Scandal of the Season Page 2

  How?

  How had his mother kept herself from them all these years? Hadn’t she cared about her children, if not her husband? She was alive. The past eight years had been a complete farce, which made him nothing but a fool for believing everything Father had ever told him.

  A prostitute.

  A common strumpet.

  His mother was no better than a lightskirt. And even worse, his father had known all along. His father had lied to him…and his sister. Genna didn’t even remember her mother. His sister had been only two when the whore had left two days before Christmas. If it ever came out that their mother was alive and living as a prostitute, his sister would be ruined.

  Genna must never discover the truth.

  A cold December rain dampened his breeches. He pulled his legs in under the archway of the stoop and took another long draught of the stolen brandy to chase the chill away. He couldn’t go home drunk and furious. First, he had to determine exactly what he would say to his lying father when he confronted him.

  He’d never felt so lost and alone in all his life. Not even when his mother had died. He shook his head. But she wasn’t dead. She left them to go sell herself to anyone who would have her. He dropped his head to his knees.

  How could she have left her children? Left him?

  The rain turned to a steady downpour as he sat there drinking the brandy. His mind turned hazy as he watched the carriages drive by his spot. Suddenly something, or rather someone, stumbled over his feet in an effort to be out of the rain.

  “Bloody hell,” he mumbled. “You almost spilled my brandy.”

  Blinking, he tried to get his eyes to focus on the small body huddled in the opposite corner. The fresh scent of oranges washed over him. It was her. His orange blossom. The woman he’d truly wanted tonight.

  “Doesn’t appear to be much left in the bottle,” she replied, holding it up.

  “Help yourself.”

  “I intend to.” She held the bottle up to her lips and drank some down.

  Fascinated, Anthony stared at her slender neck as she tilted her head back and drank from the bottle. “Who are you?”

  “No one.” She handed the bottle back to him. “Thank you.”

  “Why are you here?”

  She laughed softly. “The same reason as you, to get out of the rain.” She shivered and her teeth chattered.

  He pushed the bottle back toward her. “Drink.”

  She accepted it back greedily. “Th—thank you again. It’s helpin’ me get warmer.” She sipped some more before asking, “What’s yer name?”

  He hesitated just a moment. “Tony,” he said, although only Genna called him that. “Why were you out selling oranges so late tonight?”

  “I was trying to sell all the oranges. Today wasn’t a good day.”

  “No. Definitely not a good day,” he agreed, staring at the basket half full of fruit. The Christmas season was never good. Everything bad seemed to happen then, at least to him.

  “Did you lose too much gamblin’ tonight?”

  “How did you know I’d been gaming?” he asked.

  She shrugged. “Isn’t that what most young bucks do? It’s either gamblin’ or whorin’.”

  Maybe she wasn’t the innocent she pretended to be, he thought. “Actually, I won a substantial sum tonight,” he said, pride lacing his voice. “What do you do with your money?”

  “You mean the measly amount I get by sellin’ oranges?” She pressed her lips together. “I just try to get ahead.”

  He shifted and his shoulder collided with hers. A jingle of coins rang from the pocket in his coat. “What if I offered to buy the rest of your lot?”

  “I don’t take charity. I work for the extra money I need.”

  “Hmm, a woman with scruples.” He inched closer to her warmth. “I like that.”

  “I should get home,” she whispered.

  “Don’t.”

  She turned her head toward his. Mere inches separated them. The urge to move slightly until his lips touched hers was almost too much to resist. Would she taste sweet like the oranges she sold?

  “Have another sip.” He shifted away and handed her the bottle.

  “I have to go.” She scrambled to her feet and picked up her basket. “I—”

  He stood up quickly. “I want to kiss you,” he whispered, trapping her between the stone and his body.

  “No,” she whispered.

  “I need a woman who isn’t like her,” he muttered.

  Anthony brought his lips to hers. Pulling her to him, he slid his tongue across her lips until she opened for him. Drowning in a desire he’d never felt before, he knew he had to have her. He needed her comfort, her softness. As he brought his hand to cup her breast, he heard her gasp.

  “No,” she cried softly. “Not like this.”

  Only Anthony was far too gone to understand her meaning.

  Chapter Two

  London, 1817

  Anthony slammed the door behind him and hurled his hat across the room. Why did this bother him so much tonight? It wasn’t as if something similar hadn’t happened on several occasions during the past eight years. He crossed the room to the fireplace and held out his hands for some warmth. There certainly hadn’t been any warmth from that damned ballroom tonight.

  Still, he’d never been specifically asked to leave a party.

  Until tonight.

  He walked over to the small decanter and poured a glass of whisky. He drank it all down and refilled his glass before heading to a chair. As he took a sip, he heard the door open and wondered at his choice for a place of refuge.

  “I rather doubt that will help your problem,” the feminine voice said as she strolled closer. She tousled his hair as she walked past his seat and took the chair across from him.

  Anthony held up the glass in salute then drank down the rest. “This is helping immensely.”

  “I just cannot believe Lord Eastleigh made such a spectacle of asking you to leave in front of everyone,” Lady Whitely commented.

