Lady Wallflower

by Scott, Scarlett

  “Good.” He nibbled on her neck some more, kneading her shoulders with his big hands as he did so, working out all the tension she had not realized she carried in her muscles. “I received word today that the Athena is finally repaired and ready to sail again. What do you think of you, myself, and Lila all taking a trip to Dover? It is not the honeymoon I wanted, but I hesitate to leave her here alone.”

  He was such a good brother. Such a good husband. A good man.

  Was it any wonder she loved him desperately?

  “Of course Lila must come,” she said. “And I should so love to see Dover. I have heard a great deal about the white cliffs, but I have never witnessed them firsthand. Nor have I been to a regatta.”

  “Truly?” He nipped her ear with his teeth, continuing to massage her. “Never?”

  “I spent my formative years moldering in the country with my aunt Lydia because my brother did not have the funds or the reputation to support two younger, unattached females,” she reminded him.

  “Much to my great fortune.” He kissed her cheek. “Imagine if you had not moldered. I hardly think you would have penned your list, and then how would I have known you were destined to be my wife?”

  “I think the fates would have intervened in another way,” she said. “If not the list.”

  But she was still heartily glad she had written it. And even more grateful he had found it.

  “I think so too, my love.” He removed his magical hands from her shoulders and straightened then. “I have a gift for you, Josie. It is…I had intended to give it to you some time ago, but then so much happened. And then, I knew there was something I needed to add to it before it could truly be yours.”

  “A gift?” She rose to her feet and faced him at last. “But I have none for you.”

  He smiled. “You are my gift, bijou. I think it every day.”

  And then, he reached into a pocket concealed in his flowing banyan and extracted a velvet box. Decker extended it toward her, his expression suddenly earnest and expectant. Young, too. Almost boyish.

  With trembling hands, she accepted the box from him. She flipped it open. Nestled inside was a gold bangle accented with channels of rich, glittering diamonds. At its center was a pearl surrounded by a cluster of diamonds. Golden roses flanked either side of the centerpiece. It must have cost him a staggering sum.

  “Oh, Decker.” She ran a finger over the filigree and the fine work of the roses. “It is beautiful.”

  “Do you like it, my love?” He sounded hesitant.

  Did the man not realize he could gift her a rock and it would still be her most prized possession?

  “It is astoundingly beautiful,” she assured him, “and far too dear, I am sure. You ought not to have gone to such an expense.”

  That was when she turned the sleek gold band over in her hand and discovered the inscription, written neatly on the underside of the bangle.

  My heart has always known yours.

  It was what she had said to him that night, when they had come together and confessed their love for each other. It was the same words she felt with every beat of her heart. And she knew without having to ask he felt them too.

  “You remembered,” she whispered.

  “I remember everything you say to me,” he told her, his gaze bright on hers, shimmering with—unless she was mistaken—the sheen of tears.

  She blinked at the sting in her own eyes, making itself known. “I love you so much.”

  “Allow me?” He took the bangle from her without waiting for her response, then settled it neatly upon her wrist.

  The fit was unsurprisingly perfect.

  She moved her hand in the light, watching as the diamonds sparkled. “I love this gift, too. I love the thought you put into it, the words etched upon it. How did I ever become so fortunate?”

  Her husband gave her a wicked grin. “You gave me a list.”

  Epilogue

  Ways to be Wicked

  1. Kiss a man until you are breathless.

  2. Arrange for an assignation. Perhaps with Lord Q? your husband? Strike that, bijou. Definitely with your husband.

  3. Get caught in the rain with a gentleman. (This will necessitate the removal of wet garments. Choose said gentleman wisely.)

  4. Sneak into a gentleman’s bedchamber in the midst of the night.

  5. Go to a gentleman’s private apartments.

  6. Spend a night in a gentleman’s bed.

  7. Make love in the outdoors.

  8. Ask your husband to help you disrobe.

  There was something about a country house party.

  And a list of ways to be wicked, one of which had yet to be completed.

  And a picnic hamper.

  And a most accommodating counterpane spread over the grass beneath the shade of a tremendous old oak.

  And the very best wife a man could ever hope to call his own, seated at his side, looking as if she needed to be thoroughly ravished.

  Yes indeed, there was something about all those things that made Decker settle upon the perfect way of spending his afternoon with Jo.

  “There is one more item on your list, my love,” he told her as they finished the last of their luncheon. They had stolen away from the group at the Duke and Duchess of Westmorland’s country house weekend at last, and they were blessedly alone.

  The time had never been more perfect.

  She cast a minx’s smile in his direction. “Is there one more item? I must admit, I had quite forgotten all about the list.”

  “Liar,” he accused without heat, dipping his head to kiss her luscious lips in a quick, thorough peck. “I am afraid you cannot graduate to true wickedness until you complete them all. As your husband, it is my solemn duty to make certain you excel at your studies.”

  She kissed him again, her mouth opening for his questing tongue before she tipped her head back to gaze at him, her honey-brown eyes twinkling. “Hoping to debauch me, are you, Mr. Decker?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Decker. I am.” He kissed her again. “Number seven is happening.”

