Page 1 of To Tempt a Scandalous Lord
Chapter One
London, 1834
Niall would rather drink a watered-down glass of piss-colored gin than smile one more time.
After all his years as a member of Parliament, smiling should be a natural expression. And yet, more often than not, he found himself gritting his teeth more so than flashing them.
Inhaling deeply, he signaled for a glass of champagne from a footman. Damn, but he wished it was whisky. Something biting and hardy that would chase away his annoyance and fortify his spirits. Champagne was good for nothing more than celebration for its effervescent bubbles fooled you into thinking it was less potent than it was.
And he needed his wits about him for no one had warned him this campaign would wear on him in quite this way. Although, even if they had, he would not have changed course. The desire to elevate Scotland’s place amongst the empire by gathering support and passing legislations had been his goal for as long as he could understand the injustices enacted upon his people. He’d worked long and hard for his place in Parliament. And he would not falter now so close to the end, even if some political tracts painted him as unworthy and unready…
“Ho Inverray, I’ve been hoping to speak with you all evening.”
Swallowing a gulp of the bubbly liquid too quickly, Niall coughed into his hand. “Forgive me, Sheffield, you caught me unawares.”
“My apologies for startling you, my lord,” Sheffield, a member of Parliament from a borough in the Lowlands, said with a brief look of contrition. “I had hoped we could discuss the proposal that circulated today. I find myself very concerned with the language…”
Only the tick in his jaw would hint at his annoyance. While he and Sheffield shared similar unease about the legislation, Niall had already listened to more than ten other such arguments before this, so by now he could barely scrounge up the wherewithal to care. But good sense, and a stubborn streak a mile long, kept the exasperation from his face.
Clasping the other man by the shoulder, Niall said, “It sounds as if we are on the same page in regards to the labor proposal. Let’s have our secretaries schedule a time we can meet and hammer out a competing proposal.”
This seemed to mollify Sheffield, who nodded in acquiescence, promising to have his secretary reach out with possible meeting dates. Before the man wandered away, he clapped Niall on the shoulder and said, “I think it very admirable how you’re handling these infernal tracts. I don’t know that I would be as impassive and confident as you are if some anonymous bloke kept criticizing me in such a public way.”
Bile singed the back of his throat, and it took Niall a moment to contain the anger that bubbled inside him. Dipping his head, he smiled…or hoped he did. “It’s easy to ignore such criticisms when they have no basis for which to make them.”
But that didn’t stop others from asking about them, and wondering if he had considered launching an investigation into determining who the author was. Of course he had. Niall had pondered it since the first tract made the rounds months prior, but the author of the chapbooks that lambasted every politician, no matter the party they belonged to, had not been unmasked. And while Niall affected an attitude of disinterest about the mysterious political tracts, they were just another reason he was slowly grinding his teeth to dust.
When the butler rang the bell for dinner, his shoulders relaxed a tad. Perhaps he’d finally enjoy a bit of sustenance.
Surveying the room, Niall’s gaze landed on a familiar gray head. Gliding his way through the crowd, a genuine smile slid over his lips as he paused at the older woman’s side, extending an arm to her.
“Inverray, how kind of you to assume you were to lead me into dinner,” Her Grace of Claremore drawled, looking up at him with narrowed blue eyes.
Niall blinked. Was someone else supposed to escort the old bird?
“I assumed Ashwood would escort me, as he’s a duke, but you just tossed etiquette right out the window, didn’t you?” The duchess’s tone was more amused than censorious.
Taking a step back, Niall bowed. “I do beg your pardon, Your Grace. Of course the duke is to escort you to your seat.”
“Oh hush,” she hissed, finally looping her arm through his. She smacked his hand. “Ashwood may have been obliged to see me into dinner, but seeing as how he hasn’t been able to tear his gaze away from your sister, I will overlook the breach of etiquette.”
Niall slid his gaze to where Juliana stood with her duke, a fond smile on her lips as she gazed up at her husband. She had married the Duke of Ashwood more than five years prior, and the birth of three children had not diminished the sparkle of love that showed in their gazes every time they looked at each other.
“They’re smitten. I suppose that explains His Grace’s absentmindedness.”
The duchess huffed a breath. “You suppose? In my day, a duke would never dream of forgetting such protocol.”
“I’m sure not. But then your days were in another century, so you are more than gracious to forgive this younger generation their foibles,” he said, pretending interest elsewhere.
If he wasn’t paying such close attention to leading the older woman next to him, he might have missed her smothered snort.
The old dear recovered quickly. “Well, it is a good thing the older generation was taught from the time we were the smallest tots to respect our elders. We were also instructed to be gracious and forgiving.”
“I can tell, Your Grace. You are all that is magnanimous,” Niall intoned as he escorted her into the dining room. “I think of your graciousness when I have to give a speech in front of Commons. It allows me to listen to the conservatives’ complaints with nary a word of rebuttal.”
The duchess humphed. “I doubt that.”
“That I am gracious or that I listen to my rivals’ complaints?”
