Duke of Scandal (13 page)

And she was a marvelous kisser. Or maybe he imagined as much because it had been ages since he'd been kissed by a woman who wanted him as much as he did her. He could hear his heart beating loudly in his temples, feel the rush of blood course through his veins, sense her uncertainty even as she dropped her fan to the ground at her side without notice. Then she reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck.

Growing confident in his effort, Sam placed his free palm high on her waist. She sighed, pushing her fingers into his hair, lightly caressing. He felt her breasts against his chest, their fullness taunting him with his ever increasing desire to touch, to let her realize the affect she had on him, to show her the extent of his need. His kiss grew ever bolder as he drew his tongue across her upper lip, then pressed his mouth against hers again, demanding, beckoning, tasting, savoring.

She moaned softly and let herself go, giving in to the moment as she drew her palm to his face, stroking his
cheek with her thumb. And he followed her lead, holding her firmly against him, moving one hand to her hair, entwining his fingers in the softness while daringly allowing his other hand to drift ever so slowly toward the soft curve of her breast. He couldn't, wouldn't, touch her there yet. Not yet. Not until she made it clear that she needed it.

Her breath came as fast as his, quickened by the rising heat between them, and finally he pulled away a fraction and lowered his lips to her chin, to her throat and jawline, kissing, teasing, brushing her soft and delicate skin with his lips. She panted in his arms, holding his head firmly, lifting her face skyward to allow him access.

Her eagerness became clear. With reckless abandon, he raised his hand to cup her breast over her gown, the decorative golden lace grazing his palm as he lingered there, unmoving.

She moaned again, this time with an unquestionable desire to be touched, and as his lips found hers once more, his fingers at last dipped below the lace to caress the top slope of one soft mound of enticing flesh. She didn't even appear to notice. She clung to him, tasting him, and he held her, his muscles taut, his mind and body losing control with each passing second.

And then before he knew what was happening, she started pulling away, very faintly, bringing her arm down from around his neck to grasp the hand he still held at her breast.

It took all that was in him to allow her to remove his fingers from her forbidden softness, his head reeling, his skin on fire, his heart pounding in his chest. It
seemed like hours before he realized she had taken a step back and now held his hand between both of her own, placing small kisses on his knuckles, running his fingertips back and forth across her cheek, her lips.

At last he opened his eyes to look down at her, and Sam knew immediately that this would be a defining moment in his life. Never had a woman treated him so tenderly during a spell of such raging desire between them. To say he felt awkward was an understatement. She was shaking, breathing as heavily as he, and yet she caressed him as if he were delicate and rare, even cherished.

Slowly, senses returning, Sam once again became aware of where they were, where they stood, of the music and gaiety surrounding them, of the smell of the warm, night air mingled with the arousing scent of her skin, which seemed to cling to him even now.

Her eyes remained closed, but he could almost feel the flush of desire still emanating from her. With one quick motion he reached for her, placing his palms on her shoulders and pulling her against him. She followed his lead in silence as he tucked her head beneath his neck with one hand, her cheek against his chest, wrapping his other arm around her to hold her close.

God, there had to be something wrong with him. He'd never before felt protective of a woman he'd just passionately kissed, never before experienced such a hunger within for a pleasure he shouldn't have. She confused him as she surprised him, giving herself to him, not as a lustful woman, but as one in desperate need of passion, of feeling desired. He still tasted the sweetness of her lips on his, still reeled from her
unique feel, her scent that lingered, the charge of their attraction sizzling in the air around him.

He held her until her breathing slowed, until her trembling stopped, wondering with irritation and a trace of desperation where the hell they would, or should, go from here.

“I think there's something wrong with me.”

Her soft, husky whisper of apprehension that matched his own warmed his heart. “There's nothing wrong with you, Livi,” he said quietly, smiling to himself.

She stayed still for another moment or two, staring out to the moonlit night. He leaned over and kissed the top of her head, inhaling the scent of vanilla and spice that he knew he would forever associate with her and her unforgettable beauty. Then finally, gradually, she placed her palms on his chest and pushed herself away from him.

