And The Widow Wore Scarlet: Scandalous Sons - Book 1

by Clee, Adele

  “Well, we won’t keep you.” Scarlett came to her feet. “Shall we meet again in two days to discuss our findings?”

  “Two days it is,” Dermot replied. “I’ll have news of your intruder by then.”

  Wycliff stood though he looked a little pale. “Should you need assistance, you know where to find me.”

  What use would he be? With his arm so weak, he could hardly throw a punch. Then again, one look from those piercing dark eyes and any man would drop to his knees and blurt a confession.

  They left The Silver Serpent via the alley and made their way to Rupert Street. While the urge to stop and flick through the notebook proved tempting, nothing stole her attention away from the fascinating man at her side.

  Wycliff remained quiet in the carriage. With every revolution of the wheels, the silence grew in length and intensity. The heaviness in the air spoke of lust, of a desperate carnal craving kept at bay by a fine thread. Scarlett wondered if she was the only one to feel the powerful vibration. Was she the only one aware that the thread was about to snap? In a dusty, diffident corner of her mind she made excuses for his reticence, believing it stemmed from a need to control the pain in his arm, and nothing to do with his desire for her.

  “You look tired.” She kept the prickle of disappointment from her voice. “A dose of laudanum and a good night’s sleep will aid your recovery.”

  He stared at her beneath hooded lids, shuffled restlessly in the seat.

  “We can look at the notebook in the morning,” she added. “Perhaps it is better to examine it when one has a clear—”

  “Sleep is not on my list of priorities.” His voice sounded dark and devilishly sinful. The velvet timbre stirred an inexplicable heat in her blood. “Examining the notebook can, indeed, wait until tomorrow. I don’t need laudanum. I don’t need rest.”

  Scarlett tried to swallow down her desire, but her whole body ached to feel his touch, yearned to have his hot mouth ravage hers again.

  “What do you need?” She was already damp between her legs, anticipating his reply.

  “You know the answer.” Hunger flashed in his coal-black eyes. “The only thing I need tonight is you.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  The carriage could not ferry them home quickly enough. Damian was of a mind to inform Cutler he had three minutes to reach Bruton Street unless he wanted his master to spill his seed over the new seats.

  Lust clawed at Damian’s insides like a starving beast. He jiggled his leg in the hope his pounding heart dispersed blood to other parts of his anatomy.

  Two hours he had sat in Flannery’s dingy office listening to Scarlett relay her tale, witnessing the bearded Irishman curse in a foreign tongue. For two hours, he had struggled to think of anything other than her tantalising offer to keep him warm in bed.

  They say the temperature will plummet tonight.

  It might be cold outside, but his body raged like an inferno.

  Now he thought of it he’d waited more than two hours to have her. Ever since she’d lowered her hood, and he realised who she was, he’d kept the wild urges at bay. No! Longer than that. For three blasted years, he’d craved her touch.

  Damian glanced across the carriage at her face cast in shadow. A glimpse of her white teeth nipping at her bottom lip should have spoken of nerves, yet he saw the erotic in everything she said or did.

  This crippling urgency might have seen him drag her across the narrow space into his lap, but his conveyance slowed, and he knew they had turned into Bruton Street.

  When Damian flung open the door, the wheels were still turning. As soon as the vehicle stopped, he vaulted to the pavement. He didn’t waste time lowering the steps but settled his hands on Scarlett’s waist and lifted her to the ground.

  She said nothing but allowed him to pull her by the hand into the house. He acknowledged his butler with a curt nod. Determined steps propelled them up the stairs.

  Once inside his bedchamber, he kicked the door shut. Every fibre of his being longed to push Scarlett back against the wall, to ravage her mouth like a madman. But even in the faint glow of candlelight and the fire’s amber flames, he saw a flash of apprehension in her eyes, a hint of fear.

  Overcome by his obsession to have her, he had lost sight of what this meant to her. She had given every indication she wanted him, too. But it seemed evident her precoital experiences had left her terrified of men.