  He grimaced. “Well, if you know about it already, I am quite certain the entire ton has heard of it by now.”

  His mother laughed softly. “Now that is an exaggeration by far. Most of the ton are snug in their ancestral estates far from London.”

  “Not all of them,” he whispered, thinking of his newly married friends. Perhaps it was what he deserved after all. He gave up being the respectable young gentleman ten years ago.

  “You can easily solve this problem,” his mother said, staring at him.

  “How am I supposed to fix my reputation at this point? My dead mother is alive and the owner of the most popular brothel in London, my father has told everyone that my mother is dead, and the last I’ve heard, I have killed over twenty people and will seduce innocent virgins in their own beds.”

  “No one knows about me except you and your father. Besides,” she said with a little laugh, “I thought it was only one virgin and not in her bed.”

  “Exactly. And the last time I checked, I had only killed five people, all of whom had attempted to kill me first.”

  His mother leaned back against her blue velvet chair and sighed. She scarcely looked like a prostitute in her fine silk gown. Even ten years after discovering her, he still had no idea if she even took men to her bedroom. Not that it mattered. She owned the house and took her cut from the girls.

  “Anthony, setting your reputation to rights is not that difficult. You are the son of an earl. You are wealthy in your own right.”

  Anthony slammed down the whisky glass on the table. “I am not interested in marriage.”

  “Why not?”

  “You of all people have to ask that question?” He spun the empty glass on the table until he finally slammed his hand down on it. “Perhaps, I am too much like my mother.”

  She released a long sigh. “Do not let my mistakes taint your future.”

  “It’s far too late for that, Mother.”

  “
Anthony, I know you think I was selfish,” she said softly. “If I had known the outcome of leaving you and Genna, I never would have done it.”

  “I know.” He closed his eyes against the painful subject. It wasn’t the first time she had tried to explain her actions of eighteen years ago. His father had just as much blame to account for as she did. Perhaps even more. He was the one who declared she’d died. He was the one who told her never to return to the estate or attempt to see her children. He was the one who left her destitute, forcing her to turn to prostitution.

  “You will need an heir someday,” his mother said, reverting the subject back to his respectability issue. “And marriage to the right woman would solve your problems. All you need is a father who might want a title for his daughter. I believe Miss Susan Coddington would be a good choice. Her father is a baron and I have heard he might like to see her become a viscountess.”

  He closed his eyes and considered her words. His mother made sense, but he never wanted to marry. Marriage meant trust and honesty. Not something he could ever give to a woman. Then again, if he were only marrying for respectability, it would not matter. As long as she gave him an heir and put him back in the ton, he could keep his secrets.

  “Anthony, a good woman can greatly improve your reputation. The right one can make you respectable just with a ring on her finger. But only if…” her voice trailed off as she stared into the fireplace.

  “If what?”

  “Only if you stop working for Mr. Ainsworth. As long as you continue doing jobs for him, your reputation will continue to suffer.”

  He blew out a breath and wondered if her comments stemmed from the desire to see his reputation corrected or her need to keep him out of harm’s way. Not that it mattered either way. As long as he worked for Ainsworth, he put both his life and reputation at risk.

  “Anthony, I have something for you to give to your sister.” She walked over to a small chest on her desk and pulled out a pendant. Rubies sparkled in the light of the fire as she held it out for him.

  “You want me to give this to Genna?”

  “Yes, as a Christmas gift.”

  “Christmas isn’t for three weeks,” Anthony commented with a scowl. Christmas always reminded him of the dreadful times in his life.

  “I want to make sure she receives it before her wedding. Tell her I wore it on my wedding day and you thought she would like to wear it on hers.”

  Anthony reached for the rubies and studied them. They were a fine quality, but he wondered at their origins. “Am I supposed to tell her you gave them to her?”

  “Oh, Anthony,” she clutched her hands over his, “please, just do this for me.”

  Unable to resist tears in her eyes, he nodded. “I will tell her that Father found them with your things.”

  “Tell her you found them in the attic, please.”

  He had learned so little of what had made his mother leave his father. When he had finally made his return to this house a year after that fateful night, she had told him of his father’s infidelities. He knew the reason for her leaving involved several mistresses and a bastard daughter.

  “As you wish,” he said.

  She released his hands. “Promise me you shall at least think about what I’ve said concerning your reputation, Anthony.”

  He stood up to leave and looked back at her. Before he even thought of marriage he had one wrong that he had to make right. Finding that woman had been the one thing he had never been able to do…until now.

  “I will consider what you said carefully.”

  Anthony quietly walked into Lord Selby’s house. While he had been invited to join the festivities celebrating the christening of Selby’s daughter, there was only one reason to be here. The cold December air had chilled him to the bone but the house was warm. He handed his greatcoat to the butler and walked into the salon.

  After a journey that took him to France for five months, he was exhausted and done playing the dual roles thrust upon him. He searched for the only reason he had attended tonight. Sophie Reynard arched a brow at him and then inclined her head toward the hall. He waited while she walked out of the room before joining her in Selby’s study.

