Scandal and the Duchess

by Jennifer Ashley

  Steven touched her cheek. “You’re a generous soul, Rosie. Ronald and I made great fools of ourselves for her. We were best friends, closer than most brothers, and I think we enjoyed the game for her affections. She certainly enjoyed playing us one off the other. She had us fighting for her favors, each trying to trick the other out of escorting her to whatever outings we’d planned. We both went a little mad, threatening each other with dire fates. Laura sat between us and lapped up every morsel of it. I postured as much as Ronald, even coming to blows with him, but somewhere in the back of my mind, no matter how far things went, I still considered it all a game. After Christmas, we’d rejoin the regiment as best friends.” Steven drew a sharp breath. “When Laura chose me as her affianced, I was very proud of myself. What I didn’t realize at the time was that Ronald hated me for it.”

  “Oh.” Rose’s heart squeezed, and she fought her demon again. No reason for it, she told herself. Clearly the marriage had not come to pass. “But she married Captain Ellis,” she said, puzzled.

  Steven gave her a nod. “That came later, after I squired Laura about for the rest of that season, very full of myself. She quite played it up as well. What neither she nor I knew was how much Ronald felt it. I had no idea—I was only pleased I’d won the game. I play to win.” He let out a breath, sounding bitter. “One night, Ronald cornered me alone in my hotel room. He had a pistol and vowed to shoot me, then himself.”

  Rose sat up in alarm. “Good heavens. What did you do?”

  “He was very drunk, and I was able to wrestled the pistol away from him, thank God. But I saw the misery in his eyes. I realized in that single moment that Ronald loved Laura deeply, and I never had. I’d been infatuated, and wanted to best everybody, as I always do. I’d been gambling as usual, but this time with friendship and our lives.”

  Rose rubbed her thumb over the inside his wrist. “Oh, Steven. I’m sorry.”

  Steven sent her a self-deprecating smile. “No need. I’d been a thorough idiot, and the shock of Ronald truly wanting to kill me woke me up. So I conceded the field. I told Ronald I knew he and Laura belonged together. I’d allow her to break the engagement, then I left for Scotland, taking myself out of the way.”

  “What did Mrs. Ellis say to that?” Rose tried to imagine the grief-stricken woman she’d met devastated that Steven wanted to break the engagement. No, she’d truly loved her husband. Her sorrow hadn’t been feigned, and she hadn’t looked at Steven with regret or any sort of longing.

  Steven gave a short laugh. “She’d wanted Ronald the whole time, it turned out. Used me to make him declare himself. I doubt she thought he’d go as dramatically far as he did. I walked away, spent my Christmas with my family in Scotland, as per usual, and went back to the regiment. Ronald returned too, by himself, but a married man. He’d obtained a special license and done the deed at New Year’s.”

  “Mrs. Ellis didn’t accompany him?”

  He shook his head. “She didn’t like the idea of living outside England, especially not in such a difficult place as Africa. Which was why I’d never had any fear of taking the game to its logical conclusion. I’d have gotten out of the engagement before it became too entangling. I’d want a wife willing to accompany me.”

  Rose secretly thought Mrs. Ellis a fool. If Steven had asked her, Rose would have eagerly followed him wherever he went, never mind heat and hardship.

  “What happened to Captain Ellis?” Rose asked.

  Steven looked out the window, but there was nothing to see but drops on the glass and mist beyond. Very little sunshine penetrated the gloom of the day, sealing them in a half-light of gray.

  Rose rested her head on his shoulder again. “If you don’t want to tell me the rest, I understand.”

  Steven drew a long breath. “No, I want you to know the rest of the story. Ronald and I were on a patrol one night a month or so ago, and got cut off from camp. He’d told me that morning that when he took leave this year, it would be his last. He planned to leave the army and settle down with Laura and raise children. He was happy, and I was happy for him. Things had never been the same between us since he tried to shoot me, no matter how many times he’d apologized for it or tried to make up for it. I was glad we were putting the whole sordid business behind us. But it wasn’t meant to be.” Steven turned from the window and looked down at her. “We ran into a pocket of rebels, they had guns, and they shot Ronald, right in front of me.”

