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Authors: Kate Pearce

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BOOK: Simply Scandalous
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He nodded to Christian, let himself out of the kitchen door, and climbed the steps up to the street level. At the corner of the square, he allowed himself to look back at the imposing row of buildings that accommodated the pleasure house. Could he leave it behind? If he accepted Jethro's offer of a job at the new school, would Emily be happy as the wife of a schoolmaster?
Ambrose started walking again. After he had met Lady Kendrick and made it clear that he didn't intend to have any contact with her or her family again, he would reconsider his options. Pleased that he had at least made one decision, he approached the steps leading up to the Kendrick front door with far more confidence.
The door was opened by a man in livery who stared at Ambrose for a long moment and then smiled.
“Ambrose, is it really you? I thought you had disappeared for good!”
“Mr. Trayton, it's a pleasure.” Ambrose barely recognized the man who had once been the first footman. “I see you have risen to great heights.”
Mr. Trayton smoothed the lapel of his coat. “Indeed, I have. When Lady Mary said to expect you for tea, the whole staff was aflutter.”
“If it is permissible, perhaps I might venture below stairs afterward and reacquaint myself with everyone.”
“That would be wonderful. I'm sure her ladyship won't mind.” Trayton took Ambrose's hat and gloves. “Now let me take you up to her.”
Ambrose was surprised to see that very little had changed in the house since his ignominious dismissal all those years ago. He touched the polished oak banister and remembered sliding down it accompanied by the Kendrick children, the potted plant they had destroyed in the hall below . . .
There was a gentle cough behind him. “We need to keep going up the stairs. Lady Kendrick is in her dressing room. Unfortunately, she doesn't have the strength to come down very often.”
Ambrose realized he had inevitably headed for the drawing room and returned to the landing where Mr. Trayton was still standing.
“I apologize.” Ambrose smiled. “Force of habit.”
“I understand. It is hard for me to remember not to take her ladyship's tea into the drawing room as well.” Mr. Trayton sighed. “She is most unwell, the poor lady. I hope your visit will cheer her up.”
Ambrose didn't comment on that. He climbed the second flight of stairs behind Trayton and concentrated on looking calm despite the fierce beating of his heart.
Trayton knocked on a familiar door and then opened it, stepping aside for Ambrose to go past him. He slowly inhaled. Nothing had changed since his last visit; even Lady Kendrick's perfume remained the same.
“Mr. Ambrose, my lady. I'll bring up some tea.” Ambrose's gaze was drawn to the chaise lounge, where Lady Kendrick lay on her side. She was wrapped in several shawls and a thick fur cover. Even through all her wrappings, Ambrose could see that she was as frail as a budding willow tree and just as pale. She raised her hand and just as he had when he was her page, he went down on one knee to kiss it.
“Ambrose, is it really you?”
Her voice was as insubstantial as the rest of her. When Ambrose managed to raise his head and look into her ravaged face, he saw the signs of the wasting disease that was slowly draining her of life, the bright red cheeks and feverish eyes, the difficulty she had breathing. . . .
“Good afternoon, Lady Kendrick.”
That was all he could manage. She kept hold of his hand, her fingers so cold and brittle he feared they might snap.
“I was so glad when Mary told me she had seen you again.”
He forced a smile. “Our encounter was quite unexpected.”
“For a long time I believed you were dead.” Her breathing hitched. “My husband told me he had beaten you so severely that you would never survive.”
Did he question her now? Her life was ending, and it would be his only opportunity to find out the truth.
She released his hand and motioned for him to sit opposite her, next to Lady Mary. Although his childhood friend smiled at him, the warning in her gaze was clear, and her tension so obvious that he almost felt sorry for her.
“I was very lucky to survive, my lady.”
“Mama,” Lady Mary said. “You told me that Ambrose had been sent to our country estate, and that he had then run off.”
