A Scandalous Charade (Scandalous Series, BOOK 2), page 27
Robert leveled him with a glare, then he brushed past Luke and headed for the door. “It must be hard for you to realize that you won’t be my heir, Lucas, but I’m sure you’ll get used to the idea.”
He thought he was after the earldom? That was the most ridiculous thing Luke had ever heard. He laughed cynically in response. “It’s not my greed that makes me dubious, Robert, but my intimate knowledge of the Lady in question.”
Robert snapped in the blink of an eye. Before Luke knew it, his brother had wrapped his hands around his throat and growled through clenched teeth, “I don’t ever need to be reminded again that you once shared a bed with my wife.”
The room started to spin and Luke thought he might die at his brother’s hands. He pulled at Robert’s fingers and gasped for breath. “Rob!”
Then Robert shoved him out of the way and looked back disdainfully. “You lying bastard, if you’re still here by the time I finish checking on my wife I will kill you.”
And the look in his brother’s eyes told him he meant it.
Luke stormed off to schoolroom. He had been unsuccessful at getting Robert to listen to reason, but he wasn’t ready to give up on Juliet. He threw open the door, only to find his princess speaking quietly to her two charges—both of whom had bit of lemon cake stuck to the corner of their mouths.
He cleared his throat. “Miss Mitford, might I have a word with you?”
She didn’t even look up at him. “I have nothing to say to you, Mr. Beckford.”
“Good. Then you can listen.” He folded his arms across his chest, and planted himself in front of her. “I’m not leaving until you do.”
Juliet looked at Peter and Penny, with a forced smile. “Why don’t you get out the art supplies?”
Both children happily complied, leaving Juliet to him.
“I’m not perfect,” he began.
Juliet snorted in response.
“Well, you’re not always a ray of sunshine either, you know.” When she narrowed her eyes, Luke stepped closer to her and whispered, “I’m leaving Gosling. I know you’re angry with me, though for the life of me, I don’t know why.”
“Then allow me to explain it to you. You,” she clipped out as she poked him in the chest, “are a silver-tongued devil. You charm your way through life without any thought to anyone else. You are an unrepentant, selfish, self-serving bastard.”
She despised him. That very morning she’d professed her love for him, and now she despised him. And all because of Lydia? All because of a mistake from five years earlier—five years before he’d even involved himself with The Ice Princess. “Is that all?” he asked in a whisper.
“No. I’m glad you’re leaving.”
He nodded curtly and left Gosling Park.
Twenty-Six
Righting a wrong
Luke was in a daze most of the journey back to London. If he’d been asked which inns he stayed at, how long the trip, or what color the sky was, he’d have been hard-pressed to answer. As awful as he’d felt without Juliet in Yorkshire, this was worse. This was devastating. He couldn’t even visit his sister, as he was certain she would view the recent events in Dorset as him having committed The Cardinal Sin of having hurt Juliet again. Which was ironic, as he felt that he was the one who’d had his heart ripped from his chest.
Upon his return to London, Luke went directly to Ridgemont House. If his time in Dorset had taught him anything, it was that he needed to get his past in order. He was shown into a yellow parlor, and he walked the floor back and forth until the baron entered the room. “Mr. Beckford, you wished an audience?” Ridgemont asked. Though he was an older man, the baron held himself well. He was tall, slender, and grey haired. And, from all accounts, enamored with his wife.
Luke suddenly felt pangs of guilt. You charm your way through life, without any thought to anyone else. You are an unrepentant, selfish, self-serving bastard. He hated that she was right. “Yes, my lord. I’ve come to offer my most humble apologies.”
Ridgemont frowned, but gestured Luke to a seat. “Indeed?”
After a deep sigh, Luke began, “I have been disrespectful of you, and—”
“You’re speaking of Louisa?” the baron surmised.
Luke agreed with an incline of his head.
“And the emerald pendant?” Ridgemont pressed further.
Luke shook his head. “My perfidy only goes so far, my lord. I’ve never been a thief.”
“Well, that’s a matter of opinion, isn’t it, Mr. Beckford? I’d imagine that most men don’t willingly hand their wives over to you.”
