To Make a Match (A Scandal in London Novel) Read online

  “You pinched me,” he heard Withington accuse softly. “Hard.”

  “Yes, I did,” said Victoria. “I needed to let you know that I have changed my mind.”

  “What do you mean? About what?”

  “I believe I can provide the answer to that,” Julius said, stepping from the shadows. With one look, he sent Withington scurrying back into the lion’s den with Amelia.

  He advanced on Victoria until she was against the wall. “You abandoned me in the wilds, my lady.”

  HIS VOICE WAS soft, yet it sent shivers down Victoria’s spine. She shifted uncomfortably, refusing to look at him. A finger beneath her chin finally forced her to meet his eyes.

  Laughter-filled eyes.

  She jerked back, her skin tingling where he had touched her. “I would hardly call it the wilds, my lord.”

  “It took me over an hour to make it back to my carriage.”

  “It was lovely weather for a stroll.”

  “I didn’t deserve to be treated so unkindly.”

  “Oh, I rather think you got exactly what you deserved.”

  “I have no wish to argue with you, Victoria.”

  “Perhaps you should have thought of that before humiliating me!”

  “Such was not my intent. I merely thought it prudent to wait for a more appropriate—”

  “I shall say it again.” She bristled, glaring. “If you want appropriate”—she raised her arm and pointed back down the way he’d come—“there she sits, awaiting your pleasure. I’m sure if you asked Papa, he would give you his blessing immediately.”

  The air burst out of his lungs on an exasperated laugh. “Will you even allow me to try and explain?”

  “Explanations are unnecessary,” she said lightly. “I’m well aware of your position, my lord. The woman you marry must adhere to a certain standard of propriety and be fit to be a duchess, if I remember your description accurately. Amelia certainly fits your needs.”

  “So, you were eavesdropping that day,” he said softly. “Our meeting wasn’t by chance, was it?”

  She gasped in horror, then stiffened, resolved to see this through, no matter how unpleasant. “I told you already that I’d selected you for Amelia. She is far more suited to your requirements than I.”

  “If such is the case, then tell me: why am I still here?”

  “I’m sure I don’t know. Perhaps you enjoy humiliating women, my lord. You are certainly skilled at it.”

  “Damn it, Victoria! If you ‘my lord’ me one more time I shall turn you over my knee! I told you, I simply prefer to do things—”

  “Properly?” she taunted, her smile brittle.

  A tiny squeak of surprise was all that managed to escape before her protest was silenced. The strange, melty sensation again erupted inside as his mouth moved over hers, sending slow, heavy tendrils of fire down into her belly.

  Her head fell back of its own volition, her lips parting in a silent plea for more, and Julius answered, tasting deeply of her until she trembled with the effort to remain upright.

  Breaking away, he looked down at her. “We will marry. Properly or improperly, I care not, but we will be husband and wife,” he said in a harsh whisper, tightening his grip on her waist. “I will accept no answer but yes, so cease your foolishness and have done.”

  Head still reeling, Victoria nodded. It had been a week of restless dreams and longing, a week of internal agonizing and fighting for detachment. But now, here in his arms once more, she found herself unable to remain detached, unable to deny her desire. All she could do was rejoice that he still wanted her.

  “Good,” he said. “Now that we are agreed, we must find a way to extricate ourselves from the muck we’ve made of things. And it must be soon.”

  Another nod was all he received in answer. Her mind clouded by a haze of physical yearning, she was only barely able to stand and remember her own name, much less strategize. The sound of applause filtered through the velvet hangings and, panicked at the thought of getting caught with the wrong man, she shoved him away.

  Free of his unsettling embrace, Victoria gathered her wits as best she could. “It must not be an instant change in direction or Amelia will suspect a trick.”

  “I agree. We must allow Withy time to gain her favor, as well.”

  “Does he truly wish such a thing?” she asked, still doubtful. “I know she is beautiful, but…”

  He laughed. “There is no accounting for taste. She is not for me, certainly, but perhaps they will complement each other better than we can predict.”

