In Search of Scandal (London Explorers #1)

by Susanne Lord

  She had to remain calm, even though the sight of Hugh waiting outside the ladies’ parlor had nearly given her an apoplexy.

  It was obvious he had come for her. Viscount Spencer would not deign to keep company with civil servants or gardeners. From a distance, his suit appeared fine, but her eye was riveted to the top buttons of his shirt, overlooked and undone beneath his cravat. That small carelessness frightened her above all else.

  Will was beyond the door. If she could only get there without angering Hugh.

  “And I am not deserving of a reply?” Hugh followed, crowding her against the wall.

  “Really, there is no need for this display.”

  Hugh gripped her arm, forcing her to stop. “You will listen to me.”

  Alarmed, she darted a glance at the two men who milled at the far end of the corridor. She could cry for help if—

  “Everyone knows Repton is to sail,” Hugh hissed. “You make a fool of yourself, coming here—smiling at him, dancing with him.”

  “Release my arm.” She pulled, but his grip tightened. Lifting her chin, she forced herself to meet his eye but her insides quaked.

  His lips split in a horrible smile. “We will petition for abandonment once he sails. We will contrive some reason for an annulment.” He grabbed her other shoulder. “You will not be reproached for returning to me.”

  “Return to you?”

  “Your marriage has made a fool of me, but you can rectify the situation. You will tell my father the sort of man Repton is. How he persuaded you, ensnared you—”

  “Spencer!”

  Hugh flinched at the roar. Will charged toward them.

  “Take your hands off her!” Will growled.

  Despite the scene they caused, she breathed a sigh of relief. Will looked large and dangerous. And more furious than she’d ever seen him.

  She pulled free of Hugh’s slackening hold and moved to Will’s side. “Please, let us leave.”

  But Will sidestepped her. “What the hell are you doing here, Spencer?”

  Hugh smiled, arrogant as ever. “I wonder that myself. Is this the new society Charlotte is to keep? This drab middle class? Is this the best you can do?”

  She narrowed her eyes at Hugh. “Oh, honestly!”

  Will’s eyes were cold and pale as a glacier. “If you care at all for Charlotte’s reputation, you’ll leave her alone.”

  “You caution me to have a care? I will be the sixth Earl of Harlowe—”

  “She is my wife.”

  “And that means you aim to stay?”

  “She is my wife!”

  “Yes, your wife,” Hugh sneered. “Shall we indulge the truth for a moment? You wanted her from the start. I saw how you looked at her.”

  “Shut your mouth,” Will growled.

  “I saw how you contrived to force this union, following us in the wood, all in service to your lust. You’ll stay only as long as it takes to slake it.”

  “Enough, Hugh,” she said.

  To her shock, Hugh reached for her. “You mustn’t get with child, Charlotte. Precautions can be taken—”

  But the rest of his words were lost. With a roar, Will rammed Hugh into the wall.

  Hugh grunted with the blow but stared defiantly at Will. “Will you defile her utterly, then? No man of honor will have her if she carries your babe—”

  Will slammed him again. “Leave her alone!”

  “We were nearly married. Do you honestly think you will keep us apart?”

  “She’ll never go back to you. Stay away from her!”

  Charlotte’s heart pounded in her throat. Will’s white-knuckle fists appeared to tighten and twist beneath Hugh’s chin and small, choked sounds gurgled from his throat. Hugh was turning blue. “Will, stop.”

  But Will didn’t stop. “Stay away from her.” The words rumbled from deep in his chest. “Touch her again and I swear…I’ll skin you alive.” He leaned close to deliver the rest, thinking she would not hear.

  But she did hear. Every chilling word.

  “And it can be done, Spencer. I’ve seen it.”

  Hugh recoiled, his hands scrabbling frantically, but he couldn’t break Will’s grip.

  “Will, please.” She stepped closer, terrified by the sight of Hugh’s sagging lids and his purple skin.

  Hugh flailed helplessly, but lifted a defiant chin. “Christ, you…you are a savage. You’re mad.” His voice was hoarse, strangled. “Think…before you…threaten a peer.”

