One Night Of Scandal by Teresa Medeiros

  Hayden tossed his cheroot into the cold fireplace, having lost his taste for it. "You know better than anyone that this wasn't a marriage sought by either one of us. Under such circumstances, it's not unusual for a husband and wife to maintain separate chambers."

  "Nor is it unusual for one of them to take a lover." As Hayden gazed at him in disbelief, Ned swirled his port around the bottom of the glass. "Oh, come now, you can't tell me you haven't thought of it. She's a very fetching girl. If you don't want her, I can promise you that some other man will." He took a nonchalant sip of the port. "She seems to be far more level-headed than Justine. You needn't worry about scandal. I'm sure she'll be discreet in her choice of lovers."

  Hayden calmly set his own glass on the mantel, then jerked Ned up by his flawlessly knotted cravat and slammed him against the nearest bookshelf. Ned's cheroot tumbled to the floor, but being the consummate gentleman, he didn't spill a single drop of his liquor.

  Still balancing the glass in his palm, he thrust his sneering face into Hayden's. "What are you going to do, Hayden? Call me out? So what's it to be this time? Swords in the courtyard? Pistols at dawn? Have you chosen your second yet? If you'd like, I can check your pistol for you, then hand it over so you can shoot me with it."

  The crimson veil of rage clouding Hayden's vision finally cleared enough to reveal that it wasn't fear glittering in his friend's eyes, but triumph.

  Hayden slowly released him, fighting to control his ragged breathing. He rescued his glass from the mantel and lifted it in a mocking toast, hoping to hide the unsteadiness of his hand. "Congratulations, my friend. You succeeded in goading me into making a cake of myself over a woman. Again."

  "What I did was goad you into admitting you were falling in love with your wife."

  "Lest you've forgotten, the last time I fell in love with my wife, two people died."

  A rare note of passion edged Ned's voice. "But isn't that both the beauty and the danger of love? It should be a prize worth killing for, even worth dying for if necessary."

  "Noble sentiments indeed coming from a man whose idea of eternal love is a week spent in an opera dancer's bed. If Phillipe were here, I'm not so sure he would agree with you." Hayden gazed into the ruby depths of his port. "Is that why you came here? To punish me for his death?"

  "I came here because I thought it was time you stopped punishing yourself. Phillipe needed killing," Ned said grimly, "especially after what he did to Justine. If you hadn't shot him, some other husband would have."

  Hayden lifted his head. "And what about Justine? Did she need killing as well?"

  Ned subsided, gazing at him through troubled gray eyes. "I honestly don't know, old friend," he said softly. "You're the only one who does."

  Hayden reached over and gently smoothed Ned's wrinkled cravat. "I believe there are some ladies in the dining room waiting to share dessert with you. Give my wife my regrets, won't you?" He gave Ned's cravat a last fond pat, then turned and started for the door.

  "If you continue to deny your feelings," Ned called after him, "then I'm afraid regrets are all you'll have."

  * * *

  Allegra surprised them all by taking quite a fancy to Miss Terwilliger. Since they both tended to blurt out the first thing that popped into their heads, the two of them were never at a lack for conversation. With the crotchety old teacher occupying Allegra's mornings with lessons, Lottie found herself at something of a loss.

  She wandered into the music room one morning, searching for a book she'd mislaid the night before, only to find Sir Ned gazing up at Justine's portrait, hands in pockets.

  Joining him, she sighed. "So have you come all the way from London to worship at the shrine?"

  He shook his head. "Most certainly not. The only offering that would satisfy a woman like Justine would be a man's heart — ripped from his chest while it was still beating."

  Lottie glanced at him, surprised by the depth of his disdain. "Why so jaded? Didn't you once woo her as well?"

  "Yes, I did." He returned his gaze to the portrait, a rueful smile curving his thin lips. "With all the passion and romantic fervor of any love-smitten twenty-year-old. I sought to fill up her dance card at every ball and composed laborious odes to the dusky sheen of her hair and the lushness of her lips."

  "It must have broken your heart when she decided to marry Hayden."

