Lady of Scandal

by Tina Gabrielle

  With a soft splash, he dropped the sponge in the water, and his hands cupped her breasts. His soapy thumbs flicked her hard nipples. His hands disappeared beneath the water, caressing her taut stomach and skimming her thighs. He lifted a slender leg from the water and with great care massaged her toes and arch, then slid up her calf and thigh.

  Victoria held her breath, wishing his fingers would delve in between her legs, but that he did not do, choosing instead to wash her other leg with the same attention. She lay drowned in a floodtide of need, aware of every fiery stroke of his sleek, soapy hands.

  When he moved around and touched his lips to hers, she clung to his neck and kissed him back greedily. She didn’t care that she was soaking his fine linen shirt. Or that the bath water sloshed over the side of the tub, wetting his trousers. She didn’t care, and neither did Blake, for in the next instant, his arms swept around her and lifted her from the tub. She let out a startled gasp and clung to his damp shirt, fearful that she would slip from his arms.

  He laughed. “I shall not drop you. Once I have a hold, I’ll never let go.”

  He carried her to his bed, but this time, instead of laying her fully on the soft mattress as she had expected, he placed her buttocks on the edge of the bed and left her legs dangling. He kissed her mouth, her breasts, then down her flat stomach. Then he sank to his knees, spread her thighs apart and planted a hot kiss above her pubic bone.

  Victoria rose up on her elbows, confused by his actions.

  His heated gaze met hers. “Trust me. I want to taste you here…taste your passion.”

  She wasn’t sure what he meant, and she watched in disbelief as he lowered his dark head.

  He cupped her bottom cheeks and raised them to his mouth, his hot breath blowing on the curls between her parted legs. When his lips touched her soft core, she moaned and collapsed back on the bed.

  He took his time, kissing and laving her most intimate parts. His tongue slid across her sensitive nub, and she grasped fistfuls of his hair and panted. Then his tongue boldly plunged into her tight sheath, and she trembled and arched mindlessly beneath him, urging him on.

  Sensations built to a frenzied peak inside of her, and she felt her body quiver and convulse, and then explode as the honeyed liquid inside of her burst forth.

  Blake stood and brushed damp tendrils of hair from her face. “You’re beautiful in your passion.”

  She lay sprawled on the end of the bed, her legs hanging limply, her hair a wild tangle around her. She thought that she would slip onto the floor, a thoroughly satisfied creature. Then he did no more than lick the rosy tips of her breasts and the wanton inside of her leapt to life yet again.

  Blake moved above her, pulled off his trousers and thrust into her with a spurt of hungry desire. He clenched his teeth, never taking his eyes from her. She drove him wild with the arching of her slender hips and her throaty moans. His ardor mounted when he felt the beginnings of her release. He wanted to prolong the moment, savor the gusts of desire that now shook her, but he was too far aroused. He plunged deeply in and out of her tight sheath. He couldn’t get deep enough, possess enough. Then he exploded, shouting out hoarsely as he spent.

  His heart was hammering in his chest as he lowered his head to her breast.

  Victoria ran her fingers through his hair. “I never knew a man could do such things to a woman.”

  “I’ve longed to touch you, to taste you since the day you came to Rosewood.”

  “Really? I had no idea.”

  He traced his fingers down her cheek. “I know. You drove me to near madness.”

  They lay entwined until the midmorning sun rose high and bathed them in warmth. Blake was the first to rise. He covered Victoria with the sheet, kissed her forehead and then donned his trousers.

  He moved to the door, and said, “I told Cook to prepare some sustenance and, knowing Mr. Burke, a tray is outside my door.”

  Blake opened the door, bent down and returned with a silver tray in hand. A variety of sliced cheeses, fresh bread, a flask of wine and two crystal goblets weighed down the silver.

  Victoria sat up, suddenly ravenous. “It looks delicious.”

  She reached for a slice of cheese and chunk of crusty bread, still warm from the oven. As they ate, sitting naked with legs crossed in the center of the wide bed, a disturbing notion occurred to her.

