Julia Yardley's divorce made the headlines. It seemed
everyone held their collective breath waiting to see if
the baroness would admit to adultery and, better yet, give
lots of delicious details. As distasteful as it was to
proper society, this was the stuff scandals were made of and
would be the talk of the town for ages. While most women in
her station would be shamed by admitting their indiscretion
so publicly, Julia knew this was her only way out of a
troubled twelve year marriage. She had
successfully hidden her turmoil and protected herself by
mastering the art of escape from this marriage prison and
the abuse it represented but, when finally cornered, she
staged an illicit moment with Aidan Carr and arranged for
its discovery. Her escape came at a cost to both her and
those she truly regretted involving in this scandal.
Aidan is equally conflicted after two failed engagements. He
wasn't actually looking for love (that would be an added
bonus) but it seemed he just wasn't interested in any of the
available ladies presented to him -- with the exception of
one, Julia, and now the two of them were publicly scorned.
Over the span of many years, Julia and Aidan had crossed
paths and each time their mutual attraction increased.
Neither truly recognized this attraction for what it was or
could be -- love. A quick desperate decision to take drastic
steps to save herself seemingly doomed any prospects for a
relationship with Aidan. As fate once again forced them to
spend time together, they had to come to grips with a
deepening attraction. One acting out of pure fear and the
other pride -- could they conquer these fears, overcome the
doubts, and finally acknowledge their love?
SCANDAL OF THE YEAR is an amazing, wonderful historical
romance with a gutsy female lead who truly won't conform to
the role proper-society designed and demands. Julia, way
ahead of her time and peers, wins your heart immediately.
Guhrke weaves an intriguing tale spanning several years and
introduces us to an extraordinary cast of
characters--reminding me why I am such a big fan of this genre.
Especially if you’re a duke, and your fiancée left you for
that other duke, the one who came back from Egypt just
before your wedding. Humiliating, right?
But what if you managed to recover, got engaged to another
girl, and then got jilted again, this time because of a
notorious woman, a lot of champagne, and a moment of utter
stupidity? Well, that’s beyond humiliating. That’s a
scandal.
Ah, but what if you manage to put the scandal behind you
and begin searching for a new bride, only to have the
notorious woman who ruined everything reenter your life?
What if she’s as enticing as before? What if just being
near her threatens to ruin your marriage prospects and
your reputation all over again? For Aidan Carr, Duke of
Trathen, the unluckiest man in England when it comes to
matrimony, another scandal is the worst thing he can
imagine. It might also be the best thing that ever
happened to him.
Excerpt
Chapter One
The Duke of Trathen needed to find a wife. The problem was
that when it came to picking the right woman for the job,
His Grace was having a serious run of bad luck.
One might think that for a man of his station, choosing a
bride would be a relatively straightforward business. Dukes
were a rare commodity, highly sought in the marriage mart,
so it wasn’t as if he lacked a substantial slate of
candidates from which to choose. Nor were dukes hampered by
anything as inconvenient as love. Alliance was a perfectly
acceptable reason for matrimony among those of the
aristocracy, and Aidan Thomas Carr was a man who could
trace his aristocratic lineage to the days of Queen
Elizabeth.
The 11th Duke of Trathen, Aidan was in possession of half a
dozen lesser titles as well. He was also one of the
wealthiest men in Britain, with substantial lands and
investments. He had an astute head for business, a keen
interest in politics, and was considered by many among the
fair sex to be quite a handsome fellow.
This stellar resume notwithstanding, the Duke of Trathen
was a jilted man, having been abandoned at the altar not
once, but twice, and he was a bit skittish about making a
third attempt. But every duke had a duty to his family and
his heritage to marry well, produce sons, and pass
everything on to the next generation, and Aidan was a man
who would never ignore his duty.
Which was why, when the time arrived for the Marquess of
Kayne’s annual May Day Ball, the Duke of Trathen was among
the attendees. The May Day Ball was the most prominent
charity event of the London season, and a man could meet
many potential marriage partners at a charity ball. Aidan
was not particularly fond of dancing, he hated these
crowded charity affairs, and given the endless gossip about
him these days, he would have preferred to spend the spring
as he had spent the winter—at his favorite estate in
Cornwall, but he could not afford that luxury. He was now
thirty years old, and time was going by.
When he’d begun his search for a duchess three years
earlier, he’d never dreamt it would be this difficult. He
had decided, quite logically, that twenty-seven was a good
age at which to wed, and he had set about finding his
duchess. Four months later, he’d met Lady Beatrix Danbury,
a girl who seemed his perfect match. Lady Beatrix was not
only beautiful, with honey blond hair and big, soft brown
eyes, but she was also charming and intelligent. The
daughter of an earl, she’d been groomed all her life for
the responsibilities and duties of a high-ranking peeress.
Aidan had thought their interests coincided, and their
affection was deep and mutual. Not an overmastering
passion, perhaps, but he had never been the sort of man to
be carried away by passion, a fact which had seemed
acceptable to his fiancée, and by Christmas of that year,
they had become engaged. All had boded well for a happy,
companionable union, but then, less than two months before
the wedding, she’d thrown him over for her childhood
sweetheart, the Duke of Sunderland.