  He lifted his shoulders in an elegant shrug. "When she scorned my suit, I sulked and cried foul as I was expected to do, but if you must know the truth, in my heart I felt nothing but an overwhelming sense of relief."

  Lottie frowned, bewildered by his confession. "But I thought you adored her. How could you give her up so easily?"

  "I'm not sure. Perhaps even then I knew she was a tragedy waiting to happen. Besides, I'm not half the man Hayden is," he said frankly. "I would have never been strong enough to endure her capricious moods and demands."

  Lottie struggled to keep her voice light as she asked, "Was Hayden's friend Phillipe equally smitten and equally relieved?"

  A scowl clouded Ned's sharp features. "Phillipe was no friend to Hayden. I could have told him that, but he wouldn't have believed me. With that sunny temperament of his, Hayden was always determined to believe the best of everyone."

  Lottie bit back a smile, bemused to hear her husband's temperament described as sunny. "He always seemed determined to believe the worst of me. The night we met, he thought I was a spy for one of the scandal sheets."

  Ned snorted. "If he truly believed that, he probably would have tossed you off the nearest cliff."

  "If Hayden believed Phillipe to be his friend, why did Phillipe betray him?"

  "Phillipe was the second son of a viscount who had gambled away most of the family wealth, while Hayden was the cherished only son of a marquess, and heir to a generous fortune. Phillipe coveted everything Hayden touched, most especially Justine. He never forgave Hayden for winning both her heart and her hand."

  "Hayden told me that he and Justine quarreled quite violently while they were still in London just before… before Phillipe. Do you know why?"

  Ned sighed. "Justine desperately wanted to give him another child — an heir, but she'd suffered so after Allegra's birth that Hayden feared the strain of childbirth might destroy what was left of her mind."

  "But how did he prevent…? How did they…?" Lottie faltered, hesitant to reveal her own ignorance.

  "It was quite simple, my lady," Ned said gently. "After Allegra was born, Hayden never returned to his wife's bed."

  Lottie could only gaze at him, stunned by the revelation. She had believed she had nothing to offer her husband that could compare to the passion he had shared with Justine. Yet he had denied himself the woman's bed for over six years.

  Ned continued. "Aside from being insane, Justine could be insanely jealous. She became obsessed with the notion that Hayden was seeking his pleasures in other women's beds."

  "Was he?" Lottie met Ned's gaze boldly, hoping to conceal the cost of the question.

  Ned shook his head. "Most other men, myself included, would have kept a mistress to relieve their baser needs. But not Hayden. He couldn't bear to do that to her. Or to them."

  Lottie gazed up into Justine's mocking violet eyes. "Because he loved her."

  When Ned spoke again, he seemed to be choosing his words with great care. "Hayden was thrust into the position of caretaker at a very young age. I often felt that his love for Justine was more the love of a parent for a child than that of a man for a woman. He knew in his heart that they could never truly be equals." Dismissing the portrait, Ned turned to appraise her, the challenge in his gaze unmistakable. "I always felt he needed a woman who would be his match, both in the bedchamber and out of it."

  Sketching her a courtly bow, Ned excused himself, leaving Lottie alone with Justine to ponder his words.

  * * *

  Hayden was reviewing the accounts of his local properties the next day, his head awash in a sea of numbers, when a brisk
knock came on the door of the study. He was forced to dislodge one kitten from his lap and another from his foot before he could even rise. He was halfway to the door when he stumbled over a third cat. Sighing with exaggerated forbearance, he nudged it out of his path with the toe of his boot.

  He swung open the door. No one was there. He stuck his head out the door and looked both ways, but the corridor was equally empty. He glanced down to discover a folded sheet of vellum at his feet. Someone must have slid it beneath the door. He unfolded it to find an invitation lettered in a bold hand that could only belong to his wife.

  It seemed that she had decided to host a musicale in honor of their guest. Lady Oakleigh and Miss Harriet Dimwinkle were to sing a duet of "Hark! Hark! The Lark!" while Miss Agatha Terwilliger had been enlisted to pluck out "I Kissed My Lover in the Greensward" on the harp. Hayden shuddered, thinking the image might very well tempt him to pluck out his eyes. Of course, the pièce de résistance of the evening was to be Lady Allegra St. Clair's rendition of the Beethoven sonata known as "Tempest" on the piano.

