In Search of Scandal (London Explorers #1)

by Susanne Lord

  “God,” he groaned.

  She pressed more urgently, her legs climbing his hips to wrap around him.

  Innocent…she was innocent. Passionate like he’d never experienced, but innocent. She had to remain—

  “Please.” She sealed her lips to his throat, suckling tight on his flesh.

  God in heaven, he’d leave her mostly innocent. He unwrapped her legs and lifted off her, trying to soothe her, to slow her.

  An ugly awareness surfaced that he was debauching her in the woods, in a shelter they’d come to out of desperate straits, but it hadn’t a prayer of persuading him to stop—only to gentle his hands. He slid his mouth over hers, wanting her to remember, forever, that he was the first.

  No matter he couldn’t stay—he couldn’t keep her—he’d be the first to make her come. He’d watch her come.

  Her hands clutched handfuls of his hair in a grip that should have hurt, but he reveled in her possession. Her eyes met his, telling him without words of her need.

  And beneath the need, something else. Something so endlessly, blazingly tender, he had to shut his eyes against the sight.

  He stilled his lips, letting her kiss him as she desired. Show me what you want. In answer, her mouth slowed, then retreated.

  He laughed, faint and near breathless. “God, you’re a puzzle.” He captured her chin in his hand, the softness of her skin thrilling him. “Are you shy with me now, sweet Charlotte?”

  “You stopped kissing me.”

  “I didn’t want you to stop.” Emboldened, he slipped his hand under her skirt and her eyes fluttered open. “It’s all right,” he murmured.

  Steadying the slender thigh beneath the soft cotton pantalets, he lowered his mouth to hers. He massaged her higher and slid his hand inside the opening of her drawers. Her gasp broke open on his lips when he stroked the soft, slick folds at the core of her.

  “God, you’re so soft, so ready,” he whispered. He parted her, slowly, gently, because he’d never done this before. Her breath hitched and struggled past her lips. Her eyes glazed, so he stilled his fingers. “Look at me.”

  His demand surprised even him. Those eyes could undo him but he needed to see into her when she came.

  She focused again on him, her beautiful face softening with a wondering smile. His cock surged, twitching against the confines of his trousers, and he gritted his teeth for control. Obediently, kindly, she watched him, her fingers flexing on his shirt.

  He smiled. “Tell me if you like this.”

  “I do.”

  “I’ve not done it yet.”

  “I liked what you were doing. What do you call—”

  He eased his finger into her narrow sheath and—

  “Oh! My—!” She drove her head back into the mattress, her neck exposed to his lips.

  He kissed her on that creamy throat, returning the torture she’d inflicted upon him, and teased the most sensitive corner of her with his thumb, sliding his finger gently in and out.

  Never had he touched a woman like this—never more intent on drawing out her pleasure or remembering every moan, every clench, every silken stroke. “I’m inside you,” he said huskily. “Do you feel me inside you?”

  “Yes…I feel…”

  The way she held him, hugging him tight around the neck to hold him close, flooded the hollow in his chest with tenderness, with gratitude. No woman had ever held him like this, wanted him like this. And after what he’d done…

  “Will…don’t stop. Please.”

  She was so small, he could weep at how fragile her body was. She squeezed on his fingers and—“Ah God!”—his body seized with violence, his back arched, and he spilled his seed into his trousers with a hoarse cry.

  Christ. He’d never gone off without a stroke before. Never lost control. Not even when he was a lad.

  Spent, panting, he concentrated again on her. “Come for me,” he rasped. “I’ve got you, let it come.”

  She tightened and pulsed around his finger and he coaxed her closer, faster, and deeper, until she was bearing down and her heated channel was quivering with miraculous spasms radiating to the ends of her. With a final cry, she shuddered and went limp under him.

  Triumph blasted through him. He laughed, sinking on her shivering body, joining her in the ecstasy.