  “Number seven?” Her eyes went wide. “Happening here? Now? But anyone could happen upon us.”

  “Here,” he repeated. “Now.”

  And if anyone did happen upon them…well, he did not give a damn. They were amongst friends. The sun was high, the day was warm, he was happier than any man had a right to be, and he had every intention of burying his cock in his wife.

  Forthwith.

  At the notion, his prick twitched to life, hard and ready.

  Slow down, old chap. We have to woo her first.

  “Are you certain?” she asked.

  “Utterly.” He kissed her again, sucking on the fullness of her lower lip. “Damn, you are sweeter than strawberries.”

  Her arms wound around his neck. “I could say the same of you.”

  Their mouths connected. The air hung heavy all around them, redolent with the perfume of grass and blooming flora. His tongue slid past her lips. She tasted like summer and seduction. Sweet, ripe fruit.

  His cockstand rebelled against his trousers, straining to break free.

  Yes, he had learned his lesson. No matter how many times he made love to his wife, he still kept wanting her more. He loved her more, desired her more, needed her more. That was the way of it between them.

  And he did not just accept it, he embraced it.

  Never breaking their kiss, he lowered them both to the counterpane. Plates clinked. The bottle of wine they had brought for their picnic tipped over and spilled into the nearby grass with a rush. At least, he thought that was the source of the sound. The picnic hamper clattered to its side as he thrust it out of the way with an indelicate kick of his left leg.

  Admittedly, he ought to have been a gentleman and removed all the remnants of their luncheon from the blanket before seducing his wife. But when had he ever claimed to be a gentleman?

  Never, that was when.

  And so, he kissed her thoroughly to the
musical accompaniment of crashing crockery and tumbling wicker and clinking cutlery. At some point, he realized she was trembling beneath him.

  Quite violently.

  And then, he lifted his head to find her grinning at him, her eyes dancing with mirth. She had been laughing, the minx.

  “What is so bloody humorous?” he demanded.

  Surely not his kisses?

  “I think there is a jar of jam beneath my back,” she said, giggling, her lips swollen and red and so damned kissable, his cock throbbed just to look at them.

  Right. There was a decidedly unwanted jar of jam somewhere beneath her. Supposedly.

  He slid a hand beneath her corseted back, sweeping the blanket, and discovered the jar in question. He plucked it from beneath her, tossing it over his shoulder. The sound of cracking glass met his unapologetic ears.

  “Decker!” his wife gasped, sounding scandalized. “You have broken the jam.”

  “To hell with the jam.” Decker rolled atop her and straddled her voluminous skirts. “Undoubtedly, the Duke and Duchess of Westmorland have hundreds more just like it. I want to make love to my wife.”

  She pouted, her honey-brown gaze turning mischievous. “It was good jam.”

  “I will give you good, madam,” he growled, lowering his head to take her lips again. “I will give you much, much better than good, in fact.”

  Her hands settled on his shoulders, clutching him. “A man of confidence. I like that. Give me better than good, if you please. I am aching for it.”

  She knew just what to say to make him crazed with lust. A wild thrill soared through him, landing in his ballocks. He was more than ready for her. He leveraged himself on an elbow and grabbed a fistful of fabric, intending to give her what she wanted.

  Belatedly, he realized she was wearing a gown with a cumbersome tier of skirts and two dozen tiny pearl buttons running down the front.

  “Why the devil are you wearing something so deuced difficult to get you out of?” he grumbled.

  “It seemed an excellent idea at the time,” she said. “I am regretting the choice more and more by the moment. But how was I to know you intended to ravish me on a picnic luncheon in the midst of a country house weekend?”

  Fair enough.

  Still…

  “When have I ever shied away from the opportunity to ravish you, bijou?” he asked, raising a brow. “Surely you ought to know me better than that by now.”

  “I will remember it next time,” she promised, lips parted.

  Oh, he liked the way her mouth opened, as if in invitation. He would accept that invitation, but he had promised her better than good, had he not? And he had every intention of delivering.

  He worked his way down her body, fighting with her skirts. What the devil was with all these asinine flounces, anyway? The whole affair was far too elaborate. He wrestled them to her waist, instructing her to hold the hems in place. The picture that greeted him was worth the fuss.

  Neat satin boots, laced up. Curved calves encased in silken stockings. Frilled drawers. Lush hips. As he watched, she inched her legs apart, revealing herself to him. The slit in her drawers was an alternate gate into heaven, parting to show him sleek, pink flesh, her plump pearl peeking from between her folds.

  On a groan, he buried his face there, in the apex of her thighs. He sucked her until she came, and then he sank his tongue deep inside her cunny, licking up all her spend. When she was soaked and thrashing, he rose over her, releasing himself from his trousers and sinking into her in one long thrust.

  He was deep inside her, planted to the hilt.

  She was so tight, so hot, clutching him, dragging him to the abyss where only she could take him.

  He lowered himself over her, planting his elbows on either side of her beautiful face on the counterpane. She smelled like orange blossom and sun-drenched skin. He wanted to stay in this moment forever. But her cunny was clenching, urging him on. And desire pounded through him, spurring him to finish what he had begun.

