A Most Scandalous Proposal

by Ashlyn Macnamara

  Without warning, he released her wrist. “Have you stopped to consider the consequences of such an action?”

  “Of course I have.”

  “All of them?”

  “Of—”

  “Stop and think for a moment.” He broke away from her grasp and strode to the large mullioned window that overlooked his back garden. Rain lashed against the pane, driven by a harsh wind. Julia shivered. “If I should do this thing, as a gentleman I shall be required to offer for you. Had you thought that far?”

  “If I must marry …” She swallowed. There. She could no longer deny the fact she would have to wed. “If I must marry, I would prefer it to be to someone I get on with.”

  He tore his gaze from the scene outside and looked over at her. Framed against the window, he appeared larger than life. “Is that what you believe marriage to be? A matter of people getting on together?”

  “Better than a matter of business or a means to a higher position in society. That’s all it is to my parents.”

  He pushed away from the window and came to stand before her. “More to the point, is that how it would be between us?”

  His voice had dropped to a lower register than she was used to hearing from him. She’d heard it from the lips of other men, all would-be suitors, and she recognized it for what it was—seduction. An unaccountable shiver raised gooseflesh along her arms, and she wrapped them about herself—a shield.

  Never once had she imagined having such a discussion with Benedict, but then she’d never imagined kissing him, either. She thrust aside the memory of his lips sliding over hers, of his tongue pushing into her mouth, of the heat his touch aroused …

  Two fingers tipped her chin upward. “Answer me, Julia. Is that how it would be?”

  Under the force of his gaze, she squared her shoulders. “I do not see why we should not get on together. We always have.”

  “Have we? Is that why you dismissed me so summarily the other night?”

  “I thought a little distance was for the best, under the circumstances.”

  “Then we are at an impasse, I’m afraid.”

  “Impasse? I do not understand.”

  “You and I do not have the same expectations with regard to marriage. Quite plainly, Julia, should you become my wife, I would expect you to perform all the usual duties associated with the role.”

  Her throat went dry, but she’d long since set aside her teacup. “Duties,” she whispered.

  He tipped his head to hold her gaze. “You do know which duties I’m referring to?”

  Weakly, she nodded. “I—”

  “I want you to warm my bed. Willingly, regularly.” He leaned closer until she could almost taste the brandy on his lips. “Passionately.”

  Passionately. The word sent a streak of heat searing straight to the pit of her belly.

  “Consider carefully, now,” he went on, “whether you truly want me to compromise you or not, because this is the outcome you must live with.”

  Pulling away, she crossed her arms and tried to make sense of her whirling thoughts. She had no more than a vague notion of what warming his bed entailed. She knew it involved kissing and touching, but beyond that, all she knew was that, under the wrong circumstances, such relations were scandalous. If her experience with kissing him was any indication, they evoked intense feelings.

  She closed her eyes and recalled that night in her father’s study. Benedict’s lips on hers demanded a response, awakened feelings fraught with the promise of pleasure. Dark feelings, overwhelming feelings—like nothing she’d experienced with any other man.

  He would demand such a response from her on a regular basis. Could she give him what he wished and yet guard her heart?

  She opened her eyes to find him watching her, his gaze intense and alert, as if he hadn’t touched a drop of brandy. His expression was unreadable as he awaited her reply, a reply she suddenly could not bring herself to voice.

  “Did I frighten you so much when I kissed you?” he murmured.

  “The kiss did not frighten me, no.” The truth, that. The kiss was the least of it.

  “But it was your first, was it not?”

  She nodded.

  “I thought so. I should have been gentler.” In one stride, he closed the gap between them and set his hand at the base of her throat. His fingertips tickled her jawline. He would claim her now. Her lips parted in expectation.

  “My God,” he murmured, “you’re soaked through to the skin. Whatever possessed you to venture out in such weather, and alone?”

  “Desperation, I suppose.” Her voice croaked the reply. “I walked all the way here because I could not find a hackney.”

  He growled a string of foul oaths that sent a wave of heat creeping up her cheeks and along her nape. “Do you realize what a risk you took?”

  “I imagine all the footpads had enough sense to stay inside.”

  He shifted his grip until the tips of his fingers bit into the back of her neck. “You will not ever do anything so foolish again. Do you understand me?”

  “Then you will agree to compromise me. If you do not, I must find someone who will, for I refuse to marry Clivesden.”

  “You understand, don’t you, that your mere presence here alone with me already compromises you?”

  “Only should the matter become known.”

  “It will become known. How long before you’re missed?”

  “But who will think to look for me here?”

  “Who indeed?” He pulled at a sodden lock of her hair. “You need to get out of those clothes and into a hot bath before you fall ill.”

  A bolt of liquid heat shot through her at the sudden darkening in his eyes. Without a doubt, he was imagining her naked in her bath.

  “I shall have nothing to wear once I’ve finished.” Her cheeks flamed further at the admission.

  A ghost of a smile flitted over his features. “I’m afraid I’ve nothing proper to lend you. I shan’t be able to send you back home until your clothes have dried.”

