Portrait of a Scandal

by Annie Burrows

  ‘It wasn’t all your fault,’ she conceded. ‘I knew you’d assumed I was being kept by Monsieur Le Brun, and even though I did tell you he wasn’t, I did nothing to discourage you from thinking I was the kind of woman who might. And then, when I agreed to your proposition and came straight round here, just as though I was used to doing this sort of thing...’

  ‘Even if you were an experienced woman, I should have been more considerate. But I wasn’t thinking straight. I was...’ His arms tightened round her convulsively. He’d never, ever, been so insensitive to a bed-partner’s needs. He hadn’t cared whether she enjoyed the coupling or not, that was the sordid truth. He had been angry with her when he’d carried her to this bed. He had still been blaming her for everything. ‘I wasn’t thinking about much of anything at all. Only counting the seconds until I could make you mine,’ he finished lamely. He couldn’t tell her the truth, or anything that might hint at it, because it would only hurt her more. And she didn’t deserve more hurt.

  She hadn’t deserved any of it, ever. Her only crime had been winning his heart and thereby falling foul of his powerful, manipulative, cold-hearted father.

  Well, this was where the hurting would stop. From now on, he would only bring her pleasure.

  ‘I may not be good for much,’ he said, ‘but one thing I am most proficient at is making love.’

  She didn’t look as though she believed him. He couldn’t blame her, considering the way things had gone so far tonight.

  ‘Give me another chance, Amethyst,’ he said, sliding his fingers between the legs she’d clamped shut. ‘Just see how it goes, hmm?’ She was already damp down there. Her body was responding to his kisses and caresses. It was only her mind that was still resisting. ‘You can stop me any time you want to. But I don’t think, this time, you will want me to stop.’

  He nuzzled her neck as he slid one finger inside her. She gasped and tensed. His heart lurched. But as he continued to caress her and nibble at her neck, she slowly relaxed, until he was able to slide another finger inside her.

  ‘Nathan,’ she moaned, half-plea, half-protest. ‘I really don’t think I want to do this...’

  ‘Hush,’ he murmured into her ear. ‘You don’t know what you want. You cannot, because you have never experienced any of this before, have you?’

  He groaned into her neck as another wave of anguish assailed him. They’d been on the brink of something, ten years before, which would have resulted in them both becoming very different people. He wouldn’t have become the cynic, or the rake he was, if he’d married her. And she... Well, he didn’t know what she’d become since they’d last met. But she didn’t look any happier than he was. She had that mean, pinched look about her mouth common to impoverished spinsters. She dressed dowdily, as though she had no pride in her appearance.

  Well, that was all going to change. While she was in Paris he would show her a new world. A world of sensuality. She’d said she wanted to break free and find out who she really was, who she was meant to be. And he’d be the man to show her. He’d peel back the layers of hurt and caution that shrouded the girl who’d once made his heart dance, as surely as he’d peeled away her clothes tonight. He’d kiss the meanness from her mouth and teach her to love what her body could make her feel.

  Starting right now. She might not want to marry him any longer, but she did want him to show her the kind of pleasure most spinsters could only dream of. And...he wanted to give her the wedding night they should have had ten years ago.

  For once he was glad he’d had so much experience. In gaining his reputation as a rake, he’d learned a lot about what brought a woman pleasure. Now he could apply it all to Amethyst.

  Her neck had proved to be particularly sensitive, so he kept on kissing her there, while toying with the damp folds between her thighs. He dipped and teased, nipped and nuzzled, until her hips began to squirm in a rhythmical response.

  And then, when he was sure she’d got to the point where she wasn’t going to tell him to stop, he began a leisurely exploration of the rest of her body, paying close attention to anywhere that provoked a gasp, or a shiver, or made her fingers curl a little more tightly round his neck.

  She shivered with pleasure when he lapped at the indentation of her waist, moaned when he nipped at the soft flesh on the outside of her hips and squirmed when he trailed his tongue further down, and inward, to the insides of her thighs.

