Once Upon a Scandal (19 page)

Read Once Upon a Scandal Online

Authors: Barbara Dawson Smith

Tags: #Romance

BOOK: Once Upon a Scandal
9.67Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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.”
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.
“D
o 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.
“Let’s get on with it,” he said crisply.
His palms felt damp as he looked inside her mouth. Carefully he approached the tooth with the starched linen.
“Thtop!” Jenny lisped.
He snatched back his hand. “Did I hurt you?”
“No. But don’t forget to say the magic words.”
“The magic words.”
“You know. The ones Mama always says. To scare the hurt away.”
“What words are those?”
“I don’t know. Mama says they’re a secret between her and the tooth fairy.”
Jenny looked up at him so earnestly he didn’t have the heart to scoff at magic spells and fairies. Nor could he bring himself to tell her that words had no power over pain. That left him with only one alternative. To fib.
“All right, then,” he said. “But as it’s a secret, I shall say the spell to myself.”
He reached into her mouth again. He could feel the wobbly tooth. If he hurt her, she would think ill of him. He didn’t know why that disturbed him, except Jenny seemed to have complete faith in him, and he hated to fall short of her expectations. How the devil did Emma extract a tooth painlessly? A tug downward? A twist? Did she do it fast? Or little by little?
Bloody hell. It was only a tooth.
He took firm hold of it and moved his lips soundlessly as if uttering an incantation. Before he could even wrench downward, the tooth came free into his handkerchief. An absurd sense of victory suffused him—as if he had negotiated the purchase of a rare artifact. He held out the baby tooth for Jenny’s inspection. A droplet of blood reddened the end.
She took the tooth and examined it, then stuck it into the pocket of her pinafore. With the tip of her tongue, she probed the gap in her front teeth. “You
did
thay the thpell,” she said, her eyes rounded. “I thought you might be jutht pretending.”
He bent down to meet her at eye level. “Now where would you get a silly idea like that?”
She retracted her tongue and gravely regarded him. “Because Mama says you’re not my real father. But I think … I think I will call you Papa, anyway.”
Her announcement knotted Lucas’s throat. He could only gape at the little girl, who beamed as if he had just passed a test and received his reward. Before he could fashion a reply from the blankness of his brain, she added generously, “You may go out tomorrow with Mama and me to celebrate my half-birthday.”
“Half-birthday?”
“I am exactly six and a half tomorrow. Mama always lets me celebrate twice a year. Because, you see, I’m her only child.” Like a miniature governess, she shook her finger at him. “Mind, you must be ready at ten o’clock. Mama doesn’t like tardiness.”
Quite unexpectedly, she threw her arms around his middle and hugged him. He could think of nothing else to do but hug her back. How small she was, how defenseless. “Good-bye, Papa,” she said, and skipped out of the bedroom.
Papa
.
Lucas gripped the handkerchief in his fist. His throat felt unnaturally taut, as if his neckcloth were suffocating him. Uttering a low curse, he stalked into the dressing room to retie his cravat.
This incident should not have happened. Emma should not have gone off without a word to anyone. Then he would not have been thrust into the role of tending to her child. He had more important business awaiting him at the docks.
So where the devil was his wife?
Emma sat on a gold-striped chair in the drawing room of Sir Woodrow Hickey’s town house and looked about her with interest. Because of his high regard for propriety, she had never been here before. It was more tastefully decorated than she had expected of a bachelor’s dwelling. The soothing yellow walls complemented the parquet floor and gold-sprigged white draperies. Glass-paned doors were opened to a small conservatory, where roses bloomed and ivy climbed.
Setting down his teacup, Sir Woodrow sat bolt upright on the chaise across from her. “Are you quite certain it’s wise
for you to come here?” he asked for what seemed like the tenth time.
Emma hid her annoyance. “I hardly know what is wise anymore,” she said. “Nor do I care.”
“But I don’t understand why you couldn’t simply have sent me a message. Do you have reason to believe that you may already be”—he paused to clear his throat—“carrying Wortham’s child?”
“No.”
Because I’ve been too afraid. Afraid of intimacy. Afraid of my own passion.
“Ah.” Relief flitted across Sir Woodrow’s face, and he leaned forward, his fair eyebrows drawn together. “Then you can still reconsider the cruel bargain he forced upon you. It is unthinkable that you should tie yourself to Wortham for months, perhaps years. You scarcely know the man. It isn’t too late to change your mind.”
“I cannot renege on my promise to him. Once I give Lucas a son, I’ll be free.”
