Scandalous Love (4 page)

Isobel knew he meant
every word, for he never failed to carry out his intentions. Although he kept a
mistress, as most men did, she knew he would be a good husband. When he was
with Elizabeth he was always courteous, kind and respectful, and it was no
game—it was his nature. He never denied her anything, not even a" request
to attend some function, although he dearly hated them and he was a busy man.
He was not abusive in any way, and he kept his affairs most discreet.

Isobel knew he was fond
of Elizabeth, for they were cousins. In fact, Hadrian had been twelve,
Elizabeth two, when they were betrothed. Isobel knew that Hadrian felt no
burning love for Elizabeth, caring for her as one might care for a sister, just
as she was certain that Elizabeth did love him, and not as one would love a
brother. That, of course, was not her business. The most important thing was
that Hadrian and Elizabeth were friends, and that Hadrian would always honor
and respect her. Isobel had seen enough of the world to know that friendship
was not a bad basis for a marriage, for only a very few were ever lucky enough
to experience love at all, much less to love their spouse. She was carried back
to another time, to other shores, and she was sad. But the moment passed.

The Duke ate quickly,
considering what his mother had told him. He was not alarmed, although Isobel
must be or she would not have come all the way to Chapman Hall. His first order
of business when he got back to London would be to discuss Elizabeth's health
with her, and he would not be fooled if she were indeed ailing. Also he would
go out of his way to accompany her to the theatre and other such nonsense. Once
again, the Dowager Duchess was right, and he felt guilty. He had become too
immersed in the affairs of his estates, and he had been neglecting his fiancee.
It was unlike him, for if he had calculated correctly, he had not seen her in
over a month. There was no excuse. Once they were married he resolved not to
let such a pattern develop again.

The Duke excused himself
to attend to the repair of Chapman Hall, which was in a sadly neglected
condition. As he left the table, his thoughts once again turned to the brazen
gypsy-like Lady Shelton. He had flirted with her last night like some shallow
fop, and he was not a flirt, not ever.
He had actually pursued her.
He
had invited her here, to Chapman Hall, and now he was sorry he had done so.
Although Isobel would probably leave tomorrow, he absolutely could not allow
her to meet Lady Shelton, a future lover; it would be the height of impropriety
and disrespect. He hadn't been thinking very clearly last night, if he had been
thinking at all. The realization unsettled him.

The Duke spent the
morning finishing his review of the small estate, which covered a mere twenty
acres, for it had been nothing more than a country home for its previous
owners. He returned to the Hall in time for a dinner of minted lamb, which he
took with his mother. Isobel had been out riding—she was an avid horsewoman—and
she told him she would leave the next morning to return to London.

He shared some of his
plans for Chapman Hall with Isobel, who, as always, was keenly interested in
anything that had to do with the ducal empire. They were just finishing their
meal when Woodward appeared, announcing a caller.

The Duke did not have to
be told who it was—
he knew.
But Woodward gravely informed him that his
visitor was Lady Nicole Shelton, although he barely heard. His mother was
looking at him queerly, saying, "Lady Nicole Bragg Shelton from Dragmore,
Hadrian?"

The slightest flush
tinged his high cheekbones as he rose abruptly. "I have a riding
date," he said curtly, his tone cutting off any further questions. He
hurried out, leaving her gaping after him.

Woodward led him to the
small parlor off of the slate-floored foyer. The door was open and the Duke's
steps slowed as he saw her. A primitive need rose up in him; he became a
stalking male. She was sitting on the sofa and she immediately stood, her gaze
locking with his.

She was no wild gypsy
today, but she was somehow more entrancing than she had been last night. She
wore a bottle-green riding habit with a matching hat, her hair pinned up and
out of sight. She held black leather gloves and a riding crop, twisting the
former in her hands.

"I am glad you have
come," he said low, halting in front of her. His gaze swept over her
exquisite features, and yes, she was every bit as strikingly beautiful as he
remembered. It had not been his imagination running wild.

She curtsied but he
stopped her, lifting her back up. "Please, no formalities, I think that
would be rather ridiculous given the circumstances, don't you?"

