Victoria watched as Blake roamed around the room at a leisurely pace, then stopped to lift a glass of champagne off a servant’s tray. Sipping the alcohol, his eyes skimmed the hall until they spotted her in the isolated alcove. One corner of his mouth pulled into a slight grin, and he raised his glass in salute.
The smile was without malice, almost apologetic, and it warmed Victoria.
“I see that Ravenspear is still the charmer,” Samantha said.
As they watched, a beautiful brunette approached Blake and engaged him in conversation. The woman’s figure was voluptuous, and Victoria swore she saw peeps of nipple from her low-cut bodice.
Blake smiled at the lady and plucked a glass of alcohol for her from a passing tray.
The brunette batted dark, enticing eyes at him and touched his sleeve suggestively.
“That’s Lady Walgrave,” Samantha explained. “A whore who has no qualms about seducing a man, married or not, right beneath her husband’s bulbous nose.”
Victoria glared at the pair with burning, reproachful eyes. Jealousy—unexpected and unwanted—welled within her breast.
“And where is Lord Walgrave?” Victoria asked.
“No doubt in the gaming room or stinking drunk at his club.” Samantha pulled Victoria away from the scene. “Come. Dinner is being served.”
Dinner turned out to be hell.
With a stroke of bad luck, Victoria and Spencer were seated across from Blake.
Lady Walgrave had somehow managed to arrange a seat next to Ravenspear, and like any good opportunist, she flirted outrageously with him throughout the entire meal.
Lord Walgrave must have indeed been drinking at his gentleman’s club tonight.
If Victoria had any fear Blake would go back on his word and humiliate her in public, she need not have worried. Other than a polite nod of acknowledgment as she took her seat, he completely ignored her.
So Victoria was forced to watch the immoral female cast Blake seductive glances and whisper in his ear.
The brunette laughed and feigned interest in whatever the topic of conversation was between them, her dark eyes widening in invitation. Growing bold, Lady Walgrave leaned close and traced elegant fingers down his sleeve to his bared wrist, then her hand disappeared altogether beneath the snowy-white tablecloth.
A moment later, Blake stiffened, but he made no move to distance himself from the lady.
The shock of the woman’s actions held Victoria immobile. Her temper then rose in response, and she clenched her teeth until her jaw began to ache. She turned her head and her attention away from the disgusting scene, fearing she would have no control over her anger if she did not.
How dare he? What made him think he could flirt with another woman beneath her nose?
Yet, she had no claim on him. They were neither engaged nor married. He was not her suitor. Still, he should have some respect for what they had shared, enough not to seek out his next mistress in her presence.
At long last, dinner ended, and Victoria was one of the first women to rise from her chair and depart the room. The men remained to enjoy their port and cigars. If Blake cast her a departing look, she did not bother to glance back at his face in her haste to leave.
The ladies wandered into the ballroom where the musicians began to play. The music flowed through the acoustically designed room like sweet wine, but Victoria did not stay to enjoy it.
She sought out Lady Samantha with hopes that her friend could take her mind off Blake and the curvaceous Lady Walgrave, but found the baroness in a private corner engaged with Justin Woodward.
Though the pair talked at a proper distance, the way their eyes clung to each other, the way their smiles were alive with affection and delight, made it clear they were in love.
Victoria turned away, feeling the nauseating sinking of despair. She should have known this would happen. Blake Mallorey was a virile man with strong sexual needs who craved the conquest as much as he desired the prize. She had allowed herself to be seduced, seized and captured by the ultimate hunter. He was now stalking his next prey. But still, Victoria had hoped that he cared more for what they shared than he did for the rush of the game.
If only she was not Charles Ashton’s daughter, perhaps things would have been different…
Seeking solitude, Victoria headed for the open French doors in the rear of the ballroom. Fresh air wafted through the curtains, and she breathed in deeply, like a drowning victim whose lungs had been starved of oxygen. Her head cleared, and she gazed down on the beautiful gardens below.
