Wickeds Scandal (The Wickeds) (23 page)

The crone chuckled at his discomfort.
‘The woman you desire above all others will belong to one whom you wish to
destroy.  You will never possess her.”

The memory dimmed and he was once again
at the Royal Exhibition. Sutton clenched his fists tightly.  He didn’t
believe in prophecy.

Nicholas Tremaine, Viscount Lindley,
strolled into White’s watching with amusement as liveried toadies ran to take
his cloak.   He shrugged the wet wool off his massive shoulders and
threw the cloak at one of the scurrying men.  The other toadies looked at
Nicholas in thinly veiled disapproval, but their mouths remained firmly
shut.  Nicholas was barely admitted at Whites and he was sure the
admittance committee brought up his disbarment from the establishment on an
annual basis.  It was of no import.  If one was the heir to a wealthy
dukedom, no matter the infamy of that dukedom, one was admitted to
White’s.  Besides, he wasn’t here to bask in the aura of the indolent
gentlemen that filled the rooms.  He was here for Satan Reynolds.

Nicholas called earlier for Cam at his
friend’s home, only to be told by the butler, some arrogant Scots that Cam
employed, that his lordship had left that afternoon to hear Lord Bishop
speak.  No one adored a boring, tedious lecture more than Cam, but it was
past the dinner hour and his friend had not returned home.  Given that Cam
seemed to attract persons who wished to murder him since his return from Macao,
Nicholas thought it appropriate to locate his best friend.

Nicholas next approached Cambourne House,
praying as he rarely did, that he would not have to make polite niceties with
Cam’s stepmother, the Marchioness.  Lady Reynolds annoyed Nicholas so
fiercely that when he saw her, his hands itched to snap her neck.  He well
remembered her treatment of Cam during his entire childhood, and how she’d
forced his departure to Macao.  Nicholas hated the woman. 

Nicholas started to ask for the Dowager
at the door but was stopped by the appearance of Miranda.  Cam’s sister
was not a woman given to hysterics.  She looked quite lovely in her
distress, but Nicholas ignored his attraction to her since it would likely
result in his death at her brother’s hands.  Instead he sat down with
Miranda and gently asked her what in bloody hell had happened?  Between
sobs, Miranda related that Archie Runyon was back in London and betrothed to
someone named Alexandra.   Before Nicholas could ask why any of that
mattered, Miranda flew up the stairs in a fit of tears. 

Nicholas pushed aside Miranda’s behavior
earlier and returned his attention to the great room of White’s.
 Ah! 
There he was
. Satan Reynolds!  Nicholas adored calling Cam by that
hideous nickname since he knew how his friend detested it.  Ridiculous
though the name was, it suited Cam.   Cam was entirely a devil when
it came to women.  He avoided innocents and those women who seemed to be
in love with their husbands, although those females were few and far between in
the
ton
.  Nicholas thought that sporting of Cam, not to take undue
advantage.  Because Cam could if he wished. Women flocked to him like bees
to honey, throwing themselves at him like lemmings going over a cliff. 
Cam said he only seduced the women that
deserved
to be seduced by Satan
Reynolds.

Nicholas lifted one dark brow at the
sight of Cam holding a glass of whiskey with one unsteady hand.  How the
ton
would be shocked to know that the terribly foxed man sitting before Nicholas
spoke five languages, wrote travel essays under a pen name, and would have done
well as a professor or scholar. 

 Cam sat in a dank, dark corner of
White’s, a large, expensive bottle of whiskey his only companion.  He
grunted in greeting at Nicholas and proceeded to wave an unsteady hand towards
a chair to his right. 

Nicholas assumed that an invitation of
sorts.  Eyeing the narrow leather chair, he grimaced.  Did White’s
have nothing bigger in this blasted place?  For God’s sake, what did he
pay a fortune in dues for?  Whites should provide proper furniture for all
its members.  He twisted, trying to mold his large, muscular frame into
the fragile chair.   The chair protested his weight, squeaking and
wobbling a bit, but held.  Nicholas sighed in frustration. 

“Dear God, Nick!”  Cam raised an
eyebrow.   “Pray, do not destroy yet another piece of
furniture.  The Dowager is stilled distressed about the couch in her music
room.” 

“Hmm. Well that was shoddy workmanship,
although I didn’t wish to risk her offense by saying so.”

