Scandal's Daughter

by Emma V. Leech

  So what on earth she was doing retracing her steps to the secluded spot he had discovered her in four days earlier was beyond her. Her only comfort was the fact that he wouldn't be there and she would have enjoyed a pleasant walk and have been brought back down to earth. For no good would come of yielding to the temptation of dreaming about the enticing Beau Beaumont.

  It was therefore with a start of surprise that she noticed a handsome chestnut horse grazing at the edge of the meadow, just as it had been the day she'd bid the Marquis goodbye. As she took a hesitant step closer she noticed a figure on the rock. He had cast his jacket aside and was sitting with one leg outstretched and his arms resting on his bent knee. Her heart seemed to do a little leap in her chest at the sight of him, though whether that was because of the sheer folly she was indulging in or for any other reason she had no idea. Taking another step closer she saw the wind ruffling the thick waves of his dark hair and as if drawn by some invisible force he turned his head and stared directly at her.

  She was quite certain her heart stopped for just a moment. For in that brief second she was not quite sure of her reception. There seemed to be a flicker of hurt, or perhaps that was anger in those dark eyes. But then he spoke and there was a mocking amusement in his voice, and perhaps a little reproach.

  “In secret we met, in silence I grieve, that thy heart could forget, thy spirit deceive," he said softly.

  "Well really!" she replied, recognising the scandalous poem about a deceitful lover only too well. "If you feel that way I shall turn around and leave again." She went to do just that but he sprang to his feet and jumped down from the rock, running after her and grasping hold of her hand.

  "No! Forgive me ..." he laughed, looking a little wild as the wind tugged at his hair. "Only you are very cruel to me, love, leaving me waiting for so long."

  She swallowed, her heart thudding while a little voice in her head was screaming at her to turn around and leave ... now!

  "I didn't mean to," she murmured, too stunned by the dreadfully inappropriate endearment he'd uttered to form a sterner reply. Her eyes drifted down to her hand where he held it clasped in his. "I--I was unwell."

  "Oh!" he replied, clearly not having considered this as a possibility. "Oh, Miss Bomford please do forgive me." He laughed at the expression on her face. "I know, what a shabby fellow I am. How many times have I begged forgiveness already in our short acquaintance?"

  "Too many for propriety I think, my Lord," she replied, moving her hand as though she would take it from his grasp. His fingers tightened though, refusing to release her.

  "Are you quite well now?" he asked and she didn't dare look up and meet his eyes while that soft voice enquired after her with such tenderness.

  "Quite well," she repeated, feeling flustered. She should leave, now. This was the worst idea in the world. Oh her poor aunt would die of shame if she could see her now, dallying with Beau Beaumont of all people! "But I must go now. I only came to say that I was sorry ... I--I never dreamed you would actually be here ..."

  "Then why did you come?" he asked again in that same caressing voice.

  She couldn't answer, too aware that she was in danger and that she needed to go, but too driven to stay just another moment in his company to actually force herself to move.

  "I don't know," she admitted. "I shouldn't have ..."

  "Did you want to see me?" he asked, and the seductive tone lingering over the enquiry was only too apparent, and though she didn't reply her cheeks flushed, betraying her as eloquently as if she'd admitted aloud how very much she'd wanted to.

  She felt his fingers beneath her chin and he tilted her head up so she was forced to look at him. "I wanted to see you. Very, very much. I came every day," he said, and she noticed for the first time that there were little flecks of amber and gold in the dark brown of his eyes. "I waited from morning until dusk each day, and I would have come again tomorrow and the day after ..."

  "Oh stop!" she cried tugging her hand free and walking away from him. "This ... this is beyond foolish, it's ... it's ..."

  "Madness?" he demanded, his voice rough. "Yes, perhaps," he said, shadowing her movements, not allowing her to move more than a foot or so away from him. "I have been considering all the ways in which I could discover more about you. Where you live, where I might find you ... some of my ideas were quite mad, I'm sure."