A full moon illuminated the well-tended evergreens and freshly potted plants. It was an usually cool July evening, and the sweet scent of blooming flowers wafted up to her. A delicate waterfall with the statue of an angel pouring water from a casket was lit by a dozen outdoor lanterns.
“I’ve been hoping to get you alone.”
Victoria jumped at the sound of the familiar yet eerily distant masculine voice.
“Jacob!” she cried out. “I had no idea you were here.”
Jacob Hobbs walked forward, stopping in front of her. He had changed since she had last seen him. His silver hair had thinned, revealing the shiny scalp beneath; there were a few extra pounds on his belly. But the shrewd, pale-blue eyes were the same, as well as his expensive choice of dress. As he drew close, she realized he was only an inch or two taller than she, not the foot she had thought.
But then, standing next to Blake’s six-foot-two-inch height had made her aware of how tall a man could be.
“I’ve been present all evening, Victoria. You were preoccupied with your conspicuous attempts to ignore Ravenspear’s sickening display with Lady Walgrave.”
She stiffened, unsure if it was the truth of his words that bothered her or the terse tone in which he had delivered them.
“You should be happy, dearest,” Jacob said. “If Ravenspear is consumed with that harlot, then perhaps he has tired of you. Of course, he could be putting on an act, intending to protect you from the wagging tongues of the ever-present gossips.” He cocked his head to the side, studying her. “If I had to place a wager, I’d say it was the latter.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Her mind whirled at Jacob’s presence, trying to comprehend what she was hearing.
“Because I want to know what you gave Ravenspear in exchange for him not to reveal your shame. Or, maybe I should ask, what did you do for him?” Jacob leered at her, his eyes roaming over her figure. “You must be very good in bed. Or is it that you follow instructions well? I admit I’m full of curiosity. But the truth is, I still want you, Victoria. No matter how foolish on my part. I’m willing to have you, even if you are soiled and used by that filth.”
She glowered at him, her lips thinning in anger. “I’m not sure if I’m flattered or insulted.”
“No matter. Your father has promised you to me. You have no choice.”
Her temper flared and her memory returned. Jacob Hobbs had never been willing to consider her wishes. As if things became suddenly clear, she saw him for the first time. He was an exact replica of her father. No wonder Charles Ashton wanted her to marry Jacob. It was a testament to himself.
“There are better ways to court a woman than to call her used goods, then tell her she has no choice in the matter,” she spat.
Jacob ignored her sarcastic tone. “Use your time with Ravenspear wisely, Victoria. Your father and I are close to paying that devil off, but we need more from you to speed things up a bit.”
“You want me to spy again?” she asked in disbelief. “I cannot. It was dumb luck that I had discovered the truth behind Illusory Enterprises. There is nothing else I can give you. Ravenspear’s files are too…complicated for me.”
“I would expect no less of a woman. But what we now need does not involve rummaging through his papers.”
“What, then?”
“We will be in touch. Either your father or me.” Jacob leaned close, intending to kiss her.
Vic
toria shrunk back, aghast at the thought of his lips touching hers.
Jacob stiffened at her rejection. “You should be nice to me, dearest. After all, who will want you after Ravenspear is finished with you?”
Chapter 27
The night had been a disaster.
Leaning against the doorjamb of his bedroom, Blake stared across the hall at Victoria’s closed door. She had ignored him from the moment they had both separately arrived home, and had fled to her room.
One thing was certain: she was furious with him.
Her green eyes had clawed him like talons when she thought he wasn’t looking. She had held her rage in check and had shut herself in her room to avoid conversation with him. At first he had thought she was mad from the cross words they had exchanged in the library regarding her father. But now he was not certain.
Something else irked Victoria.
Her behavior was uncharacteristic. The Victoria he knew would not back down from a challenge or an argument.
He realized he wanted a fight. He wanted to see her throw her head back, place her hands on her hips and eye him with defiance. He missed her using her keen intelligence to spar and spat with him.
