Prelude to a Scandal (11 page)

As if he needed to say anything more. If she had ever once doubted that Bradford had a heart and a soul, she could not doubt it anymore.

Justine swallowed against the dryness of her throat and rushed straight to him, unable to stay away. She threw her arms around his waist, pulling him to herself, and buried her face against the solid warmth of his broad chest, squeezing him as tightly as her strength would allow. “You are not worthless,” she insisted against him. “Not to me. You never were.”

He sucked in a harsh breath, but otherwise did not move or even attempt to embrace her.

Perhaps she had said far too much, far too soon.

She drew away, slipping her shaky arms back to her sides, and awkwardly lingered before him not knowing what else she could say or do. All she knew was that she wanted to help him in any way she could.

Radcliff brushed the side of her exposed neck with the back of his warm, bare hand. He trailed it down toward the hollow of her throat, his fingers grazing the weight of the emerald necklace he’d given her just a few days ago. It was a touch that bespoke a genuine longing to connect with her beyond the realm of lust.

Justine swallowed, unable to break his dark, haunting gaze, which revealed a silent form of suffering, a suffering he had tried to hide behind curt words and flippant airs.

He yanked his hand back and stepped away. “I am certain everyone has noticed our absence. We ought to return to the festivities.”

Imagine. The Duke of Bradford was actually using propriety as an excuse to end this wonderfully tender moment between them. An excuse he had used these past two weeks. An excuse she had grown tired of.

“Hold me, Radcliff,” she insisted, hoping to entice him to stay, hoping she could prolong this feeling of genuine intimacy between them.

He glanced toward the house behind them. “No.”

“You are my husband.” She moved closer. “Hold me.”

He stared at her from across the distance he still kept. “I…no. Not now. I can’t.”

“I am not afraid of you, Bradford. And you should not be afraid of yourself, either. Now hold me.”

He hesitated, then closed the distance between them. Towering before her for a moment, he fiercely seized her and yanked her so close and so tight against himself, his muscled arms and large solid body squeezed a huge, puffing breath straight out of her lungs.

“Perhaps not so tightly,” she squeaked out.

He chuckled, loosened his hold, though barely, and slowly leaned forward, brushing his warm lips against the exposed skin of her neck. Lifting his dark head, he searched her eyes. The moon above faintly highlighted the vicious but noble scar upon his face. “I vow to protect you from everything, Justine,” he whispered. “Even from myself, if need be.”

The dark sky above her seemed to spin in response to her blooming emotions. She loved this man. She really did. Justine stared up at him in awe, her head helplessly spilled back, not wanting this moment between them to end. More than anything, she wanted to reach out and touch every part of that soul which he hid from her and the rest of the world.

“I have to kiss you.” His tone was raw and simmering with restraint as he lowered his lips.

Her gloved hand jumped up to his lips and stopped him, her fingers resting hesitantly against his mouth. “No. Do it because you want to.”

“I want to,” he said against her fingertips. “My beautiful Justine, do you not realize you are everything I could ever want.” He aggressively nudged her hand aside from his mouth and seized her lips, causing her heart to skip. His muscled arms surrounded her completely as his kiss deepened and his tongue ardently searched the corners of her mouth.

Her very soul melted in response to that kiss. Her hands moved up the length of his chest toward his shoulders and found their way to his stiff collar and into his thick hair.

She tried matching his physical demands by imitating the same motions with her mouth. She pushed her tongue against his, hoping to demonstrate to him that she wanted him now more than ever and was genuinely thrilled to be his wife.

RADCLIFF GROANED AS he pressed Justine closer to his heated body. Her softness. Her warmth. His cock instantly thickened and pressed against his trousers. He wanted her. And it wasn’t his cock that wanted her. It was him.

Her mouth moved more forcefully against his, and he found himself wanting more. His hands shook as he rubbed her hips with his hands, inching higher and higher. He wanted to explore more than her mouth. He wanted to explore everything that had been borne unto her, and he didn’t care if all of London watched.

