In Scandal They Wed

  Shocked, she could not speak, could not think to move.

  Then, his gaze dropped to her lips.

  He couldn’t mean to . . .

  She broke free of her astonishment and quickly jerked aside of his descending head, narrowly avoiding his lips.

  Placing several feet between them, she held one finger aloft. “Stay away from me.”

  He tsked. “Come now, don’t be a bore. Adara told me how neglected you’ve—”

  “Adara!” she bit, her astonishment evaporating. “Did she put you up to this?”

  He shrugged. “She thought you might be agreeable to . . .” His voice faded. He arched a brow eloquently.

  “Well, I am not!”

  He stepped back, both palms held out. “No need to take offense. You’re not ready yet. I can be patient.”

  “You’ll have a long wait.”

  “I doubt that.” His lip curled in an unattractive smirk. “You don’t know Adara like I do. She always gets her way in these things, and unfortunately she has set her sights on your husband, my dear.” His expression turned almost pitying. “Her charms can be exceedingly tempting. When you tire of the lonely nights, come and find me.”

  Unable to stand the sight of his smug face, Evie whirled around and rushed to her room. She took great relish in slamming the door behind her. Leaning against it, she breathed deeply, outrage constricting her lungs.

  Pushing off the door, she paced her chamber, a silent scream building deep in her lungs as her legs worked across the carpet, her swishing skirts an angry rush of whispers.

  That settled it.

  She would find Spencer at once and consummate this marriage—give him no reason to look to another woman for his needs.

  Hopefully, she was not too late and he did not already regret marrying her. A painful lump rose in her throat at the thought. Determination burned through her hotter than any hurt she might feel. She would not languish in the neglect of her husband, suffering the insolence of his guests as she fought to deny her desire.

  It was high time she became a wife.

  Chapter 19

  Evie entered the dining room that evening with both dread and determination tightening her chest. She wore her best dress. Again. The faded blue muslin looked a rag compared to the other ladies’ vibrant silks. She shoved the thought from her head and reminded herself that she was the lady of the house. No matter how Adara sought to undermine her.

  While she did not relish an evening with Adara and her houseguests, she knew Spencer would be present, and she longed to set matters right with him. As soon as dinner ended, she would pull him aside and request a private audience.

  As it turned out, disappointment was the first course. Spencer’s seat loomed empty at the head of the table for the entire meal. Mr. Gresham sat to her immediate right, his arm brushing hers far too frequently throughout their meal. The dinner was a tiresome affair, full of laughter and gossip about people she did not know. She begged off charades in the drawing room and excused herself as soon as dessert was finished.

  She had nearly escaped when the melodic sound of Adara’s voice froze her at the base of the stairs. “Are you unwell, Evelyn?”

  With a deep breath she turned and faced Adara, a brittle smile pasted to her face. “Nothing of which to concern yourself. I’m afraid dinner did not set well with me.” A menu that Adara had been audacious enough to dictate. Evie had yet to beat her to Cook in the mornings.

  “Oh, I hope it wasn’t the sole.” Adara pursed her lips in seeming concern. “I instructed Cook to make certain it was fresh.” The ring of sympathy in her voice did not accord with the dark glitter of her gaze. “When I see Spencer this evening, shall I tell him you’re not feeling well, then?”

  An icy chill chased over Evie’s flesh; she did not mistake Adara’s intimation. True or not, Adara wanted Evie to believe she would see Spencer first . . . that she saw him frequently. Unlike Evie, who could not catch a moment alone with him.

  “If you wish.” Unwilling to engage with the viper before her, she lifted her skirts and started up the stairs again, then stopped, unable to hide her claws after all. “Or I can tell him myself when I see him tonight. He usually wakes me when he gets in.” A lie, but one which pride demanded. Let Adara think that however much he absented himself from her side during the day, her nights were filled with him.

  Adara’s face broke out in angry red splotches.