  “Welcome back, Anthony. How was your trip? Successful?”

  The last thing he wanted to talk about was chasing all over France for an English spy. “Enough, Sophie. I have waited an additional five months to get her name. I want it now.”

  Sophie laughed softly. “Very well, I shall keep my promise. The woman you are searching for is Anne Smith.”

  Anthony waited for some sign of recognition but her name was as common as she had been. Just an orange seller. “Do you know if she is still alive? It’s been ten years.”

  “She is definitely alive.”

  Anthony frowned seeing the way Sophie looked down when she answered. “What are you keeping from me?”

  Sophie smiled and patted his cheek. “Why would I keep anything from you, my dearest brother? The woman you are searching for was in the room you just left.”

  “She’s here? In Selby’s salon?”

  “Yes,” Sophie replied with a smile.

  “Dammit, Sophie,” he almost shouted. “Why didn’t you tell me in there?”

  “Because of just that reaction.” She stared at him for a moment.

  Anthony glared back at his half sister. With her raven hair and gray eyes, she looked nothing like him but there was a slight resemblance to his sister, Genna. And Sophie seemed to have inherited the same stubborn attitude he had from their father.

  After learning about Sophie’s existence, he had sought her out, assuming he would find her living in squalor. Instead, he’d discovered a beautiful seventeen-year-old living in Mayfair with an aunt who acted as her guardian. He then discovered that his father paid all of her expenses as long as she never revealed his name as her father.

  Finding Sophie nine years ago had been one of the few positive outcomes of his family disaster. Even if sometimes he wanted to throttle her, such as now.

  “The timing must be perfect,” Sophie said quietly.

  “The timing of what?”

  “When you meet her again.”

  “You are not matching us. The only thing that matters is I meet her and apologize for my actions.” Sophie’s medium skills had made her the eminent matchmaker amongst the ton. But only a few people knew how she had coerced him into assisting her with three of the matches.

  “I agree,” Sophie said, then walked toward him. “You two would make a disastrous pair.”

  Anthony ignored her remark and reached into his jacket pocket. Pulling out the ruby necklace, he dangled it from his hand until she grabbed it from him. He had only brought it with him so she could tell him more about it.

  “It is beautiful,” Sophie said with awe.

  “Yes, it is. Genna will love it.”

  Sophie held the necklace tightly between both hands. “It is from Lady Whitely, is it not?”

  “Yes, a Christmas gift for Genna to wear on her wedding day,” he replied.

  “It is very old. I believe it might have belonged to your grandmother, too.”

  “I had hoped it might be a family heirloom and not some bauble bought from the revenues of the brothel.”

  Sophie opened her hands and looked at it with a touch of sadness in her eyes. “But she will never know it was from her mother so it doesn’t have the sentimental value it should.”

  “I will tell her Mother wore it on her wedding day. That will be enough for her.”

  “If you say so.” She handed him the ruby necklace. “Don’t lose that before Christmas.”

  Anthony tilted his head and looked at his sister. “Do you really think I would let anything happen to this?”

  “Of course not.”

  “I must go find Anne Smith,” he said, walking toward the door.

  “Anthony, be kind to her,” Sophie said quietly. “She has been through much in her life.”

  Anthony blew out
a breath. Knowing he’d caused some of that pain, he nodded to his sister. “Very well.”

  He strolled out of the study and back to the salon. Since she had been an orange seller, he assumed she must have gone into service. Footmen lined the room, but no female servants were present. Perhaps he had just missed her.

  As the moments passed, he made conversation with Selby, but his gaze watched every servant who entered the room. None fit the vague description that had stayed with him for ten long years of a petite blonde with blue eyes.

  Frustration grew as he realized Sophie must have lied to him again. He eased away from the conversation to speak with Lady Selby. He found her sitting on the sofa, holding her infant daughter, Isabel.

  “Somerton, come sit with me,” she said with a kind smile.

  Marriage and motherhood suited her, he decided. “How are you, Lady Selby?”

  “Very well. Would you like to hold her?”

  He was not the type of man to fawn over children, especially infants, but something made him agree. She placed the squirming little girl in his arms and showed him how to support her neck. As he looked down at her, she gurgled and gave him a toothless smile.

  “You are a natural,” she commented. “It took Banning several days to feel comfortable holding her.”

  Anthony smirked. “Selby never learned how to treat a lady.”

  “Oh?” a deep voice replied.

  Anthony glanced up to see Selby glaring down at him. “It is true.”

  Selby reached down and plucked his daughter out of Anthony’s arms. “I think I should warn you to keep your hands off my daughter.”

  Lady Selby laughed softly. “I think even Somerton likes them a little older than Isabel, Banning.”

  “I do prefer that they can walk,” Anthony said with a note of sarcasm. “Have you seen Miss Reynard?”

  “Sophie?” Lady Selby asked. “Why, no. I noticed she left the room and never returned. Unlike you. Is there something you need from her?”

  “No.” Anthony resisted the urge to roll his eyes at his friend’s wife. Her tone inferred a sensual meaning. Obviously, Sophie had never told a soul about their relationship. Just the way his father wanted it.