When Scandal Came to Town (Scandalous Sons 3)

Had she managed to rouse a sliver of optimism she might have hoped the rider was a godly man. Someone who saw that she was the victim of a heinous crime. Someone who saw goodness when he looked deeply into her eyes. But as the rider came charging towards her on his impressive black stallion, she knew the devil had sent his disciple.

Benedict Cavanagh—the bane of her existence—brought his horse to a crashing halt and dismounted with the same athletic grace he did most things.

Shame brought fire to her cheeks. But then he always had such a marked effect on her senses. Why did he have to look so sinfully handsome in his midnight-blue coat? How did he manage to heat her insides with nothing more than a concerned stare?

“Cassandra?” He crouched beside her, his muscular thighs straining against his breeches. “What the devil’s happened to you?” While shock marred his velvet voice, she heard a faint hint of kindness, a kindness he’d shown her long ago, before hate replaced the love in their hearts.

Embarrassment kept her lips pursed.

He removed his top hat and thrust a hand through his golden hair as his expression turned grave.

That’s when she knew.

She was dead or ruined.

Either way, it amounted to the same.

Chapter Two

Many times during their verbal spats, Benedict had prayed Cassandra Mills would receive her comeuppance. She made a point of belittling him in front of his friends. Her unkind remarks hit like the sharp stab of a blade. And though he offered the same cutting retorts, she always drew first blood.

On rare occasions, he caught a fleeting glimpse of the Cassandra he once knew. The affectionate girl with a vitality that stole his breath. The girl who had kissed him under the willow tree, who had given him an acorn as a gift and told him that majestic things grow from the smallest beginnings.

Now, as she lay on the grass in nothing but a dirty chemise, her bedraggled golden curls tumbling from her coiffure, he felt neither love nor hatred. Shock rendered him insensible. Numb.

But then she opened her mouth, and the usual vile diatribe followed. “You! I should have known you would plan something like this.” Her lips thinned into an ugly sneer. She tried to push up to a sitting position but lacked the strength in her limbs.

The fact she thought so little of him stung like the lash of a whip.

“Let me help you.” He wasn’t a monster. He wouldn’t wish this on any woman. But when he reached out to offer assistance, she found the wherewithal to slap his hand away.

&n

bsp; “Don’t touch me!”

Once, they’d stolen every opportunity to make physical contact, a secret embrace, the light brush of their fingers when no one was looking.

“What did you do?” She rubbed her sunken eyes, drew a hand down her deathly pale cheek. “Did you f-follow me to Lord Craven’s ball?” Speaking seemed to drain her energy, and she had to stop to catch her breath. “Did you kidnap me and ply me with laudanum, intent on ruining me to get your revenge?”

Anger pushed to the fore, mingling with an old pain that had never healed. Their relationship amounted to nothing more than a bitter war. If only one of them could find the courage to play peacekeeper.

“You think I did this to you?” Disdain coated his words. “You think revenge matters so much to me that I would ruin an innocent, delve to the worst depths of depravity?”

“You’re the prince of depravity. Everyone says so.” She managed to sit up without his assistance. “The demimonde is your kingdom. What else should a lady expect from a man who beds whores?”

With a need to defend his position, he almost said that he’d rather bed a whore than bed her, but that was untrue. He might have said that she’d driven him to seek pleasure in a place where people abandoned their emotions at the front door. But then she would need to defend his attack, and they would be forever going around in circles, lashing out, parrying against the next killer blow.

“Perhaps depravity is in my blood.” His father was most definitely no angel. “I was born out of wedlock. A fact you bring to my attention at every given opportunity.” He would never be good enough for a blue blood. “Regardless of how you ended up here, people will cast similar aspersions on you.”

A sob caught in her throat, but she fought it back with her usual expression of steely reserve. “This is what you wanted, what you’ve longed for all these years. Ruining my reputation is the only way you can hurt me.”

A weary sigh left his lips. “Cassandra, I had nothing to do with what happened to you. If I did, would I not be gloating? The triumphant look on my face would be hard to disguise. And why would I risk your father’s wrath, or my father’s for that matter?”

That said, the Earl of Tregarth would forgive his illegitimate son anything. Cassandra’s father, the Earl of Worthen, would string Benedict up at the Seven Dials and spill his innards.

Cassandra glared at him. “Then what brought you to Hyde Park at dawn? Surely you don’t expect me to believe it’s a coincidence.”

“I don’t give a damn what you believe.” He delved into the inside pocket of his coat and withdrew the letter. “This arrived anonymously last night. As you can see, curiosity brought me here this morning.”