London's Late Night Scandal

by Anabelle Bryant

  She was closer to the fire now, her skirts swishing back and forth as she paced. “You’ve tried camphor?”

  “Yes.” He followed, though a dull throb of pain pulsed through his thigh.

  “Salt baths? Chamomile?”

  “Both, as well.” He stopped, unwilling to let his discomfort show on his face any more than she’d likely detected it in his body.

  “Lavender has soothing qualities.”

  “They are fleeting at best and leave me smelling like a dainty lady.”

  This evoked an unexpected smile, and in that one moment he knew he wanted to kiss her. She was an odd, becoming, interesting young lady and the combination was absolutely intoxicating.

  I need to kiss her.

  This complex, brilliant, delicate woman before him. She was an intricate puzzle of which he hadn’t many pieces.

  “What about ginger salve?” She slapped her fist to her palm as if she’d just discovered an eighth planet in the solar system. “Used repeatedly, it could provide the relief you seek.”

  Only one thing would provide relief at the moment.

  “I’ll try it. You’ll supply me the ingredients, I presume.”

  “We’ll mix it tomorrow.” She huffed a short breath. “After you show me the mistake in my calculations.”

  “Shrewd negotiations for one so young.” He took another step, wanting to be nearer. “They weren’t necessarily mistakes.”

  “Regardless, I’d like to take a closer look.”

  As would I. “Certainly.” He reduced the distance between them to less than a stride. “It’s the least I can do after insinuating myself into your home.”

  “You were invited,” she offered quickly. “By my grandfather,” she amended right after.

  “Yes. I was.” He stood very still. He wanted to remember everything about the moment, his usual observation of detail at work. In a few days’ time he would be returned to London, with its damp, inhospitable weather and slick city cobbles. There lay problems he would consider another day. And when he found himself embittered, he would conjure this unusual and timeless memory. Of kissing a woman who was more a stranger than acquaintance, but more like him than any friend at all.

  He closed the distance between them and used a bent finger to tip her chin upward. His thumb drew a soft line against her cheek and she shuddered slightly beneath his touch. “It’s true, Theodosia, you have so much potential. That’s a compliment of the highest caliber. Were we living in different times, your astute intelligence would be respected and celebrated.” The latter part came out as a murmur, but he was certain she heard the words.

  The mood in the room shifted. The air all at once held a fraught tension but of which impelling force, he didn’t know. Her eyes narrowed the slightest, the only indication she was equally aware.

  He doubted she knew much of physical chemistry. Yet talking science would continue to bring her ease. “What do you know about the laws of attraction?” He gently pulled her into his arms. For all her bold intellect, she was nothing more than a startled rabbit in his embrace. Startled, yes. But what did she fear? She reacted before he deliberated the question, and all too soon she broke away to move behind a nearby yew-wood chair.

  “Science is a vast universe. I’ve read dozens of books on a plethora of subjects.”

  “I don’t doubt your learnedness.” He took one step to the right. Though I have an inkling you intend to prove your depth of knowledge. This was mused to himself.

  “Most people blink near 17,000 times a day.”

  Her unexpected fact offered an excuse for him to connect with her lovely gray eyes. “Interesting, that.”

  “Did you know a woman’s heart weighs less than a man’s and beats faster?”

  He laid his hand across his chest. “Are you certain? Mine is racing at the moment.” He watched with amusement as those same gray eyes flared wide.

  “The average person has 100,000 hairs on his or her head.”

  “You haven’t counted, have you? Life here in the countryside must be duller than I assumed, although each strand of yours is more fetching than the other 99,999.”

  She might have clenched her teeth at his compliment, but she was speaking again an exhale later. “Lobsters have blue blood.”

  “As do my ancestors.” He grinned at the turn of phrase and strode closer.

  Theodosia took two steps back. “Koalas, a marsupial native to Australia, sleep twenty-two hours a day.”

  “Just think of all the invigorating conversation they miss.” He moved to the left to offset her slick maneuvering. “Do you always spout random facts when you’re unsettled?”