  He found a way to swivel his hips into hers that made his groin brush against her pearl with each thrust. She moaned, her hands everywhere on him, her lips landing feverish kisses anywhere they could reach. His Adam’s apple, his ear, his jaw, his lips.

  Another series of strokes, and she was coming undone for him again, the tremors rushing through her making her cunny spasm around his cock, holding him, draining him. She found her release, throwing back her head on the counterpane and crying out to the underbellies of the leaves rustling overhead and the endless blue of the country sky beyond.

  He emptied himself inside her on a groan, his seed spurting into her depths. No matter how many times he and Jo made love, this beautiful communion—their bodies joining, him losing himself inside her—each experience was new. Like a little renaissance between them. Her every movement, breath, look, excited him.

  He lived for her.

  There was no other way to describe the manner in which she consumed him.

  Holding her close, his cock still lodged within her, he rolled them to their sides. He caressed her beautiful face and kissed her long and slow, showing her the way he felt, all the emotions tangled up within him. Sometimes, deeds were better than words.

  The wetness of her tears startled him, kissing his fingertips.

  He jerked his mouth from hers, searching her gaze. “What is it, Josie? What is the matter?”

  “Nothing.” She gave him a tremulous smile. “It is only that I am so very happy, so complete.”

  His heart was thundering in his chest as if he had just run the perimeter of the park. “I am happy and complete too, my love. You make me that way.”

  He cupped her cheek, an exquisite feeling of tenderness for her washing over him.

  “Do you think…” She hesitated, chewing her lower lip before continuing. “Do you think we could be…more complete, Decker?”

  He searched her eyes, trying to understand her question. “Do you feel unhappy, my love? Is there something missing? Something I can change, something I can give you?”

  She shook her head slowly, and then, the tears were welling again, filling her expressive eyes, trailing down her cheeks, bathing his fingers. “I am not unhappy at all. And as for something missing…I am not sure if he or she was missing before.”

  Everything within him froze. He stilled. Hope rose in his chest, buoyant as an ascension balloon. “Josie?”

  She placed her hand over his, pressing his palm to her cheek. “We are going to have a baby, Decker.”

  The news hit him in the gut. Hell, he was still inside her. He had just made love to her on the ground.

  He stiffened. “Why did you not say anything sooner? My God, I just…took you in the dirt. I was not careful. Josie. A baby? Truly? Do you mean it? How do you know?”

  He realized he was rattling off a mad list of questions. That he was scarcely making sense. His mind and his heart were a jumble of thoughts, exuberance, love. So much love. Excitement. Fear, too. But the excitement was first. It was stronger. A child of their own. Ye gods. The prospect was thrilling.

  He was happy. So damned happy.

  Decker blinked against a sudden rush of his own tears. “Josie? Say something.”

  “I mean it, Decker,” she said softly. “We are going to have a child. I missed my courses, and, well, with the way of things…”

  She did not need to continue. They made love like animals. He knew it. They both loved it. He took her every chance he had, everywhere he could. And she did the same. Their love and their passion were healthy and strong, burning brighter and hotter than any flame.

  He kissed her swiftly. “How do you feel, darling? I did not hurt you just now, did I?”

  “You could never hurt me, my love.” She smiled then. “I am with child, but that does not mean I have suddenly turned to porcelain.”

  Their lips met again, this kiss longer and deeper than the last.

  “How do you feel?” she asked him when their mouths par
ted. “Are you…is this what you want?”

  There had been a time when a child, a family, a wife, love, had been beyond his comprehension. When he had thought he would sooner perish than welcome any one of them into his life. But he had learned his lesson.

  “I feel happy,” he told his wife. “I feel astonishingly, blissfully happy. You and this babe and however many we should be blessed with after—you are all I want. Now and forever.”

  Another tear rolled down her cheek. “Do you mean it, Decker?”

  He kissed that tear away. “Of course I do, my love. Now and forever. My heart has always known yours.”

  Their mouths met, one in love and need and hunger. He rolled them so that he was on his back and she was atop him, and they made love again, slowly and deliciously, beneath the warmth of the sun.

  The End.

  Author’s Note

  Dear Reader,

  Thank you for reading Jo and Decker’s story! I hope you enjoyed this second book in my Notorious Ladies of London series and that you fell in love with Decker and Jo as much as I did along the way.

  Please consider leaving an honest review of Lady Wallflower. Reviews are greatly appreciated! If you’d like to keep up to date with my latest releases and series news, sign up for my newsletter here or follow me on Amazon or BookBub. Join my reader’s group on Facebook for bonus content, early excerpts, giveaways, and more.

  If you’d like a preview of Lady Reckless, Book Three in the Notorious Ladies of London series, featuring Lady Helena Davenport and her brother’s proper, already betrothed best friend the Earl of Huntingdon, do read on. I’ve also included a bonus sneak peek at Her Virtuous Viscount, Book Six in my Wicked Husbands series, so don’t miss it.

  P.S. If you’re looking for the Duke and Duchess of Westmorland’s love story, you can find it in Fearless Duke. You’ll find Sin and Callie’s happily ever after in Lady Ruthless and Julian and Clara’s in Restless Rake.

  Until next time,

  Scarlett