It’s Only a Scandal if You’re Caught Read online

  It’s Only a Scandal if You’re Caught

  Merry Farmer

  IT’S ONLY A SCANDAL IF YOU’RE CAUGHT

  Copyright ©2019 by Merry Farmer

  This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your digital retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Cover design by Erin Dameron-Hill (the miracle-worker)

  ASIN: B07SBHQ2ZT

  Paperback ISBN: 9781081722814

  Click here for a complete list of other works by Merry Farmer.

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  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  London – Autumn, 1885

  Lady Bianca Marlowe had a reputation and she knew it. She was considered too forward for an aristocratic lady, too free with her opinions, and much too outspoken about said opinions. But as far as Bianca was concerned, every one of the high society ladies that blanched when she walked into a room or whispered behind their fans while sending frowns of disapproval her way could go boil their head. She was a May Flower now and no one could stop her.

  “It seems to me that our greatest threat in the upcoming election does not come from the Conservative Party, but rather from the Liberal Unionists within the ranks of our own party,” she said, punctuating her remark by pointing her half-eaten biscuit at the leader of the May Flowers, Lady Henrietta Hopewell, Marchioness of Tavistock.

  “I quite agree,” Henrietta said with a smile, glancing around at the other members of the May Flowers, sitting roughly in a circle in her parlor, enjoying tea at the end of their meeting. “Lady Claudia has gathered quite a disturbing number of followers, all of whom are against Irish Home Rule, and it will take all our wiles to convince men to vote for Home Rule candidates.”

  “The extension of the franchise may help,” Lady Cecelia Marlowe, Bianca’s new sister-in-law and old friend said, absently rubbing her increasing belly. Bianca couldn’t help but grin at the reminder that she would be an aunt in a few months. She couldn’t wait. Nothing was better than having babies around to love and to spoil. “Now that a larger number of men in the middle and working classes can vote, our cause could have just the boost it needs,” Cece went on.

  “But there is no guarantee the newly enfranchised men will vote for candidates who support home rule,” Lady Diana Pickwick said, setting her teacup aside and chewing her lip. “The Irish aren’t popular.”

  “Don’t I know it,” Henrietta said with a weary sigh.

  The ladies were silent, many of them politely glancing away as emotion pinched Henrietta’s brow. They were all well aware of Henrietta’s attachment to Irish Lord Fergus O’Shea, who had been savagely beaten by a gang of men during a cricket match earlier in the summer. Lord O’Shea was still struggling to recover and making progress, though it was feared he would never walk again.

  “If they do not like the Irish now, they must be made to like them,” Bianca spoke into the sympathetic silence. “We must work to educate people away from their prejudices by holding up men like Lord O’Shea as fine examples of Irishness and masculinity. Why, no one with a heart could see Lord O’Shea as anything but a hero, and Jack—”

  She snapped her mouth shut, glancing to Cece, who shook her head. Impatience rippled through Bianca. Inspector Jack Craig had been present when the attack took place and had been hunting down the culprits in the months since. More specifically, Jack had been working tirelessly to prove that Lord Charles Denbigh, Lady Claudia’s brother, was the mastermind behind the attack, though finding evidence to convict a peer of attempted murder was a Herculean task.

  Jack was much more than an investigator helping a friend of the family to Bianca, though. They’d known each other for years. They’d flirted for years too. If Bianca had her way, they would do much more than flirt. But Jack was a police inspector from a humble background and she was the daughter of an earl. There were rules—rules that Bianca was more than willing to ignore, but that she was reminded of every time she mentioned Jack’s name in the circles of her aristocratic friends.

  She cleared her throat and tried again. “Scotland Yard is getting closer to uncovering the truth behind Lord O’Shea’s attack and bringing the true perpetrators to justice.” She glanced to Henrietta with a smile. “I’m certain your friend will be vindicated in no time.”

  “I’m sure Inspector Craig is doing his best,” Henrietta said, a blush painting her cheeks. She checked subtly on the other May Flowers, as though assessing who might be reading into what Bianca had blurted.

  Bianca pressed her lips together, debating whether she should have been silent about what she suspected was a serious flirtation between Henrietta and Lord O’Shea or whether it was silly for a lady as grand and powerful as Henrietta to worry about what people might think. If she were a widowed marchioness with money and power at her disposal, she would do whatever she wanted, society be damned. But not everyone was the same, as she was coming to learn.

  “I think we have done quite a bit of good work here today,” Henrietta went on, standing. The rest of the ladies, Bianca included, stood with her. “Thank you all for your time and your efforts. I’m sure we will be triumphant at the rally in Regent’s Park next week. And remember, you are always welcome to pen whatever article you would like for our periodical, Petals.”