She blinked at him. Her
eyes, he saw, were so pale that they were almost silver. He wondered if she had
even heard him, or if she had even understood. Sometimes she perplexed him,
with her blushes and confusion, as if she were not a lady of experience. Or
perhaps she was as undone with the physical attraction that raced between them
as he himself seemed to be.

"Thank you, Your
Grace," she said, her voice low and husky.

He heard footsteps in
the hall and he stiffened, knowing it was the Dowager Duchess. There was no
graceful way out of the situation. He would have to introduce them. The Duke's
jaw tightened.

Isobel entered the
foyer, looking perturbed, her gaze going from his visitor to himself. The Duke
thought he read disapproval in her eyes, and it disturbed him, just as her
meeting Lady Shelton here did. "Lady Shelton, the Dowager Duchess of
Clayborough," he said formally, his tone giving absolutely no indication
that anything was amiss.

The two women exchanged
greetings. Isobel said, "Won't you join us for tea, Lady Shelton?
Woodward, please bring us some refreshments."

The Duke cut her off,
taking Nicole's arm firmly. "I am sorry, Mother, but as I said, we have a
riding date."

Before Isobel could
insist they stay, and he saw from her expression that she would, he was leading
his guest out of the salon and through the foyer. "It's a beautiful day,
and it would be a shame if we did not take advantage of it," he remarked,
thinking about how he would soon take advantage of what she was offering him.

"Of—of
course," Nicole stammered, apparently unnerved by such an abrupt exit. She
threw a look over her shoulder. The Duke had not a doubt that his mother was
standing there on the porch, knowing exactly what he had in mind, and shocked
that he would be so blatant about it.

But then, he was rather
shocked himself. But that would not change his intentions. Not at all.

Nicole tried to look
again over her shoulder, as the Duke led her firmly down the shallow steps and
away from the house. The Dowager Duchess followed them out and was staring at
them in shock and disapproval. Nicole's dismay rose. The Duke's mother was
clearly displeased with her son's interest in her. She must know all about
Nicole's sordid past, just as everyone did.

But then his words, with
their husky, intimate tone, chased away all thoughts of the Dowager Duchess.
"I had hoped you would come today, Nicole."

They were at the stables
and he was ordering a groom to bring their mounts. Nicole's eyes were wide,
riveted upon his striking features. He had called her Nicole. Everything was
happening so fast, and it was like a dream come true.

Last night she had been
unable to sleep, her thoughts swimming with his image, and she had recalled
every word he had said to her at the masque. Nicole had never been interested
in any man before, but now she understood the attraction between the sexes. And
what she was feeling could be nothing other than love.

"I hope you don't
mind my calling you Nicole."

"How could I
mind?" she murmured, his tone and look sending tingles racing through her
body.

"Good, then we
shall dispense with all formalities, and you may call me Hadrian."

"Hadrian," she
whispered, unable to look away.

The groom appeared with
their horses, and the Duke stepped away from her to check her mount's girth.
Nicole
seized the
opportunity to feast her eyes on him. Last night he had been dashing and
undeniably male in his black evening wear, but today he was even more virile in
appearance. His riding breeches, made of the finest, softest doeskin, fit his
powerful thighs like a second skin. He turned back to her and she quickly
dropped her gaze, praying he had not caught her staring so avidly— so brazenly.

They rode along a path
through the fields. The Duke complimented her taste in horseflesh, admiring her
blooded chestnut mare. Nicole usually rode her own horse astride, a
hot-tempered thoroughbred stallion. But today she had ignored her own
inclinations, for she dearly wanted to make a good impression. She was riding
sidesaddle for his benefit. Just as she had had two maids help her to dress and
do her hair, the entire toilette taking two long endless hours. She thought
that he was pleased with her—it had been worth it.

Chapman Hall was far
behind them now, lost behind a line of thick, tall oaks. The path meandered
through the woods and ahead of them lay a glade, where a brook babbled by.
"Let's walk," the Duke said abruptly, sliding lithely to the ground.

Nicole did not care what
they did, and she halted her mare as he came around to her side. She slipped
off— right into his arms.

