Scenting Scandal (Scandalous Siblings Series Book 2) Read online

Further along the street the crush had thinned, and a collective gasp rose from the onlookers when Sherwyn’s coachman forced his horses into the midst of the tangled traffic and urged them to high-step their way around several halted carriages and down the street. Laura snatched a quick glimpse at the jeweled timepiece pinned to her bodice, and for the first time, her mouth lifted into a small, but real smile. Until she caught the Earl’s enquiring glance.

  “Half an hour at most until we can end this farce. Then we’ll be free to bid each other a far-from-fond farewell.”

  The Earl snorted, the indelicate sound contrasting with the refined air he presented this morning in his long charcoal frock coat with tailored sleeves displaying decorative gold buttons. A gold-threaded gray vest fitted snugly underneath, while a gold bar sporting an enormous topaz winked from the elaborate folds of his thrice-about neckcloth.

  Laura twisted her neck a little more and looked lower. Immaculate trousers – with the newer style front fastening instead of a buttoned-over flap – covered an acre of legs and finished at blindingly-polished walking boots.

  Living up to her family title of Miss Inquisitive, she moved her gaze higher again and back to his thigh’s evident musculature, honed from time spent on horseback. The mechanics, and easy access, of one row of buttons down the simplified closing on his trousers fascinated her, purely from a scientific point of view.

  Botheration. The air had warmed all of a sudden. She lifted her ivory and lace fan. Even waving the fragile creation rapidly back and forth didn’t dispel her flush. Not blush, as she’d never admit to such a state. Dealing with the Earl might be a hardship, but she and her sisters had never found it taxing to peruse the Earl’s decidedly-masculine physique. She risked one more peek. No, not difficult at all. When her appraisal reached his face, she saw a wide smile and a display of even white teeth, and she smiled in return.

  “Uh, uh,” he said, wagging a finger. “You misunderstand the reasons for my happier expression. Unlike you, I’m looking forward to the next three months and the chance to study your fiscal strategies. I’d like to compare my investing skills to those of your astute sister’s.”

  His mouth widened into a roguish grin. “I’m also flattered by your scrutiny of my anatomy and amused by your blush, especially after your studies into animal reproduction.”

  Her free hand flew to her cheek and her heavy reticule knocked her arm. “I never blush.” To have him observe her ogle him was embarrassing and gave her another reason to be irritated by his company, petty though her reasons might be. She tugged, but her hand was imprisoned under his. With her nose raised a fraction, she said, “For the sake of propriety, I was ensuring your garments were intact. You’ve a reputation for disappearing into dark corners and re-emerging with your clothing askew. As though hasty hands ripped your garments from your body.”

  “Tut, tut, my pet. Has jealousy driven you to spying?”

  “Jealousy? Over the class of females you consort with? I was reassuring myself your clothing was intact for the sake of my elderly aunt. The entire congregation watched that woman, the Countess, beckon you to the back of the church. Heaven knows what you were doing while the bride and groom were signing the register.”

  Winchester chuckled, long and low. “I doubt even my sullied reputation could support the story that I dragged the Countess into a shadowy niche for a quick tumble. At least, not with my sisters watching me like hawks.” He dipped his head closer. “I may excel at dispensing pleasure, but I like more than a few minutes to enjoy a rendezvous.”

  She forced herself to stand motionless, to not react to his latest coarse taunt. “I’ve no interest,” she said, between calming breaths, “in knowing any details of how you entertain–”

  Louder noises erupted from the street.

  “Oh, dear. Their carriage is slowing again,” her Aunt Aggie announced from her loftier position. “Becca’s quite likely to have drawn up another list of instructions for you, Laura.”

  Laura moaned. “I hope not. She’s already left enough lists to paper my bedroom walls.”

  Lottie, the optimist, said, “Perhaps they simply forgot something vital in their packing.”

  Sherwyn’s younger brother jogged past. “I’ll see what’s delaying them.”

  As they watched Brian lope down the road, Laura took advantage of Winchester’s distraction to tug her arm free. “It’s your fault they’ve stopped.”

