Duke of Scandal (Moonlight Square, Book 1) Page 2

  Who the hell’s in my house at this hour?

  Peering out discreetly, he looked down the staircase and saw three females standing in the entrance hall. A bony servant girl hung back behind the other two. A plump matron in a ghastly brown coat with a black feather on her hat stood protectively beside the third intruder.

  This one—blond and slender—caught his attention.

  His eyes narrowed with interest. Much too young and tasty to be clad all in black. Ah, pretty young widow? My favorite. Hullo…

  She was angled slightly away from him so he couldn’t see her face, yet she seemed a bit familiar…

  Jason both stared and listened harder, the sleep and drink and dissipation slowly clearing from his eyes. It was the musical lilt of her voice that suddenly flooded him with shocked recollection, and whatever dying ember was left of his soul suddenly leaped to life within him.

  Holy God!

  His stomach flip-flopped, and his heart began to pound.

  Felicity Carvel?

  Immediately, he pulled back into the drawing room, out of sight, his blood throbbing in his veins. A tremor ran through him.

  What in the world is she doing here? he thought as titanic shame filled him that she should find him thus. She had never set foot in his house before!

  It had been a fortnight since he had last spoken to her, at her great-aunt’s funeral. It was always difficult seeing her, but even more so under such sad circumstances. Felicity had lived with the dear old dragon lady ever since her mother’s death several years ago.

  With her father dead, too, and her brother away on his expedition, Jason had stood as near to hand as he dared during the funeral, feeling awkward, saying little, but loath to leave her side, for he was well aware she had no one left now. Well, no one in England at the moment. No one she was close to. She did have an uncle of some consequence and two cousins, but they were more or less idiots.

  Not that he was much better.

  On that hard day, Jason had done his best to remain present for her, though in the background. And he’d tried not to stare, but he had been impressed with her grace in the midst of her grief. He had to admit the little freckled menace had grown up into quite a lady. On the other hand, God knew she’d had enough practice by now at the grim ritual of putting loved ones in the ground.

  All the ton had been sad to hear of Lady Kirby’s passing, the old spitfire. She’d had a sharp tongue and mirthful naughty streak, with an eye for the young bucks. She often liked to prod them in the backside with her cane as they walked by, which was always rather startling. In short, most of the rakehells in the ton had quite loved the old girl.

  Jason had been worried about Felicity ever since Her Ladyship’s passing, naturally. Yet for all his concern over what would become of her after her aunt’s death, at the funeral, he had remained—as always—afraid of venturing too close. Afraid of what it could lead to. He never knew what the hell to say to her. God, there was so much to say.

  But he wasn’t allowed to say it. Wasn’t allowed to think it, or feel what he felt about that particular girl.

  She was Pete’s little sister, for God’s sake.

  Then it dawned on him that she wouldn’t have ventured here today into his den of iniquity unless something was very, very wrong. He leaned again toward the crack he had left in the doorway, and, listening for all he was worth, heard a phrase that chilled him to the marrow.

  Family emergency?

  Jove’s beard, was she crying? Had something else happened on top of her aunt’s death while he’d been off attending to his business in the country? Bloody hell. I wasn’t here for her. He felt sick at the realization.

  He had just got back into Town last night after dark, and had immediately sent for the requisite female companionship. He did not, as a rule, go more than a few days without having some pretty creature see to his needs, but it was also his strict rule not to poach on the locals back at Netherford Hall. So he had waited until he’d returned to London to have a couple of girls brought to him from the Satin Slipper.

  Too bad he had to drink copious amounts of liquor to drown out the protests of his conscience and his heart over his dubious choice of bedmates.

  All vestiges of sleep fell away immediately, however, at the thought that Felicity might need him. Jason strode back into the drawing room and went over to the ice bucket, in which the several bottles of wine had chilled last night.

  The ice was melted now, and he reached into the porcelain-lined urn and cupped his hands full of water. He splashed it on his face and shoved his fingers through his dark hair, smashing it into any sort of order he could make of it.

