To Tempt a Scandalous Lord by Liana De la Rosa
Chapter Three
Alicia couldn’t remember a dinner she’d attended where she’d smiled quite so much.
Raising a glass of wine to her lips, her gaze wandered the room. Everything about Rockhaven House spoke of wealth and consequence, and her mouth had gaped to an embarrassing degree when she had stepped into the foyer. Her hosts, Lord and Lady Firthwell, had graciously ignored her lack of decorum, and the couple chatted and laughed easily with her, even as they still orbited around each other.
Charlotte, as Lady Firthwell had asked to be called, had gripped Alicia’s hand tightly as they walked to the dining room and quietly told her how happy she was that Alicia accepted her invitation. Some of her nerves were abated at finding only one other guest in the room, his back facing the door as he studied the fire crackling in the hearth.
While she had taught herself to remain austere and confident in any setting, Alicia much preferred smaller gatherings where she could engage in meaningful conversations with others. Their party would only consist of four people, so she swallowed back some of her unease. Perhaps Charlotte was just as eager to forge a friendship between them as she was.
“My lord, you remember Lady Lindsay, I’m sure,” Charlotte said to the gentleman on the other side of the room.
And suddenly Alicia knew exactly who he was. His broad shoulders, kissed by hair the color of midnight, were his greatest tell, and her skin tingled in awareness. But it was when Lord Inverray turned and his gray eyes snagged her that the true weight of his magnetism wrenched at her composure.
How she had managed to be in his company so frequently over the last few days, she did not know, but Alicia found she was not sorry for it. She had long thought him arrogant and fierce, and he was still those things, but she was learning he was so much more.
“Your ladyship,” the marquess said simply, executing a graceful bow.
His eyes held hers as she extended her greeting, and a pleasant warmth spread across her skin. Even when Charlotte pulled her aside in conversation, Alicia continued to feel his gaze.
Inverray sat at her side throughout dinner, and no matter what movement she made, whether cutting her roast beef and root vegetables, raising her glass of wine to her lips, or smiling at Charlotte while they chatted, Alicia was always aware of the marquess. His outsized presence dominated the space, leaving her decidedly on edge.
After dinner concluded, they adjourned to the sitting room, where Alicia listened quietly while Inverray argued with their host about the best way to move a child labor bill to Westminster.
“You always talk about garnering Tory support, even when you already have the votes to push the proposal forward.”
“Firthwell, it’s not that simple,” he said, as the viscount groaned into his glass of wine.
“It would be if you weren’t constantly worried about offending everyone in Commons,” Alicia murmured.
The marquess swung his head to look at her, his brows pulled low over his eyes. “What do you mean, my lady?”
She swallowed, anxiety dancing upon her nerves, before she offered, “You’re so concerned with compromise, you forget that sometimes you need to go for the jugular.”
“How bloodthirsty,” Charlotte said, an amused smile curving her mouth.
Inverray’s glare would surely turn her to stone. “Are you advising me to play games with my political future?”
Alicia dropped her gaze as she sat back in her chair, something she had been actively avoiding all night. It seemed like a ceding of ground, and she hated to appear weak.
But her study of the candidates for party leader revealed that while Inverray was adept at delivering a carefully worded response to suit the moment, his facial expressions usually gave away his true feelings. Or so it seemed to her. And his current expression made it clear she was at risk of offending his pride.
“Not play games, my lord. I’m advocating you grasp the power you’ve earned and put it to good use.”
Inverray raised his glass of port to his lips to take a sip, his gaze heavy upon her. “And grasping it means I should force a vote on a proposal I know won’t get the proper support?”
“His lordship has indicated you have the support.” She cocked her head as she returned his stare.
“From party members, perhaps, but I would like bipartisan support.”
“But why?” she pushed.
He set his glass down with a loud clank, and leaned toward her. “Because any child labor law we pass will change the entire country. It will affect how business is conducted throughout the empire. Families who rely upon every member of the household to bring home a wage, no matter their tender age, will now send their little workers from factory floors into schoolrooms. There will be backlash, and I want the full support of Commons behind such legislation, not just the members of one party.”
Alicia had not expected that answer, and she raised her wineglass to her lips to hide her surprise. While she had been narrowly focused on seeing legislation written, Inverray had been considering the larger picture. Her respect for him grew.
Mayhap there was a way she could help…
“I understand what you’re trying to do, Inverray, but you know it will be an uphill battle. Especially with the tracts cutting you off at the legs,” Firthwell said.
Alicia went still, every part of her on alert.
The expressions of the other three occupants at the table darkened, and she fought not to fidget at the tense shift in the atmosphere of the room.
“Have you given any more thought to determining who the author is?” Firthwell leaned forward, his gaze firm. “Are you simply going to roll over and let this nameless, faceless coward define your legacy for you?”
With her pulse galloping like an out-of-control racehorse, Alicia gulped down a burning mouthful of wine.
“I appreciate your fierce support, Firthwell, but your complete willingness to overlook the very real truths of the author’s claims astounds me.”
Darting her gaze to the viscount, she found Firthwell staring at Inverray with a scowl. “What truth could the author have written?”