He’d never thought of that as theft, but now he supposed the old baron had a point. “Touché. And that is why I’ve come, sir. I was a profligate for many years, at the expense of men such as yourself, and I am very sorry for any pain or embarrassment I might have caused you.”
The baron chuckled, and folded his hands in his lap. “Indeed? Do you plan to visit each fellow you’ve cuckolded? If so, I imagine you’ll be a very busy man for some time.”
Sweet Lucifer! This interview was painful enough. He couldn’t even imagine having to do such a thing many times over. Besides someone was bound to thank him with the barrel of their pistol. The very idea sent chills down his spine. He managed to shake his head. “No, sir. But I’ve come, you see, because I wanted to ask for your help.” He’d been threatening Louisa about revealing all to her husband, and with the latest episode with Bow Street, he didn’t feel he had a choice.
The baron stopped chuckling. “I can’t even imagine what else you’d want from me.”
Luke sighed. “My lord, first I want to assure you that I have not taken Lady Ridgemont’s jewelry. I simply want to end my association with her. In fact, our association has been over for quite some time.”
“But she hasn’t wanted to give you up?”
The man didn’t sound surprised, and Luke found himself nodding. “And now that she’s involved Bow Street… Well, sir, I find myself at a loss of what to do.”
“I involved Bow Street, not being aware of Louisa’s duplicity. Once I learned of it, I ended their investigation. And my wife and I have come to an understanding of sorts. However, I would rather you keep your distance, Mr. Beckford.”
He’d be glad to. “Of course.” If only things had gone so well in Dorset.
***
The loss of his brother’s affections was something Luke had never considered, and now that it had happened, he felt completely lost. He began obsessing on the disintegration of his relationship with Robert, because it was much easier to think about than the disintegration of his relationship with Juliet.
Just as Luke filled a glass of whiskey and was prepared to spend another quiet night at home, wallowing in his own self-pity, there was a pounding on his door. “Luke!” came Will’s panicked voice.
He nearly rolled his eyes. What the devil did Will want? And did he always have to sound panicked? Annoyed, Luke opened the door to find Haywood looking like a man possessed. “Thank God! Luke, I’m in trouble.”
What else was new? That was fairly ungenerous, and Luke felt a bit guilty, so he gestured his friend inside. “What’s the problem, Will?”
Will took the glass of whiskey that Luke had in his hand and downed it in one gulp. “I’m desperate, Luke.”
Of course he was. He always was. Luke gestured for Will to take a seat and then poured two more whiskeys from the sideboard decanter.
“I can’t hold off my creditors much longer, and—”
“What about Miss Clarke?” If nothing else, Will was a distraction. Focusing on his friend’s problems was better than thinking about his own. He handed Will one of the glasses and took a seat opposite him. “I thought you were going to make an offer.”
Will frowned and shook his head. “I did, but Hugh St. Claire ended up stealing her from me. Damn his eyes.”
St. Claire? Luke furrowed his own brow. He could go forever without hearing that name.
“And now that bastard is living my life. They married weeks ago. All that time wasted.” Will stared at the amber liquid, as if it magically held whatever answer he was looking for. “Now the season’s over, as are my chances at finding another heiress at this late date.” Will leapt to his feet. “But you’ve got the Devil’s own luck, Luke. All I’ve got left are my stables and a few hundred quid. But if you’d play for me, well, I just know you’ll win.”
Had he heard his friend correctly? Will wanted to gamble away the last of his meager funds? That was ridiculous. “I beg your pardon?”
Will dropped his whiskey glass to a side table and ran his hand through his black hair. “You’re my last hope, Luke.”
The lad was too reckless. Luke shook his head. “I will not be responsible for you losing all you have left, Will. I can loan you what you need for now, and then we’ll find a way to sort through the rest.”
But Will was frowning. “If you won’t help me, I’ll just handle it on my own.”
Exasperated, Luke sunk back against his seat. He was trying to help his friend. Didn’t he see that? Apparently not, as Will was dead-set on playing Hazard, and Luke just didn’t feel right about letting him go on his own. Who knew what sort of trouble he’d get into?