  He growled and threw up his hands. “How can the coach stopping be my fault?”

  “You were supposed to use your notorious powers of persuasion for something besides seduction.” She poked his chest. “To convince Becca you held uttermost confidence in my ability to manage in her absence.”

  “As of an hour ago, we became related by marriage. And despite what you think of me or how I live my life, I take familial duties seriously. If we do discover a new stock syndicate is being formed by Lady Hetherington, I’m far better qualified to deal with her than you are.”

  “And as I’ve informed my siblings, I’m quite capable of organizing our affairs. Without the meddling of a condescending—”

  “Laura,” Aunt Aggie said. “Remember your surroundings.” Her hissed reprimand echoed down the steps. “Refrain from such disrespect. The Earl’s offer is extremely kind. Apologize, and accept his assistance. With grace.”

  Winchester smirked and made a great show of bending closer, to better hear her apology.

  “I’d rather be boiled in oil than—” Gloved fingers pressed against her lips.

  From the steps above, Laura heard Aunt Aggie clucking, her favorite way of expressing her disappointment in the behavior of her great nieces.

  “I wouldn’t continue, if I were you.” The Earl leaned in and spoke in a whisper. “Brian is arguing with the honeymoon couple. Most likely convincing them all is well. Urging them to continue their journey. And your sister, who’s as stubborn as you—”

  She nipped the closest finger to her teeth.

  He yanked back his hand, and with his head bowed muttered, “Bloody hell.” Then the dreadful man met her gaze and gave a slow grin. “Sorry.” He held out his finger. “Russian leather. No blood. Better luck next time.”

  Clamping her mouth shut, Laura faced the road, raised her hand and waved. “The coachman is rousing the horses again. Everyone,” she said, forcing another smile into her stiff cheeks, “keep waving.” Even to her own ears, her voice sounded strident and strained. Over her shoulder, she spoke to Winchester in her most commanding tone. “There’ll not be a next time for us. As soon as they’re out of our sight, you’ll remove yourself from my presence.”

  His sigh whispered across the nape of her neck, lifted the fine hairs there, and sent a small shiver across her shoulders. For an idle moment, she savored the warm brush of air and imagined the same heat caressing other areas of bared flesh.

  “... in the short term, my promise stands. Until Sherwyn returns, the smooth running of the Jamison household is my responsibility.”

  She shook her head and reeled in her wayward thoughts.

  “No need,” she said, unclenching her jaw and showing her teeth in a false but placating smile. “I’d be most distressed, kind sir, if you put yourself out on my account. Becca left me a list of instructions as long as my arm on which shares to buy and sell, and how to deliver my orders to our Stock Exchange agents. To excel at my duties, I need only follow each and every step. Rather like climbing a ladder.”

  “People have been known to tumble from ladders. Land in the wrong place.”

  She narrowed her gaze at him. “Very true. But for all I know, aligning myself with you may land me in deep water. How do I know you’re trustworthy? You could be copying those scoundrels Becca had imprisoned. Snaking into our household to steal our secrets.”

  She’d tried to appear apprehensive, but when his jaw went slack with shock, she couldn’t stop help but chuckled.

  He waggled a finger. “You, pixie, are provoking me. Deliberately.”<
br />
  “Do, please, stop calling me such a childish name. If you haven’t noticed, I became a woman several years ago.”

  His gaze flicked over her body, scorched where it touched and left her tingling in its wake. “Trust me, Laura, I’d noticed.”

  Chapter Two

  The Earl of Winchester had paid attention, rapt attention, to all three Jamison sisters when they’d glided down the aisle. Every man present had been enthralled by their graceful beauty, but Richard, having already known them as the prettiest girls in the village, considered their transformation into the most self-assured ladies in the city doubly stunning.

  Becca’s new-found wealth had allowed these butterflies to emerge from their country cocoon to climb and circle above their elegantly-coiffed but empty-headed peers. The difficult climb from near-destitution to modest affluence would have worn any other girls to exhaustion, yet until Michael and Jonathon were educated and full-grown, these three invincible ladies carried the burden for their continuing prosperity.

