Far Beyond Scandalous (13 page)

Once he was certain he had her
complete attention, he launched his attack.
 
Quickly and quietly, just as his father had taught him.
 
"Are you questioning the decision of
Lord Marcus Cheltenham, the Viscount Breckenright?" Gibson asked in his
most officious yet dangerously quiet voice.
 
He chose a new mask to wear this time in hopes of striking fear into
Lady Saintwood's heart - if she had one.
 
This mask was one of an angry nobleman.
 
He liked to think that it was one he would have worn well, had he been
given the chance.
 

"Or The Earl of Evanston?
 
Or, perhaps worst of all, our beloved Prince
Regent himself?"
 
Gibson added his
signature raised eyebrow and a dark, golden-hued glower, just for fun.
 
He could appear fearsome when he chose, and
he knew it.

"I was seeing to the protection
of this young lady and her pristine reputation," Lady Saintwood sniffed in
self-righteous indignation.
 
Though if
she thought that she was any match for Gibson, she was sadly mistaken.
 
"She needs a protector, a chaperone,
and who better to provide that than her mother's longtime friend?
 
I know Thea would do the same for my Diana
were the situations reversed."
 
Lady Saintwood attempted to look indignant, but it was also clear from
the expression on her face that she had ulterior motives, as her glance kept
sliding to another box located only a few spaces away from the one Gibson had
rented.

There, in all of his oily
perfection, sat Lord Norton Drake.
 
And
his eyes were fastened on Lady Amy.
 
Or
rather Lady Amy's
décolletage, which,
Gibson had to admit, was far more revealing than he would have preferred.
 
Well, he himself could look, he supposed,
but he did not want others to do so, hypocrite that he was.

"You
are trying to arrange a marriage between Lady Amy and your nephew," Gibson
replied smoothly through tightly clenched teeth, working hard not to unleash
his boiling anger on the woman.
 
Instead, he slipped deeper into the role of the good doctor mixed with a
touch of haughty aristocrat.
 
"I
may only be a humble physician, my lady, but even I can see that you desire the
match."
 
He glanced at Amy
cautiously.
 
"While she and her
family do not.
 
As her temporary
guardian and escort, I cannot allow you to remove her from Cheltenham
House."

Lady
Saintwood drew herself up as straight as she could, though to Gibson's mind,
she still resembled nothing more than an overstuffed grape, or perhaps a toad
clad in purple silk.
 
"You are
not
her guardian, and I am removing her to my home
immediately."
 
She was huffing now,
her chest rising and falling in anger as a string of rubies glittered about her
throat, obviously not anticipating that Gibson would fight back and not simply
relent the moment she demanded Amy's removal from his care.

Glancing
at Amy, Gibson saw her nod almost imperceptibly, giving him permission to
defend her, for he would not act without her approval.
 
It was not his place.
 
However, she clearly did not want to depart
with Lady Saintwood any more than he wanted to release her.
 
His eyes dark and glittering with anger,
Gibson slowly reached into his coat pocket and produced a slip of paper.
 
"This note, I'm afraid, madam, says
otherwise."

Lady
Saintwood snatched the paper from Gibson's hand and read it quickly, her face
paling visibly as she did so.
 
"This cannot be.
 
It is in
Lord Marcus' own hand!"
 
She shook
the paper menacingly at Gibson.
 
"How did you get this?
 
How?
 
How do you have so much
power?
 
A mere physician?
 
And one from the gutter at that!"

Plucking
the paper gently from her fingers so that he might tuck it safely back inside
of his coat, Gibson offered a lazy shrug, even though he could no longer affect
a completely relaxed and easy posture.
 
He was far too agitated.
 
"I
do not know of what you speak, my lady.
 
I am, as you have so aptly pointed out, merely a physician in the royal
court.
 
I wield no power, I assure
you."
 
He glanced at Amy and then
back to the sputtering, seething woman in front of him.
 
"As distant members of the royal
family, perhaps the Cheltenhams place trust in me much as the Prince Regent
himself does.
 
It is not for me to
say.
 
It is not my place.
 
I am, as you say, a mere physician.
 
Still, my duties to the Cheltenhams, and in
particular Lady Amy, are quite clear.
 
I
cannot allow you to remove her from my care."

In
that moment, he was part affable Dr. Blackwood and part Viscount Ardenton, a
title that he would never claim.
 
And he
was twice as defiant as either would be on their own.
 
