Page 6 of One Night of Scandal (Fairleigh Sisters #2)

I blushed before his bold proposal…

HAYDEN HAD JUST SUNK DEEP INTO THE feather mattress of his rented bed, his exhausted muscles groaning with relief, when an all too familiar banging sounded belowstairs.

“Surely you jest,”

he muttered, throwing himself to his back and glaring up at the underside of the bed’s wooden canopy. The one thing he’d looked forward to in London was a few nights of uninterrupted sleep. But it seemed even that was to be denied him.

Not even that rascal Ned could have devised a torture this diabolical. Hayden was a man who valued his solitude above all other comforts, yet in the space of a few hours his privacy had been besieged by a snooping virgin, an insolent strumpet, and an irate duke. Perhaps Ned had returned to confess that the entire nightmare had been one colossal joke, that the delectable debutante and her infuriated brother-in-law were only actors hired to perform in some ridiculous farce of which he’d become the unwitting lead.

But if that were true, then the woman he’d held in his arms tonight had been an accomplished actress indeed. Any Fleet Street doxy could mimic passion, but the innocence he’d tasted in her kiss was not so easily feigned.

The banging ceased. Hayden soaked in the blissful silence, afraid to breathe. Perhaps it had just been his valet or one of the other servants, stumbling back from their night of revelry at one of the local gin shops.

He rolled to his side and plumped up his pillow, determined to steal at least a fitful nap before sunrise.

The banging resumed—sharp and persistent.

Throwing back the covers, Hayden jumped out of the bed. He jerked on his dressing gown, yanking the sash in a careless knot. Snatching up a candlestick, he went storming down the stairs, cursing himself for having ever given the servants the night off in the first place. For a man who wanted nothing more than to be left alone, his company was certainly in very high demand these days.

As he flung open the door, the last person he expected to find standing on his stoop was Carlotta Anne Fairleigh.

She opened her mouth.

He closed the door.

There was a brief pause, then the banging resumed, twice as forceful as before.

Hayden threw open the door, using the full advantage of his height to glare down at his uninvited guest. She’d changed out of her torn gown and now looked less ravished than ravishing in a maroon skirt and a fur-trimmed spencer of emerald green velvet. The short jacket hugged her trim waist and accentuated the gentle curves of her bosom. She’d even crowned her curls with a saucy felt hat topped with a pink feather. Oddly enough, it was the defiant angle of that jaunty little feather that gave Hayden’s heart an unexpected tug. If she was nonplussed at being confronted with six feet, two inches of angry male wearing nothing but a burgundy dressing gown and a ferocious scowl, she hid it well.

“Good evening, Miss Fairleigh. Or should I say good morning?”

He searched the empty street behind her. A public hack was just disappearing around the corner, crushing his hopes of ridding himself of her quickly.

“Are you alone or should I expect an outraged uncle or second cousin to come leaping out of the bushes at me at any minute, brandishing a rapier?”

“I’m alone,”

she replied, although she did flick a nervous gaze over her shoulder.

“That’s what I was afraid of. Shouldn’t there be a nursemaid or a nanny to see that you’re tucked safely away in your bed? Hiring one would prevent a great deal of bother—especially for me.”

Hayden was struggling to forget that only a short while ago, he had come dangerously close to tucking her into his. Although if he had got her off her feet, he doubted they would have made it any farther than the Grecian couch in the study. At least the first time.

She sighed.

“As I tried to explain to you earlier, Lord Oakleigh, I’ve been out of the nursery for quite some time now.”

“Which means you should be old enough to understand the perils of engaging a public hack and visiting a lone gentleman in the privacy of his home in the middle of the night without a chaperone.”

Clutching her silk reticule as if it were a talisman, she drew herself up.

“According to my family, my reputation is already in ruins. I have nothing left to lose.”

“If that’s what you believe, Miss Fairleigh,”

he said softly.

“then you are far more young and naive than I first thought.”

Although she forced herself to hold his gaze, a becoming blush tinged her cheekbones.

Feeling like the worst sort of bully, Hayden sighed and stepped out of the doorway.

“You may as well come in before someone sees you. There might still be one or two people in London who aren’t aware that I’ve added debauching debutantes to my catalogue of vices.”

She wasted no time in accepting his reluctant invitation. Before he could close the door, she was already heading for the study.

“Do make yourself at home while I dress,”

he called after her. “Again.”

If she could ignore his sarcastic pleasantries, surely he could ignore the hypnotic sway of her hips beneath the rippling skirt. He returned to the study a few minutes later to discover she’d stirred the dying flames in the hearth to life and settled herself in the chair before the desk as if she belonged there. If nothing else, she was resourceful.