He pushed away the evening coat draping her, exposing the velvet softness of her creamy shoulders. His palms rounded her bare shoulders and moved toward her neck. A shiver escaped her.

Cool emeralds grazed his fingers, interrupting the sensual journey he intended to make. Emeralds that had once touched his mother’s own neck. Emeralds that did not deserve Justine. He would buy her a new set of jewels. Jewels that had been untouched or tainted. Much like her.

He blindly undid the clasp, his lips still devouring hers without pause. He felt her stiffen as he slowly removed the heavy jewels.

To his disappointment, her gloved hands abandoned his nape and pushed at his chest, asking him to desist. He released her mouth, without really wanting to, and stared down at his new desire, this dream. He fisted his mother’s emeralds in his right hand, the stone biting into his palm.

She hesitated, her hazel eyes searching his face. “I thought you said they were mine.”

He smiled, knowing full well what she was thinking, and dangled the commodity with the hand he’d freed from her. “They belonged to my mother and they don’t deserve you. I intend to buy you a new necklace. One worthy of you.” With that, he tossed the emerald necklace up and over toward the fountain where it splashed out of sight.

“Bradford!” she exclaimed, losing the softness he was just getting to know. She whirled away and scrambled over to the fountain, frantically peering left and right, searching for wherever the jewels had landed in the bubbling water.

He chuckled and approached. If he didn’t put an end to it, she’d most likely climb right in.

Radcliff grabbed hold of her waist again and spun her back toward him. “Let the damn fountain keep them. Come. I am not done with you.”

Lowering his lips, he slowly slid his tongue down across the soft, graceful curve of her throat, further down toward the exposed upper rounds of her perfect, full breasts. “Take it as the greatest compliment I will ever bestow upon you. I never respected her. She betrayed my father for a moment of pleasure she could not even admit to until long after his death. A moment of pleasure which resulted in the birth of Carlton.”

Her chest rose from a sharp intake of breath. “I…never knew.”

“Now you do.” He swallowed. “Allow me to touch you.” His hands slid across the smooth silk of her gown and up toward those velvetlike voluptuous mounds. The soft fullness he needed to feel.

His cock throbbed, thickened and pressed against his trousers. Touching her wasn’t going to be enough, and if he wasn’t careful, he’d take her right there by the fountain.

A sound from the festivities broke through his fevered haze. Radcliff stepped back, putting up his hand, and cleared his throat. “I think it wise I refrain.”

She was quiet for a moment, then whispered up at him, “Come to my bed tonight. There is no reason you should stay away. You have more than proven your respect for me.”

His pulse thundered in disbelief that she was offering him the one thing he had refused to beg for these past two weeks. Out of pride, yes, but more so out of respect for her. “Do you wish it?” he whispered back.

She smiled. “With all my heart.”

He was indeed the luckiest, luckiest bastard alive. “I…yes. I will come.” He nodded and yanked his tucked gloves out from the side of his trousers and pulled them on each hand. Trying to distract himself from even thinking about their night ahead, he turned, strode over to where his evening coat still lay on the ground and grabbed it up. Shaking it out, he pulled it on and over his shoulders.

Radcliff turned back toward her, where she still lingered by the fountain, and held out his arm. “Come. We should join the others.”

She jerked a gloved thumb toward the fountain behind her. “Not without my emeralds,” she drawled. “I don’t care what your relationship was with your mother. They are worth a sizable fortune.”

He laughed and shook his head. Taking a few steps toward her, he grabbed hold of her hand and yanked her back toward the house. “I thought you didn’t care for trinkets.”

She resisted and pulled back against his grip. “I don’t. But I can’t have a necklace of such worth going to waste, either. If you don’t want it, which clearly you don’t, I’ll give it to my father. He dreams of returning to Cape Town, and between the money he recently received from Lord Winfield and this, that may very well be a possibility.”

