To Tempt a Scandalous Lord by Liana De la Rosa
Chapter Seven
Niall arose the next morning like he always did.
He went through the motions of his normal routine, departing for Westminster at the allotted time, attending to his duties and meetings, engaging in discussions, and returning home at night.
Yet his insides still churned like a cauldron filled with dread. He had declared in front of the ton that Lady Lindsay was his affianced wife. Of all the excuses he could have offered, why was an engagement the one that skipped past his lips? Niall could close his eyes and vividly recall the surprise and then panic that had leached the color from the countess’s lovely face when her gown had torn.
They were the same emotions that now flipped his stomach upside down, as he sat in his quiet study in Campbell House, glass of whisky in hand. Why had his care for Lady Lindsay’s reputation caused him to act so rashly? Perhaps he should have left her to her shame…although the thought made his chest uncomfortably tight. Of the two of them, Niall could admit she had more to lose than he did.
Blast it all, how had he allowed this to happen?
Niall slammed his glass on the desk, and gripped his head with his hands. He should have thought of a better remedy for the scandal roiling before them than a declaration of marriage. Worse still, he suspected Lady Lindsay had not thought his avowal in front of the Talbots’ guests was done in earnest. He’d seen it in the forced humor and the disbelief lurking in her brown eyes.
The situation was untenable.
At two and thirty years old, he’d had no intention of finding himself in the holy state of matrimony any time soon. His life was politics. There was barely time for anything or anyone else, and he wouldn’t want a wife just for the sake of having one. Yet, Niall admired Lady Lindsay. He respected her and her lively views, and as of late, fantasized about her in his bed, her blond hair spread across his sheets and her dark eyes heavy lidded with desire. For him.
And now she was to be his bride. Should he not be celebrating?
As an MP, a marquess, and the son of a wealthy duke, Niall had treated his future title like a commodity he could barter, should the need arise. Now he had no choice but to offer his name to a woman who seemed quite content to remain a widow, with all the freedoms such a position afforded her.
Still, he did not regret offering her his protection.
A loud knock shook the front door. Niall rose to peer out the window, curious to see who deemed it appropriate to call at this time of night. Before he could consider the sleek carriage parked in front of Campbell House, rapid footsteps came down the hall.
The door suddenly burst open, the wood thudding against the wall. And on the threshold stood a ferocious storm packaged in the willowy stature of his youngest sister, Flora, the Marchioness of Amstead.
“Say it isn’t true, Niall.” Her green eyes were large with incredulity. “Please tell me you weren’t trapped into marriage by an upstart countess.”
“I wasn’t trapped—”
“Yes, I know. Juliana has assured me it was an accident.” Flora plucked her hat from her curls and tossed it onto a chair before she advanced in the sideboard. “Still, considering I just learned of the incident, I intend to indulge in some sisterly outrage.”
“You are quite good at it,” Niall admitted with a reluctant smile.
The door opened again and Amstead entered. His dark hair was in disarray and his jaw was covered with a beard. Niall suspected the marquess had jumped from the back of a horse to the traveling carriage as soon as they received word about his impromptu engagement.
Stepping forward, Niall grasped the man’s hand. “You didn’t have to come. Everything is going to be fine.”
“Is it?” Flora said, looking at him over her shoulder. “Your bid for Prime Minister is a close thing. And then you’re caught in a…a wardrobe malfunction with the Countess Lindsay in the middle of the Talbots’ ballroom. Surely you know you won’t be able to smooth over such a scene quite so easily.”
“Says the woman who disguised herself as a man to work as a horse trainer for a bachelor lord,” Niall pointed out.
Flora snorted. “And look how well that worked out. I landed the very best man as my husband, and acquired his prime horse stock, too.”
“My dear, you stroke my ego only to stomp it down with your heel anytime you group me with my horseflesh,” Amstead drawled, walking to Flora’s side and pressing a kiss to her hair.
Niall couldn’t help but chuckle at that. The marquess and Flora had risked a great deal for their love, and their lives were so much richer for it. He might not have noticed it at the time, but their happiness made it so clear now.
Lady Lindsay’s pale face flashed through his mind. Their acquaintance had been short, but he respected her. Liked her. Desired her. People had built a marriage on less.
But could she be happy with him? Uncertainty soured—
A glass of whisky was suddenly shoved into his hands.
“Drink this.” Amstead clapped him on the shoulder. “It’s obvious you have a plethora of things on your mind, and you need to relax.”
Taking a sip, Niall watched as his sister and Amstead sat together on the settee.
He followed suit and sank on an armchair, exhaustion settling on him like a debilitating cloud. Sleep abruptly beckoned to him, but it would have to wait. Flora had questions, and she would not rest until they were answered. Propping a leg on his knee, Niall balanced his glass on the armrest and waited for her to commence her interrogation.
“Niall,” Flora began, taking a sip of her drink before pinning him with her hard emerald stare, “I need to know how this happened.”
