Living London Page 12

  "Of course."

  "Ah, you've taken many ladies this direction, hmm?" I half teased, half tested.

  "Not so many, and most were of the six-year-old variety, so no reason to be jealous," he countered back, and I could hear the smile in his voice.

  "Six-year-old variety, hmm? I'm told they are the worst," I joked, thankful.

  "Yes, well, I was only eight at the time, so I really can't be held responsible for my actions."

  "I'm sure you caused quite the scandal."

  "Oh, I did," he affirmed with a laugh. "I was here with my mother, God rest her soul, and was to stay in the nursery with the Wingshires' twin girls. Not where an eight-year-old wants to be. So we snuck out, made our way down here, and looked for our mothers."

  "Did you find them?" I asked as I took another step down into the darkness.

  "Er, no."

  "Oh, find something else?" I guessed.

  "We came upon the Viscount of Brooke in an — embrace, shall we say — with the oldest Wingshire girl. She was almost twenty and having an illicit rendezvous with a suitor, unbeknownst to her family."

  Ah, the gossip of the ton. "What did you do?"

  "I promptly made a gagging noise and coughed. I wasn't inclined to believing all the lies that I would one day like kissing girls. Positively disgusting," he teased. "The twin girls followed my lead with 'eww's and gasps that quickly broke the shocked couple apart. The Viscount was angry, so we ran away, found our mothers and, well, needless to say they were married shortly after."

  Laughter burst out and I forgot to dim it down to a polite chuckle. Morgan joined me, and soon we descended to the soft grass below the balcony.

  "Did you get in trouble?"

  "No, not really. It would have been difficult for them to punish me without them answering some of the questions I voiced when telling my mother about our discovery."

  "What questions?" My words were still full of laughter.

  "Oh, why the Viscount was licking her neck."

  I gasped, thinking of what the poor lady's reaction would be learning that type of intimate information from an eight-year-old boy.

  "Mother got flustered, to say the least, and didn't want to explain the — mechanics, shall we say — of lovemaking, and therefore I was acquitted of all wrongdoing."

  "I see. Your poor mother."

  "Yes, it was quite shocking for her, but she recovered nicely. A few years later, I overheard her and Lady Wingshire talking about it and laughing."

  "I'm glad to know it caused no lasting damage," I joked.

  "Oh, but it did!"

  "Really?" I replied, unbelieving.

  "To this day I still cannot look at the Viscount."

  "I don't believe you."

  "You shouldn't," he replied honestly. "He and I actually are good friends. He thanked me for snitching on them because he was afraid of being turned down in asking for her hand. Solved the problem for him beautifully."

  I pushed his shoulder as we walked along the garden under the soft moonlight. "How unromantic."

  "No," he argued, his tone soft. He pulled me beside a tree and wrapped his arms around my waist. "You have no idea how difficult it is to watch a woman, find her captivating, alluring, enchanting."

  He paused, leaning forward and rubbing my cheek with the bridge of his nose, causing my skin to tingle. "And wonder if you'll ever get the chance to do this." And he kissed me softly, pulling my lower lip gently between his teeth. "And then," he continued to whisper, a breath away from my mouth, "once you do, you feel lost without her and your fears double, because… what if?"

  He leaned down and kissed my collarbone. I tipped my head back and closed my eyes in response. His breath tickled the sensitive skin along my neckline. "What if she refuses you, what if…?"He kissed my neck, slowly making his way up to my ear, whispering in it gently. "What if she ends up marrying someone else, and her kisses, the very kisses that brought you to the brink of insanity, belong to someone else?" He pulled back and looked into my eyes. "I could never survive that."

  Breathless, I stared into his eyes, silver in the moonlight, reading their sincerity. My heart pounded with the realization of what he was saying. Each heartbeat echoed his words, affirming that I returned those same powerful emotions. Nanna's word's came back to me — the words Grandpa Jakob would whisper to Nanna when he thought I wasn't looking.

  Place me like a seal over your heart, like a seal on your arm; for love is as strong as death, its jealousy unyielding as the grave. It burns like blazing fire, like a mighty flame. Many waters cannot quench love; rivers cannot wash it away. If one were to give all the wealth of his house for love, it would be utterly scorned.