  He might have been teasing but for the lowered timbre in his voice. It awakened a boldness within her that pushed her to move close enough for her breasts to graze his chest. At the contact, her nipples puckered.

  His Adam’s apple bobbed on a swallow.

  She held his gaze. “Perhaps I do not want to go home.”

  “Julia—”

  Her name on his lips in that low tone caused a frisson of awareness to pass through her. So little separated them—only the fine linen of his shirt and the thin layers of her gown, chemise, and stays, reduced to almost nothing by their recent soaking. The heat of his skin penetrated her and made her crave more, made her crave closer contact.

  His arm snaked about her waist, his broad palm flattened against her back, fingers splayed, and pushed upward to settle between her shoulder blades. “We’re playing with fire. You realize that, don’t you?”

  She acknowledged his statement with a nod.

  “But you’re not going to back away.”

  She shook her head. “Perhaps I’d like to burn.”

  With a groan, he pressed his lips to hers. She shuddered and opened to him, her response to the gentle probe of his tongue coming easily, fueled by the recollection of last time. She tasted the bittersweetness of brandy on his lips, breathed in his heady scent, reached to finger the roughness of his stubble.

  A growl in his throat, he crushed her in his arms and drew her fully flush with the hard length of his body. His tongue swept deep into her mouth. She pushed her hands up the front of his shirt until her fingers twined into his hair. His unshaven jaw abraded her chin, but still she followed his lead.

  She could do this. She could let her body shape itself to his as it would. She could allow him to plumb the depths of her passion and give him all the response he desired. Later, she would sort out the confusion whirling in her brain. For now, all she wanted was to feel.

  He pulled away, his breath coming in ragged bursts. His
blue eyes darkened to midnight and reflected the flames on the hearth.

  The intensity of his gaze drew a whimper to her throat. Good gracious, such naked emotion.

  Unable to face it, she closed her eyes and laced her fingers about his neck, drawing him back to her. A husky groan rumbled from his chest, and he renewed their kiss, pressing on her until his weight forced her back.

  One step after the other, she ceded beneath the pressure and retreated until something solid pressed into her calves. The settee. Sighing into his mouth, she sank to the cushions.

  Once again, he pulled away. Julia caught her lower lip between her teeth and breathed him in. A sharp, masculine tang undercut the brandy. Her wet gown had dampened the fine linen of his shirt until it lay plastered to his skin. Nearly transparent. The firelight gilded his flesh with a cast of gold.

  She stretched out a forefinger, and drew it along his neck, past his racing pulse to the fascinating wedge of skin at his open collar. Crisp hair tickled her fingertip, and she flattened her palm to his flesh.

  A shudder passed through him, and he settled his weight over her. Her body responded with an aching throb deep within.

  “Julia.” He touched his fingertips to her temple, brushing the sodden wisps of hair from her forehead.

  That intense, blue gaze filled her vision, and once again she shuttered her eyes against it. As long as she didn’t have to see, if she could only feel.

  His lips skated along her jaw to the lobe of her ear and the hammering pulse just beneath. She shifted under him, her hips canting into a cradle for his.

  He groaned and pressed back, the whole, hard length of him like steel between their bodies. His fingers drifted lower, a gentle caress along her cheek to her throat, and there they halted at the fastenings of her bodice.

  With each tug at the tiny buttons, her pulse pattered all the harder. Dear God, he was about to unbutton her. She ought to stop him before he overwhelmed her completely.

  Without warning, he froze, his body tense and alert.

  “What is it?” Julia managed.

  He turned that disturbing gaze toward the door. “I heard something. The servants.” With a sigh, he heaved himself to his feet. “Just as well. In another few moments …”

  She took the hand he offered and let him pull her upright. “In another few moments what?”

  He gave her a wan smile. “I’d have done something that would have shocked the maid when she came in to collect the teapot.”

  “But I’ve asked you to compromise me.”

  “I’d like a little more privacy than my sitting room.” He took her by the shoulders and brushed kisses to her cheeks and brow before tightening his arms and crushing her to him. “We are about to create such a scandal, you may no longer receive invitations to all the balls and such you attend.”

  She burrowed her head against his shoulder, marveling at how simple, how easy the gesture seemed. “It does not matter. I only went about in society to please my mother. Since it turns out that pleasing my mother involves becoming the Countess of Clivesden, I fear she shall have to be disappointed in me.”

  He pulled back and rested his hands on either side of her neck. “I’ve a house in Kent. My mother left it to me as part of her dower properties. If you like, I’ll show it to you.”

  Kent. The very name called to mind sunny summer days traipsing through the woods in the name of adventure. She and Sophia had spent their girlhood at Clareton House, running wild as often as they could escape Miss Mallory. Julia had first come across Benedict during those years, as their property abutted the Marquess of Enfield’s lands. She hadn’t been back since Sophia’s first season. Her father had sold the property to move the family to Town with the proceeds. He’d traded an idyllic life for ball gowns and social standing.

  “Shall we leave tonight?”

  “You’ve nothing to wear,” he reminded her. “And you cannot go back out in such weather dressed as you are. Leave matters to me. I’ll order you a bath, and Mrs. Brown will prepare a guest room for you.”