She stiffened in
surprise while his hands closed on her arms; their knees touched. He waited
much longer than was proper before stepping away from her. Then he smiled, as
if he hadn't been embracing her. It changed his forbidding expression entirely.

Nicole was breathless.
How could such a man be interested in her? But he was, for hadn't he already
told her that he had hoped she would come to Chapman Hall that day?

"Shall we
walk?" he asked.

Nicole's tongue was
tied. She managed to nod, hoping he would not think her a complete nitwit. She
tried to think of a suitable topic of conversation, but he took her hand and
all coherence fled from her thoughts.

A taut silence seemed to
stretch between them as they strolled along the banks of the brook, the Duke
having taken her reins from her and leading both horses. Nicole was more than
speechless now, her heart was hammering. She had never in her life been as
aware of a man as she was of the Duke of Clayborough. But she had to say
something. Or he would begin to think her nothing more than a silly, besotted
female idiot.

He must have sensed her
distress, for he spoke, intruding upon the quiet of the afternoon. "You
seem to be a very adept horsewoman."

She was much more than
adept, but modesty was considered a virtue in a lady. "Yes," she
agreed with him. She groped for something more to say. After all, if she could
not expound upon the subject of horses, what could she discuss? "I... I am
very fond of riding."

He slanted a look at
her. "I am very fond of riding also."

His tone had changed and
she swallowed. It was almost as if there were another meaning to his words.
"I ride almost every day."

He was staring at her.
"Are your rides docile, Nicole, or dangerous?" His tone was low.

She blinked. She could
only think of how she preferred to ride at breakneck speed across the hunt
course. "Dangerous." She could not fathom where this conversation was
leading.

"Dangerous,"
he repeated slowly. He had stopped and so had she, for he still gripped her
hand. "How dangerous?"

"I—I don't
know." His look was unnerving her. As was his tone of voice.

"Do you find the
danger exciting?"

There was nothing more
thrilling than taking a four foot jump at a high speed. "Yes," she
whispered.

His hand had tightened
on hers. For a moment it seemed that he could not speak. You are so different
from the others. I have never met a woman before who would admit she is
attracted to the danger of her pastimes."

Nicole blinked at him.
It was a compliment, or she thought that it was, though she could barely think
at all. "Shall we go on?" she whispered.

"As riding
partners?" he returned.

"R-riding
partners?" she stammered, unable to believe her good fortune and not quite
understanding him. "D-do you like hunting too?"

He stepped closer to
her, taking her other hand. Nicole's eyes widened. His grip upon her palms was
hard. She could not have moved away from him if she had wanted to— which she
didn't.

"Not until
today," he said harshly. "Just how good a rider are you,
Nicole?"

Nicole could no longer
think. He was reeling her into his arms, and she knew—
she just knew
—that
he was going to kiss her. "V-very good," she whispered.

"I imagine you are
superb," he said. His hands slid up to her elbows and their bodies
touched.

Nicole had never been
kissed before. In fact, she had never imagined what could possibly be appealing
about a man covering your mouth with his—until last night. Last night she had
dreamed of his kisses, wondering endlessly and shamelessly what it would be
like, and now, dear God, she was about to find out.

"The time for
pretense is over," he said. "I want you, Nicole. I want you very
much."

Nicole could barely
believe what she was hearing. Their thighs touched, her breasts brushed his
shirtfront. And then his mouth covered hers, the kiss slow, gentle and
delicate.

Rapturous longing filled
Nicole as his mouth teased and seduced her. She strained against him, her ardor
natural and even innocent, and his hands instantly tightened, nearly hurting
her. The pressure of his lips suddenly changed, and he was devouring her.

Nicole gasped, pressed
against him from toe to breast, his arms locked around her. His mouth was
fierce, nearly brutal, demanding instant surrender. She opened for him and was
shocked when his tongue thrust into her mouth. He pillaged there, while she was
swept away by hot desire.

