What You Deserve (Anything for Love, Book 3) (29 page)

He took her chin between his thumb and forefinger, lowered his head until their lips touched. The sweet scent of roses filled his nostrils, the smell pure, clean, surprisingly arousing. Her lips were warm, full and soft, but he did not have the time to appreciate them further.

“The fountain must be through here. I hope it is as magnificent as Lady Morford suggested.”

His hands followed the shape of her hips, settled on her buttocks and pulled her against the evidence of his arousal. A tiny gasp left her lips, giving him the opportunity to delve deeper, to explore the unfathomable depths of innocence.

He expected to encounter resistance, for her fear to taint the experience. He was not expecting her tongue to brush seductively against his. He was not expecting her to throw her arms around his neck, to press her breasts against his chest and moan into his mouth.

God help him.

All he could think about was lowering her down to the ground and pleasuring her until dawn. Many times, he had felt the forceful grip of desire commanding the most important part of his anatomy. Yet now, an undeniable need coursed through every part of his body.

Miss Smythe’s inexperienced fingers found their way into his hair, twirling, tickling, and tugging. He broke for breath, his gaze falling to the swell of creamy flesh rising up to greet him. A mumbled curse of appreciation left his lips and he captured her mouth with a level of desperation that shocked him.

So engrossed was he in plundering the mouth of his maiden, that he failed to respond to the series of high-pitched feminine shrieks and wails.

“Good heavens!”

“Oh, cover my eyes. I cannot look, Felicity.”

“What is the meaning of this, sir?”

Matthew could hear their comments, but was not quite ready to let his delicate flower go. He held her close, his tongue still engaged in an erotic dance that promised a wealth of pleasure.

“Put her down this instant.”

Miss Smythe attempted to pull away. The action left him feeling rather frustrated, ready to turn on the pack of matrons and tell them to go to hell.

He dragged his mouth from hers, though continued to rain kisses along the line of her jaw.

“Tell me you love me,” he whispered in her ear. Sensing her hesitation, he added, “This is supposed to be a love match, remember.”

Miss Smythe tilted her head, granting him easier access to the elegant column of her throat. “Oh, I love you.” The words breezed gently from her lips. “I love you so much it is killing me.”

Damn, she was good.

“Promise me you’ll marry me,” he said, calling on his rampant desire to infuse feeling into his words. “Promise me you’ll be mine.”

“I cannot live without you,” she muttered so sweetly he almost believed it. “I want to spend my life making you happy.”

Matthew fought the need to capture her mouth again.

A lady cleared her throat. “Will you let go of her and address us, sir.”

“I am going to acknowledge them,” he whispered against her throat. “Do not say a word.”

He looked up at the three horrified faces, their hollow cheeks and pursed lips evidence of their disdain. It took a tremendous amount of effort not to smirk at the ridiculous array of garish gowns. With plumes of feathers, jewels, and strange bows in their hair, they appeared more like the exotic birds in Lady Holbrook’s aviary.

“Forgive us,” he said holding Miss Smythe against his chest. The need to protect her modesty proved to be the overriding factor. A man professing undying love did not tear at his lady’s garments. “We are to be married and could not contain our excitement.”

Miss Smythe hid her face against his coat. He placed a hand on the back of her head in a comforting gesture.

“Where would we all be if we let our emotions run freely,” one of them said, her tone brimming with reproof.

“Oh, don’t you remember what it was like to be in love?”

The lady with an overly large ostrich feather jutting out of her coiffure chuckled. “I wouldn’t know. I married for money.” She paused for a moment, squinted as she stared at them. “Ah, it is Mr. Chandler, is it not? Are you certain it is marriage you seek?”

Matthew smiled. “Even the most hardened rogues may be reformed.”

“And who is to be the lucky lady?”

He kept a firm grip on Miss Smythe’s head. They would all know in due course, but he would be damned if they would see shame in her eyes.

“You may read the announcement soon enough,” he said.

His comment was met with a mocking snigger. “We shall believe it, sir, when we see you standing at the altar in St. George’s.”

Anger flared. His contempt for their hypocritical opinions could not be repressed.

“Then you should all hope that the lady does marry me,” he said with a wealth of loathing. “A gentleman suffering from a broken heart can be rather foolish and unpredictable. I know enough about the licentious habits of many gentlemen to see shame brought down on the most respectable families.” He considered the identities of the ladies before him. “I am certain you would not wish me to regale tales of your husband’s exploits, Lady Hadden.”

Their shocked gasps and sudden frantic hand gestures were evidence he had made his point.

“Then … then we wish you luck in your endeavour, Mr. Chandler,” Lady Hadden said, ushering the women at her side like a hen gathering her chicks. “And remember, a good marriage requires nothing more than a good man.”

“I shall bear that in mind the next time I am in the company of your husband.”

Without another word the matrons turned their backs and sauntered away from the secluded area.

Matthew waited for a moment. He ran his hand along Miss Smythe’s bare shoulder. “They are gone,” he whispered, pleased to feel her shiver at his touch.

She gazed up at him with a look of wonder. “You certainly knew how to put them in their place.”

“The only way to beat the gossips is to play them at their own game.”

She stepped away, stared at him for the longest time. “What do we do now?”

With a quick shake of the head, he dismissed all salacious thoughts. “I presume you are here with a relation.” He was aware that her parents were dead.

She nodded. “I was to attend with my aunt but she has been struck down with a fever. I came with my friend, Miss Hamilton, and my uncle is here, though I believe someone convinced him to play a hand of cards and I have not seen him since.”

Cards?

A strange sense of foreboding took hold.

He scoured his mind in a bid to recall her uncle’s name. “You live with your mother’s sister, I understand.” He made it his business to keep abreast of all the gossip.

“Yes, they are very good to—” she broke off on a sob. “Oh, they will be so disappointed. How could I have been so foolish?”

He touched her upper arm. “It is fair to say that once Lady Morford puts her mind to something she does not care who she hurts in the process.”

Miss Smythe shook her head and gave a weary sigh. “I know I am far from the catch of the Season. I know you offered marriage purely to save Lord Morford. It was a very honourable thing to do.”

Honourable? Damn! No one had ever associated such a word with his name. “As your betrothed, may I give you some advice?”

Her eyes brightened. “Certainly.”

“People can be cruel. They will spread all sorts of vicious rumours about you.” No doubt she would hear some distressing things about him, too. “You must rise above it. Do not intimate that your looks or character are inadequate. Tell yourself that any man would be privileged to call you his wife. Believe that you are a diamond in a pond full of pebbles.”

Dainty fingers fluttered to her chest as her breathing quickened. A smile touched the corners of her mouth, though he had no notion what she was thinking.

“Now,” he continued, desperate to fill the silence. “I shall find someone to bribe so we may leave here with the minimal of fuss. I shall inform your uncle of our intentions though I cannot recall his name.”

“Lord Callan.”

Bloody hell!

Mere hours ago, Miss Smythe’s future had appeared bright and full of promise. Now, he did not mind admitting that she had no option but to marry a scoundrel. Now, she was to learn that the place she called home no longer belonged to her family. Indeed, after such heavy losses at the card table, her aunt and uncle would struggle to keep themselves from the workhouse.

Books by Adele Clee

To Save a Sinner

A Curse of the Heart

What Every Lord Wants

Anything for Love Series

What You Desire

What You Propose

What You Deserve

The Brotherhood Series

Lost to the Night

Slave to the Night

Abandoned to the Night

Lured to the Night