  "Please, my Lord," she said, imploring him to be a gentleman and do the right thing because she was fast becoming aware that she would not be able to. "You must go. We both know there is no future for you here. I am far beneath your notice and ..."

  She didn't get to finish the sentence as he closed the distance between them and took her face between his hands before pressing his mouth against hers.

  His lips were soft and warm, and this time he was a little less violent in his attentions than that first kiss in the shadowy, dark of the cave. But there was fierceness enough in his manner as he pulled her closer, his arms enfolding her so tightly against him that she found herself shocked and stunned and beguiled all at once. Her hands were pressed against his chest and she could feel the heat of his body blazing through the fine white linen. Only too aware of the disparity between them as he towered over her, his much broader, harder body easily subdued her softer, smaller frame. She seemed suddenly fragile against all that coiled power, his muscular body so much heavier than hers.

  He released her mouth and she dared to look up at him, feeling his breath fluttering warm against her cheek.

  "Damn, I'm going to have to ask you to forgive me again," he said, with a rueful expression.

  Against everything she had ever been taught about the appropriate behaviour for young ladies, Georgiana gasped at him in outrage ... and then laughed.

  He grinned at her then and that smile was her undoing, and when he bent his head once more she didn't struggle but tilted her head to allow it, encouraging him to explore and to show her how a kiss should progress. His lips were soft and teasing now, feathering light butterfly kisses over her mouth that made her breathless. He nipped at her lower lip in a teasing gesture that made her gasp with surprise that was compounded as he traced the opening she'd made with his tongue.

  Tentatively she copied him and allowed him to deepen the kiss, feeling her body suddenly languorous and boneless as she relaxed into his arms. He pulled her tighter still and she reached her arms up, coiling them around his neck to steady herself, finding that she had raised up on tiptoes to meet him, pulling his head down.

  "Oh God," he moaned, as he drew back, his breathing heavy. She looked up at him, feeling suddenly shy which seemed strange in the circumstances. And yet she hardly dared meet his eyes, but when she did they were darker than ever, heavy with desire. She drew in a breath, alarmed by the intensity of his expression and he seemed to remember himself. He relaxed his hold on her, kissing her lightly and then taking her hand and leading her back to the place they had sat and talked before.

  "Come and talk to me, Miss Bomford," he said, his tone light and charming, no doubt trying to settle her nerves which were indeed skittering about like a day old foal, trembling and uncertain.

  "I think perhaps you may call me Georgiana," she said, relieved that at least her voice didn't waver as she felt everything else was quaking, that she herself was quavering on the edge of a precipice.

  He paused and looked back at her, his smile warm. "Georgiana," he repeated, with such reverence it made her skin heat all over again.

  Sitting down on the rock he held out his hand and she took it, settling herself beside him and demurely arranging her skirts to give herself a moment to take a breath. What are you doing, Georgiana? The voice in her head called out to her and she had no answer for it, instead she turned her face towards the man beside her and smiled and he traced the line of her jaw with his fingertip.

  "So beautiful," he whispered.

  She gave a little self-deprecating huff of amusement. "Come now, my Lord," she replied, with obvious scept
icism. "Pretty enough for Truro perhaps, but hardly a diamond of the first water. Why just imagine me beside all those glamorous heiresses, I would fade away as if I'd never been. It's only here among the rocks and the fields that you find favour in an oddity."

  "Is that what you think?" he demanded, and she startled a little as there had been a thread of real anger in his voice.

  Her smile faltered but she knew it was the truth and she didn't want to hear pretty lies from him. She'd have no promises of love and devotion. He would dally with her a little while and she would have to work hard to keep her honour and her heart intact until the day he grew bored. "I think perhaps you are fatigued by the lavish entertainments provided by your friends, that the sophisticated entertainments you seek have begun to pall, and so you find diversion in other avenues ..." She looked away then, not liking to see the way anger lit his eyes at her words. "Like a naive little country girl who is foolish enough to meet you and let you kiss her."

