Far Beyond Scandalous Page 21

  She needed more than to simply live outside of her glass cage. She needed to chart her own course in life, at least as much as society would allow without her scandalizing her family completely.

  The second realization she had made was that if the Runner that Gibson had hired could so easily discover the truth of her past, others could as well. It was not the carefully guarded secret that she had always believed it to be. That meant that it was likely that Lord Drake now knew the truth as well, and, unlike Gibson, he would use that knowledge to hurt her. Therefore, she needed to take away that power before he could use it to his advantage. On that point, she was stuck.

  If she admitted to the long-ago attack, she would lose her good standing in the ton. Like Gibson, she would fall into disgrace and her family would be tarnished as well. There would be no forgiveness for her after all this time, no matter that she had been little better than a child. Or no matter how much royal blood flowed in her veins.

  However, if she kept silent, Drake, Overton, and possibly others, held power over her, once more rendering her a pawn on a chessboard to be moved about at their whim. That did not sit well with her either. There had to be a way to free herself while still maintaining her grace and dignity, as well as keeping her reputation, intact. She simply did not know what it was.

  Well, there was one option. Gibson could marry her. That would set off a fresh round of scandal and gossip, certainly, but her reputation would not be irreparably harmed. With the help of the scandal sheets, most notably Lady X, who seemed to support a union between Amy and Gibson for some mysterious reason, any claims that Amy had been ruined could be brushed aside as jealousy from men who did not get the prize they were dangling after.

  That included Mark Overton, who only had the word of his social-climbing, fortune-grasping brother. If the younger Overton was still alive, and she wasn't even certain of that much.

  Unfortunately, Gibson would not do the very thing Amy longed for. By now, she knew the man well enough to realize that he would view an offer of marriage from him as dishonoring her and bringing shame to her family. That she loved him was irrelevant, or would be in his eyes. Though Gibson had yet to say the words, she truly believed that he loved her as well. Yet his honor and morality dictated that they remain apart. They could be together now, for a short while, but in the end, he honestly believed that they were fated to part. That there could be no compromise.

  Another option was for Amy to enter into some loveless, cold marriage with a man she probably didn't even like. Well, she hadn't done so thus far in her life, and she wasn't about to do so now just to salvage Gibson's pride. Or her reputation. She would have him, or she would remain a spinster. For her, there was no other acceptable option.

  "We are becoming an obstacle, my lady. May I suggest we move elsewhere?" Gibson nudged Amy forward a bit and out of her thoughts so that others could pass. The entertainment would not begin for another hour and the guests were all still busy mingling and conversing with one another. In that moment, Amy saw not a musicale, but rather a farce dressed up as a social event, every bit as disingenuous as her perfect reputation.

  It was unfair, really, to call the event a musicale. There was some music certainly, roughly about twenty minutes worth of pianoforte playing, provided by the Devonmont's eldest daughter, Jane, who had made her debut three seasons previous. The real reason for the gathering was a blatant attempt to snare a husband for poor Jane, who, unlike Amy, was far from a diamond of the first water. Everyone knew it, but everyone also came to the musicale just the same, mostly to see and be seen. Jane and her marital prospects were merely an afterthought for everyone, including the eligible men in attendance.

  In the corner of the room, the gray-clad Lady Isabelle sat quietly with the other dragons, spinsters and chaperones, on guard as she always was when Amy was out with Gibson. She had a serene smile on her face, but her clenched teeth indicated that she was not nearly as relaxed as she pretended to be. Though tonight she had no reason to fear. Both Amy and Gibson were on their best and most proper behavior.

  Around Amy, guests chattered and moved, discussing the latest on-dit and what widow was secretly bedding what rake. Vicious, gossipy barbs were flung with the sweetest of smiles and the matronly dragons had unsheathed their claws, ready to attack if anyone said a single word against their precious daughters. Rakes tried to seduce young, innocent girls, while widows vied with each other in repeated attempts to become mistresses of unhappily married men. Men bragged quietly of affairs and stared longingly at women's breasts, clearly eager to sample the wares on display. It was all just a play and the guests merely the actors in it.

