It Takes a Scandal

by Caroline Linden

  This time Sebastian didn’t protest. He shoved down the loosened shift and cupped his hands over her breasts, first lightly, then firmly, drawing her solidly against him. A shudder ran through him. “Abigail,” he whispered, his voice raw with longing.

  She twisted in his arms. “I love you,” she breathed, stretching up to kiss him.

  He returned the kiss with fervor. With one arm, he held her tightly to him. With the other hand, he made short work of her stays’ lacing. Barely taking his mouth from hers, he divested her of one piece of clothing after another.

  Her heart raced. With each layer of fabric that came off, her flesh seemed to grow more tender, more sensitive. By the time she was left in just her shift and stockings, she felt feverish, burning on the inside while shivers rippled over her skin as if a chill wind blew on her. She reached for him instinctively.

  “Cold?” He folded her into his arms even as he continued nuzzling her ear.

  “Not really.” She slid her hands up his chest, feeling the hard thump of his heart, and toyed with the end of his cravat. “I’ve never seen a man’s bare chest before . . .”

  He paused. “Would you like to?”

  Her face warmed, but Abigail nodded. Without a word Sebastian shrugged out of his coat and yanked loose the knot of his cravat. Feeling very brazen and bold, Abigail began undoing the buttons of his waistcoat, and within minutes it was on the floor, along with the long crumpled cravat. Taking one more long look at her, he undid the button at his throat and pulled the shirt over his head.

  “Oh my,” whispered Abigail, transfixed. His chest was a shade paler than his face, with a light sprinkling of dark hair. He was lean, but sculpted with muscles like she’d seen on statues. Her gaze caught on his arm as he tossed the shirt aside. Goodness, he looked so strong without the shirt, and her fingers itched to touch him. “You’re beautiful,” she said helplessly. “Not a wreck of a man at all . . .”

  “You haven’t seen my knee yet. But I truly was wrecked.” He took her hand and laid it on his breastbone, right over his heart. “Until you salvaged me up and brought me back to life.”

  “I did no such thing,” she said in a low voice. “You had locked yourself away, and you were the one who decided to cast off your solitude.”

  “But only because of you, darling,” he replied. “Only you could have lured me. I don’t mean you gave me life; you made me want to live. I cannot tell you what vibrancy and happiness you breathed into me, whereas I have nothing to offer you—­”

  “Stop.” She laid her palms on his chest, marveling at how warm he was. “You understand me. We’re alike, you and I—­if I were in your place, I would have reacted much the same way you did, to all the injustices you endured. We are both inclined to be solitary creatures, and yet we both want someone at our side. Someone who will appreciate a long-­lost grotto, or a treasured book.” She darted a glance up at him through her eyelashes. “Someone who understands our improper curiosities and desires . . .”

  The muscles under her hands tensed. His eyes reflected the fire. “Indeed.” He wound one finger in the trailing ribbon from her shift. “My only desire is to show you every wicked sort of pleasure you crave.” The shift slipped off her shoulders at his gentle but relentless pull.

  “How do you know I crave wicked pleasures?” She backed up, stepping out of the fallen shift. He raised one brow, and she blushed. “I’m not Lady Constance, you know.”

  “I know.” He caught her in his arms. “You want love, as well as wicked pleasures.” He kissed her, and Abigail thought she would melt from the heady combination of love and passion in that kiss. His tongue played over hers, teasing, demanding, seducing. She barely noticed when he lifted her off the floor and carried her to the bed.

  A riot of images and words passed through her brain as he laid her on the mattress and stripped off his trousers and boots. Then she looked at him, as bare as she was now, and everything vanished from her head. He was beautiful—­his chest and arms taut with muscle, his legs lean and strong. A white bandage circled his left knee, but he diverted her attention from it by leaning over her for another kiss. This time his tongue thrust into her mouth, and Abigail moaned, realizing it was an imitation of things to come.

  He moved onto the bed, lowering himself above her. One hand tangled in her hair as he kissed her, harder and more demanding. She moved beneath him, writhing restlessly as he cupped her breast, his thumb teasing her nipple to aching readiness. There seemed no good place to put her hands, so she simply wound her arms around his neck and held on, reveling in the drowning delight of his kiss. When he turned his head away, she protested.

