Scandal's Mistress

by Bronwyn Stuart

  “You’re doing it again,” Carmalina murmured, her eyes still shut tight.

  “I can’t help it. You are an enchantress.”

  She snorted a reply.

  “Why won’t you open your eyes?” he asked.

  “I hope if I keep them closed long enough, you will disappear and give me a measure of privacy.”

  Justin nearly released his own snort. That wasn’t going to happen. There was nothing else he would rather do. Sinking to his knees, he reached into the water and took her ankle in hand.

  Carmalina’s eyes snapped open as she shrieked and tried to shake free of his warm grasp. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going to wash your feet. They’re filthy.”

  “You can’t.”

  “I can.” Every time their eyes met, stabs of lust pierced at his desire until it consumed him. He swelled with need but did not stop as he wiped the dirt from her soft skin. Her toes were red and angry but they were no longer little icicles.

  “Do you feel any better?” He dropped the cloth and rubbed tiny circles into the ball of her foot.

  She groaned and leaned back.

  He smiled. “It really wasn’t a good idea for you to run about barefoot with urchins in this kind of weather. It rained last night.” Oddly, he felt like a parent admonishing a child.

  “I’m perfectly aware of that, thank you.”

  “Then why did you do it?”

  “I felt sorry for Claire and I wanted to help her.”

  “I take it Claire is one of the urchins?”

  “Why do you keep calling them that? They are children from the neighborhood who were playing in the park.”

  His hands stilled. “You played in the park with aristocratic children without your shoes?”

  She nodded.

  “Did anyone see you?”

  Her eyes snapped open again. “Do you ask because that would be shameful or advantageous to your cause?”

  “I ask because I can’t picture it in my mind.” He spoke the truth. None of the women he’d ever associated with would even play with their own children the way Carmalina had played with a stranger’s all because of one sad little girl.

  Carmalina giggled. The delightfully husky sound washed over his senses and calmed him in a way he hadn’t expected. She was laid out in front of him, her very core open to his view and she giggled? Suddenly the need to possess took a step back from his desperate desire to hear her laugh again, to see her without wariness or trepidation when he entered a room. He wanted her dark eyes to sparkle for him, because of him, at him.

  Justin shook his head against the troublesome thoughts and continued to rub her feet and look his fill. The memories of this time would be all he had to carry him through until he could slip into her bed and her body and claim her as his own.

  Chapter Nine

  Carmalina sat on the edge of the scarlet bed coverings as she idly toyed with the end of the silk robe’s sash. Disappointment and elation vied for first place in her heart until she couldn’t decide which felt more right for the occasion. Disappointment that Justin hadn’t joined her in the bath, or elation that he’d kept his word and left the room after he’d wrapped a towel around her warm, wet body. Completely at his mercy, and he’d done no more than place a chaste kiss on her forehead and tell her to be ready by ten.

  Her discontent was irrational. Carmalina was aware of that. It was her condition that he not visit her bed. She should have been ecstatic that beneath the exterior of a scoundrel dwelt a gentleman.

  She was not.

  A hot and heavy ache burned low in her belly. It warmed her inside and out. She was in no danger of catching a chill anymore but now lived in mortal peril of combusting. The feelings were wanton and strange but it didn’t seem to factor into the bigger picture. She’d had no idea when she’d placed the condition on their agreement that she would torture herself and not just Trentham.

  Carmalina had no qualms about making him sweat. He was the one who’d stepped over the lines of propriety and installed her in his home for reasons she didn’t understand and could never condone. It was he who purchased her body for his scandal. It would serve him right if the next week was a living hell for him. The bulge in his breeches as he’d stiffly walked from her room, the longing in his blue eyes as he’d kissed her head like a brother would a sister, all were signs he experienced some large amount of strain.

  Carmalina wanted to crumple the terms of their agreement, toss them in the fire and let him have his way. Who’d have thought a passionate rogue such as he would have the will to simply walk away?