So they ended up in a gaming hell, a little one off King Street. However, Luke was adamant that he would not play for Will. It was ridiculous to gamble everything he had left. Besides the baron could quadruple his worth and he still wouldn’t be in a better financial situation.
This was a fool’s errand.
Luke walked around the hell and raised his glass to more than one old friend or ex-lover. This was what his life had come to—spending time around drunken bucks, gambling nabobs, and brazen women.
Again, he felt lost and full of remorse and regret. These sensations were still fairly new for him, and for his part, he wasn’t too keen on any of it. His entire life he’d been an unrepentant, self-serving bastard. Or at least, that was what Juliet thought. Of course, she was right.
Oh, Juliet.
What kind of trouble was she in that she was hiding in Dorset? If he’d been able to stay at Gosling, he could have watched after her, kept her safe, convinced her to love him like she used to. But Lydia had ruined all that.
How he hated his sister-in-law.
Luke downed a good portion of the whiskey in his hands and sank into a seat close enough to the hazard tables so that he could keep Haywood in his sights. He leaned back and glanced around the room. Then he lost himself in one glass after another.
When had his life become this uncomfortable state he now resided in? It really wasn’t all that long ago that he’d been satisfied with his life. Wine, women, and song—why had he ever complained about that? Because it had been a hollow existence.
Perhaps if he’d told Robert the truth about Lydia from the beginning, his brother wouldn’t be married to the little tart. And she wouldn’t now be trying to pass someone else’s bastard off as the next heir to Robert’s earldom.
Poor Robert.
Anyone with eyes could see that gruff earl had actually fallen in love with his scandalous wife, though Luke still found that hard to believe. In truth, he didn’t care about not being Robert’s heir—not really. The stress of the title and obligations… Well, that just wasn’t something Luke had ever wished for. He’d always been happy with his own lot and didn’t want Robert’s life.
Luke drained another whiskey and sank back in his seat with a sigh. What could he do now? He’d tried to warn Robert. He’d tried to tell him the truth. But the bloody love-sick idiot wouldn’t pay him one bit of attention. Damn Lydia Masten to hell. Robert didn’t deserve whatever she had planned for him. And while he was at it, damn himself, as well. It was, after all, his fault that his brother was in this trouble to begin with.
“Lucas?” a soft feminine voice asked at his side.
Luke turned his head and stared up at an old familiar face. Mrs. Cecily Rigsley, Robert’s one time paramour, dropped into the seat next to Luke and she smiled warmly. Now, why hadn’t Robert made things work with her? She was much more his brother’s type—long legs, slender frame, thick brown hair and dark eyes. “Evening, Cecily.”
Cecily reached across her seat and took Luke’s hands in hers. “Why, Lucas, whatever has you so distressed, my dear boy?”
Though Luke usually held his cards fairly close to his vest, he surprised himself when he began to tell her his troubles with Robert. But after all, Cecily probably knew his brother better than he did. She might have a perspective he didn’t. Besides, it felt a bit better to get the pressing weight off his chest, so he held nothing back and told her everything about his brother and Lydia.
Cecily listened with great interest and a consoling ear. “His wife?” she echoed in surprise. “Is that the little flame-haired chit I spied him with at Drury Lane?”
“Flame-haired? I suppose it was.” Luke nodded miserably.
“I wondered who she was. At first I thought perhaps she was Astwick’s light-o-love. But since his mother was present, I figured that wasn’t the case. But for God’s sake, Lucas, I never would have dreamed that slight little girl was Lady Masten.”
“Her looks can be deceiving,” Luke admitted sullenly. He’d learned that first hand.
“And Robert is truly smitten with her?”
Was there a jealous edge to Cecily’s voice? No, of course not. She and Robert had been finished long before Lydia entered the scene. “Blinded is more like it, and it’s all my fault, Cecily.”
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous. Robert is a grown man. You can’t be held responsible for his choices.”
“But I know her, Cecily. I know that she’s passing off some lover’s child as Robert’s. I don’t mind being passed over by a legitimate heir, mind you, but it is a bit nauseating to think that some gent’s by-blow will take my place in line.”