  “I’ve only begun,” he rasped, sliding his weight down her. “Let me kiss you everywhere . . .”

  She could only make an incoherent sound of assent as he applied his lips to her sensitized nipples. His fingers wandered all over her skin, from the notch at the base of her throat down her ribs and across her hip. As he had done in the woods, Sebastian held her as he wanted her; when she made to clasp his head to her bosom, he spread her arms wide and ravished her breasts until she was whimpering for release. She didn’t even notice that he’d eased her legs apart until he slid farther down, nestling his chest between her knees. Ignoring her gasp of shock, he boldly ran his fingers down her cleft, opening her to his gaze.

  Abigail raised her head, blushing with discomfort even as her body seemed to swell and ignite with heat. The taut hunger in Sebastian’s eyes quelled her urge to speak, though, and she only watched him in rapt silence as he dipped his head and pressed a lingering kiss there.

  “So soft,” he whispered, stroking her lightly. “So lovely.” He circled and caressed, just as he’d done in the woods, and Abigail’s hips moved on their own. A dark smile of satisfaction touched his lips. “So passionate.” He pushed one finger inside her, and her belly contracted. Abigail gulped for breath, dazed and mesmerized. He glanced up and met her gaze, then slowly he pushed another finger inside her.

  She fell back on the pillows, her spine flexing of its own accord. Leisurely he slid his fingers in and out, teasing that spot of intense feeling without pause. She gripped the bedclothes; her wits scattered. A storm was gathering inside her, a feverish anxiety for release. Her legs twitched and trembled, and when Sebastian lowered his mouth again, licking and swirling his tongue where his fingers had wrought such frenzy, she almost screamed.

  “God, Abigail . . .” He rose up on his knees and settled her legs around his waist. “I don’t want to hurt you . . .”

  She thrashed her head from side to side. “Don’t stop!”

  He shuddered and shifted, and then she felt him press against her. He stroked her again, and she jerked in response, forcing him deeper. Abigail’s imagination ran wild, picturing his flesh parting hers, their bodies melding into each other, the twain becoming one. Sebastian sucked in his breath and pushed again. She barely felt the sting as he thrust home.

  “I know,” he said in a strangled voice. “Just . . . Let me . . .” He grasped her hips as he began rocking back and forth, tiny, sharp motions than made her moan. “Like that . . .” He sounded as breathless and tense as she felt. His fingers settled on that spot again, and stroked in time with his thrusts.

  The end came abruptly, a sudden rush of heat through her veins. It wasn’t her first climax—­he had brought her to one that day in the woods—­but Abigail had never felt anything like this one. The blood roared in her ears; the fullness of him lodged inside her seemed to amplify the waves of release pounding through her veins. She came with a cry, clutching for him, wanting him to feel the same unbearable pleasure.

  “Yes,” he panted, holding her hips against him. “Abby . . . darling . . .” He toppled forward, falling to his elbows. This time when he thrust, her eyes flew open. His head was thrown back, his teeth gritted. Slowly he pulled his hips back, then drove forward, the very picture of a man caught
in ecstasy. Abigail managed to get her arm around his waist before he moved again, and again, before he rested his forehead against hers and gasped and shuddered. Dimly she felt him pulse inside her—­although her entire body seemed to be pulsing at the moment—­and then finally go still.

  “That’s . . . That’s the way I want passion,” she managed to say. Her muscles still quivered.

  Sebastian’s fierce expression melted away, and a lazy smile curved his mouth. “You shall have it that way as often as you desire.”

  She giggled and hugged him close. He kissed her, then turned onto his side, taking her with him. With his head on her shoulder and his arms around her, Abigail had never in her life felt so contented. “I love you,” she whispered, brimming with happiness.

  His lips touched her brow. “I adore you.”

  “I think Constance wants both, too,” she whispered, idly running her fingers through his hair.

  He didn’t stir. “Hmm?”

