Scandal's Bride (Three Times a Bride Anthology) Page 9

A small hand stole into hers. “May I call you Mama?” she whispered.

  “Heather. Oh, Heather, of course you may.” Touched beyond words, Victoria pulled the little girl onto her lap and hugged her fiercely. She was laughing; she was crying, tears she couldn’t withhold and didn’t try to.

  It was the faint click of a door that alerted her…They weren’t alone. Someone else was in the room…

  And that someone was her husband.

  Ten

  Conscious thought was but a blur. Despite everything, all she could do was stare, as if he were a veritable feast for the eyes.

  Heather had spied him as well. “Papa!” she exclaimed. She slipped off Victoria’s lap. But before she could take more than a few steps, Miles was there. He caught her high in his arms.

  “My black-haired little poppet. I missed you, love.”

  Heather giggled. “Did you bring me a present?”

  Miles’s mouth quirked dryly. “I brought you a whole trunkload of presents, poppet.”

  “Can I see?” She fidgeted eagerly.

  Miles kissed her cheek, his eyes tender. “In just a bit, love.” He paused. “I see you’ve met my wife.”

  Heather glanced shyly back at Victoria. She curled her fingers around Miles’s collar and bent her forehead to his. “She said I could call her Mama.”

  Miles’s gaze rested on his wife. “So I heard,” he said softly.

  Victoria’s eyes flitted away. She linked trembling hands together in her lap. Her heart lurched. What else had he heard?

  When she finally found the courage to glance back at him, she was disconcerted to find herself the object of his attention.

  “I’d like to spend a few minutes with Heather and get her settled for the night.” His eyes cleaved the distance between them. “Will you wait for me here?”

  Victoria’s nod was jerky; she could manage no more. To Heather, she called a wobbly goodnight.

  The time passed all too quickly. Victoria sat and then paced. She paced and then sat. Then suddenly Miles was there before her, and it was just as she’d said in her story—he was so handsome her heart fluttered madly. The very sight of him made her tingle all the way to her toes.

  He moved to stand directly before her. One corner of his mouth curled up in a half-smile. “I must say, Victoria, this is the last place I expected to find you.”

  Her head came up. “No doubt,” she snapped. She was up and on her feet, her eyes blazing. She’d suddenly remembered how angry she was with him—and she was, so furious she was shaking with it.

  “You’re aware a letter came for you from Lyndermere?”

  “Yes. Though I’ve yet to discover the contents.”

  “I opened it only because Nelson thought it might be urgent.” She defended herself fiercely. “It was very brief, my lord. Something on the order of…‘I miss you terribly. Love, Heather,’” she quoted.

  “And you thought Heather was a woman, didn’t you? A woman I kept here in the country? A mistress perhaps?” When she glared at him, his lips quirked. “And that was what sent you packing to your father’s?”

  “Oh, I can see you find it vastly amusing,” she flared hotly. “And I had every intention of never seeing you again, Miles Grayson! But Papa had the audacity to tell me you might not be such a scoundrel after all. He knew about Heather, didn’t he?”

  Miles’s grin had faded. “Yes—and no. He was aware of her existence—that she was my ward—but I had no way of knowing if he knew the truth…” He sighed wearily, running his fingers through his hair. “Victoria, it’s a long story. And I know you’re angry that I didn’t tell you about Heather—”

  Tears burned her throat. “Yes, I’m angry. Angry because in all the weeks we’ve been married, not once did you see fit to tell me about your ward! Why, when I came here, I had no idea Heather even existed—I’ve never felt so foolish! And I’m angry because all the time you were in London, this poor, neglected child was here alone—”

  “Neglected? Come now, Victoria, you exaggerate. I have never neglected Heather, nor will I. And she was hardly alone, for there is a house full of servants who love her and care for her every need—”

  “But it was you she needed, Miles. She wanted her papa, and you should have been here with her! For that matter, she—she needs a mother, too, though apparently it’s never occurred to you that your wife could be the mother she needs.”

  Guilt flickered across his face. “Did you think it was easy for me? I stayed because of you, Victoria.” His tone was intense. “Because I wanted to be with you. That’s the truth.”

