Scandal

by Amanda Quick

  Emily’s eyes flew open as he pulled away. “Is something wrong?”

  “Nothing at all, my sweet. I am just going to get a bit more comfortable.” Simon tugged off his shirt and the dangling cravat. Then his hands went to the fastening of his breeches. In a moment he was gloriously naked. The firelight gleamed on the muscular contours of his shoulders and thighs, revealing his full arousal.

  “Pashas generally take their clothes off when they make love to one of the members of their harem,” Simon said as he came back down beside Emily.

  Emily giggled as she felt herself being pushed back down onto the pillow. “I must warn you, my lord, I will not tolerate any other residents in this particular harem. Only myself.”

  “So I am to have a harem of one?”

  “I fear that is the case. I do not intend to share you with any other female.” She smiled wickedly. “Nor do I think you will need any other.”

  “You intend to keep me quite busy, then?” He slid his palm warmly along her thigh and looked down at her with a gaze that brought a flush to her throat and breasts.

  “Very busy,” Emily promised huskily. She curled her fingers in the hair on his chest, loving the crisp texture as well as the sense of strength in the powerful muscles beneath his skin. “Simon, you are so beautiful,” she said in wonder.

  “No, elf, you are the beautiful one. Your breasts are perfectly suited to my hand.” He cupped one briefly, grazing his thumb over the nipple until she shuddered. “Your mouth fits mine perfectly.” He kissed her deeply, thoroughly, druggingly until she wriggled in his grasp. “And the insides of your thighs are softer and warmer than anything I have ever known.” He eased his hand between her legs.

  Emily gasped as she felt Simon’s fingertips touch her with scalding intimacy. She clutched at his strong shoulders and strained against him. A deep, aching sense of need was blossoming swiftly within her. Her whole body began to yearn for the explosive release she had once before experienced at Simon’s hands.

  “Not yet,” Simon muttered. He caught hold of her fluttering hands, stretched her arms out over her head, and pinned her wrists. Then he leaned over her and kissed her eyelids. “I vow this time you will not drive me mad. This time I will be the one in control and you will learn to enjoy this business of making love.”

  “I do enjoy it, Simon. Honestly, I do.” Emily lifted her hips, seeking his warmth. She was truly aching for him now.

  “It will get even better,” he promised. Still holding her wrists above her head, he reached down and spread her thighs widely apart, settling himself between her legs.

  Emily tightened her legs instinctively and struggled to free her hands so that she could wrap her arms around his neck and hold him close.

  Simon looked down at her and smiled slowly. “I am going to release your wrists now, but you must not move.”

  “Do not be silly. I cannot stay still,” Emily said, panting.

  “Then I shall give you something to aid you.” Simon scooped up his cravat from where it lay on the carpet. He looped the large length of white silk around the clawed foot of the heavy settee which was just behind Emily’s head. Then he placed the ends of the cravat in Emily’s outstretched fingers.

  “You must hold on very tightly,” Simon told her as her fingers clenched instinctively in the silk

  Bewildered, but anxious to get on with things, Emily obediently grasped a section of the starched, white silk in each hand. “Now what?” she demanded impatiently.

  “Now you must tug very hard on my cravat whenever the urge to move becomes overwhelming. Do not concern yourself. You will not pull the settee over. It is very heavy and the cravat is made of very strong silk.”

  Arms stretched above her head, Emily glared up at her husband. “Bloody hell, Simon, I do not want to play with your cravat.”

  “Do as you are told,” he instructed with a deep chuckle. “You are a harem lady, remember? Harem ladies always do what they are told.”

  “But, Simon … Oh.” Emily moaned and her fingers tightened obediently around the strip of silk as she felt Simon’s tongue in the very center of her soft, curved stomach.

  “Remember, just pull very hard on the cravat when you cannot stand it any longer.” Simon eased himself lower, his hands closing firmly around Emily’s hips. He held her still as he kissed the inside of her thigh.

  “Simon.” Emily froze with shock.

