“Madam, your husband is a louse. You could not fall to his level were you to roll in the hay with every groom in our hostess’ stable and then run naked through the drawing room.”
She stiffened. “What do you know of him?”
“Plenty.”
“I doubt you do.” The inescapable urge to defend her wastrel, blackguard husband rose within her. How dare Thornton be so arrogant, so condescending when he himself had committed the same sins against her? And had he not just been on the verge of making love to a married woman in a darkened room? He was no better.
He sighed. “Scarbrough’s got scads of women on the wrong side of the Park in St. John’s Wood. It’s common knowledge.”
Of course it was, but that didn’t make it any easier to hear. Especially not coming from Thornton, the man she’d jilted in favor of Scarbrough. “I’m aware Scarbrough is indiscreet, but that has little bearing on you and me in this moment. This moment should never have happened.”
“We are once again in agreement, Cleo.” His voice regained some of its arrogance. “However, it did happen.”
Her name on his lips startled her, but she didn’t bother taking him to task for it. After the intimacies she had just allowed, it would be hypocritical. She wished she could see him. The darkness became unbearable.
“How could you so easily forget your own sins? You had your pretty little actress all the while you claimed to love me.”
He said nothing. Silence extended between them. It was obstinate of her, but she wanted him to deny it. Thornton did not.
“Aren’t there orphans about somewhere you should be saving?” She lashed out, then regretted her angry words. That was badly done of her. But this, being in Thornton’s arms after what he’d done…it went against the grain.
“I think you should go,” she added.
“I would if I could fight my way past your bloody skirts. There’s no help for it. Either you go first or we go together.”
“We can’t go together! Your insufferable mother may be lurking out there somewhere.”
“Then you must go first.”
“I shall precede you,” she informed him.
“I already suggested as much. Twice, if you had but listened.” He sounded peeved.
The urge to stamp her foot hit her with fierce persistence. “You are a vexing man.”
“And you, my love, are a shrew unless your mouth is otherwise occupied.”
She gasped. “How dare you?”
“Oh, I dare lots of things. Some of them, you may even like.” His voice had gone sinful and dark.
The dreadful man. She drew herself up in full countess armor. “I’m leaving now.”
Then he ruined her consequence by saying, “Lovely. Though you might want to fasten up your bodice before you go. I should think it terribly difficult to convince my mother we were talking about the weather when your finer bits are on display.”
Her finer bits? It was the outside of enough. She slapped his arm. “Has the Prime Minister any idea what a coarse scoundrel you are? None of my…person would be on display if you hadn’t pulled me into the room and accosted me.”
“You were well pleased for a woman being accosted,” he pointed out, smug.
She hated him again, which was really for the best. He was too much of a temptation, too delicious, to borrow his word, and she was ever a fool for him. “You’re insufferable.”
“So I’ve been told.”
Cleo gave him her back and attempted to fasten her buttons. Drat. She pulled. She held her breath. She tugged her bodice’s stiff fabric again. The buttons wouldn’t meet their moorings. “Did you undo my lacings?” she demanded, realization dawning on her.
“Perhaps.” Thornton’s voice had gone wistful. Sheepish, almost.
Good heavens. How did he know his way around a woman’s undergarments so well he could get her undone and partially unlaced all while kissing her passionately? Beneath his haughty exterior still lay a womanizer’s heart.
There was no help for it now. She couldn’t tight-lace herself. “I require some assistance,” she mumbled.
“What was that?”
Cleo gritted her teeth. “I can’t lace myself.”
“Would a ‘please’ be in order?”
“You’re the one who did the damage. It seems reasonable that you should repair it.”
“Perhaps I can slip past your voluminous skirts after all,” he mused.
“Please help me,” she blurted.
“Turn around,” he ordered.
Cleo spun, reluctant to face him again. She could barely see him in the murkiness, a tall, imposing figure. His hands slipped inside her bodice, expertly finding the lacings he had loosened.
“Breathe in,” he told her.
She did and he pulled tightly, cinching her waist to a painful wasp silhouette once more. “Thank you. I can manage the buttons.”
He spun her about and brushed aside her fingers. “I’ll get them.” She swore she heard a smile in his voice. “After all, it only seems reasonable I repair the damage I’ve done.”
“Fine then.” His breath fanned her lips and she could feel his intense gaze on her. She tilted her head to the side to ease her disquiet at his nearness. Was it just her imagination, or did his fingers linger at the buttons nearest her bosom?
“There you are.” Thornton fastened the last one, brushing the hollow of her throat as he did so.
She closed her eyes and willed away the desire that assaulted her. This man was not for her. He ran the backs of his fingers along her neck, stopping when he cupped her jaw.
“Thank you,” she whispered again.
“You’re most welcome,” he said, voice low.
The magnetism between them was inexorable, just as it had been before. Despite the intervening years, despite all, she still recalled the way he had made her feel—weightless and enchanted, as though she had happened upon Shakespeare’s moonlit forest in A Midsummer Night’s Dream.
His thumb brushed over her bottom lip. “If you don’t go, I’ll undo all the repairing I’ve just done.”
She knew he warned himself as much as he warned her. Sadness pulsed between them, a mutual acknowledgment their lives could have turned up differently. So many unspoken words, so much confusion lingered.
“I must go,” she said unnecessarily. She was reluctant to leave him and that was the plain truth of it. “I find my megrim has returned.”
With that, she left, returning to the hall, to sunlight streaming in cathedral windows. More importantly, she hoped, she returned to sanity.
Click here to get A Mad Passion.
HISTORICAL ROMANCE
Heart’s Temptation
A Mad Passion (Book One)
Rebel Love (Book Two)
Reckless Need (Book Three)
Sweet Scandal (Book Four)
Restless Rake (Book Five Coming Soon)
Wicked Husbands
Her Errant Earl (Book One)
Her Lovestruck Lord (Book Two)
Her Reformed Rake (Book Three Coming Soon)
CONTEMPORARY ROMANCE
Love’s Second Chance
Reprieve (Book One)
Perfect Persuasion (Book Two)
Win My Love (Book Three)
Coastal Heat
Loved Up (Book One)
Award-winning author Scarlett Scott writes historical and contemporary romance with heat, heart, and happily ever afters. Since publishing her first book in 2010, she has become a wife, mother to adorable identical twins and one TV-loving dog, and a killer karaoke singer. Well, maybe not the last part, but that’s what she’d like to think.
A self-professed literary junkie and nerd, she loves reading anything, but especially romance novels, poetry, and Middle English verse. When she’s not reading, writing, wrangling toddlers, or camping, you can catch up with her on her website
www.scarsco.com. Hearing from readers never fails to make her day.
Scarlett’s complete book list and
information about upcoming releases can be found at
www.scarsco.com.
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Her Errant Earl (Wicked Husbands Book 1) Page 18
