The Scandal of It All

  Clara nodded, still looking uncertain but not quite so frightened as moments ago.

  Blast Enid. She knew her stepdaughter was angry and that she felt betrayed . . . perhaps even heartbroken, but such impulsive behavior was unlike her. She lived within the safety of her books. How would she cope all alone out there? So far from home? Heading into the Highlands of Scotland in the dark of winter?

  The puppy whimpered at Clara’s feet. Graciela looked down at her. “I think she needs to go outside, Clara.”

  Clara nodded and lifted the small ball of fur up into her arms.

  Graciela watched her go and then turned, heading up the stairs for her chamber. Suddenly she felt very tired.

  Chapter 24

  He found her napping on her bed.

  He’d let himself inside. He was familiar with the house and he wasn’t in the mood to see anyone else. Only one person called to him and chased away his emptiness. He was selfish enough to want to avoid everyone else.

  After his grandmother left, he’d dropped into the chair she had vacated. He thought about her words. Not so much her predictions about Ela but her judgment of him. She was the only family member he had left and when she saw fit to even see him, it was to tell him what a disgrace he was and that he was somehow fundamentally flawed.

  He stood just inside her chamber and leaned his back against her door. Her chest rose and fell gently with silent breaths. The fabric of her gown molded perfectly to her breasts and his gut stirred with emotions other than lust. Although there was a healthy dose of that. There was always that. He removed his jacket and started on the buttons of his waistcoat, deftly popping them free.

  She stirred on the bed, sighing and stretching languidly. His cock thickened at the sight. He needed her right now. He needed to peel back her skirts and sink inside her until he didn’t know where either one of them began and ended.

  Her eyes opened with a flutter of dark lashes as he advanced.

  At the movement, her gaze swerved his way. She jolted up on her elbows.

  “Wh-what are you doing?” She blinked quickly as if needing to clear her vision. Her dulcet tones stroked the flames of his desire and made him hasten. He skimmed her and the realization that she was his—that she would forever be his—slammed into him with base need, filling him with wonder. Mine.

  “Removing my clothes,” he answered. “Why don’t you do the same?” He dropped his garments on a chair and then pulled his shirt over his head in one motion. His trousers followed next.

  Her eyes widened, and she held out a hand, palm face out, where the length of her stretched on the bed. “Wait.”

  He grinned. “We don’t need to wait until the wedding night. We’ve already done this, remember?”

  “Oh, I’m very aware. That’s what got us here.”

  He chuckled and arched an eyebrow. “Are you going to undress yourself or do you want me to do it?”

  Her chin shot up, fire in her eyes. She looked so beautiful right then that his chest clenched. “And because we’ve done this before, I must do whatever you command?”

  He inhaled swiftly and advanced two steps before forcing himself to stop, curling and uncurling his hands into fists at his sides. “That’s not what I said. That’s not what I’m saying . . .”

  “Because if you think that’s how this marriage is to be—”

  He leaned down and silenced her with a kiss.

  Excitement zipped down her spine as Colin came over her, his chest bare, smooth skin stretched tight over firm muscles that beckoned her questing fingers.

  Every time they had been together it had been nearly dark. She’d never been alone with him in full light like this before.

  He came up for air and she sucked in a breath, shaking her head. “It’s highly improper for us—”

  “We’re past propriety, my soon-to-be wife.”

  “Soon-to-be,” she agreed archly. “I’m not your wife yet.”

  “Semantics. In my mind, we’re already bound to each other.”

  She inhaled, fighting back the small thrill his words gave her. This marriage was born of necessity. She needn’t forget that. She couldn’t.

  She forced a laugh, but something shaky jumped inside her chest and it sounded false. “Now, Colin. Don’t make this out to be more than it is.”

  One corner of his mouth kicked up a split second before his hand shot out to circle the back of her neck. Her laughter died at the sensation of his fingers on her, pulling her hard to him, trapping her.