  Satisfaction curled through Evie at the sight. And yet it failed to last.

  Adara smiled slowly, catlike and knowing. “Indeed. How very . . . diligent of Spencer. He does know his duty. Never a chore left undone.”

  The words struck Evie as effectively as any well-aimed arrow. He’d married her for duty. For heirs. Nothing more. Adara knew that. Everyone knew it. And why not? It was the truth.

  Did she really think offering herself like a roast goose on a platter would validate their half marriage? Turn it into something real and abiding?

  She didn’t even bother ringing for the maid when she reached her bedchamber. Furious and feeling a fool for even thinking seduction would win her Spencer, she undressed herself and slipped her nightrail over her head. As she sank down onto the stool at her vanity, she freed the pins from her hair and shook the gold-brown mass loose.

  After vigorously brushing her hair, she paced her room, the soft hem of her nightrail sweeping her ankles. After awhile she stopped and added coals to the grate, appreciating the added warmth, not to mention the added glow of light. It wouldn’t do to wake to a darkened room. That was still one aspect of her life she could control. One fear she could fight.

  Finished with that task, she sank down onto the chaise, plucking up her book where she had discarded it earlier. Occasionally, a loud burst of raucous laughter carried from downstairs. Apparently the game of charades was still in full swing.

  Time crawled as she strained to hear any sound next door. When she realized she’d stared, unseeing, at the same page for well over half an hour, she dropped the book and resumed pacing.

  Then she heard it. A slight noise, nearly imperceptible from next door.

  Nerves tight as a string, she strode forward and knocked briskly. Inhaling a single deep breath, she opened the door and marched inside.

  Spencer stilled for a moment in the armchair where he sat, his green eyes locking with hers. Heat flushed her face at the sight of him, shirtless. The view brought her up hard. Her gaze devoured the broad expanse of chest, the flat belly ridged with muscle. Something tightened in her belly. Perhaps she should have waited for him to bid her enter. Although she doubted he would have adopted modesty and covered himself.

  A boot thudded to the floor from his lax fingers. She blinked.

  “Yes?” He dropped back against the chair, his expression coldly unaffected.

  “I need to speak with you.”

  Sighing, he dragged his hand through his hair, rumpling the dark locks. “It’s late, Evie.”

  “I’m not aware of any other time where we may speak privately. For days you’ve avoided me.” Her hands tightened into fists, the nails digging into her tender palms. “We’ll talk now.”

  His eyes glittered darkly in the shadowed room before returning his attention to his other boot, dismissing her. “I don’t think that’s a very good idea.”

  She charged forward, stopping before his chair. “Why not?”

  “I simply don’t,” he announced, his voice tight, strained. His gaze lifted, skimmed her before glancing around the room, almost as if seeing it for the first time. “We’ll do this in the morning. In my study—”

  “Why can’t we do this now?” She inhaled thickly. “Do you have a more pressing engagement?” she demanded, Adara not far from her thoughts.

  He unfolded his great length and towered over her, his jaw clenched tight. “Don’t push me, Evie. I’m in no mood.”

  He could not have tossed down a more tempting gauntlet.

  She arched her brow and brought her han
d to his chest, palm flat, and pushed.

  He snatched hold of her wrist, squeezing the bones until she felt certain they would snap. She didn’t flinch, didn’t back down a step. Even as the heat in his gaze scalded her.

  She had initiated this. She would hold her ground.

  “What do you want from me?” he growled, thrusting his face close. “Must you plague me?”

  She shook her head. Moistening her lips, she asked in a quiet voice, “Do you really hate me so much?”

  He jerked as though struck. His hand loosened around her wrist. She stepped back.

  “Hate you? Is that what you think?” he asked.

  She rubbed her tender wrist. “What else should I think? You’ve avoided me for days. Ever since we returned here. Ever since Adara—”

  “Adara?” He shook his head. “What does she have to do with anything?”

