To Win a Scoundrel's Heart (The Lords of Whitehall Book 2)

by Kristen McLean

  To make matters worse, by the fourth turn, he was slowly pulling her closer. Much closer than was considered proper, even in a Parisian ballroom. Her breasts were nearly brushing his chest. The treacherous things ached for the contact.

  His gaze was trained on her, and the sinful promise in the upward twist of his lips sent whorls of heat curling through her belly, but she wasn’t interested in what he promised. No matter how badly she wanted him. No matter how empty and lonely she felt without him or how many nights she had spent imagining his arms wrapped around her. Or worse, imagining herself in less than seven months with someone other than Nick beside her. She would be embarking on this frightening stage of life with someone else.

  “I lied before,” he said, the low rumble of his voice finally breaking the silence. “You look awful.”

  Céleste’s eyes widened before narrowing into a glare. She truly ought to hate him.

  “I had forgotten how very charming you are.”

  “I am honest.”

  “Honest?” she spurted. “How can you say that after all you have kept from me?” The words were out before she could hold them back, and her face burned.

  Truthfully, his withholding the details of her husband’s death was a distant memory she clung to. It was a much more suitable explanation of why she was angry with him than because his leaving her had broken her heart or because she was frightened in a way she had never been before.

  “I said honest, not open.”

  “A technicality.”

  “Call it what you will,” he said, adjusting his hand lower on her waist, courting the swell of her derrière. “The difference remains.”

  He must know she couldn’t correct him without drawing attention to him flaunting impropriety here, of all places.

  Céleste gritted her teeth, desperately trying to stay in control and not slap the man silly in the middle of her ballroom.

  “You mentioned giving up your secrets,” she said.

  He chuckled softly, his eyes laughing down at her. “I did. I suppose I am willing to be open, as well as honest.”

  “Well?” she prodded curtly.

  Clear blue eyes raked her face as the final bars of the waltz played and faded. Couples began disappearing in favor of the refreshments table, mingling with the other guests or finding their partner for the next dance.

  She waited for him to guide her away, as well, watching as he glanced around. The open terrace noticeably caught his eye.

  “Come with me,” he said, her hand still firmly clasped in his.

  “No, no, no, no!” Céleste dug in her heels, but he was already half-dragging her toward the mullioned glass doors opening onto the terrace.

  She practically slid the entire way on her dancing slippers before deciding he wasn’t stopping for her.

  The night air cooled her as she walked outside with him, bathed in moonlight and what light streamed out from the ballroom.

  He brought her to the balustrade overlooking the intricate garden below. Then, with his hand resting on her lower back, he began walking along its length until they were completely out of sight of anyone lingering right outside the doors. He stopped behind a potted orange tree, further blocking them from view.

  She did her best to ignore how alone she was with the one man she should never have fallen in love with, and she focused on appreciating the view instead. She took pride in making her surroundings beautiful, and the garden was no exception. Everything, from the luscious rose bushes to the small peonies, had been specifically chosen for maximum effect.

  She wanted him to appreciate her work, instead of watching her. It felt far too intimate, reminding her of the last time they had been on a balcony together, overlooking a garden in the moonlight. He had kissed her then. He was the first to ever kiss her like that.

  “You should be enjoying the view,” she said, slightly breathless.

  “I am.” His low voice vibrated through her, causing little bumps to break out over her arms.

  She shivered.

  “Are you cold?”

  “No,” she answered quickly. They were still in summer, and though the terrace was much cooler than the ballroom, it was by no means cold. Still, his hands moved to her bare arms, gently chaffing them. Her heart ached at the touch, and she flinched. “I said no.”

  He stilled his hands on her, the feel of each finger permanently imprinted on her brain.

  It seemed a lifetime before they fell away, and he turned to look out at the garden.

  “Why are we out here?” she asked brusquely, staring out at the dark foliage below, absurdly disappointed at the loss of his touch when it was precisely what she had wanted—what she needed.

  “I had to speak with you,” he answered.

  “Would a letter not suffice, Pembridge?” she asked, purposefully using his title.

  He sent her a sideways glance, arching one darkly golden brow before turning to her fully. “No. I doubt you would read it before you tossed it into the fire. Tell me, are you really entertaining the prince’s suit?”

  “It is hardly any of your concern.”

  “I find that it is,” he argued. “You cannot marry him. You don’t love him.”

  She knew she didn’t love him. She wasn’t marrying for love. She was marrying for the tiny bundle of life Nick had started in her womb two months earlier.

  “He is a prince. He is honorable. He is perfect. He should be leagues easier to love than some scoundrel bent on aggravation. Now, why did you come back to Paris?”

  Intense blue eyes smiled down at her. “It must have been your kind and hospitable nature. It calls to me.”

  Her face darkened into a scowl. “Are you purposefully vexing? Did you come all the way to Paris to irritate me?”

  One side of his well-carved lips turned up. “Gad, I have missed you. Has your precious prince seen this deliciously irascible side of you, or do you save it all for me?”

  She raised her hand, ready to strike, but he caught her wrist. Then he dragged her into him, capturing her other hand between their bodies.