  “Love and passion,” she clarified. “She’s always in search of something—­adventure, variety, excitement—­but she’d never truly satisfied with what she finds, even when she declares it surpassed all her hopes. Her lovers please her, but none of them touch her heart.”

  “She seems more in pursuit of passion than love.” He shifted, settling himself more comfortably around her. Abigail nestled into his embrace.

  “Perhaps.” She stared up at the shadows of flames flickering on the ceiling. “I suppose it’s easier to find.”

  Sebastian was quiet for a moment, then he raised himself up on one elbow. “It is, but passion alone is rarely enough. Perhaps Lady Constance is too quick to accept the momentary passions offered to her—­although I expect that’s what makes her stories so alluring to young ladies.” She gasped in mock affront. He grinned, the gleam of his teeth barely visible. “Isn’t that why you read them?”

  “Well—­somewhat,” she allowed. He nodded and made a self-­satisfied sound in his throat, and she swatted his shoulder. “It’s impossible for a man to understand. Young ladies aren’t supposed to know anything about passion, or pleasure. It’s wicked for a girl to wish a man would kiss her, but the man is expected to have a vast experience of passion so he can teach his wife. But . . . it doesn’t always happen that way, does it? There are a great many unhappy marriages in London. Young ladies aren’t the only ones who read Constance’s stories.”

  “I don’t intend to miss one from now on.”

  She laughed. “Because you’re also in search of passion?”

  “No.” He eased back down beside her, laying his head on her shoulder. “I’ve found both love and passion. I intend to purchase a subscription because the stories delight and arouse the wanton woman I plan to marry, and her pleasure is my pleasure.”

  Abigail blushed but didn’t deny it. “That’s why I think Constance wants love. Passion alone is arousing, but without love, it’s only fleeting.”

  “I hope she finds it,” mumbled Sebastian. “It’s the bloody best feeling in the world.” His arms tightened around her for a moment before she felt him relax into sleep.

  “I hope so, too,” she whispered, feeling unspeakably benevolent toward all of humanity. She brushed her lips against Sebastian’s forehead once more, then slept.

  Chapter 23

  He came awake with a jerk, lurching upright in bed. For a moment his heart thudded painfully; what had woken him?

  A soft noise brought him back to his senses. He looked down, hardly daring to believe it was true. Abigail was still here, still in his bed, still gloriously bare except for the linens and blankets. He could see one slim shoulder peeking out, and reverently Sebastian folded the blanket over it. God, she was beautiful. He would be content to lie here all day just looking at her . . .

  A muffled pounding interrupted his thoughts. This time he recognized it. Someone was hammering on the front door, and he had a terrible suspicion who. Reluctantly he slid from the bed and pulled on his clothes.

  Abigail stirred. “What is it?” she whispered without opening her eyes.

  Sebastian tucked his shirt into his trousers and reached for his boots. “I believe your father is attempting to break down my door.” She frowned as if she didn’t understand his words. “Wake up, darling.” He leaned down and kissed her shoulder, bare once more. “Abigail.”

  She took a deep breath before opening her eyes and blinking up at him. Sebastian’s heart seemed to swell. “He’s not going to be pleased.”

  He almost laughed. “Probably not,” Sebastian agreed, but still smiling. He couldn’t seem to stop, even though he was possibly about to be shot.

  Abigail gave a gusty sigh and threw off the blankets. “I’d better go talk to him.”

  “I’ll speak to him,” murmured Sebastian, although he made no move to go. Abigail was walking around his bedchamber, completely naked, and he didn’t think he could look away to save his life.

  She pulled her chemise over her head and tied it. “I know how he gets. Papa likes to be in control, and he gets very annoyed whenever someone outmaneuvers him.” She began fussing with her stays.

  Sebastian limped around the bed to help her. “I daresay he’ll be more than annoyed this morning. He did tell me quite firmly that I couldn’t have you.”

  She turned in his arms. “But—­”

  “But I don’t intend to be denied again.” He kissed her. “You’re mine now.”

  Her smile was glorious. “And you’re mine.” She stepped back and reached for her dress. “Papa will come around. He always does. Don’t be put off by his bluster.”