  “I don’t and I’m not. I’m proving the depth of my intellect.” Her chin notched a tad in proud defiance. “Fifty percent of one’s body heat is centralized in the scalp.”

  “I daresay I dispute that.” He aborted a chuckle. “At least not in my experience.”

  Unaware of his insinuation, she dashed away from the chair and around the rug, lost behind a mahogany bookcase before he caught sight of her, though surely she heard the irascibility in his voice.

  “Diamonds are the hardest substance known to science.”

  “Again, speaking from experience, I’m not certain that’s true.” His mind went to a wicked place.

  “I know a great many things.” Her voice was filled with challenge. “It’s believed the moon is twenty-seven percent the size of the earth.”

  “Aah.” He paused to don a smirk. Proof indeed that size matters. “You’ve memorized a collection of interesting discussion points, but you needn’t attempt to convince me. I’m satisfactorily impressed. In fact, I never doubted your claim.”

  “Do you expect me to act a widgeon? To flutter my lashes and giggle incoherently whenever you spout a bit of flattery? I told you earlier, I’m not like the ladies you escort about London.” A flash of her gown revealed she’d wandered farther into the bookcase rows. “I’ve a brain in my head just as capable as any male’s, unlike starfish, who don’t have brains at all.”

  This time he did chuckle. “Considering some of the men I’ve met in London, that’s not an exclusive quality.” He stalled near the third bookcase and viewed the shelves suspiciously. Wherever she’d wandered to, at least the doors were completely out of range. “I would think a woman of your ilk . . .”

  “Of my ilk?”

  Her voice drifted to him as he rounded a row where he abandoned his walking stick for the warning it provided of his approach. “Yes, of your ilk. Your presence. I would presume you’re full of confidence and bearing. You’re smart and beautiful. I daresay that’s not a common occurrence in London.”

  A long stretch of silence followed. Had he said too much or was she simply digesting his compliments?

  “You believe that to be true?” Her tone said everything her question did not. She appeared at the end of the aisle.

  “I wouldn’t say it otherwise.” He stepped toward her and his jaw tightened as a wicked spiral of pain gripped his leg.

  “Are you all right?”

  Bloody hell, she’d noticed what he worked so hard to mask. Limping was hardly the rage, neither fashionable nor vaguely interesting if the injury hadn’t occurred on a battlefield. His impairment was sadly unappealing and he would accept no one’s pity.

  “As right as rain.” Pain sang through his leg, but he refused to so much as blink.

  She exhaled deeply as if contemplating whether or not to believe him, and then she surprised him yet again by scurrying away to reappear a blink later with his walking stick in hand.

  “Does it hold you back or offer support?”

  “Both, although it’s mostly an annoyance.” He was reluctant to accept it but did so in the end. He’d no idea how long they might chatter here in the library, and he wouldn’t relinquish time due to his injury, even if that meant accepting a crutch. And too, there was the matter of that kiss.

  Chapter Nine

  Theodosia handed Matthew his
walking stick, but in truth it was she who had become unsteady. What was happening? Every emotion rushed to the forefront and the impact was somewhat dizzying. When he’d pulled her into his warm embrace, her heart divided. One half yearned to draw closer while the other panicked and caused her to flee. It wouldn’t do to form any attachments to the earl. Girlish fancies and long-lost dreams were foolish investments.

  Still, before her stood an imposing man, tall and handsome, with a devilish smile and beguiling gaze beneath too-long lashes, who seemed to say everything she needed to hear and somehow make her world much better by doing so. He was smart and strong and far too charming, a veritable intellectual riddle, science combined with tender emotion. But she couldn’t allow herself to care, no matter that when he looked into her eyes a curious warmth unfurled in her chest.

  “Thank you, Theodosia.”

  He spoke softly, intentionally, as if he savored her name on his tongue, as gentle as a caress.

  “You’re welcome,” she answered, crisp and efficient, striving to deny the pulse of desire and curiosity alive in her blood.