  Since she was a total innocent, he hesitated before bestowing the most intimate kiss of all. But had this been their wedding night, he would have made sure she came to orgasm before he made any attempt to enter her. And this was the most reliable way, he’d discovered, of pleasuring a woman.

  And he wanted to give her pleasure. Such unimaginable pleasure that she would want to come back to him again and again. He couldn’t make amends for every single hurt he’d caused her, but by God, while she was in Paris he could give her pleasure unlike anything she’d known before. Or would ever experience again.

  It would be no penance, no penance at all. It wouldn’t wash away his guilt. That would stay with him to his dying day.

  But at least she wouldn’t think of him as the biggest disappointment in her life.

  Chapter Eight

  Amethyst could not believe the things he was prepared to do with his tongue. Part of her wondered whether she ought to stop him. But it was making her feel so...blissful. And she’d got the idea he wanted to do penance, in some way, so who was she to demur? Besides, when he slipped first one finger, then two inside her, she lost the ability to think anything at all. It was all melting heat, and rivers of delight, and then a kind of starburst that shattered her, yet made her feel completely whole for the first time in her life, all at the same time.

  And then he was above her and sliding into her before she’d even recovered her wits enough to tense, or make a protest that she really didn’t want him to try again.

  And this time it didn’t hurt a bit. In fact, it brought another wave of pulsating pleasure shivering through her, making her flex her hips upwards in an instinctively welcoming gesture.

  He kissed her on the mouth. Gently, tenderly. A different kiss from any he’d bestowed on her before. He encouraged her to open her mouth, so he could drive his tongue inside. It was almost more shocking than having that other part of him driving into her, though equally as delicious. After a bit, she wondered if he was trying to distract her from the gentle, yet insistent rhythm he’d set up with his body, by teaching her lips to part, her tongue to duel with his.

  If so, it was rather...sweet of him.

  And then he broke away from her mouth, to pay attention to that sweet spot just beneath her ear, which sent shivers skittering all the way down her spine. And his movements became more insistent, demanding a response from her. And her body gave it, of its own volition. She’d just discovered that touching and kissing a certain spot between her legs resulted in almost unimaginable pleasure. Now, awakened, that place was clamouring for more sensation, more pressure. And the only way to get it was to grind upwards against his pelvis as he thrust down.

  She wouldn’t have believed that after the pain she would ever permit a man inside her again, let alone want him to go deeper, and harder, but she did. She wouldn’t have believed he would be so sensitive to her needs, after the clumsy way he’d started, but he was. It was as though he was completely in tune with her body now, giving it exactly what it needed, a split second before she knew it herself.

  So there was no reason for her to thrash about under him, or claw at his back, or wind her legs about his. Not that he seemed to mind. Not to judge by the way he kept on saying, ‘Yes, oh God, yes.’ Or the way he moaned and shuddered, and showered kisses all over her face and neck.

  But then, once again, her mind took leave of her body as delight broke over them both in a great wave.

  ‘
Amy,’ he cried as she splintered apart. And there was something in his voice that sounded almost as though...

  No. It wasn’t tenderness. It was just...passion.

  And yet the tone of it had plucked at some long-suppressed emotion deep inside her, which made her want to weep.

  Which was ridiculous, she panted, as she drifted back to shore. She’d cried enough tears over this man in the past. His purpose in her life now was to teach her about pleasure.

  And he had. Once he’d realized just how inexperienced she was, he’d applied his considerable skill with gentleness.

  She should have told him, before they got started, that she hadn’t a clue about what went on between a man and woman in the bedroom.

  So why hadn’t she?

  It wasn’t just that she’d been flattered he thought her so attractive she could make her living in this way.

  No. The truth was much more muddied. He’d accused her of tempting him to marry unwisely in his youth. If he’d known she was a virgin, she’d feared he might have thought this was a renewed attempt on his freedom. And she’d wanted him too badly to allow anything to make him reconsider.