  But then another emotion took over. What if he hadn’t liked what he saw? What if he was right now trying to figure out a way to break their agreement because he didn’t find her attractive enough?

  Surely if he didn’t want her, his body wouldn’t have betrayed him? She didn’t know enough of the ways of men to determine if he felt lust because she was a woman standing naked before his eyes, or true desire.

  Carmalina untied the belt on her robe and dropped the fabric to the floor. She stood before the mirror and inspected her body, trying to see herself through his eyes. She’d always thought herself on the overly plump side. Her breasts were too full and her hips too generous. Her dark skin was the antithesis of the English roses with their milky white complexions and thin frames, their golden curls and fluttery lashes framing light, sparkling eyes. Her eyes didn’t sparkle. They were boring and brown. Her hair was black and curly, but not the kind of tight, well-dressed curls of the women of the ton. Hers were loose and unmanageable, especially in the wet weather.

  Perhaps he didn’t think her a woman he would like to bed now he’d seen all of her. Maybe he even regretted his pursuance. It would explain why he’d slipped so easily from the room. If passion had overcome him, he would have stayed and ravished her.

  Carmalina gulped. What would she do if he evicted her from his home? She had nowhere to go. What could she do to make him want her? It would be playing with fire, but what choice did she have? If she were to be daring rather than frightened, she would probably find fire an enjoyable plaything.

  She glanced over at the dress he’d asked her to wear tonight. It was a dark green silk with lace at the throat and wrists. She had admired the fabric when being fitted for this particular gown. The color complemented her darker complexion. She would look wonderful in it.

  Her heart clutched. She couldn’t look merely wonderful.

  She needed to appear as a temptress who would fascinate him. Like a bell pealing in her mind, she wanted him to want her. She wanted to experience the fervor of the passion and desire that smoldered in his gaze. She was a grown woman. Six-and-twenty. It was her right to taste the wonders of sex, to crave that which she had no practice with, to want it more than her high-standing morals or principles. Her values wouldn’t keep her warm on a cold night or carry her through the long years ahead. It certainly wasn’t her morals that would teach her what it was like to truly be loved by a man.

  And not just any man.

  Only Justin Trentham could show her what she only now came to realize she wanted. In one beat of her heart Carmalina damned the man to the deepest pits of hell for awakening her to the pleasures he offered. In the next, she yearned with every fiber of her being.

  If she took that step and went to bed with Trentham, no good and proper man would want her for his wife. She would be alone with her memories as her only companion. But that was the way she wanted it, needed it.

  The green gown was soon replaced on the hanger in her dressing room and Carmalina slowly scanned the other dresses, cloaks, pelisses and all manner of garments made overnight by the talented seamstress. Her lips curved upward. There was only one way to attract the attentions of a lion.

  Bait.

  * * *

  Carmalina’s spirits took a headlong dive into the Thames when at precisely nine o’clock her dinner was delivered to her room by a stern-faced Newberry.

 
; “Where is Trentham?” she enquired as soon as he set the covered plates on a small table by the hearth.

  “The master said you wanted to dine alone this evening. He is taking care of some business in his study until you are ready to leave.”

  “I see.” She nodded. But she didn’t. Did he already distance himself from her?

  The next hour passed in odd doubt, self-questioning and the ceaseless fluttering of her belly. Her dinner tasted like bland paste in her mouth as the silly thoughts passed around and around in her mind. When the time came to dress for the evening, she had reservations about the gown she’d chosen but swallowed down the uncertainty and laced the front closed. Once she had the long, black velvet ribbons tied between her breasts and at each shoulder, she took a deep breath and turned to face the dreaded mirror. Carmalina exhaled in a rush when she didn’t recognize the woman who stared back. Gone was the demure innocence of her nondescript dresses. In its place was the garment of a seductress. The dark red silk of the bodice fit her curves like a second skin. Her unrestrained breasts pressed in and up and gave her the cleavage of a Vauxhall dancer. The skirt was full and relatively modest but clung to her legs when she took first one step and then a second.

