One Night of Scandal

by Darcy Burke

  She nodded. “Don’t stop.” Through the slight ache, she glimpsed the pleasure.

  He continued forward until she felt quite full. “I’m just going to sit here for a moment.” The discomfort began to fade, and she wanted to move.

  “Actually, I think I’d rather you get out.”

  He immediately started to withdraw. “I’m sorry.”

  “And then come back in. Isn’t that what we’re supposed to do? The shagging, I mean.” She groaned in frustration. “I don’t think I can communicate worth a fig right now.”

  He laughed softly, then kissed her. “You are communicating just fine.” He eased back in, then withdrew again slowly, then thrust just as slowly.

  “This is quite nice. But I think I want more than nice. Faster, if you please.”

  “Are you sure you’re ready? I’m not hurting you?”

  She shook her head, and he pressed forward, hitting a spot he hadn’t before, and need crashed over her. She clasped his hips and squeezed. “Move.”

  He kissed her again, his mouth open and wet, his tongue driving into her as his cock did the same. He moved hard and fast, and she arched up to meet him, their bodies moving in perfect rhythm. The climax she’d experienced before began to build anew, and she splayed her hands across his lower back as he guided her legs to curl around his hips.

  Oh, this was even better. He drove more deeply still, and she crested the top of the mountain, diving into a rapturous abyss that knew no end.

  He thrust a few more times, then she heard him cry out her name. He continued to move with a less frenzied pace, and soon he ceased entirely. His body came down on top of her, and the warm weight of him was delicious. She wrapped her arms around him and kissed his cheek, his mouth, his neck, nuzzling him.

  After some time, he rolled to the side and drew her against him. “Should we clean up?” she whispered.

  “Not yet. I just want to hold you. Then I’ll take you home.”

  Viola sighed as she snuggled against him. How could he take her home when she felt like she was already there?

  Chapter 14

  “What on earth are you writing?” Grandmama asked from her chair near the fireplace.

  Viola looked up from the table where she’d been pouring out ideas about a book. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been scratching the pen across the parchment. “I’m…writing.” Grandmama would tell her writing a novel was a waste of time, especially now that she was getting married.

  She was getting married.

  Last night had been transformative. She’d truly felt she’d been home in Jack’s arms. The thought of not marrying him made the air leave her lungs and a hole open up in the vicinity of her heart.

  Because she loved him. Now she knew—and was ready to admit it—and in hindsight, she felt like a fool. She’d been falling in love with him for a fortnight now, and she could only hope he’d been doing the same with her. She’d almost told him last night, but what if he didn’t love her in return? He clearly cared for her and he was going to marry her, but was it the same as this overwhelming…passion she had for him? Every moment away from him was like an eternity, and every moment with him was joy.

  “Is it a love letter?” Grandmama asked.

  Viola snapped her gaze to her grandmother and caught the end of a rare, faint smile. “No, it is not a love letter.”

  “I assumed it was. Your lovesickness is clear. I am glad the wedding is happening soon.” She stood from her chair. “Time for my nap.”

  She passed Blenheim, who inclined his head as she left the library. The butler brought a letter to Viola. “This arrived for you from His Grace, my lady.”

  She smiled up at him. “Thank you, Blenheim.”

  Tearing open the missive, Viola saw there was a second letter tucked inside. She read the first one, from Val, which said the other had arrived at the Wicked Duke for Tavistock. Viola’s pulse twitched and her heart began to pound as she opened the second letter.

  Dear Tavistock,

  Come to The Black Hare on Villers Street at three o’clock if you want to lern the identity of the informer within the Spenseans.

  She frowned at the paper. The handwriting was unfamiliar—it was not the same as the previous letter addressed to Tavistock. This one was rather sloppy with ink splotches and contained spelling errors. She assumed he meant Villiers Street.

  She glanced at the clock on the mantel. It was scarcely two. If she hurried, she could make it. And yet, she shouldn’t go alone. Perhaps Jack could meet her. She’d send a note to him at Westminster asking him to meet her at The Black Hare.

