Nothing But Scandal (8 page)

“Ah, God, Elizabeth,” Alex groaned.

She stilled. “You don’t like it.”

“On the contrary, darling, I do. Far too much. And if you keep doing it, we’ll end up doing something quite different from what I have in mind.”

That gave her pause. She’d assumed…What
did
he have in mind?

She didn’t have time to ponder it. As her bodice came loose, he tugged it down, his head dipping as he traced hot kisses down her neck, her décolletage, and finally her breast. His kissed her there gently, and when she didn’t pull away, he increased his attentions, laving her with his tongue. Rough, warm, wet velvet. He closed in on her nipple.

Pleasure stabbed through her. She arched her head back as her knees threatened to buckle. He dragged her to one of the room’s padded chairs and continued his attentions.

Desire coursed through her, pooling at her woman’s center. Alex grabbed a fistful of her skirts, dragging them upward until his hands were on the bare skin beneath. He stroked higher.

“Trust me,” he growled, as his fingers came in contact with the apex of her thighs.

She resisted the urge to clamp them shut and was rewarded as his touch there intensified her pleasure tenfold. She pressed her hips against his hand, seeking more. He laughed and dragged his head from her breasts to her sex.

Elizabeth gasped. “You can’t—”

He raised his head to meet her gaze. “Trust me,” he repeated.

“Yes,” she whispered.

He bent again and his lips took over where his fingers had left off.

Elizabeth moaned and let her head fall back. She was going to die of pleasure, of need, if he kept this up. But should she expire, it wouldn’t be a bad way to go.

His tongue stroked her intimately and she fisted her hands in his hair to hold him there, needing more. More. Just—

He plunged his fingers into her. He stroked, as his tongue closed around the tiny bud at the head of her sex.

Elizabeth shattered in an onslaught of sensation, her body racked with shudders of pleasure. Alex gathered her close as she went limp.

Slowly she returned to earth, and it dawned on her that Alex’s attentions had all been for her. She wasn’t naïve enough to think that what they’d just done would satisfy him.

In fact, it was anything
but
what she’d expected, given the whispered descriptions of marital relations she’d overheard. He hadn’t experienced the same sensation, the same release, she had.

She wanted him to.

Elizabeth stood, unsteady, and reached out a shy hand to stroke his obvious erection through his trousers.

Alex sucked in a sharp breath as he watched the young temptress before him. She was beautiful in the aftermath of her pleasure. Her cheeks bloomed color, her bottom lip swollen from kisses. Her gown drooped at the bodice and her skirts were in disarray. She was perfect.

And then she touched him. Stroked him, as he had her. She fumbled with the opening at his waist.

He hadn’t planned to…but dear God, if she didn’t stop…

Need took over. The hell with his plans. Desire, lust, hammered at him with insistent rhythm.

Her fist closed around his swollen member. He groaned.

He needed to be inside her. Now.

He already knew how wet she was, how ready for him. He lifted her to the edge of the table, hooked her leg around his hip after quickly shedding his trousers. “Please,” she whispered.

Sweet Jesus. Blood pounded in his ears, drowning out the rest of her plea. It didn’t matter. He knew what she wanted—what they both wanted.

He kissed her full on the lips, positioning himself at her entrance.

Slowly. He needed to go slowly. But then she rocked her hips toward him.

He could wait no longer.

Wrenching up her skirts, he pressed forward, entering inch by tortured inch. She was so tight. His body shook with the desire to simply thrust into her, burying himself deep, over and over until he was spent. But he didn’t want to hurt her more than necessary. Gently, he lowered her to the ground, bracing himself above her.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, and pushed forward, entering her fully.

She sucked in her breath at the pain, then stilled. He forced himself to do the same.

“It’s always this way the first time, my sweet.”

She took another deep breath, smiled bravely, then wiggled beneath him, making small, uncertain, seeking movements.

He followed her cue and slid deeper.

“Oh,” she breathed.

He withdrew slightly, then moved in again, then again, increasing the pace, noting with pleasure when she matched her movements to his. He clasped her hips tighter as his body clamored for release. Her back arched.

“Alex.” She tossed her head fretfully. “I need—”

He knew. He needed the same thing. They were close, so close…He increased the pace and placed one thumb on the swollen nub at the entrance to her sex.

She came in a shower of tremors surrounding him, just as he plunged once more and found his own release, one so powerful it robbed him of breath and shook the very foundations of his beliefs about the sexual act.