  And at once, I understood.

  Leaning forward slightly, I rose up on my tiptoes and gently caressed his lower lip with my gloved finger, feeling its heat in my core. "Don't be afraid. You have nothing to fear, Morgan, nothing." And kissed him, but he met me halfway. His warm lips opened mine as he ran his tongue along my own, causing me to shiver at the intimate exchange. He pushed me gently backwards till I was supported by the tree and placed his hands on either side of me, pressing his solid body into my own.

  I caressed his shoulders, but it wasn't enough. Hanging propriety, I pulled off my gloves and sighed as my skin came in contact with his thick, tousled hair. In response, Morgan pressed me farther back, his arms circling around my waist but never remaining still — caressing my arms, my hips, and finally plunging into my hair as he demanded more and more from my kiss.

  Feeling bolder, I pressed myself against his hardened body and gasped for breath as his hands squeezed and kneaded my hips. Delicious sensations of heat licked through my body, and I didn't know if I could stop the whirlwind of desire. I wasn't sure if I was strong enough, or if I even wanted to be.

  "Jocelyn, please," he begged, leaving my ravished lips and trailing his moist and demanding kisses down my neck and to my collarbone.

  "Morgan," I whimpered, lost, unable to form any other thought.

  "No," he said, then growled fiercely as he pulled himself away with a savage movement. "No, Jocelyn. I can't. You mustn't let me," he whispered hoarsely.

  Suspicion wove its way into my heart as sensed the loss of heat from his body. Feeling insecure, I gazed down, noticing how my hair tumbled around my face. How am I going to fix that? I thought distractedly as I chanced a glance at Morgan.

  "Please understand that I never meant to…" His words trailed off and my blood went cold. "It was never my intention to compromise you in such a way," he began again.

  Compromise? He'd never meant to compromise me? He didn't… No. No, no, no, no. I refused to believe it. Hadn't he just admitted to being afraid he'd have to watch me marry someone else?

  "I have to leave." He spoke suddenly, breaking my confusion.

  "What?" I asked, fear growing and doubt blossoming in my heart.

  "I have to go; I have… business to attend to at my estate in Derbyshire."

  "Oh" I spoke softly, searching his eyes in hope for more of an explanation.

  He dropped his chin to his chest and rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm doing this all wrong. Forgive me?" he asked, desperation obvious in his gaze.

  "For what?" I whispered.

  A lady's giggle and man's laughter broke our intense conversation. Morgan pressed me once again into the tree. "Shhh," he whispered. He stayed perfectly still till the couple went far enough out of sight. His anxiety was evident. Gone was the passion, replacing it was a stoic self-control. As he checked the scenery for other amorous couples, shivers overtook my body.

  "Come, Jocelyn, let's get you inside. You're shaking, love."

  Silently, we walked back to the house. "I'll fix this," he promised. I wanted so badly to ask what he was referring to, but I didn't get a chance to speak. He began giving me directions to a secluded ladies' washroom to clean up. Leaning down, he brushed my lips with a chaste kiss that made me want to cry. How had the evening gone from stellar
in the romance department to me feeling depressed enough to cry myself to sleep for a month?

  Morgan escorted me to the hall before promising to see me in a few days. Hope flickered at his affirmation of his return, but why was he leaving in the first place? What did it have to do with me? Afraid to ask and suddenly fighting tears, I nodded numbly and all but ran to the washroom. After cleaning up the considerable damage Morgan had so deliciously inflicted upon my hair and gown, I skirted my way into the ballroom.

  "You can clean up all you want, scrub yourself clean, but you'll never be good enough," said the last voice I ever wanted to hear.

  "Arynna." I spoke through clenched teeth as I turned around.

  "Jocelyn," she countered with a syrupy smile that set my teeth on edge. "It's over. You might as well go home. He compromised you and is leaving. You are officially ruined." She smiled with unabashed triumph.