  Hayden slowly lowered the invitation. "Tempest" had been one of Justine's favorite pieces. He'd spent many a cozy evening in the music room with a fire glowing on the hearth and Allegra in his lap, listening to Justine master its rippling melody. But whenever she would stop sleeping and start burning with the fire that threatened to consume her from within, she would play the piece over and over, the notes so wild and discordant that Hayden feared he, too, might be in danger of losing his mind.

  The thought of having to sit there and listen to that piece rendered by Allegra's small fingers made him break out in an icy sweat.

  He could do this, he told himself, crumpling the invitation in his hand. For his daughter's sake, he could do this.

  Which was what Hayden was still telling himself six hours later as he stood in front of the cheval glass in his bedchamber. He could have taken no more care with his appearance had he been invited to Windsor to dine with the king. His collar and cuffs were starched, his cravat as expertly knotted as Ned's, his unruly hair coaxed into some semblance of civilized behavior. Yet the man staring back at him from the mirror was as wild-eyed as any savage.

  He drew out his watch and snapped it open. They were all probably already gathered in the music room, just waiting for him to arrive. It would hardly come as a shock to any of them, especially Lottie, if he sent Giles to deliver his regrets.

  If you continue to deny your feelings, then I'm afraid regrets are all you'll have.

  As Ned's warning echoed through his head, Hayden jerked his coat straight and turned his back on the man in the mirror.

  * * *

  Allegra flitted around the music room like a nervous butterfly in her pink dimity frock and kid slippers. With Lottie's help, her rebellious hair had been coaxed into gleaming spiral curls that cascaded halfway down her back. Although both of her dolls had been given seats of honor in front of the piano, she was beginning to look more like a young lady than a little girl.

  Praying she hadn't made a terrible miscalculation, Lottie did her level best to keep from glancing at the door every three seconds. At any minute she expected Giles to appear and announce that his lordship had been called away on a matter that required his immediate attention. Such as prying a pebble from his horse's hoof or inspecting the washed-out stonework at the foot of the drive.

  From her place beside Sir Ned on the divan, Harriet took a slurp of her punch. "I hope you won't be too disappointed by my warbling, sir."

  "You needn't fret, Miss Dimwinkle," Ned replied, winking at Lottie. "One can hardly expect a lady to have both the face and the voice of an angel."

  Burying her face in her punch cup, Harriet tittered with delight.

  "It's a quarter hour past my bedtime," Miss Terwilliger announced to no one in particular. "I would have never agreed to lend my talents to this little bacchanalia had I known the revelry would extend until the wee hours of the morning."

  Lottie glanced at her own watch. It was half past seven.

  "We needn't wait any longer." Allegra sank down on the piano bench, surveying her slippers. "He's not coming."

  "He most certainly is."

  They all whipped their heads around to find Hayden standing in the doorway. His curt bow only underscored the casual elegance of his finery. As their eyes met, his wary gaze stole Lottie's breath away. With his set jaw and that stubborn lock of dark hair tumbling over his brow, he'd never looked more devastatingly handsome. Although she didn't acknowledge her father's arrival with a gesture or a greeting, Allegra's face went pink with pleasure.

  Hayden claimed the chair next to Lottie's, warming her every breath with the masculine musk of bayberry. She could not resist leaning over and whispering, "You look as if you're about to attend a public execution."

  "I am," he whispered back, the polite smile frozen on his face. "Mine."

  With their audience complete, Lottie and Harriet moved to the music stand to begin their duet. While Lottie's voice was high and true, Harriet's voice could only be described as an off-key croak more suited to "Hark! Hark! The Toad!"

  No doubt fearing an encore, the instant the last note died Ned leapt to his feet and gave them an enthusiastic round of applause, shouting, "Bravo! Bravo!"

  Lottie took her bow, then dragged the beaming Harriet back to the divan.