Aidan’s heart, though bruised, was not broken, and after
spending six months in Cornwall, he’d felt ready to launch
his second search for a suitable duchess. He began armed
with the same sound criteria he’d employed the first time:
birth, background, connections, and compatibility. Lady
Rosalind Drummond, eldest daughter of a Scottish marquess,
had met all his expectations, and a wedding date of
November had been decided upon.
But then had come his unaccountable liaison with Lady
Yardley. By the time the story of their afternoon tryst hit
the society pages, he was already on his way to Scotland to
face his fiancée. Still stunned by the entire inexplicable
interlude, Aidan could offer the tearful and humiliated
Rosalind no defense. Hell, he couldn’t offer so much as an
explanation.
He didn’t even like Lady Yardley. The details of how he had
ended up naked in bed with that woman, her enraged husband
standing over them both, were still a bit vague in his
mind, but the facts spoke for themselves, and involved a
picnic, an inordinate quantity of champagne, and his own
foolish determination to prove he could resist the
seductive baroness no matter what. These facts, along with
some hazy, hotly erotic memories, were all he remembered of
the incident that had brought public humiliation raining
down upon him, and to this day, he could not understand
what it was about that woman that had so easily evoked such
promiscuous and unacceptable behavior in him.
Regardless of how it had come about, he’d had to face the
consequences, including a second broken engagement. Another
winter at his Cornish estate, the arrival of another London
season, and now he was back in town to begin his search
anew.
The gutter press, scarcely finished salivating like rabid
dogs over his testimony in the Yardley divorce and his
broken engagement to Lady Rosalind, was now speculating
about who his third choice might be, but Aidan, having been
twice jilted, as well as humiliated and disgraced, found
himself unable to summon the same level of interest Fleet
Street seemed to have in his marital prospects.
In consequence of his lack of enthusiasm, the season was
now half over, his thirtieth birthday had come and gone,
and there wasn’t a potential Duchess of Trathen in his
sights. But with his worthless cousin as his sole heir at
present, Aidan knew he could not afford the luxury of
waiting much longer to marry. To secure his estates and the
empire he had built for future generations, he needed a
duchess by his side, and strong, healthy sons in his
nursery.
Which was why he was here, Aidan reminded himself, and set
aside pointless remembrances of past romantic contretemps.
Returning his attention to the glittering ballroom before
him, he reached for one of the glasses on the tray held by
a nearby footman, but when he realized the glass he’d
plucked from the tray was filled with champagne rather than
punch, he paused, considering. Long ago, he’d discovered
that alcohol was rather a dangerous substance where he was
concerned, and he usually limited himself to one, and only
one, glass of wine on any social occasion. The fact that
he’d broken that rule in Lady Yardley’s company last summer
was one of only many things about that day that still
bothered and baffled him. Aidan prudently set the glass
back on the tray and resumed his study of the many young
ladies scattered about the ballroom of Lord Kayne’s Park
Lane residence.
Many were dancing, and they flitted across his line of
vision like so many gauzy pastel butterflies. The first
young lady in the room to catch his eye, however, was not
dancing. Instead, Lady Frances Mowbray was standing quite
near him with a group of her friends. Before meeting Lady
Beatrix, he had considered Lady Frances, but Mowbray’s
penchant for deep stakes gambling and inability to afford
it meant he would be paying his father-in-law’s debts
endlessly. He’d rather not.
His gaze shifted to one of her companions. Minnie Goulet
was a pretty American girl. Not part of the old New York
Knickerbocker set, Miss Goulet was very much New Money.
Aidan, with neither the need nor the desire to marry for
money, and the patriotism to prefer a British wife, moved
on.
Miss Patricia Hopworth? Not as pretty as Miss Goulet, to be
sure, but agreeable enough. Her background was impeccable,
and from what he could recall, she had a sweet disposition—
“Heavens, Trathen,” a cheerful feminine voice broke into
his thoughts, “what are you doing tucked back here alone?
The first ball of the season you have deigned to attend,
and here you are skulking in a corner?”
Aidan turned to find Lady Vale standing nearby, shaking her
head at him in exasperated amusement. “Countess,” he
greeted with a bow. “I am not skulking,” he added, impelled
to correct her choice of words. “I am observing.”
“I see.” She gave him a thoughtful glance as she moved
closer to his side, but she said nothing more, seeming
content to stand beside him and watch the couples swirling
across the floor. It was not until the waltz ended that she
spoke again.
“Ah,” she said as if making a sudden discovery, “so Felicia
was dancing. I thought perhaps she might have gone to the
refreshment room for a glass of punch.” There was another
pause, and Lady Vale gave a delicate laugh. “You are
perhaps not acquainted with my youngest daughter?” When he
shook his head, Lady Vale waved her fan toward another part
of the room. “She is standing beside that enormous vase of
lilacs over there.”