  “You’ve said nothing since I made my declaration.” He drew her close, tempered his carnal cravings and brushed the backs of his fingers across her cheek. “Since I told you I am crippled with need.”

  She closed her eyes.

  By God, he prayed she wasn’t crying.

  “Scarlett.” His voice was uncharacteristically tender. “Nothing is set in stone. You may retire to the room next door if that is what you want.” The muscles in his stomach wrenched at the thought. “We have plenty of time to examine the connection that exists between us.”

  Damn, he shocked himself. A master of seduction offering his lady a perfect excuse to say no?

  When she opened her eyes, he expected to see them awash with doubt. But the blue gems shone with the widow’s self-assurance. “Holding you to your word is not the only reason I sought you out. I hinted at another reason once.”

  She had revealed so many secrets he struggled to remember. “What other reason could you have for approaching me, other than reminding me of my oath?” He thought he knew the answer but wanted to hear the words from her lips. It wouldn’t do to appear presumptuous.

  “It’s as you said yesterday.” She raised her chin and inhaled before continuing. “A connection exists between us. I felt it three years ago, and I feel it now.” Her breath came a little quicker. “Oh, Wycliff, whatever it is, it beats so strongly in my breast.”

  Her honesty proved as arousing as her voluptuous curves.

  “I can no longer deny it, either.” Having lost her once, he’d be damned if he’d do so again. “But I’ll not press you into exploring a physical relationship if you’re not ready.”

  Besides, he was somewhat strict about the way he conducted illicit relations. Never had he spilt his seed inside a woman. For him, the act was about banishing painful memories, finding release. It was never about a shared connection. Never about the deep, abiding affection he had dreamt about for years. Lord, he wasn’t even sure he was up to the task.

  Scarlett placed her hand on his chest. “Because of fear, I let you leave the lodging-house with nothing more than a goodbye. Because of fear, I accepted Lord Steele’s proposal without coming to you for help.”

  Damian snorted. “I struggle to understand why you did that.”

  “I was weak and couldn’t face another disappointment. I have spent my life waiting at a window, desperately waiting for a man to show he cared.” She shook her head. “I lacked the strength to wait by the window for you, Wycliff.”

  He recognised the truth in her words. “Neither of us knew what we wanted then.” He wasn’t sure they knew now.

  “No, but we have earned the right to explore this relationship, to know if something real exists between us. And I am tired of being controlled by my mind.”

  All this talk of the past had dampened his ardour. And he wanted to get back to when lust and longing burned in his veins.

  “Then we must strip off our masks and agree to be honest. Agree to take a leap of faith.” He held out his hand. “Know I won’t hurt you.”

  She slipped her hand into his. “Does that mean you intend to bed me, Mr Wycliff?”

  “With your permission, I intend to make love to you until we are sated and exhausted. Come.”

  Perhaps she thought he might pull her to the bed, but he opened the door, guided her down the stairs and out onto Bruton Street.

  “Are you going to tell me where we’re going?” She looked somewhat confused when they came to a halt on the pavement.

  “The conversation we just shared was necessary, but I would have us
go back to the moment we jumped from the carriage, ready to rip each other’s clothes in a wildly erotic frenzy.”

  “Oh. I see.” Her provocative smile said she was more than willing to indulge his fantasy. “Then let me say you look tired. A dose of laudanum and a good night’s sleep will aid your recovery.”

  Damian slipped his arm around her back, indifferent to the fact one of Flannery’s men might be watching them from across the street. “Sleep is not on my list of priorities. I don’t need laudanum. I don’t need rest.”

  He leant forward and pressed a kiss to her cheek, another to the corner of her mouth.

  She swallowed deeply as her hand skimmed his chest to grip his shoulder. “What do you need?”

  “I need you.”

  * * *

  Scarlett willed her heart to settle. If she could pull on her disguise, she might not appear so nervous, so ridiculously naive. Her experience of the act went as far as squeezing her eyes shut and praying to God for her husband’s quick release. When a woman bedded a man like Damian Wycliff, did she not need a certain skill in the field? Did she not need the confidence of the Scarlet Widow?