  “I’m thinking plenty,” Will growled.

  The men glared, nose to nose. She could not allow this. Hugh was right—he was a peer and untouchable. She grabbed Will’s wrist and tried to pull him away, but it was like trying to pull a steamship. “Put him down.”

  He didn’t listen, and when Hugh worked his lips into a smug smile, there was no time left. She swung in front of Will, hooked her arms about his neck, and surprised him into looking at her.

  “Damn it, Charlotte!” But he shoved Hugh away instantly, his arms circling her protectively to move her back. “What are you doing?”

  “You will not come to blows!” Her voice cracked and her body quaked against his.

  His eyes darkened with annoyance and a blatant question: why the hell not?

  She hissed her whisper into his ear. “He is a viscount.” And he will have you arrested and jailed and I could not bear it.

  His eyes narrowed at Hugh, then her, then his glare buckled with frustration. “Fine.” He gritted the word between his teeth, grabbed her hand, and stormed down the hall, pulling her with him.

  Even with his limping stride, she had to run to keep up. “Might we slow down?”

  Will turned down an empty corridor.

  “This is not the way to the party.” Her words triggered a scowl. Perhaps it was best not to question his direction at the moment. But really, this was too unfair. He was not the only one upset. She was shaken herself. Will might have been hurt.

  Though, to be honest, she was not feeling all that fragile anymore. This unexpected exercise was quickly reviving her.

  Still, it was unkind to ignore her. Brooding silences were all well and good for the heroes in her novels, but she was of an opinion they should not be encouraged in reality. And Will was all too prone to brood.

  “Thank goodness you came.” Her words were breathless in her undignified trot. “I am speechless at Lord Spencer’s behavior. He had the cheek to try to persuade me of how sorely I abused him, which is, of course, utterly absurd. Men can act so irrationally when their pride is pricked.”

  There. She said it. Will could go ahead and paint himself with the same brush.

  Will stopped to try a closed door—locked. Then another, also locked, so he continued their march.

  “Though I commend you for refraining from violence, especially as we know you could beat him handily.” She pressed against the stitch in her side. “Still, I would not like it. I would find it impossible to suppress an anxiety for your safety. Who knows what tricks that man might play on you?”

  Will tried another door, which opened, and evidently satisfied by its dim confines, he dropped her hand—which felt a bit like a punishment—and stepped aside mutely till she entered.

  The room was cluttered with bookshelves and cabinets, but that was all she noted before Will shut the door, extinguishing the light from the hall. From the windows, the lamplight of the Strand cast their amber glow.

  Will rounded on her. “Did he hurt you?”

  His voice was strained and instinctively she stepped closer. “Not at all.”

  Her dream husband would rush to hold her and murmur tender assurances in her ear. Leaning forward, she relaxed and waited to be caught up in his embrace.

  And waited.

  Will circled her, squinting to examine her and assess the truth of her denial. Appearing annoyed that she hadn’t been battered, maimed, or murdered, he planted his feet wide and pointed a stern finger at her. “First of all, never place yourself between
a man’s fist and its target. Second, I don’t give a damn that he’s a viscount. And third, you’re never to be alone with him again!”

  Her mouth plopped open. “I was not alone with him.” She rethought that. “Not on purpose. And why are you scolding me?”

  “Because he’s dangerous. He maneuvered you away from anyone who could help you.”

  “I was coming from the ladies’ lounge. Besides”—she crossed her arms, and tried a lie—“I am not afraid of him.”

  His eyes narrowed, but before she could offer further evidence of her blamelessness, hard arms banded around her and swept her into a dizzying turn. When she regained her bearings, her back was against the door and she couldn’t move. His arms, legs, his entire body, imprisoned hers.

  And cocooned in his strong hold…she melted. She was safe. And warm. And his lips were enticingly close.

  Which made his next words hugely disappointing.

  “Try to escape me.”

  She blinked. “Why?”