Hayden sank into the chair behind the desk, studying her. Although there were countless poets and romantics who would doubtlessly classify her heart-shaped face as angelic, it was the spark of devilment in the heavenly blue shade of her eyes that intrigued him. Her honey brown lashes and brows provided an irresistible contrast to her golden hair. Her mouth was a lush Cupid’s bow, uptilted at the corners. Her slender nose was stylishly retroussé, but her pointed little chin betrayed more determination than was strictly fashionable.

Just as he had feared, that determination was directed toward him. Tugging off her gloves and stuffing them into her reticule, she said.

“I’m sure you must be wondering why I would disturb you at such an ungodly hour.”

Hayden suspected that she could disturb him at any hour.

“I’m simply atwitter with curiosity.”

He drummed his fingertips on the desk blotter, his dry tone implying the opposite.

She leaned forward, her expression alarmingly earnest.

“This is a bit awkward, but I was wondering if I might somehow persuade you to marry me.”

For a long moment, Hayden couldn’t speak at all. He leaned back in the chair, clearing his throat once, twice, a third time before asking.

“Are you proposing to me, Miss Fairleigh?”

“I suppose I am. Although it might make a more romantic story to tell our grandchildren if you proposed to me.”

Her hopeful tone prompted him to gentle his voice.

“I’m afraid there won’t be any grandchildren. As I explained to your guardian in no uncertain terms, I have no intention of taking another wife. Not now. Not ever. I also assured him that it would not be necessary for you and I to wed because, despite appearances to the contrary, I did not compromise you.”

As Hayden recalled the velvety softness of her breast against his palm, a pang of guilt stabbed him. Perhaps he wasn’t being completely honest, even with himself.

Undaunted by his rejection, Lottie asked.

“What if you had compromised me? What then?”

He considered his reply very carefully.

“Then I would have been compelled upon my honor as a gentleman to offer you the protection of my name.”

She bowed her head. Given his past experience with women, Hayden expected wheedling, recriminations, perhaps even a few artful tears. He did not expect her to reach up and draw off her hat. The feather drooped as she rested the scrap of felt on the edge of the desk. Her hands went searching through her hair, drawing out the pearl-tipped pins one by one until a cascade of shimmering curls came tumbling around her slender throat.

She lifted her head, giving him a look that was a smoldering mixture of invitation and innocence. Hayden felt his mouth go dry, the victim of a hunger too long denied. Her sensual boldness might have been even more affecting if he hadn’t noticed the trembling of her fingers as she reached for the cloth-covered buttons of her jacket.

Hayden was around the desk before he even realized he’d moved. He closed his hand over hers, hoping she wouldn’t notice that his own fingers were none too steady. He could feel the pounding of her heart through the heavy velvet of her jacket.

His voice was far rougher than his grip.

“Forgive my bewilderment, but have you come here to persuade me to marry you or to compromise you?”

“Either. Both. Does it really matter as long as the outcome is the same?”

She gazed up at him, desperation shining through her eagerness.

“You can’t deny that you want me. You were perfectly willing to compromise me when you thought you were paying for the privilege.”

“But the price you’re asking now is far too high.”

He studied her face through narrowed eyes.

“Your guardian is one of the wealthiest men in all of England. You no doubt possess a generous dowry. Given your fairness of face, I’m sure you’ll have no lack of suitors either now or in the future. So why on earth would you seek to wed a man with my reputation?”

She swallowed nervously, her tongue darting out to moisten her lips.

“Because I find you…irresistible?”

This time when the knock on the front door sounded, Hayden didn’t even start. But Lottie nearly jumped out of her skin.

“Stay right here,”

he commanded, giving her a warning look.

When he returned, she was sitting exactly as he had left her, staring into the leaping flames on the hearth. He tossed the missive he’d just received in her lap, making sure her guardian’s broken ducal seal was plainly visible.

Her shoulders slumped, her breath escaping her in a defeated sigh.

“If you don’t agree to marry me, then my brother-in-law will be compelled to avenge my honor on the dueling field.”

She lifted her eyes to him.

“I can’t bear the thought of Sterling risking his life over such a worthless trifle as my reputation.”

Hayden leaned against a corner of the desk.

“What makes you so sure your guardian wouldn’t win this duel?”

She drew in a shaky breath, but refused to relinquish his gaze.

“You do have a reputation as an expert marksman.”

Although Hayden’s expression didn’t so much as flicker, he heard the deafening report of two pistols fired in nearly perfect synch, smelled the bitter stench of gunpowder, saw Phillipe crumpling to the grass, stunned disbelief clouding his boyish face. But when he spoke, it was with icy calm.

