To Love a Scandalous Duke (Once Upon a Scandal)

by Rosa, Liana De la

  Declan observed the man for a moment, grudgingly conceding Rothsfield looked charmed with his dance partner. He didn’t blame him. Holding Alethea close, being marked by her attention, made one feel powerful…and just a bit spellbound.

  “The only thing better, short of her capturing the eye of a foreign prince, would be…well, a duke.”

  He cocked a brow. “Are there many eligible dukes to offer her a coronet?”

  Finlay paused dramatically. “One that I’m aware of. I’ve seen the way you look at each other. And heaven knows, neither of you has been able to keep away from the other.”

  “I’m not staying, Firthwell.” His voice was firmer than his resolve. “I have several matters to see to, but once they’re settled I plan on departing. Business requires me to return to the Indies. My life is not in England any longer.”

  “But it could be.” Finlay paused and stared at him. “What of your talk about always considering England home? Can you not make London the base of your operations? You have an opportunity to make it so.”

  “Easy to say but much harder to do.” Declan glanced toward where Alethea laughed at something her partner said, and something within him sparked. “But perhaps worth fighting for.”

  Declan stood, determination to claim the next dance with Alethea motivating his limbs into quick action. With a nod at Finlay, he approached the dance floor, navigating around people exiting and others taking their places with their partners. But Alethea and Rothsfield were nowhere in sight.

  A crack reverberated through the night, and couples stumbled to a halt as they turned large eyes and gaping mouths to the sky. Fireworks illuminated the darkness, their bright, multicolored splendor rendering the piazza in a wash of rainbows. Declan fell victim to the spectacle, and as he stared, enraptured, a flash of red to his left snagged his attention. Lord Rothsfield’s attention was riveted on the light show, and Alethea stood silently beside him. But she didn’t watch the spectacle, like those around her.

  She watched him.

  Declan circled around the back of the dance floor until he stood behind them, his every breath coming in ragged gasps. Slowly, ever so carefully, he slipped his hand into hers and slightly tugged. She angled her head, locking eyes with him, and allowed him to pull her away.

  She gripped his hand tightly, and that was all the affirmation he needed to direct her down a small side path that led off the main walk. Soon they were encased in shadows, the only light borrowed from the fireworks above. He turned Alethea to face him, his gaze taking in her flushed cheeks and the way her chest rose rapidly with her breaths. The bright flashes in the sky highlighted the beauty of her face, and he almost staggered at the sight.

  With slow movements, he placed his hands on either side of her jaw and cradled it, its fragility tightening his chest. He ran his thumb along her plump bottom lip, and she trembled slightly. But her eyes sparkled in the dim light. When her pink tongue came out to trace his thumb’s path along her lip, Declan’s self-control disintegrated.

  And he lowered his mouth to hers.

  Chapter Fourteen

  October 1806

  Passion? I almost believe it’s a word fabricated to tease women such as I.

  -The Diary of Lady Margaret Gordon

  Alethea wasn’t sure if the booms she heard were from the fireworks exploding overhead or from the erratic hammering of her heart. The exotic scent of bay rum left her feeling delightfully, sinfully lightheaded.

  Or perhaps the delicious taste of Declan’s lips was the culprit.

  His mouth moved over hers as if it had been born to do so, its familiarity surprising. But they’d known each other their entire lives. If any man should know how to kiss her, shouldn’t it be the one who’d known her first?

  Declan ran his hot tongue against her lips, and a low moan rose from the back of her throat. Her toes curled in embarrassment from the wanton sound. Yet the coarse noise seemed to jolt him, because he dropped his hands from her face and twined them around her back, his grip tight as he pulled her flush with his hard body.

  Her sense of propriety told her she should feel scandalized by his firm lines pressed so close to her own. She should balk at the way his hands roamed from her waist, to her hips, back around to her arse, where they hauled her even closer. But protest was not on her tongue when he ripped his lips from hers to trail them down the length of her neck. Instead, she sighed his name.

