His Scandal

by Gayle Callen

  “I already have a sense of humor,” Willoughby said mildly, “though I admit to not always using it. But I am not here to have you rebuild me in your image, Alex.”

  Instead of being offended, Alex found himself rather impressed. “Nicely done. I think we can make this work. Now, my lady, you mentioned food?”

  Emmeline looked between them with obvious confusion, then she shrugged and turned toward the dining chamber. Alex stepped quickly to walk at her side, and found that Willoughby was already on her other side. Damn, the man wasn’t as foolish as Alex had surmised. Together, they led Emmeline into the next room.

  Alex let the lessons go as he studied Willoughby’s ease of conversation with Emmeline. There hardly seemed to be a problem in this area, so did she want Willoughby to be more confident in other areas? He couldn’t stop his thoughts from dwelling darkly on this, and didn’t realize the others were looking at him.

  “Alex?” Emmeline said.

  He glanced at her. “Yes?”

  “You’ve hardly eaten a thing. Is something wrong?”

  He smiled. “I just broke my fast at a late hour this morn, my lady. Do forgive my lack of appetite. Max, are you ready to begin?”

  They returned to the parlor, and with amusement, he watched Emmeline nervously look out into the hallway. She didn’t quite have the nerve to shut the doors, though.

  “Emmeline, don’t hide yourself in a corner,” Alex said, trying not to laugh. “Do come here with Max and me. You’ll be an integral part of our lessons.”

  “Me?” she managed, coming toward them.

  He couldn’t help taking in the whole lovely picture she made, from her hair pulled up tight beneath her French headdress, down to her corseted waist, which only made her full breasts and curvaceous hips all the more appealing. When she looked like that, he could not imagine why another man had not snatched her up in a mouthful.

  But not Willoughby, of course.

  “Yes, Emmeline,” he continued, “it will be impossible for me to show Max the lessons I’m trying to teach without someone to demonstrate on.”

  He watched with satisfaction as the scarlet coloring began in her cheeks and traveled all the way down her neck to disappear under her ruff.

  “What an improper suggestion!”

  Willoughby looked between them in a bemused fashion.

  “Lady Emmeline,” Alex said, as if affronted, “surely you misunderstand me. I will teach no lessons I think improper for public viewing. Did you expect such a thing of me?”

  “No!” she replied too quickly.

  He saw the glance she shot at Willoughby, and his gut tightened. So she didn’t want her latest conquest to know she was attracted to Alex?

  “Max, let’s pretend that Emmeline is a lady I’ve just been introduced to.”

  He swept into a deep bow before her, extending one leg. She gave a quick curtsy, then Alex caught her hand.

  “While still bowing,” he continued, “reach for her hand and kiss it. Linger for a bit.”

  Alex brought Emmeline’s hand to his lips and held it there.

  Willoughby cleared his throat. “Surely bowing is enough?”

  Though she tugged, Alex didn’t release her, and spoke against her sweet-smelling skin. “A kiss, Max,” he murmured, pleased to feel her tremble. “And linger. Even meet her eyes again.”

  He looked up her arm and found her gazing at him wide-eyed.

  “Emmeline, does this work?” he asked, lifting his head ever so slightly, letting his breath warm her hand. Her hesitation fed his victory.

  “I—I suppose ’twould not be too improper.”

  He released her and stepped back. “Your turn, Max.”

  Emmeline gathered her composure as she watched Maxwell take her hand. He kissed it, even lingered, but…it was not the same. Over his head she looked up at Alex, who was staring at her in obvious triumph. Oh, why did he have to know that his kiss affected her more than Maxwell’s?

  Maxwell released her and stepped back. “What if a woman does not freely give me her hand?”

  Emmeline knew he was imagining Blythe’s rejection.

  “Then you take it,” Alex said. “A woman does not always know what is best for her.”

  Glaring, she fisted her hands on her hips. “I beg your pardon?”

  He held up both hands and laughed. “Perhaps my choice of words was poor. Let us say, ‘A woman does not always know her own mind.’”