  All levity fled his expression. His deep voice roughened as he uttered, “You’re fond of me. You can try to hide from it, but it’s here between us.”

  His eyes drilled into her, a relentless blue, and she felt her spine start to dissolve, sinking into the bed. “Of course I’m fond of you—”

  His head descended and the treacherous thought drifted through her mind, Yes.

  For a moment, she could hardly move, too overwhelmed at the pressure of his mouth on hers, at his chest crushing into hers, at the full delicious weight of him.

  He lifted up slightly to growl at her, his eyes flashing, “Open your mouth to me.”

  Nodding, she parted her lips and then his mouth was back on hers again.

  He brought one hand to hold her face, his thumb beneath her chin, tipping her mouth higher for him.

  He kissed her bottom lip, then her top, briefly pulling it between his teeth. She moaned. His mouth slanted over hers, kissing her deeper. He licked along the inside of her mouth. Her hands gripped his shoulders, clinging to him as though she feared he would stop—that this still new and thrilling thing would end. She touched her tongue to his. He made a low sound of approval. She felt it vibrate from his chest to hers.

  His arms pulled her closer, mashing her breasts into his chest—breasts that felt aching and heavy in a way she hadn’t known was possible.

  He kissed her forever, their mouths never breaking. He held her face with both of his hands like she was the most cherished thing in the world. Desire pumped thick through her blood, pooling at her core. Her hands wandered his arms, his back, reveling in the smooth, strong flesh.

  “Too many clothes,” he purred against her mouth.

  She nodded and made a sound of approval as his fingers worked the buttons free down the front of her bodice. He yanked it open and tugged it down her arms anxiously.

  She lifted half up off the bed, eagerly accommodating him. He tossed it to the floor with a smack. He went to work on her stays next. He paused once he had stripped her down to her chemise and sat back, consuming her with his eyes.

  Her chest lifted high on ragged breaths as he cupped her breast through the thin fabric and she moaned as his deft fingers stroked her, working skillfully. A sharp cry tore from her as he found her nipple and pinched it between his fingers.

  “Colin,” she choked, pleading.

  He settled his weight between the voluminous folds of her skirt. Her legs fought against the heavy fabric, desperate to be free, desperate for the feel of him. She dragged her palms down his back and gripped his backside in an anxious act to pull him closer, to bring him against that most aching part of her.

  Something snapped then—a fine thread severed. Everything became frantic and feverish between them. His hands tugged, directing her one way and then another as he shoved her skirts up and bared her from the waist down.

  He drew away for a moment to observe her, raking her with eyes that burned, scalding her everywhere they looked. “Colin?” she queried.

  His gaze fastened on her. “You’re beautiful, Ela.” His throat worked as he swallowed. “And you’re mine.”

  He covered her with his body, his smooth firmness sliding against her. She gasped as he slipped down her length, his mouth everywhere—her breasts, her stomach, her hips, then lower. There. She clutched fistfuls of his hair, arching up off the bed with a cry, well remembering the wicked things he knew how to do there.

  His tongue worked against her, leaving her wri
thing on the bed. Her hands grabbed fistfuls of the counterpane, hanging on for dear life.

  Then his fingers took the place of his mouth, stroking her, finding that secret, buried spot and rubbing it in swift circles, pinching it, squeezing until unrecognizable sounds erupted from deep within her. He added his mouth and sucked that tiny button between his lips, lightly scoring it with his teeth until she came apart, until she shuddered and cried out, ripples of sensation claiming her.

  He came back over her again, his body a hard, wonderful weight.

  He held her gaze as he settled between her thighs, nudging them wider. His expression was tender as he stared down at her.

  She lifted her hips as he began to push inside her. She closed her eyes, her head falling back, throat arching as she felt him inch in, stretching and filling the aching core of her. There was no part of her that didn’t feel claimed and possessed by him. His palms flattened with hers, pinning them above her head.

