A Breath of Scandal Read online

  ROMANTIC TIMES RAVES ABOUT NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING AUTHOR CONNIE MASON!

  HIGHLAND WARRIOR

  “This is a one-night read that truly satisfies.”

  A TASTE OF PARADISE

  “This deep-sigh love story is ideal for whiling away an afternoon.”

  A KNIGHT’S HONOR

  “This is classic Mason. Her fans will put this on the top of their to-read lists.”

  GYPSY LOVER

  “Mason’s romances are always a feast for readers seeking a passionate, exciting story peopled with larger-than-life heroes who take your breath away.”

  THE PIRATE PRINCE

  “A legend of the genre, Mason delivers a tried-and-true romance with a classic plot and highly engaging characters.”

  THE LAST ROGUE

  “A delight…This is a must read for Mason fans.”

  SEDUCED BY A ROGUE

  “Another wonderful story filled with adventure, witty repartee and hot sex.”

  THE ROGUE AND THE HELLION

  “Ms. Mason has written another winner to delight her fans who want sexual tension that leads to hot explosion, memorable characters and a fast-paced story.”

  THE LAIRD OF STONEHAVEN

  “[Ms. Mason] crafts with excellence and creativity… [and] the added attraction of mystery and magic.”

  MORE ROMANTIC TIMES PRAISE FOR CONNIE MASON!

  LIONHEART

  “…upholds the author’s reputation for creating memorable stories and remarkable characters.”

  THE DRAGON LORD

  “This is a real keeper, filled with historical fact, sizzling love scenes and wonderful characters.”

  THE BLACK KNIGHT

  “Ms. Mason has written a rich medieval romance filled with tournaments, chivalry, lust and love.”

  THE OUTLAWS: SAM

  “Ms. Mason always provides the reader with a hot romance, filled with plot twists and wonderful characters. She’s a marvelous storyteller.”

  THE OUTLAWS: JESS

  “Jess is filled with adventure and passion. Ms. Mason delivers.”

  THE OUTLAWS: RAFE

  “Ms. Mason begins this new trilogy with wonderful characters…steamy romance…excellent dialogue…[and an] exciting plot!”

  GUNSLINGER

  “Ms. Mason has created memorable characters and a plot that made this reader rush to turn the pages.…Gunslinger is an enduring story.”

  PIRATE

  “Ms, Mason has written interesting characters into a twisting plot filled with humor and pathos.”

  BEYOND THE HORIZON

  “Connie Mason at her best! She draws readers into this fast-paced, tender and emotional historical romance that proves love really does conquer all!”

  PASSION IGNITED

  “Feel how hard I am for you, Lara,” he said, grasping her wrist and placing her hand on the front of his trousers. “I’m fully capable now of giving you what you’ve been asking for since the first night you crawled into bed with me.”

  She tried to pull away but he held her captive in his arms, refusing to release the hand still clasped around his staff.

  “This is our wedding night,” he reminded her. Just thinking about what he was going to do to her made his mouth dry as dust.

  “We’re not really married. You said so yourself.”

  He searched her face. “Do you believe we’re married?”

  “Gypsies follow their own laws. My people consider our marriage a valid commitment.”

  “That’s not what I asked,” Julian growled. “Do you believe we’re married?”

  Silence.

  “Lara, answer my question.”

  “Aye!” Lara whispered.

  “Even though you know I must leave soon? That there can be nothing lasting between us?”

  “Aye, dammit! You have your answer, now let me go.”

  “No. I’m going to love you, my wanton Gypsy spitfire. If your passion for the dance extends to the bed, I have a long rewarding night to look forward to.”

  CONNIE MASON

  A BREATH

  OF

  SCANDAL

  © 2001, 2011 Connie Mason. All rights reserved

  A BREATH

  OF

  SCANDAL

  Contents

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Epilogue

  Chapter 1

  French Coast

  1765

  Julian jammed his woolen cap down low over his forehead, slipped from behind a stand of trees lining the desolate stretch of beach, and joined the ragtag group of peasants who were rolling barrels of prime brandy and carrying chests of French lace from the gaping mouth of a cave. Beneath a moonless sky, darkness and mist swallowed the beach and sea beyond as peasants and smugglers alike worked diligently to pile their contraband on the shore.

  Julian had huddled out of sight in the chilly predawn, waiting for the ship anchored just beyond the breakers to send its jolly boats to pick up the contraband. Wearing a beard to disguise his identity, Julian had joined a group of peasants who had been promised top wages for a night’s work. More than they could earn in a year.

  “There’s the signal for the boats,” a man standing beside Julian said in country French that Julian understood perfectly. “We’ll be paid well for this night’s work.” Julian merely grunted.

  A man in a billowing cloak that swirled around his tall form suddenly appeared on the mist-shrouded beach. He lifted his arm and waved a glowing lantern back and forth. An answering light appeared from the ship’s bow. Julian knew it was the signal he’d been waiting for and tensed. When the first jolly boat arrived, the man in the cloak pulled his collar up high so that none would recognize his face. Intuition told Julian that this was the man called the Jackal, the smuggler Whitehall had been trying to run down for years. The man who had been responsible for the death of Julian’s fiancée.