  “How long will he need, I wonder, to convince her of his devotion?” she asked. “After all, she thinks him a complete rogue.”

  “Not too long, I should hope. I will encourage him to be as swift as possible. My patience is a finite thing, where you are concerned.”

  Excitement filled her as his lips brushed the place just below her ear and grazed her jaw. Once more, he claimed her mouth, liquefying her knees. After far too short a time, he backed away, bowed, and disappeared behind the curtains, leaving her to try and pull herself together again.

  She would begin the reversal tonight. Immediately.

  Moments later, she reclaimed her seat and cast a nervous, sidelong glance at Withington. She hoped he would understand and prayed that Papa would forgive her for creating a scene that would likely be all over the papers by morning.

  At the very end of the opera, right as its climactic closing note began to die, she stood, intending to let out an indignant scream of outrage. She opened her mouth, and an angry screech did indeed echo throughout the hall—but it was not hers.

  All heads, including Victoria’s, whipped about to peer across the theater into a box belonging to one very angry Duchess of Melmont. Her Grace was shrieking her displeasure at a handsome gentleman who was, notably, not her husband. Following her enraged outburst, the lady’s arm rose, and the crack of her hand’s impact upon the offender’s cheek shattered the silence.

  A collective gasp erupted from the crowd, followed by excited murmurs.

  Victoria cursed. Her act had been stolen! Fate, it seemed, was playing against her. Annoyed, she sat with a thump, avoiding Withington’s askance look.

  “How very undignified,” said Amelia with a sniff of disapproval. “They’ve completely ruined the opera with their unseemly display. Could she not have at least waited until after the applause?”

  Withington smiled indulgently. “Ah, but love knows neither dignity nor propriety, my lady. It plays by its own rules, its foibles subject to the laws of no authority save the divine.”

  “What rubbish,” she replied at once, rising. “Come, let us leave before everyone else comes to their senses and crowds the hall.”

  “I happen to agree with the Marquess,” said Victoria. Obviously, Amelia had forgotten that she was trying to seduce him away. “Love is a wild, untamed thing.”

  Amelia’s mouth quirked as she paused to address her in an imperious tone: “Any woman willing to throw away her dignity for a gentleman’s affections is foolish beyond imagining. Once a man loses his respect for a woman, his affections will soon follow.” Without awaiting a response, she took Cavendish’s arm and exited the balcony.

  “She is going to be damn near impossible, isn’t she?” mumbled Withington.

  Victoria bit her lip. “It might be a bit more difficult than I thought. But I imagine she might feel differently if a man were to sacrifice his dignity for love of her.”

  Withington groaned. “I’ll be a bloody shade before this is finished.”

  “Nonsense. Now, here is the plan. You and I must have an argument tonight,” she whispered quickly. “Something that will leave an opening for Ju—Lord Cavendish to begin wooing me away from you.”

  “Very well,” he said dubiously. “What shall we disagree about?”

  She wracked her brain for a moment. “Horses! We shall quarrel over which breed is the better.”

  He stared at her, clearly questioning he
r sanity. “She’ll never believe it.”

  She patted his arm, confident. “She will. Because she knows how I feel about them. We shall start by comparing breeds, and then you’ll say something derogatory about Andalusians. That shall get things started nicely. Come, let us catch up.”

  “Why I let you two talk me into this, I’ll never—”

  “Come on!”

  They were among the first to depart the theater, thanks to Amelia’s lack of inclination to socialize. The carriage rolled on, bearing them away from the heart of London toward Richmond Manor.

  “I’ve made arrangements for our box at the Ascot races, Lady Victoria,” ventured Withington. “If you still wish to attend, that is.”

  “I should like nothing better, my lord. Are you to enter a horse?”

  “My family does so every year,” he said with aplomb. “We’ve been part of Ascot since its inception. Our horses have won many prizes. Why, just this last year, our Regulus won the Queen’s Plate.”

  “Really? How intriguing,” she said. “May I ask what breed?”

  “Godolphin Arabian, of course. I would never enter anything less than an Arabian at the Ascot.”

