Scandal with a Sinful Scot

by Karyn Gerrard

  “Love can happen at a young age. It did in Romeo and Juliet,” Megan declared.

  “It’s a tragedy.”

  Megan shrugged. “Not all love has to be tragic. Or turn out as terrible as yours.”

  Well. A direct hit. “We are not speaking about me. You’re still young, with years ahead of you and many young men to meet before you decide about love.” She patted Megan’s gloved hand. “In the meantime, this will be a difficult enough visit. Thinking of Jonas as only a friend would be wise.”

  Megan turned to stare out the window again, not replying. Oh, good heavens, did she harbor a tendre for Jonas? There lay heartache. First loves could cut to the very soul—especially when they go wrong. Abbie knew this more than anyone.

  The carriage arrived at the Eatons’ shortly past the dinner hour, and with the happy greetings out of the way, everyone had been ushered into the parlor and trays of food brought in.

  When they had first stepped into the room Jonas happily hugged them both, though Megan had held on to him longer than was decent. The young man looked as dazzling as ever. Goodness, should she allow them to be alone at all?

  Once they were seated in the parlor, Alberta smiled and poured the tea. “I am glad the new furniture arrived last week, or we would have been hard pressed for seating. I should have waited until the room was completely renovated, but the state of my uncle’s furnishings was shocking indeed.” She smiled amusedly. “Can you imagine, we found a nest of swallows when we first moved in. In one of the fireplaces upstairs.”

  “I took them outside and cared for them, and after two weeks they flew away. Bert says they headed south for the winter,” Jonas enthused. The young man had always been interested in all sorts of animals and birds through the years, taking many in as pets, including a llama and an array of hedgehogs.

  Abbie gave him a warm smile, then took the cup and saucer offered. “The manor house certainly has deteriorated since I was here last. But you are slowly making it your home. How wonderful.”

  Megan stood. “I would like to go to my room, if I may. I am very tired.” Her voice was flat, her annoyance still present and obvious for all to see. Abbie fought her growing irritation. Her daughter was not going to make this easy.

  “Of course, my dear. Jonas, please show Megan to her guest room. The blue room. Then you may retire as well.” Alberta smiled.

  Abbie watched the young man closely. He was dressed in an immaculate brown suit; his manners while they ate had been impeccable, though he did not offer much in conversation except about the swallows. Truly, he was beautiful, as Megan had stated. But the fact remained he was ten years older and…somewhat simple. How else could she describe him?

  “All right, Bert. Come with me, Meg.” Jonas wiped his mouth on the napkin and stood, allowing Megan to leave the room first.

  Once they departed, Alberta sighed and passed Abbie a plate of sandwiches. “He is a joy to have about, but takes a good deal of supervision.”

  “He is quite handsome…it is…how to say this?” Abbie began.

  “A sin he is an idiot?” Alberta replied crossly. Then she shook her head. “I am sorry. I should not have said that, and in such an angry tone. I heard him being spoken of as such in town today while I shopped at the grocer and I’m still furious. I left immediately, before I made a scene.” Alberta sipped her tea. “Jonas is not an idiot. The doctor who examined him last year claims that he has the intelligence of a twelve-year-old, and unfortunately, the emotional development of one as well. It will always be thus.” She smiled sadly. “Jonas had been slow to develop, didn’t speak until the age of four. Yet for a while, my husband, Reese, thought that he might be ‘normal’—for lack of a better word. But he hit a plateau and stayed there. Many doctors have examined him over the years, and most agree that the stunting of his intellectual and emotional growth may have occurred during his difficult birth. The doctor who had been in attendance revealed that it took several minutes to get Jonas to take a breath. The lack of oxygen…it is hard to know. No one knows for sure.”

  “You’ve never spoken of this before,” Abbie whispered.

  “It makes me sad, in one way. But in another he has been a great comfort, especially when Reese passed. Before he died, I promised Reese I would look after Jonas and not allow him to be sent to one of those awful asylums. I’ve grown to love him as a dear brother.” Alberta laughed softly. “Tensbridge described him as a man-child. The narrative fits.”