  “I have so many ideas,” Bianca sighed happily as the meeting broke up.

  “I can’t wait to hear them,” Cece said, pushing herself awkwardly to her feet. “Good heavens, this baby does make it necessary for me to be near a water-closet at all times. Henrietta, would you mind?”

  “Go right ahead,” Henrietta laughed. “I remember those days a little too well. Which also reminds me that my darling Ricky wants to have supper with his mama tonight.”

  “Don’t trouble yourself about me,” Bianca said with a grin as her friends started off in different directions. “I can find my own way home.”

  “Tell Papa and Lady Katya that I say hello,” Cece said over her shoulder as she sped from the room.

  Bianca left at a slower pace, pausing to chat with some of the other departing ladies and to collect her hat and cloak from the maid stationed near the front door. It was still early autumn, but a chill had settled over London in the last few days, which were shorter than they had been through the summer. The sun was already well on its way to setting as she strode out into the streets of Mayfair, wa
ved goodbye to the ladies who were waiting for their carriages, and marched on her way. Tavistock House was only a few blocks from Marlowe House, where Bianca lived with her mother and step-father, Lord Malcolm Campbell, Cece’s father, and her younger sister, Natalia.

  Theirs was a strange and complicated family, whose goings-on were as unusual as a circus. Bianca’s mother, Lady Katya, had connections to the Romanovs and had been married off at the shocking age of seventeen. By age twenty-three, she’d had three children, and within months of Natalia’s birth, she’d been widowed. Bianca barely remembered her father and didn’t feel a lick of sentimentality toward the reportedly aloof man. His death had only helped her mother grow into a powerful woman with a long list of lovers, including Lord Malcolm who, as had recently been revealed, had fathered Natalia.

  The web between the Marlowe and Campbell families was hopelessly tangled, especially now that Cece and Bianca’s older brother, Rupert, had married. But as scandalous as their family was, Bianca admired her mother above anyone else. She would never admit it to her mother directly, but she wanted to be like her in every way. Or almost every way. She didn’t need a string of lovers warming her bed, she just needed—

  Before she could finish her thought, a shadow darted out of the alley she’d just passed and a pair of iron-strong arms grabbed her from behind. A male hand clapped over her mouth, preventing her from screaming, as she was yanked off her feet and whisked into the enclosing shadows of the alley.

  “Your money or your life,” the man purred in her ear. “Or perhaps your virtue.”

  He clamped her as tightly against him as he could with her bustle in the way and stroked a hand up her stomach to squeeze her breast. His mouth closed over her neck like a vampire as he kissed and nibbled her.

  A shiver shot through Bianca, coalescing into liquid heat in her sex. The familiar scent of woody, spicy cologne did wild things to her. She relaxed into the man for a moment before a wicked grin spread across her covered lips. Then she stomped on the man’s foot.

  “Ouch,” he laughed, letting her go. “You little minx.”

  Bianca slipped out of his arms and whirled to face him. “Jack.” She sighed, shaking her head and pretending she wasn’t amused when, in fact, she was instantly twisted up inside with lust. “What the devil do you think you’re playing at?”

  Jack crossed his arms, pretending to be just as indignant as she was, though mischief and heat shone in his brown eyes. “How many times have I told you not to go walking alone after dark?”

  Bianca huffed and rested her weight on one hip. “It’s hardly dark at all,” she said, gesturing to the thin strip of evening sky visible between the two buildings where they stood. “And this is Mayfair, not Seven Dials. No one would harm a fly in Mayfair, let alone the daughter of an earl.”

  Jack laughed sharply. “Daughters of earls make tasty treats for the men who lurk in the shadows,” he said, making no effort to conceal his cockney accent, as he usually did when he was in public.

  “The only man I see lurking in the shadows is you, Inspector,” Bianca fired back, arching one eyebrow in challenge.

  “As I said.” He reached for her, hooking an arm around her waist and tugging her against him. “You need to be careful or you’ll be ravished.”

  Before Bianca could do more than suck in a breath, he brought his mouth crashing down over hers. She was taken enough by surprise that he had her lips parted and slid his tongue along hers before she could protest. Not that she would have protested. She sagged into him, sliding her arms inside his jacket and around his trim torso. Her acceptance emboldened him and he increased the intensity of his kiss while closing a hand around her breast.

  Excitement raced through Bianca, firing her blood. She loved the way Jack took what he wanted from her in spite of their positions. She loved the masculine power that radiated from him. She loved the way he treated her body as though it belonged to him and wished they had the opportunity for him to take more. She loved his unique sense of honor and his rough goodness. In short, she loved him. She had since the moment they’d met.

