To Wed in Scandal (A Scandal in London Novel)

by Liana Lefey

  Obediently, he stepped from the tub and held out his arms, inviting her to continue her ministrations.

  She dried him as slowly as possible.

  When she straightened from toweling off her husband’s taut buttocks and legs, she was again confronted by his broad chest. An outrageously naughty idea popped into her head.

  A strangled gasp erupted from her husband as her mouth closed over his nipple, and his hands flew to bury themselves in her hair. He groaned as she circled and flicked, gently drawing on him in a mimicry of what he’d done to her breasts earlier.

  She took it as a signal to switch to the other side.

  That lasted about ten seconds.

  With strong arms, her husband scooped her up and carried her to the bed.

  Heated skin met cool linen, raising gooseflesh all over her body. He kissed it away, slowly, meticulously. His mouth closed over one puckered, aching nipple, teasing until she gasped, crying out wordlessly. Helpless against the invisible, inexorable chains of desire binding her, her hips bucked, silently pleading.

  Smiling, he shook his head and turned his attentions to the other breast, paying it equal, loving homage.

  The limit of her tolerance rapidly approaching, she clutched him fiercely, demanding that he move beyond such torments.

  He grinned and sank to his knees before her.

  With a shiver of anticipation, she let her knees fall apart for him, presenting herself for his delectation. Liquid fire spilled into her limbs, saturating her, tightening the backs of her quivering thighs as his tongue worked fiery magic on her swollen flesh.

  The pleasure was almost unbearable. Her every nerve was alive, her straining body singing in rhythm to the drumming of her heart, wracked with uncontrollable shivers as he propelled her closer and closer to, but never over, the chasm’s edge.

  When she could take no more, she drew him up, meeting his lips with her own. The taste of herself on his mouth nearly drove her mad. “Please, Henry—please!” she heard herself whisper raggedly.

  TASTING A FRESH burst of honeyed sweetness, Henry chuckled with satisfaction and withdrew. His already throbbing cock strained forward, becoming granite. He’d never been so hard in all his life. In an agony of need, he rose from his knees and stared down at her. Her glistening, pink lips were parted in a purely wanton expression, and wild desire blazed in her smoky, lust-glazed eyes.

  Laughter rumbled deep in his chest. How she could ever imagine him wanting any other woman was unfathomable. Bending swiftly, he reclaimed her lips, reveling in their softness, nipping, tasting.

  Poising himself above her, he hesitated. He wanted—needed to be gentle, since it was only her second time; but the way she writhed beneath him, pulling at his shoulders, suggested that gentle might not be enough. For either of them.

  Luminous hazel eyes flew open, plainly demanding to know why he was not yet inside her, and he at last surrendered. With one long, satisfying thrust he impaled her, burying himself in her tight, moist heat.

  For one instant, he worried he might climax then and there.

  He stilled, feeling the sweat form on his brow, the breath rasping in his lungs as he fought for control, fought to climb back from the brink. The moment slowly passed, and he began to move once more, withdrawing almost completely before slowly sinking back into her depths.

  Her hips bucked, demanding more.

  Restraint vanished, and he grasped her hips. With a growl of satisfaction, he thrust again and again, her little cries of encouragement fueling his excitement to fever pitch. Her sheath tightened, and he braced himself. Again and again she gripped him, crying out softly with each spasm.

  His own release was a breath away—but he was not done, not quite yet.

  Withdrawing, he flipped her over and hauled her up onto her knees. Running his hands up her back and down again, he molded the curve of her pert, rosy rump with his palms, giving the firm flesh a playful smack before reaching down to gently stroke between the plump petals peeking out below.

  With a low moan, she arched her back, pushing out her bottom.

  Sending a silent prayer of thanks heavenward, he once more guided his aching cock to her honeyed entrance. Slowly, he penetrated the hot, tender flesh, sinking into her inch by delicious inch until he felt himself touch her very core.