  Unwilling to let her see how her words affected me, I glared at her and tried to pass, but she wouldn't let me. "I don't think you understand." She spoke in lofty tones as she circled me like a lioness stalking her prey, her eyes full of hatred I didn't deserve. "Your reign as a darling of the ton is now over. The very people who flocked to invite you to parties will cut you in the streets. They will gossip behind your back, and worse, directly to your face — pointing, laughing and staring at your folly."

  "Why would you wish that on any one?" I asked.

  She smirked and walked away, glancing once over her shoulder. "Enjoy the rest of your evening. It's the last one you'll enjoy for a long time to come." She turned, and she sashayed away, leaving me fuming and confused.

  I went to notify the footman to ready my carriage. I simply wanted to go home.

  Chapter Fourteen

  My head pounded so severely I could almost hear it. Strangely, it sounded like incessant knocking. Rolling over in bed, I prayed I'd fall asleep again and wake up without the pain in my head and my heart.

  Bang, bang, bang, "Miss Westin!" came Mrs. Trimbleton's voice, and I realized the pounding wasn't my head. It was someone at my bedroom door.

  "Yes?" I croaked, unable to muster the will to rise and open the door. "Come in." I buried myself further in the soft blankets, wondering what could be so important.

  "Jocelyn! Get up! It's dreadful! I can't believe it! I can't fathom!" she lamented, rushing around the room, pulling open drawers and wardrobes as she set out my clothes for the day. She crushed a hairbrush to her ample bosom and finally considered me.

  "Now, dear, don't you let it get you down. I know better than to believe a word of it, and that's the truth. You just hold your head up high. Don't pay any mind to those filthy lies."

  She spoke as if trying to convince herself, not me. My headache was forgotten, and replacing it was the unnatural sensation of my blood running cold. "Whatever are you talking about?" I asked, not sure I wanted to know.

  "Well, Jocelyn, you really should get dressed first. You're sure to have callers first thing, and it won't do to have you unprepared."

  "Unprepared for what, exactly?" I tried again, foreboding sensations seeping under my skin.

  "Well, it seems that the petty gossipers were quite busy last night, and the gossip papers were compelled to share their ill-gotten lies."

  "What gossip and what papers?" Why, oh, why, won't she just spit it out?

  "All of them. The Tattler, Lady B's, and Fig's." She spoke the names quietly, as if it would lessen the blow. I was familiar with all of them. Though I didn't pay much attention to them, I knew most of polite society did.

  "What do they say?" I asked through clenched teeth.

  "Oh, Jocelyn. They all claim — mind you, I don't believe it — that you were, er, compromised." She spoke with a slight blush that made me suspect much more to the story. After all, weren't rumors of compromised debutants common?

  "And who compromised me?" I asked, waiting for the larger shoe to drop.

  "Lord Ashby."

  The name speared through my heart. The memory of last night washed over me fresh, and again I realized just how easily I had been played a fool, at least that's how it seemed. I was wrong about Morgan, wretchedly wrong. In so many ways.

  "I'm so sorry, Jocelyn but I'm afraid there's more," she added quietly as she walked closer.

  "Of course there is," I muttered.

  Just then Libby burst into the room and stopped abruptly upon seeing my tears and Mrs. Trimbleton's attempt to comfort me. "Oh, miss. It's so terrible! Pack of wolves, all of them!" Her fury at the injustice gave me a small smile.

  "They'd never have said such horrid things if they knew you. Lord Ashby wouldn't compromise you and leave!"

  "What? Is that what they are saying? He compromised me and left me?" I asked, confused and hurt because their gossip sounded too much like the truth. "Why would they care? Why would it matter if he did or didn't?" I just wanted to go back to sleep and have it all be a bad dream.

  "Because, dearie, you're a Westin, and there's nothing people love more than to see the righteous fall, hard," Mrs. Trimbleton murmured comfortingly.

  "So how bad is it? What will happen now?" I asked, not really caring. My heart was broken anyway.

  ****

  It was bad. Not only had the news been far more condemning than I had expected, but the only correspondence I'd received had been a scrap of paper notifying me that my voucher to Almack's had been revoked.

  "How could this have happened?" I lamented, cursing Arynna Windton to the depths of Hades. She was the only one who would spread such lies. I picked up Mrs. B's society pages and reread the column.

