Surrender to Scandal Read online

  His weariness prodded her and pushed against her need to enjoy the last night of true freedom she would have for a long time. “As you wish.”

  “I assume you came downstairs through the servants’ entrance?” He motioned to the door behind her with the hand holding the pipe.

  “I did.”

  “Then I shall wait here for a few moments to allow you time to reach your room before I enter through the main entrance.”

  Another precaution meant to protect her reputation, no doubt. “Very well.”

  He nodded at her acquiescence. “Sleep well, Miss Sutherland.”

  An impossible hope. Seeing him had only served to agitate her further, and bring thoughts of lost chances to the forefront of her mind where they danced and whirled and tormented.

  Sleep would not come this night, of that she was certain.

  * * *

  Benedict let out a long breath and slumped against the wall of the inn once the door to the servants’ entrance shut behind Miss Sutherland. Lord have mercy, but that woman had the uncanny ability to rile and unnerve him all at once. They could not reach London soon enough.

  The last thing he had expected when he rounded the corner of the inn on his way to check in with Cutler was to find Miss Sutherland standing under the lantern by the servant’s entrance. Her usually staid appearance gone, wiped away by the moonlight.

  The rich navy of her cape made the ivory cast of her skin translucent, her brown eyes even darker. And her hair, freed from the tidy bun he’d become accustomed to associating with her, hung over her shoulder in thick, mahogany waves. His body stiffened. How he had longed to reach out and sink his hands into those soft waves to discover if they were as luxurious as they appeared beneath the lamplight.

  What had she been doing outside alone? He had promised Sir Arran he would ensure her safety, yet the moment he left her, she had ventured out where anything could have happened to her. And what if it had? What if he hadn’t been just around the corner, able to protect her? What if he had failed in his duty, as he had failed to protect Father and Roddy from the fever that took them? Or the way he had failed to save Uncle Henry from the madness that had ruined him.

  Benedict cursed and softly banged his head against the rough stone of the inn. The rational part of his brain realized he was comparing apples to oranges. Miss Sutherland was not ill—mentally or physically. She was a capable young woman with all her faculties about her. No one had been about to harass her, and had someone shown up, the door to the kitchens had been within reach. All of these factors were obvious—now—but in that moment as he witnessed her standing alone in the dark, the familiar fear of losing someone else because he had failed to protect them, rippled through him.

  As a result, he’d been sharp with her. Heavy handed. If he’d had any hope of a friendship between them, he’d put an end to it this night if her response to him was any indication.

  What had she meant, she did not require saving from the likes of him? As if she had lumped him into a group of individuals whose character she called into question. The comment irked.

  “Bloody hell,” he muttered, tilting his head to stare up at the midnight sky. “You’re likely enjoying this, aren’t you, Father?”

  The stars winked back at him as if they were in on the joke. Benedict let out a soft chuckle. “Never mind. We both know you are. You’re probably up there right now thinking I should run off with the girl and be done with it. Love above all, isn’t that what you always said?”

  Not that he loved her. A ridiculous notion. She was a mystery, nothing more. A tantalizing, captivating riddle that once solved would no longer tempt him. No longer torment him with the idea of exploring her hidden depths. He did not have the freedom of indulging in such exploration. Duty ruled his future, not love.

  He let out a long breath. How he longed for the bucolic days of his childhood where such choices did not exist. When he lived in a home with parents who did nothing to hide their affection for one another. How easily he could recall the way they slid each other sly looks, the way they always touched when they passed, stole kisses whenever possible. How many times had he walked into a room to find them locked in an embrace? Yes, theirs had been a home filled with warmth, love, and laughter.

  Until it wasn’t. Until death came to call and decimated the happiness they had once known, forcing those left behind to pick up the tattered pieces of their lives and leave everything they had known for a world of privilege they never quite fit into. Even now.