  But despite her fears, one thought refused to be tempered.

  She wanted to love the man who used a facade to disguise his pain. The need to soothe him, to see a hot spark of desire in his eyes, burned in her chest.

  Gathering her courage, Scarlett captured his hand. “Then make love to me, Wycliff. Make love to the lost woman who doesn’t really know who she is.”

  “I know who you are.” The gentle timbre of his voice stirred the longing within. “You’re the woman whose courage knows no bounds. You’re the woman with the kindest heart I’ve ever known. Without your mask, you’re stronger than the widow, more benevolent than the actress.”

  With the tight coil of her nerves relaxing, she decided to tease him. “Then who kissed you at Vauxhall?”

  “You did. The woman bursting with passion.” He arched a brow and cast a devilish grin. “The woman desperate to rip my clothes from my back and ravish me in the gardens.”

  The memory brought heat to her cheeks, heat to her aching sex. The same overwhelming lust consumed her now. Indeed, she was in danger of stripping him naked in the street.

  “Then take my hand, Wycliff, and don’t let go.” Without another word, she pulled him to the front door, up the stairs back to his bedchamber.

  The time for talking was at an end.

  After crossing the threshold, he slammed the door shut.

  A mere second later she was in his arms, wrapped in a strong embrace.

  His hot, greedy mouth came crashing down on hers as the binds of restraint snapped beneath the weight of their desire. She pushed her hands up over his hard chest, caressed the sculpted muscles before threading her arms around his neck.

  Wycliff pressed his body into her, grasping her buttocks and squeezing as his tongue slipped past her lips to delve so deep inside her mouth her legs almost buckled.

  The evidence of his arousal pushed against her abdomen—so long, so solid and thick, even through his clothing. Her sex pulsed in response, eager to mate with him, to feel him push inside her body and fill her full.

  The sound of their breathless pants, of their moans and murmurs of pleasure, sent her lust for him spiralling. Drunk with these new sensations, she slipped her fingers into his hair, grasped and tugged the ends as her tongue stroked his in a wild and frenzied dance.

  “You don’t know how long I’ve waited for this.” The words escaped him on a gasp. He captured her chin between his fingers and tilted her head to drag his lips along the line of her throat, leaving a fiery trail.

  She knew exactly how long she had waited, to the day, to the hour. “Three years spent longing. Three years spent yearning.” Her eyes fluttered closed as his tongue traced a circle on the sensitive place behind her ear. When he drew her earlobe into his mouth, her body melted to liquid fire.

  “Then we must make up for lost time.”

  A lifetime of loving him would be ample reward.

  But for now, she had no intention of wasting a second. “Take off your clothes.”

  Wycliff pulled his head back and met her gaze. “You want to see me naked?” Mischief danced in his eyes. From his arrogant grin, he had no issue flaunting his toned physique.

  She stepped back, felt the loss of his hands on her buttocks but knew she would feel them again soon enough.

  With his heated gaze fixed on her, he shrugged out of his coat, unfastened his waistcoat, untied his cravat. Every sleek movement, every slow tug to undo the buttons built the anticipation.

  “Now your shirt.” Her mouth was dry. “Do it slowly.”

  Wycliff moistened his lips. The mere sight of his tongue sent a shiver from her neck to her navel. “Expect that I shall ask the same of you.”

  Grabbing the hem of the fine lawn, he crossed his muscular arms and pulled the garment over his head. He crumpled it into a ball and threw it to the floor to join the rest of his apparel. Then he stood, waiting for her appraisal.

  Glorious was the only word to describe every muscled contour. Scarlett had gazed upon his bare chest numerous times, had spent hours watching him as he lay asleep in bed, imagining what it must be like to inhale the scent of his bronzed skin.

  He ran his hand over the broad expanse of his chest. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.”

