An Innocent Little Scandal Read online

  An Innocent Little Scandal

  (Sensual Scandals - Book 1)

  Tabetha Waite

  Copyright © 2022 Tabetha Waite

  Cover Design by The Midnight Muse

  This title is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to similarly named places or to persons living or deceased is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever, including but not limited to photocopy, digital, auditory, and/or in print, without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations for a review.

  Also by Tabetha Waite

  Ways of Love Historical Romance Series

  How it All Began for the Baron (Christmas prequel novella)

  Why the Earl is After the Girl (Book 1)

  Where the Viscount Met His Match (Book 2)

  When a Duke Pursues a Lady (Book 3)

  Who the Marquess Dares to Desire (Book 4)

  What a Gentleman Does for Love (Book 5)

  Season of the Spinster Series

  Triana’s Spring Seduction (Book 1)

  Isabella’s Secret Summer (Book 2)

  The Spinster’s Alluring Season (Book 2.5)

  Alyssa’s Autumn Affair (Book 3)

  Korina’s Wild Winter (Book 4)

  Wanton Wastrels

  The Rapscallion’s Romance

  The Marauder’s Mistress

  Sensual Scandals

  A Jolly Little Scandal (0.5 prequel)

  An Innocent Little Scandal (Book 1)

  A Promising Little Scandal (Book 2)

  Novellas

  The Harlot’s Hero

  Frozen Fancy

  Novels

  Behind a Moonlit Veil

  The Secrets of Shadows

  The Piper’s Paramour

  Kiernan Fantasy Series

  The Kingdoms of Kiernan (Kiernan – Book 1)

  Shared Worlds

  Vanquished (K Bromberg’s Driven World)

  Collections

  An Everlasting Amour (A collection of short stories)

  An Everlasting Christmas Amour

  An Everlasting Regency Amour

  An Everlasting Regency Amour – Volume 2

  The Wedding Wager

  Heyer Society (non-fiction essays)

  For my friend, Karla, who used to go with me to the local cemeteries and invent lives for the people who had passed on. I miss riding our bikes during those carefree summers in the 80’s when I dreamt of becoming an author and you were crafting poetry. This cover model reminded me of you and those special days of my childhood.

  Chapter One

  Outside London, England

  Christmas Eve 1823

  * * *

  It had been the perfect arrangement. Or, rather, the situation had been appealing to Olivia Bevelstroke’s three half-sisters when they convinced her to move to London and take up residence at number 25 Grosvenor Square. But then, it wasn’t as if they’d had much choice but to leave Marlington Hall. Their father had been known as the Black Widower after burying four wives, all of which he’d claimed to love dearly, as well as the daughters that had been borne from each union. Now that the Duke of Marlington had passed, his estate would be passing on to the next male heir.

  Rather than being a burden to the next Duke of Marlington in line, the eldest sisters, Isadora and Araminta, had contrived a plan to live as ladies of independent means without the strictures of marriage. Calliope, the most adventurous of them all, had eagerly brightened at the idea of setting London on its ear as she shopped on Bond Street and wore the latest fashions.

  But Olivia, the youngest of the siblings, at eighteen years of age, had held her reservations from the very start. For one, she didn’t want to uproot her entire life in the country and live in town. She detested parties and balls and much preferred to read in blissful solitude. The very idea of Almack’s might have thrilled the most hopeful debutante, but it turned Olivia’s stomach at the very thought.

  She had never felt as though she would fit in very well in London society, while her three elder sisters were much more engaging. Isadora was the eldest at eight and twenty and had long ignored the fact she was practically a spinster. Olivia had never known a more self-sufficient woman. If anyone could succeed in living life on her own terms, it would be Isa.

  Calliope was two and twenty and was a natural born flirt. She was already starting to turn the heads of all the London suitors with her fiery red-hair and charming personality, and something told Olivia that the proposals would soon start rolling in and that Callie would eventually give in to one of them.

  And then there was Minty.

  Araminta was six and twenty and had taken on the role of mother hen to Olivia once their father’s last wife, Olivia’s mother, had passed on the birthing bed. The former Duke of Marlington had suffered more than his share of bereavement, but it hadn’t lessened his love for his daughters. He had been a caring, attentive father and Olivia’s heart ached often at his loss. She would likely do the same for her sisters after they realized what she’d done, but she prayed in time, that they would accept her decision.

  She was going back home. To Marlington Hall. Where she belonged.

  Here she was, on Christmas Eve, bundled up in her fur-lined cloak with a warming brick and a blanket around her legs in a hired hackney and traveling in the hated cold while her sisters had gone off to attend a holiday ball held by the Duchess of Gravesend. They thought they had left her behind because she was feeling under the weather from her recent fall through the ice, but it was only so she could return to the one place she had ever felt truly comfortable—where she felt safe.

  She felt bad for deceiving them all, but it wasn’t as if she hadn’t heard Minty and Isa conspiring to marry her off either to some elusive duke that she should apparently, be grateful to wed. She heard he had saved her from the fall through the frozen Thames when she’d been ice skating, but since she didn’t even remember the man, she wasn’t sure she owed him anything more than her gratitude.