  Her shuddering cry and the sight of her fists gripping the sheets sent him over the edge. Again, he thrust home. And again. Her passage was so hot, so tight! Her muscles once more gripped his shaft as she climaxed, and Henry shouted with pleasure as his own release burst forth.

  As they lay spooned together on their sides, still joined, he whispered at her ear: “I will never stop loving you, Sabrina. This I swear. All that I am, all that I ever will be, is yours for the keeping. I will never love another.”

  Through the dark-red haze of desire, he felt her begin to shake and heard her sobbing cry, heard at last the words he’d so long awaited.

  She loved him.

  He awakened in the predawn silence to find his wife’s naked form curled beside him in the bed. Lovingly, he stroked her hair back from her face. Then his hand wandered, tracing the line of her neck and shoulder, moving across the silky warmth of her skin. When it progressed to the curve of her waist, she rolled over to face him, wide awake.

  What started with tender affection soon culminated in fevered lovemaking. Now he sat across from her, pulling on his boots.

  “Must we leave so soon?” she asked, finishing the last bite of breakfast.

  “If we wish to make Newcastle in time to catch tonight’s tide, yes,” he answered, her disheveled loveliness eliciting another pang of desire. He quashed it. There would be plenty more such delightfully mussed mornings once they reached London.

  Leaving the little inn, he turned them east into the rising sun and kept a steady, but gentle, pace. Four and a half hours and only one brief rest later, Broomhaugh lay within sight, the river Tyne wending its way just beyond.

  When they finally stopped, he marked that Sabrina did not immediately dismount. “Are you unwell?”

  Her face was pinched with discomfort. “My legs simply refuse to move,” she said in a hushed voice, flushing. “I’m afraid I shall require assistance.”

  Cursing silently, he helped her down and supported her as they made their slow way to the nearest public house. Though her stiff movements clearly told him she was in agony, she made no complaint. “I’m so sorry, but you must move your legs in order to keep the stiffness from worsening.”

  She kept her head down, but nodded understanding.

  The idea of forcing her to climb back into a saddle made Henry sick with guilt. While she ate and rested, he inquired into an alternate means of transport, but unfortunately, there were no carriages to be had in the tiny village.

  Half an hour later, he escorted her to the stables. When they rounded the corner, however, it was not the dreaded pair of beasts waiting for them, but a small wagon hitched to a single, enormous dray. In the back was a straw pallet covered with a worn quilt.

  Without a word, his wife wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder.

  “Once we are safely home, you shall never have to ride again if you do not wish it,” he promised.

  The going was much slower than before, but it was a pleasant enough journey. Henry tried not to let her know how nervous he was, but every so often he could not help turning to check behind them. They reached Newcastle without event just before tea.

  “I’ll ask after a ship while you order dinner for us,” he told Sabrina, stopping the cart before one of the quieter dockside inns. “We’ve plenty of time before the evening tide, and no knowing what fare will be available aboard.”

  The captain of the Dove, a small ship transporting flint glass, was unwilling to have a woman set foot aboard his ship under any circumstances, but the captain of the White Crest, a collier sailing that night with a shipment of coal, was glad enough to take a couple of passengers to London—
for a price.

  Henry counted out the fee with pleasure, including a bit extra for the use of the captain’s quarters, and invited the delighted captain to share their dinner.

  An hour later, the newlyweds sat on deck and watched as the banks slid by. Sunset splayed its colors behind them as they approached Tynemouth. Not long afterward, a dim glow on the eastern horizon appeared, signaling the outgoing tide.

  Sabrina leaned into him as they swept out to sea, while the captain pointed out the stars and gave their names. “I’m sorry I put you through all of this,” she said softly. “If I hadn’t been so stubborn and mistrustful, none of this would have—”

  “Shh. That was no fault of yours,” he told her, giving her a light squeeze. “Your father made some very foolish choices, Sabrina. He hurt your mother deeply and he knew it. I’m certain he never intended to hurt you. If he had known, I’m sure he would have reconsidered his actions. But that’s over now, and as I said, I will spend the rest of my life proving to you that not all men are like him.”