  She shook her head.

  “‘A woman does not always know how she feels about you until you show her’?” he asked, his voice softening.

  Emmeline swallowed heavily. “Still not accurate, but not so insulting.”

  “Thank you, my lady.”

  “Shall we move on to another topic?” she asked, knowing Maxwell watched them with curious eyes.

  Alex studied her thoughtfully, his brow furrowed, and even had the audacity to walk about, perusing her from all sides.

  “What are you doing?” she finally demanded.

  “Deciding what to teach next. My lady, it is not as if I ever deliberately think of the way I relate to a woman. It comes very naturally to me.”

  Emmeline suppressed an unladylike snort.

  He held up a hand. “I have it! Max, it’s often about how you look at a woman, as well as what you say. A woman wants to know she’s the center of your thoughts—at the moment, anyway—and she should be able to read that on your face. Look deeply into her eyes and don’t look away. Emmeline?”

  He caught up her hand again, pressing his lips to the back of it.

  “You already demonstrated this,” she said tightly.

  “We must reinforce the lesson,” he murmured, then looked up at her with laughing eyes.

  But the laughter died and he stared at her as he slowly straightened to his full height. She looked into those black, mysterious depths, transfixed by the intensity and the banked emotion he usually kept hidden.

  Then it was all suddenly gone, as if it had never existed.

  He grinned at a wide-eyed Maxwell. “Do you see what I mean?”

  Emmeline felt like slumping into a chair, as if she were a puppet with her strings cut.

  Maxwell shook his head. “I could hardly stare in silence at a woman, Alex. I’d be laughed out of the room.”

  “I admit, there’s a trick to knowing exactly how long is enough. But you could be complimenting the style of her gown meanwhile, or the color of her eyes. Women love compliments, don’t they, Emmeline?”

  “Uh…of course, provided it’s tastefully done and not to the extreme.”

  “Just don’t look away, Max,” Alex said.

  “What if the women looks away first?” Maxwell asked.

  “Then use the tone of your voice and your compliments to woo her attention. Practice the things you’ll say. Ask her what she enjoys. Don’t brag about yourself, unless she asks you first. Now, would you like to practice on Emmeline?”

  Maxwell wiped a hand across his face and gave a tired sigh. “Before I make a fool of myself, I think I need to practice in private. Thank you for your help, Alex.”

  “That can’t be all,” she said quickly. “Aren’t there more things to tell Maxwell about?”

  “I did have a few others in mind,” Alex said.

  “Then could we meet another time?” Maxwell asked. “I have an appointment with a vintner who wishes to sample my wine.”

  Emmeline handed him his hat and gloves. “If we meet two days from now, will that give you enough time?”

  She almost felt sorry for him as he sighed—but not quite. She was doing this for his benefit, after all.

  “Lady Emmeline, you have been too kind. I cannot ask—”

  “But you can, and I insist. Noon again, on Monday? Our cook will make another wonderful dinner.”

  He finally smiled at her. “You are persuasive, my lady. I shall be here.” He turned to look at Alex. “And thank you for playing the tutor so well. Would you care to ride into town wi
th me?”

  To Emmeline’s surprise, Alex shook his head. “No, I have to discuss our next lessons with my assistant. A good day to you.”

  Maxwell gave Alex a speculative look, nodded politely to Emmeline, and left the room. She kept her back to Alex, wishing she could have begged Maxwell to stay. But then she would have had to admit she didn’t want to be alone with Alex.

  Chapter 20

  Emmeline was not about to play the coward. Straightening her shoulders, she turned around and confronted Alex.

  “More of your secret tricks?” she asked coolly.

  “They aren’t tricks, Em,” he said softly. “I’m not lying when I tell a woman she interests me, or show it with my attention to her. Women fascinate me—you fascinate me.”

  What could she say to that? When he acted serious, it played havoc with her emotional control. She wanted to run into his arms, to ask why she couldn’t be the only woman who fascinated him.