  At Amy's side, Gibson stood stiff and proud next to her, so much better of a man than anyone here could ever hope to be. Unlike the others, he held himself apart, not because he thought he was better than the others, but because he thought himself unworthy. And yet he was the only man in the room, apart from Radcliffe if he were present, who was truly a gentleman at heart.

  Anger bubbled up inside of Amy and she wanted to scream. For once, she wanted to throw off the well-worn mask of The Paragon, and for just one night allow them all to see Amy Cheltenham, daughter of an earl, who happened to be in love with a man she could not have. She wanted them to see Gibson as she did - a man every bit their equal and possibly better. She wanted them to recognize him for the viscount that he truly was and still should be, if not for his bastard of a father.

  He was so handsome tonight, his dark brown hair a gorgeous contrast to the green of his waistcoat. His eyes, so troubled tonight, had taken on a dark golden hue, almost amber she decided, and appeared lit from within by a passion that he was finding it more difficult to tame as the days passed. Yet he stood on alert, almost daring someone to approach and make trouble for her. This was Gibson Blackwell, the Viscount of Ardenton, a man who should be a true part of this world and not separate from it. In an instant, Amy felt all of her old anger over his situation come roaring back with a vengeance. Yet she controlled it, not wanting to embarrass him with her actions.

  These thoughts and feelings were not like her. She was always composed and controlled. Cool and emotionless. It was how she had earned her reputation. She was always a lady, never a hoyden or a lightskirt. Was this what being in love did to a person? She did not know, but in that moment, she was frightened of what she might do or say if she remained where she was for much longer.

  What in the world was wrong with her?

  Love, she realized suddenly. Love was what was wrong with her and had been since that day in August. On that humid, sticky afternoon as she had been busy baring her body to Gibson, she had been baring her heart to him as well - even though she hadn't realized it at the time. And that silly, foolish heart of hers had gone and fallen in love without informing her of its decision. Instead, it had allowed her to go on thinking that she did not need Gibson in her life to be happy, that she could be perfectly fine without him.

  That was a lie. She needed him. She needed all of him. She loved him. And she would fight with all of her strength to have him - but only if he loved and wanted her as well. If he did not love her, she would let him go and walk away.

  In that moment, she realized that she had finally, well and truly grown up. And it hurt. More than she had ever imagined it would.

  Amy knew she was on the verge of causing a scene, the hysteria inside of her building, and she needed to escape. Now. Before she said something she regretted, like she had that night in the carriage on the way to the Florstairs' ball. If she did, the illusion of her would be shattered, and she would lose all hope of finding a way to be with Gibson. As long as her reputation was intact, there was a chance, however remote. She was intelligent enough to know that she needed to preserve the illusion.

  "Gibson, we need to leave. Now." She tugged at his arm lightly, trying not to appear desperate. "Please."

  Another man might have asked her what was wrong. Not Gibson. He accepted her at her word and motioned fo
r Isabelle to join them. He was about to inquire with a servant about fetching their wraps when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned to see Lord Drake standing before him, already well on his way to being foxed and clearly agitated.

  Across the room, he could see Lady Saintwood hurrying through the crowd, obviously trying to stop her foolish nephew from whatever scheme he was up to, but she was too far away and would not reach the scene in time. The truth was, this man had been spoiling for a fight for weeks, even before Gibson had shown up. It was time for Drake to end his harassment of Amy once and for all.

  "May I help you, Lord Drake?" Gibson asked, adopting the cool and disaffected air of the viscount he would never be. It was not lost on those around him that he did not offer a bow, as was proper. "You appear to be searching for something. Might I inquire as to what? Or should I say who?" He kept his arms at his sides but Amy could see that his fists were clenched tight, as if he was preventing himself from reaching up and strangling Drake right there in the ballroom.

  The man sneered at Gibson, his disgust palpable. "Just looking for my fiancée." Drake's lascivious gaze raked Amy's garnet-silk clad body as if he was mentally undressing her, and she felt herself grow warm and decidedly uncomfortable. Then he started openly at her breasts, and she felt herself begin to blush the same red color as her scandalous silk gown. She had meant for Gibson to look at her with desire, not this man.

