liar.

Because his gracious, brave, indomitable Alicia was the chapbook writer.

The woman he had given his name to—his heart to—had criticized him for months in front of the entire country, and had not had the decency to tell him of her anonymous exploits.

He tried to swallow, but the lump in his throat would not budge.

Niall stared out the carriage window, the scenery black and white, indecipherable from the chaos of his thoughts. The flashes of memories. Alicia’s wide eyes when he announced their engagement in front of the ton. How she’d choked at the breakfast table when he said she sounded like the tract writer.

He croaked a dry laugh.

Alicia must have thought him a fool.

When the carriage came to a halt in front of Campbell House, Niall pushed open the carriage door and hopped out, taking the front steps two at a time. Stewart met him when he stepped into the foyer.

“Where is her ladyship?” he asked, handing the man his hat and coat.

“Lady Inverray retired to her chambers as soon as Viscount Matthews departed.”

Niall hesitated. “Matthews was here?”

“He was, my lord. When I informed him you were not in, he said,” the butler cleared his throat, “he had come to see her ladyship.”

“Thank you, Stewart,” he murmured.

He climbed the stairs in a daze. From what little he’d heard of Torres’s explanation, Alicia had met with Miss Assan in public; others may have seen them together and made the connection between the two women. Niall had to assume it was why Matthews had visited Alicia…but why not approach Niall and ask if he knew instead? His heart thundered in his ears.

Coming to a stop outside Alicia’s chamber door, Niall cracked his knuckles as he rocked back and forth on his feet. He wanted to prowl into the room and…do what? Rant and yell and demand an explanation? Pull her into his arms and ask why she hadn’t confided in him?

Order her belongings packed and send her directly to Scotland?

Clenching his jaw, Niall opened the door.

Alicia sat on the edge of the bed, her back to the door, her head bowed. Was she praying? Reading something?

“Alicia,” he called, her name seeming to echo in the quiet place.

With a gasp, she whipped her head about and met his gaze. Her swollen, red-rimmed eyes shook him for he’d never seen her so distressed.

“Niall,” she whispered, rising to her feet. She clenched her hands in her skirts, her chest expanding with her inhale. “I have something important to tell you.”

As much as Niall wanted to reach for her, he moved not an inch. He simply nodded and waited for her to continue.

“It’s me,” she said, with no preamble. As forthright as ever. “I’m the chapbook writer.”

“I know.” He took no pleasure in saying the words.

Nor did he relish how she pressed her hand to her mouth. “You do?”

Niall nodded. “Torres saw you today. With Miss Assan. He already knew she was working for Charles Hughes.”

Her lovely throat, the expanse of skin he had kissed and licked and nipped now numerous times, worked on a swallow.

“Why did Matthews come to see you?” he demanded, refocusing his thoughts.

“He knows.” Alicia clamped her eyes closed. “He’s had someone follow me.”

A fresh fire of anger sparked at the viscount taking such liberties. But Niall smothered his rancor, unable to deal with it when his wife stood before him now.

“The viscount has been searching for a way to turn you against me and I have given him the perfect reason.”

“Matthews hasn’t turned me against you, Alicia,” Niall growled. “You have.”

Blinking, she gave a jerky nod. “I should have told you—”

“Damn right you should have.”

Alicia squared her shoulders, her mouth pinched. “But I wasn’t done—”

“Maligning me?”

Both words were coated in bitterness.

“I have never maligned you. Not once.” Alicia furrowed her brow. “You seem to be operating under a belief that I wanted you to fail, but you know I believe you have all the makings of being a truly excellent Prime Minister.”

She took a step toward him, her eyes large and beseeching. “You’re thoughtful, not just to your peers and those who could benefit you, but to those who benefit from you. To those you employ and to those you support. Many people would not give that much emphasis, but I do, for I know it means that the policies your government proposes and enacts will not just be a boon for the elite.”

Niall grunted, but held his silence.

Alicia took another step closer. “The whole point of my critiques was to showcase where you could do better. No man is perfect, and I have never expected your voting record to be faultless. But, if the party was going to tap you as their leader, I thought you should strive to address those areas in which you’ve been deficient.”

He knew that. In his heart he knew she had been fair in her criticism…but his anger, his sense of betrayal was not an easy thing to relinquish. Niall could barely look at her now without the duplicity of her actions stealing the air from his lungs.

She stood directly in front of him, the gold in her dark eyes shining with unshed tears. Christ, she was so lovely.

“Those first dozen essays were written before I knew you. You were just Lord Inverray, a charismatic member of Parliament that many believed would lead the party one day.” Alicia hiccupped. “And then we met and…and you were so much more than I thought. But I had a job to do, and I was determined not to be seduced by your intelligence and charm. But the Talbot ball happened…”

Mention of their unfortunate dance thawed the ice he’d been encased in. “You’ve had plenty of opportunities to tell me since then. During our ride in the park. At our engagement party. Our wedding breakfast. During any of the breakfasts or dinners we’ve shared since then. After you cried out my name as you came on my cock. Why did you not, Alicia? I don’t understand.”

Flushing clear to the roots of her hair, Alicia lifted her chin. “Because I didn’t want you to make me stop.”

The confession was nothing more than a ragged whisper, but it was like a punch to the gut. “You don’t know that I would have asked you to stop.”

“Of course you would have.” Alicia spun away, pacing to the window. “Your pride would have demanded atonement. You would have been blinded to all the ways my writings have helped you.” She looked at him over her shoulder. “So I’ve tried to show you. With my essays about child labor reform and how your platform supports it. And it’s boosted your bid. You can’t say it hasn’t.”

Niall advanced on her, his hands tight fists. “But at what cost? I would have happily lost the leadership vote if it meant my wife respected me enough to tell me the truth.”

The color drained from her face. “Of course I res—”

“My lady, are you ready to dress for tonight?” Jane appeared in the doorway of the connecting bathroom, but paused, her eyes wide when her gaze landed on the two of them. “Oh, I beg your pardon.”

After Jane disappeared back into the bathroom, Alicia stared at him, her features drawn and her dark eyes listless. “Matthews wants me to write of Medlinger. Of how his measured, conservative approach to reform is what is needed now.” She swallowed. “He wants me to call your ideas radical. The viscount wants you to lose the vote.”

Niall dragged a hand down his face. “I can’t say I’m surprised. He’s been more my adversary than my ally, as of late.”

“And I fear he will continue to use the threat of my identity to keep both of us under his thumb.” Her sigh filled the room. “My essays will no longer be mine. My opinions will be replaced by his. I will be a stenographer and nothing more.”

Alicia was right. Now that Matthews knew who she was, he would exploit his position of power with no regard for those he ruined in the process.

“Should I tell Jane we will not be attending the Willingham event?” she asked quietly.

As much as he wanted to say yes, wanted to sequester himself in his study and down an entire bottle of his best whisky, such a thing was not possible. Matthews and other important electors would be in attendance at the dinner party, and Niall needed to act like nothing was amiss. The viscount must think him naive to the truth…at least until he had determined a solution.

“We must go, Alicia. We have to play our parts.” Niall looked down at her, his gaze touching on her lips. The lips that he longed to kiss even now. “We will continue this discussion later.”

And with those words, he left her standing there, alone.