  “What do you mean, ‘less than an Arabian’?” she replied with a touch of acid. “Why not an Andalusian or some other breed?”

  Withington patted her hand as if she were an ignorant child. “Because other breeds, like the Andalusian, are far too heavy for the sport. The competition demands an animal that is light and fleet-footed. I seriously doubt an Andalusian would make even the first turn without being dead last.”

  “I’ll wager Primero wouldn’t come in last,” she said with heat.

  He waggled a finger, his eyes alight with merriment. “If you’re thinking of entering that great beast of yours, you’d be better served to save the entry fee—and your dignity. I mean no slight toward Primero, but the horses at Ascot are of an entirely different class.”

  “He would leave them in the dust.”

  “He would be covered in their dust,” he chortled. “Your pride in him is admirable, if a bit misplaced. But when I take you to Ascot, you’ll see what I mean. Our Silvertail is already entered for the Hunt Cup. He’ll easily take the prize. Fastest horse I’ve ever seen.”

  “You’ve yet to see Primero run, my lord. Despite his size, he’s absolute lightning once he gets up to speed, and his endurance is far beyond that of any puny Arabian. I’ll wager he can run your Silvertail to the ground.”

  “He wouldn’t get up to speed before the race was finished,” he laughed. “And he would certainly never catch Silvertail.”

  So condescending was his tone that Victoria’s pulse sped up with genuine ire. “Why don’t we have a little pre-Ascot race, you and I, and just see for ourselves? Or better yet, why don’t I just enter Primero into the Ascot Hunt and prove it?”

  “Enter an Andalusian?” His eyes boggled. “Are you mad? You’d be the laughingstock of the entire country when the word got out!”

  Victoria’s heart pounded with indignation. “I shall enter him and show you and the rest of the world the very definition of speed!”

  “Have you a rider?” he cut in lightly.

  “I shall ride him myself.”

  He sucked in a breath between his teeth and shook his head sadly. “Only male riders are allowed at the Ascot, I’m afraid.”

  “They shall have to make an exception, shan’t they?”

  “Lady Victoria, please. I’ve no wish to see you humiliated. Do not, I beg you, seek to prove me wrong by sacrificing yourself to ridicule. Even if they allowed it, and they won’t, a sidesaddle would unbalance the horse, and he would be at an extreme disadvantage.”

  “I wouldn’t be riding sidesaddle,” she snapped. It was hard to remember that he was only playing along.

  “You would ride astride?”

  His look of horror was quite genuine, and it made her want to laugh. Julius hadn’t looked at her that way at all. “Does that concern you, my lord?” she asked sweetly. “Who was it said ‘love knows neither dignity nor propriety’? He would bear no other rider, in any case,” she continued. “But I promise you that if I am on his back, he will win.”

  “Please—it would be unfair to make him try, Victoria,” he placated. “He’d never be able to match the pace of those lighter horses, and to force him to fail would be utterly demoralizing. A loss like that could crush his spirit. It’s moot point, anyway, as women are not allowed to ride the race,” he reiterated.

  She arched a brow. “There is always a first time for everything, my lord. I imagine Her Majesty might object to being told what a woman is allowed to do. She would no doubt be delighted to see a member of her sex take the prize.”

  “If anyone can find a way to bend the rules, it’ll certainly be you,” Withy said soothingly. “But I beg you not to try it just to prove me wrong. Please know that I in no way meant to impugn Primero, for he truly is a fine beast.”

  “Well, I suppose you cannot be blamed for your lack of faith, as you’ve yet to see him run. Which reminds me, we are hosting a hunt at the end of this month. Perhaps at some point during the festivities you and I shall have an opportunity to pit our horses against one another. I should like a chance to prove the veracity of my claims.”

  “An equestrienne and a sporting spirit!” he said with a laugh. “I suppose if you wish a private race, I shall be happy to oblige. I’m an excellent rider, myself.”

  “And what stakes would you set, my lord?” She glanced meaningfully to her left, to where Amelia sat.