Cam grinned.  “Cobbs!” 

A man standing discreetly in the shadows
stepped forward.

“A glass for Viscount Lindley.” 

“Yes, my lord.”  The unflappable
Cobbs scurried off.

“So this is what has become of the great
and dangerous Satan Reynolds.  Sitting alone with nothing but an
over-eager servant and an expensive bottle of whiskey.”  Nicholas peered
at the bottle.  “Looks Scottish.  Likely quite peaty.”  Nicholas
sat back.  The chair groaned. “You’re horribly foxed, Cam.  What
calamity has occurred to put you in such a state? Did Bishop’s lecture not
sufficiently bore you to tears?  Did your latest volume of the history of
the pyramids not arrive on time?”

Cam scowled at him. 

“Oh, I know!  A woman was immune to
your charms!” He winked at Cam, grinning evilly.   Nicholas was
afraid of nothing in this world, certainly not Cam in a foul temper. Now the
next
world, if one believed in such things, was open for discussion. 
Nicholas wasn’t concerned.  Being one of the damned, and already destined
for hell, meant one didn’t worry about such things.

He stretched out his long legs, deciding
how to broach the subject of Runyon, without Cam going completely mad. 
Nicholas suspected the unknown Alexandra played a part in Cam’s drunken
revelry.  Curious.  Cam did not drink himself into a stupor over
women.   Time to go fishing and see what he caught.

“Who is she?”  Nicholas took a sip
of the whiskey.  The whiskey tasted warm and delicious.  A bit peaty,
with a smoky finish, as he assumed.

Cam huffed and looked away.

 Nicholas swirled the whiskey around
the inside of his mouth, savoring the amber liquid. The stuff really was
good.  He held his glass out to Cobbs who promptly refilled it. 
“Give over, Cam.”

“Alexandra Dunforth.”  Cam
slurred.  One of his eyes nearly shut, then snapped back open.  He
spilled a bit of the whiskey on his breeches.

Amazed, Nicholas took another sip of
whiskey.  It took an enormous amount of liquor to make Cam unsteady. 
In fact, the last time Nicholas heard Cam slur drunkenly, had been at
Eton.  Whiskey was the culprit that time as well. Cam’s tolerance for alcohol
added luster to his nickname at Eton, since he drank like the devil, with few
ill effects. Unlike poor Colin who could be found stumbling after two glasses
of Madeira.  Nicholas shook his head. 

“Alexandra Dunforth? I don’t believe I’ve
made her acquaintance.  I rather thought someone died with the long face
you’re wearing, and your sister sobbing away on my shoulder.” 

Cam sputtered.  His lips pressed
together and his brow furrowed.

“Oh don’t
frown
so, I didn’t touch
Miranda. She cried ‘
properly
’ on my shoulder.”  Nicholas popped his
knuckles and took another sip of the whiskey.  He waited.

Cam remained stubborn. 

Nicholas shrugged. He had no other
entertainment scheduled for tonight.  He regarded Cam thoughtfully. 
His friend resembled an angry, avenging angel.   St. Michael or
another enraged cherub, perhaps. A multitude of women would swoon over Cam
should they see him so upset.  Females found Cam most attractive when he
brooded.  

“I’m not sure what the problem is,”
Nicholas said with a chuckle.  “One woman is much like another. You lift
their skirts over their heads, and it’s difficult to tell them apart.  I
find throwing the skirts up cuts down on female chattiness.  The silk
tends to muffle the noise.” 

Cam did not find Nicholas’s joke to be witty.

Nicholas assumed a stern demeanor,
determined to get to the bottom of things.  “Really Cam, what is this
Alexandra Dunforth to you?  You’ve shown no pointed interest in any woman
since your return.  I’ve
never
seen you give a fig for any of the
fairer sex, excepting your sisters and the Dowager.  Did she injure you in
some way?” Nicholas’s opinion of females tended to be low in general, although
he did have a deep affection for his own sister and a healthy fear of Cam’s
grandmother, which he supposed could be construed as a type of affection. 
“Is she trying to have you murdered?  People do seem to be trying to
murder you as of late.”  

Cobbs coughed delicately from the
shadows.

Cam’s head lolled sideways.  It took
more than a moment for him to respond.