  “I haven’t forgotten our wager,” he said. “Now do you believe I can make Max a sought-after gentleman?”

  “I know you’ll try, especially if there’s money involved.” He walked closer, until she was forced to back up step by step.

  “I already told you, I don’t want money.”

  Her back hit the paneled wall. “Then what do you want?”

  She made herself ask it boldly, even as he braced his hands on either side of her shoulders, trapping her. Her breath shuddered in and out of her lungs, and heat shot from her breasts deep into her belly.

  “I want a kiss,” he whispered, leaning his head down, and his black hair fell about his cheekbones.

  “Why do you keep wanting to kiss me?”

  “Because I like it—I like you. You arouse me, Em.”

  She closed her eyes, pressing her hands against the wall instead of his chest. “Surely other women arouse you,” she said, hating how her voice shook.

  “Yes, but since I met you, I—”

  With what sounded like a moan, he closed the last inches between them and kissed her. His body pressed hers into the wall, his mouth opened and slanted over hers, willing a response she gladly gave. His tongue stroked hers; his teeth nibbled her lower lip. All the while he pressed urgently against her, as if he would fall if she did not hold him up. She thrilled to the hard length of his body touching her everywhere.

  Emmeline was the first to break the kiss. She turned away and felt his head lean against hers as his breath came in deep gasps. Was he truly as affected as she was? Did he desire her honestly, or only because she was not so easily attainable?

  She wanted to laugh—not attainable? She responded to his every touch with an indecency that bordered on sinful. There was something about Alex, ever laughing, ever hiding what he was feeling. If only she understood him.

  “Please, any of the servants could see us.”

  He lifted his head and straightened, but continued to keep her against the wall. “Perhaps the wager shouldn’t just be a kiss, which until now I’ve taken freely, but rather a kiss freely given by you.”

  “Oh Alex,” she whispered, feeling sorrow and guilt seep through her. “Why do you do this to me? What about Blythe?”

  “Blythe who?”

  He rubbed a stray curl of her hair between his fingers, then covered her mouth when she opened it in outrage.

  “I barely remember her name, Emmeline.”

  His hoarse words should not thrill her, but they did.

  “I may have originally come here to see her, but no longer. She is…not you.”

  His hands moved up her shoulders and behind her neck, and the laces on her ruff were suddenly loose. When the neckpiece fell to the floor, she stared at his hands as they worked the little buttons down the thin material of her bodice. He was shaking, which moved her as much as a declaration of feelings.

  He spread the top of her bodice and looked down on the valley of her heavily corseted bosom. He took a sharp breath, and she watched in stunned amazement when his fingers dipped between her breasts. She moaned.

  “Beautiful,” he whispered, then bent his head and placed a kiss there.

  It was heaven and the torture of hell all at the same moment to have his mouth on her skin, to imagine her clothing gone and his mouth even lower.

  But oh God, she was standing in full view of anyone who walked into the room, with Alex’s head at her breasts.

  And he had just declared that he only wanted her to satisfy a physical need. He didn’t love her.

  Rallying her courage, she ran her fingers through his soft hair and whispered, “Is this a proposal, Alex?” knowing it wasn’t, knowing that was for the best. He was too wild, too unsettled for someone as simple as she.

  He froze, and in disappointment she pushed him away and pulled her bodice together, barely able to work the buttons. When she looked over her shoulder he had one hand braced against the wall, his head hung low.

  “That is as good an answer as any,” she said. “You must go.”

  “I know.” He lifted his head and his dark eyes smoldered. “Em, I have no plans to marry anyone.”

  “Why?”

  He simply shook his head. “I have no answer to give you that would make sense. But I’ll be back to tutor Max on Monday.”

  She nodded wordlessly, then sank into a chair as he strode from the room. Sorrow tightened her chest. If he didn’t want to marry her, then the reason that he no longer came to see Blythe was because her sister would not give in to his seduction, as Emmeline had done. She wanted to feel guilty—but she couldn’t. Her feelings for him overwhelmed her, and the more she discovered about him, the more he dominated her thoughts. He wasn’t at all what he showed the world.