He was skirting close to dangerous territory, he knew, but he
could not allow Amy to be removed from his care, not while there was an unknown
threat still out there.

"How dare you?" Lady
Saintwood hissed, her eyes narrowing, furious at being challenged.
 
"You, who are nothing more than a
glorified tradesman and the son of a traitor!"

At that, all conversation around
them ceased, the noisy theater quieting abruptly.
 
It was one thing to deride Gibson for being a physician, a man in
trade, and of lowered circumstances.
 
It
was another entirely to mention his father.
 
It simply wasn't done.
 
Not by
proper society, anyway.
 
And especially
not in front of innocent young ladies.
 

Out of the corner of his eye, he
noted that Amy was trying her best to pretend she had not heard that last
remark.
 
Damn it!
 
He didn't want her to know, but now it
seemed as if there would be no avoiding that conversation.
 
In time, anyway.
 
Amy was far too curious to simply let the comment pass.

Turning the full fury of his glare
on Lady Saintwood, he was pleased to see the woman shrink back in fear, fully
aware that she had crossed the line of proper behavior.
 
"Dr. Blackwell, I meant..." she
began but Gibson cut her off with a slash of his hand.

"You may disparage me all you
like, my lady, for I know precisely who and what I am," he said slowly and
deliberately, his voice so calm and controlled that it was somehow worse than
if he would have been screaming, "but you may
not
mention my
father, especially in the presence of innocent young ladies.
 
Do not do so again.
 
Do I make myself clear?"

He could almost hear the indrawn
collective breath of the
ton
as they waited for Lady Saintwood's
reply.
 
Well he would not be around to
hear it.
 
Nor would Amy.

He extended his arm to her in as
gallant a fashion as he could muster, and she took it, though he could feel her
fingers trembling where she touched him.
 
He proceeded to lead her out of the box, the gray-gowned Lady Isabelle
trailing behind him silently, a look of reproach on her face as she glared at
the society matron as they passed.

As he reached the red velvet
curtain that partitioned his box off from the others, he turned back once more,
his golden eyes ablaze with barely contained fury.
 
"Lady Saintwood, if you have a problem with my escorting
Lady Amy about, I advise you to take up the matter with her brother.
 
Send him a letter.
 
Hire as many Bow Street Runners as you like to attempt to track
him down.
 
I do not care.
 
However, never again question my right to
escort Lady Amy anywhere while we are properly chaperoned."
 
He nodded to Lady Berkshire's escort.
 
"Am I understood?"

Then, without waiting for a reply,
he bowed stiffly and swept out of the box, pulling Amy along with him.
 
He was so furious that he did not realize
that her legs were trembling so much that she had difficultly keeping pace.

"I'm sorry.
 
I didn't mean to cause a scene.
 
I was only trying to protect you."
 
Those were the first words Gibson had
uttered since they had left the theater, and Amy was glad for them.
 
It was better than the interminable silence
she had endured from the moment they had entered the Evanston family carriage
that would take them back to Mayfair.

Anything, even an unnecessary
apology, was better than that awful silence.

"It was not your fault,"
Amy replied gently, wishing that they could return to the easy teasing and
companionship of earlier in the evening.
 
One ugly moment had seemingly changed everything, but she did not know
how or why.
 
"Lady Saintwood is a
scheming menace, and I do not wish to be in her company for a moment longer
than necessary, let alone stay with her while my mother recovers.
 
She took me by surprise this evening, and,
as I'm certain you noticed, threw me a bit off balance."

He was silent for a moment,
watching the darkened streets pass by before allowing the curtain to fall back
into place, shielding them from the view of prying eyes.
 
"She wants you to marry her
nephew."
 
He was stating the
obvious, but it needed to be said.
 
Not
that he thought for a moment that Amy was unaware.

In the darkness it was difficult to
make out the features of her face, but he thought he saw her roll her eyes in
indignation.
 
That was better.
 
There was the familiar spark of life, and
not the trembling woman he had handed into the carriage.
 
He suspected she might be overset, but he
had not imagined how much until he had felt her hand on his arm.
 

"And I have refused his
attentions many times over."
 
Amy
paused and then added, "the miserable lout," just for good measure.

Unable to help himself, Gibson
chuckled once before sobering again.
 
"She will write to Marcus.
 
You do know that, do you not?"

Amy affected a disinterested air
and settled herself more firmly back onto the carriage seat.
 
"Let her.
 