The marquess propped his ankle on the opposite knee, and his casual confidence sparked a fire in the depths of her belly, and Alicia forced herself to look away. She knew what happened to the moth that drifted too close to the flame.
Inverray spread his hands. “The author claimed I’m shortsighted. More concerned with immediate victories than long-term successes. He’s not wrong.”
“Come now, Niall, that’s unfair.” Firthwell scoffed. “Sometimes small victories are needed to rally the troops. Give them encouragement. Motivate them to keep working toward the end goal. That’s what you have told me again and again.”
Alicia stared down at her hands, knotted in her lap. She had long bemoaned Inverray’s apparent indifference to ushering more important, more meaningful, bills to Westminster. Yet now…now she felt foolish. Of course. Of course each inconsequential bill was a morale boost, whilst he worked backstage on more substantial pieces of legislation.
“Must we discuss those infernal chapbooks any longer?” Inverray rose to his feet, and headed to the sideboard. He removed a stopper from a bottle, raised it to his nose, and nodded approvingly. After taking a sip from his freshly poured glass, he raised a sharp brow. “Nothing we say here is going to erase what has already been written, and I’ve spent enough time thinking on those blasted tracts.”
Alicia raised her glass of wine to her mouth for a sip. A man who was capable of self-reflection was a rarity in her limited experience, and she didn’t know what to think of it.
“I quite agree that a change of subject is in order,” Charlotte murmured, “especially because we’ve not yet discussed the rumor that Lord Medlinger was caught in flagrante delicto with Lady Rasmussen.”
The group discussed at length whether the rumor could be true, and the men debated if Inverray should take advantage of such information. Alicia was surprised when the marquess swiped his hand through the air.
“Of course I’m not going to mention it. That is not the kind of campaign I wish to run.”
Alicia snorted, quickly smothering the sound by taking another sip of wine. But it was too late.
Inverray’s gray gaze pinned her to the spot. “Aww, Lady Lindsay, I knew I could count on you to have a thought on that proclamation,” he said, the corners of his mouth hinting at amusement. “Come now, if you were me, what would you do?”
He expected she’d react, did he? Alicia stored that away to consider later. Still, in for a penny, in for a pound.
Licking her lips, she said, “If I were in a position to win the most powerful political seat in England, I would fine-tune my talking points, boast of my voting record, and reiterate, over and over, why I am the superior candidate to Lord Medlinger.” She couldn’t stop the smile that pulled her mouth taut. “And that means I, as candidate Inverray, would be using this supposed rumor as proof of my claims.”
“You”—he paused, and the way his mouth twitched convinced her he was biting back a chuckle—“you think I should make use of this rumor?”
“Of course I do. A rumor like this is a godsend during an election.”
The marquess stared at her, his gray eyes unfathomable.
“Interesting. Am I to assume, then, that you may think very differently about the chapbooks we discussed earlier?”
Alicia blinked. To respond honestly could alienate her from these people she longed to form friendships with, and the thought was a lance across her skin.
Inverray took a sip of his drink, waiting for a response.
Right. Alicia squared her shoulders, mentally preparing herself for recriminations. “I…think…it’s easy to be offended by criticism and harder to accept it with an intent to learn.”
The room was quiet, but the small tick in Inverray’s jaw left her breathless.
Charlotte leaned toward Alicia, her gaze intense. “I fully admit that criticism of my friends is hard for me to hear, but even during our short acquaintance, I trust you will tell me the truth. So tell me, Alicia, what can his lordship learn from these chapbooks I like to shred when I am angry?”
Alicia discreetly sucked a breath through her teeth, and slid her gaze to Inverray. He watched her with an expressionless mien…until he arched a black brow.
So he wanted the truth, did he? Alicia could barely contain her smile. The truth it would be then.
…
Lady Lindsay possessed all the equanimity of a card sharp.
Niall had no idea if she had a mind for vingt-et-un, or if other games of chance were more her specialty, but what he did know was that her expression never seemed to change regardless of how scandalous the topic.
While his friends had laughed and chatted over the course of the night, Lady Lindsay had remained silent. Composed. Yet, he hadn’t failed to notice how her dark eyes had danced as she took in the action around her. Like she wanted to participate in the banter, but held herself back.
Niall understood why. Their small group was close, tied together by blood and the bonds of friendship that had been forged and strengthened through the fire of scandal.
Still, even amongst their company, he desired Lady Lindsay’s voice. Her thoughts on the topics they discussed. The barbed wit he’d glimpsed at the recent soiree. The impeccably dressed, impeccably behaved countess had a secret heart of fire.
And damn if she hadn’t shared it with him.
She lifted her chin, and met Lady Firthwell’s gaze head on to answer the question. “I believe the author of these tracts is correct that Inverray has tread lightly on some issues when he should be pushing harder.”
“But as his lordship already discussed, surely such things require balance. A degree of finesse.” A furrow marred the viscountess’s forehead. “He can’t push through reforms simply because he wants them.”
“Of course he can.”