  “That’s better. You are not moving at all now. You are stretched as taut as a bowstring. Beautifully arched and straining for my touch.” His hand moved down the length of her and she shuddered. His mouth was on the inside of her thigh now.

  “Simon.”

  “Tug harder on my cravat,” he ordered softly. Then he kissed her again, even more intimately. “Harder, Emily.”

  The riot of sensation that threatened to swamp Emily was startling and confusing. She felt as though she were sinking below the surface of a warm sea. She could hardly even breath now, let alone try to think. She obeyed Simon’s murmured commands blindly.

  Emily seized the white silk in a fierce grip and tugged at it with all her might. The twisting, tightening feeling in her lower body grew more intense.

  “Pull harder, Emily. You must use all your strength now. Tug just as hard as you can.” Simon’s finger slid into her moist passage and he sucked gently on the small, erect nub of exquisitely sensitive feminine flesh.

  “Bloody hell.” Emily was in the center of a sensual storm. She responded to Simon’s softly murmured orders, hauling violently on the handfuls of silk. The harder she pulled, the more she felt as if she were going to burst into flames at any second.

  “Just a little harder, Emily. Pull just a little more. You are very wet now, very tight. Very ready. You are almost there. Just a little harder on the cravat, I think. Yes, that’s it.”

  Emily gasped as she felt Simon’s hard shaft probing at the entrance of her body. Clinging tightly to the ends of the cravat, she looked up through her lashes and saw him looming over her.

  “Simon.”

  “Don’t let go of the silk, Emily.” He pushed into her very slowly. “You are very tight, elf. But this time there is no pain, is there?”

  “No. No, oh, Simon, I do not think I can stand this,” she gasped. Her fingers were crushing the white silk

  “No?” He started to ease himself back out of her.

  “Simon, do not leave me.” She was panicked at the thought that he was going to pull away just as she was hovering on the brink of this wondrous, transcendent experience.

  “I have no intention of leaving you, elf. And you will never leave me, will you?” Simon eased himself slowly back into her.

  “No, never. I would never leave you, Simon. Oh. Bloody hell.”

  “Tighter on the cravat, Emily. Just a little bit tighter.”

  He was deep inside, stretching her, becoming a part of her. Emily could not stand it anymore. Her whole body convulsed.

  “Simon.”

  There was a distant ripping sound as the silk cravat tore in half. Emily’s arms were suddenly free. She flung them around Simon, clinging to him as the incredible shivers of release raced through her from head to toe.

  She heard Simon’s hoarse, exultant shout of satisfaction and felt him pumping himself violently into her. Mindlessly Emily clutched at him as the waves of passion took them both under the surface of the warm sea.

  A long while later, Emily felt Simon stir in her arms. She opened her eyes lazily, feeling much too languid to move.

  “It would appear I am in the market for a new cravat,” Simon observed as he rolled onto his side. He grinned as he picked up the severed strips of white silk that had once been an extremely stylish item of neckwear. He dangled the ends over Emily’s nose. “You do not know your own strength, madam.”

  “Apparently not.” She laughed and blew on one of the bits of white silk. It fluttered in the air. “Was it one of your favorite cravats, by any chance?”

  “Definit
ely. I am quite shattered at the loss.”

  Emily giggled. She stretched, sat up, and folded her arms on his chest. She rested her chin on her arms. “I shall try to compensate you for it.”

  “It will take a great deal of effort on your part.” Simon’s teeth gleamed in a wicked smile.

  “Do you know something, Simon? I think you would have made a very good pasha. There is something quite barbaric about you at times.”

  “I’m not at all barbaric.” Simon wrapped his hand around the nape of her neck and pulled her close for a kiss. “In fact, in some ways, I am quite civilized. Even a bit dull.”

  “Never.”

  “You think not? Well, let me tell you this, my passionate wife. Just once, I would dearly like to make love to you in a bed rather than on the floor of the library. How is that for being staid and dull?”