  Turning in his arms, she buried her head against his chest. Gently, Henry stroked her hair and held her as she cried. He held her until her breathing evened out and her body went limp and heavy.

  Now he knew all would be well between them. Looking back at the dwindling coastline with satisfaction, he at last relaxed.

  They had a couple of days before facing whatever awaited them in London.

  Fairford would certainly retaliate. The only question was when and in what manner. Looking down at his wife’s peaceful face, Henry sincerely hoped their enemy had indeed pursued them all the way to Scotland; it would give them a chance to beat him back to London and maybe allow for some preemptive measures.

  If the twisted bastard had given up and turned back before reaching Scotland, however…

  An unpleasant shiver ran down his spine, a fluttering trail of ice that touched each of his vertebrae like ghostly fingers.

  TWO DAYS LATER

  SABRINA WATCHED WITH relief as London slipped past her window. Home. How she longed for it, for the sight of her mother’s face. Then it occurred to Sabrina that Aylesford House was no longer her home. She was Lady Montgomery now, and home would be Pembroke.

  As they approached Charing Cross, her husband rapped on the roof and instructed the driver to turn.

  “Are we not going to Pembroke?”

  “Our homes are likely being watched,” he replied. “I doubt Fairford would be so bold as to attempt anything so soon, but I dare not risk it. We already know he has men in his pay to take care of any inconveniences, and I’m certain we qualify as such. No, we must go where he’ll least expect us to, and get some help before he learns of our return.”

  “I agree, but from whom?”

  “Percy.”

  She sucked in a breath. “Do you truly believe he will help us after everything that has passed?”

  “He has already offered.”

  “I am glad your friendship withstood my assault,” she replied. Shame filled her. “I admit I am not eager to see him again.”

  “He holds no ill will toward you,” he told her. “And rest assured, he will do all he can to help us against Fairford.”

  Not long after, she sat in Percy’s elegantly appointed parlor, embarrassed right down to the soles of her borrowed boots. “I look a mess,” she whispered.

  Henry smiled and kissed the back of her hand. “You look lovely.”

  “Thank God you’re alive!” exclaimed Percy upon entering the room. “Lady Aylesford is beside herself. Fairford returned to London yesterday afternoon and hasn’t shown his face since. We were beginning to wonder when—if you’d ever return. Lady Aylesford was going to begin a formal inquiry into the matter if you hadn’t appeared by tomorrow. I suppose you sent the old dog home with his tail properly tucked between his legs?”

  “Not quite,” Henry told him. “We need your help.”

  “You needn’t even ask,” said Percy. “I’m assuming you wish to go to Pembroke?”

  “Yes, but we dare not go unprepared. If he returned yesterday, he’s had time to put plans into action. I fear an ambush or some other foul play on his part.”

  “You’ll use my carriage and take a contingent of footmen along.”

  “Will you convey the news to Sabrina’s mother?”

  “I shall, as soon as I’m certain you’re safe.”

  Henry’s shoulders sagged with relief. “Thank you. You’re truly a decent fellow.”

  “I am, aren’t I?” said Percy, laughing. “You look the very devil, the both of you,” he said, wrinkling his nose at her. “What is that you’re wearing?”

  She flushed. “I had to leave all of my own clothes behind when we made our escape.”

  “Ah, I see.” Percy’s eyes glimmered with amusement as they flicked between them.

  “It wasn’t like that!” she laughed, forgetting her embarrassment.

  “Indeed, I’m sure it was quite harrowing. How did you manage to get away?”

  The rest of the tale came pouring out. As she spoke, she watched Percy’s face darken.

  “Murdering bastard!” he spat. “Hanging is too quick and merciful for the likes of him—he ought to be burned at the stake so that his suffering might be prolonged before he goes to the devil! Thank God I brought Raquel here yesterday. At least here, I know she’ll be safe.”

  “How is she?” asked Henry.

  “Her wounds are healing, but it’ll be several weeks before she’s fit for any real travel. I intend to take her back to her family in France as soon as possible and make arrangements for her care.”