  What if he didn’t receive the note in time? Or what if he couldn’t get away? She’d go, and if he didn’t arrive, she’d leave. There could be no harm in that.

  Grabbing a new piece of parchment, she dashed off the note, then stood and went into the entrance hall. “Blenheim, this must be delivered to Westminster immediately. To Mr. Jack Barrett.”

  He took the missive with a nod. “I’ll dispatch a footman at once.”

  “Thank you.” She smiled, then hurried upstairs to don her Tavistock costume. And she’d thought last night had been the last occasion she’d do so.

  For the first time, she dreaded the prospect of binding her breasts, flattening her hair so the wig would fit, and gluing the whiskers to her cheeks. Hopefully, this would be the last time.

  It was nearly three when the hired hack arrived on Villiers Street just down from The Black Hare. Viola asked the driver to stay for a few minutes and gave him extra coin to do so. He agreed, but said he wouldn’t wait all day.

  She scanned the pavement and the other side of the street for Jack but didn’t see him. Pacing, she watched for another hack. Perhaps he’d gone into The Black Hare.

  Walking toward the tavern, she hesitated outside the door. She shouldn’t go in, not without him. Instead, she tried to peer in the window, but it was dingy and she couldn’t identify any of the people inside.

  Frustrated and disappointed because it looked like she wasn’t going to learn the identity of the informer, she turned and started back toward her hack. Suddenly, strong arms grabbed her and pulled her into the narrow alley beside the pub. But that was all she saw, for a sack came down over her head, plunging her into darkness.

  She started to yell—no, it was a scream, a feminine scream, and she didn’t care. A hand came over her mouth, silencing her.

  “Christ, Tavistock sounds like a woman!” Her captor tightened his grip. “Keep quiet, or we’ll have to shoot you.”

  “We will?” This was a new voice. There were two of them.

  “Yes!” the first one hissed.

  While they argued, they dragged her, presumably through the alley. They each held one of her arms, and one of them kept his hand over her mouth. She heard a door open, and they pushed her roughly inside. Then they hauled her up a flight of stairs, but it was too awkward for the one man to keep his hand on her mouth. She started to scream again, and the man above her on the stairs hit her. She stumbled back, but the man below her caught her.

  “Bloody hell!” the man holding her cried.

  “Keep him—or her—quiet, or I will shoot him. Or her.”

  Viola felt something poking into her stomach. It didn’t necessarily feel like a pistol, but how could she know? She couldn’t see a thing, and it wasn’t as if she’d ever had a gun shoved into her gut before.

  “Tie something over his mouth,” the man above her said.

  A moment later, fingers felt over the sack covering her face. When he found her mouth, she considered trying to bite him, but didn’t think she’d do much damage through the cloth. Furthermore, there was probably a pistol trained on her midsection.

  The man behind her tied something around her mouth, forcing the sack between her lips. She tasted dust and grime, and nausea swirled in her belly.

  They pulled her up the rest of the stairs and into a room. She heard the door close, and then she was thrown into a chair. One of th
e men pulled her arms behind her and tied her wrists together.

  Viola, whose heart was already threatening to beat clear out of her chest, tensed. She wanted to ask what they wanted, but she couldn’t talk. When she tried, all that came out were muffled sounds.

  Fingers slid beneath the gag tied around her face as they separated it from the sack, which they then pushed up past her nose, but left covering her eyes. She shuddered from revulsion at having the man touch her so intimately. Then he pulled at her whiskers, peeling them away from her skin.

  “The sideburns are fake,” the man said.

  “Bloody hell, he is a woman,” the man with the pistol swore. Both of them sounded somewhat familiar, but Viola couldn’t quite place them.

  “Now what do we do?” the first man asked.

  “Depends on who she is,” pistol-man responded.

  Viola tried to yell that she was the Duke of Eastleigh’s sister.

  “Can’t tell without revealing her face, and then she’ll be able to see us.”

  “And we can’t have that.” The man shoved the pistol in her side, making her gasp. “Tavistock, you’ve caused far more trouble than you’re worth. Now we have to decide what to do about it.”