  Gibson, however, adopted a patient yet still slightly more arrogant air. He was far better at this game than Amy had realized. "I believe the Cheltenham family has made their position on your courtship of their daughter very clear. They are firmly against it, and, acting as Lady Amy's escort on their behalf, I cannot allow you to pursue her or continue to harass her in this manner any longer."

  Then Gibson lifted that single, imperious eyebrow, his golden eyes flashing fire. "And might I correct you on one other point. You are not affianced to Lady Amy, and I would appreciate it if you would stop spreading such lies about The Paragon of the ton."

  "And I don't give a damn what you want, you bastard! We're in love! She and I! You can't stop us!" Drake's words were slurred, and Amy wondered how much alcohol he had consumed already that night. Quite a bit if his actions were any indication. She also noted that she did not see any obvious injuries on him, wondering just where Gibson had stitched him up only a few nights before.

  "Norton! You are acting a fool. Stop it this instant!" By this time, Lady Saintwood had reached the small group, well aware that a rather large crowd was gathering to watch the gossip-worthy events unfold. She hissed her words under her breath, all while keeping a polite smile pasted on her face in an attempt to diffuse the situation. Thus far, it was not working. "Your father warned you to stay away from both Dr. Blackwell and Lady Amy. I will not allow you to disobey him."

  Drake rounded on his aunt, and it was then that Gibson noticed the tinge of madness in his eyes. Anger and psychosis brought on by excessive drink was not uncommon in certain men of society. Drake was obviously one of the many afflicted with the problem.

  "You keep out of this!" Drake was barely holding his anger in check, and Gibson was afraid the younger man might strike his aunt. "She is mine! Or will be, once I announce her dirty little secret to the world!"

  Drake spun back around to face Amy, his face red and his chest heaving as he gasped for breath. "It is all an act, isn't it, princess? This saintly, perfect side you show everyone? But you're not that at all, are you? You're really just a pathetic little..."

  "Enough!" Gibson's roar was enough of a shock to silence the entire Devonmont ballroom. "You will speak to the lady with respect or you will not speak to her at all!" There was a dangerous glitter in his eyes, and in that moment, Amy realized that, if he had still been in possession of his family's title, Gibson would be one of the most respected and feared - not to mention sought after - men of the ton.

  This was a Gibson Blackwell that even she had never seen before. Oh, she'd caught glimpses of him here and there, certainly, such as the day in her father's study when he had stalked across the entire length of the room. She had even seen parts of this man when they were out at social events. But not like this. This was all of Gibson, his true self. And he was, in a word, magnificent. And she wanted him. Desperately.

  She also realized that Gibson had stopped Drake from revealing her secret, and her heart flipped in her chest. He might not have said the words, but he did love her. She was certain of it. He had caused a scandal for her. Unfortunately, it was also a poor time to realize the truth.

  "Bastard," Drake shot at Gibson once more before spitting in his direction. The young buck was still alert enough to realize that perhaps he had gone too far once again. Yet he could not call back his words, even if he had wanted to.

  At that, Gibson stiffened, and he pulled himself up straight, adopting an even haughtier air if that was possible. The remains of the mask of the affable doctor fell away and now he was, without question, Viscount Ardenton, a man destined for greatness. He exuded power and strength, and Amy could see every female eye in the room - and some male eyes as well - drawn to him, as if finally viewing him in a new light.

  "I am many things," Gibson said coldly, his voice so icy that Amy was surprised the entire room didn't freeze over in an instant. "I am the son of a traitor. A poor man, at least in comparison to those here. A man in trade, if that is what you prefer. I am the son of disgrace." He drew in a deep breath and in the silence that followed, she was certain she would hear a mouse if it squeaked just then. "But the one thing I am not, Lord Drake, is a bastard."