  The hackles rose on the back of Julian’s neck. He wanted this man so badly he broke out in a cold sweat just thinking about it. He wouldn’t rest until he saw the Jackal swinging at the end of a rope. And now that he was on the verge of identifying the Jackal, anticipation soared through him. Julian Thornton, Earl of Mansfield, had his suspicions, but no solid proof to take back to William Randall and Whitehall. Of one thing Julian was certain: The Jackal was someone of importance, for his information was always on target, as if he knew ahead of time when and where Randall’s agents would strike.

  His body tense, his head tucked low, Julian rolled a barrel down the sandy beach to the waiting longboat. The moment he’d learned when the shipment was to be sent and where it was to land, he’d sent the information by a swift messenger to Randall. This time the smugglers were in for a surprise. Agents would be waiting for them to arrive on a deserted stretch of coast in Cornwall. Julian was sure of his information, for he’d gotten it directly from a sailor aboard the ship carrying the contraband. Money worked every time.

  The shrouded figure in the billowing cloak kept careful watch of the contraband being loaded into the jolly boats. Julian passed beneath his intense scrutiny, head tucked down, eyes averted. As much as he wanted to identify the Jackal, he didn’t look up for fear of being recognized. But Julian knew he would ha
ve his day once the smugglers had been taken into custody.

  After the boats were loaded, he dared a glance over his shoulder and saw the Jackal conversing with one of the smugglers.

  The smuggler singled Julian out and motioned to him. “Ye there! Come here.”

  Julian pretended not to hear as he waited on the beach with the peasants to be paid for his night’s work.

  “Ye there! Step forward!”

  Julian froze. He sensed danger and tried to diffuse it by pretending to be one of the villagers.

  “Me, monsieur?” Julian asked in the broad, country dialect he’d heard spoken in the village.

  “Aye, ye,” the smuggler said in rough, barely understandable French. “Do ye speak English?”

  “Ah, non, monsieur. I am but a poor farmer who needs the coin to feed my family. I speak only country dialect.”

  “Stupid Frog,” the smuggler muttered in English. “Get aboard the jolly boat.”

  Julian began to sweat beneath his thick sweater and knitted scarf. “I must return to my home,” he replied. “My wife awaits me.”

  “The Jackal wants ye taken aboard,” the smuggler said.

  “The Jackal?”

  The smuggler pointed to the cloaked figure striding away from them. “Aye, the Jackal. ’Tis what we call him.”

  “What does he want with me?” Julian asked, beginning to feel like a trapped rabbit. Had the Jackal recognized him?

  The smuggler grinned, revealing a mouthful of rotted teeth. “He thinks ye be a government agent.” He shuddered. “Ye better pray ye ain’t.”

  “You are mistaken, monsieur, I am no spy,” Julian said obsequiously. “Can I go home to my wife now?”

  “Get in the boat,” the sailor ordered, pushing a pistol into Julian’s back.

  “Why doesn’t the Jackal confront me himself if he thinks I am a spy?” Julian challenged.

  “No one questions the Jackal,” the sailor said. “No one sees his face except a privileged few, and you ain’t one of them. He’ll send one of his men to question ye.”

  Julian felt the cold fingers of death brush his face. He’d been so careful to cover his tracks. So meticulous about his secret identity. Not even his brother, Sinjun, knew the precise nature of his work, or the name by which he was known.

  They called him Scorpion. His identity was known only to William Randall. His work for Whitehall had taken him to the continent, to Italy, and to various destinations throughout the British Isles, wherever he was needed.

  He was sure this time he would succeed. He’d come so close. Where had he gone wrong? Who had penetrated his careful web of secrecy? Who wanted him dead?

  Julian cursed his bad luck when the smuggler searched him and found his pistol.

  “I’ll take that,” the smuggler said, stuffing the weapon inside his belt. Then he prodded Julian toward the boat. Julian knew that once he was in the boat he was as good as dead. He had to act now. Before he reached the boat, Julian broke and ran for cover.

  It was not to be. A shot pierced through the night, finding a target in Julian’s shoulder. Julian spun around and hit the wet sand. He fought to master the pain and continue his flight, but two brawny smugglers were upon him almost instantly. They dragged him down the beach and tossed him into the boat.

  Immediately the boat was pushed out into the water. Julian heard the slap of oars, felt the boat rock. The buzzing in his head intensified, muffling the world around him. Then he knew no more.

  Julian awoke to the creak and groan of wooden beams, the soft slap of water against the hull, and the clink of metal rings on yardarms. He heard canvas whipping in the wind and felt the deck heaving. He tried to rise but grinding pain in his shoulder curtailed his valiant efforts. A groan slipped past his lips.

  A shadow loomed before him. “So yer awake, are ye?”

  Julian stared mutely at the hulking figure.

  “The Jackal says yer a spy. We’ll find out soon enough when we unload on the beach near Dumfries.”

  It took a moment for the ship’s destination to register in Julian’s head. “Dumfries! That’s in Scotland. I thought …”

  “Aye, I know what ye thought. The Jackal changed our destination. He learned that agents were waiting for us in Cornwall. We’re to head up Solway Firth, unload our cargo on the beach when we see the signal, and wait for the wagons that will transport it to London and Edinburgh.”

