To Tempt a Scandalous Lord by Liana De la Rosa
Chapter Twenty-Three
The words tasted like vinegar on his tongue.
Niall did not want to send his wife away. Everything about Alicia enchanted him. The sigh she emitted as she settled into bed at night; how she pursed her pretty pink lips as she read the morning newspaper, leaving the margins covered in her scrawl; the way she always sought and held his gaze right before she shattered around him. Waking up curled about her, her small hands linked with his, made everything about his life better.
Until she broke his trust.
And now everything about their marriage had become a distraction he could not afford to have at this time.
Instead of thinking about meeting electors and fine-tuning his arguments, he’d been racking his brain for how to extract them from this mess. He dared not ask Firthwell or the dukes for their advice, because the fewer people who knew of Alicia’s secret profession the better.
Having to make conversation with Matthews in front of the other guests as if the man wasn’t a duplicitous snake had been a painful challenge. Worse yet when Alicia’s eyes had stayed on him, following his every movement, and yet he refused to meet her gaze, couldn’t look at her remorseful mien and not want to forgive her.
He needed time to focus on his leadership bid, and to figure out how to rid them of the threat Matthews represented, not only to Alicia, but to him as well. For how could a future be possible between them when the viscount sought to keep them apart?
Alicia needed to go to Scotland until the election was over. She would be safe there, and Niall would no longer be distracted.
Curling his hands, he prepared for her refusal.
It never came.
In the darkened interior of the carriage, he strained his eyes to make out her reaction. Only when Alicia turned her face to the window did scant rays of light touch on her cheeks, highlighting her reserved expression.
“I refuse to be locked away in the countryside.” Her tone was soft. Dangerously so. “Lindsay kept me stowed away on his estate for the majority of our marriage. I was an afterthought, a doll that was stored in the attic until he could be bothered to play with me. When he died, I vowed it would never happen again.”
“Do not be absurd, Alicia. Of course you wouldn’t be locked away.” Niall growled in the back of his throat. “But I currently have too many problems on my plate to worry about a wife who has proven herself to be troublesome and intrusive.”
She slapped her hand on the leather seat, the sound causing him to jerk his head back in surprise. “Do not think to call me troublesome, sir. You are proving correct all the reasons why I told myself not to tell you my secret. Do you believe I don’t know what it means when a husband sends his wife to the countryside? He wants to keep her isolated and friendless. It’s much easier to control a headstrong woman that way. And you believe I’ve been a headstrong wife, don’t you?”
The old earl had been a disgrace for keeping his young bride locked away…yet their situation was in no way the same.
Niall wiped his damp palms on his trousers. “Not headstrong, but definitely idealistic. How could you be so foolish as to meet with Miss Assan in person? Where anyone could recognize you?” He leaned toward her. “In your quest to do good, you have brought ruination to our doorstep. Surely you see that?”
Again, silence reigned. When she spoke, her voice was a whisper; he had to lean forward to hear it. “I’m sorry, Niall. I am sorry this has happened because I was not more circumspect. But can we not figure out a way to work through this together?”
“Don’t speak to me of working together when you have been a solitary soldier until now.”
Of all the troublesome feelings her secret had unleashed, her lack of faith in him hurt the most. That his wife thought she couldn’t depend on him was a wound that would not easily heal.
She was quiet for a pregnant moment. “Soldier? Do you consider this war? Is winning your only goal? Championing the defenseless, protecting those most in need is just a claim you make when the quote can win you positive coverage?”
Indignation fired his blood. “That is grossly unfair.”
“But is it really?” Alicia tucked an escaped curl behind her ear, and a passing gas lamp revealed how her hand trembled. “Time and time again legislation has found its way to your committee, and time and time again it’s become nothing but meaningless talking points. My essays were written to rally England’s leaders to do more for the common people, but you’ve made it abundantly clear your priority lies with the titled and wealthy. All your claims to the contrary are merely a passing talking point.”
Before Niall could respond, the carriage jerked to a halt. Without waiting for assistance, Alicia wrenched the door open. Under the glow of the streetlamp, she looked back at him, her mien pale. Haunting.
“I’ll leave, not because you ordered me to, but because I don’t have the energy to wage this battle any longer.”
With those words, she disappeared through the door.
