“Good evening, Lady Amy.”
Amy stiffened at the rusty voice that nibbled at her backside like a hungry pest. She maintained her eyes on the celestial ball, ignoring the dark presence; however, approaching footfalls ruffled her concentration. At last she peeked at the tall, shadowy figure that had settled beside her. Fortunately she also witnessed a footman positioned in the offing, keeping an appropriate distance from the affianced couple without offering them complete privacy.
“I’m sorry I missed the celebration tonight.”
He stood with his hands at his backside, an imposing figure. He might be considered handsome, with his fine features and well-tailored garments and polite mannerisms…if it wasn’t for his icy temperament.
“I’m a cad,” he said without a flicker of genuine remorse in his voice. “I should have been in attendance during such an important occasion, but I’d estate matters that needed my attention.” He shifted his stony eyes to meet hers. “I trust you will forgive me.”
“I forgive you, my lord,” she said stiffly, mimicking his aloofness.
Samuel Hale, the Marquis of Gravenhurst, smiled at her with artificial tenderness. He was two-and-forty years of age, with sandy brown hair and gold eyes that pegged unsuspecting citizens with their coldness. She was accustomed to their often vacant expression, yet she still shuddered each time he settled them on her.
It was a heavy truth that pressed on her breastbone: he was to be her husband. It wasn’t a binding, legal union, their betrothal. She’d like nothing better than to call it off, but it was an honorable pact made between the marquis and her father. If she cried off, it’d disgrace the duke. It’d shame her, too, for she’d be branded a jilt. A single social misstep and she’d be ruined. Besides, her father was depending on her to do the right thing…
I have every confidence in you, Amy. I trust that all my disappointments are now behind me, that we can move forward with our lives at last.
The duke’s stern words still resounded in her head, quashing the hope she might disentangle herself from the disagreeable marquis.
Fate cannot be denied.
“Did you enjoy yourself this evening?” He lowered his voice and murmured, “Did you dance with all the beaus?”
The shiftiness in his manner unsettled her nerves, and little, icy bumps appeared across her tingling flesh.
“Not all the beaus, I’m afraid.”
She’d much prefer it if he refrained from looking at her at all. With such a warm hue, it was a wonder the pools of his eyes expelled such frosty, even wicked regard.
“Should I be jealous of anyone in particular, my lady?”
“I think not.” She glanced at him askance. “You need a heart to feel jealousy, my lord.”
“True,” he said darkly.
She shivered under his creeping stare, restless. He had a polished air, an unblemished reputation, yet she sensed a tenebrous quality lurking behind his sophisticated affectations.
The harmony in the garden, the milky glow from the moon no longer offered her solace, not with the moody marquis in her company.
“I remember an evening like this many years ago.” He gazed at the late-night sky. “I was young, about your age, and the world seemed so full of promise. There was a blue moon then, too. Do you know what it means, Lady Amy? A blue moon?”
She shifted. “It’s the second full moon in one month.”
“That it is,” he praised. “It’s very rare.” He took in a deep breath, as if wanting to ingest the haunting atmosphere. “It’s a false moon, you know? We are standing under a false moon, you and I.”
She girded her muscles. “How do you mean?”
“There is a full moon every twenty-nine and a half days, twelve in a year. But every so often, the half days accumulate and another full moon appears in the calendar year, the thirteenth full moon. It’s a fraud.”
Very much like their relationship, she mused. Was that the devil’s point? But she wasn’t willing to prolong their unpleasant exchange by making any more inquiries. In two weeks’ time, she would wed the morose marquis. She would have a lifetime of unpleasant exchanges then.
“I have an interest in the sky: the stars, the moon,” he murmured. “I’m fascinated by the concept that our lives are ordained, recorded in the constellations.”
“Why?”
He said thickly, “A long time ago, at a country fair, a fortuneteller prophesied an ill omen. I believed it rubbish…until misfortune followed.” He shrugged. “I’m afraid it’s been an insidious obsession of mine ever since.”