Long moments later, Alex once more grew conscious of his surroundings. He and Elizabeth lay in a tumbled heap on the floor. Hardly a dignified position for a duke and a gently bred young woman—or for anyone, for that matter. Though he felt no remorse for what they’d done, he did suffer a pang for how they’d gone about it. Damned awkward business. Elizabeth deserved better.

He slowly disentangled himself and stood, helping her up as well. Her lips were still swollen from his kisses, her eyes filled with sated desire and newfound knowledge.

What had he done? Even a courtesan would expect better treatment. And Elizabeth was certainly no common tavern wench, accustomed to a quick tumble in a stolen corner. She’d been an innocent.

He cupped her face. “Elizabeth, I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me,” he told her ruefully.

Elizabeth stared back, uncertain of his meaning.

Did he regret what they’d just done? She couldn’t bear the thought. Perhaps she’d disappointed him. He had years of experience dallying with the fairer sex, whereas she’d been hopelessly naïve. But she’d so wanted to please him.

“Please, please don’t apologize,” she begged, laying her own hand along his jaw. “I can learn. I’ll do better.”

He frowned. “It wasn’t that.”

“Then what? Tell me, so I can please you.”

“Oh, Elizabeth.” A laugh rumbled from his chest. “You do please me. More than you should. I meant I was sorry for my loss of control, for acting the common clod. Nothing else.”

Pleasure flooded her at the idea she’d affected him so strongly. “You, my lord, lost control?”

He noted her teasing tone and tweaked her nose. “Don’t push a man further than you must, once he’s admitted a fault. In fact, I shall be happy to demonstrate to you the full extent of my, er, control, in a more appropriate location.”

Her eyes widened. She was fairly certain she knew what he meant, and she could feel the liquid heat pooling at her woman’s core at his suggestion.

Alex gave her a wolfish grin. “You may wish to refasten your hair before we exit, my sweet.” He held out a pin.

Her cheeks grew warm as she tried, without a looking glass, to force her hair back into some semblance of order. Alex was of little help—though he did manage to refasten all the hooks of her bodice.

Finally, when she’d managed as best she could, he opened the door, peeked out, then took her arm and whispered, “Casual, my dear, as though nothing has happened,” before swinging the door wide open.

Following his own advice, he strolled out beside her, while she struggled not to wonder if their liaison would be apparent to all.

It probably would.

Oh, Lord, what if they were seen? The full ramifications of their act hit her with the force of a steam engine. Her heart thudded as though trying to escape her chest.

They came upon the innkeeper at the edge of the public room. Thankfully, he was the only person there.

Alex grabbed him by the wrist and growled, “If you value your establishment, you will forget immediately that either of us was ever here. Is my meaning clear?”

The man nodded quickly, rubbing the finger-shaped marks on his arm when Alex released it. “Of course, Your Grace.”

Alex went out ahead of her and called for his horse to be readied. “I’d be happy to escort you back to my sister’s. I was on my way there when I passed by the inn and saw you entering.”

“But you have only the horse?”

“He’ll carry two.”

“We’d be seen leaving together.”

He shook his head. “No one but the staff is here, and the old man values his business too much to go telling tales. Around back there’s a trail leading into the woods. It comes out on my sister’s estate.”

Elizabeth nodded. “I suppose…but there would still be servants about when we reach your sister’s. No, Your Grace, I think it better if I walk. It is not far.”

“In that case, I shall accompany you. A woman traveling alone is at risk.”

She had a feeling she knew the reason for his gallantry—and it wasn’t the risk to her on the mile-long walk.

The inn boy signaled that the duke’s horse was ready. Alex glanced at the great beast. “He could easily carry us both,” he offered once more.

She quickly shook her head. Riding atop a horse, pressed intimately against the duke, his arms holding her steady…Elizabeth swallowed. That was the last place she needed to be. Instead, she took off walking while Alex claimed his mount.

She wasn’t ready to discuss what had just happened, or what it meant for her future as a governess.

Why did she have no willpower when it came to Alex Bainbridge? She’d
known
what he was about. He’d been clear about his intentions when he’d touched her at the Grumsby estate. His reputation was known to every woman in England. When he’d disappeared for two weeks, she should have come to her senses, guarded her heart.

But one gallant act, and one fiery kiss, and she’d given in to every wanton desire she’d ever had. She’d
asked
him to make love to her. Worse, she knew she’d do it again, given the chance.

She heard the soft clop of hooves on the dirt road behind her, but she kept walking.

“I thought you might want this.”

Alex loomed above her, leaning down from his horse to hand her a small velvet pouch. Her father’s brooch.

“You left it in the room we…” He cleared his throat. “Well. I realize it’s not what you thought when you came here today, but perhaps it still holds some value for you.”