  “A bed?” Emily frowned. “How very normal and unimaginative that sounds. I stand corrected. You may be a bit dull, after all, my lord. What a surprise. You certainly had me fooled.”

  “Vixen.” He pushed her back down into the depths of the gold satin and kissed her soundly.

  The kiss was intended as playful punishment, but it was quickly transformed into something much more potent. Emily gave herself up to it with joyous abandon before Simon finally broke it off to gaze down at her with eyes that were no longer amused. Instead, they were strangely watchful.

  “Well, Emily? Was that more what you expected from lovemaking?” he asked quietly.

  “Oh, yes, Simon. I truly felt cast adrift upon love’s transcendent, golden shore that time.” She smiled shyly, knowing her heart was probably reflected in her eyes. “It was wonderful—truly a metaphysical experience. Extraordinarily stimulating to the sensibilities. I cannot wait to do it again.”

  Simon groaned and then fell back, laughing. “I ought to have known a woman of excessive passions such as yourself would be utterly insatiable.” He sat up and got to his feet, reaching for his shirt. “Come, wife. We are going to go upstairs and behave like a civilized married couple for once.”

  “What an excellent idea, my lord.” Emily reached for her spectacles and adjusted them on her nose. “Just think. You have an entire drawer full of cravats upstairs in your bedchamber.”

  “Very true.” Simon looked at his wife, who was wearing nothing except her spectacles, and grinned again. “Madam, I promise you that you will be positively amazed at the versatility of a well-made cravat.”

  It was nearly dawn but Simon was far from sleep. Emily’s slender, warm body was snuggled closely against him and he could smell the scent of her mingled with the odors of their recent lovemaking. A length of white silk still dangled from her fingers, which lay across his chest.

  He had handled matters much better this time around, Simon decided. He had held to his vow to make Emily come to him. She had done so, surrendering very sweetly, with a womanly grace that had charmed him. Even more important, he had been in control right up until the moment he allowed himself to take his own satisfaction.

  His relationship with his new bride was now much more as it should be, Simon concluded, trying to be coolheaded and objective about the situation. Emily had learned that he could give her pleasure when he made love to her and she had also learned that he was quite capable of an unshakable self-control.

  She had been obliged to acknowledge that his was the stronger will in this union. He had bided his time and it had been worth it. By waiting until she succumbed to her own inevitable curiosity and budding sense of passion, he had made his point. He would be in charge from now on and Emily would know that.

  It was necessary for a wife to respect her husband’s strength of will. Especially when that wife was an ex-Faringdon.

  “Simon?” Emily’s voice was languid.

  “I thought you were asleep, elf.”

  “I was. But I just remembered something I meant to tell you earlier. I had a conversation with Lady Northcote this evening.” Emily yawned.

  Simon was instantly alert. “Did you, indeed? And what did you discuss?”

  “Well, I was thanking her for inviting me to her ball and she assured me she could have done nothing less because of my having saved Celeste from Nevil. She also seemed to think she owed me the kindness because of something that had happened in the past between Northcote’s father and yours.”

  “Is that what she said?”

  “It was all very vague, but I naturally assured her that she was not to worry about it any longer.”

  Simon went still. “What, precisely, did you tell her, Emily?”

  “Just that whatever obligation might have existed in the past had been more than amply repaid by her kindness in launching me into Society. She has been so nice to me, Simon. I could not bear to have her think she owed me anything. And I certainly do not want her friendship based on a feeling of obligation.”

  “So you told her the debt had been paid in full?”

  “Yes. Precisely. And she was very relieved, I must say.”

  “Bloody hell,” Simon muttered. “I’ll wager she was. And that is nothing compared to how Northcote no doubt feels.”

  “Well, I certainly hope so. Such a nice couple.”

  So much for being in charge of the situation.

  Ah, well, Simon consoled himself. Northcote had been the least of the four. It was Northcote’s father, after all, not the present marquess, who had ignored the letter Simon had written twenty-three years ago.

