Whisper of Scandal. Nicola Cornick
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look. “I’d always heard Lady Joanna was cold as the grave-would have tried my luck if I’d thought otherwise.”
“You can give that idea up, infant,” Alex said very dryly. The sensation of masculine possession that gripped him when he thought about Joanna Ware was sharp and shocking. He realized that he had reacted entirely on instinct. It was an alien sensation. “And don’t speak disrespectfully of Lady Joanna either,” he added, wondering as he did so why on earth he felt the need to defend her.
Dev raised his brows. “Very vehement, Alex.”
“And she is not my mistress,” Alex finished testily.
“Then why the bad temper?” Dev grinned. “Or are you frustrated because she is not your mistress?”
“Enough,” Alex snapped.
Dev shrugged elegantly. “But you will be there tonight?” He did not quite manage to erase the note of pleading from his voice.
“You should have asked Purchase,” Alex said grimly. “He likes that sort of thing.”
“Purchase is dining with the Prince Regent,” Dev said. “An invitation which I understand you declined, Alex.”
“I hate all the celebrity nonsense.”
Dev laughed. “But this is different. This is for me.”
Alex thought about it. He did not approve of Dev’s decision to turn in his commission, but the damage was done now. He could try to dissuade his cousin from his harebrained Mexican scheme, but he doubted he would be successful; Dev had his own share of the family obstinacy. And Alex knew he ran the risk of looking a complete hypocrite if he played the role of heavy-handed older brother. It was true that he had pursued his own adventures with the approval and support of the King’s Royal Navy, but what real difference was there between a man seeking adventure under his country’s flag and one setting out to prove himself in a different way? Dev was motivated by courage and a quest for adventure and independence. And he was not running away from the ghosts of the past, a charge that Alex had to plead guilty to, in part at least.
Alex tapped his fingers impatiently on the table edge. As he had told Dev, he detested social events with a deep and abiding hatred. Yet if he attended the rout he could assuage a little of the guilt he felt over neglecting his family by helping Devlin.
And he would see Lady Joanna Ware again.
For a moment he felt as green as he had done as a teenager at Eton, hoping to catch sight of the housemaster’s daughter. The desire to see Joanna was very strong even as he acknowledged it was the single most foolish thing that he could do. If he wanted a woman he should buy a courtesan for a night, or two nights or however many nights it took to slake his lust. That would be straightforward, uncomplicated. Desiring David Ware’s tempting widow was neither of those things. The difficulty was that it was Joanna Ware he wanted, not some Covent Garden light skirt. He doubted that bedding a Cyprian would even take the edge off his hunger, for he did not want a whore. He could pretend that this lust was no more than the natural consequence of being away from female company for months on end, but if he told himself that he would know that he was a liar.
Joanna Ware. She was temptation incarnate. She was infuriating. She was forbidden to him. He disliked her.
He would go to the rout and see if she had the temerity to dismiss him as her lover to his face, in full public view.
He remembered that when David Ware had slipped the lawyer’s letter into his hand on his deathbed there had been a most peculiar, triumphant smile on Ware’s face and he had whispered:
“Joanna likes surprises, damn her.” Alex doubted that Lady Joanna would be very pleased with this particular surprise. She had not expected to see him again. She disliked him equally as much as he disliked her.
Devlin was still waiting for his reply.
“Very well,” he said slowly. “Yes, I will be there.”
Chapter 2
“WHAT IS LORD GRANT LIKE?” Mrs. Lottie Cummings, ton hostess extraordinaire, scandalous matron and one of Lady Joanna Ware’s dearest friends, ignored the guests piling into her reception rooms in favor of quizzing her friend on the shocking news of her affaire. “You know I have only ever heard tell of him, Jo darling, and have not even seen a portrait.”
“Well,” Joanna said, “he is tall.”
“So is my aunt Dorothea.” Lottie gave an impatient wiggle. “Dearest, you are going to have to do better than that.”
He is not really my lover … Why on earth had she let this go on for as long as it had? Why not simply say: “We are not lovers. It is all a hum …”
Joanna was not sure. Anger at Alex’s high-handed behavior, and what she acknowledged was a rather childish pettiness because he disapproved of her and disliked her, had made her want to punish him. It was a foolish game of tit for tat and unworthy of her. The trouble was that if she denied the liaison now it would cause almost as much of a sensation as the original announcement. Such were the rather superficial obsessions of society. And a deeper, more disturbing truth was that she actually liked the idea of Alex Grant as her lover, liked it all too well as she imagined what it might be like to take him to her bed, to feel his hands on her body, to give herself to him with all the abandoned desire she had never actually felt for a man before. She had loved David passionately when they had wed, but the intensity of her infatuation had never been matched by physical desire. When David had touched her she had felt vaguely anticipatory, as though something more exciting should be happening. Unfortunately it never did. And then the relationship had turned so hideously sour that she had never wanted David to touch her ever again.
In recent years-in most years, actually-her marriage bed had resembled the snowy wastes of the Arctic, pristine, empty and untouched, and having lost her illusions about David Ware, that was exactly how she had wanted it. She had been horribly lonely through the years of her marriage, a wife and yet no true wife, but even when David had died she had not trusted any man sufficiently to allow him close. And Alex Grant could not be that man. He was not for her. David had poisoned him against her, she was sure, and most importantly he was cut from the same cloth as David, an adventurer, an explorer, a man who would forsake his home and his family, and walk out into the unknown, leaving everything that should have been most precious and valuable to him behind.
“Well?” Lottie prompted impatiently.
“He is dark,” Jo said.
Lottie sighed. “Again, my aunt Dorothea can give him a run for his money on that.” She threw up her hands. “Darling … you know I lead such a boring life! A little more vicarious excitement, if you please.”
“That’s the best I can do, Lottie,” Joanna said. “Lord Grant and I are not really lovers. The gossip is not true.”
Lottie was looking at her pityingly. “Jo, darling, you don’t have to explain or excuse yourself to me. Nobody blames you for taking a lover! Why, it is an age since David died. And I hear that lovely Lord Grant is very, very luscious. Is it true—” Lottie’s dark eyes sparkled suddenly “—that he has the most fearsome scars on his chest from wrestling a polar bear?”
“I have no notion,” Joanna said. “Why would anyone want to wrestle a bear? It sounds highly dangerous.” She remembered the slight limp that characterized Alex’s gait. She had a vague memory that David had mentioned that Alex had been badly injured on some expedition some years before. Unlike her late husband, however, he did not seem inclined to make capital out of it.
“Lottie,” she repeated, “you aren’t listening to me. Lord Grant and I are no more than acquaintances and pray don’t talk like this-you are shocking Merryn.” She looked at her younger sister, who had been sitting quietly by whilst Lottie chattered. Merryn was as restrained as Lottie was loud, her serenity an antidote to Mrs. Cummings’s staggeringly indiscreet personality. Merryn had the habit of