  Blake had thought of everything after their lovemaking. The bath. The food. What if he was playing a well-practiced role, and she was nothing more than one of many actresses on his private stage?

  Victoria sipped from her glass of wine, but the expensive liquor did not go down smoothly.

  Scowling, she looked him in the eye. “How many times have you done this?”

  “Pardon?”

  “This. Your bed. The bath. The food. How many times?”

  He looked at her warily. “I never professed to be a virgin.”

  She threw down a piece of cheese she had been holding. “So you’ve brought many women here before…”

  He raised his hand, cutting her off. “I’ve never brought a woman into this room, into this bed. In fact, no other woman has spent the night under my roof before. I’ve always been careful to avoid—how shall I say it?—commitment…before, and have had no desire to be with the same woman more than once. Until you.”

  Stunned at his admission, her mouth gaped open.

  He picked up the piece of cheese she had recently discarded and stuffed it in her mouth. “I’ve never known you to be speechless, Victoria, so I’ll assume you are still hungry.”

  Feeling suddenly foolish, she chewed the food and glanced at his profile as he lifted the wine flask to refill the two goblets.

  What did he just confess? That he wanted a commitment? Or that his feelings for her were growing?

  Both notions made her skin prickle pleasurably.

  “I have something for you.” He rose and walked to the wardrobe in the corner of the room. He opened the large doors and returned to the bed carrying a brown package tied with string. Handing her the mysterious bundle, he said, “Open it.”

  Victoria untied the string, curious as a child about what the package contained. Ripping open the thick paper, she found a pair of breeches, striped silk stockings, a high-buttoned waistcoat, a ruffled starched shirt and a double-breasted jacket. At the bottom of the package lay a pair of leather pumps with buckles. The clothing was of fine quality and material but was obviously too small for Blake’s large frame, and seemed more suited for a young boy. The shoes were no exception.

  She looked at Blake in confusion. “I don’t understand.”

  “Do you like them? I had to revisit Madame Fleur’s dress shop to get your measurements and had a most difficult time convincing her to make me these garments for you. As for the shoes, I borrowed a pair of your slippers and took them to the shoemaker’s to ensure the proper fit. He also thought me mad.”

  “You had these garments made for me? But why?”

  He gave her a devilish grin. “Because I’m taking you with me to the Stock Exchange. And not just the lobby like you’re accustomed, but inside, on the trading floor.”

  She looked at him blankly. “But how? I don’t need to point out to you that women aren’t allowed.”

  “But as my guest and distant young cousin named Victor, you are more than welcome.” He nodded toward the clothing she held in her limp hands. “Thus the attire.”

  “You think to pass me off as a boy?”

  “I do. We’ll have to be creative about your hair, of course. But I think a hat with a curled brim ought to do it. You’re shorter than most men so it shouldn’t be hard to look down and avoid eye contact. Besides, everyone is so busy with their own agenda on the floor, no one pays attention to anyone’s appearance, let alone a boy.”

  Victoria’s heart thundered. A seductive excitement raced through her at the thought of actually standing on the trading floor. But she was not convinced Blake’s masquerade would work or that she co
uld carry it off. And then there was the fact that Blake had scolded her, had even threatened to tell the magistrate about her scheme of concocting her Uncle Sheldon so she could make money in the market.

  What had changed his mind?

  “I thought you disapproved of my activities. What happened?”

  “Like I said, I was angry. It took time to forgive that you stole information from me to help your father. And then I learned that you were at it again because of Spencer’s involvement with the bloodthirsty, unethical Slayer, and my fury exploded. Eventually Spencer would have revealed your secret to Slayer just to buy himself time, and you would have been in great danger. But I looked past that as well, knowing you were only trying to aid your brother.”

  “But why would you do this for me?”

  “I know it’s your dream, and I have an ache to do something for you, to make you happy. And because I admire your intelligence and think it unfair that you’re denied what others have based on nothing but their birth status. And because I like to thumb my nose at the aristocratic snobs that turned their backs on my family and never offered a scrap of aid when we came upon hard times.”