  Damn if he wasn’t primitive. He wanted to shout, to pound his chest and glory in the spasms he’d caused. Capturing the tender earlobe with his teeth and traveling to her panting mouth, he claimed her there. Slowly, reluctantly, he removed his hand from her clinging softness.

  “Only you,” she whispered, burrowing closer. “Only you…”

  And then her eyes opened.

  There.

  There it was again. That tenderness, that trust. And something else. Something he hadn’t seen before. And it made him feel…

  Christ, it made him feel he was crossing the Leaping Tiger Gorge in Yunnan. The swaying rope bridge. The six-hundred-foot drop. The wind howling in his ears, mocking his balance. A vertigo like he’d never known…

  He clutched the wool blanket on either side of her and dragged his gaze away. He arranged her skirts with a hand that seemed hacked from stone.

  God, what had he done? Look where they were. He’d tarnished the dazzling Charlotte Baker in a hovel in the wood. The incomparable of London Society, subjected to his emptiness, his darkness. Beautiful, innocent Charlotte.

  Christ, why hadn’t he thought…?

  He dropped on his back and stared at the ceiling, praying he might have rendered her speechless for once. Just once. Just until he could gather his wits.

  But he knew better.

  Charlotte was never speechless.

  “That was the most astonishing thing I have ever felt,” she whispered. “How did I not know my body could do that? You were incredible.” She pressed his hand to her breast. “Feel my heart. Do you feel it?”

  He couldn’t feel his hand. Why couldn’t he feel—?

  “I have never felt so wild, so removed from reason.” Her hands slid down her body to twist in her skirt. She kicked her feet on the bed and laughed. “That was—is it always like that? No, I would only feel this with you. No man could touch me like you. No wonder men and women seek love, if this is their reward. Quelle joie, quel bonheur!”

  “Love? I—is that French? I don’t speak—”

  “I know you are not in love,” she said quietly. “But this was the most extraordinary experience in my life. And I do not expect anything from you, I vow, but my life has altered course. The world is spinning on a new axis.” Her eyes widened with her gasp. “This is an historic day in my life. I have to tell Lucy—no, I cannot but—” she pushed up onto her elbow. “Honestly, Will! I just told you this is historic. Put your arms around me.”

  The scolding worked; his body unlocked. “I don’t know what to do, Charlotte!” He flung clumsy arms around her, far from the tender embrace he ought to give, wanted to give, but she nestled willingly enough against him. “Are you…are you all right? I just…I hadn’t prepared for this.”

  “I know,” she said softly. “But in that little space between plans, you must leave room for the unexpected. You must leave room for life. The loveliest things can happen when you do not expect them.” She grew quiet. “When you do not even hope for them.”

  “That’s not my experience.”

  She stroked his cheek and his heart buckled. “I am sorry for that. But this has been wonderful for me, if not for you, so you may count this in your experience.”

  Quiet minutes passed. His heartbeat slowed. Charlotte seemed happy, at least.

  Damn me. She deserved more than this. He hadn’t loved her the way a man should. Not properly, by joining his flesh with hers.

  But he’d never have that right.

  She fidgeted with the collar of his shirt. “I know this does not compare with all the experiences you have had, or the other women—”

  “No—”

  “I know they please
d you far more, but you mustn’t worry. I would never ask you to—”

  She raised her head to look into his eyes, and he was terrified of her next words. If she asked him to stay, to love her, to marry her—he would refuse her nothing. Not when she looked at him like that.

  Her eyes shied from his and she rested her cheek on his chest.

  “I will never ask,” she said quietly. “How strange. I thought I would have to sail over an ocean to feel this alive. There are so many rules and constraints and yet…when I’m with you, the way you make me feel and what I know and all I experience when you’re with me…my life here suddenly seems so limitless.”

  She kissed him above his heart and, like her slave, its answer knocked against his ribs. “You understand, don’t you?”

  Understand? He barely knew his name. If he hadn’t been lying down, he would have dropped.

  She was an avalanche, a tempest at sea, a six-hundred-foot drop. He prided himself on being prepared for every contingency but how did a man prepare for her? She never behaved like he thought she would. No vista he’d seen or terrain he’d crossed had ever frightened, and exhilarated, as much as her.