  He kicked the cold earth with the toe of his boot. How many years did it take for the agony of loss to ebb? When would the pain scab over and no longer fester within him like a raw, open wound? How he missed his father’s wisdom, his unending support and guidance. His strength. And Roddy. What had he done to deserve death before he’d truly lived?

  How long before all the what ifs no longer plagued him? What if he had been there? Could he have prevented the illness, stopped it before it came into their household? Provided care that would have saved them? But he hadn’t been there. He’d been away, safely shielded within the walls of his fancy school—safe, while the rest of his family had suffered.

  Abigail especially. She had been the first to fall ill, though she’d recovered quickly, but not before the fever had spread to the others. What his sister must have gone through, so young as she tried to care for their family alone, still tormented him. How terrified she must have been, watching them die with no one there to comfort her. Even now, all these years later, he would catch remnants of that time in her gaze, especially when she looked at her own son who bore their father and brother’s name as tribute.

  He had failed her in his absence. He had failed them all and the guilt of that gnawed deep in the marrow of his bones, mingling with the culpability over his inability to stop Uncle Henry’s self-destruction years later.

  Now, he was expected to ensure Miss Sutherland’s well-being.

  He pushed away from the cold, stone wall of the inn and headed to the main entrance. They would leave early in the morning and he would place Miss Sutherland in Lord Ridgemont’s care, ridding him of a responsibility history dictated he was ill equipped to handle.

  And the sooner, the better.

  Chapter Five

  Lord Ridgemont’s townhouse, set in the fashionable Grosvenor Square, gave the outward appearance of a warm and welcoming abode, with its cream-colored exterior reflecting the sun’s rays and glinting off the windows four stories high. Judith’s neck craned as she counted the levels, knowing her place would likely be on the stifling top floor with the other servants.

  Servant.

  She hadn’t quite considered her position in that way. In her mind, she had steered clear of the label, telling herself she was simply being compensated for providing friendship to a young lady who apparently was in need of such a thing. Providing a service, rather than being in service. After all, it wasn’t as if she would be scrubbing floors or acting as lady’s maid. The most onerous of her duties would be providing conversation and company, perhaps offering guidance if requested.

  Yet, when boiled down to the bare bones, the fact remained she was still, indeed, in service. And she would be living amongst the servants, clearly delineating her position in the household. She would not be supping with the family at meals, nor treated as their equal.

  She had convinced herself she was fine with this, but as the carriage door opened and Lord Glenmor stepped down to assist Mrs. Laytham and her out, it struck her that, in truth, she was not completely fine with it. For years, she had been the lady of the house at Havelock Manor, her mother having died when she was too small to have a memory of her. Her father had counted on her and she had performed her duties well. When he had fallen ill, her responsibilities had extended beyond the running of the house and soon encompassed the entire estate, forcing her to learn an entirely new skill set as best she could.

  She had loved the challenge of it. It gave her a purpose, something to
focus on beyond Father’s illness. She had understood it would not last forever. Father would either get well and reinstate himself, or he would not, and Uncle Arran would inherit the manor and the land. She’d assumed then, she would continue as mistress of Havelock, but with Uncle Arran’s impending marriage to the Dowager Countess of Blackbourne, that position would fall to his new wife. And while she was very fond of the countess, she was unsure she could simply stand aside and relinquish all the duties that had once been hers, relegated to little more than a poor relation in her own home. Pride was a funny thing in that regard.

  Her family wanted her to marry. They’d made no bones about that. Father had left a decent dowry. Nothing to send men running to her doorstep, but it was enough to keep her from being embarrassed during any marital negotiations. Not that there were any. Though at one time, she had thought there would be. Not that he had proposed, but that he would was an unspoken promise between them. Or so she had believed. Instead, it turned out, the only thing he had for her was the worst kind of betrayal.

  She pushed the memory away. Some things were best left forgotten.

  No, marriage was not for her. It required a level of trust she no longer possessed.

  She had chosen her path. Independence. A life of her own. Though looking at it now, staring up at the top floor of Lord Ridgemont’s home, her impulsive actions mocked her.