  On Monday Alex stood before Kent Hall, feeling renewed of purpose. He had spent the weekend wrestling with his desire for Emmeline, trying to drink and gamble away the indecision that wracked him. What was wrong with him? Shouldn’t her mention of marriage send him fleeing London, or at least into the arms of another woman?

  But he hadn’t had another woman since he’d met Emmeline Prescott. He was shocked to realize it had been two months now. Had he ever in his adulthood gone that long without taking a willing woman to bed?

  When he was finished with the project that was Emmeline, she would live her life free of the past and its sadness. He would find a new mistress, and life would go back to the way it was before he’d been the viscount, before his life had upended.

  He felt confident that he had everything under control.

  He greeted Emmeline, and Willoughby arrived soon after. Alex’s brows rose as Willoughby swept into a bow and kissed Emmeline’s hand with gusto. There was an unexplainable knot of tension in Alex’s stomach, until Willoughby looked deeply into her eyes—and the two of them convulsed with laughter.

  His relief was like a sudden rush of pleasure. She didn’t laugh when he looked at her. “Nicely done, Max. Emmeline, do you wish to eat before resuming our work?”

  She did, and he magnanimously allowed Willoughby to escort her into the dining chamber. While they were waiting for the first course, Alex said, “Max, tomorrow night is Lady Rutherford’s card party. We can practice today’s lesson there.”

  Willoughby’s smile was not quite confident. “And what would today’s lesson be?”

  “Touching.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, Alex saw Emmeline flinch, even as she kept her gaze on her plate.

  Willoughby’s face flushed. “I assure you, I do not wish to lose a lady’s respect by something so improper.”

  Alex laughed. “I’m not suggesting you grope the girl in question. But you must learn to take advantage of a situation’s opportunities.”

  “As in?”

  “The table is a good place to start. Emmeline?”

  She jumped as if Alex had announced to Willoughby how much he’d already touched her. Ah, how fond he was of her and her sweet innocence—even as he wanted to take it away, too.

  “Emmeline, do be good eno
ugh to drop your napkin, and then reach to pick it up. Max, pay attention.”

  While glancing at him in obvious bewilderment, she did as he’d asked. Alex reached for the cloth as well, and they bumped heads and brushed fingers. She straightened, clutching the napkin in her lap.

  “Did you see that, Max?” Alex asked.

  “Well, I saw you bump into her.”

  “I also brushed my fingers along hers, and I smiled at her when we were but inches apart.”

  “Surely that means nothing,” Maxwell scoffed.

  Emmeline prayed that Alex would not ask what she had felt, for just the touch of his fingers had made her heart answer with a faster beat. Even when she knew she was being manipulated, she could only bask in the warmth of his apologetic smile, and overlook how contrived it all was.

  Alex shook his head. “Max, my young friend, you have much to learn. Every touch means something. Look for every opportunity, even if it’s only your leg brushing her skirt. Come back to the parlor and I’ll show you.”

  Though Alex’s methods were suspect, she knew everything he said was right, because it all worked on her.

  She was so gullible, so foolish.

  Yet these lessons had to help Maxwell, and she could not throw such an opportunity away. So she followed the two men back to the parlor, feeling her pace lag with reluctance. When she stepped through the doorway, Alex was waiting.

  “Come, Emmeline, I have so many more demonstrations in mind.”

  For another hour she endured his onslaught, feeling aroused and angry and near tears. He demonstrated how to brush against a woman when he passed by, how to take her arm so she wouldn’t stumble down the stairs. Her skin, her very awareness, was attuned to him, and she despised her weakness even as she allowed it free rein. If all this was an act on his part, why was he so successful at it? Why did everything seem so real?

  And then he wanted to dance with her, and he put his lessons in gazing and touching all together in one devastating package. Maxwell was so oblivious to what was happening that he happily pounded out the beat to a dance on a table. He seemed to approve every soulful look Alex bestowed on her as he clung to her waist just a moment longer than the dance required.