  “Steven.” Rose slid her arms around him, her heart aching. “How horrible.”

  “He never had a chance,” he said, voice stoic. “I got him away and to a safe place, but he died as I held him.”

  Rose tightened her embrace. It felt so natural to comfort him, as though she had a right to. “I’m so sorry.”

  “His last words to me were another apology.” Steven gave another short laugh. “Ronald thought I was still in love with Laura, to my surprise. He told me to go back to England and look after her. Gave me his blessing to marry her. I couldn’t argue with him, not while he was dying. It was important to him that he made his peace with me this way, so I agreed to take care of her.”

  Rose said nothing. Steven turned back to the window, the rain increasing outside. Rose thought about how Steven had introduced her to Mrs. Ellis, emphasizing she was his fiancée. And Mrs. Ellis’s look of relief.

  “She doesn’t want to marry you,” Rose said. “Is that what she thought you’d come to do? Propose to her?”

  “Yes,” Steven answered wearily. “Ronald apparently told her that if anything ever happened to him, she and I could be together. But Laura never wanted me. She still doesn’t. That’s why she tried to put me off. I only insisted delivering Ronald’s things so I could fulfill my promise to him, and close the matter.”

  “I understand.” Rose rested her hand on the seat beside her. “Handy that the world thought you betrothed then, wasn’t it?”

  She spoke lightly, but she at last understood Steven’s willingness to have his name coupled with hers, to have the journalists spread the tale that they were engaged. It would send a message to Mrs. Ellis for once and for all that the events of the past were at an end.

  “Rose.” Steven turned to her, a hard light in his eyes. “I might have seen the opportunity, that first morning. But that’s not what it became.”

  His look made anything jealous in her shrivel in shame. “I’m not angry,” she said, her voice quiet. “I am happy to help you in return for the assistance you’ve rendered me.” She tried to smile. “Even to keep you out of an unwanted marriage.”

  “Not to keep me out—to give Laura her freedom. I know her. She’d convinced herself I was still in love with her, and that it was her duty to marry me for Ronald’s sake. Even if I hadn’t proposed, she’d have martyred herself, waiting for me to so. This way, she can move on with her life, marry someone else if she wishes, instead of either burying herself for me or marrying me and both of us living in horrible guilt. Now she’s free.”

  Rose nodded. “I do see that.” She thought of her first encounter with Mrs. Ellis and became torn between amusement and embarrassment. “I suppose she thought I was your paramour.”

  Steven leaned back against the seat. “At this moment, I don’t give a damn what she thought. I’ve done my part, now we can all rest in peace.”

  Before Rose could ask him what he meant by that, the coach slowed, nearing the hotel. The street was crowed, despite the rain, and men in black suits waited near the hotel’s entrance for their return.

  “Oh, God,” Steven said, peering out at them. “I can’t face that mob right now. Miles!” he called.

  Miles opened the hatch below his seat and peered inside. “Yes, sir?”

  “Can you take us somewhere a little less conspicuous?”

  “Yes, sir.” Miles snapped closed the hatch and the carriage turned abruptly. In the mist and rain, perhaps the journalists would not see the crest of the Duke of Southdown on the coach’s side.

  Miles drov
e them back to Mayfair, to Grosvenor Street and the mews behind it. He was going to lend them his quarters above the coach house again, Rose saw.

  The rain was coming down in earnest as Miles halted the coach. Steven pulled a flap of his greatcoat around Rose as he helped her down, then they dashed together into the warm, horse-scented coach house. A side door took them to a flight of stairs leading to the quarters above, where Mrs. Miles greeted them with tea.

  Mrs. Miles helped Steven out of his wet coat, telling him she’d sent hot water up to the spare room he’d used before, if he wanted to wash his face and hands. She chivvied him on up the stairs, then brought a basin and towel to Rose.

  Rose rinsed her face and patted it dry, blessing Mrs. Miles for her understanding. It was cozy here, in the small quarters where only Miles and his wife lived. Albert kept no other staff permanently in Town; he employed Miles only because he was paid by a trust settled upon him by Charles. Miles and his wife stayed for Rose’s sake, they’d let her know early on, and she was grateful to the pair of them.

