The Birthday Scandal (42 page)

Gavin handed her a big white square. “So what are we going to do?”

She blew her nose quietly and then toyed with the linen, folding it precisely so she didn’t have to look at him. “I suppose,” she said very quietly, “in that case, we’ll just have to live in
this
castle.”

Isabel couldn’t find Lucien or Chloe or Emily anywhere. Even the Earl of Chiswick and the Duke of Weybridge seemed to have disappeared.

She was distracted for a moment when she spotted the duke’s wheeled chair sitting empty in the most secluded corner of the great hall. But she concluded the footmen might have carried the duke upstairs without it. Isabel was only surprised that Uncle Josiah had stuck it out for so long. He’d had a very strenuous day—by the time he gave in and retired, he might have been too exhausted even to sit upright any longer.

She made a full round of the great hall and came back to the little knot of onlookers still gawking at Lady Fletcher and whispering behind their hands.

Lady Stone had put the vinaigrette away and was discussing some sort of wager with an elderly gentleman of military bearing.

He shook his head. “You’ll have to do better than that, Lucinda.”

“Oh, all right. I’ll give you four to one, you chiseler.” She broke off and looked past Isabel. “Here they come.”

Isabel swung around, expecting to see Emily, or Lucien. Instead, the Earl of Chiswick came slowly across the great hall, pushing the duke in his wheeled chair and pausing here and there to speak to someone in the crowd. Far from being an exhausted hulk, Uncle Josiah had more color in his face than he’d displayed all week.

Mr. Lancaster came up beside her. “What’s all the excitement about?”

Lady Stone answered. “It appears that Hartford and Miss Fletcher are to be married.”

He snickered, and then gave way to a belly laugh. “Now
that’s
funny.”

Isabel wasn’t about to ask him to explain the joke. She moved aside and surveyed the room again. Surely by now Emily should have reappeared. Where could she have gone?

“Tell me, Chiswick,” Lady Stone rasped. “Did I do well to bet on young Athstone?”

The earl bowed. “I am pleased to announce that my daughter Emily is betrothed to Lord Athstone.”

Emily and Gavin, Isabel thought with a wave of pleasure. She’d thought for days they would make a good combination, and Emily was eminently suited to be a duchess. Isabel was so delighted at the news that she momentarily forgot her own troubles.

Then Lancaster spoke up, loud enough to be heard even above the orchestra. “The truth is that Chiswick found Athstone with Lady Emily…ahem…
in fagrante delicto
in the smoking room. But of course he’s not going to tell you that part.”

Isabel’s joy dried up in an instant. If Emily was being forced into this marriage, the gossip tonight would be only the start. And this time all the talk would be much more difficult to bear.

But why take Lancaster’s word for it? Perhaps Isabel’s first instinct had been right and Emily was happy. “How would
you
know?”

“I was there, Lady Isabel.” His voice had the ring of truth. “It was quite a scene.”

Beside Isabel, Maxwell murmured, “What a rare party this has been. Lucien stealing your father’s promised bride, Athstone compromising Emily, or possibly vice versa…Do the Ardens actually go looking for scandal, or does it just naturally cling to you?”

Isabel turned on him. “Can I possibly make it any plainer that I would like you to go away?”

“No, you’ve been quite clear,” Maxwell said easily. “But my name is on your card and the supper waltz is just starting.”

“I am not going to waltz with you, Maxwell.”

“Very well.” He started a low and unusually courtly bow—but before Isabel knew what was happening, he draped her over his shoulder and straightened up, his arm tight around her knees and her head dangling down his back.

“What are you
doing
?” she shrieked.

“Improvising. There have already been two scandals at this ball, so why not another one?”

He carried her straight across the center of the great hall, scattering the dancers, and through the back rooms toward the new wing. On the staircase he slowed down a bit, but when he reached Isabel’s bedroom he was still breathing easily.

