A Perfect Scandal (24 page)

Roman spotted Charlotte Benning speaking with a young man in the corner of the ballroom. Not for the first time, he wondered why she was a fourth-year debutante and had not yet married. It could not be for lack of suitors for she was a beautiful woman. Over dinner, he had discovered that she possessed a charming wit and intelligence as well. The combination was a pleasantly rare surprise.

He had always preferred brunettes, but Charlotte Benning’s halo of golden curls and flawless complexion captivated his attention.

He knew the eager-looking buck by her side. Peter Andrews—the son and heir of a wealthy industrialist. Roman watched as Andrews smiled and boldly raised Charlotte’s hand to his lips.

A ripple of annoyance passed through Roman, and he raised a finger to loosen his suddenly constricting silk cravat. He straightened, headed straight for the pair, and firmly tapped Andrews twice on the shoulder.

“Pardon my interruption, but I must have a word with Miss Benning,” Roman said.

Charlotte raised startled blue eyes. “My lord. May I introduce—”

“Mr. Andrews and I are already acquainted,” Roman said.

At his sharp tone, her lips parted in surprise. “Oh, I see.”

“A word alone, please?”

She turned to Peter Andrews with an apologetic expression. The man eyed Roman warily before walking away.

Charlotte looked up at Roman, her brows furrowed in confusion. “What—”

“It’s about Isabel,” Roman said.

A shadow of alarm touched her heart-shaped face. “Isabel? Is she all right?”

“She is now, but I’d much rather speak in private.”

“Yes, of course. Follow me.”

She led him toward the dining room, and for a brief moment, he thought she was going inside, but then she turned a sharp left and proceeded down a long hallway. She came to the first door and stopped. Opening the door, she motioned for him to enter. He strode inside a well-appointed library.

She entered and shut the door behind her. “My stepfather’s private library. He rarely uses it, and we will not be disturbed here. Now please tell me what is so urgent.”

Her perfume wafted to him—a subtle scent of delicate roses—and he struggled with the urge to reach out and touch her, but time was ticking. Marcus and Isabel needed him. He breathed deeply and chose his words with care.

“Isabel was attacked in the gardens tonight by the criminal that had previously threatened her, the same man responsible for Dante Black’s murder. She fought the blackguard off and is safe with Marcus in the gardens as we speak,” he said.

Her jaw slackened in shock. “Dear Lord! I shall go to her at once.”

He stepped close and shook his head. “No, you cannot. As I said, she is with Marcus and is fine.”

“Fine!” she cried out, her disbelief resounding in her tone. “Your brother got her into this mess. I hardly think she is
fine
.”

Clutching her skirts, she turned to leave.

Roman reached out to grasp her wrist.

She glared sideways at him. “What are you doing? Release me at once!”

“Only if you promise to be a good girl and stay at the ball and act as if nothing untoward has occurred. It would be best if you advise anyone that asks that Isabel had a headache and Marcus took her home early.”

She tugged on her arm, her blue eyes spitting fire. “A
good girl
! How dare you, sir!”

He immediately realized he had made a grave mistake and instead of ensuring her cooperation, he had unwittingly angered her. As the heir to an earldom, he was accustomed to people unquestionably following his orders, and the combination of the urgent situation and his attraction to the woman before him had made his task that much more difficult.

Frustration roiled inside him, and he blurted out the only thing that came to mind. “You must trust me.”

“Trust you?” she asked incredulously. “I hardly know you, and you are asking me to ignore my best friend after she was nearly killed in my family’s gardens. I must see her.”

Acting on impulse, he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. She stiffened in shock and made a protesting mewling sound. Fists pounded on his chest, and she pushed back, freeing her mouth.

“Are you crazy?” she gasped.

He tightened his hold. “I assure you that Isabel is unharmed and safe. She asked me to find you and requested that you stay at the ball. Those are her wishes, not mine. She will see you first thing tomorrow.”

He knew the moment his words pierced through her frantic haze to rush to her friend’s side. Her tense features slightly relaxed, her shoulders eased a fraction of an inch downward, and she stilled in his arms. Yet he sensed her remaining reluctance to obey.

She opened her mouth to protest, and he dipped his head, touching his mouth to hers. Moving his head back and forth, he brushed her lips with his. “I’ve wanted to taste you all through dinner,” he murmured huskily. “And here…now…I finally have you alone. Do you feel the spark between us?”