  “Unhand me,” she ground out.

  He shook his head, and the pressure of his hand at her back moved as he tested her shape. Heat followed in its wake, burning deep inside her, but she refused to give in, clenching her jaw resolutely.

  “You have lost weight.” His brow creased as he searched her face. He tucked her wrist between them, then lightly brushed her face with the backs of his fingers. “You look tired. There are shadows under your eyes. Until a moment ago, I had worried the fire had gone out of them.”

  “Pembridge,” she growled, wishing he would remove his thumb from where it traced her jaw. The gentle touch, along with the concern lacing his expression, was heart wrenching.

  “To think, the world believes you cold and reserved, a veritable ice queen,” he murmured. “I imagine I am the only one who can bring your fire to the surface.”

  “Only you are aggravating enough, Pembridge.”

  “Nick,” he corrected, a smug smile slowly playing across his face. “It is the only explanation that makes any sense. You might as well admit it.”

  “Admit what?”

  “That you love me.”

  She felt the blood drain from her face.

  “I hate you,” she lied shakily.

  “Liar.”

  “’Tis true!” she insisted, desperately clinging to whatever dignity she might still possess.

  He would laugh his way back to England if he knew the truth. The rake slayer Lady Dumonte made the fool by a notorious libertine.

  He raked her with his gaze, then shook his head. “I can spot a lie, Céleste.”

  “You are wrong.”

  “I am not.” He lowered his head to murmur against her lips. “But I shall enjoy proving it to you.”

  His mouth claimed hers, his lips moving in a slow rhythm. He nipped her bottom lip, sucking and licking the bruised flesh.

  She gasped at the heat swirling inside h
er at the simple assault, and his tongue slid in to meet hers. Fire sparked deep in her belly, but she fought it. She couldn’t let him win.

  “Nick—”

  He swallowed the small sound of her voice.

  She tried to push him away, but his arms only tightened around her until she couldn’t stop herself from kissing him back.

  He caught her tongue gently between his teeth and then laved it with his. She felt the backs of his fingers lightly brushing her neck and shoulder, and a pitiful sob caught in her throat.

  He broke the kiss, but his lips still hovered over hers. Their breath mingled as he lifted a hand to cup her face.

  “You love me,” he murmured, a self-satisfied smile pulling up one corner of his lips crookedly. “There is no point in denying it.”

  Céleste shook her head, closing her eyes tightly, as though he could see the truth in their depths.

  “I know you love me.”

  She was ready to deny it again, but the desperation in his voice silenced her.

  She opened her eyes. “Why do you care?” she asked, her voice thick with hurt. “Why are you even here? You left.”

  His smile slipped. “I made a mistake.”

  “Your mistake was coming back. After half my guests saw you drag me out here, I could convince everyone you were madly in love with me. I could make you the laughing stock of Paris by tomorrow noon.”

  “I do love you.”

  Red-hot fury rushed through her, igniting her blood.

  “How stupid do you think I am? My marriage might not have been the most enlightening experience, but I am no green girl fresh from the schoolroom. You are nothing but a scoundrel. You left me!” Heartbroken and breeding! she screamed silently.

  Shaming tears welled, clinging to her lashes. She knew better. She had known from the very beginning, and still, she had let herself fall in love with him. She had let him break past her defenses and shatter her already broken heart.

  She wriggled free, beating her fists on his chest, sobs catching in her throat. Then his arms were wrapped around her again, cradling her against his chest.

  “I am so sorry, Céleste,” he murmured tightly in her ear. “I should have stayed and fought for you.”

  “I don’t want to hear anymore!” She couldn’t withstand an apology like this.

  “I made a mistake. I thought forfeiting the title was more important. I thought I could forget you. I thought I could continue on my merry way as though nothing ever happened, but that is impossible.” He pulled back, holding her face in his hands. He used his thumbs to wipe away the tears skittering down her cheeks as his eyes met hers. “It’s frightening, you know, what happens to me when I am near you, holding you. But I cannot help myself. I love you.”

  Something broke inside her, and the flood of emotion she had kept back all these years crashed to the surface. Her face crumbled, and she buried it in his chest, coming apart with deep, shoulder-racking sobs.

  “I have you. I am never leaving you again.” He held her, murmuring comforts while he moved his hand in gentle circles over her back.

  By degrees, the sobbing subsided, and she lifted wet, stinging eyes to his.

  “I came back to tell you I was wrong,” he said. “I love you, and I cannot possibly live my life without you.”

  “No,” she muttered desperately under her breath. “This isn’t what it sounds like.” Her eyes stung as she fought the hope surging in her chest.

  Soon, he would turn around and laugh his way out of her life for good, knowing he had won. Somehow, she would have to pick herself back up and accept the prince’s proposal.

  He raised a brow, then lowered himself on one knee, clasping her hands in his. “Céleste…” He paused, and his brow knit. “Gad, what is your middle name?”

  Laughter bubbled in her chest, but she was dangerously close to sobbing, and fresh tears burned the backs of her eyes. She tried to pull her hands back, but he wouldn’t let go.