“No! She is a tiny, foul-tempered,
opinionated little Badger!  With curling hair.  Lots of it.” 
Wistfully he sighed, sloshing whiskey over the fine leather chair. 

Cobbs pursed his lips and immediately
wiped up the spill. 

“You know how I love curls.”  Cam’s
gaze tried to focus on Nicholas.

Nicholas would soon need an interpreter
if the evening went on much longer. Cam was very drunk.  “Yes, you’ve
mentioned that to me before.  Every curly-haired whore in London
propositioned you after you voiced your preference at Covent Garden. 
Ladies of the
ton
swarmed Bond Street purchasing every curling iron
available after you spoke of your obsession at Lord Meriam’s fete.  So
Alexandra is curly haired.   That is not an excuse for your present
state. Did she refuse your attentions?  Is she insane? Crazed?  
Does she not know you are a great seducer of women?”  Nicholas pretended
shock.

“Yes.  I mean,
no
. 
Well, I don’t know.  I don’t think she’s mad.”  Cam struggled to sit
up.  “Nick, she is
betrothed
.”  Cam’s handsome features
contorted into misery.

“Perhaps you can have her after the
wedding?  I’m not sure a husband in the picture presents much problem if a
woman is willing.  I still remember Lord Ranson shooting off his
toe.”  A deep belly laugh erupted from Nicholas.  The chair shook.

Across the room, a group of gentlemen sat
discussing politics or something equally dull.  The men turned towards
Nicholas in unison, frowning in disapproval. One man, overdressed in a hideous
dark plum jacket, put his pudgy fingers to his lips and made a
shushing
noise.  The man turned back to his friends, nodding as if to say he’d
taken care of the issue. He shot Nicholas a self-satisfied smile.

Nicholas bared his teeth and
growled. 

A portly man sitting next to Mr. Hideous
Plum Coat mouthed the words ‘
Devil of Dunbar’
and attempted to point
discreetly at Nicholas. 

The men nervously looked away from
Nicholas and Cam.  After a moment, the men scattered like a flock of
frightened geese.

“You see, Cam, I can clear a room in no time.” 
Nicholas attempted to sound flippant.  Sometimes it was
hard
to be
one of the damned.

His friend took a deep breath.  His
forehead creased. Worry stamped every line of his handsome features. 
“Archie is back, Nick.  He is here, in London.  That bitch my father
had the bad sense to marry neglected to inform the family.   The news
sent Grandmother to bed for two days.”

“A terrible pity that bastard didn’t die
abroad.  It would have saved you the eventual trouble of killing
him.  Shame your father spared his life.  What is he up to, do you
suppose? Does Elizabeth –?”

“No.  She remembers nothing, thank
God.”  Cam’s brow furrowed again.  “At least, we don’t think she
does.”   

“I would be happy to dispose of him,
should you wish it. Consider it a favor.”  Deadly serious, Nicholas sipped
at his whiskey.   He was quite good at killing men.  A useful
skill if one was already destined for hell.

“No.  I will do..do..do it
myself.  When the time comes,” Cam stuttered. 

Nicholas thought the time likely
near.  The hourglass measuring Archie’s life had started to run out the
moment he returned to London.  Nicholas did not think it coincidence that
Archie returned just as the attempts on Cam’s life multiplied. “What does
Archie have to do with your Miss Dunforth?”

“She’s…she’s…inclined to wed him.” 
Cam looked incredibly sad. Bereft even.

Shocked, Nicholas took a deep draught of
the whiskey.  Not sure what to think of
that
piece of information.
“What would you
want
with a woman that is inclined to marry
Runyon?”  He pretended to pick a spot of lint off his coat. 

“She is a
badger
.  Badgers
are not like other women. She is only marrying him because of the
Abbess.” 

“She is marrying him because some papist
nun is forcing her?” 

“No.  Jush lishen to me.” 
Cam’s head rolled around.  “Abbey.  I meant Abbey.  Helmsby
Abbey.  It’s a place where all badgers wish to be.”

That didn’t make a bit of sense to
Nicholas.  The only thing that did make sense was Cam’s obvious
infatuation with this Alexandra.  Unless Archie Runyon had changed
drastically after receiving a beating from Sutton’s father, which Nicholas
found doubtful, Nicholas could not fathom a woman who would wish to marry
Archie unless….  He decided to broach a difficult topic.