  Rose finished her ablutions and drank a cup of tea, but Steven did not reappear. After half a second cup and a wonderful scone, Rose filled the cup that waited for Steven and carried it up the stairs to the room at the top of the house.

  She’d feared to find Steven on the bed, thinking haunting thoughts of his friend and his death, but he stood at the tiny dormer window, looking out. Rain streaked the window, filming it with an almost constant stream of water. Steven rested his arm on the high sill, his face turned out to the gloom.

  “I brought you your tea,” Rose said brightly. “Truth to tell, I was getting a bit worried about you.”

  “Were you?” Steven made no move to take the tea, and Rose set it on the washstand, the only other piece of furniture in the room. “No need. I’ll weather my storm. Already have, mostly.”

  Rose made for the door. “Have a drink of the tea—it’s quite good. And come down soon. Mrs. Miles has gone about her errands, and Miles is looking after the horses, so there’s no need to make conversation if you don’t want to.”

  Steven turned his head and looked at her, his expression telling her he hadn’t taken in a word she’d just said. “Don’t go, Rosie.”

  His voice pulled at her, stirring fires in her heart. “There’s more tea downstairs,” she said quickly. “And scones. Light as a feather, with plenty of jam—”

  “Rose.” Steven cross the cramped room and laid his large hand on her arm. “Stay.”

  His hand was heavy, strong, but it was the look in his gray eyes that decided the matter. “Yes,” Rose whispered, and closed the door.

  Chapter Eleven

  Steven went very still as Rose shut the door and turned back to him. No modest protests, no fluttering. Rose understood what Steven wanted, and she wanted it too.

  She came to him, resting her hands on his chest, looking up into his eyes.

  Their first kiss was unhurried. Steven cupped Rose’s face in his hands, parting her lips to kiss her slowly, deeply. He tasted the tea she’d drunk, with its bite of lemon and a little bit of raw brown sugar, a taste he remembered from his childhood.

  Rosie, lass, a voice inside him whispered. I’ve needed you all my life and never knew it.

  Rose locked her fingers around the lapels of Steven’s coat. His heart beat faster as he felt her shaking, knowing she was holding herself back from delving into his clothes.

  I’ll let you do whatever you wish, my Scottish Rose.

  Steven peeled her fingers away and slid off the coat. He tossed it over the foot of the bed and didn’t stop moving until he’d relieved himself of collar and cravat and unbuttoned the top of his shirt.

  Rose moved her focus to his throat, touching his bronzed skin as though fascinated by it. Steven smiled at her, his body warming, finding an answering spark in her green eyes.

  He pulled off his shirt and rid himself of the short-sleeved undershirt beneath it. Cold air touched his skin, this room again warmed only by the chimney that rose through it.

  Rose’s lashes swept down as she looked him over, taking in his tanned chest and its brush of golden hair, his flat nipples that were also sun-bronzed. She’d seen him bare when he’d lain in this bed that first morning, but she’d blushed and pretended to look elsewhere.

  Not so now. Rose gave him the compliment of a half-smile as she ran her gaze over him, as though pleased with what she saw.

  The look made his blood burn. More so when she leaned forward and kissed his shoulder. The touch of tongue on his bare skin made him want to groan.

  “You’re a wicked lass,” he said, closing his hands around her elbows. “Do you know what that does to me?”

  “What?” Rose slanted him the same eager smile she’d worn when she’d agreed to his deception of their engagement. She’d proved that she loved games, like Steven did, but Rose would win every hand she played.

  “It makes me want to be a very bad man,” Steven said. He ran his hand up the back of her neck, sinking into her curls. “I’m already a bad man, but I’m holding back for your sake.”

  “Don’t,” Rose said, losing her smile. “Don’t hold back for me. I need . . .”

  Steven read the rest in her eyes. I need to be held, to be loved, to feel wanted. Or perhaps those sentiments were Steven’s.

  “I need it too,” he whispered. Maybe he said that—he wasn’t certain what was inside his head and what wasn’t right now.