  There was an abundance of black lace and adornment on the gown yet she felt almost naked. She hoped she wouldn’t be overdressed when they arrived at his hell. She wanted to make him goggle, not be an embarrassment. How she wished she had a female to ask the advice of at that moment. She was certainly going to find it difficult not to stammer and blush for the duration.

  When the hall clock chimed the hour, Carmalina put on a full-length black cloak and tied it securely at the front. She checked her reflection once more to make sure her hair was perfectly in place atop her head and no sign of the scarlet gown peeked from the cloak. Then she opened her door and stepped out into the corridor, a jumble of anxious nerves as she walked down the stairs. Her heart rate accelerated, her legs felt unsteady, all because he stood at the base to watch her descent, one hand nonchalantly resting on the balustrade.

  As he took her hand, bent low and kissed her knuckles, a jolt of awareness shot through her to add to the heaviness in her abdomen.

  “Good evening, bella.”

  “My lord.” She dropped a curtsy beneath the enveloping cloak. It all felt so formal, so exciting.

  “May I suggest you use my name this evening while we are out?” The sparkle in his eyes could have been humor or merely tolerance as he sighed, but she couldn’t make it out in the dimness.

  “I feel so nervous. I don’t want to shame you in front of your friends.”

  “Just be yourself, love.”

  At his use of another intimate endearment, her heart beat restlessly and she struggled to breathe. It was an automatic gesture on his behalf, one he probably didn’t know he uttered, but it still filled her with the useless hope that in some way he did find her attractive.

  “What if they don’t like me?”

  “It doesn’t matter if they do or not. What matters is if I like you.”

  Carmalina blushed. She had no way to respond. She couldn’t very well just go ahead and ask how much he liked her. Usually she was forthright and plainspoken. But she didn’t feel at all like herself when with him. It wasn’t a bad feeling but neither was it familiar or comfortable.

  As Justin handed her up into his carriage she wanted to grasp about and find the armor that would protect her if the evening should somehow go wrong. She charged into a battle where the outcome was in sight but constantly shifted and changed before her very eyes, the weapon needed for victory, invisible. It was fear of the unknown that saw her fists clasped together beneath the cloak so he wouldn’t see how she trembled.

  * * *

  Sitting across the carriage, he watched her in the dark with his lazy smile firmly in place.

  Something was different about his nightingale this evening but he couldn’t seem to pin down the reason. Swallowed up by the folds of her cloak, she looked like a little sparrow whose head peeked from a black cloud, yet she retained the air of a self-assured lady. Anyone who saw her would think her the very daughter of aristocracy and not question her origins for one second. Not that she didn’t always have that air of gentility, but tonight there was something else. Something infinitely feminine. Infinitely Carmalina.

  When he’d left her room, it had been one of the hardest things he’d ever had to do, walk away without a backwards glance. When he closed his eyes he still saw her image, saw her reclining in the tub where he had also lain. It almost gave him an indication of how it would be when they finally came together, skin to skin. Almost.

  He hoped she wore that same look of rapture the next time they shared it. Together. Her lips would part just a little, the breath would stall in her chest, her breasts thrust out for his pleasure. Clenching his fists about the brim of his hat, Justin centred it on his lap. Never before had he been so randy. He didn’t care that they were in his carriage on their way to the disreputable East End of London for a night of debauchery and sin. He would be happy to commit sin right there and then in the rocking conveyance.

  He let his gaze roam and appreciated what she had done with her hair all by herself. Every curl was pulled high atop her head, precariously balanced and held in place by invisible pins. He made a mental note to purchase some diamond clasps. He could imagine the gems twinkling in her midnight curls like stars in the heavens.

