The Scandal of It All

by Sophie Jordan

  He buried himself deep and held still inside her, fighting to not lose control of himself prematurely as her inner muscles acclimated around the throbbing length of him. She might not be a maid, but she felt surprisingly untried.

  As though she read his mind, she gasped, “It’s been a long time.”

  “Feels like it,” he ground out. It felt bloody perfect.

  She wrapped her thighs around his hips and tilted her pelvis, urging him on. “Show me more,” she encouraged.

  He grasped one of her thighs and hiked it higher, angling her for deeper penetration. He set a faster pace, thrusting harder. And it was eerily like that dream all those years ago except better because this was real. He was no boy with his secret lusts and longings.

  He was a man now and he knew precisely how to make her unravel. She was already starting to shake beneath him when his hand slipped between their bodies, finding them where they were joined. He found that little bud and bore down, rolling it as he continued to work in and out of her.

  “Colin!” she shrieked, coming up off the bed, clinging to his arms, her eyes wide with wonder as she came apart, shuddering and jerking against him.

  He let himself go then, hammering toward his own climax, surrendering with a low groan.

  He bowed his head, gasping for breath over her as he released himself inside her, unfamiliar sounds swelling up from his chest.

  She undid him.

  He lifted his head and stared down at her. Her dark eyes glowed up at him in the gloom of the room, still looking every bit as astounded as she had when she had reached her climax.

  Pleasure unfurled in his chest. It was almost as though she had never experienced this before. Which was absurd. She was a passionate woman and no maid. And yet if he was the first one to bring her to physical release, he felt a profound sense of satisfaction.

  Her hands fluttered to his chest, her fingers feathering lightly against his skin as though she still needed permission to put her hands to him.

  “That was . . .” Her sultry voice faded away. She blinked as if not certain of anything. She looked out of sorts and that only increased his pleasure. He had done that to her.

  He smiled down at her. “Yes,” he said. “It was.”

  She glanced left and right, clearly unsure what to do next. He imagined her late husband wasn’t much for intimate conversation.

  “I—” she started and stopped again. She had never been one short for words and he enjoyed this new side to her. Knowing that he could so fluster her. He watched her, waiting. She looked back at him. “I never knew it could be like this.”

  He stared at her for a long moment before answering. “It’s only going to get better.”

  He shifted slightly, still lodged inside her, letting her feel that he was hard again and ready for another go.

  Her eyes widened as she felt him immediately. “W-what? You cannot mean—”

  He slid almost completely out from her and then drove deeply back inside, pushing her up on the bed from the force of his thrust.

  “Oh!” she cried, her hands flinging above her head, grasping fistfuls of the counterpane. “I didn’t know . . . I did not think one ever could—”

  “You’re going to discover many things you didn’t know before.” Bending his head, he took her mouth in a deep kiss, silencing her from any further shocked utterances as they simply fell into each other. Again.

  After that there was little talking. Only cries and gasps and moans of pleasure as he showed her what he meant.

  Chapter 13

  Ela opened her eyes to a chamber tinged in murky air. Dawn had arrived and the world felt different, changed somehow.

  She felt different.

  She was exhausted, but pleasantly so. Euphoria tingled along the edges of her nerves, leaving her, oddly enough, energized. She shifted and stretched and places that she had never given much notice to before twinged with soreness.

  She never knew the things they’d done could happen more than once in a night. She never knew it could be so shattering, so good. She never knew she had it in her to not be dull. Autenberry had made her feel so uninspiring as a lover. He never hid his disappointment and she had only ever assumed he was correct. He’d had a score of lovers. How was she to know any differently?

  An arm snaked around her waist and dragged her back, settling her against a hard male body. She gave a small squeak and looked over her shoulder.

  “You’re still here?” she whispered, knowing she should be concerned, cross even. It was morning. Her maid could walk in at any moment to stoke the fire. He shouldn’t be here.