  “God, I want you to always say my name like that,” he said, his breath tickling the sensitive spot beneath her ears.

  An involuntary sputter of laughter echoed around them. “I’d be sent back to Scotland if I publicly addressed you in such a manner.”

  His tongue flicked against the skin at the base of her throat, and she shivered in delight. “We couldn’t have that,” he murmured. “Plus, I fear the havoc your innocent passion would wreak on other men.”

  “I don’t care about other men.”

  Declan bit down softly on the spot between her neck and shoulder, the pressure traveling straight to her most private place. “And what of Lord Rothsfield?”

  “W-who?” She exhaled, her arms circling around his waist, holding him closely.

  A growl rumbled along her spine, making her arch her back into his hands. “That’s the right answer,” he said before his lips met hers again.

  Alethea ran her hands up Declan’s chest, reveling in the hard muscle that lay under her fingertips, before she looped her arms around his neck. She returned his kiss with ardor, the fierceness of it overwhelming her. He nibbled on her bottom lip, the sensation sending streams of pleasure radiating throughout her body.

  She wondered when she’d stopped thinking of him as her childhood friend and instead as the only man who could transform her into a piece of dried kindling, his touch the spark she needed to ignite.

  When she tangled her fingers in the hair that curled against his collar, he abruptly lifted her, his large hands spreading over the swells of her bottom, and walked several steps until the rough feel of bark pressed into her back. Declan’s thigh wedged between her legs, and she found herself rejoicing in the exquisite pressure it provided. Alethea flexed her hips to relieve the mounting ache building inside her, and a low moan reverberated from Declan.

  “God, you’re driving me insane.” He gripped her hips, and her frantic movements ceased. “Do you understand what’s happening between us?”

  She huffed, her breath blowing back a red curl that lay across her face. “You must think me a veritable ninny. You’re not the only boy I’ve kissed, Declan Sinclair.”

  He inhaled sharply and his fingers pressed into her waist. “What do you mean?”

  “Exactly what I said.” Alethea placed a kiss at the corner of his mouth, before she ran her nose to his ear. She whispered, “I’ve enjoyed a kiss a time or two.”

  “A time or two?” The words were strangled. “Who was he?”

  “I think the proper question is, ‘Who were they?’” He made a rude sound, and she giggled.

  “Are you trying to provoke me?” he demanded, his hand sliding up her back to grip the base of her neck.

  “Of course not,” she said, angling her head back into his hand and presenting him with the long line of her neck. “But who I shared my kisses with is inconsequential. All of those experiences pale in comparison to this.”

  Declan dropped kisses down her heated skin, pausing at the tops of her breasts. “The thought of any man touching you, tasting you, enjoying the wonder that is you makes me see red.”

  “Oh, Dec,” she breathed, gripping his forearms. “We shared kisses. I’m confident you’ve experienced much more with the women you met on your travels.”

  He shrugged. “I remember not a single face, let alone names.”

  She snorted. “I’m sure my kissing partners have long since forgotten our interludes.”

  His breath teased across her cheek. “Impossible. How could one possibly forget the moment they held the sun in their arms?�
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  Thick, suffocating emotions condensed into a ball in her throat, and her eyes welled with hot tears. She blinked rapidly, determined not to let her reaction to his searing words ruin their stolen moment together. Instead she reached up and beckoned him to her for another scorching kiss.

  After a long, steamy moment, he wrenched his mouth away from hers. “God, Allie, this wasn’t supposed to be so hard.”

  She pulled back to look into his face. “Am I supposed to apologize? Because I won’t.” After a long moment, she whispered, “This is why we need to avoid each other. You’re destined to sail away again, and I’m destined to marry whomever my father selects.”

  Declan went rigid. The sudden silence rang in her ears, and she realized belatedly the fireworks had ended.

  “Allie,” a voice called, causing him to jump away from her. Alethea felt the loss of his warmth, of his touch, acutely. “Allie, are you out there?”