  He only knew he was stiff with need, and he had a beautiful woman caressing him with both hands.

  Steven gathered her close, the press of her body against his hardness, even through his kilt, making him ache. He kissed her as she smoothed her hands over his bare back, and then the kiss turned fierce.

  Rose wanted him. That little knowledge made Steven fling away caution and kick self-control out the window. Rose was a beautiful woman, one as lonely as he was. They were alone in this aerie, and she was hungry. If she wanted to feed on Steven, so be it. After all, they were betrothed.

  Steven finished the kiss by biting down on her lower lip, which made her gasp, then he unbuttoned the front of her bodice and pushed it open.

  Her corset cover had little bows on it, white satin ones that beckoned his fingers. Stephen undid one, and Rose laughed at him. Then he saw why—the bows were decorative and didn’t open anything.

  The hooks in the back did. Steven unfastened them and slid bodice and corset cover off. He kissed Rose again as he unlaced her stays and pulled them away.

  Beneath she wore combinations, the top part made of thin lawn and lined with an edge of lace at the neck. In Steven’s hurry, he tore buttons, but soon Rose was bare to him.

  He stood back to admire her. Now free of the dark cloth that swathed her upper body, Rose was truly the angel he’d thought her the first night. Her skin was replete with color—a pink flush across her throat and chest, the red of her lips, the glorious gold of her hair, and the dark red-brown of her nipples.

  Steven cupped her waist, moving his hands up under her breasts. The swell of them filled his palms, just as he’d known they would, and he held them while he brushed his thumbs over her areolas. Her nipples tightened still more as Steven caressed them.

  “You are beautiful, Rosie,” he said, almost reverently. “Like your name.”

  “My mother loved roses.” The words were so soft they faded against the thrum of rain on the roof.

  “I love them too,” Steven said, drawing her close.

  Her back was warm, smooth, her breasts fine against his bare chest. Rose lifted into the next kiss, her movements fluid. She was good at kissing—her lips fitted smoothly to his, their tongues meeting, no awkwardness.

  As though realizing she was enjoying it too much, Rose pulled back. “Steven, what did you mean . . .”

  “Shh.” Steven quieted her with another kiss. He didn’t know what she was asking and he didn’t care. Some things could be destroyed with too any words.

  He loosened her
skirt and the petticoat beneath it, stripping off her mourning. Steven liked to think he was peeling back a cocoon, setting Rose free from the confinement of her grief.

  Rose’s black skirts dropped away, and Steven unhooked her bustle. Rose said nothing about him knowing how the fastenings worked, but she’d understood him from the beginning. She’d had no illusions about Steven.

  With her confining clothes joining his on the bed, Rose was beautiful in nothing but the lower part of her combinations and her stockings. Stimulating as well. Steven’s body urged him to take her now, or he’d make a fool of himself.

  She looked best against the whitewashed wall. There, all her color came to life, the bloom in her cheeks, the gold of her falling hair. Steven unbuttoned and pushed down her combinations, helping her from them. Setting her free.

  Rose naked was a glorious sight, and Steven was on fire. Her soft hands went to his shoulders, she having no doubt about what they were going to do. She wasn’t a trembling virgin—she was a woman who knew she liked the touch of a man, and wanted it now.

  Steven undid his kilt’s clasp and pin and unwound the plaid from his waist. The kilt landed on top of their clothes on the bed, as did the rest of his underwear.

  Rose’s gaze went to his cock, hard and tight for her, and her flush deepened. But she didn’t look away. She wasn’t afraid of this part of a man.

  Steven couldn’t stay from her long. He pushed her to the wall near the window, close enough to the chimney for its warmth. Warmer here than on the bed, well he knew.

  His body told him to hurry, but Steven wanted to savor her. He might never have another chance.

  Rose drew a sharp breath as Steven leaned and licked between her breasts. Her hands went to his hair, caressing, drawing warmth. He kissed her skin once more then took one of her full breasts in his mouth, curling his tongue around her nipple.

  Another quick breath from Rose, this one lifting her further into his mouth. Steven suckled and nibbled her, memorizing her dusky taste, one he’d recall in lonely evenings to come.