  He drove deep, lodging himself inside her. He held himself still there for a moment, watching her face. She wiggled her hips, experimenting, whimpering as the throb flared to life at her center.

  His breath hitched, and he pumped his hips, working in and out of her.

  The friction made her gasp and cling tighter to him. He increased the tempo, driving into her faster, harder. She met his thrusts, crying out at every impact, straining against their pinned hands. His fingers tightened around hers, holding fast as their bodies moved against each other.

  The pressure in her coiled and tensed until it released in a great burst. A shrill cry spilled loose from her throat as she arched against him. She opened her eyes wide, all the colors in the sunlit room brightening and sharpening.

  He released her hands.

  Her arms fell limp at her sides. He grabbed her thigh, bringing it up and around his hip, lifting her leg as he drove inside of her several more times until he groaned and spent himself, shuddering his release.

  “Ela,” he gasped near her ear, rolling to the side. Face-to-face, they panted, neither moving.

  Moments passed. Slid into minutes. She knew she should move and dress. Anyone could happen upon them. Clara. A servant. But she was reluctant to abandon this perfect cocoon.

  “What’s it like?” he asked after a while.

  “What’s what like?” She angled her head and stared deeply into the pale blue of his eyes, appreciating their beauty.

  His hand reached out and smoothed over her belly. “This. Having a child. Being a parent?”

  A smile tugged on her mouth and she exhaled.

  “Your smile says it all. I’ve seen it before. Whenever you look at Clara it’s there.”

  “Being a parent is the single most terrifying thing in life.” She thought about this a moment longer, testing it for truth. There were times of her life, in her marriage, when she had felt completely lost. She might have even surrendered to despair in those low moments. But motherhood . . . holding that tiny life in her arms for the first time? And then later, watching this little person grow and take flight from the shelter of her arms? Yes. That was even more terrifying than suffering the worst night she had ever endured with Autenberry.

  He grimaced, his hand still stroking her belly tenderly. “That’s . . . heartening.”

  She grinned. “Oh, it’s thrilling, too,” she added in a whisper, her fingers brushing through his hair, reveling in the rich brown. It felt like silk. It reminded her of a stole her mother wore the few times a year it had been warm enough. Her heart pinched a little, thinking of her mother. Even all these years later, she still missed her.

  Almost instantly after uttering her wedding vows to Autenberry, regret had assailed her. It lingered in the years of her marriage, but she had stuffed those feelings away, focusing on other things. Happier things like her daughter. She couldn’t help but worry if she would soon regret this, too. Would she regret Colin?

  She felt slightly ill at the idea. She had never dreamed of being with someone like him . . . handsome and exciting. She would hate for things to end as they did with her late husband. On the surface it was cool civility . . . but underneath? Dislike and contempt. Cruel words as sharp as knives.

  She clung to her smile like it were a slippery thing and refused to believe that could happen. Colin might not love her. He might be marrying her out of duty, but he was no Autenberry. “You’re going to be a wonderful father.” This much she knew was true.

  His own smile disappeared from his face. “How do you know that? I can hardly remember my father. I never knew my mother. I never had anyone parent me. My grandmother—” At the mention of her, he stopped with a cringe.

  She covered the hand that caressed her stomach with one of her own. “It’s about caring, which you will do. You care about people, Colin. You always have. You care now about this child and she’s not even here. You’ll care when she’s born. You’ll care every day for the rest of your life . . . even when you want to strangle her for something foolish she says or does. You won’t ever stop caring. You’ll love her forever.”

  “She?” he asked, the humor faint and sleepy in his voice. The sound of that velvet voice made ribbons of heat curl through her. Even after they had just come together, he could arouse her again with so little effort. “You’re so certain of the gender.”

  She felt her smile widen. “I think so. Yes.”

  He made a show of considering that. “I could like having a daughter. One like her mother.”

  “If she’s lucky, she will have your eyes.”

