A Perfect Scandal. Tina Gabrielle
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my sister and returned just this morning. What on earth have I missed?”
For the second time that day, Marcus had to explain himself, a task that he did not relish and that he had sworn never to do again since Bridget’s suicide.
At Simone’s thunderous expression, Marcus took a deep breath. In as few words as possible, he explained what had occurred at the Westley auction. He was careful to leave out the bargain he had struck with Isabel to remain married for only six months’ time. No one need know until the art thief was found and Isabel was in Paris with her unconventional Auntie Lil.
At first he had initially contemplated continuing his liaison with Simone while he was married to Isabel, but the idea quickly vanished as it held little appeal. Simone Winston never could keep her mouth shut, and she would talk about her continued relationship with Marcus Hawksley to anyone with an open ear.
An unnerving thought floated into his mind and took root, that after meeting Isabel, Simone’s feminine wiles seemed overtly contrived and jaded.
He mentally shook himself. No, he would not put his marriage to Isabel—sham or not—at risk.
At his staunch silence, Simone’s expression softened from fury to disappointment with the calculated efficiency of a chameleon.
“So you are marrying this girl simply because her testimony makes you feel compelled to do the right thing?” Her full lips formed a pout, and she reached out to stroke his chest, her long fingers playing with the buttons of his waistcoat. “You don’t have to do this, Marcus. Marry me instead.”
“And what of Isabel Cameron?”
“The girl chose her own fate. Your defense is solid now. Let her suffer for her rash behavior.”
Even knowing Simone’s selfish nature, he was struck by her coldness. “No, Simone. I gave my word.”
He turned, but her hand shot out to clutch his arm.
“Then nothing has to change between us. We can continue to be lovers. A man like you needs a real woman beneath him, an experienced lover who knows how to pleasure you. A blue-blooded virgin will never be anything but frigid in your bed.”
An unbidden image of Isabel Cameron surrounded by erotic art flashed through Marcus’s mind. He had held Isabel in his arms, had kissed her, and knew firsthand she was anything but frigid.
His gaze returned to Simone’s upturned face. Marcus knew that where Simone was as well practiced as any courtesan, Isabel would be innocent, yes, but as recklessly impulsive in bed as she was out of it.
But you will never know Isabel Cameron intimately, Marcus thought. You made a bargain not to touch her, no matter how much you desire her.
Marcus shook his head. “Nevertheless, Simone, I’ve come today to tell you of my decision to end our relationship.”
Simone’s face twisted into a cruel mask. “You’ll be back,” she spat, “and you’ll beg me for scraps of affection.”
“No. I won’t, Simone.”
“Get out!”
He was more than happy to oblige her, relieved really. He had never liked female entanglements and was well aware that Simone had wanted to marry. The problem was Marcus had never intended to marry after Bridget.
Life had taught him a cruel, but valuable lesson: People could not be trusted; lovers and family were no exception.
But Marcus did pay his debts. And he owed Isabel Cameron…
If six months together would salvage her family from disgrace and give Isabel the freedom she so desired, then he would do it.
He turned and walked to the door. Unladylike curses spewed from Simone behind him. He glanced back just in time to see Simone pick up an expensive crystal vase and dump the flowers and water onto the thick Aubusson carpet.
Anticipating her intent, he deftly dodged the vase, and it shattered against the wall on his way out.
Chapter 10
“I’m not certain about this,” Marcus said as he sat opposite Blake and Victoria Mallorey, the Earl and Countess of Ravenspear, in their crested carriage. They were stuck in a row of carriages that lined the drive to the Bennings’ mansion in Grosvenor Square, and Marcus’s dread increased with each passing moment.
“The Bennings are to officially announce your engagement at their ball tonight. You must attend,” Blake said.
“You’re enjoying my discomfort, aren’t you?” Marcus asked.
Blake grinned. “Shouldn’t I? As a well-sought-after broker, you are seen everywhere at the Stock Exchange, the coffeehouses, and the clubs, but as for the social events of the season, you are a hermit. This is good for you.”
Marcus glared at Blake. He had known Blake Mallorey for years and quite simply owed the earl his life. After Bridget’s death, Marcus had wandered about, bingeing on alcohol and reckless behavior as a form of self-punishment. One afternoon, he had sauntered into Gentleman Jackson’s and had arrogantly challenged the famous boxing Champion, Tom Cribb—known as “Killer Cribb”—to a match. Thankfully, Blake had been present in the ring and saw through Marcus’s cocky bravado. Blake, who had been good friends with Cribb, had intervened, soothing the boxer’s pride and calming his temper.
Blake had befriended Marcus that day. As an avid investor, Blake had introduced Marcus to the London Stock Exchange and later hired him as his own stockbroker. Without a doubt, Blake Mallorey had saved him, and in return, Marcus had made the already-rich earl one of the wealthiest men in England.
Blake had always understood Marcus better than anyone, and was never intimidated by the foul gossip that surrounded him. Of course, it helped that Blake had himself been an outcast, a menace intent on revenge upon his return to England almost three years ago.
But that was before Victoria. His wife and savior.
“Never mind my husband’s rude manners,” Victoria said, touching Blake’s hand. “We are excited for you. I can think of no other that deserves to be happy. That’s why when I had first learned the good news a week ago, I insisted you travel with us tonight.”
Marcus smiled at Victoria. She was a beautiful woman with dark hair and emerald eyes that shone with intelligence and wit. Like Blake and Marcus, she had past secrets as well.
Marcus had been stunned to discover Victoria was an anonymous investor in the male-dominated London Stock Exchange.
Almost three years had passed since she had “tamed” Blake and they had married. Now she was in the later stages of pregnancy. She had delayed her confinement for the sole purpose of attending the ball tonight to celebrate Marcus’s engagement.
Their vehicle lurched forward as the crush of carriages made their way up the long drive. Marcus frowned; a rush of restlessness arose within him as the well-lit mansion came into view.
He detested social events, was never comfortable attending them. In his experience, the women would smile politely, then whisper behind their fans as soon as he turned his back. No doubt, the Earl of Ardmore’s estranged younger son was excellent fodder for gossip. The ridiculousness of overprotective mamas ushering their virginal daughters away from him had always irked him. Then there were the men who dared not ignore him for fear of his power at the Stock Exchange. Some were his clients, others clamored to be, and all were aware of his ruthless success in the market. And at every social event there was always one overly judgmental matron who considered trade well beneath her station, who would give him “the cut direct” by looking him straight in the eye only to turn away without acknowledging him.
The stuffy matron, whoever it might be, would reaffirm his philosophy on life: Art and money don’t betray you, only people do.
The Ravenspear carriage reached the front steps of the mansion. The doors were opened by a liveried footman and they descended.