  Did he mock her? She pressed her fingertips to her temples, digging deep against the sudden ache starting there. “It’s all gone horribly awry, hasn’t it? A marriage of convenience.” She snorted, the sound ugly. “It was supposed to be a simple matter, but this is anything but.” She flung a hand in the air. “We thought we could exist as polite strangers, without the other ever affecting—”

  “I never thought that. You did,” he growled.

  “Oh, no? You merely want me about for a few months, until we conceive your heir—”

  “Hardly a possibility when you won’t fulfill that particular duty!”

  “Duty,” she snapped. “Furthering your line. Is that all you think about?”

  His nostrils flared. “When it comes to you, I think about a great deal more than that.”

  “Indeed? And when is that? When you’re avoiding me?” Her hand flew wildly on the air. “Attending to countless beyond important tasks—”

  “Evie,” he snapped, his head cocking at a dangerous angle.

  Still she continued, could not stop herself, unaccountably hurt. Had she thought to seduce him and risk exposure so that she might know desire? So that she might taste passion at last? With him?

  Adara’s face flashed across her mind. Never a chore left undone. Bedding her was no more than a chore for him. She stared hard at his angry face. Perhaps a chore he could no longer bring himself to pursue.

  She blinked stinging eyes. Her words rushed forth in a scalding burn, “If you cannot abide to be in the same room with me mere days after our vows because I simply require time to acclimate myself to becoming wife and broodmare to a stranger, then how can—”

  He grabbed her by the shoulders with both hands, nearly hauling her off her feet. “Would you stop nattering and allow me a word?”

  She blinked.

  His chest heaved an inch from her, emitting a heat that she felt dangerously drawn to. His furious gaze scoured her face, piercing, intent. She had never seen him this way. For a moment, she feared he would strike her.

  Finally, he snarled, “Maybe I do hate you.”

  She shuddered and closed her eyes against the glittering dislike in the pale green of his gaze.

  His words pained her more than she could have expected, killed something inside her that she didn’t even know existed. Hope.

  Somehow, since he’d entered her life, she had begun to hope again—for everything she’d thought lost when she’d given up her future for the sake of her sister and Nicholas.

  Eyes still closed, she asked, “Why?”

  He shook her, forcing her eyes open again. “Because you’ve made me hate Ian. My own flesh and blood.” He sucked in a ragged breath. “Because he had you first. He has you still. I’m glad that he’s gone . . . glad that it’s my turn with you.” He looked at her bleakly. “I don’t know who I blame more for that. You or me.”

  Shock rippled through her. She read the hard glitter in his eyes, understood it for what it was now.

  With a strangled groan, he hauled her the last inch separating them and kissed her with feverish desperation. His hands were everywhere all at once. He kissed her like he couldn’t get enough, like this would be his last taste of her.

  After a shocked moment, she lifted her hands, cupped his face. A day’s growth of beard scratched her palms as she kissed him back, arching against him, mewling when even that wasn’t enough.

  He’d avoided her because he wanted her? Because he felt guilty for wanting her? It had nothing to do with Adara. Elation swelled through her and she kissed him harder, deeper.

  Men like him did not fit into her world. She wasn’t beautiful or charming or sophisticated . . . nothing about her should drive him to desire.

  But somehow . . . she had. She did.

  Still holding his face, thumbs caressing the hollows of his cheeks in small circles, she angled her head and tasted his tongue with sinuous strokes of her own.

  He groaned into her mouth and broke away, holding her back even as she strained against him, panting, eager for his mouth, for the warm press of his body against hers again.

  “Ian did this. Put you in my head, my blood. Somehow, listening to him all those years, I grew infatuated with the idea of you.”

  You. Linnie.

  Not me.

  His words seized hold of her heart and twisted it. The seductive haze he wove on her dissolved in an instant.

  “If you don’t want me to finish this, then go,” he said thickly. “Now.”

  Breathing raggedly, she choked back a sob.