  Richard understood only too well the consequence of the trio practicing non-traditional female roles, rather than gossip-and-stitch. Knew he could never marry a woman of their ilk, intelligent and confident. His future countess would be their complete opposite.

  He silently scoffed at himself. If his obsessive interest in the trio was due entirely to the novelty of their unusually shrewd minds, why had his stimulated blood immediately chilled when he’d observed the gaze of every man under eighty fix on one place?

  Correction, two yellow-clad places. The softly swaying rear ends of Laura and Lottie, as they’d swished and swirled in an attempt to stay two paces behind the bride, Lady Rebecca Jamison. Swathed in creamy lace and with a smile as radiant as the sun outside, Becca had rushed with indecent haste towards the altar and an equally impatient Sherywn, the love-match between the duke and his now-duchess a rarity amidst the calculated unions of the ton.

  From the rear at least, Laura and Lottie had appeared as similar as twins. Lottie, admired for her classic beauty and sweet nature, had already refused several offers of marriage; though considered by some to be headed down the path to spinsterhood, the young lady believed herself far too young for marriage at twenty. By year’s end, she’d be consoling more desolate suitors, while following her sisters’ examples and delaying marriage until she’d mastered her currently preferred science.

  Privately, Richard considered phrenology ludicrous. Despite enjoying, three or four times, Lottie’s experiments where she’d run her fingers through his hair and traced his head bumps, supposedly to reveal his soul’s deepest secrets. And despite his friends, their brothers, issuing repeated warnings to the girls to never be alone with a man when they tested their scientific theories.

  Richard agreed whole-heartedly. Sisters were precious. His own weren’t allowed within ten feet of most of his friends who were, to an elder brother’s view, all rogues, rakes, or scoundrels. The type of men who attended balls as guardians but strolled the perimeters with an eye to securing their next mistress. Men like him.

  So why had such honorable convictions not stopped his dishonorable thoughts when Laura had floated past his pew, gown billowing like a hot-air balloon? Every man with a heartbeat had prayed a nor'easter would whirl down the aisle and lift Laura’s skirts. And he’d prayed hardest. Convictions had warred with sheer unadulterated lust, and he’d wrapped his hands around the Order of Service, squeezing the engraved parchment to within an inch of its life as an alternative to throttling every man who lecherously leaned into the aisle to follow every movement of Laura’s lemon-frothy hips.

  If he could bring himself to renounce his vow to his sisters, sworn during the first wretched week after their parents’ death, those long legs of Laura’s and the hundred fantasies they stirred could be his. All his. He’d begin at her toes, nibble, lick, and work his way upwards, not stopping until he’d tasted forbidden fruit and…

  He groaned. Heaven save him for lust had addled his wits. Contrarily, if he’d read similar thoughts on the face of any drooling young pup, he’d have leapt across the pews and planted him a facer. Embarrassed himself, and Laura, with his possessiveness. The gossips would squeal with delight to see him break his own rules and behave like an obsessed suitor.

  Far better onlookers saw the relationship between him and Laura as sparring siblings because, in private, his indifference was becoming harder and harder to maintain. More so, when Laura studied him surreptitiously, or so she thought, and compared him to other men. When she recorded his suitability as her mate as part of her quest to ensure the survival of the human species. Blast the woman and her speculating eyes, because no matter how sexually innocent her assessments of his anatomy might be, his body leapt to readiness faster than any seasoned street walker lifted her skirts.

  And damn his randy thoughts for creating so many pictures of them cavorting in his bed. In that arena, if nowhere else, he was certain their passionate natures would prove a perfect match. He clenched his fist at the thought of giving up something else. The intelligent and strong children their couplings would produce. Because if he had Laura’s body under him once, he’d be old and wizened before he tired of her.

  Across dinner tables over the last few weeks, he’d displayed nothing more than mischievous teasing when he’d questioned Laura about her evolutionary beliefs. He’d lifted his nose in an exaggerated scoff over her year-long trials as she waited to catch whiff of her perfect olfactory match dancing past her in a ballroom.