  He stood with his shoulders against the bookcase, and no matter they remained a pace apart, she sensed his body heat, smelled his shaving soap, and the enchanting allure of experiencing his kiss begged her forward.

  She didn’t move when he lowered his mouth to hers. On an intuitive level, once he’d entered the library and they began their coy banter, she knew somehow she would find her way into his arms, and now the moment was here. His mouth nearly touched hers when logic took hold.

  What was she doing? She hardly knew Lord Whittingham. He’d arrived on their doorstep not even two days ago, and now she stood in the house library pressed against his chest. Didn’t she have adequate heartache without compounding the problem? Wasn’t each day difficult enough? Anyone with the most common sense would recognize this as a bad idea. She’d never see him again once the snow melted and he made his way back to London, a place she’d vowed she wouldn’t travel to again. Somewhere with too many agonizing memories to ever confront.

  She wriggled free and took two huge steps away, but he caught her by the wrist. With a flick of his hand, his walking stick crossed her lower back to cage her in as he insistently slid her back into his arms. He wasn’t satisfied until she was closer than before.

  “Mayhap this annoying walking stick has one good use after all.” He studied her so closely, she couldn’t break the spell of his heated stare while confusion and hesitation faded away.

  “Matthew.” A thrilling spiral of desire coursed through her and she all of a sudden was impatient, her lungs tight, each inhale too fast and at the same time, too slow.

  “Breathe, Theodosia. Just breathe.”

  His walking stick clattered to the floor and he brought his hands up and cupped her face to drag her mouth to his. The first touch of his lips sent a shock of awareness to her core, as sharp and piercing as a lightning strike. This. What was this? Was this attraction? Lust? A yearning so strong, her heart broke and mind blanked, their function irrelevant. A physical reaction so fierce she knew her knees would betray her in another moment.

  And they did.

  Supported by the bookcase at his back, he hauled her closer, his hands locked tight, their kiss unbroken. All logical thought ceased. For this one moment there was nothing else. She surrendered to his kiss and melted like a snowflake in the sunlight, anxious to absorb every nuance of the experience.

  He smelled divine, a woodsy mixture of citrus and spice that caused her a dizzying sensation though she fought against it. His hold was strong, one hand placed at the side of her neck where his fingers stroked her skin, the other splayed across her back to keep her close while his mouth tasted and explored, his kiss ever more hungry and insistent.

  His tongue slid across her lips and she gasped, then withdrew far enough to meet his eyes. Had he done that deliberately? The intensity in his gaze caused heat to flood through her body. Apparently so.

  She understood the natural course of things and had read countless volumes on physiology and anatomy, but when she pleaded with her brain to review everything she knew about mating, the useless organ produced nothing but a tingling awareness somewhere deep in her midsection.

  “Stop thinking, Bookish.” He moved closer to her mouth, his words slightly muffled as he began their kiss again.

  She curled her fingers into his coat, the soft wool as tempting as his silky request and she succumbed, a wild pounding in her veins as she opened her mouth the slightest. His tongue stroked over her lips, between and inside before she could object, although only a simpleton would bring to a stop such a cataclysmic riot of emotion when it proved so heavenly.

  Something bloomed in her chest. Dare she label it joy? She loosened her hold and smoothed her palms across his chest to his arms, the solid biceps beneath his sleeves too wide for her grasp, but she hung on anyway, their flex and movement a fascinating phenomenon. How hard he was all over. How perfectly made.

  * * *

  Bloody hard. I am too bloody hard.

  Matthew shifted his position the slightest for fear Theodosia would detect how unmercifully aroused he’d become with just one kiss. Something, something intangible and precious, drew him to her with undeniable force. He wanted to protect her, fix all the ills and resolve all her problems, but the reaction was laughable. He hardly knew her beyond a day’s interaction.

  When she opened her mouth and he delved between her honey-sweet lips, her naïve exploration and bold daring was an unforeseen punch to the gut. How he would recover afterward he did not know, but he refused to allow the evidence of his ardor to frighten her now.

