Page 1 of An Innocent Little Scandal (Sensual Scandals)

Chapter One

Outside London, England

Christmas Eve 1823

It had beenthe perfect arrangement. Or, rather, thesituationhad 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’twantto 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 shebelonged.

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 feltsafe.

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.”

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