“Searching for more misfortune?”
“Trying to prove the heavens wrong,” he returned darkly.
She shivered.
“Do you believe in astrology, Lady Amy?”
“I don’t need the stars to tell me my fate.”
“I see.” He paused, then wondered, “Do you rely on your heart? Your wits?”
“I do.”
“And what does your heart tell you about our approaching union?”
Her lips firmed. She struggled with the need to tell him what she really thought of him. In the spirit of camaraderie with her betrothed, though, she returned tautly, “That we will endeavor to please one another.”
“Hmm…would you like to know what the stars foretell?” He whispered, “You might be surprised.”
“I’m fagged, my lord,” she snapped. “I’ve had a long day.” And an even longer night, she mused sourly. “Good evening,” her words clipped as she bustled away from him.
“Lady Amy.”
She paused and hardened. “Yes, my lord?”
“Sweet dreams.”
At the insidious farewell, she bustled off the terrace.
Chapter 18
Edmund’s horse pranced about the crowded Hyde Park trail. It was half past six in the afternoon, too early in the day for him to take himself off to the rat pits or pugilist arenas. He needed the distraction, the amusement of a pounding ride, yet the three-hundred-and-forty-acre parkland still teemed with the city’s most fashionable dwellers.
He frowned. A bloody storm was approaching. Wasn’t the threat of rain and wind persuasive enough to curtail the daily parade of nobility? To send the fastidious lords and ladies scampering indoors? Apparently nothing tempted the haute monde from their cherished rituals.
Was she here? he wondered. Strolling with the rest of the riders?
Edmund dismissed the thought and sighed as he dismounted. He steered the gelding toward a wooded niche and tethered the beast to a low-hanging branch, waiting for the other riders to vacate the park.
He glanced through the patches in the leaves, noted the brewing gray clouds. Thunder rumbled and rolled across the heavens. He imagined galloping through the deserted oasis, the downpour washing away the restless fire that burned in his bones. He itched for the freedom, the comfort.
I will never be happy so long as you’re in my life.
He hardened at the reflection. He made the woman miserable, did he? He soiled her ducal presence with his lowly upbringing?
Edmund snorted. He should have stayed away from Lady Amy. He should have listened to his better judgment, not heeded Quincy’s rot about the ball. The duke had espoused the same belief, that Edmund didn’t belong with his daughter. He accepted that now. He accepted the truth: he wasn’t good enough for anything.
“Edmund?”
The lily softness in her voice caused his muscles to stiffen even more. He snatched the reins from the tree without even glancing her way. “What are you doing here?”
“I’ve sneaked away from my chaperone to talk with you. Edmund, wait!”
He stalked deeper into the woods. “I wouldn’t want to make you unhappy with my company, Lady Amy.”
She rounded him and set her hands across his chest. “Don’t call me that.”
He stopped. The muscles at his breast capered under her warm palms. She looked so bloody beautiful in her riding outfit with wide brown skirt and matchi
ng coat, clipped at her hips and snugly hugging her bosom. The woman’s long and wavy blond locks spilled over her spine. She had a riding cap, pitched to one side of her head. And he observed the riding crop pinched between her fingers; it rested against him like a lash, and he bristled at the thought that he was her pageboy in need of a sound whipping.
“What should I call you then?” he demanded. “Zarsitti?”
Thunder groaned as the wind whooshed through the trees, stirring the leaves into a cacophony of rustling jabber, twisting her hair wildly, too.
“I feel like her almost all the time.” A sadness entered her brilliant green eyes. “I hate her. She’s robbed me of myself. I will never evade her, will I?”
He resisted the mawkish desire to put his arms around her. He tightened his grip on the leather reins instead. “You have my sympathy.”
“Don’t patronize me, Edmund.” She tucked her loose locks behind her ears. “You don’t know what it’s like, keeping a tainted past secret, praying your former misdeeds don’t come to light and shame your family, those you love most.”
