Once Upon a Scandal Read online

  Her back arched against his chest, offering him two lush handfuls. He stroked the pearly tips with his thumbs. Instead of resisting him, she turned her head to the side, her cheek nuzzling against his dampened shirt like a kitten begging to be petted. God. God! Still cradling her warm flesh, Lucas bent down and captured her lips, taking possession of her mouth in a long, deep kiss.

  The blood burned through his veins. He could not remember when his urge to mount a woman had been stronger. He wanted to strip off Emma’s clothing, to arouse her to mindless yearning, to become one with her at last. But not now. Not here.

  Reluctantly he broke the kiss, letting his hands rest lightly around her breasts as he struggled to master himself. What a damnable fix. Even if Emma were willing, he could not risk their being overheard. They must wait out the conclusion of this awkward predicament.

  A rhythmic squeaking came from the bed. “Faster, my prize mare, faster,” Mannering gasped out.

  “Slower,” Mrs. Boswell panted. “Let us not gallop to the finish—let us savor the ride.”

  “A canter, then. Tallyho!”

  Emma made an almost inaudible sound, and Lucas looked down to see her face still turned toward him. Her blush had deepened to a rosy hue, and she pressed her fist to her mouth. Her gaze touched his, skittered away, then returned. In the dimness behind the screen, her eyes sparkled. To his amazement, he felt her body shake with near-hysterical mirth. The absurdity of the situation struck him, too, and he was tempted to throw back his head and howl with laughter.

  Lucas could think of only one distraction before they gave away their presence. He kissed her again.

  The moment his mouth touched hers, the world fell away. It was only the two of them, bound together in tender torment. Her hand stole up to stroke his jaw, and that gentle touch added fuel to the furnace inside him. He should not want Emma with such keen desperation. But he did. God, he did.

  Her warm bottom was snuggled into his groin. The flimsy layers of gown and petticoat could not prevent him from appreciating her softness. Despite the risks, he had to touch her.

  He tugged at her skirt, and she shifted slightly so the silk garment lifted. Reaching beneath her hem, he settled his hand on her slim, warm thigh, over the garter that secured her silk stocking. Her body went taut, and he brushed his lips and tongue across hers, blatantly using his expertise to keep her from crying out in fear.

  He slid his hand higher … and higher. And this time, he wasn’t looking for a hidden stash of pilfered stones. When at last he touched her intimately, her muscles quivered as if she were on the verge of panic. Into her ear, he breathed, “Look at me.”

  Her eyes opened and she gazed warily up at him. He willed Emma to see that he was not the villain who had attacked her, that he was the man who would awaken her sensuality. A sensuality far deeper than the sexual lust being shared beyond the screen, where stirring moans and blissful sighs indicated the rise toward climax.

  “Trust me,” he whispered.

  Holding her gaze, Lucas found the parting in her underdrawers. So soft she was there. A lush tangle of curls. A moist feminine mystery. She clutched at him, and he kissed her again, to halt her descent into the terrors of memory. Ever so slowly she leaned her head back into the crook of his neck. With a sigh, she adjusted her position, allowing him deeper access.

  A fierce exultation seized Lucas. At last … at last he could touch the heat of her. Nestled within her dewy folds lay her pearl, and when he caressed it, she squirmed against him in glorious abandon, the friction torturing the swollen rod inside his breeches.

  But he cared not for his own gratification. His physical need was drowned by his turbulent desire to satisfy Emma. He craved nothing less than her full surrender.

  Half turning to hide her face in his throat, she clung to his neck, clung with dainty fingers and sharp nails, heedless of his rum-dampened shirt. She pressed shamelessly into his hand, and he could feel her warm, panting breaths. At last a long, low sob escaped her, and a shudder coursed through her slim body. She convulsed around his fingers once … then again … and yet again before falling limp in his arms, her bare bosom rising and falling.

  Lucas drew his hand from beneath her skirts. A foolish grin on his face, he tipped his head back. The black expanse of the screen stretched above him. He shouldn’t feel so damned good. His legs were numb and tingly from crouching so long, and Emma had consigned him to the fires of unrequited passion.

  Only then did he notice the silence in the room.

