The Scandalous Lady Sandford

by Adele Clee

  “God, you’re perfect,” he panted. Joining with her was everything he thought it would be, and more. “I promise your life will be filled with pleasure from now on.”

  She gripped his buttocks in response, dug her fingers into his flesh and urged him to quicken the pace. He obliged, entering her over and over, so hard, so deep. Damn, he’d struggle to last more than a minute. Possessed by a craving he couldn’t quite comprehend, he sheathed himself in her warmth, her wetness, encouraged her to buck her hips and writhe to draw his climax from him.

  His body shook and pulsed with the power of it.

  For the first time in his life, he did not withdraw but gave his wife everything of himself. Perhaps a child. Perhaps hope for the future.

  Chapter Eleven

  The sound of their ragged breathing filled the room. Lillian lay naked, delicious tingles still coursing through her body. Fabian lay beside her, one leg draped over her thigh, one arm resting heavily across her stomach. An inner calm filled her chest. One that spoke of more than physical satisfaction. Fabian had kept his promise. In that one blissful moment, she had indeed felt free.

  “The next time we explore the realms of intimate relations, I hope to dedicate more time to enhancing your pleasure.” Fabian’s husky voice caressed her senses. He came up on his elbow, a satisfied smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “What do you say? Would you care to put my skill to the test?”

  “What, now?” Although a warm shiver raced down her spine at the prospect, she had promised to tell him the truth about Lord Martin. The longer she delayed, the more daunting the task.

  “Not right now.” He placed the tip of his finger on her chin and traced a slow, sensual line all the way down to her navel. The mischievous glint in his eyes simmered to a heated smoulder. “We have time for a drink, and I need to stoke the fire.”

  Part of her wanted to indulge him. When they were alone, when he kissed her, she forgot anyone or anything else existed.

  “And I do need to thank you for saving my life,” he added. “I trust you meant to blow the blade out of Aubrey’s hand.”

  “Aubrey? Is that his name?”

  “Apparently so.”

  “Somehow, he doesn’t seem so terrifying now.”

  “You appeared quite calm when you pulled the trigger. Where did you learn to shoot like that?”

  “Vane insisted I take lessons.” Oh, how she wished she’d had the skill to fight a duel with Lord Martin. She would have hit him between the legs to prevent him from taking another woman for a fool.

  “Then for once, I owe your brother my gratitude.”

  “What did you do with him?”

  Fabian frowned. “With whom? Vane?”

  “No, the man with the pockmarked face.” He didn’t deserve to be called by his name.

  “He’s in the dungeon for the time being. Mackenzie is looking after him.” Fabian fell silent, though she could feel his gaze drifting over her breasts before lingering on her locket. “Must you wear the necklace to bed?”

  The question shocked her. It would be easy to lie. But she’d reached the point in her life where nothing but the truth would do. “As long as I live, I shall never take it off.”

  “I see.” Suspicion lingered within those two simple words. “I suppose it is too much to hope that you carry your mother’s portrait.”

  “While I loved my mother, it is not her likeness I hold dear.”

  A sigh left his lips. “While it pains me to ask, did you develop an attachment to Lord Martin?”

  One did not need the wisdom of Socrates to know what he was really asking. Had she married him despite loving someone else? “No. While I carried a mild affection for him, one I believed might blossom into something more, I did not love him.”

  “But you do love the person whose likeness you keep close to your heart?”

  “I do.” A surge of raw emotion filled her chest. Tears stung her eyes and threatened to fall. “I have never known a love like it.”

  Fabian sat up and thrust his hand through his hair. “If you love another, then why marry me? Is it not better to be a spinster, to stay true to oneself rather than live a lie?”

  “I think you’re suffering from a terrible misconception.” The lump in her throat grew so large she struggled to swallow. She pinched the end of her nose to stem the flood waters. “It—it is not a gentleman’s portrait I carry.”

  Fabian turned to face her, confusion marring his brow. “Please tell me it’s not a picture of your brother.”