  “Garrett’s older brother? There was no mention of him in your recent letter.”

  Alberta’s cheeks flushed. “I believe that there is something developing between us.”

  “How fascinating, and worthy of a lengthy discussion. But regarding Jonas. Megan is infatuated with him. I do not want to make an issue out of it, as there will be enough drama involved with this visit,” Abbie said.

  “We will keep an eye on them. You don’t have to worry, as Jonas has shown no inclination toward romantic pursuits. Now, speaking of drama, have you thought of a way to approach Garrett?”

  Abbie bit into her egg and ham sandwich and chewed thoughtfully. Invite him over here and surprise him by causally walking into the parlor? Call at Wollstonecraft Hall? “I have no idea how to proceed. I know nothing about him, not then and certainly not now. Have no idea what sort of man he became. If our parting is any indication, he no doubt is an arrogant, selfish arse.” She gave Alberta a shaky smile. “Who knows how many women came after me… Lord, I am envious of nameless women. I cannot believe how violently my insides are churning.” Abbie laid a hand across her middle.

  Alberta sipped her tea, then placed the cup and saucer on the tray. “Though Uncle was a recluse, we did keep up a correspondence. He stated that through Garrett’s mid-twenties, for a period of about two years, he had cut quite a swath through London. He and the younger Aidan especially. Then the sojourns to London ended, though not for his nephew. If anyone in the family has a scandalous reputation, it is Aidan. Notorious, even.”

  Why did the news that Garrett had sought female company hurt so blasted much? She couldn’t expect him to live as a monk, alone in a dark room, pining away for her. Abbie had certainly found comfort elsewhere. With Elwyn.

  “But regardless of his temporary wild streak,” Alberta continued, “Garrett is well thought of by his tenants and neighbors. He is honest and forthright in his dealings. Why, he is assisting me with renovations…” A knock sounded at the door. “Gracious, who could that be? It’s past eight o’clock.” Alberta stood and smoothed her skirt. “One moment.”

  Abbie set aside the sandwiches. The parlor was directly located off the front entrance, making listening to conversations easy to achieve.

  “Alberta, I am sorry to arrive unannounced and at an inconvenient hour.”

  There was no mistaking that deep, masculine voice. Her heart stuttered in her chest. Garrett. God, what to do? Run for her room? Hide behind the curtains? Crouch behind the settee?

  “Er…come in.” From the tone of her voice, Alberta was obviously flustered. The door was closed—he must be standing in the front hall.

  “I can stay but a moment. I neglected to inform you there will be a delivery of lumber tomorrow, for the repairs in the kitchen area. With all that has been going on, it slipped my mind. I also wanted to thank you for coming to the hall last week. For Julian.”

  “How is he? I haven’t seen or heard from him since,” Alberta asked, concern in her voice.

  Abbie stood; her hands shook. It was now or never. If she didn’t see him now, she would be awake all night in nervous agitation.

  “The news about Aidan has struck him hard, and he has been keeping to himself…” Garrett’s voice trailed off with her appearance.

  With wobbly legs, she moved forward to stand beside Alberta. The gas lamp on the wall illuminated his face, the shadows accentuating his high cheekbones. They were m
ore pronounced than she remembered. Lord, he was even more handsome than she recalled. Maturity had enhanced his near-perfect features, and his imposing, fine form filled the doorway.

  So tall. Such shoulders. Seeing him up close—face-to-face—seized her breath. He’d always been a virile, vibrant presence. Positively shimmering with masculinity. Yes, age had improved every aspect of his good looks. As she had observed in Standon, his hair now hung to his shoulders, the colors more effervescent than ever. He met her gaze and his eyes widened, then his full lips parted in shock.

  Megan was upstairs. Pray she did not come down. Not yet. Especially considering her current mood. Abbie needed to reveal this slowly. “Good evening, Garrett. It’s been a long time.”