Her eyes widened at his bold words, but she did not pull away.

This time, when he claimed her mouth, her lips parted on a sigh. He deepened the kiss, and slowly, ever so slowly, he felt a tiny fissure of excitement course through her stiff body. He was conscious of her fists unfurling and her palms sliding around his neck. Her full lips softened and her fingers delved in his hair.

She kissed him back, and he thrilled at the response.

His body’s reaction was swift and fierce, and he felt an overwhelming need to pick her up and lay her on the nearby settee. But then the mantle clock reached midnight and chimed noisily, reverberating throughout the room. A rush of cold reason quenched his haze of lust like a bucket of ice water.

Marcus needed him.

This time he would not fail his brother.

Roman pulled back and gazed into her eyes. Confusion and passion had turned them a deeper shade of blue. Her full lower lip was glistening like a ripe strawberry, and he fought the maddening urge to suck it into his mouth.

“Trust me and stay at the ball,” he said, his voice hoarse. Exhaling slowly, he lowered his arms, kissed her forehead, then turned and strode from the room.

After Roman returned to the ballroom, Marcus took Isabel’s arm and led her down the stone path, deeper into the gardens.

“It will be a while before Roman can meet us,” Marcus said. “The conservatory offers privacy, and is a good place to rest. Will you feel comfortable there?”

She knew he was asking whether she would feel uneasy waiting in the conservatory after her confrontation with Robby Bones outside its glass doors.

She looked up into Marcus’s strong, chiseled profile. With him by her side, she knew she would feel safe. “The conservatory would be fine, but it is locked.”

He grinned mischievously. “Have you forgotten my talents, my dear?”

She laughed for the first time that evening. “Who would have thought? The son of an earl who can pick locks.”

“One of many secrets I have managed to keep from my disapproving father.”

They reached the horticultural conservatory. Lying at the foot of the door was the shovel she had used on Bones. Fresh blood stained the gardener’s tool and what looked like a clump of stringy, black hair was caught on its sharp edge.

Isabel trembled as a fresh wave of fear impaled her.

If the shovel had not been there…if Bones had used his knife on her…

Kicking the shovel aside, Marcus reached into his jacket and pulled out his lock picks. He made quick work of the lock, pushed the glass door open, and ushered her inside.

Humid warmth enveloped her. The full moon cut a path of light through the glass walls. The space was crowded down its center with three long worktables, holding gardening tools, sacks of potting soil, and pots in every size imaginable. The scent of flowers, plants, and moist soil hung in the air like heady perfume.

She walked to a bench where a tray of small green clippings ready for planting had been placed, probably in a hurry by one of the gardeners. Pushing the tray to the side, she sat on the bench.

Marcus slipped his lock picks inside his jacket, then closed and secured the door. Walking to her side, he sat beside her. His hands enveloped hers.

“You’re shaking, Isabel,” he said.

“I’m sorry. It’s just the thought of what that ghastly man could have done…”

“Shh.”
His expression darkened with an unreadable emotion. He stood and pulled her into his arms. “You’re safe now. I swear to do everything in my power to keep you so from now on.”

For many minutes he simply held her. His embrace offered comfort and solace, both of which she needed after her traumatic ordeal. She dropped her chin on his chest with a soft sigh. She listened to the strong beating of his heart and inhaled his clean and manly scent.

He kissed the top of her head, his lips lingering. She inhaled sharply, and raised her eyes to glimpse his face. His eyes, shining like black satin in the pale light of the moon, brimmed with unmistakable need.

Firm lips brushed hers. She hesitated, fighting her own battle of personal restraint. But before she could gather the strength to push him away, his arms tightened about her, and his mouth covered hers hungrily.

She stiffened. She had decided never to give herself completely to him again. She had gone down that path, no matter how passionate or physically satisfying it had been, and afterward he had told her that he wanted her off to Paris. But that thought barely crossed her mind before his tongue swept past the barrier of her teeth and stroked her own, sending liquid tremors down her limbs. She was astonished at the spark of excitement, and she knew she could not deny herself his touch tonight.

His kiss was raw and savage…an affirmation of life…and after her harrowing escape from certain death, a temptation that she could not resist.

Her arms wound around his neck, her fingers threading through his dark hair. He grunted when she tugged on his hair and pulled him closer. Silk sizzled against broadcloth where their bodies touched. His mouth turned savage, and she knew the frantic need that pulsed through her seized him as well.