  Without permission, his mind went back to their damned agreement. He still wasn’t sure how he’d capitulated to sign his name to it. And now it was set on paper, in a folder in his desk drawer, witnessed by his man of business. A legal and binding agreement. For all that was worth. It wasn’t as if she could haul him before a magistrate if he did happen to bend the rules a little. She would be laughed right out London.

  His lazy grin turned to a sly smile when he remembered the wording of their “agreement.” He had agreed not to go to her bed within the first seven days. They had not made any mention of partaking in carnal sin in other places around the house, or around England. She really should have been more specific with her wishes.

  He’d already dreamed of taking her in the dining room, smothering sauces on her skin so he could take his time licking the sweetness from her body. He dreamed of her on her back, screaming his name, on the striped rug before the fire in the library or on the settee in the yellow room with the early morning sun lighting her body with warmth. He’d also had visions as he sat at his desk of bending her over the hard oak, throwing papers to the floor and seeing her breath fog the polished surface as he drove her to a shattering climax.

  No wonder he hadn’t been able to read the figures of his various investments. The hours he should have worked were filled with only one person and one thought. It was funny how a man could crave what he knew he couldn’t have until it drove him mad with need. After tonight, he hoped to satisfy some of his yearnings.

  Chapter Ten

  Justin somehow managed to get himself under a semblance of control by the time the carriage drew to a halt in front of a place he knew well. Lucifer’s Den was not only the hell he frequented for cards and gambling; it was his. He took a risk in bringing her here, but for some insane reason, he wanted Carmalina to see a small part of the real him.

  He opened the door and jumped to the cobblestones before she could change her mind. She darted glances over his shoulder, this way and that, and her throat moved at the top of her cloak as if she had trouble swallowing.

  “Are you all right?” He hoped it was only nerves that made her hands tremble in his.

  “I’m terrified but other than that…”

  He knew what it took for her to admit her vulnerability but he would not let anything happen to her tonight. He was the master and ruler in this hell and his word would be obeyed to the letter. She would be safer here than in most drawing rooms of the ton.

  He nearly laughed. She would be a lot safer.

  “Just stay by my side, lov
e. You’ll be having fun in no time. I promise.”

  Their gazes met, his reassured, hers full of hope and fear. With a nod she squeezed his hands tighter and allowed him to help her down.

  As his coach rumbled down the lane, he placed her hand on his sleeve and led her into Lucifer’s anteroom. She may think him a spoilt earl’s brat but he made his own way in the world. He hadn’t asked his family for money in many years and the fact made him all the happier. It galled his father and brothers that they knew nothing of where he acquired his funds.

  Those were exactly his intentions.

  “Welcome to Lucifer’s,” he murmured close to Carmalina’s ear. A shiver travelled through her and he closed his hand tighter over hers.

  Immediately the familiar sounds of the piano, hundreds of voices, the shrill crackle of laughter as women and men alike enjoyed themselves without censure, filled him with a sense of homecoming. The ton thought he spent his nights gambling and whoring here but they didn’t know anything. Most of his time was spent behind the desk in the upstairs office going over the books and tallying credits owed to him by sons of the ton. Occasionally he partook in the fun, but not every night. And only occasionally to excess.

  “Good evening, sir.” A uniformed man bowed low and then took his coat, hat and gloves.

  “How do we travel this evening, Brinch?”

  Brinch smiled in the scariest way, the action looking more like a grimace. It told him all he needed to know. They were filled to capacity and the money and liquor flowed freely. Just the way he liked it.

  Justin turned and noticed Carmalina hid behind his back. She’d folded herself into her cloak and slowly stepped back toward the entrance they had just come through.

  “Let me have your cloak, bella.” He held his fingers out, waited for her to comply. He would not let her run away now. This was probably going to be the easiest night they spent on the town together. Here there would be no judgement, no snickers or gossip behind her back that she was but a singer on the stage. Here she was a woman. Lucifer’s made no distinction between lady and actress. All were welcome provided they had money to squander.