Aidan’s gaze followed Lady Vale’s gesture to a petite girl
in a pink frock standing by a vase of lavender lilacs. She
was lovely, with gold hair, porcelain skin, and dark,
almond-shaped eyes, but there was something about her
prettiness that made her seem rather like a doll, he
thought, noting a certain vapidity in her expression.
Still, meeting the girl could do no harm, especially since
her mother seemed quite willing to arrange it.
He turned toward the countess, but before he could request
an introduction to Lady Felicia, his attention was diverted
and his request died on his lips. Standing in the entrance
to the ballroom was another feminine figure, one he
immediately recognized.
Good God, he thought, appalled, what was that woman doing
here?
That was how he usually thought of her—as that woman.
Though legal precedent enabled her to retain her husband’s
title, her Christian name was Julia, and her friends called
her Julie, but to Aidan, she was that woman, or when he was
in a less charitable frame of mind, that plague on mankind.
Lady Vale, perceiving that his attention had gone astray,
turned to see what had caught his eye, but though he sensed
the countess’s gaze on him, he could not seem to tear his
own from the woman in the doorway.
The color of her gown suited her, he supposed—a crimson
dress for a scarlet woman. Cut with a generous expanse of
décolleté, caught at the shoulders by the tiniest of cap
sleeves, and made of silk charmeuse, the gown displayed her
shape without regard for modesty. She’d gained a bit of
weight, he noted, his gaze skimming over her. The curves of
her body were more generous than before, her breasts
fuller, her hips wider, and it aggravated Aidan beyond
belief that though some details of that afternoon still
eluded him, he could recall perfectly just how her body had
looked without any clothes.
Other memories flashed across his brain—vague, illicit
memories of his hands unbuttoning her white dress and
pulling it down her shoulders, of her breasts in his hands
and her body on top of his.
All of a sudden, the ballroom seemed suffocatingly hot.
Aidan drew a deep breath and ran a finger around the inside
of his collar, knowing he ought to leave the room before
she noticed him, but he could not seem to move.
Her heart-shaped face seemed the same, though perhaps not
quite so drawn as before. He was too far away to see the
color of her eyes, but he already knew they were the exact
same shade of lavender as the lilacs that adorned the room,
but the shadows that had been beneath those eyes last
summer were gone. Her hair was piled atop her head in the
Gibson fashion, displaying her long, slender neck to
perfection, but Aidan’s mind could not escape the image of
her riotous raven-black tresses tumbling down around her
bare white shoulders amid a snowy mound of white sheets, an
image that did not make the room feel any cooler.
Diamonds sparkled at her throat, drawing his attention. Had
he kissed her there? he wondered, his gaze riveted to the
creamy expanse of skin above her breasts. The heat that
immediately began spreading through his body gave him the
answer to that question. Even now, he thought with chagrin,
even two dozen feet away from her and three quarters of a
year from that fateful day, he could still imagine the
texture of her skin, like warm satin against his mouth.
The waltz ended, the last notes faded away, and Aidan came
to his senses with a start, realizing how quiet the room
had become. Then he heard the murmurs begin, a ripple of
discreet whispers. He could imagine what people were saying—
reminders that her husband’s divorce petition had become
final last month, tittering jokes about their mutual
presence here, speculation as to whether he intended to
resume his amour with her.
Beside him, Lady Vale murmured a rather frosty farewell and
departed, having drawn the obvious conclusion from his
scrutiny of the other woman. A quick glance around
confirmed that she was not the only one who had done so.
Many curious gazes were sliding back and forth between him
and the scandalous divorcee.
Leave, he told himself, now, before any gossip could begin
that coupled their names. Yet, even as that thought passed
through his mind, he could not find the will to move.
Instead, almost like a moth drawn to a destructive flame,
he returned his attention to the woman in the doorway, and
discovered it was now too late to escape her notice even if
he chose to do so, for she’d seen him. She acknowledged him
with a nod, then she waited, watching him, a faint smile
curving one corner of her rouged lips.
He could still make his feelings clear to everyone present.
All he had to do was give her the cut direct. By turning
his back on her without an acknowledging bow, he would put
a stop to any ridiculous speculation that they might once
again be lovers.
The wise thing to do, he knew, but he couldn’t do it. He
could not compound his lapse of gentlemanly conduct nine
months ago by being ungentlemanly now. The fact that her
husband had divorced her was his fault as well as hers. He
bowed to her, the slightest bow good manners could allow,
then he turned away from her and the erotic images that
hovered just at the edge of his conscious memory.
He kept his head high as he made his way amidst the crowd
to the open French doors leading onto the terrace. He
stepped outside and moved to stand at the carved marble
railing, where he stared out into the darkness of Kayne’s
gardens and breathed deeply of the brisk spring air to cool
his blood. With that woman near him again, anything might
happen, and Aidan was glad that this time around, he’d
chosen to forgo the champagne.
© 2003-2024 off-the-edge.net
all rights reserved Privacy Policy