  Fool that he was, he’d stood by, still as a block of marble, while the woman who could be his soul-mate sucked in long pulls of scent. Or rather, she’d inhaled and analyzed the odor of a man’s sweaty body after he had romped after up and down a ballroom in a quadrille. And though he might tease, he’d neither interfered nor objected to her unfounded beliefs. Not even when she’d waxed lyrical upon being uncovered from cataloguing some unsuitable fop’s sweat-dotted skin.

  Twelve more weeks would strain his honor, his good intentions, and his self-control to the limit. After every ball, he’d see the women home in his carriage, and Laura would fill his ears with her latest findings, or the latest swain on whom she’d pin her hopes for future happiness. Night after night, Richard would smother his irritation at Laura’s eagerness to wave him goodbye, knowing she would rush to her garden workroom and, while in the throes of euphoria, enter her reactions to her would-be-lover in her log books. Several more encounters with the same gentleman would be arranged and Laura would happily record her comparisons of the man’s scent under different conditions.

  Meanwhile, he’d console himself by adding a name or two to his own suitable-spouse list: a catalogue of his friends, daughters and nieces, sweet girls ready to make their come-out in two or three years, charming chits who’d fit into his schedule and his mold. Yes, keeping a dozen or so society misses under his scrutiny would take his mind off Laura’s husband list.

  He shuddered. Suddenly, the idea of stretching his rules and taking a wife earlier than planned seemed like an extraordinarily good idea. He glanced at Laura. The main spoke in his carefully-planned wheel stood with him, mouth open as normal, about to either amuse him or abuse him. Either way, he looked forward to it. So how the hell would he survive future years in the company of Laura and her perfect-match of a husband?

  He copied her and kicked at the step in frustration. Good God, he was a master of self-assurance. He’d ignore the inquisitive and assessing looks she gave him when she thought he wouldn’t notice. He sighed. To his misfortune, he noticed everything she did or said.

  But he’d school himself to play the role of mentor with such brilliance, her brothers and sisters would applaud his aptitude for match-making. He’d find Laura’s perfect husband as quickly as possible. And at those long and interminable dinners, he’d prove his own unsuitability by arguing until their fellow diners rolled their eyes and closed their ears to another of their battles of wit.

  When their companions’ eyes g
lazed over and they turned to more interesting conversation, he’d be free to let his eyes roam and his senses feast on Laura as she raved about the wonders of evolutionary science.

  It was more likely that he’d need to dig his fingers into the elegant carvings on his chair to stop himself leaping across the table like a lunatic and shocking everyone at the sixty-seat table. He’d been in control of himself and his minor kingdom since he’d turned eighteen. So, for pity’s sake, why did being within thirty yards of Laura turn him into a wet-behind-the ears randy youth?

  After her olfactory tests had proved he wasn’t her ideal mate, he should feel relieved, not affronted. And rather than reveling in a bachelor’s escape from the clutches of another would-be countess, Laura’s rejection had prompted him to childishly extol his own virtues. For an earl who also held minor titles and controlled several estates, being categorized as ‘Examined and Disregarded’ was as abnormal as it was lowering.

  “Laura,” he said, dodging lace frills. “Picture my brutalized face if Michael and Jonathon caught me, the one man able to resist your charms and ignore your demands, composing appalling odes to the length of your lashes like your other fawning fops.”

  “Is that why Sherwyn needed to coerce you into acting as my keeper?”

  Ah yes, trust Laura to demand to know the reason he complied with his cousin’s wishes.

  “I was the only able-bodied male available for the time required.” He shrugged, feigning ignorance. “Perhaps Sherwyn realizes I’m not as gullible as those pitiable sods you flirt with simply to lean close enough to sniff their cologne. And catalogue the ingredients.”

  “You’re insulting those gentlemen. They’re all very sweet. I cannot stop them composing poetry to me. Besides, not all odes are appalling. Monsieur Lamarck’s odes to evolution were –”

  “Stop, please.” He held up a hand. “No evolutionary theories this morning.”

  He looked down at Laura’s bizarre bonnet, recognizing her great aunt’s outlandish taste and comprehending why, as a devoted niece, she’d wear such an unsuitable hat.