  Didn’t he avoid what he couldn’t control?

  Aimee was waiting, and he was losing his way. He would stay here forever if he looked too long. He would abandon the return, abandon the only chance to find the child, he couldn’t. He couldn’t stay, she was waiting— “I wish I hadn’t met you.”

  Charlotte inhaled sharply.

  “No”—Christ, what had he said?—“no, I didn’t mean to—”

  She pulled from his clutching arms and stood, but not before she could hide the tears in her eyes.

  He reached for her, but she slipped away.

  She opened the door. In the faint light of dawn, the black woods had turned blue. “The sun is rising.”

  “I didn’t—” But he did mean it. He wished he hadn’t met her, not now. Not when the memory of her would lengthen every minute away from her. “Charlotte?”

  “It’s time to go.”

  “You don’t understand—”

  She shook her head, her eyes sending a warning not to speak. The foreboding look so unlike her, so unbalancing that he staggered, and she swept by him out the door.

  “I’m leaving.” And I would have pursued you, made love to you, done anything to keep you.

  Even if I didn’t deserve you.

  But she didn’t hear his last words, as she’d already started down to the path.

  * * *

  The end of the wood was steps away and Charlotte paced steadily toward it. Behind her, Will followed without sound. The great lawn stretched to the house, bathed in the cold, gray light of dawn. The birds had not yet risen to crack the stillness and no wind disturbed the trees. She might have been all alone in the world.

  And what peace there would be in that.

  Will took her arm, startling her. “Charlotte?”

  His eyes, usually so evasive, were beseeching. And sobering in their remorse.

  All was clear again. She wanted Will—and he wanted to leave. To sail and roam and battle the darkness that clung to him. How could any woman compete with that? With a whole, vast, dangerous world?

  “Will you be all right?” he asked.

  I wish I’d never met you…

  “Of course,” she said softly. She was Charlotte Baker, after all. And she was buoyant and did not take offense and was prone to all sorts of fanciful notions. She added a false smile—which he did not return. “Wait ten minutes and go in through the library terrace. I’ll unlatch the door. No servants should see us.”

  “Charlotte—”

  She pulled out of his hold and ran. The air was mercifully cool on her hot, itching eyes and the grass wet at her ankles. The house loomed mammoth and serene. Windmere…when she was a child, it had been a castle and she a princess on her pony.

  But this was her home, her family, and she would always have them, no matter what she daydreamed.

  She could explain to her family, Hugh would leave, nothing would change. Nothing had changed. Not really.

  Not on the outside.

  Will was never going to stay. He had fascinated her. He had ignited her passion, and for that alone, she must be grateful. She would be grateful, she would.

  Even if this was all the love she would ever have.

  The door for deliveries was open as she expected, and she waited with cocked ear until she was assured no one was about before climbing the back stairs to the hall. The house was quiet. Thank goodness all were still asleep.

  The library door opened soundlessly and she slipped inside—and her heart stopped in her chest. Everyone—Hugh, the earl and countess, Ladies Helen and Hester, Lady Wynston, everyone appeared to have gathered here, and their heads turned at her entrance.

  Hugh stood in the corner of the immense room, his face like stone, and a tide of revulsion nearly buckled her knees. He had not changed his clothes.

  “There you are, child,” Lady Wynston said dryly, her eyes sharpening on Charlotte’s unbound hair, the open buttons at her neck, the darkened hem from running across the dewy grass. “Already taken your exercise? Just as Lord Spencer returns from his ride. And here I thought I kept country hours.”

  “I…you’re awake.” The startled faces crinkled with confusion at her words.

  Bounding steps sounded on the terrace outside, and all heads swiveled to watch the famed explorer, Will Repton, race up the steps and slide to a stop, shirttails flapping and coat unbuttoned.

  Oh no.