  The comment pricked her ire. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re not listening to what I’m saying.”

  “Is it ridiculous? Vane is practically your shadow.”

  Anger and a gut-wrenching pain consumed her. She jumped out of bed, found her chemise, thrust it over her head and tugged the material to her knees.

  “It’s on the wrong way round.”

  Lillian glanced down but was past the point of caring. Feeling somewhat less vulnerable now the garment covered her modesty, she placed her hands on her hips. “Let me make one thing clear. Vane is a kind, loving brother who will do anything to secure my happiness. But it is not his memory I cling to.”

  “Then whose is it?” His tone conveyed more than a hint of jealousy. Had the lord of the seas developed a sense of inferiority? “What hope do we have of moving beyond the past if you cannot be honest with me? We have all lived with loss.”

  “To lose a loved one is distressing.” It felt like having her heart ripped from her chest while it was still beating. “But to lose a child … there is no greater pain.”

  The dam holding her emotions at bay burst. Tears cascaded down her face and dripped from her chin.

  Fabian stared at her, his eyes wide with shock. “You … you lost a child?” He covered his mouth with his hand.

  She tried to speak, but a whimper escaped. The whimper became a sob. “I lost a daughter, Fabian. I lost the most beautiful—” Her knees buckled, and she fell to the floor.

  Fabian was at her side in seconds. Strong arms enveloped her. He pulled her into his lap and cradled her as the wail of a soul-deep loss echoed through the chamber.

  She could not express her grief in front of Vane. Seeing pain and guilt flare in her brother’s eyes only made matters worse.

  “Hush, love.” Fabian stroked her hair, kissed her forehead and rocked her gently back and forth. “Forgive me for pressing you on the subject, but know you do not have to suffer in silence.”

  Lillian wrapped her arms around him so tightly she feared she might squeeze all the air from his lungs. Touching him should have felt awkward and new, yet it felt so comforting, so familiar. She buried her face in his neck. Just like everything else about him, the scent of his skin helped to ease her torment.

  “You can tell me about Lord Martin when you’re ready,” he whispered. “It doesn’t have to be now.”

  Whenever she thought about the scoundrel, about all that happened in Italy, inside she became a shivering wreck. Fabian now knew her darkest secret, and it had not altered his opinion of her. A part of her loved him for that. It was time to trust him, time to tell him everything.

  Lillian sucked in a breath and looked up at her husband. “Let us sit by the fire and drink brandy.” That would banish the chill from her bones. “I shall tell you about Lord Martin, and of my daughter, Charlotte.”

  Saying her name aloud validated her daughter’s existence. It confirmed she was real, the only good thing to come from a horrid nightmare.

  Fabian kissed her forehead. “Only if you want to. Only if you feel able.”

  “I do.”

  Fabian helped her to her feet and guided her over to the chair. She sat and watched him dress quickly, stoke the fire and pour the drinks. Two glasses in hand, he returned to sit opposite.

  “To friendship.” He offered her a glass and raised his in salute. “Life has not been kind but know you can trust me, Lilly.”

  “To friendship.” Liquid fire trick
led down her throat as she took the first few sips. “Know that despite my reservations, I do not regret marrying you.”

  He put his hand over his heart. “After the way I behaved, that is a compliment indeed.”

  A nervous silence ensued.

  He cradled his glass and stared at the dancing flames in the hearth.

  “I won’t bore you with the minor details,” she finally found the courage to say. “Perhaps it will be easier just to relay the facts.”

  He nodded but said nothing.

  “Lord Martin paid me court for a month before he offered marriage. During that time, he convinced me of his affection, and I believed him to be a kind and generous gentleman.”

  “And your brother approved of the match?”

  She snorted. In Vane’s eyes, no one was good enough. “Not at first. He insisted upon checking Martin’s background. Other than a penchant for gambling, people held him in high regard.”

  “Gambling? Surely that was enough to convince Vane the man lacked merit. It takes a weak man to squander three generations of hard-earned funds.”