“Lady Lindsay and I danced the waltz, and her broach snagged my coat. When we separated at the end of the dance, her gown ripped.”
Visions of the rosy expanse of her skin he’d glimpsed before the countess had shielded herself haunted him no matter how hard he tried to banish them from his thoughts.
“If the two of you were dancing at an acceptable distance apart, I doubt such a mishap would have been possible. Was her broach overly large?” Amstead asked, his head cocked to the side.
The prat.
“It was a fairly elaborate broach,” he mumbled, staring at his glass.
The room was silent for a heartbeat, and Niall caught Flora and Amstead glance at each other for a pregnant moment, before they burst into laughter.
Gritting his teeth, he tried not to be offended.
“Come now, Niall.” Flora wiped a tear from her cheek. “You have no reason not to be honest with us. Do you feel you cannot tell us what happened for fear of offending us? You do remember how we came to be together? If you don’t want to marry her, we’ll help you weather the storm of the broken engagement.” Flora sobered. “Your role as Prime Minister would last for a few years, but marriage is forever. Do you want the first so very badly, you would risk the second?”
Swallowing, Niall looked away. He didn’t know. He might have extricated any number of friends from delicate peccadillos, but now that he was in a similar position, he felt out to sea.
Yet the idea of marrying Lady Lindsay, of having her at his breakfast table debating politics with him, or at his side in some ballroom making him laugh with her sharp wit, and in his bed every night…well, it held an appeal he could not ignore, no matter how aware he was that she was not the sort of bride his career needed.
Knowing his sister expected a response, he cleared his throat. “I made a promise to Lady Lindsay, and I intend to keep it.”
Flora nodded, but Amstead considered him with a shrewd light in his dark eyes. “Do you believe she trapped you?”
“She seemed absolutely flabbergasted when I announced our engagement to the crowd.” It burned Niall’s tongue to admit it. “If she was intent on becoming the Marchioness of Inverray, surely she would have affirmed my announcement the moment I made it.”
Amstead nodded, but did not look up from his glass. He continued to swirl the dark liquid, studying the brandy as if it contained tea leaves that could tell the future. How Niall wished for a glimpse of what was to come.
Tossing the rest of his liquor back, Amstead sighed. “I suppose there’s nothing for it but to follow through with the wedding.”
Flora scowled and smacked his arm. “Surely there’s another alternative.”
“And what would that be, my love? Your brother is clever and well-connected. If he feels marrying the Countess Lindsay is his best option for surviving this scandal, should we not listen to him? He is the one with his future at stake. Not you or I.”
Flora huffed, then speared Niall with her piercing stare. “If you tell me right now that the incident with Lady Lindsay was an unfortunate accident you wish to handle yourself, I will leave you be. You have never needed anyone to save you from trouble, and I won’t presume to do so now.”
Niall dropped his head to the seat back, scrubbing roughly at his jaw. “It was an accident. But that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t appreciate your help. I need this engagement to proceed in a respectable manner. Although considering your own hasty wedding, perhaps you’re not the one to speak about respectability,” he finished with a dry tone.
His sister’s answering chuckle was merry and not at all offended. “I cannot argue with that. If you’re looking to lend some respectability to this union, I recommend conferring with our sister. And since Juliana was present when the incident took place, I’m sure she’s already lobbying on your behalf.”
Christ, but he hoped so.
“Did you visit the countess today?” Amstead asked as his fingers played idly with the fine hairs on Flora’s neck, a strangely intimate move.
Niall fidgeted slightly at the sight, but he couldn’t deny that it eased his mind to see how devoted Amstead was to his fiery sister.
Only when the pair stared at him with raised brows did Niall remember the man had asked him a question. “I didn’t visit Lady Lindsay today. Perhaps I will tomorrow.”
“Niall!” Flora smacked a palm against her thigh, upsetting the liquor in her glass. She ignored it. “You must visit the countess as soon as possible. She has probably been inundated with visits from the ton’s most horrid busybodies, and you cannot leave her to fend off their waspish words and innuendos on her own.”
Regret curdled in his gut. He should have visited Lady Lindsay, if only to give credence to their supposed engagement. And perhaps he would feel better about the situation if he actually had a chance to discuss it with the countess, and discover how she felt about an engagement.
Unwilling to admit his thoughts to his sister, he murmured, “I keep a busy schedule. You know this. I can’t just drop my appointments for visiting hours.”
As Flora groaned, pressing a palm to her forehead, Amstead slowly shook his head. “You’re not going to have any appointments to keep if you don’t get this scandal under control.”
…
For the tenth time that afternoon, Alicia contemplated feigning illness so she could flee her busy drawing room and the plague of visitors who had descended upon her modest townhome like a swarm of locusts. The ton’s busybodies had requested entry into her drawing room like specters of doom, words of concern dripping from their lips like penance.
The ladies had never been rude to her in the past, no doubt considering her, the widowed countess of a Scottish earl, beneath their notice.
But now, well, now the women acted like they were the best of friends.