  And Simon was obliged to admit that Lady Northcote had done a fine job of launching Emily. Perhaps the Northcote debt had, indeed, been paid in full.

  “Emily,” he said as sternly as possible, “in future you will not make promises or commitments on my behalf without consulting me first. Is that plain?”

  “Perfectly, Simon. But I knew in this case you would not mind in the least. It was all obviously some sort of old misunderstanding.”

  “You are wrong there, elf. Northcote and I understand each other very well.”

  “Well, Blade?” the Marquess of Northcote asked quietly. “My wife tells me your wife feels that the old debt is repaid. Is that true?”

  Simon slowly lowered his newspaper and regarded Northcote with a cool gaze. The familiar, subdued sounds of masculine conversation, rustling papers, and gently clinking bottles behind him indicated the club was busy this afternoon. But he and Northcote had this corner of the room to themselves.

  “My wife enjoyed herself very much last night,” Simon said without inflection. “Lady Merryweather assures me Emily is well launched in Society. Please convey my gratitude to your lady.”

  Northcote lowered himself into the chair beside Simon’s and reached for the bottle of port that stood on the end table. He poured himself a glass. “I am not talking about our wives and you know it. I am asking if you now consider matters between us to have been evened out.”

  Simon shrugged. “It would appear so. A husband must honor his wife’s promises and obligations and Emily appears to have taken it upon herself to let you off the hook.” He went back to scanning the newspaper.

  “Damn it, Blade, do not play any of your deep games with me. Just tell me straight out if you consider the old debt fulfilled.”

  “You have my word on it.” Simon did not look up from his perusal of the latest dispatches from the Continent. But beside him he sensed Northcote relax.

  “Thank you, Blade. You are known to be as hard as iron but your word is equally solid. My wife was in hysterics that night at the inn. She was convinced Celeste’s future had been shattered by that damn fortune hunter.”

  “I assume you took care of the wretched Nevil?”

  “He will not be returning to London at any time in the near future,” Northcote confirmed, not without satisfaction.

  “Then all is well.” Simon turned the page.

  There was silence from the other chair for a long moment as Northcote sipped his port. Then he said in a low voice, “You may not believe this, but I regret w
hat happened all those years ago, Blade. I apologize for my father’s behavior.”

  Simon lowered the paper and met Northcote’s steady gaze. He let another beat of silence pass and then he nodded curtly, surprised by the apology. “Consider the matter settled.”

  Northcote stretched out his legs and studied his glass of port. “I was the last one, was I not? You eventually managed to trap all of us. Me, Canonbury, and Peppington. And of course, Faringdon. It was devilishly clever of you, Blade. I regret that my father did not live long enough to appreciate your brilliance.”

  “I share your regret,” Simon said with mocking sincerity.

  “It took you long enough to find a way of bringing pressure to bear on me. Finding my daughter that night at the inn was a stroke of luck for you.”

  “It was useful,” Simon agreed, pouring himself a glass of port. “But sooner or later something would have turned up. It always does if one knows how to wait.”

  “And you are very good at waiting for an opportunity. I am well aware that I got off lightly. I am greatly relieved that all you wanted from me was my wife’s social connections. If my father had still been alive, I imagine you would have demanded a much higher payment for what he did to you.”

  “Yes.”

  Northcote sighed. “If it is any consolation, he told me before he died two years ago to keep an eye on you. He said you would return one day and when you did, you would be dangerous. When are you going to make Canonbury and Peppington pay?”

  “I prefer to keep them dangling for a while.”

  “Living with financial uncertainty is their true punishment, is it not?”

  Simon sipped his port. “Revenge is best savored slowly, not gulped.”

  “Slow, steady torture.” Northcote smiled grimly. “A very Eastern sort of vengeance, I believe. Again, I can only be grateful that your wife is impulsively generous.”

  “I shall keep a closer eye on her impulsive gestures in the future,” Simon assured him dryly.

  Northcote grinned. “Lady Blade has made a most delightful splash in the social world.”

  “So I am told.”