The rain started, a light shower. He watched the droplets strike her cheeks, watched her swipe at the pearled beads as if she was swatting at tears. It welled inside him, the resemblance between their situations, and the truth lessened the darkness in his soul.
“I understand,” he said in an even manner.
He, too, had to safeguard his past to protect his sister from disgrace, his brothers from the noose. It was a burden at times, a weighty yoke.
“How can you understand, Edmund? You live as a mariner and a gentleman, and the world treats you accordingly.” She pointed at herself with the riding crop. “But I have to hide who I am—was. I have to pretend I’m worthy of the title ‘Lady’ Amy.”
“You are a lady.”
“No!” She shuddered. “I was a lady. Once. I’m just pretending to be one now.” She looked at him with such fierceness in her eyes. “It’s why I can’t be with you, Edmund. I can’t offer you friendship.”
“Fine,” he gritted.
The horse snorted as lightning flickered in the distance.
“You keep her alive.” She hit her bust with her fist. “You keep Zarsitti alive. Do you understand?”
He frowned. “No.”
She stepped nearer to him, setting his senses alight with her warm proximity, her intoxicating scent.
“Being with you means keeping Zarsitti breathing, her heart burning, wanting, desiring things I can never have.” She munched on her bottom lip. “And if I’m ever to be happy, if I’m ever to accept my new position in life, I have to let her go.”
“Fine. You never have to see me again.”
A white light sparked.
The kiss was hard.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and he bristled at the bold, unexpected gesture. At first, he believed the lightning had pierced him, scorched him straight to his toes, but then the passion in her mannerisms convinced him it was the hunger in her mouth unleashing the fire in his belly. She wanted him, despite her protestations to the contrary.
Edmund released the reins, he looped the leather lead over the nearest branch and slipped his arms around Amy’s midriff, squeezing her in a tight embrace.
The rain beat hard. The thick shade of summer leaves sheltered the couple from the brunt of the storm. Lightning cracked like a blistering explosion, followed by the low moan of thunder. Amy moaned, too. He sensed the vibrations in her throat. He tasted the sweet rainwater on her lips as the leaves slowly softened and sagged under the pressure of the tempest, gradually soaking through their attire.
Edmund moved his fingers across her spine and snagged them in her moist hair, tugging at her locks, pulling her away.
Amy gasped as he ended the kiss; her cap slipped and landed in the grass. She stared at him with a dreamy expression, a lustful look. He stiffened at the sight of her swollen lips, so sinfully tempting.
“You’re not behaving like a lady, Amy…or am I kissing Zarsitti?”
“I-I’m both, I guess.”
The muscles in his back firmed at her words. “You’re not both.”
He still gripped her midriff, keeping her flush against him. With his other hand still secured in her tresses, he was only a short distance from her lips…yet their positions in life separated them by leagues.
“You can’t be both,” he said roughly. “I know it’s impossible to be two different souls. The duality will destroy you one day.”
Something glistened in the deep green pools of her eyes. “That’s why I need you now.”
The white light flashed, spooking the tethered horse, who snorted and struggled with the secured trappings.
“You don’t need me. Now or ever.” He bussed her lips. “You fit in with society just fine. You are a lady.” He twisted his fingers even more tightly in her wet hair. “It’s your rightful home.”
“Th-then I want you.”
The rain dribbled between his stiff collar and hot flesh; it trickled down his backside and bathed his pulsing muscles.
“That is a different matter,” he said gruffly.
He guided her head, pulled her back toward his mouth, and kissed her with the same gusto as the rowdy storm. She filled his veins with a thirst for existence. In her arms, there was purpose and meaning in his soul. In her arms, he was at peace.
The lass’s skirt ballooned around his legs. He rolled with her in the grass, pinned her against the ground as he deepened the kiss. He didn’t even remember falling to the turf with her, but the fierce noise and heavy rain that surrounded their undulating bodies washed away so many senses.
