The Scandal of It All

  How many times had she visited here? How many men had she taken to her bed? And why did he want to kill every single one of them?

  He seemed angry. His feet moved so quickly she had difficulty keeping up with his swift stride. Her skirts slapped at her ankles and her fingers dug into his hand that gripped her own.

  “Where are you taking me?” she finally asked, breathless.

  “I’m not taking you anywhere. I’m getting you out of here,” he said tersely.

  “Oh.” She winced inwardly, despising the tenor of that single meaningless word. She sounded disappointed.

  “That is what you wanted. What you asked of me,” he reminded, flexing his fingers around her hand and casting a quick look over her shoulder in the direction of the room where he had just shattered her so thoroughly. “Isn’t it?”

  She nodded doggedly. “Yes.” That is what she had asked him, after all, when she spotted Marcus in the hall. Before Strickland had hauled her into that room. Before he’d kissed her.

  The kiss. Mad as it seemed, it felt as though her life could now be separated into two parts. Before she kissed Lord Strickland. And after. Because the kiss had changed things. She felt different. Altered.

  Her lips still tingled and her body burned in places that she wasn’t entirely certain had ever felt sensation before. And considering she was a widow and knew a man’s touch, that was saying a great deal indeed.

  She took a shuddery breath. She needed to be free of him and alone to think about what this change meant for her.

  He led her down a back stairwell, different from the one she and Mary Rebecca had taken to reach the second floor.

  “You actually came here alone?” he asked with a hint of wonder in his voice as he descended in front of her, his hand still holding hers, pulling her along after him.

  “No. My friend—”

  “Lady Talbot?” he guessed, and there was something else in his voice at that inquiry.

  “Why, yes. How did you know?”

  “I’ve seen her here before and I know you and she are friends.” His lips curled in a half smile. “She’s a frequent visitor.”

  “Is that so?” she muttered, despising that smile and all that it implied. Mary Rebecca was a welcome and regular visitor to Sodom. Graciela experienced an unwanted pang of jealousy.

  Immediately she wondered if he had kissed Mary Rebecca and liked kissing her. Perhaps they had done more than kiss. Mary Rebecca couldn’t be expected to tell her about her every encounter at Sodom. Mary Rebecca was a lovely woman, and Colin, without a doubt, had his charms. Of course her friend would find him attractive.

  Graciela scanned his strong profile as they touched down on the first floor. Who would not? Presented with an opportunity to be with him, how could her man-loving friend not desire him?

  And yet the thought of him with Mary Rebecca unsettled her. She resisted the urge to touch her lips where she still felt the burning imprint of his mouth. She was singed for life. He’d done that to her.

  As he settled his gaze on her, she made certain her hand stayed firmly at her side. She had no wish for him to see her touching her mouth as though reveling in the memory of his kiss. Definitely not. He needn’t know the impact he had on her. He would likely have to stave off laughter. He probably went about kissing women all the time and it meant nothing to him. It shouldn’t mean anything to her either.

  She would reserve the touching of her mouth and the recounting of that shattering kiss for when she was alone.

  They stood in a narrow foyer. A weathered wooden door loomed at the far end that had to be a servant’s entrance—or an entrance for guests who wanted more discretion.

  He sighed. “I never thought to see you here.” Disapproval was writ all over his face.

  Apparently he smiled only at the mention of Mary Rebecca frequenting Sodom. Not Graciela. Such activities were not for her, it seemed

  She inhaled through her nose, undeniably offended. Who was he to judge her? Her dearest friend could be a regular here and not Graciela?

  He released her hand and turned toward the door, clearly expecting her to follow.

  This would be the moment to explain that this was the first time she stepped foot inside Sodom and that the experience had been too much for her and she would never dare repeat it. Except pride kept those words bottled up inside her.

  She squared her shoulders. “Just because we’ve known each other for years, does not mean we really know each other, Lord Strickland.”