  And yet waking up in his arms . . . a part of her thrilled at it. It was a novel experience. Autenberry had never stayed the night. After he finished with her, he always took his leave.

  After the third time she and Colin came together, she had drifted off to sleep almost immediately.

  Three times. Heat crept over her face. Thinking, remembering . . . it sounded positively debauched.

  “You think I would leave without saying good-bye?” he growled.

  “It’s almost morning. The staff will be up soon.”

  He nuzzled her ear and bit down on the lobe, sending a swift spike of heat straight to her core. “My staff is already up.”

  She gasped at the naughty words, his implication clear. “Again?” She choked back a laugh.

  “It’s been a few hours. I’m ready again. Aren’t you?”

  “You’re insatiable,” she moaned as he nudged her thighs apart. She felt his staff then, hard and seeking, gliding through her sex.

  “I’ll never not want this.” He drove inside her, stretching and filling her.

  Even tender from the activity of the night before, she was already wet for him as he fit himself in her overly sensitized channel. She turned her face into the bedding to keep herself from crying out. Sore or not, her sex wrapped around his thick member, her body as hungry for him as ever.

  All at once he grasped her waist and turned her, guiding her to her knees. It was new, the angle different, the sensation different, too. She flattened her palms on the bed and arched her spine, holding herself up as he pumped in and out of her, his big hands spanning her waist as he took her from behind.

  It was astonishing. From this position, she felt his penetration deeper than ever before. With every stroke he pushed at that hard-to-reach spot inside her. Her legs shook and he wrapped one arm fully around her waist, hugging her close as he increased the speed of his thrusts.

  It was wondrous. After three bouts of lovemaking in close succession, she didn’t imagine it could still be so thrilling. She didn’t imagine she could want more. She didn’t imagine he could bring her to climax again, but he did. He wrung it from her until she was blubbering in her native tongue.

  He pumped a few more times and stilled, pouring his seed deep inside her with a low groan that sent shivers down her spine. He ran his broad palm along her spine as though he could see the ripples of sensation there and meant to soothe.

  She collapsed flat on the bed. He followed, propping himself up with his arms to keep from crushing her. It was a pleasant sensation, being caged in by his warm male body. She could get accustomed to such a thing.

  And that was very dangerous thinking. This wasn’t forever. It was a one-time occurrence. She couldn’t permit her thoughts to drift into the arena of forever. That would be the foolish whimsy of a lovesick girl, and she was most absolutely not that.

  She sighed, sated and content. If she was a little sad to know that this was over, she didn’t let the emotion surface as she said, “You best leave.”

  “Must I?” he asked idly. “I can think of nothing more I’d rather do than spend the day in bed with you.”

  She turned onto her side. That did sound heavenly, but it wasn’t possible. He must know that. He fell on his back. She propped up on her elbow to loom over him. “You jest. We can’t do that. I’ve a houseful of servants. Any single one of them could talk.”


  He pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. “Very well. Then when can I see you again?”

  She hesitated.

  “Ela?” he pressed, his expression darkening as her silence stretched.

  “It’s best if we end this now. We spent a lovely night together—”

  “And you think you’ve had your fill of me now, is that it?”

  She stared down at him. All of him. His handsome face and virile, young body was more of a temptation than he could ever know. It simply wasn’t to be. He wasn’t to be hers. He belonged to someone like Forsythia.

  “Colin. You’ll see. I must return to—”

  Just then the doors to her chamber burst open. She flipped over to gawk at her unannounced visitor, her back to Colin.

  Heart pounding in alarm, indignation bristled through her. She pulled the covers over her bare breasts. It was still quite early and any member of her staff should know better than to burst in upon her so unceremoniously.

  “Mama!”

  Clara.

  She sent a quick glance over her shoulder, satisfied that Colin was tucked under the counterpane. He was a misshapen lump that could simply be mistaken for rumpled bedding.

  Clara froze halfway to the bed, her lovely brown eyes widening. “Mama, you haven’t any clothes on.”

