Free Once Upon a Scandal by Delilah Marvelle

despite what Grayson thought, she was not abandoning her father, either.
    She fisted her hands in an effort to prevent them from shaking. “I know I cannot save him, Grayson. But I can make whatever time I have left with him memorable. And I will. Whatever husband I take, I will expect him to open his life and his home to me and my father. Otherwise, I will not marry. For I cannot and will not abandon him.”
    Grayson swiped his face with a hand. “No man will agree, given his illness. Vile whispers about his state are already flitting across London.”
    She narrowed her gaze. “London has never been known for mercy, has it? And if there is no man willing to take mercy upon what I hold dear, then I will not marry at all.”
    “Enough, enough of this nonsense!” The earl slammed his bandaged hand against the table. “You will marry whoever will have you, Camille. Your mother wants it so.”
    Her cousin groaned and fell back against the chair, raking a hand through his hair. “I need brandy. Lots of it.”
    Victoria couldn’t help but share Grayson’s sentiment.
    The earl smoothed his wine-stained cravat against his throat and, with pursed lips, marched over toward her side of the table, his gait faltering. He paused beside her, intently looking her in the eye.
    She sucked in a breath and braced herself for whatever outrageous thing he was going to say next.
    Her father leaned in and patted her cheek assuredly. “I will return by morning.” He nodded, turned away and as he slowly made his way toward the entryway, yelling out to no one in particular, “I am ready to depart, sir! Thank you for being so patient and allowing an old man to eat.”
    Quick footsteps echoed in the distance, drawing steadily closer and closer. Victoria’s brows rose as a large, bearded man, dressed in wool riding clothes, veered into the dining hall from the servant’s corridor.
    Oh, dear God. Who was this?
    She scrambled back.
    Grayson’s chair screeched across the floor as he jumped to his feet. “What the hell is this? Uncle, who is this man?”
    The earl turned and gestured obligingly. “I am most fortunate to have fine, devoted servants. They assisted me in securing a very special service few can afford. This gentleman here will be escorting me to my own virgin. ’Tis my hope that by the end of this night, I will at long last be cured.”
    Victoria gasped. The servants had assisted her father in securing this man, thinking that such vile, superstitious rubbish about lying with a virgin might cure him? Though she supposed her own insistence on serving her father peacock had most likely encouraged the servants to think outside of traditional means.
    Grayson jogged toward them and jumped between her and the advancing tough, who was eyeing her appreciatively. Pushing her farther back with his own body, Grayson announced curtly over his shoulder, “Victoria, you will retire. Now. Go. I will oversee this.”
    She sighed. “I am not leaving. And there is only one way to oversee this.” She leaned around her cousin, peering at the man. “Sir? I will triple whatever his lordship is offering in return for your departure. Understand that he is very ill and unaware of what he is doing.”
    The earl snorted. “I am attempting to prolong my life is what I am doing. Now you.” He pointed at the large tough and then pointed at Grayson. “Give this nephew of mine a good fist for interfering with my business and I will ensure you get an additional ten pounds. Fifty if you do it right.”
    “Yes, milord!” The man jumped forward and swung a large, gloved fist at Grayson.
    Victoria gasped as she and her cousin dodged and darted off to the side. Grayson snatched up a chair, swinging it up high above his shoulder, ready to let it fly. “Victoria, get the bloody servants! Now!”
    Victoria dashed past, knowing the situation had indeed gotten out of hand.
    “Camille!” her father shouted pleadingly after her. “I vow upon my honor I would