Page 93 of Making of a Scandal

A fire had been lit, and a lamp rested on the desk, revealing the waiting missive. He took his time storing the most important of his documents in his safe, removing his coat, and rolling up his sleeves. Then, he finally went to the desk, settling in his chair and retrieving what turned out to be multiple pages closed with wax but bearing no seal.

Dread chilled his blood as he opened it to find a short note written in a haphazard scrawl.

Hyde Park, the Serpentine. Monday afternoon, 5 o’clock. Come alone. Don’t look for me, I will come to you.

Benedict sniffed, finding an unmistakable fragrance wafting from the page. One he knew well.

Lily of the valley. It had emanated from the London Gossip when she’d accosted him in that alley. He’d registered it then and it had niggled a memory in the back of his mind, one he still couldn’t seem to unearth no matter how hard he tried. Apparently, she wasn’t finished toying with him.

“Devious little bitch,” he growled, pushing her note aside to unveil the second page.

What he found made his entire body go numb. The page fluttered as his hands shook, and he worked to steady them so he could read the latest copy ofThe London Gossip, dated for tomorrow and apparently scheduled to be delivered to subscribers first thing in the morning.

His teeth ground together, his temples throbbing and jaw aching as the entire world seemed to drop out from beneath his feet.

At last, dear readers, I can now fulfill my promise to expose the nefarious workings of the secret agency known as the Gentleman Courtesans. This writer happened to receive a firsthand account from a lady who claims to have had a nine-month affair with one of these so-called gentlemen—a tall, dark-haired man whose father happens to be an earl. Under the promise of anonymity, she has told me all. I must warn you that what I have to share is shocking in the extreme, but it would be irresponsible of me to withhold the details knowing that these lecherous men are among us, corrupting the ladies of our society with their licentious ways.

Benedict jumped to his feet, the paper fluttering to the floor and his chair toppling over. He panted like a bull, his movements stiff and jerky as he paced the room, trying and failing to keep his mounting rage under control. He’d done his best to rein it all in, keeping it just under the surface of his skin, always simmering, always there, but tightly leashed. He allowed it to the surface long enough to dispatch his opponents during his boxing matches, but always reeled it back in, leaving it to fester until the next time.

But, just now, there was no outlet for the black wrath welling in him and threatening to boil over. He snatched up a paperweight and hurled it across the room with a guttural roar. It shattered the nearest window before hurtling out into the night.

“Fuck!” he bellowed, swiping the contents of his desk onto the floor, pounding his fist on the surface, and slamming the toe of his boot against the side for good measure. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

There were no other words to encompass the path of his thoughts. For, the London Gossip was officially waging war with him, and she already had the upper hand.

He was well and truly fucked.