  “It’s Finlay,” she hissed, tucking curls back into place and adjusting the fall of her skirts. Once he’d helped her put herself back in order, she leaned back into the tree and breathed in deeply through her nose.

  The sound of footsteps echoed from close by, and she turned to Declan with wide eyes. After a lifetime of proper behavior, she wasn’t ready to let scandal sweep her into marriage. “I don’t want to be caught like this. You’ve made your intentions clear, and I won’t allow you to take away my choices.”

  A muscle ticked in his jaw as his gaze darted to the darkened walk behind them.

  “Please,” she whispered.

  Declan jerked his head to her, his gaze traveling over her face, their search intense.

  She offered him a small, sad smile in return.

  He crossed to her and slid his hands along her jaw to her nape, his lips meeting hers with a wildness she sensed in her toes.

  And just as quickly, he was gone, his figure disappearing into the trees.

  Alethea raised a trembling hand to her mouth, the sweet pressure of his lips a memory she refused to relinquish.

  “There you are,” Finlay exclaimed as he appeared at the curve of the pathway. He came to a stop before her, and peered at the gardens around them. “Why are you way out here? And by yourself? Foolish, that.”

  “I’m sorry.” She took his extended arm. “I thought the fireworks might be brighter away from the glare of the piazza lanterns.”

  “Yes, I’m sure that was your motivation,” Finlay returned sharply, his jaw clenched. His gaze traveled around them once more, and Alethea prayed Declan had heeded her advice and returned to the party.

  She brushed off Finlay’s comment and allowed him to steer her back up the path. “Did anyone else notice my absence?”

  “I can’t say.” Finlay’s hesitant tone made her suspect it had been noted. “With so many people crowded around watching the fireworks, it was hard to keep track of where anyone was.”

  She swallowed down a lump of doubt. “Thank you for noticing I was gone and coming to find me.”

  “Always. But perhaps consider asking for a chaperone next time. You never know what kind of rogue you could encounter out here.”

  “Indeed,” Alethea said as her brother led her away.

  …

  Declan watched from behind a copse of saplings as the twins departed. Turning, he stormed away until the sting of a tree branch whipping across his face brought him to a halt. He rubbed at his offended cheek and then gripped the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

  Skulking about in pleasure gardens and stealing kisses from beautiful women were not activities he’d ever engaged in. He was Darington, and he’d wager such behavior was unbecoming in a duke.

  But Alethea.

  He’d not realized the powder keg he’d held in his arms until she’d gone up in red-hot flames of passion. Just the memory of her eager responses made him achingly hard. Surely the taste of her lips, the feel of her breath dancing across his skin, and the weight of her in his arms was more potent than opium. He’d gladly be an addict if he’d get to experience her in such a way again. Soon.

  Or for the rest of his life.

  Declan braced his hand against a tree, the bark cutting into his palm. What was he thinking? The circumstances of Albert’s death and growing suspicions about her father’s evasive behavior hung like a shroud over him. He was a bounder for not focusing all his attention on solving that mystery.

  But Alethea.

  If anyone could sympathize with the torment he’d suffered with his father’s death and his subsequent exile, it was she. They’d always been of an accord, and despite the years they’d been apart, that connection had not diminished. If his raging arousal was any indication, their connection had only matured and evolved along with the years.

  Perhaps he’d been hasty when he declared his plans to leave England.

  Alethea was clever, witty, and used to navigating through the treacherous ton waters. Surely her experience would aide him in establishing himself as a viable member of society, a step he knew he owed the title. He admired and respected her above any other woman he’d ever known. And he wanted to bed her with a fierce intensity that had him gritting his teeth in suppressed lust.

  Lord Rockhaven had warned him about fraternizing with Alethea, but such a demand was merely the start of negotiations, as far as Declan was concerned. He doubted the earl would be surprised if Declan approached him about courting his daughter, and he would probably have a list of demands ready that he’d want met before agreeing. Declan would consider most anything if it meant being with Alethea.