  “The truth!” The breath she drew was deep and shuddering. “How am I to believe you when you hid the truth from me—you didn’t tell me about Heather! How am I to trust you when you refused to trust me? Because you didn’t, did you, Miles? You didn’t trust me with the truth about Heather, did you?”

  Miles’s face had gone pale. “No,” he said very quietly.

  Victoria began to cry openly. “Why?” she cried. “Why didn’t you trust me? Did you think I’d fly into a rage? Did you think I wouldn’t understand? Did you think I’d want to send her away like—like that witch Lady Sutherland?”

  She saw him flinch, as if he’d been struck. And she knew then…

  “That’s it, isn’t it?” Pain slashed through her, like a rapier through the heart. Her words were a trembling, broken whisper. “You—you thought I was like her…”

  Miles’s body had gone stiff.

  “You’re right,” he said, his tone wooden. “I did think you were like Margaret. You see, I’d heard of you, even before that night at the Rutherfords, the beautiful—and much sought-after—daughter of the marquess of Norcastle who refused to choose a husband. Victoria, how can I explain…? The next thing I knew we were wed. I knew you didn’t want to be a wife…why would you want to be a mother, and to a little girl who wasn’t even your own…

  “I never loved Margaret, not really. I want you to know that, Victoria. I admit, I was swept away by her beauty and charm. I proposed to her because I thought Heather needed a mother—because I thought she could make us happy. I-I thought I was doing the right thing. Margaret came from an impeccable family. She loved the glitter of London, the parties, the gossip.

  “But as the wedding date drew near, I’d begun to have doubts—to think her shallow and vain—but I kept them to myself. I brought Margaret to Lyndermere to meet Heather. Victoria, she was…horrified when she saw Heather. She looked at Heather as if she were a—a monster.”

  Tears coursed down her cheeks. Everything he said was like a knife turning inside her. “I know that, Miles. But you must have known later that I wasn’t like her. I-I could never be so cruel! Yet still you didn’t tell me. You refused to believe in me. God, and I”—a jagged cry tore from her lips—“I thought you cared for me.”

  He seized her hands. She tried to snatch them back but he wouldn’t let her.

  “I do. Victoria, I do.” His tone was low and fervent. “But I was still afraid, sweet, and you must admit, you were scarcely at home those first weeks of our marriage. It seemed you thrived on the parties, the crowds, the adoration from those silly young bucks in London. I-I didn’t think you could be happy with a simple life in the country. I didn’t think you could be happy with me!”

  His voice grew raw. “But above all, I had to protect Heather. I’ve remained here at Lyndermere in order to spare Heather the pain of gossip and whispers among the London highbrows. I couldn’t let her be scorned or disdained by anyone. I couldn’t let her be hurt again the way Margaret hurt her! Victoria, the night we made love…I knew you were different or I wouldn’t have let it happen. My God, I wouldn’t have wanted it to happen. But I did, Victoria. I wanted you so much it hurt inside. And then the next morning I intended to tell you about Heather, but the news from Cornwall came and I had to leave…”

  He pulled her shaking body into his embrace. “I’m sorry, sweet,” he said achingly. “I’m so sorry. I knew how wrong
I’d been when I saw you with Heather. I was so relieved and yet so ashamed!”

  Victoria searched his face. The depth of emotion reflected in his eyes nearly took her breath away. It was going to be all right after all…With a tiny little cry she wrapped her arms around his waist and clung.

  “I want you to know everything, sweet, how Heather came to live here…everything. There was a carriage accident nearby some years ago. The coach carried three passengers—a man, a woman, and a child of about three.”

  Victoria’s tears had begun to slow. She turned her tear-stained face up to his. “Heather?” she whispered.

  Miles nodded. “The driver and the man were killed immediately. The woman lingered for several days.”

  “Heather’s parents?”

  “I believe so. I know for certain the woman was her mother. I brought her here to Lyndermere.” An odd note entered his voice. “Victoria, never in my life have I heard such vileness! Her mother knew she was dying. She heaped curses on her daughter and spewed the crudest of obscenities—because Heather would live and not her!”