  He quickly rinsed his mouth, pulled on his wrinkled linen shirt, and hastily tucked it in. Then he glanced around until he found his waistcoat, cast across the pianoforte. He put it on, as well, even though it was clearly eveningwear: She would know he had fallen asleep in his clothes.

  Damn. Normally, he would not risk making himself look like any more of a colossal jackass than Felicity Carvel already must think him, but that phrase—family emergency—clanged in his head like a fire company’s bells. And contrary to what she probably thought, he still felt more like a member of the Carvel family than he did his own. He had to find out what was wrong and see if he could help.

  Fortunately, this time, the mirror gave him a slightly better report. Now he simply looked like a rakehell the morning after rather than a whore-mongering pervert.

  He took a deep breath at the drawing room door and braced himself. With a quiver in his stomach, he shoved it open and walked out. To his relief, he quickly observed that she was not crying anymore. Thank God.

  Alas, for his part, he had already started down the steps when he noticed that he wasn’t wearing any shoes.

  He rolled his eyes in frustration with himself. Perfect.

  Well, a grown man could do as he liked in his own home, could he not?

  His secretary, Richardson, was still talking to Felicity when she must have heard his footsteps, for she turned, lifted her glorious sea-green eyes, and saw him coming.

  Time stopped.

  As usual, with her.

  Emergency or not, calamity or not, despair or not, Jason could not fight the tender, lopsided grin that formed on his lips at the sight of her.

  No more than it seemed she could fight that particular, tremulous smile that he knew with his heart and his loins alike had always belonged only to him.

  There was no other smile like it in the entire world.

  It was daybreak and sunrise. Soft as rabbits’ fur. As warm and sweet and homey as a mug of hot chocolate on a cold winter’s night.

  In short, it was torture.

  And liar that he was, he refused, as always, to show how deeply that smile affected him.

  “Felicity Joy,” he greeted her matter-of-factly.

  “Your Grace.” Her cheeks turned pink as she dropped a slight curtsy.

  “Don’t you dare stand on ceremony with me,” he warned as he joined them in the entrance hall. He propped his hands on his waist and pretended not to know she had been upset a moment ago, curious to hear what she had to say for herself, and rather determined to cheer her up, in any case. “What are you doing here, girl?”

  Her virginal gaze skimmed over him with searing awareness, but she quirked a brow and pointed at his bare feet.

  He shrugged. “I’m starting a new fashion.”

  “Ah.”

  “So what’s afoot?” he jested.

  She gave him a droll look at his pun. The maid behind her giggled, then coughed self-consciously.

  Before answering his question, Felicity nodded at the older lady beside her. “Your Grace, you remember Mrs. Brown, my chaperone?”

  “Ma’am.” Jason bowed to her.

  The portly matron nodded in answer, but pursed her lips and eyed him with the sort of scathing review he was well accustomed to from young ladies’ chaperones. He offered the maid a brief, cordial smile, as well.
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br />   Felicity studied him with measured wariness. “I’ve been trying to find out for the past week, Jason, if there is any way to get a message to my brother,” she said, a flicker of annoyance passing behind her eyes. “Did you not get my letters asking as much?”

  “Letters?” He turned to his secretary, instantly simulating fury. “Richardson, why was I not informed of this?”

  Actually, his staff had politely murmured something last night about a pile of mail waiting for him on his desk, but after a week’s absence, that was to be expected for a man of his consequence.

  Jason had been in no mood to deal with it upon walking in the door after two days on the road, penned up in his coach. He had figured he would simply go through each item in the morning.

  But it seemed he and Felicity were suffering once again from their age-old case of bad timing.

  Richardson stammered, well aware it was his job to take the blame from time to time for things that weren’t necessarily his fault. “My humblest apologies, Your Grace. I-I was waiting until you returned from the country to bring the letters to your attention.”

  “Oh—” Felicity said abruptly. “I did not realize you were away.” She furrowed her brow, looking slightly chastened after her obvious annoyance at him.