  “What the devil was that?” Mannering said.

  “Mmmm?”

  “A moan—or a sob. I say, there’s someone in here, spying on us.”

  Lucas’s arms tensed around Emma. She drew her head up sharply as if coming back to an awareness of their surroundings. Christ. If they were caught hiding …

  The bedlinens rustled. “’Twas a reveler out in the corridor,” Mrs. Boswell said. “Now lie back, my horny beast. We’ve time for another tumble.”

  There came a long stretch of noisy kissing. Then Mannering exclaimed, “Good God! It’s nearly eleven. We daren’t linger a moment longer.” Bare feet smacked the floor. Clothing slithered as he began to dress. “Come, up with you.”

  “Why the haste?” Mrs. Boswell’s voice rose shrilly. “Why, you’ve another assignation planned. Don’t you?”

  “Now, now, my pet. Leave off the fussing, and there’ll be a present for you on the morrow. From the jeweler.”

  “Why, my lord,” she purred. “You’re endowed with generosity—as well as other, naughtier assets.”

  Amid the sound of more kisses and clothes rustling, Lucas stayed very still. Emma huddled against him, barely breathing, her head lowered. At last the amorous couple tripped out of the bedchamber, leaving behind a heavy silence. And a great lifting of relief in Lucas.

  With fingers that trembled visibly, Emma drew up her bodice. He fastened the back of her gown, entranced by the vulnerable curve of her nape. A deep tenderness suffused him. Now that she’d had a taste of the ultimate pleasure, she would welcome him into her bed. They would be a true married couple, if only for a short time. He found he wanted that very much—to see her smile at him over the breakfast table, to talk to her of inconsequential matters, to feel his baby kick inside her womb … .

  She stood up, wobbling on her feet and bracing her hand on the wall. He rose, too, holding her arm to steady her. His legs tingled as the blood rushed back into them. Still, she kept her face averted. She was feeling awkward, no doubt, shy in light of her surrender to passion.

  “Emma,” he said, touching her silken cheek. He couldn’t trust himself to say more. His throat was strangely taut.

  She brushed past him and went around the screen. Resisting the urge to strut, he followed her out into the bedroom. The faint smell of sex mingled with the muskiness of Mrs. Boswell’s perfume.

  He saw Emma glance toward the bed with its tangled sheets; then she turned away. She shook out her skirt, but it was crumpled hopelessly. “I wish to go home,” she said in a subdued voice. “Immediately.”

  “Of course. We make a disgraceful pair, don’t we? You in your wrinkled gown and I in my rum-soaked shirt. We’ll have to steal out the back door so we won’t shock the ton.” Lucas walked to her, slid his arm around the hourglass curve of her waist, and nuzzled her ear. “Then we can go home … to bed.”

  She wrenched herself from him. “Stay away from me.”

  “Emma?” he said in confusion. “What’s wrong?”

  “That was her, wasn’t it?”

  “Who?”

  “Your gypsy. I can smell her perfume.” Screwing up her nose, Emma paced in agitation. “That’s the sort of woman you prefer. A strumpet who will engage in lewd acts. And you’re trying to turn me into a slut like her.”

  Her behavior made sudden, chilling sense. “Emma, I’m not after some sort of twisted revenge. I don’t want to change you into a whore. I want to give you pleasure, that’s all.”
r />   Avoiding his gaze, she hugged herself. “I don’t know what you did to me just now. I don’t know how you made me feel so … so shattered. But I shan’t be so humiliated ever again.”

  “There is nothing humiliating about physical passion. It’s a natural part of marital intimacy.”

  “Then I wish I’d married Woodrow,” Emma said in a rush. “He would never have taken advantage of me. He would have behaved like a gentleman and kept his hands to himself.”

  Her words struck a clean blow straight into Lucas’s unguarded heart. She cared nothing for him. She never would. He was a fool to hope for more. Twice a fool.

  He retreated into the cold shell of indifference that hid his pain from the world. Striding to her side, he took firm hold of her chin, forcing her to look at him. Even now, her big blue eyes had the power to weaken his knees.

  “I will not apologize for taking what you offered to me,” he stated icily. “Nor will I cease to seduce you. By God, Emma, you’ll give me a son. Whether you’re willing or not.”