  “Because you should be afraid.” In the dark, the pupils of his blue eyes were wide, and a heated flush had crept onto his cheeks. The sight ignited something in her. He gave her a small shake. “Try, Charlotte.”

  “No. I don’t want to.”

  His voice dropped to a growl. “So I could do whatever I want? Kiss you? Touch you? Lift your skirts right here and—”

  “And what?” She was agreeable to any of those suggestions, actually.

  He turned his head, swearing under his breath.

  The poor man was truly worried. She should not tease him. He had already been denied a bout of fisticuffs and now she would not even oblige him with a quarrel.

  “This is a fruitless exercise, you know,” she said gently. She pulled her hand free to smooth a lock of hair at his temple and essayed a smile against his deepening frown. “Why would I want to escape you?”

  He caught her fingers where they played in his hair and shut his eyes. Her heart sank in an all-too-familiar way. Will did not like her to tease or tread too close. She prepared to be put away from him.

  But the hand at her waist cinched tight and the other cradled her head. And then she was pinned against the door with his kiss. He angled deep, deeper, demanding an impenetrable seal. Gruff sounds of satisfaction rumbled in Will’s throat and she shuddered with pleasure to each one. She didn’t try to lessen the force of his mouth, though his whiskers scraped the corners of her lips.

  Please. Let this last. His kisses were always too brief.

  A familiar, feminine ache blossomed at the core of her and unfurled its petals around her. The tingling demanded more, so much more, but her petticoats allowed no feeling. She strained closer. “My dress…”

  He seemed to understand from the frustration in her voice. To her amazement, he scooped her bottom high so her hips rode his and latched his heated mouth to her neck. Her blood simmered where his lips met skin. It wasn’t enough, it was never enough. Arms freed, she clung to his body. Pressed against him so relentlessly she could barely draw breath. Inside, though, she quaked with a violence.

  Please…please let this last.

  How did he do it? Other men were handsome and protective and strong. But Will was the man she needed, the man she craved. Every kiss, every touch and look, stirred her desire. Even after these weeks of quiet evenings, the friendly conversation, the meals shared, she never dreamed her passion would be this steadfast.

  His heated mouth was everywhere, but she was too dazed to chase his lips. She could feel him, erect and strong, where she desired him most. Will’s hand was beneath her skirt, beneath her crinoline, his fingers hot and strong where he gripped and squeezed her bottom.

  Fused against him in the dark room, her senses narrowed to sound and feeling. The hard muscles of his back flexing beneath her arms. The groans and wet sounds of his mouth laving her skin. The leather soles of his boots scuffing the wood floors with every desperate press of his body for purchase. Her head spun with the erotic sounds until—

  “There’s no one in these rooms.” A grumbling voice sounded in the hall. “We locked every door.”

  Her startled gasp was stifled by Will’s hand. The warm palm was calloused and strong. And arousing. Never in her wildest fantasies…she shivered with desire and he gripped tighter.

  “It’s all right,” Will whispered in her ear.

  Oh yes. This was very all right. Trembling uncontrollably, she submitted to her lovely captivity.

  A second man’s voice came nearer. “Why should he care if some randy couple stole away for a bit o’ fun?” Across the hall, a doorknob was tested, rattling but not turning. “See? All locked.”

  In a flash of movement, Will held the door handle still as the stranger in the hall gave it a jiggle.

  “Come on, then,” the second voice said. “Let’s report to his bleedin’ lordship that our curiosity, in respect to these two lovers, is satisfied. Bloody aristos. Think every man’s at their beck and call.”

  The voices faded, leaving Will and Charlotte panting in the muffled quiet of the room.

  Will’s arms loosened and she sank against his hard shoulder. Bloody aristos, indeed. Hugh had sent those men and interrupted the most promising kiss Will had given her in weeks.

  He eased away and her slippers touched ground. No…no no no, please. She clutched at his coat but he pulled away.

  “What the hell am I doing?” Will muttered.

  The self-contempt in his voice sobered her. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness. Will stood, feet planted wide, hands on his hips, chest laboring and an aggressive bulge straining the fall of his trousers. Desire flooded her anew at the sight.