  Victoria went cold inside. “The accident. Is that how she came to be lame?”

  “No. Her injuries were serious, but her knee was already scarred and malformed. The physician said it was likely some other accident. She was too ill to be moved—and she was so small—that I kept her here with me to recuperate. By the time she was well—oh, I know it sounds strange—but I loved her too much to let her go.”

  Victoria rubbed her cheek against the soft wool of his jacket. “It’s not strange at all,” she whispered. “I feel the same already.”

  His arms tightened. “There’s more, Victoria. Heather was an orphan. I do not condemn them, but her parents’ clothing was ragged and unkempt. Had I let her go, she would have been called a guttersnipe. I couldn’t let that happen. Nor could I let her go to an orphan house—my God, the conditions in those places are deplorable!”

  Victoria felt him swallow.

  “I lied, Victoria. I asked the courts to declare her my ward. I told the magistrate her parents were very dear friends of mine; that her father was an impoverished lord from France—Heather’s mother told me her name was Duval—who’d married an English lady. I said they were on their way to see me, to resettle here in England, when the accident occurred.”

  His palm was warm upon her nape. With his thumb he urged her face to his. “Heather believes herself to be the daughter of a French aristocrat and an English lady. Until this moment, no one knew the truth but me.” His eyes darkened. “It’s a secret I will guard with my life.”

  For an instant Victoria couldn’t speak. Her throat was too tight. “Why? Why do you tell me this? Why now?”

  “Because I trust you with my heart, sweet. I love you, Victoria. I love you.”

  To her utter shame, she began to cry all over again. Miles swept her close, so close their hearts beat together as one. “Shhh,” he soothed. “I didn’t mean to make you cry again, sweet. I’ll make it up to you, I swear.”

  Her smile was tremulous. “It’s all right. It’s just that I—I never thought to hear you say that.”

  His gaze had fallen to her lips. “No? What about the story you told Heather?” he teased. “The lord loved his lady quite madly, did he not?”

  “That was just a-a fanciful dream,” she confessed.

  His expression was incredibly tender. “It’s no dream, sweet. I do love you. But I fear I must know—did the lady truly fall hopelessly in love with her lord?”

  Victoria pressed her hand into his cheek, her smile misty. “Oh, yes,” she whispered. “Quite hopelessly indeed…”

  Epilogue

  Nearly a year had come full circle, and fragrant spring breezes rippled across the broad fields of Lancashire. It was late May, and on this warm spring eve, twilight cast a purple haze across the western sky.

  Victoria and Miles had remained at Lyndermere Park for much of the year. She had come to love Lyndermere as much as her husband. Trips to London were few—a necessary nuisance, Miles called them. But while Victoria occasionally found herself missing a night at the opera or an evening of waltzing at Almack’s, it was here at Lyndermere—with Miles—that her heart and hopes and dreams resided…

  She could imagine no other life…nor a life more perfect.

  But there had been an addition to the family. They were no longer three, but four…

  Beatrice Louise Grayson had made her entrance into the world on a wild, stormy night in late February, much to her father’s delight…and her mother’s relief.

  Beatrice had now reached the ripe old age of three months. Her belly had grown round and firm, her cheeks pink and plump. A cap of pale gold curls covered her head, and her eyes were as blue as sapphires; her grandpapa proudly proclaimed Beatrice the very image of her mother.

  Now, having finished nursing the babe, Victoria smoothed a tender hand over the fine gold fuzz covering her daughter’s scalp, then handed the babe into the waiting arms of her husband so that she could adjust her gown.

  Miles pressed a warm kiss on that tiny brow. He chuckled when Beatrice flashed a sunny little grin, for such was her nature. He laid her in the cradle, his hold on her immeasurably gentle.

  Heather looked up eagerly from where she sat reading in the window seat. “May I rock her, Mama?” she pleaded. “And tell her a story, too?”

  Victoria’s eyes softened. “Of course you may, love.” Smiling, Victoria pulled a small chair next to the cradle so Heather could sit.