Lady Kendrick raised her handkerchief to her lips and dabbed at them. “At first I thought that was the truth. It wasn't until we arrived at Kendrick Hall that your father told me exactly what he and his ruffians had done.” She looked at Ambrose. “He knew that if he'd told me in London, I would have defied him and gone looking for you.”
Ambrose held her gaze and saw only her pain and her desire to be truthful. She hadn't known. Something inside him, something hard at his core, finally broke.
“Lord Kendrick told me that you had grown tired of me, my lady, and that the order to dispose of me came from you.”
Lady Mary gasped. “How could he have been so horrible? He knew how much we all cared for you, particularly you, Mama.”
“Which is why he wanted Ambrose gone.” Lady Kendrick sighed. “Your father was a very possessive man, Mary, and I betrayed him by falling into bed with a servant, a
boy
he insisted was more like a son to us. I think that is what appalled him most, that I'd taken an innocent to my bed, a child who was almost part of our family.”
Ambrose almost couldn't speak as the terrible memories overwhelmed him. “I didn't object, my lady, so the fault is also mine.”
“You were too young to know any better. Despite his deplorable methods, Lord Kendrick was right about one thing. I betrayed both of you.” She started to cough, and Lady Mary rose and offered her some water.
Ambrose sat quietly until the paroxysm of coughing eased and Lady Kendrick lay back on her pillows again. She seemed to have shrunk even farther into her cocoon of blankets, as if she was fading away in front of him. Eventually she fixed her gaze on him again.
“I'm not going to recover from this illness, Ambrose.”
“That might not be true, my lady. With time and rest and—”
She waved away his inadequate attempt to console her. “No, I'm dying, which is why I'm so glad fate led you across my path again.” She glanced up at Mary. “Go and fetch the latest letter from my solicitor. It is by my bed.”
While Mary was searching for the letter, there was a tap on the door, and Mr. Trayton brought in some tea. In Mary's absence, Ambrose poured the tea and placed a cup at Lady Kendrick's elbow.
“Thank you, Ambrose,” she whispered.
“You are welcome, my lady.” He took his seat again, but his fingers were shaking so hard that he struggled to hold the dainty porcelain cup.
Lady Mary returned with the letter and held it out to her mother. “Do you want me to read it to Ambrose?”
“Yes, please, my dear.”
“In reply to your latest request, my dear Lady Kendrick, yes, we can include the bequest as written as a codicil to your will, and we will make every effort to inform the beneficiary, Ambrose, of his good fortune when the sad time arises.
Yours faithfully,
Arthur Pentland, Esquire”
Lady Mary looked inquiringly at her mother. “Do you want me to go on, or do you want to tell him the rest yourself?”
“I'll tell him,” Lady Kendrick said, and took a quivering breath. “I know that you will find it hard to forgive me, Ambrose, but I wanted you to have something from me after my death.”
“But I don't need anything, my lady. I am gainfully employed and quite happy in my life.”
“Ambrose, Mary told me where she found you—in a
brothel
—and that is my fault.”
“No, my lady, it wasn't like that at all. I chose . . .”
She started speaking over him and he went quiet, afraid that her desire to make him feel better would be the death of her.
“I want you to have the long gold chain with the jewels you used to wear when you were my page boy.”
“But, my lady, that piece is part of the Kendrick family heritage. I believe you told me that it came down the family from the time of King Henry VIII.”
“It did. But I have spoken to all my children, and they all want you to have it.”
Ambrose could only stare at her and then at Lady Mary, who nodded in quiet agreement.
“There is also the matter of your future employment. My son would like to speak to you about that. I believe he wishes to offer you a job on one of our estates.”
“I—” Ambrose shook his head. “That is very kind of him, my lady, but—”
Lady Kendrick held up her hand. “I don't want your gratitude; I don't deserve it. I also realize that all the money in England won't make things right for you.” She lay back on her pillows. “All money can give you is more choices, choices I took away from you when you were hardly grown.” She started to cough again, and this time it seemed as if she would never be able to stop.
