Portrait of a Scandal (2 page)

“Go to the carriage, now!” her father snapped.

She sobbed but did as she had been told. She acted the innocent party and her insinuation of rape on his part disgusted him. He liked sex, enjoyed the sweetness between a woman’s thighs, but this was too much. Mary had certainly been willing—she’d all but dragged him away at the ball and she’d demonstrated her clear enjoyment until they’d been interrupted.

“You knew about her lack of purity prior to last night?” his father asked him quietly.

“Indeed.”

“Why not bring it to my attention so I could inform the duke? He could have been spared all this.”

Thomas doubted that. It was not a secret among the
ton
. “I did not think it my place.”

“Yet you thought it your place to bed her?” the duke snapped.

“She propositioned me, Your Grace. Would you have turned down a willing woman in your youth, I ask you? I think not, after hearing your and Father’s stories as you reminisce over brandy.” Thomas paused. He did feel for the man he had once almost considered an uncle. “I did not plan any of this and if I could take it back, I would.” She had not been worth it.

“What if there is a child?” his father asked.

“If there is, it is not mine.” The intruder had seen to that with their sudden appearance. Something he perhaps should be thankful for.

His father took a deep breath and gave a nod, clearly relieved.

“You should still wed her,” the duke said, not for the first time.

“I will do nothing of the sort.”

“I was sent a letter from the newspaper. They have the photograph of the two of you,” the duke growled. “You will allow Mary to be ruined?”

Thomas sighed and looked back out of the window. He had not been quick enough to see who had taken the photo, or catch them. The woman had vanished like a ghost. “I had hoped the picture would not develop correctly,” he muttered. The technology was new and accidents happened. It seemed no errors had been made this time.
A shame
. “Your Grace, Mary was ruined last summer. All the gentlemen of London know this.”

Thomas did not need to turn to know the duke had paled. Finally, it must be sinking in for the older man.

“When is the photograph to run?” Thomas’ father asked the duke.

“Tomorrow, if I do not purchase it.”

“Then, my friend, I suggest you acquire it,” his father said in a sad tone.

Thomas’ reputation would not be tarnished if the photograph did run—only Mary stood at risk. Her father had little choice but to take her abroad and find a suitable husband. One who did not know the gossip of London. But not before they sorted this mess out first.

“We need to meet with this editor,” Thomas said, as he looked out at the dreary city before him. He did not like being the butt of anything, and anyone who tried was going to learn the hard way that he was not a gentleman to be trifled with.

* * * *

Nellie fixed her veil as she descended the steps of the hired hack. Her maid, Anne, had raced into her chamber that morning, announcing that Carl had sent a letter asking to meet at noon. Carl sent all mail to her in care of a fake name through the local grocer, Anne’s uncle.

Her father’s debts had now been fully paid, thanks to the wealth from the photograph. She intended to tell the bottom-dwelling editor he would now need to look elsewhere for his
ton
gossip. The estate was doing well for itself and Nellie had not realised just how well. The money she had made from the photograph, together with this year’s earnings, was enough to put her family back on track.

She might have been of noble blood, but her family finances had become scarce, her father having drunk what little they had had left. Nellie had possessed little choice in the matter when the truth had become apparent to her. She had become part of the underbelly of London, selling others’ secrets to right her family. She pushed back any unease that this created, reminding herself that those people had been in the wrong—she had merely brought it to Carl’s attention.

She had ordered the London house closed this morning, and she and her father would depart for their country estate tomorrow. Gladly, Nellie had noticed her father was starting to come out of his gloom. She forbade the staff to bring any more liquor into the house and her father had quickly sobered, realising his daughter was right—life was too precious to waste in oblivion. If only she had taken control sooner, she would never have had to stoop as low as she had. It was still not something of which she was proud.

As she moved through the small offices, the secretary waved her on, not looking up from her work. Nellie hated coming here. She felt dirty. The smells of ink and mould lined these rooms. She always had to bathe after meeting with Carl.

She knocked once and entered when she heard Carl answer, only to be brought up short when she realised he was not alone. A man was standing beside him, talking, but he paused when she entered. It was a man she recognised.

A gasp left her lips as she spun around, only to have the door slam closed in her face. Another man stood beside it in the darkness, his hand over the door handle preventing her escape as she reached for it.

A shiver raced up her spine, but not from fear. His darkened silhouette hid him in the confines of the small room, yet arousal melted her body, pooling in her centre as her nipples pebbled against her corset. He tightened his hand on the door handle, before his fingers flexed. Did he feel the same way she did? Was that why his hand was clenched?

Oh, my gosh, I’m trapped in a room with three men and I’m becoming aroused! What is wrong with me?

She backed away from this man then recalled the other behind the desk. Turning her back on the shadow, she faced the other two men.
Better the devil you know than the one you do not, even though I suspect who he truly is.

The woman wore a widow’s dress, her face concealed behind a thick veil. Thomas ground his teeth in frustration. He wanted to see the woman who was trying to ruin his life. He wanted to rip the fabric from her face and expose her. If she had been a man, he would have.

He allowed his gaze to wander down her body. She was not tall, but not short either—her head would perhaps come in just under his chin.

“This is the woman who took the photograph?” the duke asked.

Carl, the worm of a man, had only seen the opportunity to increase his minute coffers when he’d first contacted the duke, but now the vermin was terrified. He had been visibly shaking since the duke had threatened to have him jailed for extortion. The editor had willingly sought out the woman who had taken the photograph. It was clear the rodent had no clue as to her identity either. Thomas was sure Carl would have given it up if he had known.

“To be sure,” Carl agreed.

The woman raised her chin and looked directly at the duke—not that he or anyone else could see her face, but the action spoke for itself. She was not afraid, or if she was, she hid it well.