“Oh, Marcus,”
she sighed against his lips.

His head lowered, and he nipped the pulsing hollow at her throat. Heat spiraled low in her belly, and she clutched his shoulders. His lips traveled above the low-cut bodice of her gown, and he tenderly kissed the abrasions on her sensitive skin. She arched her spine toward the silken heat of his mouth, feeling both cherished and desperately aroused at the same time. The combination was volatile and the perfect outlet following the aftermath of her near-death experience. The passion that threatened to consume her would temporarily blot out the tormenting image of Robby Bones from her mind.

Marcus’s fingers splayed on her rib cage and his mouth hovered over her breast, his hot breath making her nipples ache.

“You’ll drive me mad,” she whispered.

He raised his head. A sliver of moonlight partly illuminated his expression. Fierce desire lit his glittering dark eyes.

Her heart pounded an erratic rhythm. He was so compelling, his magnetism so potent, that her breath caught.

“
Isabel
, it is you who has driven me to the edge of madness. You have robbed me of all reason.”

A buried longing pierced her.
He desperately desires me. Perhaps he will come to want me to stay.

He slowly reached behind her, his fingers deftly working the tiny row of buttons down her back.

“I have to see you by moonlight.”

She did not consider arguing. The gown loosed, and he pushed the sleeves down, careful of the scrapes on her arms. He made quick work of her thin chemise all the while kissing her eyelids, her lips, her throat.

The gown and chemise bunched around her waist, baring her breasts to his heated gaze. He sucked the crown of a breast into his mouth, and she thought she would die from the pleasure. Her nipples hardened like diamonds, and liquid heat burst between her thighs. She clutched his shoulders, and then slipped her hands beneath his jacket, kneading the powerful muscles beneath, frantic to feel his naked skin against her sensitive breasts.

The humid air seemed to burst into flame, like a blazing furnace.

He suddenly swooped her into his arms and turned to one of the long worktables. With an outstretched hand, he pushed pots, flowers, and plants aside and set her on the edge of the table. A bag of soil fell to the floor and ripped open. A peat pot with colorful flowers rolled across the table, tottered on the edge, until it fell to the floor with a loud thud.

She cared naught and felt no shame, her need for this man was so great.

Lying back on the table, with her legs dangling off the edge, he came over her. He kissed her mouth and her breasts, and the bulge in his trousers pressed against the sensitive V between her legs.

His hand reached beneath her skirts, his palm sliding up her silk stocking. His fingers grazed the apex between her thighs and she cried out. He rolled down a stocking, and she kicked off her slippers to aid him. She arched as her need clawed at her, and sighed when he reached for and peeled her other stocking down her leg. The temperature and humidity in the room grew, and a bead of sweat glistened between her breasts.

He made quick work of her drawers and they, too, joined her stockings on the floor.

She felt an overwhelming need to touch him as he was touching her. Sitting up, she pushed his jacket off his shoulders and nearly dragged his shirt from his waistband. He, too, was overheated for the shirt felt damp beneath her hands. He helped her, almost popping his shirt buttons off in his haste to disrobe. In his urgency, he bumped against another pot, and it slid across the table, spilling potting soil as it went.

The sweat-slicked muscles of his chest gleamed in the moonlight. She touched him everywhere, her hands caressing his heated skin, her nails leaving marks in her urgency.

The bulge in his trousers seemed enormous, but instead of a virgin’s fear, she felt a thrill that she could arouse this fascinating male to such an extent. She made to reach for the top button on his trousers when he stopped her.

Her eyes flew to his face. His look was so sensual, it took her breath away.

“Let me love you like I’ve craved,” he said hoarsely.

He kissed her, pressing her back until she lay on the table.

She was aware of her bodice pushed to her waist, sprawled on the worktable, legs dangling. She should be mortified, yet all she could think of was her voracious need for this man.

He tugged the hem of her gown up until it bunched around her waist. She gasped in surprise when her naked buttocks came in contact with the wooden table.

His head lowered, and he blew his hot breath on her sensitive mons. Firm hands separated her thighs, and she experienced an instant’s panic. Then all thought and reason dissolved as he made love to her with his mouth. He plundered, he sucked, he laved, and when his tongue stroked across her highly sensitive bud, she felt as if her body was on fire. It was sinful, erotic, lustful…and looking up at the stars through the glass roof, it was otherworldly.