Ambrose got to his feet, but Lady Mary was quicker. She rushed to her mother's aid and glanced at Ambrose over her shoulder.
“Ring the bell, will you? Mother needs to go to bed now. She has exhausted her strength.”
“It's all right. I can carry her.” Ambrose picked up Lady Kendrick and held her close to his chest. She was as insubstantial as one of Elizabeth's children. Her cheek came to rest on his shoulder and she sighed.
“Dearest Ambrose.”
He laid her gently on her bed and helped Mary tuck her in. She watched him carefully as if his face was precious, as if she was trying to imprint him on her memory.
He took her hand and kissed her fingertips. “Good-bye, my lady.”
“Good-bye, Ambrose,” she whispered. “Pray for me.”
He nodded and walked out of the all-too-familiar bedchamber without another word. Lady Mary didn't try and detain him, so he just kept going, forgetting his agreement to visit below stairs and finding his way back to the house of pleasure by instinct rather than design.
For once, there was no one in the kitchen, so he was able to escape upstairs to his bedchamber and lock the door behind him. With a groan, he sat down on the edge of his bed and held his head in his hands. He waited for the tears that clogged his throat, his
heart
, to fall, but nothing happened, so he continued to sit and not think. It seemed the only way of keeping himself whole.
19
E
mily stole into the kitchen of the pleasure house and looked for Ambrose's familiar face, but he wasn't sitting at his usual place at the table. In the servants' dining room, she could hear Christian giving instructions to the staff for the early evening shift, but there was no hint of Ambrose's gentler tone.
“He's upstairs in his room.”
Emily jumped at the sound of Elizabeth's quiet voice and turned to the kitchen door. Christian's wife was already dressed for the evening in a fine gown of blue silk that made her look quite ethereal. She came toward Emily and held out a key.
“You'll need this. I think he locked himself in.”
“Why are you helping me?”
Elizabeth smiled. “Because they all treat you like a little girl who needs protecting, and I don't think you are one. If you want Ambrose, you are going to have to be brave and claim him as your own.”
“Like you did with Christian?”
Elizabeth smiled. “I was far too scared to do that. But Ambrose is nothing like Christian. He needs to be loved, and you are just the right person to give him that.”
“I do love him.”
“I know, and he obviously loves you too.”
“But my family . . .”
Elizabeth touched her cheek. “They will come around. After all, they accepted me, didn't they?” Her expression changed. “Now go and make that man happy, and worry about the Delornay-Ross clan afterward.”
Emily took the key and headed for the stairs. She'd never been in Ambrose's bedchamber before, but she knew it was situated in the private part of the house near where Richard had his room. It was already getting dark and the corridors were gloomy. She wished she had brought a candle with her.
There was no light shining from under Ambrose's door, but she knocked anyway. There was no response, so she knocked again. She glanced down at the key in her hand and carefully fitted it to the lock. Her heart was thumping so loudly that she thought he'd probably hear it through the panels.
The key turned without a sound, and with a quick prayer, Emily pressed down on the latch and entered the room. It was so dark that she almost didn't see the figure sitting on the side of the bed. She leaned against the door and studied his slumped position.
“Ambrose?”
“Go away, Miss Ross.”
She was almost tempted, but something stopped her. She walked over to the fireplace and struck a spark to light the kindling in the grate. When that caught, she found a candle by the bed and lit that too.
Ambrose remained on the bed, his gaze on the floor, his hands clasped together between his knees. He'd discarded his coat and was dressed only in his shirt and buckskin breeches. She went across to him and sank down on the floor at his feet.
“What's wrong?”
She still couldn't see his face properly, but she didn't need to see him to sense his anguish.
“Nothing that concerns you, Miss Ross.”
He sounded most unlike himself, but she didn't mind. She had no idea who she was anymore either.
“What happened?”
He reached down and grabbed her by the elbows, bringing her up on her knees until her face was level with his.