  Ela clutched the sheet to her throat. “Yes, my dear. I grew overly warm in the night and shed my nightgown.”

  Her daughter’s eyes widened even further. “You slept nude?”

  “I did not account for a visitor.” She forced an airy laugh, eyeing her daughter and assessing that she, too, still wore a nightgown. “How is it you came to be here? And in your nightgown?”

  “We arrived last night. Enid and I decided to join you. I asked Mrs. Wakefield not to say anything to you when we arrived. I wanted to surprise you myself.”

  “Oh,” she said faintly. “I’m surprised.” The great length of Colin radiated heat beneath the covers. He was holding himself admirably still, but what if Clara decided to join her on the bed. It wouldn’t be the first time. She had done it countless mornings.

  Thankfully, her state of undress seemed to have given her daughter pause. She hovered, shifting on her bare feet as though uncertain how to proceed.

  “Why don’t you ring for your maid and dress for breakfast, my love? I’ll join you and we shall decide how to spend the day.”

  Clara nodded happily. “Are you very surprised to see me, Mama?”

  “Astonished.” She nodded, her belly a sick, twisting mass. Her daughter stood mere feet before her while she had a naked man in her bed. A naked Colin.

  Just then she felt his hand sliding along her thigh. She jerked and then forced herself into stillness. He really was wicked. How could she never have guessed this about him?

  “Go on with you, my dear.” A tick spasmed near her eye. “I’ll be down once I’ve dressed.”

  Clara smiled brightly and then rushed across the remaining space to press a kiss to Ela’s cheek. She stopped breathing at the sensation of her daughter’s kiss—so sweet and innocent so close to the site of her wantonness.

  She really was a shameful creature. She had never questioned her worth as a mother. Until now.

  As soon as the door closed, she bounced out of the bed and snatched up her nightgown, pulling the billowy garment over her head, not even caring that it was inside out. The fabric settled over her, chafing against all her newly sensitive skin.

  Colin’s head appeared from beneath the covers, an unabashed grin on his face. He sighed and tucked his arms behind his head, clearly in no rush to go. He watched her in a way that reminded her of all the intimacy they’d shared. Familiar heat crept up her neck into her face. How would she ever look at him without her face going hot? And the way he was looking at her now? Well. That had to change. He couldn’t look at her like that in public. It was positively . . . carnal.

  Spying his trousers, she bent and tossed them at him. “Out! Out with you at once.”

  He caught the garment and shook his head at her. “No need to be frantic.”

  “Frantic is a pale, inadequate description for what I’m feeling. My daughter is here. She just walked in on—”

  “She didn’t see anything. She didn’t see me.”

  And for that she was exceedingly fortunate. She took a bracing breath. It had been much too close, though. He couldn’t possibly understand that such a risk was unconscionable to her. And that just seemed to underscore the difference between them.

  She was a mature woman, entering the latter half of her life, a mother who must and always would put her daughter first. Perhaps Graciela needn’t worry about ruining her own reputation, but something like this could adversely impact Clara. Even Enid would suffer.

  He would never understand that. Never understand her and just how worlds apart they were.

  “You need to go.” She nodded with surety.

  “Very well.” He flung back the covers and stood, bold in his nakedness.

  She stared for a moment at his tall, lean frame until wrenching her gaze away.

  “You blush and avert your eyes now? After the night we shared?” Laughter hugged his voice over the whisper of fabric.

  She forced her stare forward. He was correct. She need not be a shrinking violet now. Save that for the Forsythias of the world.

  Thankfully, he wore his breeches once again. He was in the process of buttoning them up, which only made his chest and arms flex deliciously. He really was temptation incarnate with that strong body and his rich brown hair falling over his brow. When she was a girl, she had dreamed of a man such as he. He would stride onto Papa’s estate and sweep her off her feet. Instead Autenberry had come. At the time she’d told herself she was fortunate. She would come to love him. Even if not with grand passion. Love was love.

  “When shall I see you again?”