  He stopped and turned to fully face her again. He stared at her for a long moment and she felt the weight of that silvery blue gaze as though he were a magistrate rendering harsh judgment on her.

  “Lord Strickland now, is it? You’ve been known to call me Colin in the past.”

  True, she did at times use his Christian name. Only now that felt much too intimate given the circumstances.

  “We kiss and suddenly I’m Lord Strickland.” Mockery hugged his tones. She chose to ignore it.

  He’d done it. He’d mentioned the kiss. Named and identified that great giant beast in the room so it could not be avoided. She sighed. Perhaps this was for the best. They needed to discuss it and put it to rest.

  She swallowed and glanced around. The space in which they stood suddenly felt suffocatingly small.

  “About that kiss,” she began. “I appreciate what you were doing . . . helping me, but we need to forget that it ever happened.”

  She expected a look of relief from him. She was giving them both a way out of this uncomfortable scenario. They would simply go back to before. Pretend it never happened.

  He stepped closer, which was disconcerting. Especially as she was confronted with those eyes and the way they were looking at her now. Usually they stared at her kindly, full of mild-mannered courtesy. The perfect gentleman.

  But right now the blue of his eyes fairly glowed at her. He didn’t look like a gentleman. He more resembled a devilish pirate from a novel. The air charged and sparked in the tight space around them. She felt trapped, like she were caged with an unpredictable beast that might decide to bite.

  “You didn’t like it, Ela?” His voice rumbled between them, deep as distant thunder. “Could have fooled me.”

  The skin near her eye twitched. She inhaled through her nose and tried to ignore his nearness—and how very alone they were now. There was no Marcus to interrupt them. No roomful of strangers to offer distractions—not that they hadn’t engaged in a thoroughly devastating kiss with all those distractions anyway. But who knew what could transpire between them when they were well and truly alone? It was not a good situation for a woman who had decided only this night to seize her life and experience adventure for herself. Anything could happen now between them. Her belly clenched. All the decadent images she had witnessed tonight flashed through her mind. Purge. Purge them from her memory.

  “I’m Marcus’s stepmother.” The weak reminder came out the smallest whisper.

  He shrugged. “So? Marcus doesn’t have to know.”

  She stared, struggling to grasp what he was suggesting. “You mean . . .”

  He waved a finger between them. “He doesn’t need to know about anything that passes between us.”

  It took her a moment to fully absorb what he was saying. “Are you suggesting . . .”

  “Us,” he smoothly inserted. “You. Me.”

  A sharp laugh escaped her. She couldn’t help it. Her nerves were overwrought and what he was proposing was ludicrous.

  He scowled. “I’m not jesting. It is what you came here for tonight, is it not? To find a man to warm your bed?”

  How could he so accurately guess at her motives? “I—I . . .”

  “It takes more than curiosity for someone to come to Sodom.” He spoke in so even and moderate a voice—as though he were explaining a simple concept. “People come here when they’re looking for something . . . wanting something. Someone.” He stared at her, waiting.

  She swallowed,
wishing she could deny the charge, but then Evangeline’s face rushed across her memory. Once full of life, now she was lost, buried deep underground.

  Graciela knew that such a fate would be hers eventually. Death came to all. She simply wanted to live more before that happened, to experience all the colors life had to offer before that inevitable day arrived.

  So far the rainbow of her existence consisted of only a handful of colors, and most of them were because of her daughter. Clara provided all her joy and had given her life purpose during the bleak years of her marriage and even after she buried her husband.

  Colin was right.

  She had come here because she wanted something. Someone. Perhaps want wasn’t even the right word. She needed to find other colors to fill her life.

  Gazing at Colin’s handsome face, she was tempted to believe that he was that someone for her, that he was the lover she was seeking here at Sodom.

  Except it was preposterous for her to consider that a young, virile man like him, at the pinnacle of life, so beautiful to behold, not even married or yet a father, could be the lover she sought. He could have his pick of young women. He had so many other options. It was arrogant of her to think he would want her.