He stood upright, his hands at his sides, though he never moved his gaze from her. She couldn't bring herself to look at him, though, and he allowed her a few seconds to collect her thoughts.

“This—This wasn't right,” she whispered. Drawing a deep breath, she tried again. “This wasn't right, it was—”

“Perfect,” he finished for her.

She shook her head as she loosely covered her mouth with her fingers. “I'm married, Sam.”

He swallowed with aggravated emotion from the shame she expressed in her desperate need to convince him of something that nagged him to his bones.

“What you had with my brother was never a mar
riage,” he maintained after a long pause, shoving his hands into the pockets of his evening jacket.

“That's irrelevant.”

Not bloody likely.
“We have a job to do, Olivia,” he said with an insistence that surprised him. “Until we find Edmund, we take each day as it comes.”

For the first time since they'd kissed, she raised her lashes and gazed up at his face. His insides gnawed at him as he noticed the glassy covering of tears she was trying very hard not to suffer. As much as he wanted to reach for her this very second, to take her in his arms again and shield her from hurt and bewilderment both he and his brother had caused, he didn't dare. Her emotions were volatile from their unconventional and explosive attraction—as were his.

“It'll be all right,” he soothed, reaching up to skim her hairline with his fingertips. “Everything will unfold as it should.”

For several long moments she continued to stare at him with wide, troubled eyes. And then, with resolve, she visibly shook herself and straightened. “I'm sorry this happened.”

He grinned wryly. “No you're not, and neither am I. We both knew it was coming.”

“It won't happen again.”

That made him want to laugh. Instead, he said, “Whatever the lady wants.”

She peeked at him sideways. “I enjoyed it, though.”

He couldn't believe she admitted that. So much for his abating arousal. “As did I.” His expression, his voice, grew serious. “I don't think I've ever enjoyed a kiss more. I mean that, Livi.”

She inhaled sharply, shakily, then whispered, “Why?”

He hadn't expected her to ask, and he certainly wasn't prepared to respond. But somehow the truth revealed itself. “I've never known a woman like you. In everything you do and say, even how you kiss, you're unique.”

With a trace of a smile to her lips, she looked at him and breathed, “I would have said exactly the same about you, Sam. I've never known another man like you.”

He couldn't stop himself from asking, “Even Edmund?”

She didn't hesitate to reply. “Especially Edmund.”

A rush of odd sensations engulfed him in waves. He'd never been thought of as uniquely different from his brother by anyone. That the first would be Olivia proved to be the irony of the ages.

“We should get back to the party,” she said through a long sigh.

“Damn the party.”

She grinned, a slow grin that widened with each passing second.

“My goodness, there you are. How did the two of you find your way out here?”

Olivia took a quick step away from him, turning toward the shadowed figure of a well-coiffed woman who stood watching them in the distance. But it was the voice that had startled them.

Her voice.

Sam felt his blood turn to a river of ice, drowning out all but a paralyzing shock. A peculiar unreality set in and his heart began to thud in his chest; his body broke out into a freezing sweat.

“You…uh…seemed to have dropped your fan, darling.”

Olivia recovered herself quickly. “Oh. So I have.” She reached down to retrieve it. “My husband and I were just talking, Aunt Claudette.”

“Of course you were. What else would you be doing out here all alone?” the older woman replied.

And then she stepped closer to them, and the image he'd tried to shove forcefully from his thoughts, his memories, his past, came back with clarity to slap him hard in the face.

Jesus.

“The night is beautiful, Aunt, and Edmund and I—”

“Were talking by moonlight. Yes, so you said. How lovely.”

Sam couldn't move. He stood frozen to the spot, reliving a nightmare that was only just beginning anew.

Claudette. Jesus, holy God in heaven. Edmund, what have you done?

Olivia moved toward her, grasping her shoulders and offering a peck to each cheek. “It's wonderful to see you,” she said brightly. “Edmund, the Countess Renier has arrived.”

She'd said that for his benefit, to inform him of her aunt's title, which told him only that Olivia was even now completely oblivious to the depth of his brother's deception.

Claudette looked beyond her, and Sam could feel the woman's intense gaze upon him, sensed a rush of emotion from her, none of it pleasant.

Jesus.

