Regency Scandal: Some Like It Wicked / Some Like to Shock

Rupert’s nostrils flared at the mere thought of the woman to whom Pandora so obviously referred. Patricia Stirling. His father’s widow. The same woman society believed Rupert to have been openly living with this past nine months since his father’s death.

A woman that Rupert knew he wouldn’t touch intimately again if she were the only female left upon this earth.

Which she was not, thank God! ‘If you’re referring to my father’s widow, then say so, damn it!’

‘If you insist!’ Those violet eyes flashed. ‘Should you not, in all conscience, be making this marriage proposal to her?’

‘I assure you, madam, that where Patricia Stirling is concerned, my conscience is completely without blemish,’ Rupert said levelly.

‘Indeed?’ she said sceptically.

‘Indeed.’ A nerve pulsed in his jaw. ‘Nor is it acceptable, to me or society, that I should marry my father’s widow.’

Pandora eyed him scornfully. ‘Then perhaps you hope to use marriage to another woman as a means of disguising your … unorthodox relationship with your own stepmother?’

‘Now that you’ve found your tongue again it appears to have become that of a viper!’ Rupert eyed her chillingly.

Those ivory cheeks bloomed with colour. ‘I’m not the one responsible for creating the gossip concerning the two of you, your Grace!’

‘Neither am I!’ he insisted, knowing exactly who was to blame for what society thought of his present living arrangements. ‘Might we forget about Patricia for the moment and continue with our previous conversation?’

She raised golden brows. ‘A conversation in which you have suggested I might consider marrying you?’

Rupert’s jaw tensed at the derisive incredulity in her tone. ‘Yes.’

‘Then, no, I don’t believe we can forget the existence of the woman who, if I accepted you, would be the third person in the marriage. The French have a term for such things, I believe?’

‘Ménage à trois,’ he supplied tightly.

‘Quite so,’ Pandora acknowledged tautly, her cheeks still hot and flushed. ‘Would that be the arrangement I might be expected to accept in a marriage between us, your Grace?’

‘No it damn well would not!’

‘There’s no need to swear—’

‘There’s every reason, damn it!’ Rupert glared at her coldly. ‘For your information, I have not laid so much as a finger upon Patricia since the day I learnt she was my father’s wife. Nor do I intend ever to do so again,’ he added icily.

Pandora’s brows rose sharply at his vehemence. ‘I find that very hard to believe.’

‘Nevertheless, I assure you it is the truth.’

Was it possible—could it possibly be that Rupert was as much an innocent victim of society’s gossip as Pandora was herself? Not that she believed for one moment that he was an innocent—the talk regarding his exploits this past ten years or so could not all be false! But was it possible that he might be innocent in regard to Patricia Stirling, in the same way that Pandora was innocent about ever having been intimately involved with Sir Thomas Stanley whilst married to Barnaby?

Despite the vehemence of Rupert’s denial, Pandora had difficulty believing that to be the case when he and Patricia now lived openly together and had done so since the death of his father.

No, there must be another reason he was now suggesting marriage to her, and the only reason she could think of was her original conclusion; Rupert hoped marriage to another woman would divert attention from his scandalous relationship with his young and beautiful stepmother.

Having suffered through one loveless sham of a marriage, she had no desire to repeat the experience! ‘My answer to your proposal must be no—’

‘Why must it?’ he cut in.

‘Surely it is obvious, sir?’ Pandora said as he once again glowered down the length of that arrogant nose at her.

‘Not to me, no,’ he barked.