  She gasped as his hand grasped the back of her neck, pulling her closer to him and finding those dark eyes lit with much more than just anger. "I have thought of nothing else but you since the day we met," he said, his voice harsh. "This is not like anything else I have ever felt."

  She stared at him, trying to smile but finding it impossible under the weight of his gaze. "I'm simply a novelty," she whispered, not for one minute believing it was anything more than that, no matter what he said.

  "No." His voice was a growl and she thought - hoped, he would kiss her again but he released her suddenly and stared out across the fields. The silence was taut and uncomfortable.

  "Perhaps I should go," she said, aware that she had annoyed him.

  His hand shot out and clasped her wrist. "No ... don't, please. I ..." He gave a soft laugh and she knew he'd been going to ask forgiveness for his behaviour.

  "I think perhaps I have reached my limit for forgiveness for one day," she replied, ensuring that he heard the teasing note in her voice.

  He nodded. "I don't doubt it. I can't imagine what you must think of me," he glanced sideways at her and smiled, and that sweet, boyish smile that seemed to be terribly rare stole her breath.

  She didn't move but returned her gaze to look out across the meadow. She felt his hand slide from her wrist to her hand as his fingers laced through hers. They sat like that for a little while, silently watching leaves as they fell, fluttering to the ground, only to be swept up again and set upon a different path.

  "You like Byron?" she asked in the end, as it appeared she didn't have the will to walk away from him and searching for something to break the silence that seemed to grow more intense with every passing moment. He turned to her, a slight frown over his eyes. "The quote, from When We Two Parted ... it's Byron," she added.

  Smiling he shrugged. "I like some of them, the ones that feel real to me."

  "Oh?" she asked, curious as to what he meant.

  "The ones where I feel he's speaking of himself," he said, his eyes searching hers. "And you, I take it you are an admirer ..." He groaned and rolled his eyes. "Conrad," he said, snorting with amusement.

  Georgiana flushed a little as her dog, hearing his name called, ran back to them to see if his presence was required. She patted the squirming hound, making a fuss of him before she dared to look back at the man beside her. As expected he was obviously amused.

  "You are laughing at me," she replied with a huff.

  "No, no," he replied, choking a little before giving up and laughing out loud.

  Giving an offended sniff she looked away from him. "I take it The Corsair isn't one of your favourites."

  He didn't bother to hide his obvious disgust. "It is undoubtedly his most ridiculous poem."

  "It is not!" she returned, looking at him in astonishment. "It is ... it's all adventure and romance and ...'

  'Piffle," he interjected with a sad shake of his head. He grinned her, obviously unmoved by her pouting. "Before you even begin the title is all wrong. Conrad doesn't work for any government, he has no letter of marque, therefore he's a pirate, not a corsair. You'd think he could have at least done his homework."

  "Oh!" she fumed. "That is so like a man. You clearly have no soul, or at least no heart or the slightest idea about romance ..." She realised her mistake before she'd reached the end of the sentence and felt perhaps she should pick up her skirts and run. Only knowing what she ought to do and actually doing it, seemed to be something she was entirely unable to accomplish. So she looked up into a pair of darkening eyes and awaited her fate.

  Chapter 7

  "Wherein safer waters are left far behind."

  His dark brows drew together, the eyes beneath full of challenge. "Is that so?" he said, the tone of his voice sending shivers running over her skin.

  Georgiana cleared her throat, the nerves which had dispersed a little during their heated discourse suddenly returning tenfold. Before she could open her mouth to consider a safer topic of conversation he had moved. He tugged at the ribbons of her bonnet and cast it aside before pushing her backwards and taking hold of her wrists. He held them captive above her head, pressed against the rock they lay on.

  His body half covered hers and she was overwhelmed once more by the sheer size of him. Surely the nobility were supposed to be pale-skinned, bespectacled creatures, not this virile force of nature, all coiled power and heat. In turn she thought any decent young lady ought to be screaming and hysterical by this point, whereas she was held spellbound, captivated by the sheer masculinity of the body pressed so intimately against hers. She stared up at him, her eyes drawn to the curve of a generous mouth. She knew now that mouth was soft and giving, quite at odds with the harsh contours of his face.

