The Perfect Scandal (25 page)

He let out a mortified laugh and put up both gloved hands, stepping back. “I have no excuses except that I was and am still ardently in love with her.”

She rolled her eyes and waved him toward the door,
where Miss Henderson lingered. “Off with you. Off with you to Russia, you rake! Go. The moment you get there, marry the girl at whatever church will do it, wait for the babe and then carry them all straight back. Russia is no place for my great-grandchild. No place at all. I cringe at the thought of exposing our dear babe to weather that I hear freezes everyone's noses off.”

He hesitated, knowing his grandmother was about to officially panic. For he hadn't come merely to announce that he was going to be a father.

Tristan swung toward Miss Henderson. “Miss Henderson. Round up all of the servants and have Lady Moreland's papers and trunks packed within the hour. She and I are going to Russia.”

Miss Henderson grinned and scurried past. “Yes, of course, milord.”

A choked gasp escaped his grandmother's lips as she scrambled backward, shaking her head of white, bundled curls. She kept shaking and shaking and shaking her head. “I…no. Moreland. No. I am not…I cannot…no.”

He stepped toward her and grabbed hold of her shoulders, forcing her to look up at him and into his eyes. “You only need to do this once.
Once.
Long enough to survive going to Russia and back. That is all I ask. If I can walk without a blade, after thirteen years, you can walk out that door. You have to do
this. If not for yourself, do it for me, Zosia and our babe. I cannot imagine you not being part of this. Do you not want to be part of this? Do you not want to see me wed? Do you not want to be the first to hold your own great-grandchild?”

She pinched her trembling lips together, tears streaming down her cheeks.

He tightened his hold on her shoulders and whispered, “You can do this. I know you can. And I will remain at your side through every breathing moment of it. Now, please. I need you to do this. I need you at my side. I know nothing about babes or birthing.
Nothing
. Does that not frighten you or move you to pity?”

She let out an anguished laugh. She half nodded, closing her eyes. Drawing in a breath, she let it out and whispered, “I will. For you, Zosia and the babe. I can. I know I can. I have to.”

“You have always gifted me with so much. Bless you.” He cradled her face with both hands and softly kissed her forehead. “I promise I will never leave your side.”

The 29th of October, evening
The Winter Palace

Z
OSIA HAD NO DOUBT
that the Emperor was beginning to suspect something, despite her trying to conceal her pregnancy, which was beginning to balloon.
She expected him to storm into her room at any time, point at her and announce her betrothal to Maksim. It was exhausting constantly worrying about it.

The only tolerable part of her stay in the palace had been Maksim and all the good food she'd been eating. Though she hadn't been eating it at any table. Oh, no. She feared the Emperor would question her appetite.

Instead, she ate whilst lounging upon her grandmother's plush burgundy bed, surrounded by the flickering prisms of mirrored candlelight, draped in a French lace robe embroidered with pearls and reading books Maksim kept sneaking in from her uncle's covert library. It was an entire library of more than a hundred thousand books, consisting of every volume the Emperor had confiscated, and she was strictly forbidden from entering. She had no doubt her eighteen volumes of
Correspondance Secrète, Politique et Littéraire
was in that library somewhere, but Maksim had yet to find it.

Stretching out a hand toward the sideboard set next to her oval bed, she plucked up another marmalade tart stacked upon the gold porcelain plate and lowered her gaze back to Miss Porter's second volume of
Thaddeus of Warsaw,
which was actually quite good. She fully understood why it had been confiscated by her uncle.

 

H
E OPENED THE DRAWER
which contained his few valuables. With a trembling hand, he took them out one by one. There were several trinkets that had been given to him by his mother, and a pair of inlaid pistols which his grandfather put into his belt on the morning of that dreadful tenth of October.

 

Z
OSIA SHOVED THE ENTIRE
large tart into her mouth, its divine sweetness coating her tongue, and sat up, bringing the book closer, wondering if Thaddeus was actually going to use said pistols from that dreadful tenth of October.

“By God,” a deep British voice drawled in clear amusement. “And I thought you were missing me.”

She jumped, her book cascading out of her hands, and almost choked on the tart pushing against her cheeks. Was it…Moreland? She froze, mid-chew, the mirrors around her reflecting eight images of a muscled frame garbed in black trousers, a matching evening coat, a moss-green waistcoat and a matching cravat. The man casually leaned against the ascending stairwell directly behind her, heatedly observing her in the reflection, longer, windswept auburn hair cascading into dark brown eyes.