  * * * *

  The hallway spun. Slow at first, then increasing in speed. Abigail Wharton. Abbie. It was as if a load of bricks had been dumped on his head. Or he’d been kicked in the chest by a horse. Yes, that was the sensation, for his heart had ceased to beat. A buzzing sounded in his ears, growing louder as each second ticked by. Then it faded and disappeared altogether.

  Gradually, and in small increments, he came back to life, his heartbeat sluggish, his breathing shallow. The shock of seeing her caused his insides to plummet. Jesus, she is beautiful. Still, after all these years. More beautiful than memory served. He’d so carefully cut her from his life. From his very soul. Considering his response, the extraction had been a complete failure.

  Garrett could not stop his gaze from sweeping over her form. More mature, rounded, more sweetly curved. Her raven-black hair was styled simply, piled and pinned on top of her head; loose tendrils framed her face. Her flawless, creamy skin shone in the muted light. Her dark brown eyes glistened, her look hopeful but guarded. God, get control. Say something.

  But the words would not come. Instead, a long-buried memory took form in his mind: the two of them writhing in the hayloft. They were clutching each other desperately as he thrust in and out of her while she moaned and dug her nails into his back, scoring and marking him… He closed his eyes briefly in order to dismiss the erotic image, but it merely made it all the more vivid. His eyes snapped open.

  “Well, this is…awkward,” Abbie said, her voice soft.

  “Perhaps the two of you should head to the parlor. I’ll give you the privacy you need,” Alberta offered kindly.

  Did someone speak? Garrett could not keep up with the conversation. It was as if all moved in slow motion.

  Mutely, he followed Abbie to the parlor, mesmerized by her swaying hips. He was fully and painfully hard. The desire heating his blood was as real and heartbreaking as it had been fourteen years before. He buttoned his greatcoat. Be damned if he would show how she still affected him. Alberta closed the door and left them alone.

  Garrett had the sudden urge to push Abigail Wharton against the wall and kiss her senseless. Tunnel his hand under her skirt until he found her heated core. Fumble with the fall of his trousers; pull out his erect cock and—

  “Do you believe in fate, Garrett? A silly question, since you believe in curses. Of course you believe in fate. I did not. Until ten days ago.” Neither of them had taken a seat, but they kept a wary distance. “I saw you in Standon, of all places, a small village in the middle of nowhere. Big as life as always. There was no mistaking you. The moment that you stepped from the carriage, all my carefully packed away feelings and memories were torn asunder to haunt me once again.”

  “What do you want me say?” He kept his voice as devoid of emotion as he could.

  Abbie whirled about to face him. “Say? I want you to admit that you’ve been haunted by the memories. That perhaps you have regrets for the way you acted and the cruel, heartless words that you flung at me like daggers.”

  Garrett defiantly crossed his arms. “Still bitter? I don’t have any regrets.”

  She shook her head sadly. “Ah. You never loved me after all. I truly was young and foolish. Why am I not surprised that you have no regrets, considering our contentious parting?”

  Garrett stepped closer. His arms dropped to his sides; his hands clenched into fists to keep them from pulling her into his arms. “I never said I didn’t love you, Abbie.”

  Her eyes blinked rapidly. “Of all the arrogant… I asked if you loved me at our last meeting, and you gave a very emphatic ‘no.’ Forgot about all of our secret encounters, I see. It had meant nothing to you.” Anger sliced through her cool tone. “Well, I remember everything. Especially your cruel statement: ‘I will think of you now and then, but otherwise, not at all.’ It turns out that the callous statement was true. Of all the young men I could have chosen, why did it have to be a heartless bastard?”

  Their affair had meant everything. The women who came after—and if he were to do a tally, it wasn’t as many as the gossips claimed—none of them came close to stirring his emotions like Abbie had. It was the reason he’d said those spiteful, pitiless words. To make her leave. He didn’t mean them, and he hated himself for a long while afterward but remained convinced it was the only way to avoid tragedy and heartache. He glanced at her hand. A wedding ring. Another solid blow to his aching heart.

  “Why are you here? Seeking a carnal adventure away from your husband?” He’d no right to be hurt at the fact she was married. Selfish beast. And cruel, for his tone was a mocking one.