  "Look at you," he said, his eyes growing darker still as he did just that. "With your hair spilling out like molten fire. You look like a wild creature, something untamed and trembling, caught in a hunter's trap."

  "I-I'm not trembling," she objected, though she felt perhaps she ought to be, her heart was certainly hammering against the cage of her ribs like fury.

  "No?" he murmured, lowering his head until she felt those soft lips trailing across her throat. "You will be." She sighed and never doubted the sincerity of his words as he kissed a heated trail up her neck and over her jaw until he found her mouth again and claimed it for his own. She pulled against the restraint of his hands, wanting to sink her fingers into his hair and feel if it was as soft as it looked but he held her fast as he took her mouth. She opened for him willingly, feeling wanton and just like the untamed creature he had described. Her mind had been banished by the overriding sensations in her body as it came to life under his touch. She felt strangely like she had been sleepwalking her whole life and now, suddenly, he had awakened her.

  He kissed her like there was nothing else in life, like her mouth was a whole new landscape to be explored and he intended to map it with exquisite attention to detail. She followed the path he laid out for her, a serious student as he taught her the moves of this new and sensuous game as their tongues parried and retreated before coming together again.

  He released one wrist and his hand slid down over her arm and then lower. With deft fingers he undid the buttons of her pelisse and slid his hand under the fabric until it grazed her breast. She gasped, shocked by the intimate touch and heard a low rumble of amusement through his chest. He spread his fingers and his thumb rubbed over the sensitive peak of her nipple.

  "Oh!"

  He looked down at her, his gaze heated and full of delight at the sound of her pleasure.

  "Yes, you like that, don't you, my sweet little vixen." He tweaked her nipple gently through the fine muslin of her dress and she found the sound was drawn from her again. "I want to kiss you here," he said, his voice rough as he lowered his mouth and pressed it against the thin fabric covering her breast.

  "N-no," she said, torn between desperately wanting to know how his mouth would feel against her skin if she allowed it and wondering just how far she
would let this man go to ruining her. Good God, he was dangerous. She'd been in his company only three times and here she was, spread out for him like some cheap petticoat who earned her living on her back. She moaned as the moist heat of his mouth penetrated the muslin, heating her body all over as the sensation spiralled out. "No," she said again, her voice breathy and quite unlike her own. "Y-you mustn't."

  "Oh but I must," he insisted, releasing her other wrist and pushing her pelisse aside, tugged at the shoulders of her dress, easing the fitted material down until one pink tipped breast peeked enticingly free.

  "Oh, my God," she murmured, quite lost as he grinned at her. He held her eyes as he lowered his mouth, watching as she turned crimson before giving his full attention to her uncovered flesh. He drew her nipple into the damp heat of his mouth as she hauled in a breath, arching beneath him and groaning. Desperate now she sank her hands into his hair as she'd wanted to from the beginning and far from pushing him away, held him in place as he suckled and tormented her. Hot and writhing now, her body seemed to be crying out, making demands of her which she was not totally sure she understood, further than that she knew he could ease the ache that was growing beneath her skin and driving her to distraction.

  He gave her breast one last lingering kiss before raising his head again and staring down at her. A frown appeared over his eyes as she smiled up at him, flushed and breathing hard, she didn't know what he saw but he drew back suddenly, tugging her dress back into place.

  "Come," he said, a little gruff now. "It's time you went home before you catch another chill."

  Unsure whether she was relieved or disappointed she got to her feet, picking up her bonnet and arranging her pelisse. Georgiana watched as he shrugged into his fitted jacket, easing the beautifully tailored fabric over the muscular arms that he'd put around her only moments ago. Wondering what came next she called to Conrad for something to keep her occupied, watching as he bounded back across the meadow after a happy afternoon chasing rabbits. She turned and found he was watching her and didn't hesitate to put her hands in his as he reached out. He raised each one in turn, kissing the fingers lightly.