Scowling, Sir Woodrow jumped to his feet and began to pace before the white marble fireplace. “And meanwhile, when am I to see you and Jenny? Only when you can creep out of his house unnoticed. That is no way for us to live. The three of us used to go on outings, share our meals, sit together in the evenings. And now I must allow you and Jenny to live with him.”
They
had
been like a family, Emma reflected, caught in a mixture of nostalgia and guilt. She had never, ever meant to hurt Woodrow. “You haven’t lost us,” she said gently. “Jenny regards
you
as her father. Not Lucas.”
Woodrow clenched his fists. “How is he treating Jenny? I cannot imagine so proud a man welcoming her into his house.”
“They never see one another,” Emma assured him. “Jenny stays in the nursery or with me, in my room.” Except for the time when Jenny had been playing with Toby in the library and had encountered the dowager.
Emma took a sip of tea without tasting it. She dared tell no one about her mother-in-law guessing the identity of
Jenny’s sire. Not Woodrow. And especially not Lucas.
“And so the dear girl must suffer the lack of a father.” Woodrow brought his fist down onto the mantelpiece, rattling a pair of small porcelain spaniels. “This situation is intolerable. I wish to heaven Wortham had granted you a divorce. And Briggs hadn’t stolen that blasted tiger mask.”
Emma’s fingers tensed around the delicate handle of her teacup. She stared up at Woodrow, startled as much by his vehemence as his words. He was usually so mild mannered. “What do you know about the mask?”
“Forgive me,” he said stiffly. “I wasn’t supposed to mention what your grandfather told me. But I can no longer hold my tongue when your honor is at stake. I know he took the piece to compensate for all Wortham owes to you. And when you returned it, Wortham unjustly accused
you
of stealing the mask.”
“Yes,” she murmured, gazing down into her empty cup and turning it in her hands. “I’ve had a time convincing him to trust me. But I think … I hope he is beginning to do so. He’s even asked me to help him catalog the rare artifacts he brought back from the East.”
Yet seldom did Lucas work with her on the fascinating project. Where did he spend his days? With his mistress? The questions burned like poison in Emma. And if he
was
developing faith in her, had she destroyed it when he’d caught her prowling in Lord Gerald Mannering’s bedchamber?
What was worse, she would have to play the Burglar again, and soon. She didn’t know any other way to repay Grandpapa’s gaming debt.
To her utter surprise, Sir Woodrow dropped to one knee in front of her. “My dear Emma, you fret overly much about gaining a place in Wortham’s good graces. I confess to fearing you will forsake me.”
In his charcoal breeches and silver-gray coat, he reminded her of a knight kneeling before his lady fair. How stalwart and honorable Sir Woodrow was, how loyal and devoted. Yet why did he never seize her in his arms and kiss her
passionately? Why did he not sweep her off her feet and carry her to bed? Her wayward fantasies turned to Lucas holding her in the darkness, Lucas kissing her deeply and intimately, Lucas stroking the places that ached for him alone … .
Flushed, she realized Sir Woodrow was gazing at her, awaiting an answer. “I shan’t forsake you.” The words sounded so hollow, she added on impulse, “In fact, perhaps you’ll join Jenny and me tomorrow; We’re taking a picnic luncheon to Hyde Park to celebrate her half-birthday.”
He acquiesced with such eagerness that she felt a renewed surge of dismay. When he kissed the back of her gloved hand, she experienced no tingling sensation, no thrill of excitement as she did whenever Lucas touched her. Lucas had only to look at her, and she melted with longing.
Did that mean she loved Lucas? Or were desire and love two separate forces?
Emma had not arrived at an answer by the time she descended the grand staircase the next morning. For all that she told herself to be glad Lucas had not come to her bed the previous evening, she felt an undeniable disappointment. It was the second night since their encounter in Mannering’s bedroom that her husband had stayed away. She was uncomfortably aware he was angry at her.
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.
Emma winced again to remember the words she had flung at him out of the desperate need to deny her own passion. The knowledge of her cruelty weighed upon her conscience. She would seek him out tonight and tell him so. The decision lightened her mood so she could again look forward to spending the day with Jenny.
But when she reached the foyer, Jenny wasn’t there. She hadn’t been in the nursery, either. According to the kindly old nursemaid, Jenny had gone downstairs to wait a quarter of an hour ago. Worry crept over Emma. Surely Jenny
wouldn’t have ventured outside alone. Would she?
Emma hastened across the foyer, her shoes tapping on the cream-colored marble tiles. As she neared the white-wigged footman, he swung open the door before she could question him.
“M’lady,” he said, bowing. “His lordship and Lady Jenny await you in the carriage.”

Other books

The Porkchoppers by Ross Thomas
CinderEli by Rosie Somers
Any Given Sunday by Mari Carr
The Affair Next Door by Anna Katherine Green
Love in the Fortress by Caris Roane
The Remaining by Travis Thrasher
Roma by Steven Saylor