  Lounging like a lazy cat, he grinned, stretching his legs out across the space between them. “Perhaps it might be better to determine that at a later time, my lady. After I’ve had a while to think long and hard about it.”

  His tone was perfectly insinuating, and she smiled as her sister vigorously cleared her throat in protest.

  “You know, perhaps a friendly race is in order,” Julius offered up cheerily, breaking the tension. “I should myself like to see how Primero compares to my Sir Handel.”

  “Perhaps a cross-country, then?” suggested Victoria. “Our estate encompasses a variety of terrains. I could arrange a challenging course quite easily.”

  “And if I win, you’ll grant me exclusive stud rights for Primero?”

  “Exclusivity?” she replied, clearly taken aback. “That’s rather high stakes for a ‘friendly race,’ don’t you think?”

  “Is it?” He slid his gaze over to Withington, surprised to feel a prickle of jealousy. The man didn’t have to be quite so convincing with his innuendos.

  “Well, I suppose it’s fair enough,” she acceded. “Provided all prizes are of equal value.”

  “Fair enough. And what would you claim if you win?”

  “The winner will take a prize from both losers,” she announced. “If you win, I’ll give you exclusive rights to Primero’s bloodline. If I win, I’m certain I shall think of a suitable prize to claim from each of you.”

  “Unspecified forfeits are dangerous stakes, but I agree. Two prizes to the winner, then.” He turned to Withington, his lips quirking. “And what would you have of me?”

  His friend grinned back. “The same thing I’ve been trying to wrest from your possession since we were children, of course.”

  “It’ll never happen.”

  “I’ll still try, just the same.”

  “What is it?” asked Victoria.

  Julius smiled fondly. “When I was young, Father gave me an exquisitely carved chess set from India. Withy’s coveted it ever since he laid eyes on it. That set’s been the stakes for many a wager between us over the years—but he has yet to win it.”

  “I look forward to showing you Silvertail’s beautiful hindquarters,” said Withington.

  Victoria chuckled at his tone. “If we are to race cross-country, then I shall enjoy seeing both of you trailing in my wake.”

  “Ah, but you’ll have to give us a handicap, my lady,” Julius said with a smi
le. “After all, you’ll be the only one on familiar ground.”

  “True. Therefore, I agree to a count of fifteen ticks’ head start for both of you.”

  Withington adamantly shook his head in denial. “Very generous of you, but I should feel unchivalrous taking advantage of a lady.”

  Amelia snorted and immediately tried to cover it up with a cough.

  Julius’s lips twitched with suppressed mirth. “I think, in this case, we had better take advantage of her goodwill. Especially when the stakes are so high. God knows what she might ask of us.”

  “Very well. I shall concede to the handicap,” replied Withington, albeit grudgingly. “And what of you, Lady Amelia? Will you be joining the race, as well?”

  Folding her arms, Amelia shook her head. “Not I, my lord. I do not share the same affinity for horses as Victoria. I prefer to admire them from afar, when at all.”

  “What do you enjoy, Lady Amelia?” pressed Withington.

  “Oh, the typical things: music, art, literature,” she said, seemingly caught off balance by his interest.

  “Do you play an instrument or sing?”

  “I play the pianoforte a bit,” she replied shyly.

  “A bit?” cut in Victoria. “Don’t let her modesty fool you, Withy; she’s practically a virtuoso. Perhaps there will be time for a short exhibition after dinner? And you should see her paintings. She’s quite the artist. You’ll find my sister excels at all the feminine pursuits in which I so sorely lack talent.”

  “I should love to hear you play, Lady Amelia,” said Withington softly. “I adore music of all kinds. Please say you will indulge my request.”

  “Yes, of course. If—if there is time, my lord.”

  “Please, call me Withy.”

  In spite of the deepening shadows, Julius saw Amelia blush. He smiled. Perhaps there was hope for them, after all.

  VICTORIA STARED OUT of the window, thinking how odd it felt to have people in her home, how strange it was to hear the noises of them in halls that had been wrapped in silence for so long.