  “You have very fine eyes, Ela.” He curled an arm around her waist and brought her flush to him. “They’re deep and soulful. I could lose myself forever in them.”

  Something crumbled loose inside her. A part of herself she’d been trying so hard to cling to, to keep safe and shielded from him.

  It fell, and she couldn’t stop it.

  Chapter 25

  In her nearly twenty years as the Duchess of Autenberry, Graciela had encountered many a steel-eyed dame of the ton who cared little to naught for her station or the due owed to her rank. She read the condemnation in every line writ upon their faces . . . in the wrinkled pursing of lips and the flare of nostrils. She was no proper Englishwoman deserving of the noble designation. She was well accustomed to such treatment.

  And yet sitting across from Colin’s grandmother, she felt as though she were an eighteen-year-old girl all over again, intimidated and cowed by ladies of superior breeding and years.

  The dowager countess knotted her hands around a steel-headed cane and peered closely at Graciela, stripping away flesh and sinew until Graciela felt certain she were examining her very bones.

  She was supposed to be preparing for the journey to Holcome Hall, Colin’s family seat. Colin left her yesterday afternoon to attend to some business, instructing her to be ready with Clara midmorning.

  When she was first informed she had a guest, she assumed it was Mary Rebecca and her daughters. They planned to join them in a few days’ time and attend the wedding in Colin’s parish church. When Colin asked if she wanted to invite any friends, Mary Rebecca was the first person to pop into her head. Even though Mary Rebecca had betrayed her confidences and told Colin she was with child, she knew her friend meant well and had acted only for her benefit. Graciela had jotted off a missive inviting her last night. Doubtlessly her friend wanted to quiz her on her upcoming nuptials.

  Instead, when she arrived in the drawing room, it was to find the dowager countess waiting for her.

  “I never entirely approved of my grandson’s association with young Autenberry,” she began. “I set aside my reservations, though, because Autenberry was the heir to a dukedom and I had hoped he would not follow in his father’s footsteps. That man was the worst manner of reprobate.”

  In that they were in accord, but Graciela bit her tongue. She did not sense that the lady wanted to hear from her. Indeed, she wanted to be heard, not to listen.

  She continued, “Duke or not
, he was commonplace. His marriage to you is merely one example to that.”

  Graciela inhaled, marveling how these dames considered themselves to be so well-bred but then felt free to deliver whatever insults seized them.

  “You’re past your prime,” Lady Strickland went on to add. “But fetching enough. Good bones.” Her gaze skimmed over her as though she were assessing horseflesh. Graciela held her chin high and suffered the lady’s scrutiny. “Ample bosom.”

  She inhaled a stinging breath.

  “All things that shall disappear in the coming years and then what will my grandson be left with? He shall still be in his prime whilst you shall be a woman past her peak, unable to do the one thing God put you on earth for.”

  “And that is?”

  She blinked at her like that were the most startling of foolish questions. “Why, to provide your husband with sons.”

  She grimaced. “Of course. How silly I did not guess.”

  “But men never consider the future. That falls to us. To the mothers, and in Colin’s case, me. It is my duty to keep him on the right path.”

  “Why is it you have come here, my lady?” Graciela finally asked.

  “You have a healthy child.”

  Again, Graciela was certain she knew that already. “Yes.”

  “A daughter.” The dowager pursed her lips as though this wasn’t entirely satisfactory.

  “Yes. Clara is upstairs.”

  She flexed a heavily veined hand and leaned forward more, her neck stretching out crane-like. “Is it true you’ve lost a babe before? More than once, in fact?”

  Graciela sucked in a breath, feeling very much as though she were a child being interrogated for wrongdoing. “It appears you know a great deal about me.” She shifted uneasily, wondering what else she knew. Could she possibly know she was already with child? Had Colin told her?

  “I’ve done my research. It’s my duty to know the kind of woman my grandson has chosen for himself.”