  Pain made concentrating difficult, but Julian saw no logic in the sailor telling him these things. Unless, of course, the Jackal had no intention of letting Julian live.

  Julian shifted on the narrow bunk, stifling a groan as pain radiated through his body in wave after wave of raw agony. Gingerly he touched his shoulder, surprised to find a crude bandage over his wound.

  “I did that,” the sailor bragged. “I ain’t a doctor, but I’ve patched many a sailor in my time.”

  “Why did you bother?” Julian asked wearily.

  “The Jackal wants ye kept alive for questioning. He’s curious about the man called Scorpion. And he wants to make sure yer the agent who’s been a thorn in his side for so long. Soon as ye give up yer information, he’ll have ye killed.”

  It would be a cold day in hell before he’d give anything of value to the Jackal, Julian swore. “How long before we reach Solway Firth?”

  “Four days. Ye been out like a light fer longer than that.”

  “I’m thirsty.”

  The sailor plunged a dipper into a bucket of water and handed it to Julian. Julian managed to drink half of it before the effort became too much and he handed the dipper back to the sailor.

  “I’ll bring ye something to eat if there’s anything left after everyone’s had their fill.” The sailor headed out the door. “And don’t think ye can escape ’cause there’s nowhere ye can go. Nothing but miles of water out there.”

  Julian stared at the closed door so long that it began to swim before his eyes. He had four days. Four days in which to plan his escape. Silently he pondered his chances for survival. He was wounded, weak from loss of blood, feverish, and could expect no help.

  He was as good as dead.

  Four days later Julian was still weak, still feverish, and had yet to devise a viable plan of escape. He dragged himself from the filthy bunk to the porthole and peered out into the darkness. The ship was anchored in the firth, a few hundred yards from shore. His view of the activity taking place on deck was obstructed, but he heard sounds indicating that the contraband was being lowered to jolly boats waiting in the water below.

  Julian returned to the bunk to conserve his strength for the ordeal he knew he’d soon have to face. The wait was long and agonizing, but when the door to his prison was flung open, it was almost anti-climactic.

  A sailor appeared in the doorway. “Can ye walk?”

  “Well enough,” Julian said grimly as he rose stiffly and shuffled forward.

  The narrow corridor and ladder leading up to the deck was almost beyond his capability, but somehow he managed. Then cool, damp air hit him like a jolt of adrenaline when he most needed it.

  Julian made a move toward the railing and felt the barrel of a pistol pressing into the middle of his back. “Stay here till they’re ready to take ye to shore,” the smuggler warned.

  Julian glanced wildly around him. Every able-bodied man was engaged in some activity or other as they moved about the deck with grim purpose. It was now or never, Julian thought as he girded himself to make a last-ditch effort to escape. Accepting death meekly didn’t appeal to him. He might still die in the attempt, but time had run out. And should he never be identified as Scorpion, the Jackal would pose no threat to his family.

  There was Emma, his beautiful sister, who had grown up too fast and was already a handful. And Sinjun, who had finally found a woman he loved enough to give up his decadent ways. Sinjun’s son would do the earldom proud, especially since Julian planned to produce no heirs. After Diana’s death, Julian had vowed never to marry. No other wom
an or child of his would die on his account.

  Julian inched closer to the railing, pretending an interest in the activities below. His guard followed, glancing down to see what had caught Julian’s attention. Taking a deep breath, Julian gripped the railing and vaulted over, launching himself up and away from the boats below. He fell. Down … down … into the dark, churning sea.

  He was dimly aware that the railing was suddenly crowded with sailors. Gunshots broke the silence of the night; bullets struck the sea around him, spraying water into his face. Then a bullet plowed into him, and pain explode in his brain. His arms went numb, his body sank, and water closed over his head.

  Chapter 2

  Scottish coast

  Colorful Gypsy skirts stirred by brisk sea breezes whipped wildly about Lara’s long, bare legs as she stood on a cliff above the firth, watching the tide roll out. How she would miss the untamed land of her birth when she returned to London to take up residence with her father.

  Lara sighed heavily. She hated balls, routs, and stuffy dinner parties, but her father wanted her to have a season in London. At twenty, she should have had her season behind her, but she had resisted. Raised by her Gypsy mother in a Romany camp until the age of thirteen, Lara hadn’t even known of her father’s existence. Her mother had revealed his name as she lay dying from a lung disease. It had come as quite a shock to Lara to learn that her father was an English nobleman who never knew she existed.

  Not knowing her father had never mattered to Lara, for she loved her life with the Rom, and worshipped her grandmother Ramona and grandfather Pietro. But Serena, Lara’s mother, had insisted that Ramona and Pietro take Lara to her father upon her death. To her father’s credit, he had welcomed her with open arms.

  The one thing that saved Lara from being miserable in her new life was her father’s generous and loving nature. He had allowed her to return to Scotland and the Romany camp each summer to be with her grandparents. But Lara feared this summer would be the last, and she felt as if a large part of her life was about to end.