  Her hand clung to his upper arm and the other stroked against his cheek, her fingertips testing the fresh whiskers there. The innocent exploration caused the problem in his breeches to increase accordingly. Still he couldn’t break away just yet. He nudged her jaw with his thumb and angled her chin back to deepen their pleasure. She wiggled against him in a moment of restlessness. He couldn’t be the first man she’d ever kissed, could he? What of that Kirkman fellow?

  The thought of another man kissing Theodosia in the same manner brought a spike of anger so sharp it cleaved his pleasure in two. He withdrew with blood pounding loud in his ears, and forced a laugh. His voice sounded husky for the effort. Why the hell was he thinking during their kiss anyway?

  It took a quiet minute to regather focus, though she didn’t readily remove herself from her position against his coat.

  “That was rather . . .” She spoke in a soft voice, her eyes cast down as if she searched for the right word.

  “Wonderful,” he supplied, the word said low and dark, though she shook her head the slightest.

  “Unexpected.” She glanced upward, her lips turned in a secretive smile.

  “Indeed,” he murmured back.

  They didn’t say anything for another few breaths.

  Then he leaned in and broke the silence as he whispered against her ear, “You taste as good as you look, and that’s absolutely delectable.”

  Perhaps the vibration caused an uncomfortable reaction because she pulled from his hold and stroked her hands over her arms, as if she sought to soothe away a sudden chill.

  “Thank you.” She studied him, her eyes glassy in the fractured light. She seemed to want a change of subject. Her shoulders eased. “Why are we whispering? It’s past midnight and no one else is here.”

  He stared at her as a slow smile crept across his face before he whispered back, “Foremost rule of the library, I believe.”

  She returned his grin. “I should go upstairs.”

  Her voice sounded normal now, as if she’d dismissed their moment and was ready to leave it in the past, but he knew he’d never forget this interlude for all its pleasure and amusement.

  He straightened against the bookcase and leaned down to retrieve his walking stick. “Yes. You should.”

  “Good night, Matthew.”

  He didn’t li
ke the sound of those words this evening, but they were inevitable, weren’t they? “Until tomorrow then, Theodosia. I’ll show you my calculations, if you’ll show me yours.”

  The humor wasn’t lost on her and he received another quick smile.

  “Until then.”

  She left straight after, and once she was out of sight he sagged against the bookcase, despite his leg felt much better and he needed no support.

  * * *

  Unapologetic sunlight flooded Theodosia’s bedchamber the next morning and she pried her eyes open despite she hadn’t slept well. When she first climbed between the sheets, her heart racing from her interlude downstairs in the library, she took time to relive Matthew’s words, the pressure of his mouth upon hers, and examine the multitude of emotions that coursed through her. After which, she still couldn’t find rest with so many unanswered questions prodding her brain. The little sleep she did manage was interrupted by vivid dreams.

  And so, when Dora entered with a breakfast tray and news that Grandfather was well but requested to stay in his rooms for the morning, Theodosia didn’t wonder about it overlong. Instead, distracted by the shimmery feeling alive within her, she ate her coddled eggs and toast, finished her tea, and deliberated the day ahead, anticipating the time she’d spend with Lord Whittingham. Matthew. She dressed in one of her better day gowns, a mint-green block-printed cotton with white sawtooth trim. Of course, there were several pockets in the skirt, as her schedule included a stop in the orangery to care for the animals.

  Now, seated on the vanity stool while her maid twisted the lengths of her hair into a braided coil, she considered the two earls down the hall.

  “Grandfather is well then, Dora?”

  “Yes, milady. Fit as a fiddle. Mrs. Mavis had Cook prepare his favorite breakfast and he was pleasant to the footman who delivered his tray.” Dora held the braids in place and began to add pearl pins. “His lordship mentioned wanting to organize a few things.”

  “Yes, he’s as fastidious as I am when it comes to arranging his belongings.” She glanced around her bedchamber, where every item was neatly in its rightful place. “And Lord Whittingham? Has he gone downstairs to breakfast?”