She banged her elbow against a sack of soil when she gripped his sweat-glistened shoulders. As her pleasure built, she arched restlessly beneath him, reaching for the pinnacle, hurtling herself above and beyond, until she climaxed in a shuddering explosion.

Panting through slightly parted lips, she opened her eyelids a crack. Marcus loomed above her, his expression one of enthrallment and ferocious lust.

“You’re beautiful in your passion,” he said in a husky voice.

She reached for him. “Make love to me, Marcus.”

He needed no further encouragement. Reaching down to free himself from his trousers, he cupped her buttocks and plunged inside her honeyed sheath.

She was slick with need, and her body encased him like a wet glove. He stilled and groaned from the pure pleasure of it before he began to move. Squeezing her legs about him, she urged him to quicken his pace.

The table shook with each thrust within her welcoming body. More gardening tools and plants crashed to the floor. Sweat glistened on his chest. None of it mattered, but the man who made love to her. She felt her body build to another climax, and looking up at the fierce desire etched on his face, she knew she loved him.

“I love you,” she whispered.

He thrust once more and they climaxed together.

He stayed within her as they both gasped for breath. Finally, he pulled back and adjusted his trousers. He reached for his jacket on the floor and pulled out a handkerchief. Wiping her thighs, he helped her sit up and straightened her gown.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

“Yes, just overly warm.”

“I had not meant to be so rough.”

He made no mention of her admission of love, and she wondered if he had heard her during their passionate lovemaking. A sense of despair swept over her.

What if he had heard her, but did not feel the same?

She looked up at him, and a flicker of emotion crossed his face before he hid it with a smile.

What was he feeling? Regret? Awkwardness?

“As much as I’d like to stay and hold you, we need to leave and head for the side road,” Marcus said. “Roman should be waiting by the time we get there.”

“Yes, of course.” She made to smooth the wrinkles from her skirts, then laughed at the ridiculousness of the task.

“What is it?”

“My gown, my shoes, my hair…I don’t think I’ve ever been in such dishabille.”

He gave her a grin that sent her pulses racing. “You’ve never looked lovelier.”

Her breath caught in her throat. Afraid to speak, lest she again declare her love for him, she turned sideways and glanced at the worktable. Pots and soil were scattered over its rough-hewn surface.

“The Bennings’ gardner will surely complain tomorrow morning,” she said.

“No doubt. But it’s probably not the first time this conservatory was used for illicit purposes during one of their parties.”

Isabel looked at him in surprise. “Do you really think so?”

“I’ve learned throughout the years that the members of the ton may require strict manners, but they also have the loosest morals.”

She flinched. “I suppose that includes us.”

He took her hand in his and reverently kissed her palm. His steady gaze searched her eyes. “No, Isabel. You are my wife. We made love, we did not have salacious relations. There is a difference.”

Her heart pounded in her chest.
Tell me you love me, and I’ll forget all about Paris.

She was shocked at her own thoughts. When had she begun to care for him so much?

Uncomfortable with her feelings, she said, “Let us be on our way, Marcus.” She made to pull away, but his grasp tightened.

“Isabel, I…I would very much like for you to stay in London…perhaps I was wrong to insist you leave for Paris so suddenly.”

She froze. Despite her fear, she felt a hot and awful joy. Was he asking her to stay forever? Or until the six months they had initially agreed to?

She wanted to ask him to elaborate, but for the first time in her life, she was at a loss for words. Her own mind swirled with confusion. To stay with him forever meant abandoning her dreams of Paris. The thought did not scare her as it once had, but was she ready to do so without Marcus’s love?

For he had not said he loved her.

She struggled to find her voice. “Marcus, I—”

“Hush,” he said, placing a finger over her lips. “You have been through much tonight, and I surprised you. I want to give you time to think.”

I would not need time if you told me you loved me!

She stayed silent as they left the conservatory and headed away from the mansion. The woods became thick, and several times Marcus had to hold back tree branches for her to pass. The moon did little to illuminate their way, and Isabel was glad Marcus seemed to know where they were headed.

After walking for fifteen minutes, exhaustion set in, and Isabel’s feet began to throb. The stress of the evening had finally caught up to her. Her muscles protested from the strain of running from Robby Bones, and her back ached between her shoulder blades from lifting the heavy shovel to defend herself. Despite her determination to keep up with Marcus, she slowed her pace and rubbed her eyes.