Regency Scandal: Some Like It Wicked / Some Like to Shock. Carole Mortimer

the Duchesses of Clayborne and Woollerton choosing to seek out and value her company.

      None of which Rupert found in the least a hindrance to Pandora becoming his Duchess. In fact, he would much prefer to know the true nature of the woman who was to become his wife rather than to rudely discover it after the event.

      He raised his brows. ‘And exactly what is that, Pandora?’

      She gave him a vexed glance. ‘My husband and Sir Thomas Stanley both died in a duel.’

      ‘Yes …?’

      Her mouth tightened. ‘Surely my meaning is obvious?’

      ‘Not to me, no.’

      ‘Oh, please!’ she scoffed. ‘I am disgraced, sir. Only accepted into certain homes of the ton because my friends insist upon it. Why should you, or any other gentleman, ever wish to ally yourself to such a woman, let alone offer her marriage? Indeed, the fact that you have twice now entered my bedchamber uninvited shows the complete lack of regard in which you also hold me!’

      Rupert watched through narrowed lids as Pandora moved restlessly about the bedchamber, her cheeks having paled to a delicate ivory and making those violet-coloured eyes appear almost purple. ‘Or it could convey the eagerness I feel to share your bed?’

      She eyed him sharply, suspiciously, for several long seconds before sighing wearily. ‘Any member of the ton would happily tell you that there’s no need for you to offer me marriage in order to achieve that.’

      ‘And I believe I’ve already assured you—many times—that I rarely, if ever, listen to the opinions of the ton,’ Rupert drawled. ‘I certainly have no intention of seeking their approval regarding my choice of wife.’

      ‘Then you are a fool, sir.’ She paced agitatedly, the colour now back in her cheeks, blonde curls bouncing with each step she took. ‘Your very name would be tainted by association.’

      Rupert looked down the length of his nose. ‘I am the Duke of Stratton, madam, and if you were to accept my marriage proposal you would become the Duchess of Stratton; ergo, there would be no name remaining by which I might be tainted.’

      ‘You—’

      ‘Yes, Pandora, it is I who must decide whom and when I shall marry.’ His top lip curled back in haughty disdain. ‘None of the ton were privy to the intimacy of your marriage, were they? Nor were they present during your liaisons with Stanley—or, at least, I presume they weren’t?’

      ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Pandora snapped her impatience with that last remark.

      He nodded tersely. ‘I would rather know the truth of my future bride than otherwise.’

      The truth? The truth was so very different from what any of the ton imagined!

      Could she confide the ‘intimacy of her marriage’ to Rupert Stirling, of all people? If he believed her, then it would clear her of every accusation that had ever been made against her a year ago. If he believed her …

      Would anyone believe Pandora if she were to claim that her three years of marriage to Barnaby Maybury had been nothing but a sham from start to finish? A smokescreen behind which Barnaby hid his true inclinations? Even more shocking, would anyone believe, accept, that the duel, fought by Sir Thomas Stanley and Barnaby a year ago, had not been over her at all, but another man with whom they had discovered they were both … intimately involved?

      Pandora had learnt the shocking truth of her husband’s inclinations on her wedding night, when he had come to her bedchamber for the sole purpose of telling her that he would not be joining her there ever again, that the mere idea of touching, let alone making love to, a woman’s body totally and utterly repulsed him.

      Pandora had been stunned, sickened, when Barnaby had gone on to reveal that he’d only told her these details of his private life at all because his having settled all her father’s debts now meant she could never tell another living soul as to the true circumstances of their marriage if she did not also wish to bring about the ruination of her own father. The humiliation Pandora had suffered, at this shocking knowledge of her husband’s desire for other men, had ensured her silence on the subject even after her father had died.

      Just as Pandora had not even attempted to clear her own name of scandal a year ago, knowing that the cost of doing so would be the happiness of three other innocent people, that it was far better if everyone believed she was the guilty one than for Sir Thomas’s widow and two children to suffer from being placed in a position of ridicule rather than pity.

      And it was because of that latter concern she knew she still couldn’t tell Rupert the truth now …

      Her chin rose proudly. ‘Is there not another lady who might have every reason to expect to become your wife?’

      Rupert’s nostrils flared at the mere thought of the woman to whom Pandora so obviously referred. Patricia Stirling. His father’s widow. The same woman society believed Rupert to have been openly living with this past nine months since his father’s death.

      A woman that Rupert knew he wouldn’t touch intimately again if she were the only female left upon this earth.

      Which she was not, thank God! ‘If you’re referring to my father’s widow, then say so, damn it!’

      ‘If you insist!’ Those violet eyes flashed. ‘Should you not, in all conscience, be making this marriage proposal to her?’

      ‘I assure you, madam, that where Patricia Stirling is concerned, my conscience is completely without blemish,’ Rupert said levelly.

      ‘Indeed?’ she said sceptically.

      ‘Indeed.’ A nerve pulsed in his jaw. ‘Nor is it acceptable, to me or society, that I should marry my father’s widow.’

      Pandora eyed him scornfully. ‘Then perhaps you hope to use marriage to another woman as a means of disguising your … unorthodox relationship with your own stepmother?’

      ‘Now that you’ve found your tongue again it appears to have become that of a viper!’ Rupert eyed her chillingly.

      Those ivory cheeks bloomed with colour. ‘I’m not the one responsible for creating the gossip concerning the two of you, your Grace!’

      ‘Neither am I!’ he insisted, knowing exactly who was to blame for what society thought of his present living arrangements. ‘Might we forget about Patricia for the moment and continue with our previous conversation?’

      She raised golden brows. ‘A conversation in which you have suggested I might consider marrying you?’

      Rupert’s jaw tensed at the derisive incredulity in her tone. ‘Yes.’

      ‘Then, no, I don’t believe we can forget the existence of the woman who, if I accepted you, would be the third person in the marriage. The French have a term for such things, I believe?’

      ‘Ménage à trois,’ he supplied tightly.

      ‘Quite so,’ Pandora acknowledged tautly, her cheeks still hot and flushed. ‘Would that be the arrangement I might be expected to accept in a marriage between us, your Grace?’

      ‘No it damn well would not!’

      ‘There’s no need to swear—’

      ‘There’s every reason, damn it!’ Rupert glared at her coldly. ‘For your information, I have not laid so much as a finger upon Patricia since the day I learnt she was my father’s wife. Nor do I intend ever to do so again,’ he added icily.

      Pandora’s brows rose sharply at his vehemence. ‘I find that very hard to believe.’

      ‘Nevertheless, I assure you it is the truth.’

      Was it possible—could it possibly be that Rupert was as much an innocent victim of society’s gossip as Pandora was herself? Not that she believed for one moment