I have already sent Marcus a letter detailing our plan, as well
as the possibility that I might be in harm's way.
 
He knows that we have employed one of Lady Berkshire's
chaperones.
 
I told him that I feel
secure and protected with you.
 
Once he
hears that, there will be no question for him to question.
 
He trusts you implicitly."
 
When Gibson didn't immediately reply, she
pressed on, for she did not want to go back to that infernal silence.
 
"I do, you know.
 
Feel safe with you, that is."

"You shouldn't."
 
Now was as good of a time as any Gibson
supposed, to tell her the truth.
 
"For Lady Saintwood was not wrong.
 
I am the son of a traitor."
 
Then he rapped twice on the carriage roof and ordered the driver to
wander the streets in circles until he was directed to take them back to
Cheltenham House.
 
He was also thankful
that they had chosen to use the older carriage without the family crest on the
door, making it easier for them to blend into the traffic that clogged the
London streets at that late hour.
 

Gibson did not want to admit his
past to her.
 
He was afraid that she
would shut him out completely when she learned the truth.
 
It was one thing to flaunt her association
with a lowly physician in the face of society.
 
It was quite another when the physician's father had been a traitor to
his own country.

Feeling the last of his fleeting
dream of being with Amy - even just for a few days - die as the carriage rolled
on, he took a deep breath.
 
He was a
gentleman at heart, and she a lady.
 
She
deserved to be able to make up her own mind about associating with disreputable
people.
 
If, at the end of his tale, she
ordered him from her sight, he would accept that.
 
He had already been given more time with her than he
deserved.
 
"Shall I begin at the
beginning?"

"That would be best, I
suppose."
 
Amy did not want to say
too much for fear that Gibson would close down and not speak about his family
at all.
 
As far as she knew, he did not
discuss his past with anybody.
 
Still,
she had wanted to know the truth of him since the moment they had met.
 
Now, thanks to an insufferable busybody, she
might get her wish.
 
She noted that he
looked away from her before he began, as if he didn't want her to see the shame
in his eyes.
 
She wanted to tell him
that nothing he could say would make her feel differently towards him, but she
kept silent.
 
There would be plenty of
time for that when his tale had concluded.

He cleared his throat a few times
before beginning.
 
"My father,
Harrison Blackwell, was the Viscount of Ardenton.
 
He was a powerful, wealthy man, respected by many, including the
king.
 
As such, he was allowed into the
royal family's inner circle, the highest echelons of court.
 
There was no reason for him not to be
allowed in, you see.
 
After all, my
family had loyally served the crown for generations.
 
My grandfather's service to the country was recognized in the
House of Lords, it was so beneficial.
 
So my father reaped the rewards of what his father's hard work had sown,
and, for a time, all was well."
 
Gibson swallowed hard and expelled a long breath.
 
"Then, something changed.
 
I suspect it was my father's love of the
gaming tables, purchasing pricey horseflesh, and supporting an endless string
of mistresses that drained his finances but I cannot be sure."

"Did you know your family was
having trouble?"
 
Amy doubted that
at such a young age, she would have known.

Gibson shook his head and rubbed
his hand across his forehead.
 
This was
more difficult for him than he had imagined it would be.
 
"No.
 
After all, I was in training to be the next viscount, learning how to
run the estate and take over my father's position.
 
Then, I was off to Eton.
 
If there were any issues, they were minor and soon corrected
themselves."
 
He smiled to himself,
clearly lost in memory.
 
"I do
remember that my mother stopped frowning so much around my twelfth
birthday.
 
She was happy once more,
which was all that mattered to me."
 
He drummed his fingers on the window ledge, his nerves showing.
 
"I now suspect that is when the coffers
were refilled again, though I doubt she knew that it was with blood
money."

Amy bit her lip, knowing she had to
choose her words carefully.
 
The last
thing she wanted to do was inflict any more hurt on Gibson.
 
He had suffered enough.
 
"I do not understand.
 
Blood money?"
 
This was a far greater scandal than most knew, she
suspected.
 
If the particulars had been
known, he would likely have been barred from all of England.

"Blood money," Gibson
snorted in disgust, his rancor towards his father shining through in that
moment.
 
"It seems that the French
found out that my father was in need of a quick infusion of cash and possessed
almost unrestricted access to the king.
 
So it is my understanding that they made him an offer - the secrets of
the English crown in exchange for as much money as he could spend."