  “Do you see what kind of trouble you can get into when wandering the streets alone?” he asked at length, hoarse with desire, heat radiating from him.

  “I have never felt safer in my life,” she said with a hazy smile, studying the smile lines around his eyes, the flush of his lips, the shadow of stubble on his chin. “What does it matter if I go walking alone after dark? I know you’ll be there to protect me.”

  A lazy, proud grin played across his lips. He stroked his hands over her sides for a moment before stepping back and offering his arm like a gentleman. “How was your meeting?” he asked, his accent refined once more, as they stepped out of the shadows and continued on toward Marlowe House at a snail’s pace.

  “It was fine,” Bianca sighed. The passion of the moment was gone, leaving her with all the impatient feelings the meeting had stirred in her. “We have our work cut out for us at the election rally next week. The Liberal Party is so divided over Home Rule at the moment. It drives me to distraction that so many people cannot see reason and allow the Irish to rule themselves.” She punctuated her comment with a frustrated growl.

  Jack chuckled, but it wasn’t unkind. “I’m sure plenty of people on the other side of the issue are equally frustrated that you and your May Flowers can’t see things their way,” he said like the old friend he was.

  Bianca sent him a sideways smirk. “Don’t be reasonable when I want you to take my side in all things,” she scolded him, her heart swelling with affection.

  “Someone has to keep you from flying off without thinking,” he said with a shrug.

  “Are you my anchor then?” She tried to send him a withering look, but it turned into a smile.

  “Always,” he said, hugging her arm to his side.

  Bianca could have been walking on air, for all the happiness in her heart. It was a crime that the two of them couldn’t be seen in public together without raising comment. Even walking through Mayfair, minding their own business, a pair of middle-aged ladies on the other side of the street shook their heads at them and murmured something to each other. It made Bianca want to scream.

  “What brings you all the way to Mayfair on a miserable evening like this?” she asked to distract herself. “And don’t tell me you’re only here to walk me home.”

  Jack laughed. “You don’t believe that I spend all my time following you to ensure your safety?”

  “Not for a moment.”

  He sent her a rakish grin. “I was interviewing one of Lord Balsam’s footmen about a connection his cousin might have to the men who attacked Lord O’Shea.”

  Bianca’s heart sped up. “Did you find out anything?”

  Jack sighed and shook his head, losing his smile. “Not exactly. The cousin in question formerly worked with one of the attackers on the docks, but that was where the connection ended.”

  It was Bianca’s turn to hug his arm in support. “You’ll find the men who did it,” she assured him. “I have complete faith in you.”

  He grinned wistfully at her. “It’s not the men who did it that I want to nab,” he said. “I need to prove that Denbigh was behind it all. I need solid evidence connecting him to the attack. If I can prove that he organized it or paid the men who did the actual dirty work, then I can get vengeance for Lord O’Shea.”

  “You’re a good man, Jack,” Bianca reassured him. “I know you’ll find what you need. The answer must be right around the corner.”

  They turned a corner at that moment, but all that stretched before them was the Mayfair street where Marlowe House stood.

  “Proving Denbigh was involved would mean a great many things,” Jack said, then glanced to Bianca. “It would mean a promotion to Superintendent.”

  “And Superintendent is a much more acceptable rank than Chief Inspector,” Bianca said, a thrill in her heart. Anything Jack could do to elevate himself in the eyes of society would bring them one
step closer to finding acceptance as a couple.

  The spark in Jack’s eyes said that was exactly what he was thinking, though he said nothing. He nodded down the street and asked, “Is that your house?”

  He knew full well that it was, but Bianca played along and said, “Yes, it is.”

  Jack nodded again and, as fast as he’d been before, he hooked her around the waist and pulled her into the alley between two houses.

  This time, he leaned against one wall, standing with his feet apart and wedging her between his legs. He held her close, kissing her with a passion that was anything but proper and genteel. Bianca drank him in like he was life itself. She hummed deep in her throat as he devoured her lips and slipped her hands under his waistcoat, then below the waist of his trousers.

  “God,” he growled against his mouth as she stroked one gloved hand down the length of his stiffening cock.

  He was glorious and large and hot in her hand. She wanted to do much more than simply hold him as they stole scandalous kisses in an alley not far from her home. Indeed, every time they’d tried to do more they’d risked discovery. Walking down a dusky street with Jack was one thing, but if they were caught kissing or fondling each other, it would be a disaster.

  “This is entirely unsatisfying,” she panted, reluctantly withdrawing her hand from his trousers as they stood close, panting. “Something must be done.”

  “I’ll say,” Jack agreed with a growl. “If I can’t get you on your back so I can well and truly ruin you soon, I don’t know what I’ll do.”