  His explanation, no matter how simplistic and convoluted it sounded at the same time, satisfied her. She told herself it was because she ached to have what he offered a thousand times before—to step foot on the trading floor. But she knew the truth was that, at this moment, she would follow him no matter where he led. And that every time he mentioned that he valued her brain, a bit more of her heart was lost to him.

  She sat up on her knees and hugged him, the sheet dropping and her bare breasts crushing against his chest.

  “Yes. Yes, a thousand times yes. I’d love to go to the Stock Exchange with you.”

  Chapter 24

  Victoria had walked through Capel Court many times before, but never like this.

  The slim-fitting breeches and silk stockings felt indecently decadent against her skin. They lent a freedom of movement she had never experienced. Her skirts had always inhibited her movements. But the breeches she now wore encased her legs and gave her the feeling she was walking naked. The short cut of the front of her double-breasted jacket left little to the imagination below the waist. With the masculine style being so suggestive and open, no wonder men were obsessed with their nether parts.

  “You look quite fetching, my dear,” Blake said, walking beside her. “Don’t fret. No one is paying us any untoward attention. Just remember what I told you—don’t forget to breathe easy and follow my lead.”

  Victoria glanced at Blake’s profile beneath her brimmed hat. He looked striking in his trousers, tailored jacket and snowy cravat. He exuded an air of confidence that told all that he was sure of himself and his rightful place in the universe.

  Of course no one would question him.

  Victoria frowned. “I would feel calmer if you did not call me ‘my dear.’ At least not until I’m out of these clothes.”

  He gave her a lazy wink. “I promise not to slip.”

  They came upon the doorman, who immediately opened the ornate doors upon seeing Blake, and they entered the building.

  It was the same sparsely furnished lobby Victoria had walked across, either alone or with Spencer, countless times. Many hours had been spent waiting for the portly Mr. MacDonald to finish with his more important clients before meeting with her. It was the same lobby, yet now it felt immensely different.

  Today she would go inside the sanctum, the prohibited temple. Yes, she would step foot on the trading floor of the London Stock Exchange. Her pulse beat in her throat at the prospect.

  As they proceeded to walk across the lobby, past brokers meeting with their clients, Victoria paused to catch her breath. Nervousness slipped back to grip her.

  Could she carry off this ruse?

  Back at the town house, after she had tried on the masculine attire, she had come close to backing out of Blake’s scheme. But he had assured her that she looked like a respectable young man, and that it was not uncommon for a member of the Exchange to bring along a guest.

  Now that she was here, she was not so certain. Her tightly bound breasts felt as if they would burst within the confines of her jacket. And her long hair was crammed so firmly beneath the hat that she feared it would pop off without warning.

  Several well-dressed gentlemen stood to the side conversing. One in particular caught her eye—an attractive dark-haired man, whose tall frame rivaled Blake’s. The intriguing stranger stood out from the group of gentlemen not so much due to his height but because of his rugged profile, which gave him a predatory look. Black curling hair framed his face, and his dress—navy blue jacket and buff waistcoat—was simple but rich.

  The stranger spotted Blake, and Blake nodded in return. The man then gave Victoria his undivided attention. She met a pair of sinfully dark eyes that were sharp and assessing.

  Anxiety spurted through her, gnawing away at her fragile confidence. She felt a terrible tenseness in her body, certain the stranger saw through her ridiculous disguise.

  Blake’s fingers curled around her wrist and held her still when she was tempted to flee. “Let me introduce you.”

  Blake stepped forward, toward the man, and she had no option but to follow.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Hawksley.”

  “Good day, Lord Ravenspear,” the man said, his eyes briefly leaving Victoria’s face to glance at Blake, then returning to examine her.

  “I see you’ve noticed my relative, Victor Mallorey. The boy is visiting and expressed an interest in the Exchange. I thought it worthwhile if he saw it firsthand.”