  “The debts were small, infrequent, paid on time.” A blush rose to her cheeks. Fabian was right. It was a warning sign they’d failed to take seriously. Yet another reason why Vane blamed himself. “As the wedding drew closer, he began acting strangely, demanding to know if I loved him.”

  “But you didn’t.”

  “No. And I couldn’t lie.” She’d been tactful, told him love blossomed over time. “I told him I cared for him and knew it would develop into something more.”

  “I have never met Lord Martin, but he sounds like an insecure fop.”

  “Oh, he was so kind to me, Fabian. We talked for hours about music and poetry. There are not many men who value a lady’s opinion.”

  He sipped his brandy, all the while watching her over the rim of his glass.

  “Obviously, he stole a kiss whenever the opportunity arose. But one night, he asked me to meet him in the summerhouse at the bottom of the garden. He said he needed a commitment from me, a token gesture to cement our alliance.”

  Fabian gritted his teeth. “What you speak of is a common ploy of a seducer.”

  “Indeed.” Oh, what a naive fool she’d been. It pained her to think of it now.

  “I trust Vane knew nothing of the lord’s plans.”

  “No, not at the time.” She sighed. “And I’m sure I don’t need to explain what happened.” She’d been out of her depth, floundering in uncharted waters. When one swam with sharks, one rarely surfaced unscathed. “The next day Lord Martin broke our engagement and boarded the first ship to France.”

  Fabian’s countenance darkened. “And so Vane chased him all the way to Italy and put a ball in his chest. One can hardly blame him.”

  “No. Well … yes. We followed him. Oh, Vane wanted to string him up from the nearest bough, wanted to put a ball between his brows. But I begged him to show clemency. They fought a duel. Lord Martin fired and missed and so Vane shot him in the leg.”

  Fabian straightened. “One rarely dies from a leg wound.”

  “Lord Martin died from a fever, as a result of the wound.”

  “Vane was too accommodating.”

  She’d wanted to see Lord Martin suffer, too. Nonetheless, she could not let Vane kill a man for her mistake.

  “We stayed in Italy for obvious reasons.” This was the part she needed to say quickly. “Vane rented a house overlooking the bay in Naples. A pretty place with an abundance of lemon trees. Charlotte was born. She was two months old when she passed peacefully in her sleep. We stayed for some time afterwards, but Vane wanted to come home.”

  In truth, she had found it hard to leave. She bent her head and kissed the locket. It was a silly gesture that eased her pain.

  Fabian sat motionless in the chair. His intense, unblinking stare unnerved her. “If Lord Martin were alive, I would gut him like a pig and trail his innards around Berkeley Square.”

  “Then I’m thankful he is not. The stench from the river is bad enough.”

  A heavy silence hung in the air.

  “I need another drink.” Fabian stood, refilled his glass and returned to his seat. “The question is what does Lord Cornell have to do with it all?”

  This was where she really had been a blind fool.

  “Someone bribed Lord Martin to ruin me,” she said coldly. “Apparently, someone tricked him into gambling away his home and fortune. In return for blackening my name, all vowels were destroyed.”

  “But why would someone do that?”

  “To hurt my brother. I’m afraid Vane’s love for me is his only weakness.” She gestured to the room. “A fact you have also used to your advantage.”

  He flopped back in the chair, almost spilling his brandy. A haunted look marred his handsome countenance. “Do not compare me to those men.”

  She hadn’t meant to, but when one behaved selfishly, one had to be held to account. “I am merely demonstrating that I am Vane’s Achilles heel. In that respect, he will always be vulnerable.”

  The glow of the fire’s flames went some way to banishing the sudden chill in the air. Fabian stared at the amber liquid in the glass, swirled it around and watched it settle. Eventually, he looked at her.

  “There is one vast difference.” The words were slow and measured. “Lord Martin cared nothing for you, that much is clear.”

  “And you do?” She could not keep the cynical edge from her tone.

  Fabian drained the glass and stood. He offered her his hand. “Come, the hour is late, and you’ve had a tiring day. You need sleep. We will discuss Lord Cornell’s involvement once we have more facts.”