  He shrugged. “Céleste Chastain, goddess of my heart, you have irrevocably won me. My heart, my soul, my very being is captive to your beauty, warmth, and passion. There is nothing left for me except to beg you to become my wife.”

  A sob tore from her throat, and she tugged on her hands again. Still, he held firm.

  “You must marry me now, you know. It is what people do when they are in love,” he said, the tenderness of his voice reflected in his eyes. “Say you will marry me.”

  She couldn’t breathe. Her pulse seemed to skip several beats. Then, everything came rushing back.

  He loved her, and he wanted to marry her.

  All she could do was nod.

  Nick grinned and stood, pulling her back into his arms. “That is a promise I shall hold you to,” he murmured against her lips before he kissed her again.

  Acknowledgments

  I would like to thank Xenia for being my first editor, and for teaching me how to proofread. I would also like to thank my official editors, Kristin, Alizon, Kristina, and Peggy for helping me make this story a cohesive whole. Sarah, at Young Ink Press, also deserves a thank you, as she has held my hand through the process of publishing this and the previous book in the Lords of Whitehall series. I am very grateful, as well, for my dad. From a very early age he showed me the magic of historical fiction by allowing me to read all of his fantastic books, and making excellent recommendations.

  Most importantly, I want to give an enormous thank you to my wonderful husband. He never questioned if I would be published, he always said when. Thank you, my love.

  Winter’s Touch

  The Last Riders, #8

  Jamie Begley

  Available Now!

  Chapter 1

  The room was silent as the four men and one woman stared at their cards. They sat at the kitchen table, each concentrating on their hands. Crash, Moon, Rider, and Viper studied their cards with grim intensity, determined to win this hand. A mound of chips lay in the middle of the table.

  With two aces, two kings, and a queen, Winter was about to push her remaining chips into the pile, when a loud moan had her looking toward the large room off the kitchen.

  “Harder…” A brunette head fell back against Train’s shoulder as he fucked the woman from The Last Riders’ Ohio chapter.

  He was sitting on the couch, and Sasha was facing forward on his lap, her legs spread, providing a view for anyone to see. The diamond piercing in her pussy glinted as she lifted her hand to Train’s thigh, bracing herself as she went up and down on his cock.

  Since they were sitting on the long side of the couch, Winter couldn’t miss the two fucking. Neither could Viper, who was sitting on the side of the table that faced the television room.

  “Mm… do that again,” Sasha moaned.

  Train brought his hand to her breast, playing with her nipple that was also pierced. Winter guessed Train hit the spot when her moans sounded louder.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Viper take his eyes off his cards.

  “You in?”

  At his question, Winter laid her cards down. “I’m out.”

  Taking a sip of her water, she watched as the men finished their game. She wanted to get up, but she didn’t want to leave Viper to watch Sasha getting fucked.

  Winter played with one of her chips, rolling it back and forth between her fingers.

  They had been married long enough for her to know what could get a rise out of his dick, and Sasha was pushing all of his buttons. Not to mention, her husband thought pussy piercings were sexy.

  Crash dropped his cards on the table. “I’m out, too. If she tells him to fuck harder one more time, I’m going to give her something to really moan about.”

  As if on cue, Sasha’s next moan had Crash standing up and pushing his chair back.

  “I guess that’s an invitation.” He strode across the room, unbuttoning his jeans, and had his cock out before he reached the couch.

  Sasha leaned forward, greedily opening her lips, sucking Cra
sh’s cock into her mouth.

  “You in?” Viper asked Moon, who had turned to watch the threesome.

  “I’m in. I can fuck her after I win the last of your money,” Moon boasted.

  “You sure she’ll have enough left for you? Train and Crash look like they’re going to wear her out.” Viper’s amused glance went toward the three fucking, who were enjoying everyone watching.

  Winter didn’t miss Sasha looking toward Viper as she slid another inch of Crash’s cock into her mouth. The woman was determined to fuck Viper and wasn’t shy about letting everyone in the club know it, including his wife.

  “Sasha has enough stamina to do all the men in the club. Hell, she’ll even offer seconds.”

  Winter dropped the chip onto the table. “I’m going to bed.”

  “I’m ready to call it a night, too.” Viper showed his cards, and Rider and Moon groaned, throwing theirs down.

  “Son of a bitch! Just once, I want to beat you or Winter.” Moon watched his chips slip away into Viper’s hands.

  Viper grinned, reaching down to tug Winter to her feet. Slinging an arm over her shoulders, he joked with the men while Rider counted out the money he owed.

  Winter wanted to leave the room, but she was held in place as the men talked about who was the better player.

  “Damn, woman, you’re sucking me dry!” Crash groaned, as Sasha’s mouth tightened around his cock.

  When he took a staggering step back after he finished, Winter saw the triumphant glimmer in Sasha’s sultry eyes as she licked a drop of Crash’s come off her bottom lip.

  “Never mind,” Rider said, no longer caring about the money Viper had shoved in his pocket. His eagerness was apparent when he rose, the bulge behind his jeans unmistakable as he moved toward Sasha.