  Will stalked to the end of the room. “Spencer sent them.”

  There was no question. Besides the Lord Mayor, there were no titled men in attendance.

  Will shook his head. “I knew Spencer would be jealous, but this…”

  What could she say? Hugh was loathsome…but she had encouraged him for months. Was she a little responsible for his behavior now?

  “Spencer means to have you back,” he said.

  “I suppose he does,” she murmured, distracted by the irrationality of that.

  He ground to a halt, weighing her with a baffled stare. “You suppose?”

  Confused, it took her a moment to reply. “What? What more would you have me do?”

  “I’d have you nowhere near that bastard!”

  “And I would have you—” She blinked at the hot tears threatening to form. Oh, bother it all! She could never argue without crying.

  “What?”

  Her throat squeezed tight. No doubt exasperating Will further with her. “I should like to go home. You have quite spoiled the evening for me.”

  “I have?”

  “Please call the carriage. I must make my excuses.”

  He spun from her with a low curse.

  Uncertain what to do or say, she waited. Surely he would apologize, wouldn’t he? A husband should not bully his wife as if she were wayward child. Or curse in front of her. Ben never spoke to Lucy like this.

  Her heart hurt. And at the moment, she missed her sister terribly. Lucy would know what to do.

  Will rubbed his temple, a habit of his when he was weary. “We don’t have to leave, Charlotte. You’ve only danced once.”

  He even sounded weary. Because of her.

  “I do not care to dance anymore,” she said miserably.

  “Fine.”

  The growled word made her jump. He lunged at the door, flinging it wide and signaling her to precede him through it. “But don’t think we’re done discussing this.”

  Nineteen

  They sure as hell weren’t done discussing Spencer. Will drummed his fingers on the carriage, waiting as ever-graceful Charlotte slipped inside, her skirts slithering in behind her. She’d climbed in unassisted, ignoring his proffered hand.

  With that betrayal he was tempted to slam the door and send her home alone. A hackney could deliver hi
m to Spencer’s house in a half hour—

  From within the carriage, Charlotte drew the blind, pointedly avoiding his eye. God damn the man for starting all this.

  A small crowd had followed them out of the assembly to bid them farewell and gape at his glamorous wife. Damn it all, there’d be no separate cab tonight.

  He heaved himself into the seat opposite hers, the vehicle rocking with his weight. With a slap of the roof to signal the driver, he got on with the business of their so-called “discussion.” Hardly the word for it, as it was one-sided. The woman chose this moment, in the entirety of their acquaintance, to hold her tongue.

  “What did I do, Charlotte?” He angled his head, trying to catch her eye. “I only want you to be safe.”

  She twisted her head farther toward the window.

  “You’ll not go anywhere without my escort,” he said. “Not until I figure out what to do with him.”

  Her bottom lip pouted, inconveniently diverting his attention to her pretty mouth.

  “Charlotte?”

  Silence.

  Fine. He flopped back in his seat. In the close, swaying confines of the carriage, he let his knee jostle hers. “Aren’t you going to say anything?”

  “I have been to Somerset House many times—for art exhibits mostly—but never in those rooms. I thought them well-equipped for tonight’s assembly. Though my dress shows to better advantage by candlelight.”

  He bit back a curse. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

  She shifted so their legs didn’t touch. “And you know I dislike to argue. You are my husband so you should not bait me.”

  “I’m trying to talk to you.”

  “You yelled at me.”

  “I wasn’t—damn it, I was worried about you!”

  “You are yelling again.”

  He dropped his head into his hands and nearly into her lap. Spencer wanted her, was certain she’d return to him. He sure as hell wouldn’t let that happen. But how far would Spencer go?

  But she was right. He had to learn to control his anger or they’d never get this problem sorted.

  And damn him, his temper wasn’t the only thing he couldn’t control. He’d been seconds away from freeing his cock and sliding into her lush, perfumed body right there against the wall. If those men hadn’t come, he would have. It was getting harder to resist her.