  She shook her head. This was not love. It was something else. Something she must crush at the root.

  It was a little late for that.

  He stepped forward, his voice dipping to a smoky pitch that was at once familiar because she had heard it in her ear all night. “I can always find my way back to your room tonight.”

  “No,” she blurted. “You cannot do that.”

  He inclined his head slightly. “Very well. You can come visit me or I can arrange a meeting at a location—”

  “No, no, I can’t. We can never do this again.”

  He stilled.

  She continued, “This was just this one time. We explored our desires for each other and now we are done.”

  He shook his head slowly. “You think we are done? That this is finished? That we have explored all that we will ever wish to?”

  “With each other? Yes.”

  A dangerous light entered his eyes and she had the eeriest sensation of having tossed down a gauntlet. “Have you a wish now to explore with someone else—”

  “What? No. No, I don’t.” She glanced at her door, fearful they would be interrupted again. “I merely mean to imply that you can be free to explore your desires elsewhere. With a female more your match. With Forsythia, for instance.” The notion may have turned her stomach but she did nothing to reveal it. In fact, she stepped forward and proceeded to push him toward her balcony doors. If this was the way he had entered, then it must be the way he departed.

  Hopefully, he would not be spotted in the light of dawn, as there really was no other choice. He couldn’t stay in her chamber and he certainly couldn’t waltz out the front door.

  “I’ll go,” he agreed evenly.

  She breathed a little easier.

  At her balcony doors, he stopped and looked back at her. “But know I’ll not be exploring with any other ladies when it’s only you I can think about. You, Ela.”

  Her heart squeezed foolishly. “You needn’t make such promises. Truly, I don’t want them.”

  Half his mouth kicked up in a smile. “And yet you have them. They’re yours.” That
said, he turned on his heels and left her.

  She stared after him, not moving for several moments before jarred to action. Her daughter and stepdaughter were here. It was time to return to reality.

  Chapter 14

  Four days passed and she immersed herself with Clara and Enid’s visit, working diligently to distract herself with their happiness and be the mother she was before everything happened with Colin. The mother she was meant to be . . . not a wanton and reckless creature of passion.

  They visited the museum, took tea with Lady Mary Rebecca and her daughters, and dined with Marcus most evenings. They even braved the cold one afternoon for a ride in the park, only to quickly return home and warm themselves by the fire with cups of chocolate. She’d missed her girls. Even Enid, reserved as she was, succumbed to gaiety as they played whist.

  Colin, however, never appeared. She suspected that he might accompany Marcus on one of his visits. He often had in the past. It would not have been unusual.

  His absence both disappointed and satisfied her. She really was a contrary woman

  “Mama!”

  She jerked in her seat, where she sat penning a letter to Poppy Mackenzie. Her friend had gone north for the winter. Poor dear. She must be freezing. At the sound of her daughter’s screech, she lurched back from her writing desk and was halfway across the salon when the doors burst open.

  Clara erupted into the room, holding a tiny little ball of fur close to her chest.

  Ela’s heart steadied at the sight of her daughter, hale and unmaimed, before her. It was always the same. Parenthood was a state of constant anxiety over your child’s welfare. She didn’t know if it was that way for every parent or for only her. Clara was her sole child and, according to Ela’s physician, her birth had been a miracle. Old Dr. Wilcox had told her she should count her blessings, for she would never conceive again. He had been wrong, however. She had conceived again. Twice. She had had two more miscarriages.

  “Clara, you gave me a fright,” she reprimanded, flattening a hand against her racing heart.

  Enid followed, entering the room at a more sedate pace, her hands clasped demurely in front of her. Her stepdaughter was not an excitable creature. Unlike Clara, Enid was quiet, most of her thoughts and emotions held tucked away inside her. She was clever and well-read. Even at the age of ten, when Graciela first met her, she had seemed wise beyond her years. Certainly, Graciela’s English had not been very strong then and she’d felt rather foolish around the ten-year-old whose vocabulary far outshone her own.