  She shook her head slightly. “Lord Strickland, I’m much too old for you.”

  He stared at her for a long moment. “Is that your excuse? You’re not that much older than me, Ela.”

  “Six years.”

  “A pittance.”

  She shook her head. “You should be paying court to all the young debutantes coming out. Choose one of them. Marry one of—”

  “I’m not suggesting marriage to you, Ela,” he cut her off. Laughter tinged his words. As if the very idea of marrying her, a woman his senior and well beyond childbearing years, was a jest. Heat slapped her face—and shame.

  Of course it was a jest.

  All laughter faded from his voice as he answered, “I’m suggesting an affair, of course.”

  “Of course,” she echoed, feeling instantly hollow inside. She knew that’s all that could ever be between them, but it did not lessen the sting. She was good enough for a quick tumble but nothing else. Nothing honorable. An empty, meaningless affair was all she was worth. With one hand skimming the wall, she skirted past him and headed for the door.

  His feet sounded behind her, following. She hurriedly opened the latch of the back door and stepped out into the night, plunging into the frigid air. It was a welcome shock to her overheated body. She lifted her face to the air and took a bracing breath.

  A street ran in front of her, parallel to Sodom, and she glanced up and down its length. Even at this late hour, carriages passed along the lane. This was a busy part of town with several gaming hells and clubs.

  She signaled for a hack, not bothering to wait for him to do it for her. Right now she wanted only to go home to her bed. Alone.

  He arrived at her side. “Ela, I meant no insult. We have known each other for years and I would hate for—”

  She whirled to face him, dropping her arm. The momentary relief she’d felt stepping outside quickly faded. She shivered in the cold, wet air. “Years of acquaintance notwithstanding, we don’t really know each other, my lord. I see no reason why we should change that fact now.”

  A nearby streetlamp cast his features in light. She did not miss the tensing of his jaw. “I think I know you fairly well, Ela.”

  “Only in the most superficial way,” she countered.

  He was fuming. It was strange. She had only ever seen him as an affable young man, but tonight she had observed him in several states of emotion—none she would characterize as affable. All that made him quite the dangerous man—the darkly handsome character from a Gothic novel whom the heroine did not know to be hero or villain.

  “So I’m nothing but a stranger to you?” he challenged, stepping ever nearer, a great encroaching wall of pulsing energy she felt certain would singe her if she were so foolish to touch it.

  She masked her unease with a shrug.

  “Is that not what you were looking for, then?” he pressed in a hard voice, reaching out a finger to trace the stiff edge of her domino. “An anonymous shag? Someone to rub that itch between your legs and afterward you can return to your polite life as the Duchess of Autenberry as though it never happened?”

  She gasped.

  His words were brutal and blunt . . . and not untrue. Even worse, they sent a spike of heat straight to her core. Her gaze feverishly scanned his handsome face, a single, horrible chorus chanting through her mind: Yesyesyyesyesyesyesyes.

  “I can be that man for you,” he added, his lip curling, revealing a flash of straight white teeth. “I felt the way you rode me as I kissed you. You wanted me deep inside you.” Her stomach flipped and churned and twisted as his gaze crawled hotly over her. “I still can be.”

  She sucked in a breath, aware that she should soundly slap him for speaking to her in such a way.

  A horse neighed as a coach clattered by, serving to remind her that civilization existed and she would not resort to histrionics and slap him like some overwrought damsel.

  She lifted a hand and this time a nearby hack responded, slowing to a stop beside them. The driver hopped down to open the door for her.

  She stepped close to Strickland, brushing a hand against his chest, a gossamer touch, barely making contact. Leaning forward, she breathed her response near his ear, ignoring the way his proximity made her heart race. “Rest assured, if I’ve an itch that needs rubbing, I’ll find someone other than you to rub it.”