  “And where will you be?”

  “I’ve some business to take care of, and if I put in an appearance at my club, no one will suspect anything is amiss.” He leaned in to brush his lips across hers, once, twice. “I swear to you, I will make no demands that you are unwilling to fulfill. Do you trust me in this?”

  She blinked. Before her the old Benedict, the one she’d grown up with, had reappeared. “Of course.”

  “Then I must warn you.” He studied his hands. “My estate is in rather poor condition. Most of the rooms in the main house are uninhabitable.”

  “Oh?” She understood the slow dereliction that came of depleting funds. She’d been living with them since her father sold her childhood home and moved the family to Town.

  “There is a place we can stay, only it’s very small.”

  “How small?”

  He looked her full in the face. “It has only one bedroom.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  FRESHLY SHAVEN and dressed, Benedict ducked from his carriage into the entrance of Boodle’s. He prayed he’d find Upperton there at this hour and that Upperton was still speaking to him after the way they’d left things. Alert, he strode straight for his usual table, waving off the footman who stepped from the shadows to offer brandy.

  Tonight, Benedict wanted to keep all his faculties about him.

  “Revelstoke. Thank God!” He turned his head to the right to find Upperton strolling toward him. “I thought you’d never get here.”

  Benedict consulted his pocket watch. Half past seven—early by his usual standard. “What’s happened, man? You look like your mistress’s husband just caught you sneaking down the trellis.”

  Upperton stopped short. “Give me a bit more credit than that. I don’t bother with married ladies for good reason.”

  “Glad I’ve run into you, at any rate. We need to talk where we will not risk being overheard.”

  Eyes narrowed, Upperton studied Benedict for a moment. “Miss Julia seems to have turned up missing. You wouldn’t happen to know something about that, would you?”

  Benedict pressed his lips together. He hadn’t expected word to get out quite this fast. “Come with me.”

  He led Upperton to the third story, where a long corridor flanked by closed doors stretched before them. Private rooms—available to members who wished to pursue more intimate activities.

  Upperton hesitated as Benedict pushed the nearest oak panel open. “Don’t want anyone getting the wrong idea.”

  Benedict grabbed him by the collar and dragged him inside. “Then tell them we hired a courtesan who was amenable to the both of us at once. Now tell me, what’s this about Julia?”

  Upperton cocked his head. “I thought for certain you’d know.”

  “I do know. What I want to know is how you know, and, more important, can I expect her family to turn up at my town house and take her back home?”

  Worry shifted in his belly. He should never have left her alone. He should have sent her straight to Kent and followed separately in the morning. Surely if the St. Claires had searched for her at the Uppertons’, they’d think to check his address as well.

  And if they discovered her there, they’d spirit her back home and keep her under close watch until she married Clivesden. No matter how Julia felt about the match, it was clear her parents favored it.

  “I do not think her family suspects you have anything to do with it,” Upperton said. “I only found out through a stroke of luck. My sister paid a call on Sophia and brought the news back with her. Strict secret, so of course Henrietta came bursting in to tell us.”

  Benedict released a stream of air. “So I have time.”

  “I would not say that. The gossip will have made the rounds by tomorrow. So tell me.” Upperton nudged him. “What made you change your mind about helping me?”

  “Get this straight once and for all. I am not doing a thing to help you win an idiotic bet.”
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br />   “All right, but if this ensures I win …” Upperton shrugged. “Think of the scandal, man. Clivesden will not want to go anywhere near her now.”

  “I’m about to make doubly certain of that. I’m taking her to Kent in the morning.”

  “Ah, yes, in the morning, once you’ve properly ruined her, of course.”

  Benedict fisted a hand in Upperton’s lapel. “I’ll thank you to keep your nose where it belongs. I should not even tell you my plans, only I need your assistance.”

  Upperton pulled himself loose and brushed at his sleeves. “You’ve got a funny way of asking for favors.”

  “If you’d learn to keep your gob shut, it would help. But I reckon you’ll assist me if only because it will ensure you win that bet.”

  With a sigh, Upperton stepped back. “What do you want me to do?”

  Benedict held up his fingers. “Three things. One, you’re going to put it about that you saw me in some gaming hell or other tonight. Doesn’t matter which one, as long as people think I did not spend the evening at home.”

  Upperton nodded. “Easy enough. What are the others?”

  “First thing in the morning, you will present yourself at Doctor’s Commons and procure me a special license.”

  “A week or more might pass before the archbishop’s office sees fit to grant it. You’d best head straight for Scotland.”

  Benedict shook his head. “It’ll take me a week to get there. More, if this sort of weather holds. No, they’ll expect us to go that route once they work out what’s happened. We’ll be safer in Kent. As soon as you’ve got the license, I need you to bring it to Shoreford House. Or rather, the gamesman’s cottage, as that’s the habitable portion.”

  Upperton raised a brow. “You know, people might say you abducted her.”

  “I didn’t. She came to me.”

  “So she’s finally worked out what she wants, our Miss Julia?”

  Benedict ignored that remark. “Now, there’s just one more thing.”