“I see you've found your husband,” Claudette
quipped, moving closer so the rising moon finally cast a dim light upon her features. And then she placed her palms on his cheeks and gave him a fast kiss to the mouth. “Edmund, dear, I'm so glad you're home. Olivia has missed you terribly.”

For a split second Sam had no idea what to do. Then his mind kicked into action, and as much as he despised the pretense, he became his brother once more. “I was afraid you might not make it tonight,” he said, grinning devilishly, “but then Olivia and I know you far too well.” He paused, then added, “Don't we, Claudette?”

She gazed up to his face for a moment, her brow pinched into a delicate frown. “Indeed, you do.”

An uncomfortable moment reigned supreme. The tension in the air fairly crackled, threatening to match the tautness of every muscle in his body. He squeezed his hands into fists at his sides and then flexed them again. Olivia watched him, certainly concerned by his lack of charming conversation, and yet she could never know the difficulty it took for him to remain where he stood and not leave the scene without another thought or word to either of them. As shameful as it was to consider it, he had to take note of the fact that beneath all the deception he witnessed at this moment, he still hadn't completely discounted the fact that Olivia could be part of it. She could lust after him, kiss him with perfection, and still deceive him. He'd learned that lesson years ago, strangely enough from her deceitful aunt Claudette. He had trouble believing the intimate time they'd just shared could be anything less than a real display of feeling on her part, but there remained a
chance that the three of them were playing him for a fool—and underhandedly vying for his money.

Still, if she truly were innocent at the hands of two very cruel people, she deserved justice, and there was no better person to give it to her than the brother of the man who set her up for ruin.

He cleared his throat and nodded once, lifting his arm toward the woman who had betrayed him all those years ago.

“Well. Dearest Aunt, now that you have arrived to grace us with your lovely company, it would be my utmost pleasure if you'd consent to dancing with me.”

He could feel Olivia's stunned gaze fall upon him, and because of his confusion over this incredible turn of events, he couldn't even look at her. That, he decided, troubled him most of all.

Claudette beamed at the suggestion and placed her well-manicured palm on his jacket sleeve. “It would be
my
pleasure, dearest nephew.” Leading him away, she added over her shoulder, “Perhaps you could use the time to freshen yourself, Olivia. You seem a bit palled. I'll take it from here and keep your husband entertained for a while.”

And then Claudette, ever in control, led him down the balcony path toward the French doors and into the ballroom, Olivia following closely behind, her gaze burning a hole in his back.

T
he shock of seeing her again was beginning to wear off; a good thing, as he needed to remain focused to keep the pretense alive. Claudette hadn't yet realized his identity, or at least he didn't think she had. But there was no telling how long the ruse could last. True, he hadn't seen her in a decade, though beyond the undeniable fact of her intelligence, she was cunning and manipulative by nature, expecting insincerity in others, and she prided herself on finding it. Now, as she clung to his arm, her blond hair piled high on her head and brushing against his chin, her perfume invaded his nostrils with the pungent scent of roses.

Roses. Claudette always wore roses, and it would remain the scent he'd forever identify with her. The odor fairly nauseated him now, especially when coupled with the thick fog of smoke and stuffy heat that
permeated the ballroom. The crowd had grown, slowing their progress toward the dance floor, but she would expect him to socialize with her, pretend with her. And with so much at stake, he decided he needed to be more than convincing. He needed to
be
Edmund tonight.

“You smell wonderful,” he leaned over to whisper in her ear.

She tipped her head up and gave him a knowing smile. “Darling, Edmund. Ever the flatterer.”

“Only when it's warranted,” he admitted with an ease and a natural grin that almost astonished him.

She laughed. “Let's dance, darling. We have much to discuss.”

Her jovial attitude expressed a mood he knew she didn't feel. It had been years, but he could still read her temperament like a book. She was livid at his appearance tonight, and jealous of Olivia, which he found both oddly amusing and suspicious. That she still carried on some sort of relationship with his brother was obvious, though the extent or limit of that relationship was anyone's guess.

Finally they reached the center of the ballroom floor, and without a word or hesitation, he turned and swept the woman who was once his lover, the woman who had caused such a scandal in his life all those years ago, into his arms. It took her no time to come to the point.