  On a scandalizing note, this author was deliciously informed that a very bright star fell from the heavens last night, into the arms of an up-and-coming rakehell. Miss W. was seen sharing an amorous exchange with the devilishly blue-eyed Lord A. Our informant was an eyewitness to the scene, where heated words were exchanged, and the conversation left no doubt. Not only was Miss W. thoroughly ruined, but Mr. A was not offering marriage. One has to wonder, what type of lady would so freely disregard propriety and run head first into foolhardy behavior and ruin herself beyond repair? The answer: no lady at all. So one has to wonder, then just what is Miss W.?

  I slammed the paper down. Libby jumped at the sudden commotion. She hadn't left my side all day, and I was grateful for her friendship. Friends were obviously in short supply — it worried me that I hadn't heard from Amelia.

  "Miss Westin? Miss Amelia is here, if you're available." Wains spoke gently, his eyes concerned, and I appreciated the gesture. My stoic butler had a soft spot after all.

  "Yes, of course, please show her in." I released a breath of relief. At least Amelia was still talking with me.

  "Jocelyn!" She all but ran into the room. Upon seeing my red eyes, she pulled me into a tight hug. "I won't even ask how you're doing. It's clear to see you're miserable, and I could strangle whoever did this to you." She spoke into my hair as she patted my back.

  I wanted to cry again, but I didn't. There were no more tears. "I have my suspicions, but what's done is done. Aren't you risking a lot to be here?" I added, thankful that she had come yet concerned for her reputation at the same time. Mrs. Trimbleton had explained to me the possible repercussions I'd face in response to the rumor. Not only was my voucher at Almack's be revoked, but I could expect people to ignore me, pretend I didn't exist — in effect, cut me off. And if they did notice me, I would basically wish they hadn't because I'd be the topic of their ridicule. I'd be slandered, gossiped about, and all-around maligned in every way. No decent person would be seen with me. Which was why I was concerned about Amelia's reputation should they discover she visited me, the one with the scarlet letter. Fantastic, and I thought being unpopular in high school was bad.

  "Of course I came!" Amelia looked offended at my question, shaking me back from my thoughts.

  "Thank you." I spoke with deep conviction. "You have no idea how happy I am to see you."

  "Oh pish and tosh, that's
what friends do!" She tried to smile and lighten the mood, but her efforts fell flat.

  "So," she began as she took a seat next to me. "What on earth happened?"

  "Oh, Amelia, I don't even know where to start."

  "Well, why isn't Lord Ashby doing anything about this?"

  "He's gone," I whispered.

  "Gone?" she repeated, clearly questioning my answer.

  "Yeah. I mean, yes. He told me last night that he had to leave to take care of some business in his country estate. He won't be back for a few days."

  Amelia cursed, then immediately blushed and apologized for her outburst. "He's the only one who could fix this right now." She chewed her lip in thought.

  "I don't think he would even if he were here, Amelia," I whispered, feeling like an idiot all over again.

  "What? Why? He's been besotted from day one!" she argued.

  "Well, it seems that we — rather, I was mistaken, I think. Agh!" I growled. "It's so confusing. He was so wildly romantic last night. Telling me that there was nothing more fearsome than living without my kiss, or me belonging to someone else other than him, and… well, he kissed me." I cleared my throat and turned a touch pink at the thought of just how much kissing had taken place. But I didn't know the Regency word for 'making out', so I had to stick with 'kiss.'

  Her eyes widened, and I think she got the message even without words. "And well, he stopped and began to be very strange," I finished, remembering the odd, stricken expression and his cryptic words.

  "Did he say anything?" Amelia prodded.

  "Yes. He said he was sorry. That he had never meant to…" I trailed off, not wanting to repeat the word he had used. It carried such a painful connotation, and the wound was fresh. Amelia waited with practiced patience for me to formulate my words. "Basically he said that he never meant to put me in a compromising position, was sorry he did, he had to leave in the morning, and would fix it when he returned. Whatever that means," I mumbled at the end.

  "Odd."

  "Yes." I slouched in the chair, thankful Libby had shown mercy on me in my pitiful state and left my corset strangely loose.