  Oh dear, she really had not thought this through, had she?

  The doubts that had needled her since she’d accepted the position rushed forward like an oncoming steam engine and she could not seem to get out of their way.

  “Miss Sutherland? We are here.”

  Lord Glenmor’s deep, even tone broke through her fears and she glanced at him where he stood outside of the carriage. He extended a hand toward her, a questioning look rampant in his raised eyebrows.

  “Yes.” But she could not move. Her limbs refused and her mind had gone numb. Likely, he believed her daft. A correct assumption, given all she wanted to do was crawl back into the furthest corner of the carriage and hide beneath the fur-lined blanket.

  Lord Glenmor’s brows dipped and two deep furrows appeared above the bridge of his nose. “Have you changed your mind?”

  Yes. Yes, she had. But the horrible thing was, she had nowhere else to go. There was no place left for her at Havelock. No going back. She had set her course and now was stuck upon it.

  She needed to buck up and face it. To use her stubborn Scottish pride to her advantage for once.

  “No,” she whispered. She slid her hand into his outstretched one and his fingers wrapped around her and held her firm. She embraced his strength, hoping it would seep into her and give her courage.

  As her feet touched the cobbled walkway in front of Lord Ridgemont’s home, Lord Glenmor tilted his head to one side and studied her. He had yet to release her hand and despite the protection of the gloves they both wore, she swore she could feel the heat of his skin burning into hers.

  “If you are hesitant, we can take you to Glenmor House. You may stay with us until you make a final decision.”

  “Of course,” Mrs. Laytham echoed. “My dear, if you have indeed changed your mind, you need not worry. We shall ensure you have a place to stay and return you to Havelock Manor once Benedict’s business in London is complete.”

  Except that Lord Glenmor’s business was to find a wife, and, if she were honest with herself, she did not want a front row seat to that event. Nor did she care to be indebted to him.

  She straightened her shoulders and reluctantly pulled her hand away. “No, I am fine. It is normal to have a certain amount of nerves when embarking on a new adventure, is it not?”

  “One would expect,” Lord Glenmor said.

  Did he experience the same type of nerves over choosing a bride? She wanted to ask, but she wasn’t sure she cared to hear the answer.

  “I thank you both for conveying me to Lord Ridgemont’s. It was kind of you.”

  Mrs. Laytham slipped her arm through Judith’s and turned toward the door. “Think nothing of it, my dear. Now, come, I should like to meet this Lord Ridgemont.”

  “Oh, no. That is unnecessary. And likely I should go in through the servant’s entrance.” A fact that had not even occurred to her until this moment, and one that did nothing to bolster her belief that she had made the right choice.

  “Nonsense!” Mrs. Laytham straightened to her full height, which still only left the top of her head beneath Judith’s nose. Still, the steely bent of her blue eyes and militant tilt of her chin did not brook argument. “You are a Sutherland, my dear. You will walk through the front door like the lady you are. It is best to set the tone from the start that you are a woman of quality and will be treated as such.”

  Lord Glenmor stepped forward and lifted the brass knocker on the door, a lion’s head with a rather fierce expression. Her stomach flipped over and her knees shook as she followed behind him.

  The door swung open and a tall, stately butler stood across the threshold and looked down his sharp nose at them. He said nothing, simply raised his eyebrows in question, giving the impression their arrival upon the doorstep was of great inconvenience to his day.

  Lord Glenmor handed over his card, seemingly unaffected by the butler’s demeanor. “You may tell the marquess I have arrived with Miss Sutherland, whom I believe he is expecting.”

  The butler’s gaze slid past Lord Glenmor and bounced between Judith and Mrs. Laytham, as if he couldn’t quite determine which of them bore the title. She opened her mouth to speak, but only a small puff of air came out, so she closed it and concentrated on calming her nerves instead.