  Fear curled in Viola’s gut, and she feared she was going to be sick. She never should have come today. She’d thought her plan was sound, and she’d been about to return to the hack since Jack wasn’t here.

  Jack.

  She could only pray he would arrive before… She wasn’t sure what, and she was afraid to find out.

  Near the end of his second long meeting of the afternoon, Jack received a note. He would have set it aside, but he recognized Viola’s handwriting. Smiling to himself, as he’d been doing all day because he couldn’t stop thinking of the night before, he opened it. The smile turned to a frown by the time he finished.

  Standing, he apologized to his colleagues and left in haste. He caught a hack and told the driver to hurry to Villiers Street. He arrived outside The Black Hare and looked around for Viola—rather, Tavistock.

  Not seeing her, he went inside the tavern and asked if anyone had seen the young man. When no one had, his concern flared into full alarm. Dashing back outside, he scanned both sides of the street more closely. This time, he caught sight of a hack positioned just a short way down the street.

  He ran to the hack and called up to the driver, “I don’t suppose you’ve seen a young man? Shorter than average, rather skinny.” Skinny didn’t remotely describe Viola’s curves, but for a man, she was slight at best.

  The driver’s brow furrowed beneath his hat. “I have. He paid me to wait for a few minutes. I was about to leave, and then I saw a couple of gents drag him into that alley.”

  Jack gaped at him. “And you just sat there and watched?”

  “I don’t want any trouble,” the driver said. “I’ve been sitting here the past few minutes trying to decide what to do. I’m just one man, and not even a full one.” He knocked on his boot, and the hollow sound told Jack he had a wooden leg.

  Swearing, Jack pointed toward the alley next to the tavern. “They took him through there?”

  The driver nodded. “Maybe ten minutes ago.”

  “Two men, you say?” Jack confirmed.

  At the driver’s nod, Jack strode back to the tavern, passing the alley and ignoring the sharp pain of distress in his chest and gut. It wouldn’t do to go storming into the alley and try to find them. He hoped they were somewhere in the tavern.

  Inside, he approached the barkeep. “Do you have a back room where a couple of gentlemen might be? I have a meeting.” He slid a bank note across the bar to the man.

  “There’s a room upstairs. Couple of fellows are using it today. Go on through the back there. Door on the right leads to the stairs.”

  “Thank you.” Jack barely finished uttering the words before he was through the back door. It might not be them, but it was all he had right now.

  Pushing the door open, he moved cautiously into a short corridor. There was a second door to his right and based on its location, he guessed it led to the alley. Hope bloomed in his chest, and he crept up the stairs, careful to make as little noise as possible.

  He paused halfway up, worried that he didn’t have a weapon. What if they were armed? But he couldn’t leave, not if she was up there now and in grave danger. Maybe there was something he could use downstairs.

  He hurried back down and went back through the doorway. He found a small storage closet. Inside was a variety of cleaning implements, including a broom. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing, and he’d taken his fair share of fencing lessons.

  Inspiration struck, and he broke the handle over his knee. This left him with a jagged-ended pole. Perfect. Not really, but it would have to do.

  Retracing his steps, Jack went up the stairs to a narrow landing. A single sconce burning on the stairs didn’t provide much illumination. There were three doors. Jack bent his head to each, listening. At the second one, he heard voices. Then he heard the definitive sound of a muffled shriek.

  He threw the door open and rushed inside, wielding the jagged pole. A shocked pair of gentlemen stared at him. Pennington and Sir Humphrey. They stood on either side of Viola, and Pennington had his fingers jabbed into Viola’s side.

  She tried to squirm away from him, but her arms were tied behind her back, and her mobility was limited.

  Rage swam in Jack’s vision. “What the hell are you doing?”

  Viola yelled something that might have been “Jack,” but he couldn’t say for sure because they had a gag around her mouth. Oh, he was going to commit violence. He just had to decide who would receive his wrath first.