  As if they heard her silent groan, all heads swiveled back. It was done. In the quiet, in the hastily lowered lids, in the shared, shocked glances, Charlotte Baker had been accused, tried, and judged.

  Yes, she had been compromised. And rather well, actually.

  All it had cost was her entire heart.

  Twelve

  Will hesitated only a second on the other side of the glass. The surprise on his face hardened to stone, and his eyes latched onto hers with solemn apology. With unshaven chin held high, he marched to the glass doors leading into the library and its gaping audience. Kenneth, the footman, hurried to let him in, but fumbled under Will’s stare.

  Reluctantly, she slid her attention to Hugh, asking her a silent question. The almost imperceptible turn of his head told her he’d not spoken of what had happened.

  “Charlotte,” Hugh began slowly, staring his warning. “Surely you can appreciate we would all be excited over the birth of your nephew last evening. Many of us woke early expressly for that reason. Especially as the servants were up and down the stairs all evening.”

  “My nephew?” Lucy had her baby! “My…my nephew, yes.”

  The terrace door clicked open and her shock and joy was interrupted by the sight of Will stalking toward Hugh, a murderous look on his face.

  “Oh! Mr. Repton!” A half dozen quick steps put her in Will’s path. The man didn’t cease till his hard body knocked into hers.

  Behind her, Hugh stumbled back from Will’s approach, into a chair…the table…another chair. What did Will think he was doing? “Might I have a word?”

  “I have business with Spencer.” Will moved her aside.

  “If you would oblige me?” She gave her sweetest smile but gripped his arm, unbending as steel.

  Will swiveled his glare, like a lion spying more attractive prey.

  “I will not delay you long.” Their eyes locked in battle but Will hadn’t a hope of winning. Despite the intimacy they had shared, the man still could not hold her stare.

  “Please,” she whispered.

  Will grumbled something unintelligible but trudged behind her. The fascinated onlookers stared until she closed the library doors from the hall. Swinging around, she dashed to the stairs, taking the steps two at a time.

  “Where are you going?” Will bellowed, his patience apparently at an end. “You said you needed to speak to me.”

  She stopped short and leaned t
oward him to hiss, “Come here.”

  With stomping steps, he joined her on the stairs.

  She reined in her patience. “I do not want to speak to you. I want you away from Hugh.”

  “Why do you care what happens to—”

  “Oh, honestly! Lucy had her baby last night and I need to go to her right now but I cannot trust you not to harm Hugh, so go to your room.”

  “Go to my room?”

  “Yes. What do you imagine you might do? Start chewing on the man’s head in front of everyone? He is a viscount, for heaven’s sake, and his father an earl. Go to your room or have a bit of breakfast or see to your parents. They must be concerned over your whereabouts.”

  His crossed his arms over his chest, looking undecided as to what to do next—even though she had provided three perfectly acceptable alternatives.

  “Everyone saw us, Charlotte,” he said grimly.

  They had. They had seen. She was ruined. It was over.

  Why, then, was she smiling? “I don’t care.” She shook her head, amazed. “I must be mad, but I don’t—I have a nephew! I mean, another nephew—a new nephew!”

  Will was looking back at the library doors as if nothing would please him better than to rip them from their hinges.

  “Will, please. Promise me you will not go in there. I want to see Lucy.”

  He gripped his temples. “Go to your sister,” he muttered.

  It sounded near enough to a promise for her. With an unladylike squeal, she bounded up the stairs.

  Lucy and Ben’s door was shut and her knock was admirably restrained, when she wanted to shout out loud, laugh, cry. A baby boy! Dear God, let them all be well…

  The door opened and she hurried to kneel at the side of Lucy’s bed. Lucy looked tired, but beautiful and happy. Ben was beside her still dressed in last night’s shirt and trousers. A day’s growth of beard darkened his weary face, but his expression was one of pride. Jacob was sprawled at the foot of the bed, softly snoring, and the baby was in Lucy’s arms.

  “Dearest, are you unwell?” Lucy asked. “They told me you could not be roused from sleep.”