Niall stared after her.
He’d known she wouldn’t go quietly. Not his fierce Alicia. But how could she argue that it wouldn’t be easier to deal with Matthews with her safely ensconced in Scotland? Niall had seen red when he’d found the viscount manhandling her, and only his well-honed self-control kept him from challenging Matthews to a duel.
With a bone-weary sigh Niall followed her into the silent townhome.
The door linking his chamber to Alicia’s was locked when he tried it later that night. Niall pressed his brow to the cool wood as he absorbed the blow. She had physically sealed herself away from him. He should be grateful for the distance she created between them, but his very skin ached to have her in his arms again.
Sitting in his darkened study, nursing a dram, did nothing to assuage his stormy thoughts. Niall still had a bid to secure and electors to win over. Matthews had revealed himself to be a villain, and he had no notion of how to protect his wife from the man…and now he had made an enemy of her. Niall tipped his head back and pinched the bridge of his nose, completely at a loss for how to make anything right.
This was how his secretary found him several hours later.
“Your lordship,” Murray whispered.
Niall cracked open an eye from where he dozed in his leather chair. “What is it?”
“I thought you should know that the marchioness has departed.”
All fatigue fled his mind. Dropping his feet to the ground, he propelled himself upright. “What do you mean she’s left? It’s the middle of the night.”
The man nodded. “A fact she was aware of, as she apologized to the driver several times. But she and Miss Jane departed not ten minutes ago.”
He scrubbed a hand over his face. Why would she leave now, well before dawn? Was she so hurt, so frantic to flee from him that she would put herself in danger? That possibility sent a tidal wave of shame crashing over him.
Niall needed to go after her, if only to escort her to Kilmorow himself.
Yet…he had an important meeting with key electors on the morrow. With Medlinger losing Grey’s support, now was the time to show himself to be the reliable candidate party electors could count on. Plus he would see Matthews again, and he still had no notion of how to deal with the man and the threat he represented.
The weight of his responsibilities had his shoulders sagging further. There was a choice he wished to make, but it was not the one he had to make.
“How many outriders departed with her?”
“Two, my lord,” Murray said.
“Send two more. I’ll follow her ladyship after my meeting tomorrow afternoon.”
The man nodded. “Very good, my lord.”
After the man took his leave, Niall sank down on the chair and lowered his head to the desk.
He had no desire to retire to his chamber knowing Alicia would not be there to welcome him. In just a few short weeks, she had brought life to his home, and already it felt dark and dreary without her. Turning his head, Niall considered the decanters lining the sideboard and weighed which would usher him into a dead sleep the fastest.
The next day, Niall lingered outside the Earl of Winter’s townhouse, nursing a headache and a desperate sort of frustration. He did not want to be there. That he wasn’t already on the long road to the Highlands made his skin prickle with suppressed energy, and he rocked on his restless legs.
Still, he had much to accomplish before he and Alicia could possibly find a way forward…if there was a way forward. While he nursed his whisky the night before, he’d pondered his wife and her alter ego. Spreading the tracts he had saved over the long months across his desk, Niall had studied each one. The more he read, the more Alicia’s past words ran through his mind: I never maligned you. I only wanted you to do and be better. And with the aid of prime Scottish spirits, Niall finally understood she was right. Alicia’s critiques had always been fair and objective, allowing for nuance when he, himself, often only saw things in black and white.
Niall had also noticed Alicia’s latest tracts were dominated by discussion of child labor reform and how such legislation would benefit the country. And of the two candidates for party leadership, Alicia had stressed that Niall, with his background working with children, would be best equipped to champion such reforms.
Even the burn of whisky could not numb the devastation he felt for not granting his wife the grace she deserved.
Flipping his pocket watch open over and over, Niall debated how much longer he should dawdle before he had to enter. Several electors offered greetings as they passed him before disappearing inside the house, but he simply couldn’t bring himself to follow in after them. And he knew why. Instead of charming a group of men more concerned with their own consequence and power than the welfare of the empire, he wanted to find his wife.
“How long do you plan on tarrying here?”
Pivoting, Niall met the curious gaze of his brother-in-law, Ashwood. Firthwell and the Duke of Darington stood just behind him. He should have known his friends would be here, and their presence lifted his spirits. Somewhat.