“Go away, Miss Ross. I don't need you. I don't need anyone.”
She met his gaze. “I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what is troubling you.”
“Why is it important to you? Shouldn't you be out celebrating your engagement to Jack Lennox?”
She swallowed hard. “I'd much rather be here with you.”
“You have no idea who I am, or what I've done.” His grip tightened. “I'm not worthy to kiss your feet.”
“You're the man I love!”
For a second, he held her immobilized, his ragged breath matching hers, and then gave her a gentle shake. “Don't be such a fool. Have you any idea of my life before Mr. Delornay found me?”
“I know that you were on the streets through no fault of your own, that the Kendrick family brutally abandoned you, that—”
“Lord Kendrick had me beaten because I was fucking his wife. Most men would say his actions were completely justified.”
“Do you think so?”
He held her gaze. “Yes.”
“Stop lying to me!
Tell
me.”
He let go of her and stood up, presenting her with his back.
“I met Lady Kendrick today for the first time in almost twenty years. She tried to tell me she was sorry for what had happened, that the responsibility was hers and hers alone, but I fucked her, didn't I? I went along with her desires.”
Emily shook her head. “But she was right. She was an adult and you were, how old were you when she seduced you?”
“Old enough to fuck, obviously.”
“Ambrose, you are not quite thirty now. If this happened almost twenty years ago, you could barely have been ten, twelve? Good Lord, you were a
child
, and she was right, she should not have touched you! You thought of the Kendricks as your
family.
”
He moved sharply away from her and slammed his fist into the wall. “I tried to forgive her like my friend Jethro told me to, but I couldn't. As soon as I saw her I realized I was still so very angry with her.”
“Did she expect you to forgive her?”
He turned slowly back to face her. “No, she didn't even ask.” He grimaced. “She decided to try and buy her forgiveness instead.”
“What do you mean?”
“She has left me something in her will. Did I mention that she is dying?” Emily shook her head. “Aye, and I still couldn't bring myself to say the words she wanted to hear.”
“Why should you?” Emily fought to keep her voice level.
“She didn't ask you to forgive her; she must know that what she did damaged you.”
He leaned against the wall and regarded her. “I went willingly to her bed.”
“Did you?”
“I wanted to please her.”
“But not like that.”
He looked away from her. “No.” He sighed. “Not like that. It changed everything.”
Emily got to her feet and walked across to him. With great care, she wrapped her arms around his neck and rose on her tiptoes to kiss his mouth.
“I still love you.”
“You don't know me.”
She kissed him again. “Then
let
me know you.”
He smiled without humor. “After I fucked Lady Kendrick, Lord Kendrick and his henchmen beat me half to death. I was lucky enough to be found by a Methodist couple who work in the East End slums and help starving children. They saved my life, and what did I do to repay them? When I was well again, I rejected their God and ran away to fend for myself on the streets again. That's where your brother found me, trying to pick his pocket.
“Lady Kendrick thought I'd ended up working in a sordid brothel because of what she'd done to me. I didn't have the heart to tell her that the pleasure house is an exclusive club, and that I enjoyed my work immensely.”
“It's all right, Ambrose.” Emily kissed him again, trying to erase the pain and shame in his voice, to make him see that nothing mattered but how they felt about each other now. “I understand.”
He wrenched his mouth away from hers. “Then leave me be.”
“I can't.” She cupped his chin. “I don't care about what you were, or what you did. I
know
you. Perhaps that is why you fear me.”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you think that if we are lovers, it will destroy our friendship? Make it something tawdry and cheap? Something to be ashamed of?” She held her breath as he inhaled sharply. “Or is it that if things go wrong, you cannot bear to be cast out of another family you have grown to love?”
The silence between them seemed to go on forever.
“That isn't true.”
“Are you sure about that?”
He pulled out of her embrace and took a stumbling step back. “Absolutely, Miss Ross. In truth, you are using me to escape your reality.”
