When Scandal Came to Town (Scandalous Sons 3)

Chapter One

The Serpentine, Hyde Park

Cold air raced over Cassandra Mills’ bare skin. It was not like the refreshing breeze one experienced in the height of summer. It did not settle her heart or drag a soft sigh from her lips. It did not soothe her spirit. Heavens no. The icy gust swept over her like frozen fingers determined to startle and shock. It sent her pulse soaring, sent her heart into a sudden state of panic. Had she been at home in the comfort of her poster bed, she would have snatched the blankets and snuggled down inside the protective cocoon. Warm. Safe. But she was not at home. And from the aches and pains plaguing her body, the hard surface was definitely not her plush bed.

She tried to open her eyes, but it was as if she had lids of lead. She inhaled, hoping for a clue to her surroundings, and caught the smell of damp earth and the hint of sulphur that always accompanied the early morning fog.

Morning?

No!

She recalled nothing since last night. Nothing since the music, the dancing, the fruit punch that shouldn’t have made her dizzy. Yes. The sweet aftertaste of orgeat lemonade still coated her lips. And something else, something sickly, something dangerously potent.

Mustering an ounce of strength, she stretched her feeble limbs. Nausea roiled in her stomach. The pounding in her head would not abate. The cold set her teeth chattering. She reached out looking for support, a means to help her clamber to her feet, but her fingers slipped through naught but dew-soaked grass.

A park. She must be in a park.

But which one?

The distant trickle of water caught her attention.

Hyde Park?

Somehow she lifted her heavy lids, though by all that was holy she wished she hadn’t. Reality hit hard. So hard all the air escaped her lungs, leaving her panting and breathless. Lord help her! The lucid dream had proved kinder than this terrifying nightmare.

Hyde Park!

She almost laughed at the pun.

Lying barely clothed and helpless amid the acres of parkland, she had no hope of remaining undiscovered. There was nowhere to go, nowhere to hide. Even the morning fog lacked spirit and clung to the ground in ghostly wisps. To her right, tall trees loomed like disapproving matrons ready to hurl a torrent of insults, ready to banish her from every social event of the season. The Serpentine curled around to the left. A snake in the grass. The devil’s spawn there to taunt the foolish woman who had somehow eaten the forbidden fruit.

And yet she couldn’t remember.

Why couldn’t she remember?

If she could scramble to her feet, she might find her way out of the park before the first riders took to the Row. But how would she navigate the mile back to Cavendish Square wearing nothing but her chemise?

As if matters couldn’t get any worse, the rumble of thunder overhead drew her gaze skyward. Was the Lord waiting to strike down the wicked harlot? Was he about to send a deluge of rain to wash away her sins?

But she soon discovered that the resounding noise was not a warning foretelling of horrid weather, but the pounding of horse’s hooves galloping across the parkland.

Her heart stopped beating for a second or two.

Oh, so many times she’d felt the crippling impotence of her sex. As a woman, she’d stood powerless while her father told her who to befriend, what functions to attend, who to marry. Nonetheless, nothing compared to this sense of utter uselessness—this desperate despair.