  With a new resolve, he pushed away from the tree. He straightened his waistcoat then smoothed the folds of his elaborate cravat to look more like a respectable peer of the realm instead of a lothario frolicking about the trees…even if that’s exactly what he’d been. Just the memory of Alethea’s sighs brought a smile to his face.

  Chapter Fifteen

  March 1818

  I delight in the fact that despite his schemes, that which he most desires is still out of reach.

  -The Diary of Lady Margaret Gordon

  Her taste lingered.

  Even the next morning, Declan could run his tongue along his lips and taste Alethea.

  Despite forcing himself to see to business, their interlude in the shadows replayed on a loop in his mind. More than once he’d had to reread a piece of correspondence because he’d been distracted from the words with thoughts of soft sighs, lush curves, and heated kisses.

  He sat in the library, ensconced in the familiar leather chair at the narrow table beneath the large twelve-paned windows. Late morning sunlight bathed him in warmth. Declan glanced at the mahogany desk, which dominated the other side of the room. It had been his father’s, and then his brother’s, but he was not quite ready to make it his own.

  A knock sounded on the door a few seconds before Lockley opened it. “Your Grace, Mr. Sanders has arrived for your appointment. Shall I escort him in?”

  “Yes, please do.”

  The butler nodded and left. Declan took a moment to consider the papers strewn across his small workspace and worked to bring them into some sort of order. He glanced down at a stack of books and ledgers by his feet, all Darington business he hadn’t begun to tackle.

  Mr. Gregory Sanders, a longtime Darington solicitor, bustled into the center of the room, his gaze and feet taking him to the empty desk before he stumbled to a halt. Turning, he plopped into the seat indicated and smiled, his front teeth slightly crooked. “Your Grace, it is a great pleasure to finally make your acquaintance. I knew your brother, the late duke, his entire life and he spoke of you frequently. I almost feel like I know you myself.”

  Declan nodded.

  “And you look like him, too,” Sanders continued. “Not that you look similar, exactly, but rather you have the same eyes.” He must have recognized the dubious expression on Declan’s face, for he held up both his hands. “Their colors might have differed, what with his blue and
yours so dark, but they contain the same shrewd light. The same sadness.”

  A long silence stretched, and the older man shifted in his chair, the leather squeaking in the quiet room. “Ah, here is what I needed to discuss with you.” He extended a yellowed, worn piece of parchment, its frayed edges a testament to its age. It was dated more than ten years before Declan’s birth. As his eyes scanned the looping script, the importance of the words unhinged his jaw.

  “This…this was their agreement then?”

  “Yes. It’s the agreement between your father and the Earl of Rockhaven. It has not lapsed, Your Grace,” Sanders met his gaze directly. “The terms are still in effect.”

  “This is why Albert continued to conduct business with the earl?”

  “Yes, Your Grace. The agreement is still valid.” The solicitor pointed to a clause near the bottom of the page. “As you can see, each partner’s share would be inherited by his heir. But if either man died without a legitimate heir, their share would be absorbed by the other partner.”

  “Why would my father agree to that?”

  “Forgive me for pointing it out, Your Grace, but you forget your esteemed father had been longtime friends with Lord Rockhaven. It seemed reasonable, at the time, to agree to such measures as it would ensure business operations weren’t interrupted and would protect the interest of heirs, should there be any.”

  Declan rubbed a hand along his stubbled jaw. “And there was, of course, Albert and me.”

  Sanders tilted his head. “But now there’s only you.”

  “That means I now own a stake in the Darington-Rockhaven investment partnership?”

  “The controlling stake, Your Grace. The initial Darington investment was sixty percent.”

  “Surely at some point in the years since my father’s death, the earl offered to buy out Albert’s share.”

  “Multiple times, from my understanding.” Sanders paused and shrugged. “But ultimately, the men decided to work together instead.”

  Declan stared at the desktop. “Albert never mentioned it. We never talked business.”