  Lillian gripped his fingers and came to her feet. “I cannot drink this.” She offered him the glass. He took it and finished what remained before placing the empty vessels on the side table.

  “Sleep in here tonight.” Fabian moved to the bed and drew back the coverlet. “It’s warm and more comfortable.”

  A vision of their passionate lovemaking flashed into her mind, and the need to feel close to him came upon her again. Feeling his large, warm body next to hers would bring comfort during the long night ahead. Sleep always eluded her when her mind was full of memories of the past.

  “I suppose I should straighten my chemise.” Dismissing her embarrassment, she eased her arms out of the garment, turned it the right way and thrust her arms back into the sleeves. “Does it matter which side I sleep on?”

  A weak smile touched his lips. “No, not tonight.”

  “Good, then I shall take the right-hand side.”

  He watched her climb into bed, came to stand beside her and pulled the sheets up around her shoulders. With a sigh, he stroked a lock of hair from her cheek. “Sleep well.”

  His awkward stance unnerved her. “Are you not joining me?”

  He bent down and kissed her on the lips, a tender and gentle display of affection that sang to her soul. “Rest assured, when I return I shall lavish you with the attention you deserve.”

  The muscles in her core pulsed at the prospect. “Return? Have the night’s activities left you famished?” Hours had passed since he’d eaten at the banquet. “Call for a cold platter. I’m sure there was food left from the feast.”

  “While I have a huge appetite, that is not the reason I must leave.”

  Leave? The word carried an air of finality, suggested a lengthy separation. It was as though someone had punched a hole in her stomach and wrung the muscles tight. “Am I allowed to ask where you’re going?”

  “There is an urgent matter that requires my attention.”

  “And you did not think to mention it before?” Despite his affectionate manner, his eyes were a hard, obsidian black. Since telling her story, she’d sensed a suppressed tension that was in no way aimed at her. “Are you leaving the island?”

  He inclined his head. “I shall be back in a few days. In my absence, everyone will look to you for guidance. Mackenzie will assist you.”<
br />
  “You’re going to London.” It was a statement, not a question.

  “I have business there. We will discuss the matter upon my return.” He did not give her an opportunity to object, but removed a few items of clothing from the armoire, bowed respectfully and marched out of the room.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Forgive me, my lady. It’s not my place to question your instructions, but his lordship will have my hide if he knows I left you alone with the prisoner.” With a grimace, Mackenzie’s gaze shifted between Lillian and her new maid, Mary.

  “I am not asking for your permission, Mackenzie.” Fear forced Lillian to speak in the stern voice of a matron. She had to know if the rogue had an accomplice. “We have no notion when his lordship will return, but I demand access to the dungeon so I may question this Aubrey fellow.”

  The hollow ache in her stomach returned. Four days had passed since she’d told Fabian her story. Every day, she climbed to the roof of the keep and stared out to sea. Watching. Waiting. Praying he was not lying in a watery grave. Every night, she slept in Fabian’s bed, inhaling the scent of the man who commanded her every waking thought, visited her in her dreams, too.

  “The dungeons are no place for a lady.” Mackenzie squirmed on the spot.

  “Then bring the prisoner to the great hall, and I shall question him there.” For the last two nights, she’d watched the strange goings-on from the bedchamber window, seen the light swaying to and fro in the distance.

  “Please, my lady, listen to reason.” Mackenzie made an odd puffing sound. “His lordship will flay me alive if anything happens to you. Is there no compromise? Will you not allow me to accompany you?”

  There were other questions she wanted to ask, and she would rather have no witnesses. Lord Cornell’s desire for vengeance was great indeed else he would have been content with her ruination. She had to know why Cornell wanted to hurt Vane.

  “Aubrey can do me no harm. Words do not hurt.” The lack of conviction in Lillian’s tone was evident. One man’s comments could not penetrate her steely reserve, and yet a barrage of snide whispers proved as painful as being pelted with pebbles. “But you may accompany me as far as the steps.”