With a false smile planted firmly on her painted mouth, she stared at him directly. “Why are you back in Paris? You can't possibly be finished with the Govance heiress.”

He wished he knew who the “Govance heiress” was, and where she lived. But Claudette's question did tell
him that Edmund had been sent from the city to do her bidding, and probably to woo another unsuspecting female of her fortune. No surprise in that, really.

“Olivia found me,” he replied lightly. “I couldn't very well say I wasn't done with our…endeavor, shall we say.”

She expelled a short puff of air that lifted the wisps of hair on her forehead. “So what did you tell her? She had to have been furious with you.”

He smiled wryly. “I told her very little, actually.”

“What
exactly
did you
say
?”

She kept a rigid smile on her face even as she cut him with her biting tone. The one thing he remembered about Claudette was that she always, invariably, needed to be in control. That she acted so irritated by his evasiveness, not to mention his totally unexpected return without her knowledge, meant it was tearing her up inside. He could feel her anger by the way she dug her painted nails into his well-protected shoulder and gripped his hand to the point of pain.

He chuckled as if she'd said something deviously amusing, for the benefit of those dancing around them, hoping to God he'd be able to make this explanation believable. “I told her
exactly
that being the foolish man I am, I gambled away most of the money and was terrified of returning to her. I told her that such a weakness was part of my upbringing, and that I still adore her. And then I asked her to forgive me.”

Claudette snorted most unbecomingly, and for the first time her face crinkled in distaste. Amazingly, after all this time, he still thought of her as a beautiful woman, only now he wasn't the least bit attracted to her charms.

“Did she believe you?”

He winked at her, then murmured, “I'm here, aren't I?”

She continued to gaze up at his face, her eyes narrowed in challenging suspicion.

“Is she still in love with you?” she asked, her voice controlled even as a trace of unsureness seeped through the question just barely heard above the din.

Sam felt his heart thumping hard in his chest. He wanted to lash out at her, to tell her with great enjoyment that Olivia, her dearest niece, couldn't possibly be in love with her so-called husband and kiss
him
the way she just did. Oddly enough, it was that sudden realization that made him feel remarkably calm inside, elated even, and with that he offered her a genuine grin.

“I believe so, Madame Comtesse. But then, isn't that what you want?”

For a few seconds, as he circled her around the parquet floor with expert ease in time to the waltz, she didn't answer, though Sam knew her mind churned with ideas and worries. She looked older, the fine lines on her face more pronounced, even glaring under bright light. Still, her cosmetic application suited her and did manage to hide some of the telling signs of age. But then maybe he was jaded in his critical eye. To the oblivious onlooker, she'd no doubt appear the beautiful, buxom blond woman with the face of an angel. Just as he'd seen her the day she first walked into his life.

“I didn't like the fact that you returned without telling me, darling,” she cooed at last, her words slicing into his thoughts.

He frowned, stroking her back with his fingertips. “Of course. I'm deeply sorry about that.”

“Why didn't you tell me?”

The famous Claudette whine. He certainly hadn't missed that in all these years. Inhaling a long, full breath, he replied, “Because Olivia hasn't left my side since our return, and I couldn't very well tell her I was going to visit you. That would have certainly raised her suspicions.”

She sighed, slowing her footsteps as the music selection played so expertly by the orchestra came to a close. “So what, pray tell, were you doing outside on the balcony with my lovely niece just now, Edmund? You seemed to be involved in a fairly…intimate conversation.” She very slowly took the arm he offered to lead her toward a buffet table. “It almost seemed as if something's changed between the two of you.”

That's the understatement of the century.
“Oh, I don't think so. We'd danced and she felt warm so I escorted her outside for some air. Why do you ask?” It felt good to put her on the defense for once.

She squeezed his arm, eyeing him through half-closed lashes as she accepted a full champagne glass from him. “I'm jealous, darling.”

He chuckled, noting how the tension eased from his rigid spine. Jealous, indeed.
Only if it interferes with your calculated plans.
He leaned over and whispered for her benefit alone, “Cunning witch.”