Which was more than Isabel could say for herself, since it was difficult to get adequate air when she was upside down with a shoulder directly under her diaphragm.

He dropped her on the bed and straddled her hips to hold her there, sitting back on his heels so he loomed over her. “I wouldn’t advise struggling unless you intend to turn that dress into rags. What was it again that you wanted to talk to me about after the ball? Ah, yes. Mistresses.”

“I’d be happy never to talk to you again,” Isabel said.

He braced his hands above her shoulders and leaned over her. His lips brushed hers and she turned her head away. All she accomplished, however, was to put her ear right next to his mouth, so he traced the outline of it with the tip of his tongue.

She gritted her teeth. “Stop it!”

“I didn’t think you could make that resolution work for long,” he whispered straight into her ear. “The not-talking part, I mean. But I’d be happy to make love to you first, if—”

“No! Get off me!”

“You have to promise to stay here and listen.”

Isabel considered and gave a jerky nod.

Maxwell rolled to one side, pulling her with him so they lay face-to-face, only inches separating them. “It’s pretty clear Lady Murdoch is your main concern. Right?”

She didn’t bother to answer.

“First, I didn’t arrange for her to be here. She wasn’t invited—her husband was, because he’s an old friend of your uncle’s, and she seems to have borrowed his invitation. Second, I did have a
tendre
for the lady a long time ago—before she was married and before I acquired enough common sense to realize that beauty doesn’t make up for a grasping nature. She is not and has never been my mistress.”

“She’d like to be,” Isabel muttered. “And now that she’s given her husband his heir—”

“Neither her wishes nor Murdoch’s heir are any concern of ours. There’s only one heir in the world I’m interested in.”

Isabel’s eyes brimmed with tears, and she turned her head away, trying to hide them.

“But the fact that she bothers you, my dear…”

“She doesn’t. I mean—she’s not the only thing that bothers me.”

“Then it’s Kilburn?” He sighed. “It’s true I wanted the property your dowry included, and your father made marrying you a very intriguing proposition when he dangled not only Kilburn in front of me, but the rest.”

“
The rest
? He gave you more than just Kilburn?”

“Your father never told you? I suppose that’s no surprise. Chiswick has always played his cards close to his chest. But don’t worry. Keep your word, and you’ll finally have what you’ve wanted all this time.” He sounded almost bitter.

Beauty doesn’t make up for a grasping nature,
he had said a few minutes ago about Elspeth Murdoch. Did he think that phrase described Isabel too?

But why should she feel guilty for trying to provide for herself? She wasn’t the one whose conscience was burdened with a ruined mistress, a secret child, the death of a friend…

“It’s not Kilburn, either.” She had to steady her voice before she could go on. “You say you’re only interested in your heir, but what about the other child? Miss Lester’s child?”

He went as still and cold as a frozen lake. “That doesn’t have anything to do with you.”

“Yes, it does!” She surged up from the bed and onto her feet. “It was bad enough when you left me on our wedding night to stand up as a second to the scoundrel who disgraced my sister. You betrayed me, and you betrayed Emily.”

“And I’ve been sorry for it ever since.” He sat on the edge of the mattress. “Philip Rivington was my friend, Isabel.”

“Quite a good friend, it seems. Close enough to die for you!”

Her words fell in a silence as deep as a chasm. “What are you talking about?”

“I was outside the folly this afternoon. I heard it all—everything you told Lady Murdoch. Odd that it never occurred to me until today to wonder why Philip Rivington fought that duel—why he didn’t just marry Miss Lester instead. But if the real father of her child couldn’t marry her, because he was already married…” She gulped. “Already married
to me
…”

Maxwell’s face went white. “You think I sent Philip out to take a bullet for me?”

“Why else would you have left your bride on your wedding night—unless you had no choice?”

“I
didn’t
have a choice. Philip swore to me that he was innocent.”

“You believed him?”