She sighed. ‘We’ve only been acquainted with each other for a matter of days, and I trust you do not think me so naïve as to believe you have fallen madly in love with me during that time?’ In truth, Pandora’s naïvety, if not her innocence, had been completely shattered upon her wedding night. ‘Any more than I can claim to have fallen madly in love with you,’ she added firmly, very aware, that under different circumstances, she might well have done just that …

Rupert Stirling could, if he chose, be as charming as he was wickedly handsome. His manner towards her yesterday evening, when they’d arrived back from the theatre to find someone had broken into her home, had been both kind and protective. As for those moments of shared intimacy that had followed here in her bedchamber and those earlier today in his carriage …

She had been but twenty years of age when she’d married Barnaby Maybury, and totally naïve in the ways of men. Yesterday evening, and earlier today in Rupert’s carriage, were the only two occasions upon which she had known even a taste of physical pleasure. A very enjoyable taste of physical pleasure, which caused her breasts to tighten and swell once again just at the memory of it!

But she was no longer that naïve and newly married woman. Her girlhood dreams, of having a man fall madly in love with her and for her to love him as passionately, no longer existed. As such, she could not—dare not—allow herself to be seduced by thoughts of the physical pleasure Rupert now tempted her with. ‘I believe this conversation is over— Rupert?’ She gave him a startled glance as his fingers curled tightly about her upper arm.

‘Yes, I’m Rupert.’ His teeth were bared in a humourless smile. ‘Not Barnaby Maybury. Not Sir Thomas Stanley. But Rupert. And, as such, I don’t think I’ve ever so much as attempted to be less than honest with you during our brief … acquaintance, have I?’ He deliberately used the same term Pandora had earlier, those silver eyes now glittering coldly as he looked down at her, his cheekbones as sharp as blades in the tautness of his cheeks.

‘Not that I am aware, no.’ Pandora conceded warily.

He gave an acknowledging inclination of his head. ‘Nor will I attempt to be so now. You have asked why I wish to marry you, and so I’ll tell you, and then leave it for you to decide whether or not you can accept those reasons as being sufficient for us to marry. Does that sound reasonable?’

It sounded … cold, detached, perhaps even calculated … ‘Are you sure you wish to confide those reasons to me when I have already refused your offer?’

The tension lessened slightly in his aristocratically handsome face, his grasp loosening on her arm. ‘Perhaps when you have listened to my reasons, you might reconsider that decision.’

Somehow Pandora doubted that very much! ‘I should tell you that my plans to leave London in the next few days are well advanced. Nor do I have any intention of changing them.’

He nodded. ‘I have already taken note that most, if not all, of your personal effects have been removed from this room.’

Pandora smiled wanly. ‘One of the reasons for that might perhaps be because many of them were broken beyond repair.’

‘You still have no idea who or why?’

‘Absolutely none.’ She shrugged.

Rupert might have no idea who either, but he had his own thoughts as to why her home might have been broken into four times in the past year. Someone, in all probability Maybury’s mistress—who no doubts had a key to Highbury House, which was the very reason Rupert had arranged to have the locks changed earlier today—had left behind some sort of incriminating evidence here upon learning of Maybury’s sudden death. Quite what that evidence might be, Rupert as yet had no idea, but he intended to find out the identity of this woman at the earliest opportunity.

‘We digress,’ he dismissed now as he released his hold upon Pandora’s arm. ‘Perhaps you would care to sit in that chair whilst I tell you of the reasons I must marry?’

‘The reasons you must marry?’ Pandora repeated dubiously as she moved to perch on the edge of the chair.

Trust Pandora, a woman whom Rupert had discovered these past few days to possess a sharp intelligence, to latch on to the relevant word in his statement. ‘Must marry,’ he confirmed bleakly, ‘if I am ever to be rid of a particular and unpleasant thorn in my side.’

Those violet eyes widened. ‘Patricia Stirling?’

Rupert gave a tight smile. ‘Just so.’

Pandora’s brows rose. ‘I don’t understand …’

‘No one but two close friends, and my lawyer, are aware of what I’m about to tell you now.’ Rupert began to pace the bedchamber. ‘Let me start by telling you that you are correct in supposing that I once had an intimate relationship with my stepmother when she was still Patricia Hampson.’ His mouth twisted self-derisively. ‘A mistake on my part for which I have paid most dearly, I do assure you.’