She accepted the pouch, cupping it in her hand and examining it as she walked. It was easier than looking up at the duke. Walking alongside his great horse made her feel smaller than ever.

“Elizabeth.”

She shook her head, not trusting herself to speak. These feelings were too new, too raw. She needed to think—about what she’d done, and what she’d do next.

“All right. We don’t have to discuss this now. But soon, Elizabeth, we will need to talk.”

She nodded, grateful for the reprieve.

Finally she tucked the velvet pouch into her reticule. The brooch wasn’t even real, she thought again, embarrassed. Her father had lied to her about so many things.

She glanced up at the duke, who had accepted her request for silence and now rode companionably beside her. Dear God, he was handsome. The late-afternoon sun struck his profile, burnishing his inky hair and highlighting his sharp features.

She couldn’t be angry with him. She knew how willing a participant she’d been in her own seduction. And whatever faults he might have, at least Alex Bainbridge—unlike her own family—had not lied to her.

Back at the inn, Jim Cutter sat down and ordered ale. It reminded him of his humble roots. He indulged only at times like this—when he was certain none of his London acquaintances would observe him.

The White Hart was just far enough from the city to be safe. And apparently he wasn’t the only one who thought so.

The Duke of Beaufort wouldn’t recognize lowly Jim Cutter, but Cutter had definitely recognized the duke. He’d barely arrived when he’d seen the duke and his woman emerge. Wisely, he’d stepped out of sight, then waited until they were gone before entering.

Interesting, that.

There would be little use pumping the innkeeper for details—any man of business worth his salt knew how to keep secrets. But Cutter didn’t need much explanation.

Unless he was mistaken, that was the selfsame chit Wetherby had declared missing. “Gone to visit a sick friend,” he’d grumbled. “Bah. Avoiding me, more like.”

Cutter snorted. The duke appeared in robust health. Not that he’d blame any woman for avoiding Wetherby. The man was a prig at best, though one of ambition—a motive Cutter understood and shared.

He prided himself on being observant. More than once, an interesting little tidbit like the one he’d just observed had come in handy in his never-ending scramble to social prominence.

Based on what he’d learned of the Medfords from Harold, added to the conversation he’d overheard between the duke and his card-playing friends at White’s some weeks ago, he didn’t believe the lovely miss was merely avoiding Wetherby.

No, Jim Cutter got a very different picture of just why he’d seen Elizabeth Medford leaving a public house with the Duke of Beaufort.

A very different picture, indeed.

Alex bid Elizabeth farewell at the rear entrance to his sister’s rambling home. He wanted to touch her, hold her close, taste her once more before letting her go. Instead, he slid down from his horse and gave her a formal, but distant, bow.

She curtsied in return. “Thank you for seeing me safely back.”

“An honor, Miss Medford.”
Elizabeth
. He wanted to use her Christian name. He certainly knew her well enough. But they stood in plain sight, where any number of servants might overhear them. What a ridiculous charade.

“Well…” she said softly. “I suppose I’d best go.”

She flicked an uncertain gaze toward him, and the confusion in those green depths tugged at his cold, blackened heart.

“I’ll see you again soon,” he told her, his voice low. “I’ve no desire to wait another two weeks. I confess you’re something of an obsession with me.”

Her cheeks flushed beautifully and she hurried inside. He smiled.

Alex sighed. If his sister discovered he’d been here without visiting her, he was in for a lecture. He’d have to at least stay for dinner. Not that he minded, under normal circumstances. But knowing Elizabeth was so close, and his brother-in-law’s eye so watchful, was going to be torture.

The honorable thing would be to offer for her. But there was far too much history between their families for that—even
if
he was a man of honor. If the full truth was ever known, the scandal would ruin them both, and everyone related to them. Better to keep it in the past.

She had every reason to hate him.

If she had any sense at all, she would. He’d taken her virginity at an inn, as though she were common, cheap. Then he’d disappeared again—when she’d awoken Monday morning, he’d already left for London.

She
should
hate him. She just couldn’t.

Elizabeth kept remembering the gallant way Alex had paid for her father’s brooch, and the way he’d insisted on escorting her home. And none of that even began to describe what she felt when she thought of his intimate caresses. Her schoolgirl fantasies paled in comparison, while her newfound knowledge had been keeping her awake at night, heat pooling in places she didn’t dare touch herself, wondering when she’d see him again.

It might not be the life she’d once envisioned for herself, but Elizabeth was happy. Or at least that’s what she told herself.

After all, she hadn’t
expected
him to stay around, raising the suspicions of everyone in the house—they all knew the duke was an infrequent visitor at best. Still, it would have been nice if he’d left a note.