  “You’re going with her?” Sabrina asked at the same time as Henry.

  “She’s only a child, and she needs a guardian to look after her,” he snapped, as though daring them to contradict him. “She’s had enough of pain and tragedy in her short life. I’m going to purchase a house and pay for her education so that she will be able to earn a living without—” His eyes darted to her face and he stopped short.

  “You needn’t say more,” she told him softly. He truly was a gentleman and would make an excellent husband someday—for someone else. “If I can be of any help, you must tell me.”

  “Thank you,” he said, clearly flustered. “Now, you both require a bath and something…else to wear before traveling to Pembroke,” he continued, again looking at their clothes with frank distaste. “Mrs. Latham will find something suitable for you, I’m sure. I doubt anything of mine will fit you, Henry, but we may still have something of my father’s.”

  “Thank you,” replied Henry.

  Two hours later, Sabrina descended the stair and was shown to a parlor where the gentlemen awaited. Her borrowed gown was a bit short and fit a trifle snugly in a few places, but not so much as to be uncomfortable. It felt delicious to be back in lawn and silks again.

  “We were discussing how to deal with Fairford,” Henry informed her. “I could call him out, but if he dies, there’ll be hell to pay with the king.”

  “I’ll call him out,” said Percy, his voice chill.

  “You can’t,” said Henry. “You don’t have just cause.”

  “No one knows I broke off the engagement,” Percy replied, looking at Sabrina. “I can always say he abducted my fiancée. That is cause enough.”

  “And how do you propose to explain the fact that I went after her and came back married, while you stayed here?” asked Henry. “You’d have to call me out, too, in order to make it plausible.”

  Here, Sabrina spoke up. “Not if you say you married me in order to prevent my ruination. Percy could say he thought I’d been taken somewhere in London, and so stayed here to look for me, while you were sent north at my mother’s bidding. Everyone would think it was just the luck of the draw that you were the one to find me.”

  Henry shook his head. “No. I’d rather not have anyone know what really happened. Married or not, you would be ruined if anyone found out about you running off with Fairford in the fir
st place. Percy told me your mother has been saying you’ve been ill these last several days, in order to prevent any awkward questions.”

  “How do we explain our marriage, then?” she asked. “As you said, according to London, I’m still engaged to Percy.”

  Henry looked at Percy apologetically. “I’m afraid you’ll have to throw him over and marry me. Again. Publicly. I obtained a special license before coming to see you the day you fled. Your mother kept it for me when I came after you. We can have a quiet ceremony as soon as arrangements can be made. No one need ever know about Scotland.”

  “You’d let him get away with it?” asked Percy angrily.

  Henry shook his head, his smile turning vicious. “Once he realizes we’ve not told anyone of his perfidy—and we won’t—I’ve no doubt he’ll attempt some treachery. If and when he forces a confrontation, people will think he’s lost his senses in a fit of jealous rage. I’ll let him publicly provoke me so that when I kill him, his death will be on his own head.”

  “And what of the servants?” she interjected. “I’m sure half of London already knows we’re—”

  Percy held up a hand. “My entire household is sworn to secrecy regarding all matters occurring beneath this roof, on pain of being dismissed without wages and turned out into the street. Lady Aylesford has recently taken similar measures regarding your ‘illness.’”

  “A message has been sent asking her to come here, incidentally,” added Henry. “You shall return to Aylesford with her in the guise of a servant. If anyone asks her about coming here today, she will say she came to deliver the news of your decision to marry me. I shall arrive at Aylesford shortly afterward to renew my suit.”

  “Is it safe for her to venture out like that, with Fairford back in town?” she asked, too worried to acknowledge the twinkle in his eye.

  “I warned her to come prepared,” said Henry.

  THREE WEEKS LATER

  THE TIME SINCE her return had been spent in a whirlwind of chaotic activity, punctuated by moments of quiet bliss and contentment. Now the day had finally arrived, and Sabrina stood before her glass and fussed over her reflection.