Radcliff rolled his eyes and pulled her forward again. A bit harder. Toward himself. “Justine,” he growled. “If your father dreams of moving to Cape Town, I’ll see to it. But as of now, I am asking you to leave the emeralds alone. I don’t want to see them. Not ever again. Is that understood?”

She huffed out an exasperated breath and muttered something before dutifully accompanying him back into the ballroom.

Few husbands ever genuinely appreciate how much their wife does for them. Which is why it is a wife’s duty to make her husband understand what it is he must appreciate.
—
How to Avoid a Scandal, Author Unknown

JUSTINE WAS QUITE certain that Radcliff had lost the last of his mind. How could anyone toss a perfectly good set of expensive emeralds into a fountain like that? Merely because he didn’t get along with his mother! After all the financial woes she’d been through these past few months, no amount of hard feelings warranted that.

Justine entered the ballroom alongside him and paused, realizing something was very wrong. She froze in the doorway of the balcony alongside Radcliff.

The large ballroom, which had earlier echoed with unmeasured merriment, was eerily quiet. The seven-piece orchestra, set up in the far corner of the room, sat with their instruments clutched in their now unmoving hands.

Couples still stood on the polished dance floor, having clearly been interrupted by the silencing of the orchestra. Then chaos erupted as gentlemen in their finest scrambled about left and right like ostriches.

Justine tightened her hold on Radcliff’s hand and stepped closer, glancing up toward him. He in turn tightened his hold, his brows coming together as she scanned the scramble.

“Radcliff,” she said hoarsely, unable to say much more.

“No one seems to be shouting for doctors or yelling about a fire. So why else would everyone be scattering like rats and raving like lunatics?”

“Your Grace!” someone shouted. “Your Grace!”

“Speaking of raving lunatics.” Bradford pointed toward the man heading straight at them. “Here comes one now. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Justine choked on a laugh and smacked Radcliff’s arm just as their host, Lord Winfield, dashed toward them, his brow visibly dampened with perspiration. The gentleman skidded to a halt, trying to prevent his lanky, awkward frame from smacking straight into them.

Lord Winfield gasped for air, snapping his shoulders straight. “Please forgive the commotion. This is not how I envisioned the night unfolding.”

Bradford stepped toward the man, still tightly holding Justine’s hand. “What is it, my lord? Is it serious?”

Lord Winfield’s lean, aged face flushed. “My wife’s pendant seems to have disappeared. She was wearing it not that long ago, but no one claims to have seen it. I tell you, a man cannot trust a single soul these days in London. Not a single one.”

“Lady Winfield’s pendant is missing?” Justine echoed in disbelief. And here she thought someone had been murdered. “Is that all?”

Lord Winfield adjusted his evening coat about his chest as if trying to defend his course of action. “I do beg your pardon, Your Grace, but that pendant happens to be an heirloom worth five hundred pounds.”

Radcliff let out a whistle. “I don’t think anyone will be leaving anytime soon.”

“’Tis baneful to whistle at a time like this,” Lord Winfield chastised before altogether turning to Justine. “My sincerest apologies, Your Grace, but only women will be allowed to depart. If you would be so kind as to accompany me, I shall escort you to your carriage. Your husband will join you once we resolve this situation.”

“What the devil are you suggesting?” Radcliff interjected, shoving his way between them. His large, muscled frame towered over Lord Winfield’s. “My wife is not stepping out into the night without me.”

Justine bit back a smile and set her chin, feeling rather pleased that she had someone like Radcliff to oversee her safety. “Quite right. I apologize, my lord, but I am not leaving without my husband.”

Lord Winfield hesitated, then cleared his throat and leaned toward Bradford. “The men are going to be stripped and searched, Your Grace. It really wouldn’t do to have a lady watch.”

Justine bubbled out a laugh at the idea of Radcliff being stripped in public. He was going to make every man jealous. “I should probably leave. Heaven forbid I should be forced to see my husband naked.”

Radcliff choked.