  Nevertheless, she refused to be a burden to anyone, so she’d taken matters into her own hands and left. They all might believe she was naïve just because she was the youngest, but then, they had never even bothered to ask her opinion on any subject, believing instead that they had to shelter her or make decisions on her behalf.

  But no longer.

  She was being an independent Bevelstroke woman, only it wasn’t perhaps in the manner that they might have wanted.

  Suddenly, there was a high-pitched whinny as the carriage lurched to the side. Olivia gasped as she was thrown against the wall of the carriage. Pain shot through her shoulder where she had taken most of the impact, and she closed her eyes tightly, fearing the worst, before the conveyance shuddered violently and came to an abrupt halt.

  She heard a loud curse as the vehicle rocked precariously. Moments later, the door was opened and the coachman’s face appeared in the dark, the only light coming from the full moon ahead that shone upon the newly fallen snow and the flurries that were still coming down. “I’m sorry, miss, bu’ an owl spooked th’ horses an’ we slid off th’ road. I won’t be able t’ get us goin’ again without some ’elp.”

  Olivia sighed inwardly, but she adopted a brave face. “Allow me to assist, if I can.” Because going back isn’t an option.

  He nodded and then stepped back so she could step to the ground. Instantly, the snow covered the top of her boot. She gritted her teeth as the cold seeped through her stockings. There were few things that Olivia detested more than a winter’s chill, but she forced herself to ignore it and trudge forward through the white fluff. She certainly didn’t care to spend all night on the road with a man she barely knew, and no doubt he felt the same. But then, she had paid him handsomely for his services for going out in such deplorable weather—and on Christmas Eve.

  She spied the front wheel cocked at an odd angle as it hung over the side of an embankment.

  The coachman glared at it too, obviously perturbed by the current situation. “It migh’ be best if’n I try t’ push th’ wheel back onto th’ road if ye think ye can handle Bessie an’ Maggie.” He gestured toward the two horses pulling the hackney. They were both snorting, their puffs of white breath and stomping hooves proof of their annoyance at the delay.

  However, Olivia generally prided herself on being a decent horsewoman, so she nodded and headed for the pair. She grabbed their bridles and spoke softly, but firmly to them until they settled slightly.

  “On th’ count o’ three!” the coachman grunted from the side of the hackney.

  Olivia prayed that their attempts would work, and as he called out the numbers, her every muscle was tense in preparation for her part. When he got to three, she smacked the rump of the mare closest to her and pulled hard on the bridles so that their combined weight would do most of the work to free them.

  They neighed in momentary protest but used their strong muscles to move forward. The carriage rocked and Olivia thought their efforts were going to pay off, but then the coachman gave a curse as the vehicle rolled backwards to where it had been.

  Silence settled over them, and then she called out, “Are you hurt?”

  As the wind shifted direction, she could hear a few muffled curses, followed by a gruff reassurance, “I lost me footin’ is
all. Let’s try again.”

  Olivia was ready and when he shouted to three again, she repeated her earlier motions. Again, the carriage rocked, but it quickly slid back down the incline. Two more times they attempted this, with equally similar results, until the coachman called a halt. Olivia was grateful for the reprieve, for her arm muscles were screaming in protest and a bead of perspiration was sliding down her back from her exertions. Not only that, but she didn’t want to feel as if she was being cruel to the horses. She was afraid that much more effort would see them without any energy to pull the carriage if they did manage to get back on the road.

  She patted them both on the neck and were cooing to them, saying what good girls they were when the coachman joined her. “I’m sorry, miss, but I’m goin’ t’ ’ave t’ go back t’ th’ city an’ find someone who can ’elp.”

  She swallowed, and while she wasn’t eager to remain alone on the side of the road, she knew there was little else to be done. “I understand.”

  He reached for one of the mares and started to untie her from the hackney. “I promise I’ll return as soon as—” He frowned as the sound of a horse’s nicker caught his attention. “Praise be t’ th’ Lord,” he muttered. “There’s another foolish traveler out ’n this wretched weather.”

  He walked toward the sound while Olivia kept her attention on the horses, continuing to whisper soothing compliments in their ears.

  The coachman returned a short time later and said, “Th’ gentleman ‘as agreed t’ assist. Let’s get these girls movin’!” He quickly disappeared around the other side of the vehicle, where Olivia assumed the newcomer was already in position.

  She waited anxiously for the count of three, and when she heard it, she used everything that she had left to coerce the mares to pull even harder than before. The carriage creaked and groaned as it started to move forward, until finally, it caught solid ground and was level once more.

  Olivia exhaled heavily and closed her eyes in relief as she leaned against the neck of one of the horses. The snowflakes tickled her nose and eyelashes, but it was a welcome relief to the strain they had all just been under.

  She was so exhausted that it took her a moment before awareness took over and she realized that she was no longer alone. She opened her eyes to find a towering figure standing directly before her.