  Abbie lifted her chin into the air. “A carnal adventure with you? Ha! Don’t flatter yourself. I am a widow, and have been for close to two years. I am content to be alone.”

  That she no longer had a husband made his heart soar, but he tamped down the inapt response. “You waited for the appropriate mourning period to pass. Decided that life in a quiet country village no longer suited.”

  “Oh, it suited me fine. You are the one who invaded my world and pushed it off its axis,” she snapped.

  Garrett took another step closer. She stood her ground, as he remembered. “So you decided to return the favor, come here and stir up a painful episode for both of us.” His tone no longer mocked; he could hear the pain in his voice. Bugger it. Let her hear it as well.

  Her eyebrow arched. “Are you in pain?”

  “Bloody hell, yes.” And in more ways than one.

  At such a confession, he expected her to give him a look of smug satisfaction. Instead her expression softened, but only for a moment. “We have much to discuss. But not tonight.” She rubbed the bridge of her nose. “I’ve had a long journey and am utterly exhausted. Perhaps we can meet at Wollstonecraft Hall?”

  Not tonight? She’s dismissing me. Perhaps it was for the best, considering his overwrought reaction to her presence. How tempting to state that there was nothing to discuss, but he should hear her out. Pathetic. He wanted to see her again. Talk to her, be near her. Inhale her evocative scent. Still the wildflower combination he remembered. God, he could hardly think straight. Blood roared in his ears…and in his still-stiff prick. He couldn’t carry on a rational conversation if he tried.

  “If you wish. Three o’clock.” He turned on his heel, flung open the parlor door, and stomped down the hall. Didn’t even say good night. All he knew was he had to get away from her. Once Garrett opened the front door, he broke into a run. If he had any damned sense he would keep running and never see or talk to her again. His heart pounded furiously in his chest. The cold perspiration that had collected at his hairline trickled down his cheeks.

  Abbie: the only woman he’d ever loved. And damn it all, despite his determination to never think of her…he loved her still.

  He was in a world of trouble.

  Chapter 5

  Garrett sat alone in his dark room, sipping a tumbler of scotch. The alcohol spread through him and he savored the flavor of it. He needed the comfort and warmth of the ritual, for the events of fourteen years past were as vivid and real as if they had happened last night.

  Abbie ran to his arms. “It’s my last night
here in Kent. I return home tomorrow.” The thought of her leaving tore him to pieces. But he had to remain strong in the face of temptation. Garrett pulled her close, reveling in her soft curves and heat. She was tall for a young woman, perhaps seven inches over five feet, but ideal for him. Her head fit under his chin perfectly.

  The past six weeks had brought about such heights of ecstasy, but never leaving him was the fact that this could not last. The curse could not continue. When he was ten years of age he may not have cared much for his stepmother, but watching her die a horrible death after giving birth to a daughter made a decided impact on Garrett. Not fair. He didn’t dislike her. Lady Gwendolyn was polite if distant. Even kind now and then. Just not exactly…motherly.

  The baby girl was named Sarah, and just when Garrett was growing attached to the tiny, mewling infant she died of a lung ailment and was buried with her mother, who’d passed away three weeks before. Standing in the family cemetery with his father and brother, gazing at the rows of tombstones, most of them women who had dared to love Wollstonecraft men or had the bad luck to be born into the family, Garrett made a life-altering decision.

  He would not do as his father and brother had done. He would never love or marry. A bold declaration for a ten-year-old lad, but he’d meant the words.

  Enough of the past. He was still determined never to fall in love. Not even the glorious girl in his arms would shift him from his firm belief.

  He kissed Abbie. Their tongues tangled as he took the kiss deeper. Already he was hard and aching. To think that when they’d first met he was still a virgin. Oh, he had a few playful tumbles in the hay with a farm girl or two, but it never culminated in actual sex. Now, after six weeks of daily, clandestine couplings, they had both grown more confident. More ardent. God help him…more loving. The most difficult thing that he would ever do would be to say goodbye to Abbie.