Lord Winfield’s face grew bright red. He cleared his throat, then gestured toward the double doors on the other side of the ballroom. “Please join my wife in the receiving room, Your Grace. Heaven knows she is particularly fond of you. All I ask is that you be mindful. She has a rather delicate constitution.”

“I completely understand, Lord Winfield.” Justine raised a brow at Bradford, who was struggling to compose himself, then gathered up her skirts and dutifully followed the crowd of women who were all being ushered out of the ballroom.

RADCLIFF BIT BACK THE ridiculous smile he hadn’t been able to rid himself of. Justine was much wilder at heart than even he had realized.

“Will every gentleman please line the wall?” Lord Winfield called out. “I apologize for the inconvenience and appreciate everyone’s cooperation, but the pendant has still not made an appearance.”

Radcliff, along with all the other men around him, obediently lined the length of the east wall. Some men rolled their eyes. Others swore beneath their breath.

This is exactly why he always hated attending any Winfield gatherings. Although Lord Winfield and his wife were pleasant enough, they always overreacted to everything.

Radcliff leaned against the wall behind him and waited for further instructions, wanting it to be over so he could take his wife home and finish what he hadn’t had the opportunity to complete in the garden.

When all the gentlemen present in the ballroom finally stood in the orderly fashion the host had requested, the hunt began.

Lord Winfield looked at the long line of men, his mouth and brow wrinkling with distress.

“If you would all kindly remove your shoes and coats,” Lord Winfield announced. He paused. “Your Grace?”

Radcliff met the man’s gaze.

Lord Winfield leaned toward him, bringing up a gloved hand to cup the side of his mouth and whispered, “I have no intention of subjecting you to any of this. I know full well you were out in the garden enjoying the uh…fountain.” He winked. “I told you it was something to see.”

Radcliff smirked. “Nonsense. I should be treated like everyone else.” With that, he joined in the rustle of taking off jackets as well as the shuffle of shoes being removed. “A five hundred pound pendant is well worth the cause.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.” Lord Winfield quickly leaned in again and whispered, “You will be in good hands. Your brother has graciously offered to assist.”

The man’s humor knew no bounds.

Radcliff leaned forward, glancing down at the end of the line in which he stood. Sure enough, Carlton cockily strutted down the line toward him, as if newly appointed chief inspector.

He’d known he’d end up seeing Carlton sometime before the end of the night. Radcliff leaned back and waited.

His brother halted before him, those blue eyes of his sparkling with age-old mischief. “Well, well,” Carlton drawled. “Who do we have here at the Winfield ball? Who would have thought such harmony could exist in the world that would cause a woman to forgive her father’s own nemesis.” He snorted. “You haven’t seen that pendant, have you, Bradford? I hear it’s worth a small fortune.”

Radcliff narrowed his gaze. Most likely Carlton had arranged for Lady Winfield’s pendant to disappear. Not for its worth, but rather as a nod to their youth and days gone by. Days when he and Carlton used to stupidly outdo one another by throwing unexpected chaos into each other’s path, taking it to a ridiculous crescendo until one of them called it off and paid three guineas.

That was when they used to get along.

Radcliff held out his coat. “I’ve had a rather long night, Carlton.”

“I hate to disappoint you, Bradford, but if you don’t cooperate, this may prove to be the longest night you’ve ever known.” Taking his coat, Carlton rummaged through the pockets and paused at finding a few guineas.

Carlton eyed him and tucked the coins into his own pocket before handing the coat back. “I’ve decided to collect my winnings early.”

“Carlton,” Radcliff growled out.

He pointed at the lacquered shoes set directly before Radcliff’s stockinged feet on the floor. “Hand them up.”

Shit. The bastard had lost the last of his mind. Knowing everyone was watching and would no doubt question his lack of cooperation, Radcliff grudgingly leaned forward and snatched them up.

Coming back up to his full height again, which was taller than Carlton’s own, he shoved them at his brother and impatiently watched Carlton probe them. Finding nothing, Carlton threw them down onto the floor, barely missing Radcliff’s feet.

Radcliff stared him down. Waiting.