“Don’t be so distraught.” Cecily caressed his folded hands, “Perhaps the child is Robert’s, after all. He’s not a fool, your brother.”
Luke held Cecily’s dark gaze. “You’re very kind, Cecily, but I know what I know. Why did Robert ever leave you?”
Cecily frowned and looked down. “Your brother can be a very unforgiving man. I said some things I shouldn’t have when I was a bit foxed. And, well, that was the end.”
Through his alcohol-induced haze, Luke nodded glumly. It was coming back to him now. But slowly. He blinked and tried to remember the exact circumstances. Ah, yes, Cecily had taken up with Lord Audley after some blowup she’d had with Robert at Vauxhall. Audley had been put out over losing a promising bay to Robert on the stocks, and had taken great pleasure in relieving Masten of his mistress as a consolation prize of sorts.
By the time Cecily had realized that Audley had no intention of making their friendship a permanent one, Robert had already washed his hands of her. Yes, her desertion was not something Robert would forgive easily. And really none of it mattered anymore, anyway. His brother was in so deep with Lydia that it made Robert’s days of sparring with Cecily at Vauxhall looked like child’s play. “Thank you for your ear, Cecily. And if it’s any comfort, I think Robert was a fool to let you go.”
“You are such a dear, Lucas.” Her eyes sparkled with delight. Then she stood and happily left him. Luke looked back down into his now empty glass.
An audible “Aw” was heard from the hazard table. His head popped up and he re-focused on Will. Damn. Haywood’s shoulders were slumped forward and head was bent in defeat.
“He’s a fool in many ways,” came a soft male voice, only a few feet away. “I had hoped you weren’t like him.”
Luke turned in his seat and stared at a young man. Even with his eye sight a bit blurred, Luke thought the fellow looked a bit familiar. “I b—beg your pardon,” his voice sounded slurred to his own ears.
***
Hugh sat in a chair across from Mr. Beckford and shook his head. He had not been happy to recognize him enter this establishment. If Luke Beckford was in London, where was Juliet? And was she safe? Hugh shook his head in disgust.
“I wish you wouldn’t do that. You’re making the room spin.”
The man was deep in his cups, and Hugh couldn’t understand what Juliet saw in the lout. He’d been fairly unhappy to learn that Luke was friends with William Haywood, knowing full well what that despicable man was capable of. “Have you seen my cousin?”
Luke snorted. “I don’t even know who the devil you are.”
“You don’t remember me?”
“Sh—should I?” He opened his eyes wide, apparently trying to focus on Hugh’s face.
“Hugh St. Claire.”
“You s—stole Miss Clarke from Haywood.”
Stole her? Hugh glowered at him. “I won’t discuss my wife with you, but—”
Luke Beckford started to laugh, a pitiful, self-loathing laugh. “God, you sound like my brother. No one ever wants to discuss their wives with me.”
“I want to discuss my cousin with you,” Hugh responded with a steely voice.
“Your c—cousin?” Luke’s head bobbled, while he tried to level it.
“Juliet.”
Suddenly, Luke’s eyes focused on him. “Well, how unfortunate for you, as I won’t discuss her with you or anyone else.”
Hugh was not to be deterred. “Did you see her in Dorset? Is she all right?”
“Are you h—hard of hearing, Mr. St. Claire? Go back to your wife, the one you w—won’t speak of. I have nothing to say to you.”
A rich baritone chuckle boomed nearby, and Hugh turned to Chet standing behind him. The marquess’ soft green eye twinkled. “Of course he’s got nothing to say to you, St. Claire. Beckford only speaks pleasantly to the ladies.”
Luke glowered at Chet. “Bugger off, Astwick.”
Chet laughed heartily again. “Don’t mind him,” he remarked to Hugh, “that’s how he generally greets me. Come along. I’m terribly anxious to partner you in whist. With your mind and my luck, we’ll break any man who is foolish enough to play against us.” Then he winked at Luke. “You look awful. Is this what spending time with Robert does for you?”