On Thursday morning, he did.

The letter arrived in the regular post. Once she turned Henry and Clara over to their nurse for lunch, she hurried to her own quarters. The suite next to the nursery wasn’t lavish, but the room was cheerful enough, and paid for by her own work. Light filtered in from the small window, making the dust motes sparkle in the air. Tucked beneath her pillow, the letter waited.

She opened it with trembling fingers. The stationery was unmarked, but inside, the duke’s bold scrawl covered the page.

No polite closing. Just his signature. How like him.

Elizabeth squeezed the letter against her bosom, giddy with anticipation. He
did
want to see her again! She took a quick spin around her room.

She opened the letter to stare at it again.
“Forgive the
presumption.” Hah!
she snorted. The man was a duke, one of the most sought-after in England. Presumption, and the expectation of forgiveness, were second nature to him. He knew perfectly well she’d climb into any carriage he sent.

She would. Elizabeth wouldn’t bother fooling herself about that again. She couldn’t resist the temptation of another afternoon in the duke’s arms—especially not now, when she knew what to expect.

But she did have a few things to consider first. Slowly she folded the letter and tucked it at the bottom of the valise she’d brought when she’d first come here.

The Grumsby children were lovely. But was this—caring for other people’s children, with only a few stolen moments for herself—all her future held?

She lay down on the narrow bed and rolled her shoulders a few times to ease out the kinks. Chasing Henry and Clara about the grounds tired her. Nature lessons were a favorite of both children, especially since, once they’d covered the planned material, she usually gave into their pleas for a game of chase or blindman’s bluff. She shouldn’t complain, though—they were sweet children, if active.

Rather how she’d once imagined her own children. Loneliness pricked her and she shut her eyes. She’d always wanted a family and children of her own. That wasn’t likely to happen now, but she had the joy of Henry and Clara Grumsby—both surprisingly affectionate youngsters—in her life. She spent more time with them as their governess than most women of the ton did with their own children. It wasn’t the same, of course, and would never totally erase the ache for a child of her own, but it was something, and it was good.

And as far as the men in her life—well, things in that area had improved vastly. She was not married to Harold. Thank God. And as a governess, she was finally out from under the thumb of her uncle George.

So far, her decision to run away hadn’t brought dire consequences down upon her family. Elizabeth’s friend Beatrice had sent word that the Medfords were simply saying that Elizabeth had gone away to the country to visit a sick relative. They were angry with her, according to a separate note from Charity, but apparently not so much they’d air their dirty laundry before the rest of the ton. Good. Elizabeth didn’t want people to shun her sister because of
her
.

Best of all, she had the one man she’d dreamed about for years. Alex Bainbridge. And the real thing was far better than those naïve fantasies of old.

True, he wasn’t hers in the most legitimate way. She could never marry him. But he did care for her—she could sense it. It was more than she’d ever really expected.

No. Elizabeth opened her eyes to stare at the ceiling. Try as she might, she couldn’t convince herself that last was true.

This
wasn’t
more than she’d ever expected. She’d been raised as a privileged daughter of the
ton,
a daughter for whom a good marriage—or at least an advantageous one—and children were
not
too much to expect.

She almost wished she hadn’t had that childhood. She wished she’d known about her father’s foibles all along, so the disappointment at giving all that up would taste a little less bitter now.

She had Alex’s attentions for now, but for how long? And what would she do when he moved on?

Elizabeth punched her pillow, unwilling to think about that eventuality.

It could be worse. Much, much worse. She could be married to Harold.

She would just have to keep reminding herself of that and learn to be content with her lot in life.

In three days she would see her duke again. A moment spent in Alex’s arms would erase the cares of her daily life.

Yes, Elizabeth told herself again, life was good.

Three Sundays passed, and with each one, Elizabeth met Alex for a few brief hours. She grew to understand that in between spurts of rakish charm, Alex was brooding, distant. She wanted nothing more than to reach him at those times, ease the pain of whatever had hurt him. He cared for her—that much she was sure of. But there was more to Alex than she’d ever guessed, and each moment spent together made her yearn to know more. And, Lord, how she missed his touch.

He’d told her he found her spirit and laughter refreshing, so when Sunday next arrived, Elizabeth didn’t hesitate before donning the most frivolous frock she’d brought with her: a green muslin costume her friend Bea said brought out the color of her eyes. It wasn’t fancy by the ton’s standards, but when she fastened her hair in curls at her crown and wound a matching ribbon through them, she thought the effect quite nice.