His brother eyed him, as if convinced Bradford was responsible for the disappearance of that pendant.

“Carlton,” Radcliff impatiently growled out again. They weren’t young bucks who could be easily excused for acting like idiots in front of the ton. He happened to be a married man now and had his wife’s reputation to fend for. Not just his own.

“I hear you had quite an extravagant wedding and that you may be in dire need of funds. Pull out those pockets, Bradford, will you?”

“Go frig yourself, Carlton.”

Gasps escaped from men on both sides of the line. As if none of them had ever heard the word.

Carlton smirked, clearly pleased he was getting a reaction. “Why would you refuse to be searched? Hmm?” He pointed at Radcliff mockingly, then strode on to the next man in line.

Men farther down now whispered amongst themselves, whilst others leaned forward to get a better view of him.

Hell. All he needed was the ton thinking he was in need of funds. “Search me,” he called out after Carlton.

His brother paused, his dark brows going up as he made his way back over to him, his boots clicking against the wood floor. He paused before him again, that cocky gaze dominating his. “Pull out your pockets.”

“I’ll do better than that.” Radcliff savagely unbuttoned his trousers, ready to bring an end to this nonsense. He allowed his trousers to drop, then promptly removed one muscled leg after the other, ignoring the cool breeze now circling his undergarments.

Radcliff snatched them up and flopped them at his brother. “Search every last stitch.”

A few men chortled.

Carlton shifted his jaw, then tossed his trousers back at him without bothering to search them. “I suggest you put them on, Bradford. Before everyone sees how little you were born with.”

More chortles floated about the room.

“All that matters is that I was born first.” Radcliff grabbed his trousers and yanked them on, buttoning everything back into place. He shoved his feet into his shoes, not breaking their gaze.

Carlton adjusted his evening coat and leaned toward him. “Matilda came back. Women. They’re like dogs.” He sneered, pulled out the two guineas he’d taken earlier and tucked them into Radcliff’s outer coat pocket. “You win on account of removing your trousers. I didn’t anticipate that.”

Radcliff narrowed his gaze. The man thrived on making people unravel. But if the bastard thought Radcliff was going to become unnerved for a woman who was not even his, the man was out of his mind. He had his own wife to oversee, a task that was proving far more challenging than he’d ever anticipated.

The double doors at the other end of the ball-room, which had been shut earlier during the search, banged open, causing Radcliff and all the other men in the room to jerk toward the sound.

His brows rose as a young footman in blue livery dashed across the expanse of the ballroom, his thudding boots echoing. The footman skidded to a frantic halt beside Lord Winfield, leaned toward the man, and whispered something to him.

Radcliff craned in an attempt to hear what was being said.

Lord Winfield winced and signaled the footman away.

Lord Winfield eyed them all. Then narrowed his gaze. “It appears the pendant has been recovered, gentlemen. From a wineglass set on the staircase. We apparently have a jester amongst us. I despise jesters.”

Radcliff shook his head as a wave of curses swept through the ballroom. Carlton was such an ass. He’d done the exact same thing to another man years ago. Only it was a pocket watch. And need less to say, it never worked again after sitting in wine half the night.

Men stormed off, yanking on their coats, while others laughed openly, rather amused by the unexpected bit of entertainment.

Carlton strode past Radcliff again and waggled his dark brows, catching the tip of his tongue with his teeth before veering toward the crowd of men leaving.

Radcliff approached Lord Winfield, grabbed the man’s hand and shook it firmly. For Justine’s sake. “I am afraid my brother is a bit too fond of playing pirate and for it I can only apologize.”

Lord Winfield pulled his hand from his and adjusted his evening coat. “I do not share his sense of humor.”

“Neither do I. Which is why I don’t invite him to any more functions. Good night, my lord.” Radcliff put up a hand and was about to leave, when he paused, remembering something. “Oh, yes. There is one more thing.”

Lord Winfield eyed him dubiously.

“Her Grace has dropped her emerald necklace in that new fountain of yours.”