The trio went still. Lady Lindsay’s gaze scanned the room, no doubt taking in the surprised expressions gaping back at her. But to her credit, she did not shrink back from his friends’ censure. Instead, she calmly raised her glass of wine to her lips and took a drink.
The silence was broken by Lady Firthwell’s inquisitive voice. “How so, my lady?”
The countess placed her glass gently on the table next to her and looked down at her lap. When Niall followed her gaze, he found her twisting her fingers in her skirts. Ah, not as calm as she seems.
“Instead of directing your ire and frustration at this anonymous chapbook writer, perhaps consider how you can use his writing to further your ends.”
“What do you mean?” Firthwell asked before Niall could shape the words.
“You’re intent on gathering the necessary support for a child labor law, yes?”
Niall nodded when her gaze landed on him. “I am.”
“Then let this writer spread this information for you. Let his words court the public on your behalf, so they understand the issue and how it will affect their lives, whether good or bad.”
Her dark eyes, wide and sparking with fervor, held his. She made it sound so reasonable and yet…
“How do you propose I do that? No one has been able to determine who he is, so how can I seek his support?” Not to mention the idea of courting the goodwill of someone who’d actively hindered his campaign made him grit his teeth.
Lady Lindsay shifted in her chair and angled her body toward him. “Whoever the writer is, he’s shown himself to have access to various political and social circles. Thus, have your friends discuss with their friends the need for such a comprehensive bill, and the ways in which you’re trying to bring such legislation to a vote. I suspect this mystery writer will quickly pick up on the details.”
What a…brilliant plan. The countess made the proposition seem so simple, and the thought of using the same chapbooks that had haunted his candidacy to garner support for a cause dear to him would be a boon.
“How very clever of you, Alicia.” Lady Firthwell beamed a bright smile at her, a sight the dignified woman rarely shared.
A pink hue swept over Lady Lindsay’s cheeks, and Niall endeavored to ignore how fetching it was. “I doubt it’s clever so much as it’s strategic.”
“Strategic?” He considered her over the rim of his glass, his gaze sweeping over her face. “How did you learn such a skill?”
“What makes you believe I learned it from anyone?”
Niall bit back a chuckle at the challenge in her voice. “Are you declaring this skill was self-taught?”
“And if it was?” Unfolding her hands, the countess pierced him with a glare. “Men proclaim themselves to be self-taught in any number of things, yet I’m to be doubted if I claim the same?”
“When men claim to be self-taught, I usually assume they’re full of sh—”
“Niall, really?” Firthwell interrupted, with a chuckle.
“My apologies,” he offered, lifting his glass while the countess stared at him with the corners of her mouth trembling just so.
“Developing an eye for strategy is not hard to learn but it does take time. It requires an attention to details and a study of one’s opponent. Their habits, their beliefs, their strengths and weaknesses. And once you have learned those”—she raised a narrow shoulder—“devising a strategy to work for them is a matter of filling in the blanks.”
What a succinct way to view the whole process. The viscountess was right, Niall fancied; Lady Lindsay was clever.
Firthwell’s voice cut through his thoughts when he said, “I suspect you should direct Inverray’s campaign. No one would stand in your way.”
“Except for the man himself,” she drawled, smirking in his direction.
Yet for all Lady Lindsay took Firthwell’s suggestion as a jest, Niall knew the viscount might be right. Would anyone turn down such a gracious, poised countess? He suspected not.
When the conversation turned to other topics, Niall grasped his glass and took a healthy swig, listening rather than participating.
Of course his eyes went to the countess, who was laughing at something Lady Firthwell said. He wasn’t sure what he had expected from the young widow when he learned she would be in attendance tonight, but her whit and intelligence continued to surprise him.
Firthwell leaned toward him then, and in a hushed voice said, “I know the campaign is your focus, but there’s nothing wrong with enjoying the attention and company of a comely lady.”
Sliding his gaze to him, Niall quirked his mouth. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Of course you do.” Firthwell chuckled. “You haven’t been able to look away from her all night, and I’ve caught a few of the covert glances she’s sent your way.”
Niall immediately peered at Lady Lindsay, who met his eyes for a swift instant, and then returned her attention to the viscountess.
“I’m not saying you should court the woman, but maybe share a waltz with her. A ride in the park.” Firthwell shrugged. “You need something to look forward to separate from politics.”
Thankfully the butler interrupted the conversation with a note for Firthwell, and Niall was left to consider his suggestion. It was true he enjoyed the countess’s company—thanks to her nimble mind, witty repartee, and her winsome, hard-earned laugh—so why shouldn’t he seek out her company more often?
Taking advantage of the lull, Niall turned to Lady Lindsay and asked softly, “Will you be attending the Talbot ball?”
“I will be.” Her brown eyes focused on his. “I assume you’ll be there, as well.”
Niall dipped his head. “Would you be so kind as to share your supper waltz with me?”
Her lips fell open for just a moment before she snapped them closed. Pink bloomed on her cheeks again. “I would be honored, my lord.”
Biting back a smile, Niall gulped a mouthful of port. His political campaign would always come first, but an innocent flirtation with a shrewd, lovely widow wouldn’t hurt too much.