Alex’s unmarked carriage waited at the edge of the Grumsby grounds. She appreciated the precaution, though she still worried that eventually, someone would notice a pattern to her outings and start asking questions.

Today, the coach took her directly to Alex’s cousin’s nearby hunting lodge. The building was kept comfortable at all times, but neither the cousin nor staff was in residence. A perfect place for a tryst.

And tryst they did. For the moment the carriage pulled away, Alex’s lips were on hers, his hands searching for the hooks and ties to her garments as he shut the door behind them. Her carefully styled hair came tumbling down in seconds, the festive ribbon lost, a victim to their passion.

She pressed closer, seeking his touch, the feel of his skin on hers. Was this desire for him insatiable? It felt as though they’d been apart for ages, not a mere week.

They made it up the stairs, stumbling, laughing, kissing, and shedding clothing as they went.

There was urgency in Alex’s lovemaking today. An intensity she didn’t understand. But when he finally slipped inside her she ceased questioning. God, yes. This—he—was what she’d been missing.

Yes, this was worth all the risk.

But afterward, when they’d spent themselves not once, but twice, and lay sated in each other’s arms, the odd feeling returned.

Alex held her, but his gaze was on the ceiling. Elizabeth reached out to run her fingers through his thick dark hair.

“My lord?” she asked tentatively. “Have I done something wrong?”

“Of course not, darling,” he murmured, capturing her hand and pulling it from his hair to his lips to take little nibbles of her fingers.

Elizabeth smiled but continued to watch him. Even though
she
felt bonelessly, deliciously exhausted, there was still a tension in her lover’s body. He was restless, distracted. She knew it in spite of his reassurances.

She lay silent for a while, stroking her fingers up and down the wide expanse of his chest, the firmness of his arms, and mentally urged him to relax, or share with her his concerns.

When he finally spoke, it wasn’t to whisper foolish endearments in her ear.

“Elizabeth, my sweet, there’s something I must tell you.”

“You’ve arranged with your sister for an extended visit?” she asked hopefully, trying to tease away the uneasiness she’d sensed. Their afternoon was drawing to a close, and the upcoming week, a week spent away from him, loomed endlessly before her.

“Unfortunately, no.”

A weight fell in her stomach, pulling her down. “What is it?”

“I must travel on a matter of business.”

“You’re going away?” On business? That didn’t make sense. Noblemen weren’t businessmen—though she knew Alex did invest, quite successfully, in a number of ventures. Rumors of just how successful he’d been often flitted about the ton.

“A shipping venture I’ve invested in requires my oversight,” he confirmed. “Our vessel recently returned from India, damaged by a storm. The repairs aren’t going well, the crew is restless, and my partner is trying to arrange replacement of some of the exotic goods that were lost. On top of that, there is some question as to the captain’s integrity. I’d thought to let my man on the coast handle it, but the matter is more complicated than I’d anticipated, and there are considerable funds at stake.”

She appreciated the insight into his business—she had a feeling it wasn’t something he shared with most women. But it didn’t answer her most pressing question. “How long will you be gone?”

“Three weeks. No more.”

She nodded dumbly, the weight she felt in her stomach growing heavier. She understood, but this pending absence made the week she’d thought they’d spend apart pale in comparison. They’d only just become lovers. She ached for more of him, not less.

Alex took both her hands in his. “Elizabeth, if you would drop this charade of being a governess and become my mistress in earnest, I could bring you with me. ’Twould make for a far more pleasant trip.”

“It’s not a charade.” But more and more it was. Much as she loved the Grumsby children, she
lived
for the moments spent with Alex.

She looked away. Swallowed.

“I know, Elizabeth. You truly care for my sister’s children. I would not have you change that—in fact, it’s one of the things I like best about you. But it’s bloody awkward for a man of my position to play second fiddle to two small children.”

At that she gave him a small smile, unable to imagine her powerful duke playing “second fiddle” to anyone. “We agreed this would be on my terms,” she reminded him.

He expelled a forceful breath, his frustration evident. “Elizabeth, your terms make no sense. I can keep you in far more luxury than what you have now.”

“But you cannot offer me respectability.”

“This, what we’re doing now, sneaking around behind everyone’s backs, is more respectable?” he asked incredulously.

She looked away again. He had a point. “Still, I cannot.”

If their relationship remained a secret, the shame remained hers alone. If she was kept as a mistress, word would spread, and her family would lose the last shreds of respectability to which they still clung.

She couldn’t do that to Charity. There was still hope for her sister’s future.

She’d wanted Alex from the moment she’d met him. Maybe she hadn’t known what
wanting
meant, back then, but she did now. And she wasn’t willing to let him go.