  All of a sudden, panic clawed its way to the surface. She wanted him, yes, but not enough to sacrifice her own freedom. Any more than she expected, or wanted, him to sacrifice his.

  ‘I really didn’t expect you to propose to me,’ she bit out, ‘just because I was a virgin. That is not why I chose you to become my first lover.’

  ‘Your first?’ He rolled off her and raised himself up on one elbow to glare down at her. ‘Do you mean to tell me you now plan to make a habit of taking lovers?’

  No, she hadn’t meant that at all, but she could see why her words might have made him think so. But he had an infernal cheek to look so disapproving, with the reputation he had!

  ‘I don’t know. I might one day, I suppose. After all, I’m not going to stay in Paris for ever. And I most certainly am not going to marry you.’

  ‘You’ve already made that crystal clear.’

  He was positively glaring at her now.

  ‘There’s no need to look at me like that, for heaven’s sake. You don’t want to marry me either! Don’t let’s spoil this by quarrelling. I was only trying to reassure you that I have no designs on you, just because you happened to be the man to whom I gave my virginity.’

  ‘No, I...no, I see that.’ He pursed his lips in a way that, had he been a woman, she would have described as a pout. ‘But I cannot help wondering why you did choose me for this singular honour.’

  Irritating man! She was trying to reassure him that his precious freedom was not in jeopardy and he was twisting her words to make it sound as though...as though...well, into an insult, anyway.

  ‘There is no need to be sarcastic,’ she huffed, reaching down blindly for the quilt. Or a sheet. Or anything to cover herself up with.

  He shifted, releasing a swathe of quilt which he tucked up over her breasts.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said stiffly.

  ‘You’re welcome,’ he said drily. ‘But for your information, I was not being sarcastic. I do feel that you paid me a great compliment in coming here tonight and permitting me to initiate you into the joys of lovemaking.’ He looked troubled when he added, ‘I only wish I had done better...’

  Her immediate reaction was to try to console him.

  ‘Oh, no, you were very good. Really.’ What was the matter with her? Trying to make him feel better? He was a man, for heaven’s sake. A fully grown man. Just because he’d pouted like a sulky boy, then looked a bit hurt, that was no reason to pander to his vanity.

  ‘Except to start with,’ she therefore reminded him and, feeling a twinge of conscience, hastily added, ‘And that was partly my own fault.’

  He gave her a lazy smile. ‘Thistle,’ he said, and kissed her shoulder. The one bit of her that was peeping out from under the quilt. ‘You really are prickly, aren’t you? Most women would be purring like a contented kitten after that.’ But she wasn’t most women. And he’d hurt her so badly before, of course she was going to throw up a shield of sarcasm, from behind which she could jab at him with her sharp little tongue. It was all the protection she had.

  ‘Well, if that’s going to be your attitude...’

  He held her tight when she would have rolled away from him and clucked his tongue.

  ‘I am not criticising you, not at all. It was merely an observation. And a note to myself that I need to do better next time.’

  ‘Next time?’ Her eyes were wide, her lips parted, her knuckles white as they clutched the quilt to her chin.

  ‘But you will have to give me a little respite,’ he said, rolling on to his back and tucking her into his side.

  ‘Respite? What do you...oh! Well, I didn’t think we’d be doing that again. Not now.’

  ‘No, not now,’ he said amicably. ‘In just a little while.’

  ‘No, really, I...’

  ‘Don’t be so demanding, woman,’ he said. ‘I have told you I need a little rest before the next round.’

  ‘That wasn’t what I meant! I...oh...’ she glanced up at him when he started to chuckle ‘...you’re teasing me.’

  ‘Has nobody ever teased you before?’

  She shook her head. ‘Not since...well, you.’

  ‘You must have mixed with some very dull people since we last met then. Want to tell me about them?’