“We’ve been watching you pace back and forth out here from Winters’s sitting room, and I have to say, I’m exhausted just from watching your exertion,” Darington said, a smile in his voice.
Niall cleared his throat and looked to his feet. “Yes, well, I wasn’t quite ready to enter.”
“And when will you be ready?” Ashwood inquired.
“Exactly when it turns eleven on the clock.”
The men laughed, but Firthwell sobered quickly. “I would think you’d be eager to speak with these men. You’ve been courting many of their votes for months. Yet you don’t seem keen at all.”
He wasn’t. But Niall didn’t dare say so. This was what he wanted. What he had worked for. If he was feeling disenchanted, well, the feeling would pass.
Instead, he murmured, “Of course I am. I simply have a lot on my mind.”
“I’m sure you do.” His brother by marriage studied him. “But if you’re going to do this, you need to tend to the task at hand.”
Sucking a breath between his teeth, Niall nodded, and turned to climb the front stairs with reserved determination.
The Earl of Winters’s parlor revealed about a dozen men milling about, casually enjoying cups of tea and munching on biscuits. The men comprised the most influential members of the party. They had worked hard to push through major reforms two years prior, and their support would guarantee he’d be tapped for the top position. Niall needed to prove he was competent and worthy of the job.
The hairs on the back of his neck prickled, and he looked about until his gaze locked with a familiar pair of blue eyes. Viscount Matthews. Although the older man’s expression did not change, Niall sensed he was as guarded as himself. They had been allies since Niall had arrived in town after university, and the viscount had taught him a great deal about politics and what was expected of a man about London.
Suddenly all those lessons rang false. Rather than focusing on how their position in Parliament was meant to serve the citizens of the empire, Matthews’s lessons had been about garnering and maintaining power. And he had been willing to exploit Alicia’s tenuous position to do so.
Niall had done everything to fall into line. He’d attempted to craft himself into the perfect candidate, a candidate the viscount could find no fault in. A candidate electors would be proud to stand behind. And in his quest to twist himself into whatever shape Matthews decreed he needed to take, Niall realized he was not happy.
Happiness had always been something he could push aside, just as he had pushed aside his father’s recriminations or the jabs he received for his Scots ancestry.
But it had taken just one incredible and fierce woman and five weeks of her tender touches, warm smiles, heated kisses, and shrewd opinions for him to understand what happiness could be, by her side.
In his quest for political power, he lost sight of the very reasons he stood for Parliament in the first place. While he had engaged in all manner of political machinations, children like Edith and Eunice continued to suffer. He’d twisted himself into knots to conform, to undercut any prejudice for his Scots heritage, to be the perfect gentleman. And in the end, it hadn’t mattered because for all he had done to make himself more agreeable, he was no closer to grasping the political goals he so acutely sought.
Lifting his chin, Niall turned from the viscount and made his way to Lord Winters’s side. The earl greeted him warmly while the butler poured him a cup of tea. As the men sipped from their cups, they surveyed the room, Niall attuned for any commentary that could be used in his favor.
“You should know that Matthews has been encouraging the other men to back Medlinger.”
Niall lowered his cup to the saucer with a ting of china. “I cannot say I’m surprised.”
Lord Winters glanced at him. “Why is that?”
“Because I’m no longer under his thumb,” Niall murmured, shrugging a shoulder.
The earl chuckled. “Good for you. Matthews has always been a bit…overbearing.”
“Just a bit?”
“Very well, the man can be a bastard.” Lord Winters pressed his lips together as his gaze turned speculative. “Still, he’s not a man you want to make an enemy of.”
Niall nodded. “I’ve long thought that. But I don’t think I’m the sort of man one should make an enemy of, either.”
Sliding his gaze to the earl, he caught the man’s smirk. “Definitely not.”
Lord Winters gathered the group’s attention then, thanking them for taking time out of their busy day to discuss the future of the party’s leadership.
With that bit of preamble, the earl tossed out an introductory volley of questions, and Niall was given the opening he needed to expound upon his platform and the priorities, domestic and foreign, he would have for any government he helmed.
He couldn’t be sure what the men thought of his answers as their miens gave no insight into their thoughts, but Niall didn’t care. Too long had he acquiesced to their fickle opinions, simply for the right to raise his voice. For the privilege of representing the electors of his county. For daring to succeed as a Scotsman.