She laughed. “You've no idea.”

Sam stared her squarely in the eye. “Oh, but I know you very well, don't I, dearest
Aunt
?”

Claudette blinked quickly several times, hesitating as her smile faded, then quickly swallowed the contents of her champagne flute before reaching for an
other. Sam stood his ground, waiting, unfazed, though wishing he could be more direct with her without raising her leeriness.

At last she stepped closer to him, turning him with a palm to his elbow so they faced away from the crowd and toward the open windows. “I heard you were sleeping with her, in her apartments,” she murmured. Then through a sigh of exasperation, she added, “I thought we had an agreement, Edmund.”

He could only begin to imagine what that agreement might be, but more important, it now became apparent that he and Olivia were being watched by someone reporting to her. That rattled him a bit even if he wasn't all that surprised.

“Edmund?”

He shrugged, then admitted, “I am sleeping in her guest room for now.”
For now.
He couldn't help but smile at the scintillating idea of changing that circumstance. “I don't think she's up to a more intimate companionship.”

She seemed to physically relax beside him. Then, with the first genuine tone of distress, she asserted, “You simply cannot consummate your relationship with her, Edmund. We've talked about the consequences before, and I think they're even more vital now that you've returned. Olivia will want you to bed her, but you must be firm in your resolve. Are we still in agreement over this issue?”

Sam felt as if he'd been kicked in the gut, knocking the wind from him with the force of a thousand horses.

His brother had never bedded Olivia. Or at least Claudette believed he hadn't. Was Edmund that stupid? Or
that smart? It would make sense to keep the option of annulment open, for both of them, should they present their marriage license as legitimate, and in that regard Edmund had done Olivia a tremendous favor. If one could call it that. It could also be that his love for Claudette kept him faithful to her, though Sam doubted that idea simply out of past experience. Or maybe his brother just wanted to avoid the risk of getting Olivia with child, a possibility that seemed far more likely. As far as Claudette was concerned, perhaps she didn't want them to consummate their faux marriage because of her familial care for her niece, or she was against it for personal reasons, and in Sam's mind, the latter made more sense. The most surprising part for him was that Edmund didn't want to sleep with the woman who truly believed they were married. She would have given herself to him gladly; if not for pleasure, then for duty. It had to be Edmund who had retreated from the intimacy. Edmund and Claudette were in this together. Always, Edmund and Claudette.

Still, once again he couldn't rid himself entirely of the nagging notion that Olivia was involved in the deception and the three of them were playing him for money and ultimate ruin. There remained the chance that Olivia had told her aunt who he was before tonight's event. His caution regarding his brother and Claudette had always led him to consider the worst of possibilities. And it bothered him tremendously that he didn't yet know Olivia well enough to trust her. She had kissed him passionately, but could she act that well? He simply didn't know.

Jesus. What the hell do I believe?

His incredulity regarding the million and one impli
cations of this development must have shown in his expression.

“I see that I've shocked you,” Claudette said with a crooked, unflattering lift of her lips. “I'd hoped to. I realize you never wanted to make love to her before, but seeing you outside…well…” She grabbed her pink satin skirts and shook them out. “I suppose I just let my imagination run away with me.”

Sam felt fairly certain she didn't see them kissing and hadn't heard a word they shared, or her reaction would have been far more hysterical.

“You know I don't want her,” he said quietly, finding it difficult not to choke on the words, “but pretenses must be kept.”

“Of course they must.” Her eyes brightened and she finished off the contents of her second flute in three large swallows. “My goodness, but you look like you need some champagne as well, darling,” she said fondly with a gentle pat to his cheek. Then she leaned up on her tiptoes and whispered in his ear, “I'm staying in the second floor guest room, at the corner of the east wing. I'll see you there later.” And then without waiting for his reply, she backed away from him.

“Well, I'm sure your lovely wife is missing you by now, Edmund, and I must mingle.” She smoothed the back of her hair. “We'll have a lovely chat another time. I'd adore hearing more about your recent travels.” With a lift of her skirts, she turned on her heels and left him.

Sam stared at her departing back until she disappeared into the crowd. Then, in sudden desperation, he went looking for a whiskey.