He wanted his Victoria back.
He tugged off his cravat, ripped off his evening jacket and dropped both carelessly to the floor. He strode across the hall, and without knocking turned her doorknob.
Locked.
He stared at the keyhole, feeling his temper rise in response.
What was under her skin? Hadn’t he kept his word? Hadn’t he protected her reputation and not whispered a word about her living with him? Hadn’t he tolerated the clinging Lady Walgrave in order to misdirect the ton’s attention from Victoria?
And her response was to ignore him, then lock him out?
Logic fled. He stepped back and then crashed his shoulder against the door like a battering ram. Wood splintered, the hinges gave way, and the door slammed against the wall with an ear-deafening crash.
Victoria jerked upright in bed with a startled screech and clenched the coverlet on her lap. She hadn’t yet put out the candles on the night table, and he could make out the curve of a full breast beneath the sheer silk nightdress.
“You forgot to say good night, sweetheart.”
“You’re crazy, Ravenspear!”
“Perhaps. But I find you have that effect on me.”
He swaggered forward, resting his large hands on the footboard of the bed. She squirmed back, like an animal caught in a trap, and he grinned.
“You’re pouting, Victoria. Now, tell me, what did I do to offend you?”
“I’m not offended, but repulsed, my lord,” she spat.
“Repulsed?” Whatever he had expected, it was not that. “Last I recall, you were scratching my back like a wildcat, moaning my name with your pleasure.”
Her emerald eyes darkened, dazzling with fury. “Get out. Now.”
“This is my home, mistress,” he said, pointing a finger at the splintered door. “No one tells me what to do here.”
“Go to your cheap whore.”
“What!”
“Return to the hussy you were panting over all night.”
“Lady Walgrave? Is that what this is all about?”
“You all but dove down her bodice with your fork in your haste to sample her flesh. I’m sure she’ll welcome you.”
“You don’t think I enjoyed her attentions?”
“Why wouldn’t I, or anyone else present tonight, for that matter?” She stared at him with haughty rebuke. “I sat across from you the entire meal watching that woman drape herself all over you. And when she…when she reached for you beneath the table, you made no attempt to push her away.”
He threw his head back and laughed. He couldn’t help himself. But the combination of outrage and jealousy on her beautiful face made his blood roar in his veins.
“What you didn’t see, my dear, was me crush Lady Walgrave’s greedy hand before she could reach her intended target.”
He pushed away from the footboard and strode forward to gaze down at her in the bed.
Victoria jumped to her knees and dragged the sheet upward to cover her chest. Scrambling to the opposite side of the mattress, she eyed him warily.
Blake spoke before she could flee further. “I was pretending to be interested in Lady Walgrave. It was an act, nothing more.”
Victoria looked dubious. “Why would you do that?”
“For you, sweetheart. I promised not to taint your reputation. You must realize that one stray rumor among the ton could have destroyed my honorable intentions. I feigned interest in Lady Walgrave to mislead them. If tongues wag in the wrong direction after tonight, it will not be the first time.”
Bloodless fingers released and clenched the white sheet, and then she froze, perched on the edge of the bed.
Silence lengthened between them, and he wanted nothing more than to sweep her into his arms and assuage her doubts.
“I trust that you did not want to reveal our relationship,” she conceded. “However”—she raised a hand to hold him off—“I don’t believe you were not interested in Lady Walgrave. No one can act that well.”
He imagined wrapping his hands around her tempting neck and throttling her. Frustration welled within him, and he experienced a sudden, overwhelming urge to wound her.
“Perhaps you’re right,” he snapped. “It is difficult for a flesh-and-blood man to resist dangling fruit.”
A shadow of distress flickered across her face before it vanished beneath a cool, aloof mask. “There’s no need for you to resist, my lord. As you’ve reminded me, there’s no commitment between us, only your sworn oath to destroy my father. My year with you will soon be half over. You are free to pursue other interests, as am I.”