  She wanted him with an intensity that vibrated in her bones. She’d never imagined she would want a man like this. Never thought she could have a man of her own. She’d sacrificed all hope for such a future. She’d made that choice the day she’d taken Nicholas into her arms.

  Even as she’d never regretted that, she found herself wanting this. Wanting him.

  Millie had warned her. Told her the wanting could be this . . . deep. This intense. Dangerous. Evie had scoffed at the idea, but here she stood, wanting, craving, desperate to have him love her . . .

  Only he never would.

  Even if by some miraculous occurrence, Spencer Lockhart, Lord Winters, could love his wife, he wouldn’t love her.

  Because it wouldn’t be her.

  Whatever he felt, he felt for Linnie—the woman he thought he had married.

  With a pained blink, she stopped leaning toward him and stepped back—watched with her heart in her throat as his hands dropped limply to his sides. His eyes returned to their cool green, all that glittering heat banked, the stark need for her gone.

  “Very well.” He continued, his voice strangely thick, “If I can’t have you, then stay the hell away. I tire of playing cat and mouse with you.”

  “Send me home,” she blurted, desperate to remove herself from temptation, to keep the house of cards she had constructed from tumbling around her.

  He stared at her coldly. “You are home.”

  “You said I could live wherever I wish—”

  “After a period of time,” he reminded.

  He’d also said he would require an heir before he released her . . . but she had no intention of reminding him of that just now. “I want to see Nicholas—”

  “We can send for him.”

  “Why do you care so much if I remain here?”

  A myriad of expressions crossed his face. “I can’t let you go.”

  He couldn’t let Linnie go.

  He was infatuated with her. Perhaps he even loved her. A miserable sob scalded the back of Evie’s throat. She whirled around and stalked to the door, feeling ridiculous. She had worried she had to contend with Adara. She was wrong. She only had the ghost of her sister to battle.

  “You’re making this harder than it has to be.”

  “Perhaps you are,” he countered.

  She glanced over her shoulder at him.

  He crossed his arms over his impressive chest, a single dark brow arching in challenge. A sigh of wretched longing shuddered through her at the enticing sight.

  If only he was right and it could b
e simple.

  If only she could drop her guard and allow herself to love him. She wished it could be so simple . . . wished she could freely and openly love him.

  If only he knew the truth.

  And didn’t care.

  That thought struck terror in her heart. Because he would care, of course. He would care that he had married the wrong sister. If he knew the truth, he would never again look at her with desire warm in his eyes. Men hated being made the fool. He could expose her to the world for her lies and take Nicholas away. Such a risk was inconceivable.

  Resolve hardening her heart, she opened the door to her room and passed inside, wondering if it would not have been better to have never met him. To never know for herself the yearning a woman could feel for a man.

  Secretly, in her heart, she had considered Linnie weak and stupid to ever let a handsome face addle her judgment and leave her compromised. And then she’d thought her sister even more stupid to continue to love the scoundrel after he’d abandoned her.

  But now she knew.

  Now she understood how one’s heart could overrule logic. Now she knew love.

  She’d never been more miserable.

  Chapter 20

  Spencer watched her go with his heart lodged somewhere in his throat. He’d bared himself, exposed that ugly part of himself and admitted the feelings she roused in him. Feelings that had begun in the Crimea.

  The guilt had been there from the start. Wanting her. Resenting a dead man, his cousin, his best friend. Which made him one miserable bastard. Especially because now that he’d met her, married her, come to know her, he was more infatuated with her than ever.

  Cursing, he dragged a hand through his hair and dropped down on his bed. He should release her. He’d given her the protection of his name, lifelong security. She wasn’t his to keep—marriage or no. She wanted to go home. He should just let her return to her rustic little village.

  Tossing one hand over his forehead, he stared at the dark canopy above him, wondering when precisely he had swerved off the honorable path and into lust with a woman he had assured himself would be nothing more than a point of duty to check off his life’s list.