"That is simply
awful!"
 
Amy knew of no other words
that would suffice.
 
She also did her
best to hide her shock.
 
She did not
want Gibson to think that she blamed him for any of it - even by
association.
 
"How could he do such
a thing?"

A grim smile crossed Gibson's face,
and his lips twisted in disgust.
 
"That is precisely what I asked him when he was arrested the day after
my sixteenth birthday.
 
He had no answer
for me."
 
He went back to toying
with the curtain on the window.
 
"After that, the changes came rapidly.
 
My family was stripped of what little we had left.
 
The title, our land and holdings, and what
was left of the family fortune that my father had not managed to waste on
frivolity.
 
All of it simply gone."

Gibson paused and this time, Amy
said nothing.
 
There was nothing to say,
really, and she knew he would speak again when he was ready.

"We lived in poverty for about
a year," he said when he began again, the words seemingly wrenched from
deep in his gut.
 
"On the one year
anniversary of my father's arrest with no further word from him, my mother
finally realized that he wasn't coming back.
 
The life she had so enjoyed was gone forever.
 
She was the daughter of a duke, so it was a crushing blow for
her, more than she could bear.
 
She took
her life that very day."

Instinctively, Amy reached out and
grasped Gibson's hand in her own.
 
She
was afraid that he might pull away, but was surprised when he wrapped his
fingers around hers and clenched them tightly.
 
She needed him to understand that, so far, nothing he had said would
make her abandon him.
 
None of it was
his fault, despite what society as a whole might think.

"And your father?"
 
She had not heard of the elder Blackwell
being in prison anywhere, but then, that was not a surprise, even given her
father's work for the crown.
 
It wasn't
as if that kind of topic was deemed fit for a young woman's ears, even one rapidly
approaching spinsterhood as she was.

Gibson swallowed hard, his gaze
never leaving hers.
 
"He was
executed in secret.
 
Hanging, I suspect,
though I do not know for certain.
 
For
reasons I do not understand, the crown did not want to make it public knowledge,
so the sentence was carried out quietly, some place far away from here.
 
I do not know where his body lies, and I
suspect I never will."

"Oh, Gibson.
 
I'm sorry.
 
So very sorry."
 
Tears
pricked her eyes, but she blinked them back.
 
He did not want her sympathy and had endured enough of other people's
pity.
 
That much she knew.

He continued on as if he hadn't
just made the most gut-wrenching confession of his life.
 
"The rest I suspect you know
already.
 
It is not exactly a secret
that my sister Harriet died of the plague, or that I studied medicine for years
while I tutored under Dr. Hastings until I was old enough, not to mention
skilled enough, to join his practice."
 

Gibson sank back against the seat
and closed his eyes, not wanting to see the look of disgust that he was certain
graced her lovely features.
 
"I am
a scandal, Amy," he sighed quietly, using her Christian name, needing the
comfort of that familiarity.
 
"Lady
Saintwood was not wrong about that.
 
I
am also not good enough to be in your company, and, were there another choice
available to make certain you are safe until your father returns, I would make
it.
 
But there is not.
 
So therefore, I apologize for tonight's
highly improper display.
 
I will be more
circumspect.
 
It will not happen
again."

"You are damn right it will
not!"

 
Gibson's eyes snapped open, expecting to find Amy furious with him
for keeping his past from her.
 
She
should be.
 
In fact, she should demand
that he leave her sight this instant.
 
He was the son of a traitor.
 
He
would never be good enough for her.

Instead, he found her fairly
vibrating with righteous indignation.
 
When he raised an eyebrow at her, she sniffed in that that rather
officious way she had, the way only a daughter of wealth and privilege could.

 
"This entire situation is not your fault, Gibbs," she
said heatedly, returning his strong grip with one of her own, "and I will
not allow those vipers to treat you as if you are a pariah.
 
You are a good man.
 
An honorable man.
 
One of the finest that I have ever had the good fortune to
meet."

How could he make her
understand?
 
"But I am a
pariah," he tried again, not releasing her hand, even though he knew that
he should.
 
He liked the contact far too
much.
 
"
 
Don't you understand?
 
My
family has been disgraced, and since I am the only one left, all of that
dishonor falls to me.
 
It is why I work
so hard to do right by others, why I fought to garner a reputation as a capable
and trusted physician.
 
I need to prove
that I am not my father.
 
I need to be a
better man, a more honorable man.
 
But
in truth, I am not."