  The next morning Emma emerged from her bedchamber, dressed in a warm walking dress and pelisse, only to spy several footmen carrying trunks and boxes out of the room occupied by Olivia and her husband. They were leaving today, Emma remembered. As anxious as she was to escape Wortham House, she would have to stop and say her farewells.

  She knocked on the door. A maid allowed her inside. Olivia stood looking out the window, the misty morning light silhouetting her maternal form clad in a plum-colored traveling dress. She pressed one hand to her lower back.

  “Are you having pains?” Emma asked, hurrying toward her sister-in-law. “Perhaps you should sit down.”

  Olivia smiled fleetingly. “No, it’s only the weight of the baby. I’ve another six weeks until my confinement.”

  “Are you sure you oughtn’t to stay here?”

  Olivia shook her head. “Hugh and I wish our child to be born at our country estate. It’s a tradition in his family.” Closing her eyes, she smoothed her hands over the ripe curve of her belly.

  Emma felt like an intruder on a private moment. Though Olivia had grown friendlier, there was still an invisible barrier between them—the wrong Emma had done to Lucas by foisting another man’s child on him. Olivia couldn’t know Jenny was her niece.

  A deep longing tugged at Emma as she recalled her own pregnancy, the bittersweet joy of knowing new life grew within her. How she wanted to experience that again. And she could, if she let down her defenses and allowed Lucas to consummate their marriage.

  I will not apologize for taking what you offered to me. Nor will I cease to seduce you … .

  Remembering the shocking pleasure he had aroused in her the previous night, she felt flushed and weak. She had lain awake half the night, waiting for him, yet despite his threat, he had not come to her. And she didn’t know whether to be gladdened or saddened …

  “Oh!” Her sister-in-law’s eyes flashed open. A beautiful smile softened her mouth. “He moved. The baby moved.”

  “Or perhaps she.” Impelled by yearning, Emma asked, “May I feel?”

  Olivia hesitated, then gave a nod. Emma came forward and placed her hand atop the curve of Olivia’s belly.

  “Not there,” Olivia said. “Here.”

  She took Emma’s hand and moved it lower. Immediately, Emma felt something jab her palm. She laughed in delight and Olivia did, too. Her hand remained over Emma’s and, as they looked at each other, warmth flowed between them, the nostalgic warmth of friendship.

  “I shall miss you,” Emma said softly. “I’ve never thanked you for standing up for me at Lord Jasper’s soiree.”

  “I couldn’t bear for Lady Jasper to make nasty innuendos.” Olivia’s smile turned wry. “I daresay I thought that was my prerogative.”

  “You were right to hate what I did,” Emma said, drawing back her hand. “I only hope you can find room in your heart to forgive me someday.”

  Olivia tilted her head to the side, her reddish hair glinting in the light. A gentle wisdom entered her gaze. “I believe I already have.”

  She opened her arms and, with a glad cry, Emma hugged her sister-in-law. Their embrace brought a buoyant relief to Emma, at least until Olivia spoke.

  “I cannot hold a grudge,” she said, “because I know you truly love Lucas. I’ve seen it in your eyes.”

  Startled, Emma drew back. “You have?”

  “Yes. Every time you look at him, your whole face lights up.” She smiled. “It’s the way I feel about my Hugh.”

  She was mistaken. Mistaken. Somehow Emma managed to say her good-byes without drowning in a tide of agitation. She hastened down the stairway, avoiding the library for fear she might encounter Lucas.

  Yet perversely, she yearned to see him.

  Emma nodded to the footman who held open the door for her. Though a chill breeze blew, her face felt hot as she walked along the street. Olivia was wrong—she had to be. Emma loved Woodrow, a kind, considerate gentleman who had proven himself a staunch ally to both her and Jenny. She couldn’t possibly love a domineering rogue who demanded she submit to him, create a new life, and then relinquish her son forever.

  Yet Lucas exerted a dark power over her. Last night had proven as much. She’d been utterly mortified while listening to the erotic antics of Lord Gerald and his bedmate, but she had been swept away by a scandalous temptation, too. She had wanted Lucas to touch her. She had reveled in his caresses. She had lost all shame and behaved like a wanton. The intense pleasure of it had shattered her, body and soul.