“Even an expert marksman can miss when faced with an opponent of equal skill. Who’s to say that it wouldn’t be my heart’s blood spilled in this contest of yours?”

He chuckled, the dry sound devoid of humor.

“Oh, yes, according to the scandal sheets, I haven’t any heart.”

“Prove them wrong,”

Lottie challenged, that stubborn little chin of hers every bit as troublesome as he’d feared.

“By marrying me and sparing my brother-in-law’s life.”

He cocked his head to the side.

“So you have no care for your own life, only for his?”

Although her hands fitfully crumpled the piece of stationery, she managed a small, self-mocking smile.

“I just overheard Sterling talking to my sister. It seems that after tonight, all I have to look forward to is a steady parade of licentious gentlemen seeking to dandle me on their knees.”

Hayden might have smiled at the image himself if it hadn’t stirred up the brackish waters of his conscience. What if Devonbrooke was right? What if, by refusing to wed her, he had condemned her to a life spent lurking in society’s shadows? He knew just how cold those shadows could be.

It certainly wasn’t unheard of for a young woman of quality to enter the demimonde after savoring her first taste of scandal. Nor would it be difficult for a beauty such as Lottie to find a wealthy protector to pamper and cherish her. At least until some fresh new face caught his eye and he decided to pass her along to the next man. And the next. And the next…

Hayden wasn’t aware his hands had curled into fists until he felt his fingernails bite into his palms. He circled behind Lottie’s chair and leaned over her shoulder, close enough for his breath to stir the downy ringlets over her ear.

“And what if I’m one of those very men your brother-in-law was talking about? How do you know I won’t take you to my bed tonight, then send you back to your family in the morning in genuine disgrace? What’s to stop me from making you my mistress instead of my wife?”

She turned her head, the coral softness of her lips only a breath away from his.

“Your word.”

Hayden gazed into her unflinching eyes. It had been a very long time since anyone had trusted in his word. To protect her precious guardian, she was willing to sacrifice both her virtue and her pride. She would even allow his hands, bloodstained though they were, to sully her tender young flesh.

He slowly straightened and returned to the desk, where the elegant little trunk that was supposed to be making its way to Cornwall in only a few hours still sat. He should have stayed there, Hayden thought bitterly, far away from lovely young women and their meddling relatives.

This time, when he cast his gaze on his guest, it was with cool appraisal.

“Tell me, Miss Fairleigh, has your guardian provided you with a sound education?”

Although she looked somewhat taken aback by the question, she nodded.

“I spent two years at Mrs. Lyttelton’s School of Deportment for Fine Young Ladies. While there, I memorized several letters from Mrs. Chapone’s Improvement of the Mind such as ‘Politeness and Accomplishments’ and ‘The Regulation of the Heart and Affections.’ ”

She shrugged apologetically.

“I must confess I never completely mastered ‘The Government of the Temper.’ ”

“Nor did I,”

he murmured.

She ticked off the womanly graces so highly valued at such establishments on her fingers.

“I can paint a pastel watercolor, sketch a recognizable likeness, work a sampler.”

Her face brightened.

“Oh, and I’ve always excelled at the pianoforte.”

“No music,”

he said, shaking his head.

“I’ve no use for it.”

She looked even more taken aback.

“Well…then I can speak fluent French, sew a straight seam, dance the minuet, the waltz, and the—”

“Can you decline a Latin noun?”

She blinked up at him, obviously having never considered that a required skill for a wife.

“Excuse me?”

“Can you decline a Latin noun?”

he repeated with just the faintest trace of impatience. Giving the leather globe sitting beside the desk a forceful spin, he asked.

“Can you locate Marrakesh on a globe? Can you tell me in which year the Ostrogoths conquered Rome? Have you any useful knowledge at all that doesn’t involve hemming handkerchiefs or trodding all over your dancing master’s poor aching feet?”

Her jaw had gone taut with the effort it was taking to govern her temper at that moment.

“First, second, third, fourth, or fifth declension?”

Without awaiting his reply, she snapped.

“Marrakesh is the capital of southern Morocco, which lies in the northwest corner of Africa. And the Ostrogoths never conquered Rome, the Visigoths did. In 409 A.D., if I’m not mistaken.”

It was all Hayden could do not to growl at his own folly. If she had turned out to be a silly young miss with her head stuffed full of useless trifles, he might have dismissed her to her fate without a moment’s regret.

As he grabbed her hand and tugged her to her feet, her guardian’s challenge went tumbling unheeded to the rug. He started for the door of the study with her stumbling along behind him, taking three steps to every one of his long strides.