  Victoria smiled and nodded in agreement to Blake’s statement and prayed that she wouldn’t have to speak. Even a boy as old as she was supposed to be had a deeper voice than she could feign.

  “Ah, I see,” Hawksley nodded, seeming to accept Blake’s explanation for Victoria’s presence. “I was wondering why your man, Mr. Woodward, did not advise me of your visit to the Exchange today. I wouldn’t want you to find fault with my services, Lord Ravenspear.”

  “Marcus Hawksley conducts business for me, Victor,” Blake explained to Victoria.

  So this was Blake’s stockbroker. She was stunned, expecting Blake’s broker to be older, stuffier, more like the numerous fogies she had seen meeting with their wealthy clients in the lobby.

  Hawksley broke into a leisurely smile, and his bold features softened. She could only hope that his prior scrutiny upon seeing Blake at the Exchange without notice was from fear of losing a wealthy client.

  “You are fortunate indeed to have Lord Ravenspear take you under his wing,” Hawksley told Victoria, “for he is indeed the craftiest, most knowledgeable client I have had the honor to work for.”

  Victoria smiled and nodded, lowering her eyes beneath the curled brim of her hat. Marcus Hawksley may not be like the other stockbrokers she had witnessed, but he was shrewdly observant and exuded an undercurrent of dangerousness.

  Perhaps that’s why Blake used him.

  “Let’s be on our way, then, Victor,” Blake said, his hand at her back. “Justin Woodward will be in touch with you soon,” Blake told the stockbroker, then turned to leave.

  As Blake steered her away, Marcus Hawksley gave her a conspirational wink.

  Victoria gasped. She reached up to wedge a finger between the tightly knotted cravat and the skin of her throat. The fabric, however soft, felt like it was closing off her air supply.

  “Don’t,” Blake warned. “Your skin is too smooth. It will draw the eye.”

  Swallowing the excess saliva in her mouth, she whispered back, “I swear I saw recognition in that man’s eyes.”

  Blake chuckled. “That’s why I use Marcus. As the younger son of a titled family, he’s not as old or established as the other brokers most members utilize. But he is not as conceited either, nor does he charge exorbitant commissions, and he knows the market better than anyone. If he suspected the truth about you, he wouldn’t whisper it to a
dead man. His confidentiality and ethics are beyond reproach.”

  “His family holds a title, and he became a stockbroker? I thought trade was looked down upon by the upper classes.”

  “It is. After Marcus became a stockbroker, his father, the earl, and his older brother, the heir, wanted nothing to do with Marcus. It doesn’t matter that he’s become extraordinarily wealthy and successful.”

  “How sad,” she said. She wanted to ask more questions about Blake’s mysterious broker, but she lost her train of thought when the swinging doors leading to the trading floor came into view.

  Before she could mask the anticipation on her face, Blake pushed through the doors, and together they stepped inside.

  It was nothing like she had expected. The massive room was striking—stunning, but in an odd way. The trading floor consisted of an immense elongated hall, wider in some areas than others. The climax was a large central area covered by a gilt dome and arched glass roof. Sturdy stone columns upheld the structure, and Victoria wondered if they were meant to symbolize the solidness and stability of the Exchange. The artistry of the dome reminded her of pictures she had seen of St. Paul’s Cathedral.

  But it was the huge crowd that soon captivated and held her attention. The scene was mass pandemonium, from packs of men bellowing at each other to individuals darting across the room to destinations that appeared completely random. The floor was littered with paper, and she wondered what poor soul had to clean the mess at the end of the day. The roar of the voices was deafening, and it took her a full minute to become accustomed to the volume.

  The chaotic arena radiated power and vitality that drew her like a magnet. Her breath caught in her throat and her hands trembled.

  “Let’s stroll the perimeter,” Blake said.

  “I’d love to.”

  As they walked through the crowd, the tension in her muscles eased. There were so many people, immersed in their own heated conversations, that no one paid them any attention.

  The noise level escalated as they passed certain groups, the men gesturing wildly to communicate when shouting in each other’s faces failed.