Her eyes widened. Moreland!

She would have joyously shrieked out his name for all of Russia to hear, only the tart still filled her entire
mouth. She jerked around, toward where he stood, trying to desperately finish chewing. She gestured toward her cheeks in exasperation.

He grinned and tapped a bare forefinger against his lips. His eyes intently held hers as he crossed the expanse of the mirrored chamber, his movements slow and commanding, with an intent to do far, far more than simply greet her.

She gawked at him, the tingling within the pit of her stomach having nothing to do with the babe at all. She suddenly felt like she was Catherine la Grande about to be reunited with the greatest lover known to all of humanity. All while trying to finish chewing on a stupid marmalade tart.

He paused, towering right beside where she was draped on the large oval couch.

She swallowed the last of the annoying pastry and eagerly pushed herself up toward him. “Moreland!
Kochanie!
”

His forefinger came to his lips again, demanding silence. He met her gaze and said in a soft, husky tone, “Words cannot describe this incredible moment we are sharing. Therefore let us refrain from saying anything for a small while.”

He lowered himself onto the embroidered cushion surrounding her and took up her hand. His fingers tightened, conveying a pulsing restraint. He lowered his head to her hand, his warm lips trailing and
grazing her knuckles, toward her wrist and up again. He closed his eyes and seemed to revel in what he was doing.

Her breath hitched as she watched those lips make love to her hand. Oh, how she had missed him. She swallowed and felt her hand trembling in a joy no words could ever describe, knowing he was at long last at her side. It was a moment she would remember for the rest of her days.

He reopened his eyes and released her hand, his gaze momentarily meeting hers. He smiled, then lowered himself to her uncorseted belly hidden beneath her robe. A rounding belly that was protruding.

He lowered his head, placing both hands on her belly, and kissed it repeatedly, giving her belly and their child within it as much attention as he had just bestowed upon her hand.

She smoothed the soft, silken strands of his hair, her fingers trailing through its thickness, savoring the feel of him and reveling in what was finally hers. All hers.

There were so many things she wanted to say and so many things she wanted to share. But for now, she would have to settle for the only words that came to mind.
“Kocham ci
,”
she whispered down at him.

He paused and drew away from her belly, slowly rising up until their faces and their lips were mere
inches away. “You just said you loved me in Polish. Didn't you?”

Her lips curved into a smile as she placed her hands against his smooth-shaven jaw. “I did.”

“Good. Now say it in English so I can understand.”

She nuzzled her nose against his, loose strands of her black hair grazing both her face and his. She trailed her hands down to his broad shoulders, rubbing their solid curves, and whispered, “I love you.”

“And how I love you,” he whispered back. “Please say you do in fact forgive me for what I did.”

She smiled. “Undress me.”

“Oh, I will.” He hesitated. “Does this mean—”

“There is no need to linger on a matter that has long since resolved itself.”

“I know, but—”

“Touch me, Moreland. That is the only form of apology I will accept.”

He grinned. “I should sin against you more often.”

“Cease procrastinating.”

“Gladly.” He tilted his head, his eyes trailing down to her lips. He edged in, the heat of his mouth feathering her own mouth. “What about our babe?”

“I know you will be gentle.”

“I don't know if I can be,” he growled back.

“You will have to be.” She tilted her lips closer, until her bottom lip playfully grazed his. “Your babe depends upon it.”

“And I depend upon you,” he said against her mouth, crushing her lips against his own. His wet tongue slid against the lower lip she'd given him, the scent and flavor of sweet champagne coating her own lip.

Champagne? She bit back a laugh, her hands rubbing his shoulders. “You taste of champagne.”

“Hmm.” He slid his tongue across her cheek and back again. “I've been here almost an hour,” he murmured, in between tongue strokes. “I had to settle in my grandmother and try to look decent for the mother of my child, all while being forced to a share a bottle of champagne with Maksim to celebrate my fatherhood. He wouldn't show me where you were until I did.”

She blinked, his tongue causing her to fade in and out of reality. “Your grandmother? She—”

“Oh, yes. I not only got the woman out of the house but out of the damn country. She survived, too. Though barely.” He nipped her cheek. “I don't want to talk right now. Not unless it's about what we are doing.”