  Sebastian laughed. The pounding on the door had woken Boris, and his deep barking echoed through the house. “I can face anything for you, my love.”

  His cane was missing, no doubt still lying in the grass where he’d dropped it to catch Abigail. He barely felt the pain in his knee as he limped downstairs, though. Boris calmed down a little at his approach, and Sebastian ordered him up the stairs before opening the door. Sure enough, Thomas Weston stood on his doorstep looking like a man bent on murder. “Is my daughter here?”

  Sebastian tensed unconsciously. “Yes.”

  “Prove it.”

  “I’m here, Papa.” Abigail stepped close to his side. Her gown was buttoned slightly awry, and her hair streamed down her back in loose waves, but her voice was clear and calm. She slipped her hand into his. “Won’t you come in?”

  “I will not.” He glared at Sebastian again. “I thought better of you than this, Vane.”

  “If you’re angry at him because I’m here, you mustn’t be,” replied Abigail. “He had no idea.”

  “But he bloody well took advantage, didn’t he?” growled her father.

  “I meant only to take my leave of her, after we spoke yesterday,” Sebastian said evenly. “Her sister directed me to the garden, but she wasn’t there. The storm was about to break, and I feared she might have gone into the woods, which aren’t safe in the rain. I came here to get a lantern and search—­”

  “And he found me.” She gazed up at him almost in wonder, her eyes glowing with happiness. Sebastian was helpless against that look. “Papa, I came here on my own. But I was wrong to worry you, and should have left a note.”

  Weston seemed deprived of speech. He closed his eyes, ran one hand over his face, and exhaled as if the motion physically pained him. “That’s all you can apologize for, not leaving a note?”

  “I apologize as well, sir.” Sebastian pressed her hand as she started to speak. “I should have sent word that she was safe.”

  “You should have sent her home!” Weston pointed at his daughter. “You. Come here. I want a word with you.”

  Abigail meshed her fingers more firmly with Sebastian’s. “You can speak to me in front of Sebastian. I have nothing to hide from him.”

  “No?” He raised one brow. “A
nd can he say the same? Did he tell you he called on me yesterday? And that I explicitly told him my answer was no?” His wrathful gaze turned back on Sebastian. “Or perhaps he forgot.”

  “I told him my answer was yes,” she retorted.

  “Abigail—­”

  “Papa, I am not going to marry Lord Atherton,” she went on. Her voice was still firm, but Sebastian could feel her hand tremble in his. “He asked me yesterday, and I told him I couldn’t.”

  “And would you give that same reply if this scoundrel hadn’t been waiting in the wings?”

  Sebastian’s temper stirred. He hadn’t been waiting; he’d been trying to make his best effort to persuade Weston. Asking for a man’s daughter in marriage simply because he wanted her with a raw, ungovernable passion hadn’t seemed like a winning strategy, so he’d shored up his finances, forced himself to rejoin society, and restrained himself from making love to Abigail. Well—­until last night. And now he’d discover if that had been a brilliant checkmate or a fatal error.

  But he sensed the man was acting out of true paternal concern, so he said nothing. Abigail, though, colored up like a rose. “I am going to marry this scoundrel,” she snapped at her father, “and you’d better not even think of blustering about it! I wouldn’t have married Lord Atherton in any event because I just don’t want to spend the rest of my days with him.”

  Weston didn’t move for a moment. “Very well. So be it. I won’t make you marry the man. But I will keep you from marrying this one.”

  “Now, Papa,” Abigail began, but her father didn’t let her.

  “Perhaps I’ve indulged you too much, Abigail. I promised to show consideration for your wishes and desires. But I did my own investigation, unblinded by infatuation, and I cannot allow it.”

  “Why not?” she cried. “What good reason do you have?”

  Weston’s face turned dull red. His eyes glittered with fury as he shot one more glare at Sebastian. “He’s a thief, my dear. Lord Stratford told me in confidence. He stole four thousand guineas from the earl, after threatening to make Stratford suffer because of a piece of property his lordship had bought from Michael Vane. And now, when he has a chance at an heiress, he’s miraculously ‘inherited’ four thousand pounds.”