Filled with a sudden,
desperate need, she touched her tongue to his. His response was instantaneous.
He groaned, his hands moving down to her buttocks, grasping them firmly,
lifting her up against the long, hard shaft of his manhood. Hungrily, shaking
in. his arms, Nicole began to fence with him. She was clutching the folds of
his shirt, clinging, and pressing herself wildly against him.

Abruptly he laid her in
the grass by the stream and covered her body with his. As he settled himself on
top of her, his massive manhood against her loins, Nicole cried out in
desperate, dazed pleasure. She felt him tugging up her skirts while she arched
against him.

"Soon,
Nicole," he rasped, "soon, I promise you, I will give you everything
you want; I will ride you as you've never been ridden before ..."

Nicole could barely
think as his hand slid over her thinly clad knee, beneath her skirts and
petticoats, then over her thigh. He moved his mouth to her neck, and she
shifted, moaning, a stone abruptly digging into the back of her head. Her eyes
flew open and sanity hit her full force. She was lying on her back, half in the
grass and half in the dirt, and the Duke of Clayborough was treating her the
way no lady should ever be treated.

She did not want him to
stop. Even as her mind cried out a fierce warning, her hands dug into the
thick, long tawny hair at his nape. Even as she knew she must not continue this
endeavor, she moaned and thrashed as he stroked high up on the insides of her
thighs, only the thin cotton of her lace drawers between her flesh and his. His
hands came up and he began to unsnap the frogs of her riding jacket. This was
the Duke of Clayborough, she managed to think frantically, and she wanted not
just to make a good impression, but to be his wife.

That need was more
compelling than any other need, and she grasped his wrists to stop him, crying
out. "No, please! Not like this!"

Instantly he became
still. He did not move for a heartbeat, but the moment was one of respite.
Despite the delicious agony her body was in, despite the raging urgency in her
veins, full coherence claimed Nicole. She knew, she had not one doubt, she had
just gone too far.
No lady would do what she had done, or allowed what she
had allowed.
Dismay filled her, chasing away all but her longing for him.

Abruptly he rolled off
of her and sat up. He did not look at her. "You are right. I am
sorry."

She had not expected
that, and Nicole closed her eyes briefly in relief. She prayed that his apology
meant that he would not condemn her as immoral. When she opened them he was
standing above her, staring down at her, his expression inscrutable, which made
him look even more forbidding than before. She tried to read his eyes, but they
were dark and hooded and it was impossible.

He held out a hand, and
Nicole, flushing, accepted it. He drew her swiftly to her feet.

She made a big show of
brushing off her skirts, so as not to have to meet his gaze again. She was
afraid to learn what he was really thinking, afraid she had just ruined herself
in his eyes. How could it be otherwise? She, who had never really cared before
what any man might think of her, had spent hours preparing for this meeting,
only to ruin it all with her wildness. "It's not your fault," she
said, swiping at her dress. She had the distinct urge to cry.

"I know
better," he said calmly, still regarding her. "No lady deserves to be
tumbled in the dirt like a dairy maid."

Astonished, she quickly
lifted her gaze to his. Again, she found his countenance unfathomable. But hope
filled her breast.
  
Are—are you angry
with me?

For a moment, she
thought something flickered in his eyes. "I am not angry with you."
He paused. "No man could be angry with such a beautiful woman."

Relief swamped her and
she almost sagged. She was too relieved to catch the forced tone of his words.
"You think... that I am beautiful?"

He suddenly appeared
confused. Then he smiled, but it was nothing like the smile he had given her
before, it was sardonic. "Of course I find you beautiful, my dear. If I
did not know better, I would think you unsure of yourself." He laughed.
"If you insist upon flattery, I will oblige you."

Something had happened,
and Nicole was not sure what it was. She saw the cynicism in his eyes. She
wasn't sure he was sincere, either, but then she remembered how he had kissed
her—and there had been nothing insincere in that.

"Come to Chapman
Hall tomorrow." It was no request. "In the afternoon. I will be
expecting you."

Nicole nodded,
wide-eyed, trembling, both dismayed and joyous. "I'll be there."

He dropped a quick kiss
on her mouth. "You had better return to Dragmore now. I will accompany you
until you are in sight of the house."