“Who are you?” the duke demanded with a stamp of his foot.

“I will not divulge that information to you, Your Grace,” her soft, yet firm, voice stated.

“Remove your veil,” the duke snapped.

“I am sorry, Your Grace, but I will not.”

Thomas listened to her voice as he watched her posture from behind. She was a noble, he was sure. Her voice was schooled, her back straight and proud. Others would have cowered before the older, more powerful nobleman, but she did not. She did not appear to fear him at all. Was she daft or desperate? Why would a noble seek to ruin one of her own?

“You could have ruined my daughter! I will know who risked this!”

“Your Grace, there is no one to blame for your daughter’s sins but she. She is the one who offered herself to the rake and he is hardly the first of her many lovers.”

Thomas blinked at her stiff back. She had openly labelled him a rake! Few would dare say so to his face. She had taken the picture and assumedly got a good view of him at the time too. Did she not know it was he? Surely that could not be the case? Thomas was also surprised by how much she knew and how she had managed to keep her voice even throughout the conversation, especially as the duke flamed red.

“How dare you?”

“I speak only the truth, Your Grace. While I do regret the circumstances surrounding my actions and how this knowledge has caused you great pain, I do not regret the actions themselves. They have saved my family from financial ruin.”

The duke flamed redder. “I will ruin your family!”

“Then I regret that the information you seek to keep private will be made common knowledge. Do you think I am careless enough to hand over all my information to a man whose greed drives him? Do you believe that was the only photograph I have taken? It is simply the one which was worth the most.” The woman sighed. “My debts are now paid and I will no longer step upon the gutters, as I have seen my family returned to rights. While you may think little of me, I can assure you no more of what I know will be made public. This is why I returned here today. To inform this vagabond in person.”

Carl glared at her, but said nothing.

The duke narrowed his eyes on her. “You have other information?”

“And I will not share it unless you force me to, Your Grace.” The woman turned towards Thomas. “Would you kindly move, my Lord?” she asked demurely, but did not raise her face to his. Even though he could not see her features, he knew she was not looking at him.

Thomas narrowed his eyes. “Who are you?”

“No one of consequence, my Lord. Please step aside.”

He moved to open the door.

“How do we know you will not expose us further?” he asked, as the hinges groaned gently.

“You do not.”

Then she was gone.

* * * *

Later, as he stood by the fire in his study, Thomas could not help but think of the young widow and why he had let her leave. What had possessed him to allow a woman who had used him as a source to right her family, go free with no further thought? He could not even blame it on her charms, as he had seen none. He took a deep breath then exhaled hard in frustration at the situation.

He doubted she was truly a widow either—she must simply have been dressed as one. Her soft yet assured voice had held his attention. She was a lady of society, he was sure of it, but who? He thought back to her looks, but there had been little to go by. Her brown locks had been pinned high, but that was her only exposed feature. Every other inch of her had been covered. She’d worn gloves, and her dress and veil had covered everything else.

Yet, she intrigued him. He had felt an invisible but surprisingly strong pull towards this woman, a woman who had effectually sought to expose him. Peculiarly, he did not care about her actions now as much as he had at first. She had said she’d needed the money to save her family, and strangely, he believed it.

He leaned against the window frame and sighed. In truth, if it had been any other father, Thomas feared he would be facing duelling pistols, but he suspected Lady Mary’s reputation would be blackened if the duke took the action against him. The man was also likely unwilling to risk his friendship with Thomas’ father. At least for now everyone involved was pretending nothing had taken place.

Only a handful of people knew what had happened that night, and while he did not trust the editor, he somehow believed the woman. It was her lack of fear that intrigued him. He suspected she would have allowed herself to be taken down to save her family. She obviously held a sense of pride and had taken on a man’s job to save those she loved. She was the first woman he had met who did not cower in fear, or cry, hoping a man would fix her problems. No, this woman took matters into her own hands and faced the consequences. Such a woman could never make life boring.

Chapter Two

Rickiton Estates’ Annual Garden Party

September, 1881

“So, my dear, do any of these gentlemen strike your fancy?”

Nellie smiled up at her father and slid her hand through his as they moved under the shrouded sun of the garden party. “No man has matched you, Papa—so, no.”

He chuckled and led her to a small group chatting about the weather or some such trivial nonsense. Nellie paid it little mind.

Her father was no longer the grieving man he had been in London after her mother had passed away. He had been at his wife’s side during her long illness and had not coped at all well when her death had finally arrived. The numbness of a bottle had been his only escape from the pain. Nellie had allowed it for so long, but once the accounts had become worrisome, she had sought out her father’s man of business and it had seemed things had been much worse than she’d first thought. Still, that was in the past and her efforts, as well as her father’s strong will to overcome his grief, had led them back to the comfortable position they were in today. She was happy to see him content again, though her mother’s death still pained them both.

Only his sudden insistence to marry her off was becoming bothersome. Yes, she was of age—she had been out for two seasons and agreed it was time to find a husband—but all the gentlemen she’d met appeared shallow and had not appreciated her thoughts or mind. In fact, one had been bold enough to tell her she should possess no opinion of her own, and her father and husband would be the ones to tell her what her opinions were.

Love, it seemed, was hard to find.

* * * *

Bride shopping was such a chore but something that must be undertaken. Thomas’ parents had once turned a blind eye to his gambling, partying and fornicating, but he had turned thirty last month, and it was now time to find himself a bride and settle down, providing them with a houseful of grandchildren. He did not want to be tied to one woman, but in truth, found the rakish lifestyle he had once led very tiresome of late. The task of finding a wife had so far proved mundane. They all seemed so petty and dull, with little to no substance or potential. What man wanted that for the remainder of his days?