  “And something I hope to see many times again.”

  “Damn right, you will.” As he tugged off his boots, she looked to the stitches on his arm, to the mottled purple bruising surrounding his wound. Were she of sound mind she would chastise him for not wearing his bandage, but her head was a muddled mess, her emotions a slave to her cravings.

  The boots landed on the floor with a thud.

  “Shush,” she said, a giggle escaping. “If you’re not careful, you’ll alert the servants.”

  Wycliff chuckled. “Love, in a moment, you’ll be riding my naked body as if leading a race at Epsom Derby. Thankfully, the servants are deaf to most sounds, trained to respond to nothing other than the tinkling of a bell.”

  The mere mention of lovemaking stirred a quickening deep in her core. It didn’t help that Wycliff’s hands moved to the buttons on his breeches. With slow, sensual grace, he unfastened the buttons on the waistband, then the top two securing the fall front.

  “I imagine over the last few days you must have seen this before, too.” Fixing her with a wicked grin, he pushed his breeches down past his hips. “Though I fear it might have appeared less … rigid.”

  The sinful devil stripped off his breeches to stand before her like a proud victor in a Roman arena. Power radiated from his broad shoulders, from the rippling muscles in his abdomen. But it was the solid length of his manhood that held her transfixed.

  Scarlett gulped. “You’re rather larger than expected.”

  He palmed the length of his jutting erection just to tease. “Have no fear. I’ve always known we would fit.” His heated gaze perused her from head to toe. “You must be hot in those clothes.”

  Hot? She was ready to combust. But the thought of stripping naked, the thought of revealing her scars again rendered her immobile.

  “Can I ask you something?” No doubt he heard the tremble in her voice.

  “What? Now?”

  “Where did you go after you left me in Bedford Street on the night of your father’s ball?” In light of what they were about to do, the answer seemed important. Or was it nerves that made her ask? Had the widow abandoned her and left the naive girl behind?

  Wycliff closed the gap between them. He stood so close she could smell the earthy scent of his skin. “Do you want the truth?”

  “Everyone wants the truth, even if it hurts.” What was it she wanted him to say? Had he not already explained that they shared a connection?

  “Would it hurt you to know I visited another woman?”

  Hurt her? It would cleave her heart in two. “It would.”


  How had her defences crumbled so easily?

  He stroked her cheek. “I went home to drown my sorrows. I drank alone for an hour and then fell into an empty bed.” His fingers moved to the buttons on her pelisse, and he undid them as deftly as he did the night at Vauxhall.

  “What made you go home and numb your thoughts with liquor?”

  “You did.” He pushed the pelisse off her shoulders. “You’ve held me in your spell since I met you. The night of the ball, I realised I had but two options.” He spun her around to unfasten the row of buttons on the back of her dress.

  “And what were those?” The brush of his lips at the base of her neck woke the butterflies in her stomach. Scarlett closed her eyes, savoured every second.

  “If I had no hope of making love to you, I might be forced to join a monastery.”

  A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

  “Now, don’t you think you’ve punished me enough?” he said, placing his hands on her shoulders and easing her dress down her arms to pool on the floor. Her petticoat followed. “I might be standing while I strip you naked, but you’ve had me on my knees for years.”

  The comment bolstered her confidence.

  “While the position has certain advantages,” he continued, “I’m a man who desires equality.”

  He tugged at the ties on her stays. Every movement released air into her lungs. The little jerks sent her imagination racing as she anticipated the thrusts of his body entering hers.

  When down to nothing but her chemise, stockings and boots, she expected him to swing her around, to get to work on the other garments hindering their lovemaking.

  But Damian Wycliff was a man who defied expectation.

  His mouth was on her neck, sucking and nipping.

  His hands found the hem of her chemise, and he slid the material slowly up past her thighs to her waist.

  A soft breeze brushed over her bare buttocks.

  “Tell me you need me inside you,” he whispered, burying his face in her hair and inhaling deeply. “Tell me you want this as much as I do.”