“So you are condoning other affairs—for both of us now? And you have no objection to my bringing other women here for a rendezvous?”
She nodded tersely. “And I am free to do the same, at another bachelor’s home, of course.”
His temper flared, his anger becoming a scalding fury. He had never been so injured, so devastated, by a woman. He had sworn she felt something for him, that her heart had battled her head and near won, as his had.
“Are you saying you no longer feel anything for me?” he asked. “That your body does not burn beneath my touch?”
Her chin raised a notch, challenging him. “Nothing. I feel nothing.”
“Liar.”
Without warning, he leapt across the mattress and seized her by the waist. With a squeak, she tumbled on the bed, and he was on top of her in a blink of an eye.
Struggling wildly, she beat against his chest. “Get off! How dare you!” she hissed as she tried to knee him in the groin.
“Stop it, Victoria.”
He secured her flailing fists and pinioned her wrists above her head with one large hand. He ignored the curses she threw at him and his guilt over physically overpowering her.
She was magnificent in her rage. Skeins of shiny black hair curled around her head and gleamed against the bright-white pillows. The green flame of her eyes burned with outrage. Her breasts heaved, rising and falling beneath the sheer gown until he thought he would go mad from the need to bury himself deep inside her.
He bent to take her mouth in a demanding kiss. She lay pinned between his thick thigh muscles, and his free hand slid down her full breasts and her taut belly, then explored her silken thighs. Deft fingers untied the ribbons at the neckline of her gown, and he parted the silk to reveal her lovely breasts to his hot gaze. Dipping his head to her beckoning flesh, his lips teased a dusky pink nipple until it became diamond-hard. He licked and then sucked the full globe exactly the way he knew would make her frantic with need.
She whimpered beneath his onslaught, yet still there was resistance in her body. His thigh pressed between hers, and he separated her legs until his hardness rubbed against her sensitive core.
He rocked back and forth, the silk
becoming hot, then slippery, from the warmth of their bodies. As he aroused her passion, his own grew stronger, and his manhood jerked and strained against his confining trousers.
His lips recaptured hers, more urgent this time. Her nails dug into his restraining hand pinned above her head, and he knew her defenses were crumbling. He kissed her neck and traced her earlobes with the tip of his tongue in remembered patterns until her soft body squirmed beneath his. When he cupped her private center, his desire flared higher to discover it was slippery-wet with her need.
Hoarse with passion, he whispered, “Let yourself go. Don’t fight me.”
At last, reluctantly, her struggles ceased, and she began to squirm beneath him. He immediately released her wrists, and her arms slid around his neck and pulled him close. She kissed him back with abandon and strained against him in her need.
“Yes,” she moaned. “Touch me, Blake.”
Her plea shattered his remaining restraint. He tugged on the nightgown until it rent down the center, parting to reveal her naked glory to his hungry eyes. His roughness aroused her further, and she wrapped her limbs around his waist. She tugged impatiently at his shirt until it pulled free from the waistband of his trousers.
More than eager to help her, he jerked up and tore off his shirt, popping the buttons in his haste.
She reached up to claw his chest and drew blood. “Hurry, Blake.”
He sat back on his knees. His cock jerked at her urgency, at the thought of driving deep within her wet, hot sheath. He could take her now, swiftly and violently, with the force of his passion. In her desperate need, she would welcome him.
But how would she feel about him tomorrow? He had broken down her bedroom door, physically overpowered her and then seduced her without a thought to her wishes.
She had wounded him where no other woman had. She had challenged his manhood, dared to tell him she felt nothing for him.
She lay panting, her chest heaving as he slid off the bed and picked up his discarded shirt. His movements were slow and painful as his engorged groin rebelled against his mind’s decision. Perspiration formed on his brow, and he knew that the image of Victoria sprawled naked and aroused on the sheets would taunt him all night.
Lady of Scandal Page 23