“He assured me Miss Lester had lied to her brother when she said Philip had seduced her—that it must have been a gardener or a footman or a stable boy who got her with child, but she didn’t want to admit it. It wouldn’t be the first time a gentleman was accused without proof.” His tone was dry. “Or the last, it seems.”

But Isabel had heard the evidence, in his own words. Hadn’t she?

“It wasn’t until the bullet struck and he knew his time was short that Philip admitted the truth. With his dying breath, he finally owned up. He took advantage of that girl, he seduced her, and he promised marriage. It was a promise he never intended to keep.”

She stared at him.

Almost casually, Maxwell said, “I wondered why Elspeth asked me to meet her in the folly today, when there were so many more convenient places. But how did she get you to come all that way, so you could conveniently overhear what she phrased so carefully in order to mislead you?”

“It wasn’t only what
she
said. You told her you were responsible.”

“Yes, because I feel responsible. I believed Philip and I supported him—and I was absolutely wrong.”

Isabel felt dizzy.

“If he had told me the truth, or if I had taken the time to ask more questions, I would have prevented that duel. I would have forced Philip to offer marriage to the young woman he had ruined. She would have had a reluctant cad for a husband, but perhaps she would have preferred that. At least she’d have been able to choose.”

Try as she might, Isabel could hear nothing in his voice but sadness—and truth.

He closed his eyes for a moment as if picturing the scene in his mind. “Could you see Elspeth this afternoon—in the folly?”

“I glimpsed that bright red skirt of hers. Why?”

“That means she could see you, too, in your yellow dress. Her timing was perfect. Well, at least we know how we were played for fools.” He stood up. “I hope you’ll be able to sleep. I don’t expect I will.”

He was leaving her—and God help her, she didn’t want him to go. But she had accused him of cowardice, of dishonor…
It wouldn’t be the first time a gentleman was accused without proof,
he had said.
Or the last.

Isabel’s hand went to her throat, where a massive lump made her breathing jerky. “Max, wait.”

He turned to look at her, stern and solemn. “What is it, Isabel?”

Her feet seemed to have taken root in the carpet. She couldn’t move, and she didn’t know what to say. “The necklace.” She fumbled with the catch, and when the river of diamonds came free she thrust it at him.

Carelessly, he shoved it into a pocket.

Isabel rubbed her throat. “You’ll keep your word? About Kilburn?” As soon as the words were out, she wanted to bite her tongue off, for she’d done it again—questioning his honor.

He swore under his breath. “I shall keep my word.”

“And you’ll hold me to mine?”

“I don’t know,” he said slowly.

Isabel’s heart sank, and her shoulders sagged.

“Yes, damn it—I
will
hold you to your bargain. On the day my son is born, I will sign Kilburn over to you. Then your duty will be finished and you can do as you like. Take a lover. Take a dozen lovers.”

She whispered, “I don’t want a lover.”

“Do you think I care, Isabel?” He was almost shouting. “Maybe you’re lucky and you’re already pregnant, and this entire discussion is pointless!” He flung open the door between their rooms.

“I hope not,” she whispered. “I hope I’m not pregnant.”

He seemed to freeze. “Because you can’t face the idea of carrying my child?”

“No.” Carefully, wary of her trembling knees, she eased around him until she was between him and the door. “I am so sorry for what I said to you.”

“No doubt you are—because you risked everything when you accused me, didn’t you?”

“That’s not…Don’t you see? If I didn’t care about you, Max, none of it would matter. Not Elspeth Murdoch. Not Miss Lester or her child. You’re my husband, and…and you’ve made me love you.” She had to stop for a moment and fight to draw a breath. “I don’t mean to be a nuisance about it, but…I had to tell you just this once. I had to explain why I was so angry—and why I’m so sorry now that I didn’t trust you.”

He hadn’t moved.

That gave her a little more hope. “Max,” she whispered, “please. Will you just hold me for what’s left of the night? Just hold me.”

“I can’t hold you and not make love to you.”