The deep, booming beats of his heart anchored him in the moment, maintained some semblance of order in his head as he guided her skirts over her legs, rubbing her soft calves draped in silk stockings, stroking the sensitive undersides of her knees.
“I want you, Edmund.”
He pressed his hand between her legs and fingered her moist quim. “I know.”
She bucked her hips and gasped, pinched his wet, straggly hair between her fingers as if he might flee from her.
“Do you think I could walk away from you now?”
Do you think I could ever walk away from you, Amy?
He had tried; he believed it the right thing to do. And yet…
She rasped between kisses, “I think the gentleman inside you might trounce the scoundrel.”
He snorted. “You don’t know me very well, Amy.”
She laughed. Amid the hellish weather, the restless wants teeming inside them, she laughed. It cut through his bones, the unexpected joy in her voice, and he hardened for her even more.
“Have you ever done this before, Amy?”
“I’ve seen it a hundred times.”
At the Pleasure Palace.
He unfastened his trousers in quick strokes. “That’s not what I asked you.”
More lightning flared throughout the treetops. He shielded Amy’s body from the rain, the frantic, side-stepping horse, covered her with his length as he positioned his hips between her soft legs.
“No,” she admitted, breathless.
He looked into her eyes, filled with expectation, desire. He kissed her with a deep, thrumming need. He was engrossed with the feral, rutting instinct, yet somewhere in the rational part of his thoughts, he remembered her condition and slipped inside her with a steady thrust.
She stiffened and bared her teeth. He closed his eyes and settled within her, maintained his position, giving her the time she needed to adjust to the feel of him. The savage impulse to bump his hips, give her a thorough bedding, gripped him. He beat back the wild craving.
As soon as he sensed her muscles ease, as soon as he heard her audible sigh, he opened his eyes and rocked his hips.
“You feel so good, Amy.”
He groaned at the tight, slick sensation of her. The rain poured over her legs, lubricated her thighs, making his entry even smoother. He had never tasted such delici
ous passion. He was tangled in her hair, her arms, her legs. She ensnared him with her being. And he blessedly welcomed the feeling of being bound by her…to her.
Amy closed her eyes and cradled Edmund’s head. He was soaked, heavy with rain. His hair was rough and teeming with beaded moisture that dripped over her flushed features as he slowly pumped inside her.
The drops splashed on her cheeks, rolled down her throat and between her breasts, tickling her. She gasped for air, moaned. She was lost amid the whirling winds and biting rain. The scoundrel’s steady yet tender thrusts teased her other senses with distracting precision. She wasn’t sure about anything in the world right then but his sensual penetration.
She opened her eyes and stared into a pair of deep blue pools. The connection between them intensified. Her heart thumped with vigor, her muscles undulated at a matching tempo. She harmonized her movements with his, as in a dance…an erotic dance.
It welled within her, the thought that she was dancing with Edmund without her veil, that her muscles and limbs rolled and rocked in sensuous waves with the scoundrel, the stormy heavens their music.
He pressed his mouth—his sardonic mouth with an upturned quirk—over her lips, savored her. She adored his mouth…
“I adore your mouth.”
She blushed at the sound of husky chuckling. Had she uttered the intimate reflection aloud? Amy munched on her bottom lip; however, he quickly offered her another heated kiss, appeasing her chagrin with the sound strokes of his passionate mouth.
He tasted so bloody good, too, but she was sure to keep that thought private as she hugged his sinewy biceps. The pressure at her apex was starting to build, a low and teasing ache.
She lifted her legs slightly.
He pushed deeper inside her.
He groaned at the added room. She groaned, too, the girth of him stretching her, filling her with its thick arousal. The virginal pain had whittled away with each soft stroke, replaced with a feeling of pleasure: soul-wringing pleasure.
She scraped her fingernails over his neck. “Edmund…”
She wasn’t sure what she was asking for; the words trailed away.
The Notorious Scoundrel Page 19