  Sir Humphrey’s eyes rounded. “Barrett! What are you doing here?”

  “That hardly matters. Back away from her.” He realized he hadn’t used the right pronoun, but he didn’t care. Keeping Viola safe was the only thing that mattered. “Pennington, what are you doing poking her like that? Take the sack off her head. Now.” Jack moved forward and waved the broken broom handle in the man’s face.

  Pennington let out a sound of fear and hurried to remove the sack. Viola’s hat sailed away with it, and her wig shifted.

  Sir Humphrey gasped. “Eastleigh’s sister!”

  Apparently, they hadn’t realized Tavistock was a woman. Wait, they’d had to. Her whiskers were in her lap. It seemed they hadn’t known her identity.

  Viola’s eyes found his, and she sagged in relief. Jack, meanwhile, was ready to commit murder.

  “Take off the gag,” Jack growled. “I can’t believe I have to ask.” He thrust the broom handle next to Pennington’s cheek.

  He yelped, then quickly removed Viola’s gag.

  Jack waved the pole toward Sir Humphrey. “Untie her!”

  When she was free, she jumped up from the chair and dashed to Jack’s side. He put his arm around her and held her close. She buried her face in his neck. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “When I didn’t see you, I tried to leave, but they grabbed me.”

  “Shh.” He kissed her temple. “I’ve got you now.”

  He glared at Pennington and Sir Humphrey. “Explain yourselves before Bow Street arrives.”

  They both paled. “We only meant to frighten him,” Sir Humphrey said, his voice high with desperation. “Her. Tavistock.”

  “We didn’t know he was a woman,” Pennington said.

  Viola glared at them. “You didn’t even have a gun, did you?”

  Pennington shook his head. “We just wanted to frighten you. Sir Humphrey said something foolish to you last night, and Caldwell said he had to fix it.” He glowered at Sir Humphrey. “He convinced me to help him, as he and Caldwell have been doing all along.”

  Caldwell. Jack hadn’t really thought that he—and these men—would resort to such measures to eliminate him, a political foe. “Where is Caldwell?”

  Sir Humphrey wrung his hands. “He told us to take care of it. It was my mistake to mention t
he informer. No one was supposed to know. I wasn’t even supposed to know.”

  “And you told a reporter,” Viola said with disgust.

  “What was your objective—along with Caldwell? You accused me of meeting with the Spenceans, and you’re trying to link me to the attack on the Prince Regent. Why?” Jack demanded.

  “We just wanted you out of the way,” Sir Humphrey said. “You’re a thorn in our sides, always prattling on about reform. You’d see our boroughs redrawn, and then we wouldn’t have seats.”

  “You don’t deserve seats,” Viola spat. “And that was before you became criminals.”

  “Caldwell wanted to ruin your reputation—to get you expelled from the Commons,” Pennington whined. “Blame him.”

  “You are not blameless,” Jack said darkly. He handed the broom handle to Viola. “Hold this.”

  Crossing the space between himself and Pennington, he planted the man a facer, sending him reeling backward. Then he turned and did the same to Sir Humphrey, knocking that man to the floor.

  “You’re lucky if that’s all I do to you.” Jack went back to Viola and wrapped her in his arms. He kissed her, then took the broom handle back before addressing the men once more. “Stay here until Bow Street arrives. If you don’t, they know where you live. And if you tell a soul who Tavistock really is, I’ll hunt you down and make what’s left of your miserable lives positively abhorrent. Do you understand me?”

  They both nodded vigorously, Pennington cowering near the corner and Sir Humphrey huddled on the floor.

  Turning, he took Viola’s hand and led her from the room, closing the door firmly behind him. He hurried down the stairs and decided they’d best leave through the back door into the alley.

  Once they were outside, he felt her body start to wilt. He dropped the broom handle and turned, taking her into his arms and holding her tightly against his chest. “You’re safe now.”

  “I was afraid you wouldn’t find me. And just when everything had seemed so perfect.” She pulled back and looked up into his face, her wig askew, but her face was all Viola and so beloved.