  She jerked in alarm, but then his smooth, raspy voice broke through her fright. “It’s not a very nice evening to be traveling, Lady Olivia.” His dark brows descended into a concerned, and most assuredly, disapproving slash over his equally dark eyes. His hair was pulled back in a queue beneath his hat and as dark as the midnight sky. His shoulders looked impossibly broad in his finely tailored greatcoat and tall, black Hessians covered his feet. “I would ask where your sisters are, but considering you are traveling alone, I have the feeling they don’t know you have left London, so that merely begs the question—” He lifted one of those intimidating brows. “What exactly are you going, my lady?”

  Olivia’s eyes widened and she could feel the blood as it receded from her face. She pulled her cloak more tightly around her as she faced off with this man, the blanket lost somewhere in the carriage. “Who are you?”

  Miles Stone, the Duke of Gravesend, would have been offended if he’d been a man who cared about anything anymore. After his injuries in Waterloo when he’d been nineteen, which resulted in a scar across his throat that had nearly made it impossible for him to speak, he found that certain things in life that used to annoy him no longer affected him. His mother would claim that he was more inclined to brood than before, but it wasn’t even that. He just didn’t want to be there. In England, or anywhere in the world.

  Nothing mattered.

  The only time in recent years that his chest had offered more than a dull ache had been when he’d saved the woman standing in front of him from certain death. She’d been ice skating on the Thames but got a little too close to the shallow end where it wasn’t as thick. The sickening crack of the pond giving way, followed by the sight of her bonnet disappearing beneath had struck a fear in him that hadn’t even been present on the battlefield. He had quickly whisked her away to the only physician he trusted and paced the floor of his townhouse until he’d received word that she had recovered. The relief that had flooded through him had been the most emotion he’d shown in almost ten years.

  And she didn’t even remember him.

  But perhaps it was for the best. He wasn’t fit to try to love anyone, nor was he a proper candidate for marriage. While his mother had done her best to bring him back into society, his self-imposed convalescence had begun to call to him and he’d been forced to heed the call.

  He hadn’t given in to the duchess’ tears when she’d begged him to stay for the Christmas ball that she’d planned in his honor. She likely thought him a heartless arsehole when he didn’t make an appearance, but he couldn’t very well tell her the truth. That he hadn’t intended to depart, but when his palms had started to sweat and his cravat started to choke him, he knew that he couldn’t endure it, not even for her sake. He couldn’t risk being made a fool of when his throat didn’t want to form the proper words in polite conversation.

  Besides, while a lady might enjoy holding the title of a duchess if he were to dare wed, who would want to endure a madman as a husband the rest of their days? Nothing would ever erase the horrors he’d endured during the war. Nor would it help him to sleep better when the nightmares intruded on his slumber.

  Thus, he was sparing himself, and anyone else, the eventual disappointment, and departing before any ladies could pin him with those hopeful glances.

  Now, as he stood in the blowing snow and cold and regarded the woman in front of him with her sunshine-colored hair on such a dreary winter night and looked into those expressive green eyes that sparked with youth and a touch of fear, he realized he couldn’t tell her who he really was. If she was running away, as he imagined was the case, he couldn’t claim he was the Duke of Gravesend without frightening her even more, believing that he would haul her back to London. Apparently, there was a reason she was so determined to set out on such a night.

  He just had to figure out what it was.

  “My name is Miles Stone,” he offered with a slight bow. “I was an estate manager to the Earl of Somers.”

  Instantly, her gaze flashed with recognition, and he applauded his quick thinking. “I am well acquainted with the earl. I believe that he should soon be betrothed to my sister, Araminta. I’m sorry I don’t recall you, Mr. Stone.”

  Miles forced a smile. “There’s no harm done, my lady. Servants and the gentry are often overlooked.”

  Her expression softened even further. “Yes, they are, although you do not comport yourself as either, but rather a nobleman.” She shivered in her cloak, and he immediately took note.

  “You’re cold.” He reached forward and put an arm around her shoulders. She stiffened slightly and then relaxed into his embrace. He enjoyed that small moment of victory more than he should have. “Where are you headed? Perhaps I might accompany you. That is, if you don’t mind a bit of company.”

  He could sense the indecision warring within her, but as the daughter of a duke, she was too proper to refuse. But instead of denying his request outright, she said, “I’m headed to Marlington Hall in Canterbury. It was my father’s estate.”

  “Indeed?” he murmured, knowing it all too well. “How fortuitous, for that is where I was traveling as well.”

  “You were?”

  “Yes.” At least it wasn’t a lie. “I was hired as the new estate manager to the Duke of Marlington’s heir.” That was the untruth, for he was actually the new heir.

  While he’d left London with the determination to return to Gravesend Manor, he had made a last-minute detour, deciding that Kent was closer than his estate in Oxford. Since it was expected of him to inspect the property and assume the duties of a second dukedom, he decided it would be the perfect excuse for a recluse to escape to for a time, to get things in order. While it was rare a man could inherit two dukedoms at once, it wasn’t completely unheard of. The Cavendish family with the Devonshire title was one example.