  “Yes, well, apparently we had a fire at Netherford Hall,” Jason explained. “A few of the peasant cottages and outbuildings burned down. But that is no excuse! Now, look here,” he scolded his man of affairs, with great effect. “Miss Carvel is one of my oldest and dearest friends—”

  “I am?” she muttered under her breath.

  “Not to mention the sister of the man leading the expedition I am sponsoring! When someone this important has a message for me, Richardson, I expect to be informed of it at once, do you understand?” he fairly bellowed, then turned to her. “Shall I sack him for you?”

  “What? No, no! It’s all right,” she hastily assured both him and his sweating secretary. “All I wanted was to ask you if it’s possible to send a message to Peter, wherever he is, then I’ll be on my way. Please, there’s no need to go sacking anybody, I implore you.”

  “Very well, if you’re sure.”

  “Was anyone from the castle hurt?” she ventured, since, after all, she had grown up on the smaller estate adjoining his parklands.

  “No, thankfully. A few sheep got their wool singed, is all, and several cottages will need to be rebuilt. Other than that, the people were mostly scared, and I felt it best for me to put in an appearance there. But I’m back now, and it’s all sorted. So, ah, what is the message you wanted to send to Pete? The news of your aunt’s passing, I presume?”

  Her smoky gaze locked on to his uncertainly; he read her general wariness of him there, and it pained him. “Actually,” she said, “there’s a little more to it than that.”

  But she made no move to explain, and Jason’s heart sank at her reluctance to share her worries with him. Of course, they were no longer as close as they had once been. He was not privy to her personal affairs anymore—and that, by his own choice.

  He looked away with a judicious nod. So be it. “Well, I have good news for you,” he managed, glossing over her reticence. “It was supposed to be a surprise, but—under the circumstances—I think you’ll be happy to hear your brother is on his way home even as we speak.”

  “He is?” she cried, drawing in her breath.

  Jason smiled wryly, pleased by her delight. “Their ship left India three weeks ago. Hard to reach him right now since he’s at sea, but he’ll be back before the Season’s over.”

  She lifted her fingers to her lips. “Oh, that is wonderful news! I am so relieved! Thank you.”

  He nodded, slightly tongue-tied at this reminder of her unhesitating ability to love those she let into her heart.

  It killed him to know he could’ve had that, once.

  “Ahem, I’m sure when, er, your brother arrives, having family close will comfort you…in your loss,” he finished lamely, cringing within. God, everything he said was sounding so stupid in his own ears.

  Yet most ladies considered him wickedly smooth.

  “It’s not that,” Felicity confessed with a rueful smile. “Not the grieving, I mean. I’m feeling better, actually. It’s only been a fortnight, but a little time has helped, and after all, Aunt Kirby was very old. It was a shock but not a surprise, if that makes sense.”

  He nodded encouragingly, then she considered and told him more.

  “Things have grown a bit complicated, is all, and I expect they’ll soon get even more so.” She shrugged. “I could really use my big brother’s guidance on certain matters. You know how he is—always ready to take charge. I fear I’m a little out of my depth ever since we had the reading of the will last week.”

  “Oh?” So that was it. “Is there some problem sorting out Her Ladyship’s affairs? Because if there’s anything I can do… Well, I take it you have to find a new place to live now, for starters?”

  Jason knew that, with her parents dead and her brother off first at university and then at the war, Felicity had gone to live with her great-aunt in Mayfair, along with the widowed Mrs. Brown. Both had served as companions and caretakers to the feisty old dragon, kept her amused, and helped look after her.

  But Felicity was shaking her head at his question. “No, everything seems to be in order with the will, nor do I have to move out, for Her Ladyship left me her house. That’s just it, Jason.” She hesitated. “Aunt Kirby left me everything.”

  “Everything?” he echoed in surprise.

  “Nearly.” Felicity glanced at her chaperone. “Mrs. Brown got a portion of the Kirby fortune, too, since they were friends forever, but the lion’s share went to me.”