  Around them, the crowd let out a collective gasp. Gibson had admitted this past, admitted that his father had been a traitor. It just wasn't done. It could cost him everything, including his position with Prinny. Oh, people might know of his past, certainly, but it wasn't the done thing to acknowledge it.

  And Gibson had condemned himself to save her.

  Had Drake continued, he would have revealed Amy's secret. His choice of words left no doubt that he knew. And Gibson had silenced him with his own secret to protect hers. How she loved him. If only she had told him earlier. Perhaps that might have made a difference. If she had, they might not be in this position now. They might have departed before Drake appeared, if they had come at all.

  "Traitor." Drake moved towards Amy menacingly, but Gibson was there once more, placing himself between her and the man who looked ready to do her harm. "I can see how a whore like her would prefer the son of a traitor to a real man of honor like me." The gasp that accompanied his words was louder than the last.

  There was no stopping Drake, and Gibson had no idea what to do next. He was, essentially now powerless against a man determined to see Amy's reputation ripped to shreds because he could not possess her. If Radcliffe were here, Gibson might find some help, but as of yet, the duke and duchess had yet to appear. Impotent rage burned inside of him, but he was unable to do anything more. He was about to look around for help, or perhaps try something even more desperate when the crowd around them parted to make way for another man, one just as towering and imposing in stature as Gibson himself.

  "Did I just hear you slander my sister, you vile, pathetic little worm of a man? Please say that I did, for I would very much like to see you suffer greatly for your disgusting words, you wretched heap of refuse."

  There, leaning heavily on a cane but still walking under his own power was Marcus Cheltenham, current Viscount of Breckenright, and eventually, the next Earl of Evanston.

  And he was nothing short of murderous.

  If Gibson's defense of Amy had not shocked the ton, Marcus' appearance certainly would have, for it shocked Gibson himself. For nearly a fortnight, runners sent to Bath had not returned and letters to the viscount had gone unanswered. Yet here he was, in the flesh, and looking every bit as menacing as Gibson himself had appeared only moments before. He could also, apparently, see, at least to some degree, though to what extent, Gibson did not know. Apparent
ly not all of the viscount's vision had been lost, thankfully.

  Eventually, it finally occurred to Drake that someone had appeared to defend Lady Amy's honor, and that that particular someone was not a person that could be bullied or intimidated into silence. No, the newcomer was someone far more powerful than Drake would ever be. He swallowed hard. "Lord Breckenright. How good to see you finally home." Even before he had left for Bath, few people had used Marcus' title, instead calling him "Cheltenham," as he preferred. That Drake had used the more formal title spoke to just how terrified the other man was.

  "Did you or did you not just call my sister a whore?" Marcus glowered at Drake who was now sweating profusely. When the other man didn't answer immediately, Marcus leaned in a bit more, now almost nose-to-nose with Drake. "I am waiting, Drake. Answer me. Did you insult my sister or not?"

  "I did not mean to," Drake simpered, and Gibson noticed that his hands were shaking and his eyes were still glassy. This situation could spiral out of control very quickly if it continued unchecked. Normally, Gibson himself would intervene. But this was Marcus Cheltenham. And Drake had called Amy a vile name. That could not be allowed to stand.

  Marcus snarled viciously, and when he did, Gibson understood why the man had been so feared when he was younger, before the fever swept his body and the vulture-like physicians had moved in to cause further damage. "I believe my family has made it abundantly clear that we do not approve of grasping, social-climbing, fortune-hunting slime like you. We have repeatedly requested, nicely might I add, that you drop your suit, and yet you persist so relentlessly that I had to be summoned home from Bath where I am recovering my health. All so that I might deal with the likes of you. I believe that it goes without saying that I am not amused. Nor pleased."

  There was a wicked look in Marcus's eyes that indicated that he meant to do someone harm if he could, and Gibson wondered again just how much sight the viscount now possessed. "You also dare to question my family's decision to place our most precious possession, my sister, into the care of a man we, along with the Prince Regent, trust implicitly. A man that we trust with our very lives. And you think that in doing so, it will somehow improve your chances with her? Encourage us to change our minds and allow you to court her when she clearly does not welcome your attentions?"