She considered the three elegantly attired women on the damask settee across from her. They had visited yesterday, admired her day dress, approved of her decor, and offered complimentary words over her tea tray. Alicia braced herself for them to reveal the true reason for their visit, and when it arrived she’d been prepared. She hadn’t been the wife of a political-minded earl for ten years without learning a thing or two about how to answer a question without really answering it.
The ladies had politely left at the appointed time, none the wiser about the real reason behind her engagement to Lord Inverray than they had been when they’d stepped over her threshold.
They returned today, though.
Alicia knew they would, just as she knew low, dark clouds heralded rain. But she was not about to give them what they wanted. The truth of what happened between her and Inverray would never grace the broadsheets or gossip columns, so long as she could help it.
Thus she was incensed he had not come to call. How were they to settle on a united story if he continued to ignore her, all but leaving her to the wolves?
Pressing her lips into a firm line, she glanced out the large window that overlooked North Audley Street, dread settling in her stomach like a stone when she saw more ladies walking down the lane toward her front door. When would this cursed day be over?
“Lady Lindsay?”
Alicia blinked, refocusing on her guests. Had they actually asked her something that required a response?
“I was just telling the ladies that my daughter, Lady Claire, said she saw you in an intense conversation with the marquess while you danced.” Lady Dunmore narrowed her eyes. “Was she mistaken?”
Smothering a flame of irritation, Alicia lifted a shoulder. “Well, I suppose any discussion of marriage could be labeled as intense, especially with a gentleman of Lord Inverray’s stature.”
“He is quite an important man.” Lady Dunmore leaned forward in her seat. “Are you prepared for the life of political hostess? His lordship will need your support.”
“You forget that I was married to a politician before,” Alicia pointed out gently. “I assure you that I am quite prepared to be of support to the marquess, even if we disagree on policies at times.”
“Why would you discuss political policies with the marquess?” The Marchioness of Lampley wrinkled her nose. “Surely a gentleman does not want to debate politics with a woman when he could be flirting with her instead.”
Surely. Fighting to keep her temper proved difficult, but Alicia had become a master at pushing down her true thoughts and reactions. “That’s assuming Lord Inverray is an ordinary gentleman. I believe he’s proven he’s anything but.”
The women collectively laughed, and Alicia hoped it was the end of the conversation. That hope was dashed almost immediately.
“Inverray may be a bit bold and rugged, but he’s been known to dally discreetly here or there.” Lady Lampley arched a brow at Lady Dunmore. “Wasn’t he carrying on with Lady Ellis some time ago?”
Alicia knew the woman had dropped the tidbit precisely to jab at her, and she was not going to respond…even if thoughts of Inverray with the lovely brunette beauty made her stomach twist with an emotion she refused to call jealousy.
“From my understanding, the marquess broke it off with Lady Ellis as he was preparing to launch his bid for Prime Minister.” Sliding her gimlet gaze to Alicia, Lady Dunmore frowned.
All the unspoken things Lady Dunmore did not say rang loudly in the dubious note in her voice. Lady Ellis not only possessed beauty, but as the daughter of a marquess who had been married to a marquess, she possessed impressive connections that would aide Inverray’s quest to claim the party leader position. In comparison, Alicia was the daughter of a country gentleman and the widow of a well-liked Scottish earl, whose personal connections were flimsy at best.
How she longed to say, But it is my words, my critiques, that will make the marquess an excellent Prime Minister. He has listened to me and heeded my words.
But who would believe her if she touted such a claim?
Alicia cleared her throat. “I have not had the pleasure of meeting Lady Ellis, but I’m certain I would like her if I did.”
“Are you ready to leave your widow’s weeds behind and become Lady Inverray?” Lady Dunmore asked.
Alicia could not reveal her stress and uncertainty at yoking herself to a man she only knew as well as the footman who cleared her breakfast every morning. Nor could she share how the thought of giving up the first taste of freedom she’d had her entire life had left her sobbing into all hours of the night. How utterly depressing.
While she debated how to respond, the door to the drawing room swung open. She frowned, exasperated by the show of dramatics…until the impressive figure of the Marquess of Inverray was revealed.
Alicia managed to rip her eyes from the expanse of his powerful shoulders and how they filled the doorframe, to take in his perfectly tailored coat, the understated blue waistcoat that brought out the blue hints in his gray eyes, and the sleek trousers that emphasized his muscular thighs. Alicia knew the marquess’s sister was a renowned horsewoman, but she suspected Lord Inverray had spent more than enough time on the back of a horse to earn such an impressive physique.
The room abruptly felt too crowded. The atmosphere thick and stifling. A bead of sweat slid between her breasts, and Alicia couldn’t blame the heat on the temperature.
Inverray’s gaze immediately found her, ensnaring her gaze and holding it.
Alicia curled her hands over the armrests and gripped them tightly. Her presumptive fiancé had finally come to call, and Alicia didn’t know whether to throttle him or bury her face in his chest and demand he tell her everything would be well.