He grabbed her face and edged her head back, exposing her entire throat to him and forcing her to look up toward the ceiling of mirrors, where she saw
her own face reflected in flushed ecstasy as his large frame hovered over her body and his head shifted against her throat.

He licked the entire curve of her neck, then buried his face against her, his mouth viciously sucking on her delicate skin. She gasped against the unexpected torrent of sensations rippling down the length of her neck and watched what was happening to her in a mesmerized daze.

He sucked harder and harder, making her gasp repeatedly against him, while his hands trailed down from her face and curved down around her breasts. A groan escaped him as he unraveled the silk sash holding her French robe together. Whipping aside the sash, he released her throat and shifted toward her, against the large cushion. He opened the entire length of the robe and swept it down her naked arms and away from her nude body. She was so grateful she had opted to wear only a robe that evening for comfort.

His eyes watched as his own large hands curved and traced her shoulders, her breasts, her waist, his fingers dragging and pressing against her skin with a rigid intensity that made her entire body feel as if it were being remolded by his hands. His jaw tightened as he slid a palm and his gaze down the sweeping length of her full limb and then back over to her
amputated limb. “Heaven keep me from ever leaving your side again,” he rasped.

She leaned toward him. Her fingers trailed toward his linen cravat, wondering if he would let her undress him. “Moreland?”

His hands stilled against her heated skin. His dark eyes met her gaze, his brows both rising. “Yes?”

She tugged at the cravat and eyed him. “You will not deny me from seeing you, will you?”

He grinned, leaned toward her and
tsk
ed. “Rather randy, aren't you? About as randy as the first time.”

Her cheeks burned as she gestured toward herself in exasperation. “I have everything off.”

His eyes traced the length of her, lingering on her breasts as he seethed out a slow breath. “So you do.” He slid his frame from the cushion and rose, rounding the large oval couch she was draped on, his image and hers flitting around them. He paused at the base of her bare foot and stared her down, making her fully aware she was not only naked but pregnant with his babe.

She awkwardly reached for her robe to cover herself.

“Don't cover yourself.” His voice was gruff as he continued to stare her down, removing his evening coat from his shoulders and the length of his arms. He held the coat out beside him, quirking a brow, and then let it drop to the floor with a rustle. With
his coat now gone, the bulge of his erection pressed against his trousers
very
visibly. “If you want to see everything I have, you have to show me everything you have. Now spread yourself open. Wide.”

Her entire body was ablaze with a prickling heat that was almost intolerable. A tremor and a sense of complete vulnerability she had never known overtook her as she slowly willed her thighs apart.

“Tell me what you want removed,” he offered in a low, seductive tone. “Tell me and I will remove it upon your command.”

She wet her lips and prayed she hadn't fallen asleep from overindulging in marmalade tarts. Moreland was here and doing this, wasn't he?

“I'm waiting,” he taunted, lowering his chin.

“Waistcoat.”

His fingers undid the row of silver buttons one by one, his eyes glancing from his hands to her face until he was done. He removed it and held out his waistcoat for her to see, emphasizing how accommodating he was being, and let it fall to the floor. “What else?”

She stared at his exposed linen shirt, noting that she could already see a sliver of his chest through the slit held closed by his cravat.

He lowered his chin again. “You are taking far too long deciding what I should remove. At this pace, our babe will be three years old.”

She choked on a laugh, cleared her throat and quickly said, “Boots.”

“Boots?”
he echoed, glancing toward his feet and then back up again. “My feet aren't nearly as exciting as the rest of me, woman.”

She burst into laughter and rolled her eyes. “Your cravat, then.”

“You said boots first. I therefore must oblige my lady or I'm not being very considerate of her needs.” He bent and yanked off each boot and sent them thudding and skidding to the floor, yanking off his stockings along with them. “I threw in the stockings for good measure or this will never end.”

He straightened, his mouth quirking as he lifted his chin and unraveled his cravat, his eyes never once leaving hers. “
Now
the cravat.” He slid the length of linen from around his throat and whipped it aside. He angled himself toward her, challenging her to continue.

She'd never been so physically aware of
needing
him. “Shirt. Then everything else. Only faster. Much faster. You are going much too slow.”

He grinned, the edges of his eyes and mouth crinkling. “We have the rest of our lives. Therefore I am not going any faster than is absolutely necessary.”

“Moreland!”
She closed her thighs, pressing them together, and grabbed up her robe and covered herself. “There. I intend to punish you. Now what?”