  When Heather flashed her a beaming smile as she took her place, Victoria felt her heart squeeze. It was her most fervent wish that Beatrice would someday come to be like Heather, for there was no sweeter child on the face of this earth; and indeed, for Victoria there was no greater privilege than hearing this beautiful, dark-haired child call her “Mama”…

  Heather extended a finger toward the babe. Beatrice curled a tiny pink fist around it and held on fast. “Now then, Beatrice. Here is the story I will tell you. There once was a young lady who was all the rage in London. But this young lady…I think we shall call her Lavinia, yes, Lavinia!”

  Beatrice stared at Heather raptly, as if she understood every word.

  Victoria’s lips quirked, for Miles was shaking his head, an indulgent smile on his lips. When he held out his hand, she accepted it wordlessly.

  Heather continued. “Well, Beatrice, Lavinia was very opposed to marriage, but she came up with a most unusual idea in order to lay to rest her papa’s insistence that she marry. Can you imagine, Beatrice, Lavinia followed a man—an earl—into a garden and kissed him! But her plan failed, you see, for her papa demanded she marry this man!”

  Hand in hand, Miles and Victoria quietly retreated. At the threshold, they paused to listen once more.

  “Oh, but this scandalous bride was at wit’s end, being forced to marry this earl, for though he was quite handsome, he was a wicked one indeed!”

  Miles was taken aback. “Handsome, yes,” he concurred in a whisper. “But wicked?” He shook his head in mild affront. “I think not!”

  Victoria’s eyes were dancing. “A woman’s perspective,” she informed him gravely. She pressed a finger to her lips, for Beatrice was yawning, and her eyes had begun to droop.

  Heather hastened to finish. “And so, Beatrice, the scandalous bride Lavinia set about taming her wicked earl and making him fall quite madly in love with her…”

  Miles pulled his wife into his arms. “She did indeed,” he murmured against the smooth skin of her temple. He drew her into the hallway where he claimed her lips in a long, ardent kiss that sent their senses soaring.

  When at last he released her, a teasing smile curled her lips. “Ah,” she said playfully, “but the scandalous bride does have one regret.”

  One dark brow arched roguishly. “And what might that be, countess?”

  Victoria twined her arms about his neck. “Had she known what fate awaited her that long-ago night, she’d have kissed her wic
ked earl much, much sooner…”

  It was SAMANTHA JAMES’s love of reading as a child that steered her toward a writing career. Among her favorites in those days were the Trixie Belden and Cherry Ames series of books. She still loves a blend of mystery and romance, and, of course, a happily-ever-after ending. The award-wining, bestselling author of eighteen romances and one novella, her books have ranged from medieval to Regency to the American West. Please visit her on the web at www.samanthajames.com.

  Turn the page for a sneak peek at

  IN PURSUIT OF A SCANDALOUS LADY

  The first in a new series from USA Today bestselling author Gayle Callen

  The biggest secret in London is about to be…revealed.

  Every gentleman is wondering: Who is the beauty in the scandalous nude portrait hanging in one of London’s most fashionable clubs? Is it true that she’s a member of the ton? Who would be so daring? So reckless?

  Julian Delane, Earl of Parkhurst, has a good idea. So good, in fact, that he’s willing to make a wager on it. If only the bet were all that’s at stake…

  Determined to clear the family name from a scandal that claimed his father’s life, Julian believes the ravishing model will lead him to answers. Rebecca Leland—spirited, adventurous, with a bit of a wild streak—is just as determined to evade his questions. But when Julian finally corners his quarry, he may find Rebecca well worth the pursuit.

  Rebecca felt a secret little thrill. She saw the way both women and men stepped out of Lord Parkhurst’s way. He ignored them all, his every focus on her. Awareness was a prickling flush that started at the nape of her neck and spread along her body. She barely felt Susanna’s fingers clasping hard on her arm, as she had to look up and up as the earl came closer and closer. Good lord, he made her feel positively dainty.

  She’d been longing for something different to happen to her—and now here he was, large and bold and threatening beneath a veil of civility.