  He furrowed his brow and stared at her. “Felicity, wasn’t your aunt once married to some fabulously wealthy nabob?”

  “Yes, Jason. Yes, she was!” She nodded emphatically. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you!”

  “Ha!” As understanding flooded in, Jason suddenly laughed aloud. “Felicity, you’re rich!”

  “Very,” she admitted with a wide-eyed nod.

  He clapped her roguishly on the shoulder, and Mrs. Brown’s disapproving scowl deepened. “Well done, Felicity Joy.”

  “No!” she exclaimed. “It’s not well done at all! This is a disaster!”

  “What are you talking about?” he teased. “You just stumbled into a huge inheritance—”

  “Yes!” she burst out. “And it’s ruining my life!”

  CHAPTER 2

  The Rogue at Home

  “Ah, so you mean to give the money up, then?” he shot back with a knowing wink.

  “Well, I didn’t say that,” Felicity amended, her heart in her throat as her former idol laughed merrily, flashing straight white teeth.

  “Good! I was worried for your sanity for a moment there,” he drawled. “So, what’s the problem, then?”

  “Well, I’ve been trying to keep the news as quiet as possible, because I know it’s going to lead to chaos. But, in fact, it’s already started. My cousin Charles must’ve let it slip, for he was at the reading of the will, as was Cousin Gerald.” She rolled her eyes at the mention of that rude bulldog. “That’s why I’m glad to hear Peter’s coming home soon. He’s better at dealing with this sort of thing.”

  Jason smiled at her. “I want you to know I’ll be happy to help you however I can. Er, until your brother comes back, of course,” he added rather awkwardly.

  She stared at him. “Really?”

  “Of course!” he exclaimed. “Just tell me what you need.”

  Felicity stood tongue-tied. In truth, she could not help but feel a trifle breathless at his interest in her crisis and his supposed willingness to help. After the studied distance he had put between them for so long, his friendly demeanor this morning was as perplexing as it was delightful. Obviously, he was too rich for it to be about the money. His fortune was still far larger than hers.

  To be sure, she had no
t expected this reaction from him, let alone the welcome revelation that he had a perfectly good excuse for failing to respond to her letters.

  All she knew was that, somehow, being with him again was as magical as ever—even though she could tell he’d been up to no good last night.

  That much was altogether plain.

  Fool that she was, though, his wicked ways didn’t matter anymore from the moment he had smiled at her, breezing down the grand staircase on his big bare feet.

  Seeing them reminded her of lazy summer childhood days when they had gone wading in the brook between their family estates. Indeed, there were parts of Jason on display right now that she hadn’t seen in years.

  She could feel the scandalized horror pulsating off Mrs. Brown at his lack of all decorum, to say nothing of his absent shoes and cravat. But for her part, Felicity merely peeked at the curve of his neck, the jut of his Adam’s apple, and the little notch at the base of his throat between his collarbones. She stifled a sigh. He was indeed a beautiful man, though in need of a shave. Yet the slight shadow darkening his jaw merely added to his appeal in its overt masculinity.

  In spite of herself, she let her gaze drink him in with greedy fascination, devouring the lean, muscled length of him in his rumpled formalwear.

  She still found it curious that she had to tilt her head back to meet his night-dark eyes, considering they had once been somewhat closer to eye level. But he’d grown into his stature like a tree, becoming stunningly handsome and imposingly muscled.

  He towered above her at maybe six foot three, and his broad chest tapered down to a lean waist and hips. His wide shoulders still were not entirely even, the right slightly higher than the left because of that broken collarbone when he was eleven. She had been there, had seen him fall, had even heard the crunch.

  Jason had been lucky he had only broken his clavicle and not his head. She had kicked her brother for challenging him to climb the old oak, for Peter knew full well that the neighbor boy could not resist a dare.

  Sure enough, one branch had proved weaker than it had looked, and down the future duke went.