His time of bowing to the opinions of the party’s elite leadership, men who were ignorant of the struggles of the working man, was over.
It was his brave, kindhearted wife who reminded him why he had stood for his first Parliament seat, and he had sent her away instead of fighting for their future, together.
Niall didn’t deserve her.
After the questions had ceased, the men broke into smaller groups to discuss various topics, some raised by Niall, and others pertaining to all manner of political gossip. Niall did his best not to speak much or interject his opinion unless he was specifically asked, content to listen to what the men were saying and thinking.
“Come now, Talbot, it’s not like you to be swayed by pretty words.”
Niall went as still as a mountain hare that had scented a wildcat on the breeze. It was a voice he would know anywhere.
“I’m not swayed by pretty words.” Lord Talbot’s tone was heavy with offense. “But I’ve known Inverray as long as you have and he has never been prone to exaggeration. He’s been true to his word.”
A familiar scoff reached his ears, and Niall threatened to grind his teeth into dust. “But has he? Perhaps the chapbooks were right. Perhaps the marquess is really all words and no action.”
The words were a slap to the face, and Niall gripped the back of a nearby chair so hard the fabric popped under his hand.
“Surely you share some of the blame, then.” Darington’s voice was deceptively casual, but when Niall looked, it was to find the duke staring at the viscount as if he were an insect he wished to crush under his heel. “As his mentor, I would think you would have showed Inverray that serving his constituents is more than simply giving bombastic, self-important speeches. But perhaps it’s you that doesn’t know any better.”
Matthews narrowed his eyes minutely. “You have not been back in London long, Darington, so no doubt you’re still ignorant of how things are done.”
Audible gasps of surprise sounded around the room. For Matthews to respond so rudely, and to a duke, contrasted with the man’s normally respectable reserve. Several men openly scowled at him, Niall amongst them. It was unlike Matthews to be so brazen with his impudence, and Niall wondered what he was about.
Ashwood cleared his throat, and the assembled group fell deathly silent.
“And yet Darington has more prudence than you could ever aspire to.” The duke raised his cup to his mouth for a leisurely sip. “Such an obvious failure of character has made me wonder, as of late, how your opinion…or word can be trusted at all.”
Niall sucked in a breath. What was Ashwood doing?
“Nonsense.” Matthews linked his arms across his chest, his expression one of boredom. “I worked with your father, and your father,” he said, gesturing to Darington with his chin, “to pass bills for the betterment of the country. I—”
“But that didn’t stop you from complaining about every section of the Reform Act.” Darington folded his hands across his flat stomach. “From what I remember, you thought the language was too broad. Bemoaned the breakup of boroughs and the power it would give the nouveau riche. In spite of all the Whig talking points I’ve heard you spew since my return, you’ve never seemed to give a half penny damn for the people you were supposedly representing.”
The viscount’s gaze would have melted steel. “That is wholly unfair. I argued the Reform Act should have done more. No one has been more committed to this party than me.”
Niall just barely managed to smother his snort. Matthews had done no such thing.
Darington merely lifted a brow, the corners of his mouth tipping up ever so slightly. It was a dangerous look, and the viscount would be wise to mind it. Instead, Matthews grumbled to the men gathered around them, as if the dukes’ criticisms were a great and confusing surprise, and Niall was reminded that nothing could touch the man’s hubris.
“My, Matthews,” Ashwood said then, “whatever has you so defensive? It’s not like you to be quite so…animated. Has someone grown wise of your many lies?”
“How dare you,” Matthews growled.
“I have no interest in playing parlor games with you, Matthews, but if I did, I would ask for truth.” Ashwood set his teacup on a side table and winged a brow up. “Is it not true you donated to Tory candidates?”
A gasp strangled him. How had he not known the viscount was financially supporting opposition candidates? Niall had fundraised and canvassed for many party contenders, and the thought that the viscount had simultaneously been supporting their opponents made him clench his jaw so tightly it throbbed.
Apparently Matthews was also caught by surprise, for his mouth dropped open, his blue eyes darting to the shocked and irate faces staring back at him from around the room.