  That’s the sort of woman you prefer. A strumpet who will engage in lewd acts. And you’re trying to turn me into a slut like her.

  She cringed to remember her vicious words. She had meant them at the time. She had wanted to run and hide, to deny that she’d succumbed to him. She had wanted to punish him for tempting her into abandonment, when she had vowed never to be at the mercy of a man, ever again.

  But did Lucas deserve all the blame?

  No. He had given her ample opportunity to refuse him. If anything, she’d been titillated by the risk of discovery. The extent of her loss of control frightened Emma. Lucas had transported her beyond the hellish experience with Andrew and into a sensual heaven. How could he evoke such glorious feelings in her? She wouldn’t dream of letting Woodrow touch her so.

  Emma jumped back from the curbstone as a carriage careened past. A few passersby, mostly servants or tradesmen, gawked at the sight of a lady alone and on foot. No doubt she would be chastised by the dowager for venturing forth without a coach or a retinue of servants. But Emma needed time to think, to sort through her scattered emotions. She needed to reassure herself that last night hadn’t changed anything.

  And in the interest of peace, she owed Lucas an apology. But she wasn’t ready to face him yet. She was fleeing like a coward to the man who made her feel safe. And God help her if Lucas discovered her destination.

  Chapter 15

  “Do you know where my mama went?” Jenny asked.

  Disconcerted, Lucas turned from the mirror in his dressing room where he had been tying his cravat, and frowned down at his visitor. Emma’s daughter was scrubbed and dressed in a white pinafore over a green gown. Two neat white bows tied the ends of her braids. He glanced beyond her, into his deserted bedroom.

  “Who let you in here?” he asked sternly.

  “I let myself in, m’lord,” Jenny said, sketching a curtsy. “I tapped on the door, but no one answered.”

  Of course not. Hajib had already left for the docks. And Lucas had been absorbed in a dark fantasy about the object of Jenny’s search. “I haven’t the least notion of your mother’s whereabouts,” he said dismissingly. “I’d suggest trying the library.”

  Jenny shook her head, her braids flying. “Mama isn’t there. And she isn’t in her room. The footman saw her go out for a walk.”

  “I see.” But Lucas didn’t see. Where would Emma have gone on foot? For a stroll around the square?


  The little fool never obeyed propriety. He’d like to teach her a lesson or two in private. Foremost of which would be gratitude toward the first man to bring her to ecstasy.

  A tug on his sleeve distracted him. “Please, sir,” Jenny said. “Will you draw my tooth?”

  “Your tooth.”

  “It’s ready to come out. And I’m afraid to eat ’cause I might swallow it.”

  She pointed to her top front tooth, the one beside the gap. He very nearly crouched down to examine it, then caught himself. She seemed to take it for granted he would perform the duty of a parent. “Isn’t there a nanny or nursemaid who can help you?”

  Jenny shook her head. “All the nursemaids are in a dither, what with the packing. The other children are leaving today.” Her lower lip quivered. “Anyway, my mama is more gentler. But I don’t know where to find her.”

  Her woebegone expression did him in. “Come along, then,” he said in resignation.

  Turning on his heel, he stalked out to the bank of windows in the bedroom, where a watery sunshine cast sufficient light for the task. Jenny tagged along after him. When he placed his hand beneath her small chin and tilted her head up, she obligingly opened her mouth for his inspection. The loose tooth hung askew.

  “A string,” he pronounced. “Tied to the doorknob. That is how my governess pulled teeth.”

  Eyes rounding, Jenny clapped her hand to her mouth. “No!” she said, her voice muffled by her fingers. “Mama uses her handkerchief.”

  “Her handkerchief.”

  “Uh-huh. She wraps it around the tooth and pulls.”

  “That sounds simple enough,” Lucas muttered.

  He fetched a clean handkerchief from the dressing room. Then he nudged up Jenny’s chin again. She stared up at him, and her blue-green eyes shone with the purity of trust. A trust that made him feel unequal to the task.

  Nonsense. It was only that he hated to cause the child pain.