  ‘Not particularly.’

  ‘Well, what would you like to talk about, then?’

  Her fingers clutched at the quilt a bit more tightly. Her eyes narrowed warily. If he wasn’t careful, she would retreat behind her protective shield and he wouldn’t be able to find out anything about her. And he had this burning need to find out what had happened to her after he’d abandoned her. He couldn’t bear to imagine her life being as miserable as his had been. If he could just find out that she’d found some contentment in her spinster state, it might assuage his guilt. A tiny bit.

  He shrugged one shoulder, as if her next words weren’t going to matter to him one way or another.

  ‘If you don’t want to tell me anything personal, then...you could recite some poetry, I suppose.’

  ‘Poetry?’

  ‘Yes. To get me back in the mood. I don’t suppose you know anything naughty, do you?’

  ‘Of course I don’t!’

  ‘Been living a pure and simple life, have you? Tucked away in that rectory with your parents?’

  ‘No. Far from it,’ she huffed.

  ‘Oh?’ He permitted himself to show curiosity now. ‘Then you’ve been...travelling the world, posing as a lightskirt, perchance? Using the man who calls himself Monsieur Le Brun as...cover for your work as a spy?’

  ‘Now you really are being ridiculous.’

  ‘It is worth it to see that smile return to your eyes.’ He cupped her jaw and turned her face up to his. ‘Come on,’ he said in a cajoling tone. ‘Tell me one thing about yourself. Satisfy my curiosity. Otherwise I am going to imagine all kinds of wild and inaccurate things about you.’

  ‘Such as, for instance, that I have such poor taste that I would sell my body to a man like Monsieur Le Brun?’

  ‘Well, if you cannot give me a better excuse for travelling with him, what else am I to think?’

  ‘That my friend and I hired him, perhaps? To act as courier and guide, since it isn’t the done thing for two single ladies to travel without protection?’

  Her voice had an acid tinge to it that made him think of tart, ripe berries. Which in turn led to him thinking about puckered, pink nipples. How did she do this to him? Get him roused simply by sniping at him?

  ‘You hired him?’

  She tensed again. She really didn’t want to let him know anything about her life, which made him all
the more determined to find out all there was to know about her. Everything she’d done since she’d vanished so completely from London.

  He slid his hand under the quilt and toyed with one of her breasts until the nipple formed into a tightly furled, mouth-watering little berry.

  ‘Who is this friend of yours? How do you know her?’

  ‘What is this? Why are you interrogating me?’

  He rolled over, pinning her beneath him.

  ‘Because you won’t tell me anything. Tell me just one fact about you. Satisfy my rampant curiosity.’

  Her eyes widened at his deliberately suggestive tone. She’d also registered that it wasn’t only his curiosity that was rampant.

  ‘One fact,’ he growled.

  ‘Very well,’ she sighed. ‘Fenella and I...’ She gave a little wiggle. ‘Fenella is a widow, with a small child and no income. I have inherited a house, from a rather eccentric aunt, with whom I lived in the latter years of her life. We have...an arrangement.’

  ‘That’s...’ his brow furrowed as he tried to concentrate ‘...seven facts. Very generous of you.’ He dropped a kiss on her brow. ‘I think that deserves a reward.’

  He nudged her legs apart.

  ‘You really are the most arrogant, conceited, infuriating man...’

  ‘Don’t forget irresistible,’ he said, sliding into her. ‘And before you claw my eyes out, remember, I think you are irresistible too.’

  Her eyes widened. Her muscles relaxed.

  ‘You do?’

  ‘Utterly irresistible.’ He kissed her jaw, then her neck as her head rolled to one side.

  ‘How can you doubt it? I pursued you all over the city, even though I thought you belonged to another man.’

  ‘Oh! Hmmm. You...’

  ‘Yes.’ He pulled the quilt down, and started the slow assault on her senses all over again.

  It was a long time before either of them spoke again.