  Turning, she fled inside the hack, a deep sense of gratification sweeping through her. He had offended her. Not so much with his offer to be her lover, but with the laughter in his voice when he assured her that he would never consider marrying her. Let him think she would seek another man. Perhaps she would.

  She heard the earl give her address to the driver outside. She leaned back on the squabs, holding her breath until the conveyance rocked forward, signaling she was moving away from Sodom and across town.

  She sat rigid and anxious until she reached her town house and she was safe inside. Her maid, Minnie, helped her undress and climb up into bed.

  Once there, tucked beneath the covers upon the colossal mattress, she gazed into the dark blindly.

  The winter wind tapped at the panes of her mullioned window. It was a lonely sound but it gave her comfort. This was familiar. Alone in her bed was familiar.

  Tonight marked her first kiss in over ten years.

  She replayed it in her mind. Everything right down to those outrageous parting remarks with Strickland. Colin.

  She dragged her knees up to her chest and curled into a tight ball. In this moment, lying aching in her bed, she imagined that she had taken him up on his offer. Right now he could be filling the awful clenching throb between her thighs.

  Her hand slipped between her knees to cup her throbbing mound. She felt hot in her hand, the ache there deep and almost painful. She moaned in frustration. Wicked as it was, she fondled herself, pushing the base of her palm against her womanhood, rubbing at that little pleasure point until she was shaking and panting. She worked for her climax, but it was elusive. She finally gave up, so unfulfilled she could weep.

  She brought her hand out from between her legs and rolled onto her back. Her ragged breaths filled the air between her and the canopy.

  It felt like she hovered on a great precipice. Change was inevitable after this night. She was on the verge of something significant and she needed to decide what that could be.

  When she was a little girl, Papa’s groundskeeper, Francisco, would take her fishing. Whenever she caught a fish, she would study it carefully, memorizing its shape and the shimmer of its iridescent underbelly, carefully disengaging the hook from its gaping mouth and then setting it free back into the dark waters of the bay. Francisco’s voice surfaced now and echoed through her mind: Every creature has its limitations. A fish cannot live out of water. L
earn what it is you cannot live without, mi niña, and never let that thing go.

  Unfortunately, Graciela still wasn’t certain what that was. She’d married and buried a husband and suffered numerous miscarriages. She knew loss and she knew joy. Her daughter was certainly the light of her life.

  And yet as much as she loved her daughter, Clara was growing up and starting to pull away. It was only fair and right that her daughter find her own path. Even though it made her heart hurt, Graciela knew this was inevitable. She would have to let her daughter go soon. Clara could not be that one thing she couldn’t live without. She would soon have to learn to live without her.

  And that left Graciela standing on that dock again, overlooking the water as she tossed her fish back in the bay, wondering what it was she couldn’t live without.

  It was time to find out.

  She would begin by taking a lover.

  Chapter 6

  The following day, Graciela returned to the town house and expelled a heavy sigh, wearied from the ordeal of saying her final farewell to Evangeline. She glanced down at the heavy black bombazine she wore, so eager to rid herself of the dress that the notion of burning the garment did not even strike her as dramatic.

  The funeral had been as grim as the vigil, replete with old dames gabbing on about women they’d known over the course of their lives who’d also expired young. One such tale featured a young baroness who walked off a cliff in a fog whilst looking for her pet pig.

  At least the somber event saved Graciela from being interrogated by Mary Rebecca over last night’s deeds. She saw the question in her friend’s eyes. She knew she wanted an explanation as to why she vanished last night, and Graciela wasn’t quite prepared to give it. She could lie or prevaricate, of course, but she wouldn’t. She made certain to take her own conveyance to and from the funeral, avoiding time alone with Mary Rebecca. She was her closest friend and the one person she could confide in about anything. In good time, she would tell her, but not today.

  “Good afternoon, Your Grace.” Mrs. Wakefield greeted her in the foyer, a ready smile creasing her face. Graciela looked up at the imposing woman several inches taller than herself.