  Miss Terwilliger's solo was next on the program, but none of them had the heart to awaken her. Taking her cue from Lottie's nod of encouragement, Allegra slowly rose to take her place at the piano, her small hands trembling.

  The minute those hands touched the keys, they lost their tremor as if by magic, their nimble grace casting a spell over them all.

  As the first notes came rippling from the instrument, Lottie stole a glance at Hayden. Was she imagining the hint of panic in his eyes, the fine sheen of sweat on his brow? She had deliberately positioned the chairs so they would be sitting with their backs to Justine's portrait, but perhaps he could still feel those knowing eyes of hers boring into the back of his neck.

  Allegra had just reached the dramatic climax of the piece when Hayden lurched to his feet. Her fingers stumbled to an awkward halt, the unfinished chord ringing in the silence.

  "I'm sorry," he said, his voice a strangled rasp. "I'm desperately sorry, but I can't… I simply can't…"

  Casting Lottie a beseeching look, he went striding from the room.

  * * *

  Lottie sat at the writing desk in her bedchamber, her pen poised over the page, but no words flowing. What had once been captured so easily in bold penstrokes of black upon ivory now seemed mired in shades of gray. The characters in her novel felt no more real to her than the garish caricatures sketched by some anonymous artist for the scandal sheets. Every time she tried to picture her villain, she saw that last helpless look Hayden had given her before fleeing the music room.

  She had retreated to her desk after tucking a subdued Allegra into bed. Although they had all begged the girl to continue after Hayden's unceremonious exit, not even Ned's teasing charm could coax her into playing another note. She had insisted upon retiring, her face pinched and pale. Lottie would have much preferred that she sob and rant and throw one of her legendary tantrums. The child's stoic suffering reminded Lottie entirely too much of Hayden.

  Realizing she had dribbled ink all over the page, Lottie snapped open her writing case, drew out a fresh sheet of paper and refilled her pen from the ink bottle. She'd been half-heartedly scribbling for several minutes when the first ghostly strains of piano music drifted to her ears.

  Her hand jerked, upsetting the bottle of ink. It went spilling across the page, blotting out everything she'd written.

  Listening to the heartbreaking beauty of those wild, impassioned notes, Lottie closed her eyes and whispered, "Oh, Allegra."

  * * *

  Hayden stood gazing down at the surf that foamed around the jagged rocks at the base of the cliff. Although his well-muscled legs were braced against
the wind, its punishing gusts still battered him, making him sway dangerously close to the edge of the cliff. Above him, the clouds flirted with the moon, their shifting moods as fickle as Justine's had once been. Behind him, the house was dark and silent, its occupants long abed and dreaming of the morrow.

  Hayden knew there would be no use in seeking his own bed tonight. Every time he closed his eyes, all he would see was the stricken look on his wife's and daughter's faces as he spoiled their fine evening.

  He was still standing there when the wind carried to his ears the first distant notes of piano music. It was the same piece Allegra had played that night, the same piece Justine had once played over and over, her frenzied fingers attacking the keys. As Hayden slowly turned to gaze up at the darkened windows of the house, the music gathered in strength and fury, like an approaching storm.

  * * *

  Lottie strode down the shadowy corridor that led to the music room, the notes of the sonata crashing over her in waves. Once such a sound would have struck terror in her heart, but now she knew she had nothing to fear but a hurt and defiant child. The music room door stood open in invitation, just as it had ever since the night Lottie had discovered Allegra masquerading as the ghost.

  Lottie slipped into the room, the hem of her nightdress brushing the floor. Moonlight streamed through the skylight, shrouding the piano in a hazy glow. Just as before, the lid of the instrument had been left propped open, sheltering its keys from her view.

  She breathed in the dizzying fragrance of jasmine. Allegra must have been dipping into her mother's perfume again.

  Sighing, Lottie rounded the piano. "You have every right to be angry with your father, Allegra, but that doesn't mean you can just— "

  The bench was empty. Lottie's gaze slowly shifted to the keys, which continued to rise and fall for a full measure before falling still and silent.

  Lottie opened her mouth, but nothing came out so she simply closed it again. She stretched out her hand to stroke a trembling finger down one of the keys.