“And what reality is that?”
“You're afraid to love a man of your own class, so you hide behind your supposed feelings for me.”
“That is ridiculous and totally unfair!”
“Is it? You're terrified that you'll turn out like your mother.”
She started to tremble. “And what's wrong with being like her? She loved one man for her entire life. Just because he wasn't the right social class wasn't her fault.”
“So is that why you've chosen to love me?”
Tears slid slowly down her cheeks and she raised her hand and slapped him hard on the cheek. His head snapped back, and she turned and marched toward the door.
His hand closed over hers on the door latch.
“Don't cry, do not
ever
cry for me.”
He turned her around and began to rain kisses over her mouth and cheeks. She didn't stop him and started to kiss him back until their mouths clung together, until his hands roamed freely over her body. She moaned into his mouth and he kissed her even harder, fusing their bodies together from head to toe.
Her knees gave way and she slid to the floor, the wall the only solid thing at her back. Ambrose followed her down, his hips against hers, and she felt his cock, hard and hot against her covered mound. She wrapped herself around him, desperately seeking his skin, pulling at his shirt to release it from his breeches.
“Wait . . .” Ambrose murmured.
But she was beyond waiting, and continued to tug at his shirt, her fingers searching out the buttons of his breeches and unfastening them. With a sigh, she slid her hands over his lower back, the muscled curve of his buttocks, and heard him gasp her name.
Ambrose knew he should stop her, but he didn't want to. The feel of her hands on him was too exquisite to deny.
“Take it off,” she commanded. “Your shirt, take it off.”
She was already pulling at it, and he took over the task, pulling it over his head, leaving his chest bare to her questing and teasing hands. His cock throbbed against his unfastened breeches, wanting her there too. And as if she'd heard his unspoken plea, her fingers closed around the base of his shaft and his breath hissed out.
She hadn't forgotten the lessons he'd already taught her, and his cock was soon wet and slick in her hand. He pushed into her palm, his tongue echoing the thrust and withdrawal, his own hand under her skirts seeking out the warmth and welcome of her sex.
“Emily,” he breathed, as his fingers encountered her wet and wanting cunt. He played with her bud, her folds, and finally thrust his finger in and out of her in a shallow rhythm that had her moaning and moving with him. Each roll of her hips drove him a little deeper and widened her narrow entrance for his eventual possession. And he would possess her. He was too far gone now to do anything else.
Reluctantly, he took his hand away and knelt back to gather Emily in his arms. Her face was flushed, her eyes hazy with need. She reached for him.
“Don't stop now, don't you
dare
stop.”
Ah, that was more like his imperious Emily. He picked her up and laid her on his bed, pausing long enough to expertly remove her clothing and the rest of his own before stretching out naked over her. She trembled beneath him, her nipples hard points against his chest, his throbbing cock pressed between their bellies.
He kissed her mouth and then her throat, and settled to suck on her nipples. One hand toyed with her breast, while the other was between her thighs circling and playing with her clit. He felt her pleasure build, concentrated on her flesh to the exclusion of his own, and finally felt her tighten around his barely embedded finger.
“Ambrose, I . . .”
He silenced her with a deep kiss and pressed his thumb hard against her bud until she arched her back and climaxed, allowing him to push his finger even deeper and continue giving her pleasure. With all the skill he possessed, he made her come again, this time managing to slide two fingers inside her.
He pulled back to watch her face as she climaxed, the way she thrashed against the sheets, her expression so full of mingled joy and surprise that he knew he'd always remember it.
She gripped his arm so hard that he winced.
“I want you inside me. I
need
you there, I can't . . .”
He lowered himself between her thighs and guided the head of his cock inside her, easing his way, allowing her willing flesh to part for him and make him welcome. With a small sound, she wrapped her legs high around his hips, drawing him even deeper until he was embedded to the hilt.
BOOK: Simply Scandalous
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