“Where are you taking me?”

she demanded breathlessly.

“Are you going to compromise me?”

He came to an abrupt halt in the doorway, wheeled around, and dragged her back to the desk. He retrieved her hat and slapped it on her head. The feather drooped over her pert nose, making her sneeze.

“No, Miss Fairleigh,”

he said through clenched teeth.

“I’m bloody well going to marry you.”

As the marquess’s elegant chaise went rolling through the deserted avenues of the West End, the shuttered windows of the town houses and mansions gazed back at Lottie like sleepy eyes. The first pink fingers of dawn had yet to streak the sky. Even the most diligent of servants would still be abed at this time of the morning.

Which was why Lottie’s stomach sank when they rounded the corner to find Devonbrooke House ablaze with light. She stole a glance at Hayden, but his set features revealed nothing.

The front door of the mansion stood ajar. Lottie and Hayden slipped inside. The servants were scurrying back and forth across the foyer in such a blind panic that no one even seemed to notice their arrival.

Sterling came striding out of the drawing room, his face haggard with exhaustion.

“What do you mean she’s missing?”

he shouted.

“How can she be missing? I sent her to bed hours ago.”

Cookie trotted after him, looking close to tears.

“Her bed is empty, Your Grace. And it doesn’t appear to have been slept in at all.”

Laura trailed behind them.

“Do you think she might have run away? Perhaps she was afraid we were going to force her to marry that monster.”

Beneath her hand, Lottie felt Hayden’s arm stiffen. Before she could think of something clever to say, Addison came marching in from the library, a burnished mahogany case resting on his extended palms.

The butler stopped in front of Sterling with a click of his heels, his face reflecting the gravity of his mission.

“Your pistols, Your Grace, freshly oiled and loaded.”

“Perhaps we should go,”

Lottie whispered, trying to tug Hayden back toward the door.

“This might not be the best time to share our joyful news.”

“On the contrary,”

Hayden whispered back.

“Your guardian appears to be in dire need of some joy.”

Before Lottie could protest, he captured her hand and marched forward, tugging her along behind him.

Warned by Cookie’s gasp, Sterling turned. “You!”

he exclaimed.

“What in the devil are you doing here? Haven’t you done enough harm to this family for one night?”

As Lottie stumbled into view, Sterling added softly.

“No. It appears you haven’t.”

“If you’ll just give me five minutes to explain—”

Lottie began.

“I’m only interested in the answer to one question,”

Sterling said.

“Did you spend the night in his bed?”

Keenly aware of the warm fingers laced through hers, Lottie felt a flush creep into her cheeks.

“Now see here,”

Hayden said, stepping forward.

“I won’t have you impugning the young lady’s honor.”

“It’s not her honor that concerns me!”

Sterling shouted.

“It’s your lack of it. But there’s no need to discuss that here. What’s between us can be settled on the dueling field.”

“I came to inform you that there won’t be any need for a duel,”

Hayden said.

Sterling gave him a long, level look before saying coolly.

“No, I don’t suppose there will.”

As he flipped open the lid of the case in Addison’s hands, Cookie shrieked and Laura lunged for his arm. Easily shaking off his wife’s grip, Sterling drew out one of the loaded pistols and leveled it at the marquess’s heart.

Although Hayden didn’t so much as flinch, Lottie threw herself in front of him as if her slight form could protect him from a pistol ball.

“Put away the gun, Sterling! His intentions toward me are honorable. He came here to ask for my hand in marriage.”

Although Sterling slowly lowered the pistol, his narrow gaze never left the marquess’s face.

“Is that true?”

“It is,”

Hayden replied.

“Why the sudden change of heart? When I spoke to you only a few hours ago, you swore you’d never take another bride.”

Hayden’s hands closed over Lottie’s shoulders, their possessive heat making her shiver.

“I’m sure I don’t have to tell you how persuasive your sister-in-law can be.”

Sterling’s gaze shifted to Lottie.

“And what about you? I suppose next you’ll be trying to convince me that you’ve fallen madly in love with him.”

For some reason, Lottie was thankful Hayden couldn’t see her face as she looked her guardian in the eye and said.

“Many long and solid marriages have been built on far more stable foundations than love.”

Sterling’s shoulders slumped in defeat, as he realized she had overheard his own damning words. Handing the pistol back to a dazed-looking Addison, he snapped.

“Come with me, Oakleigh. We’ll discuss this in the drawing room.”

As the door slammed behind the two men, Lottie looked over to find Laura gazing at her through a sheen of helpless tears.

“Oh, Lottie, what have you gone and done now?”

Lottie drew herself up, forcing a shaky smile.

“I seem to have landed a marquess.”