“Oh, I do so enjoy this game.” Darington clapped his hands on his thighs. “Here’s my question for Lord Matthews: is it true you paid MPs to vote against the Reform Act?”
Gasps and shouts of outrage exploded around them, Niall contributing to the chorus. The viscount had encouraged others to vote against the Reform Act?
With his nostrils flaring, Niall set down his teacup with a clink, mindful that his host would not appreciate if he shattered his fine china in the grip of his hand.
With admirable aplomb, Matthews rallied. “It does not become two dukes of the kingdom to cast aspersions with no evidence.”
Ashwood dipped his blond head. “But is it casting aspersions when everyone in this room can easily believe you capable of such things?”
Niall scanned the men gathered about the spectacle, finding many nodding their heads in agreement.
“I have never understood why Inverray held you in such esteem,” Ashwood continued. “It’s long been clear to me you have a talent for spotting men with the drive and ambition to succeed in this cutthroat world of politics, and manipulating them to do your bidding.”
That was exactly what Matthews had done.
Niall clenched his eyes closed as the years melded together to form a clear picture of a man who had noticed Niall’s desire for acceptance, for approval, and used it to steer his path.
And it wasn’t until Alicia had entered his life like a blazing comet, whiting out all he thought he knew and wanted, that Niall had finally come to see his association with Matthews as the insidious relationship it was.
Matthews made a raspy sound that Niall assumed was a chuckle. “I admit I offered Inverray advice, and answered any number of his questions over the years, but you overestimate my influence over him. He was simply a young man who wanted to make a name for himself about town and I was willing to make his political path easier.”
Niall stepped forward, outrage unhinging his jaw, when Ashwood snapped his gaze to him. With an imperceptible jerk of his head, he returned his attention to Matthews, and Niall yanked his chin back, unsure of what he was trying to tell him.
“And yet it would seem to me that it is you who have made a name for yourself thanks to Inverray’s successes.” Ashwood unbuttoned his coat and relaxed back into his chair, taking a leisurely sip of tea. “If I recall correctly, you refused to sign on to any of his proposed bills in committee, but when it appeared they might pass, you insisted your name be added as a co-sponsor to the official record.”
Several men nodded in eager agreement.
“They’re clever bastards,” Firthwell whispered, and when Niall turned to him, the man was hiding a smile behind his hand.
Niall frowned, looking back to where the men continued to exchange barbs. “What?”
“Don’t you see what they’re doing?”
Baffled, Niall returned his gaze to the group, studying the way the younger men appeared confident and almost bored in their responses, while a visible vein ticked in Matthews’s temple.
Suddenly he knew.
Ashwood and Darington were baiting the viscount. Antagonizing and provoking him to reveal thoughts and opinions he was always so careful to hide. The dukes were discrediting Matthews, revealing his deceitful tactics, blunting his claws so that his criticisms of Niall…and later Alicia, would draw no blood. And they risked nothing to do it, but spared Niall the gossip that would have followed had he so publicly responded to Matthews’s sneers. They’d quite possibly saved Alicia’s reputation.
Unclenching his fists, Niall willed himself not to respond to the petty insults and vitriol that fell from the viscount’s lips. For so many years he had heeded the man’s every word of advice, tied himself up in knots to earn his approval, and in the course of one afternoon, his friends had torn down the edifice he had erected, foolishly, in Matthews’s honor.
Embarrassment heated his skin. Niall had been so desperate for a father figure, so determined to prove his own father’s assessment wrong, he’d latched on to the first man who’d shown him a smidge of respect.
“—do not delude yourselves. Inverray’s opportunity to become Prime Minister disappeared when he married that nobody countess. I have long advised the marquess he should marry, stressing how valuable it would be to secure an alliance with a powerful, storied family. An easy job for a duke’s heir…even a Scottish duke. Yet did he listen to me? Of course not. A stubborn fool just like his countrymen. Instead, he allowed himself to be snared by the upstart Lady Lindsay, who admittedly has a pretty face, but whose clever hand penned—”
The viscount’s words abruptly cut off when Niall’s hand squeezed around his throat.
Niall couldn’t recall how it happened, only knowing a hazy red cloud had dropped down over his vision when Matthews had insulted Alicia. His passionate, clever, tenderhearted wife. He would patiently withstand the viscount’s insults and innuendos all the daytime hours, but his wife’s honor was a very different beast.
