A Matter of Some Scandal

by Daisy Banks

Genres: Medieval Romance

Synopsis

Sometimes scandal is worth more than its weight in gold.

Love was folly, in Prudence Wellbourne's innocence. Now well-coined, sophisticated and wiser, she can easily live without it. But the one man who holds the key to her stubborn heart calls that belief into question.

Fifteen years has done nothing to cool Argyle Clairmonte's desire for Prudence. His bold attempt to regain her love lands him in Newgate prison and the Bailey court. Only Prudence's public admission of the truth, despite the scandal it will bring, can save him from the bitter consequences of his foiled plans.

Is hindsight the cure for love's recklessness? Prudence must find an eloquent answer, or watch Argyle swing from The Tyburn Tree.

Content warning: Sensual historical romance with sensual sex scenes.

26,000 Words

Release date: October 18, 2010

Publisher: Lyrical Press

Print pages: 94

Sample

 

Chapter 1

 

Prudence blinked. Reflected by gilt mirrors, heat and light from many candles dazzled her vision, smoke from their untrimmed wicks stung her eyes. Inching forward in her seat, she pushed at a strand of hair which had slipped from beneath her wig and tickled the back of her neck. A myriad of fragrances wafting from the little group around the card table sickened her stomach.

How had the evening turned into this gut twisting, nerve-jangling event? Across the small card table, Argyle gave nothing away. His blue gaze lifted to hold hers. She dabbed at beads of sweat on her upper lip which had broken through her powder, the scented lace handkerchief doing little to still her queasy stomach, and plied her fan to disguise her apprehension.

Argyle’s expression remained as it had been all night. He would eat her alive, given half a chance. And heavens, tonight she’d given it whole, set out on a platter. For months she’d kept him at bay, but he’d continued to plague her. This last week, he’d stalked her like a wolf at the tables. Tonight she’d been so annoyed with him, she’d taken him on in a game of Loo. One disastrous hand had followed another. The other players, perhaps scenting the unspoken battle, had withdrawn from the game. Now she faced Argyle alone.

She ignored the coin, the pile of her jewelry, the two written promises she’d penned for him for her house and the lodge. All would be gone, should she lose this hand. He would know she sweated on this, yet still he made her wait. Since their youth, Argyle had ever been a manipulative bastard.

He reached out and took the crystal glass of red wine which always accompanied him at the tables. A small smile played about his mouth as he tilted the glass. He sipped, then examined his cards again. His dark hair, for his vanity not whitened by powder, glinted, glossy in the light. At his hungry glance, she swallowed hard.

“Well, Prudence, ’tis time to see if your luck has turned,” he murmured. She joined with the intake of breath from those who had stayed until the dawn to see this game played out.

“Whenever you are ready, Argyle.” She tried to put every ounce of disdain she could into the words. A dismal failure which hurt more than her memories, or anything he might take from her tonight.

Each movement of his fingers a slow and deliberate torment, he spread the cards on the table. An ace led the consecutive spades. Her heartbeat hammered.

The game was done.

She flipped over each card of her answering hand, a set well short of his. A collective loud sigh followed. Argyle’s smile bit at her like a snake leaping from the grass. He must have known he’d won for an hour or more. What demon had entered her mind to allow him, of all men, to take almost everything she possessed?

His lips took on the most satisfied smile she’d ever seen him wear.

He thought to tempt her with such a smile.

“It seems, m’dear, if you choose to remain at the table you’ll be walking home in your petticoat.” Soft chuckles came from some around the table. Mortified, she fanned her heated cheeks. The corner of Argyle’s mouth rose further. His eyebrow lifted.

She nodded, and to find some kind of solace, traced a finger over the one gem she now wore, a small sapphire brooch still pinned to her gown. His gaze lingered on the lace-trimmed square neckline of her bodice, but she couldn’t tell if he admired the gem or her décolletage. He could see plenty of flesh, for her strings of pearls lay on the table. She would not offer the sapphire for one last hand, indeed would rather die than chance giving it up. The brooch had been his gift to her at eighteen, a token from him in return for the jewel of her maidenhead.

The blue depths of the stone flashed a warning. She’d always been a fool where this man was concerned. “I acquiesce to a lucky player,” she managed, and even smiled. “I’ll expect to see you later...” Outside the window, the sky lightened. “...this day. You can visit to collect the documents of ownership, should you wish.”

Applause broke from the small crowd, but her friend Justine’s visible distress threatened to expose the depth of her losses.

She rose from the padded chair, shook out her brocaded silk gown’s pannier skirts, gave Argyle a sweeping curtsy and made to leave the gem strewn table. He caught her arm. The fine lace of his cuff fell soft on her skin. “Don’t think to run to the country, Pru. I’ll find ye out.” His words were low, and only the knowledge so many might see her lose control stilled her from slapping his face with her fan.

“Damn you to hell, Argyle. You can collect when you wish.” She yanked her arm from his grasp and swept out of the room, trailed by Justine. The moment a liveried servant closed the door behind them, Justine grabbed her hand.

“Pru, how could you? Your jewels and the hunting lodge, the town house as well, to bet them on the turn of a card. Have you become completely mad?”

“Lower your voice. The last thing I want is the world with their noses in my business, but aye, I must have lost my wits. Perhaps they’ll find me a cozy spot in Bedlam. I’ll need it should I wish to come up to town again.” She gave Justine a wry smile.

“Surely Argyle will be a gentleman and squash the debt?”

“Gentleman be damned. He’s not much more than a highway robber, and has been all his life. You may think he looks the very essence of wealth and culture, but he’s a black-hearted rogue. He’ll collect for sure, or make me the offer he knows I’ll again refuse.” She stood still while a pale and sleepy-eyed servant girl came forward and helped her on with her cloak.

They waited, constrained to silence, until the sedan chairs were called. Justine slid a comforting arm around her and stared with tearful brown eyes. “I’d never have thought it of a man such as Clairmonte,” she murmured, and dabbed at her nose with a scrap of lace.

“Please, my dear, be more circumspect. I can’t bear for them to know how much this means.” She lifted her chin. “He’s been out for revenge for years, ever since I married Thomas, God rest his soul. Argyle doesn’t like to be bested and now he’s trying again. You know what they say, ‘there’s more than one way to skin a cat.’” She sighed and rubbed at her temple. “Well, this evening he came very close, but only you and I know it. I’ll send you news as soon as I can. Good evening, my dear.”

At a call from the stairs, Justine kissed her cheek, and Prudence made her way down to where her sedan chair and the link boy waited.

The journey home passed too swiftly for her to dwell more on the disaster of the evening. When she entered the well-lit hallway, she tried to dismiss the knowledge she’d gambled this house away. God damn Argyle!

Bessie came to help her undress and took her cloak, looking more and more bemused that the sparkling aigrette no longer drew attention to her brow, the rows of pearls, tinkling bracelets and diamond earrings were gone. The poor girl’s head bobbed, jerking, her wide forehead furrowed.

“’Tis no good looking so mournful, Bess. T’will be all. . .