  The butler stepped aside and allowed them to enter. “This way, please.” The first words he had spoken since he’d appeared. His voice, a deep baritone, reminded Judith of dark places you encountered in the dead of night.

  He led them to a well-appointed receiving room. The room, decorated in white with pale rose and green accents, held a warmth to it Judith had not expected after their less than cordial welcome. Windows lined the length of two walls, filling the room with light and allowing a generous view of the street below. It was quite pretty and her nerves eased a little. Perhaps this would not be so bad after all.

  “I shall inform his Lordship of your arrival.”

  “Well, we may as well sit, yes?” Mrs. Laytham lowered herself to the sofa. Judith followed her, thankful to no longer have to stand on shaky legs.

  A moment later, tea arrived; served by a maid who did not look at them, but simply came and went, quiet as a mouse. Would she have to move about in a similar fashion? Become so unobtrusive that she virtually blended with her surroundings?

  Before she had a chance to give the matter more reflection, a well-dressed gentleman stepped into the room and she stood. His dark hair, crisp cut of his jacket and handsome visage took her by surprise and her nerves raged once again to the forefront. She had been expecting someone older, but Lord Ridgemont appeared on par with Lord Glenmor, though physically they were as opposite as night and day. The only similarity was their striking blue eyes, though Lord Glenmor’s reminded her of a summer sky while Lord Ridgemont’s were more reminiscent of an impending storm.

  “Glenmor!”

  Lord Glenmor turned and smiled, extending his hand toward the gentleman who had entered the room. “Ridgemont, old chap. You’re looking well.”

  The words sounded strange to her ears, as if the earl had slipped into a role and become an actor on stage. The two men exchanged brief pleasantries before turning to address the ladies.

  “Lord Ridgemont, may I present my mother, Mrs. Laytham, and the young lady is Miss Judith Sutherland, whom I understand you’ve already had correspondence with.”

  “I have indeed.” Lord Ridgemont stepped forward and inclined his head toward Judith and Mrs. Laytham. “It is a great pleasure to meet you both. Lady Henrietta has been anxiously awaiting your arrival. Forgive my great-aunt, Lady Dalridge. She had wished to be here to gree
t Miss Sutherland when she arrived, but she has not returned from her travels as yet. Though, I suspect she will be very disappointed to have missed meeting Miss Sutherland’s esteemed escorts. How is it you know each other?”

  Judith cleared her throat and forced her voice, which had deserted her on the doorstep, to return. “Lord Glenmor is brother to Lady Blackbourne, whose mother-in-law is to marry my uncle, Sir Arran Sutherland.”

  “Ah. So family, almost.” Lord Ridgemont swept them with an easy smile and turned toward Lord Glenmor. “Then I suspect you have stern warnings for me, have you not?”

  “I have.” The words were issued quite seriously, taking Judith by surprise. When had he become her protector? He, who had given every indication he wished to be well rid of her.

  “Indeed. Then let’s have it.” Lord Ridgemont appeared to take the matter with a sense of humor. His informal manner should have relaxed Judith, but it did not. She knew too well the folly of trusting an easy smile, and while Lord Ridgemont gave no sign he was anything more than he appeared to be—a nice gentleman with no ill-conceived notions or plans—she had fallen for such a trap before and therefore could no longer find solace in such things as simple appearance.

  “We expect that Miss Sutherland be treated with all due respect given to one closely associated with both the Glenmor and Blackbourne titles. She is a well-bred young lady with an intelligent mind and a welcome addition to any household. These are not traits that should be taken for granted or overlooked as unimportant. Should they be—should she be mistreated in any way, shape or form—I assure you it will bring down the wrath of both families.”

  Lord Glenmor’s words left Judith at a loss. He disliked her and yet had praised her in such a way it shocked her into silence. So much so, that she lacked the ability to inform him his protection was not necessary. And, as it turned out, she wished he would say more. Something about the idea that he watched over her made her insides stop shivering, only to start up again, but for entirely different reasons than before.