The insult made his hand squeeze the other man’s neck tighter. “Kindly remove my wife’s name from your mouth. There is nothing that would ever make you worthy enough to utter a single syllable of her name.”
Niall was aware the other gentlemen in attendance, the very men whose votes he needed to secure, were now watching him as if he were giving a performance on a Covent Garden stage.
He didn’t give a damn.
He jerked the viscount close to his face, and growled, “This is supposed to be about ideas. Debating proposals, so the best version, the version that will benefit the most people, is passed by Parliament.” His fingers tightened, and Matthew gasped. “Discussing my wife as if she were nothing but trash under your feet is not to be part of it. Making fantastical claims about her does nothing more than declare your dishonor.”
“Niall.”
Gritting his teeth, he met Ashwood’s blue eyes.
His steady gaze helped Niall corral his emotions.
With a shuddering exhale, he opened his hand and watched with a burst of satisfaction as Matthews collapsed to the floor.
No one offered the viscount assistance as he heaved for breath, gripping at his neck.
Straightening his spine, Niall turned to face the men whose gazes pressed upon him. He debated whether to apologize for his uncharacteristic actions, but quickly discarded the idea. No matter what details she had withheld from him, Alicia deserved his defense and he would give it unreservedly.
“Gentlemen,” he began, clearing his throat, “I have worked side by side with most of you to pass a variety of bills to further the party platform. We celebrated the Reform Act and the Slavery Abolition Act together. I hope that after all this time, you know me to be hardworking, honorable, and a man of my word.”
Niall speared Matthews with a gimlet stare. “I’m certain that some of you will blame my actions toward Viscount Matthews this day on my wild Scots blood. How it’s not to be trusted. Yet for all the years I have lived in London, I have never been ashamed of my ancestry. How could I be when there’s so much to be proud of? However, in defense of my wife and her good name, I would take up the claymore of my forebears and raze this city to the ground. And for that, gentlemen, I will never apologize.”
With those loaded words, Niall spun on his heel and swept out the door. He ignored the bile souring his tongue for he knew he had just sunk his candidacy. The knowledge didn’t sting like he imagined it would.
A hand closed over his shoulder in the entry, and he jerked about, his gaze colliding with Firthwell’s. The dukes flanked him.
“Well…” he ran a hand over his cravat, “that went swimmingly, don’t you think?”
“It was immensely satisfying,” Darington said, and the other men nodded in agreement.
“What do you intend to do now?” Firthwell asked.
Exhaling, Niall shook his head. “I intend to leave for Loch Kilmorow to find my wife and bring her home.”
“She’s not in the Highlands.” Ashwood accepted his hat and cane from a footman, and offered Niall a smile. “Lady Inverray is at Amstead Gardens.”
Alicia was with Flora and Amstead? He closed his eyes and sent up a silent prayer of thanks for his youngest sister and her marquess for welcoming Alicia and keeping her safe when he had not.
“Oh,” he mumbled.
“How do you intend to apologize to your lady wife?” Ashwood continued.
Niall wrinkled his nose. “What makes you think I have something to be sorry for?”
His friends scoffed in unison, their exasperation with his answer apparent on their faces.
“Because you are here,” Darington snorted, “instead of with her.”
He jerked on his cravat. “I don’t know what to do,” he grumbled, looking away and down the street.
“You can apologize, Niall, with pretty words and promises,” Firthwell said, his tone patient, “or you can show Lady Inverray that you’re sorry.”
“Show her?” Niall rocked back on his feet. How could he possibly show his wife how sorry he was for allowing his hurt pride to blind him to everything else? For not respecting her and her ambitions?
And suddenly he knew.
The idea exploded in his mind with all the lights and colors of a firework, and he grinned.
Turning to his friends, he sobered. “I can’t thank you enough for…everything…but that will not stop me from asking for your help with one last thing.”
“Will this thing help you win back your marchioness?” Darington inquired with a smirk.
“I hope so.”
“Then by all means, ask away.”
Ignoring the urge to rub his chest, Niall dipped his head in thanks. Without another word, he stepped out the front door, his friends close behind. For the first time since Torres arrived at his office with his fateful news, Niall’s steps felt a tad lighter.