by Lauren Smith
Scandal. His father’s drunken death and the mountains of debt that followed. Ashton had grown up very fast and saved his family by the skin of his teeth.
Years later he’d embraced scandal as part of the League, but it wasn’t the sort his father had accomplished. He and his friends had pushed the boundaries of acceptable behavior for years. But their scandals were those of seductions and stolen hearts, and they had earned their fortunes rather than lost them. It was a different sort of scandal, one that teased the minds of society in ways they secretly wished for themselves, even if they would not admit it.
His mother’s eyes narrowed as if she were reading his thoughts.
“Have you ever wondered why no man has offered for your sister?” Behind his mother, Joanna bit her lip and looked away. “You and Rafe are completely irresponsible with your lives. It’s destroyed her chances because no one will take a woman whose brothers lack a basic sense of responsibility.”
Joanna’s face turned crimson. “Mama, it has nothing to do with Ashton or Rafe. Gentlemen simply aren’t—”
“Nonsense, Joanna,” Regina snapped. “I’ve seen a number of less lovely ladies married off this past year with dowries far smaller than yours. This is Ashton’s fault, and he will see to it that he becomes respectable so as to provide you with a suitable match.” With a determined set to her lips, she dared him to disagree.
“I plan to do that, Mother. But it seems my bride-to-be is the one who needs convincing.”
A hand curled around his arm, and he looked down once again at Rosalind. She was biting her lip hard enough that he feared she’d draw blood.
An hour ago he would not have said he planned to marry her, but the moment his mother had made the assumption, he’d decided that was exactly what he wanted to pretend he intended to do. If it happened to help Joanna’s chances for marriage, all the better. She’d been on the shelf for two years now with no sign of a man taking any interest.
Cedric had faced the same issues with his sisters. League members tended to frighten off potential beaux. In Horatia’s case, she hadn’t sought out many suitors, but Cedric had purposely driven off a number of Audrey’s gentlemen callers.
“Mother, I shall talk with you more on this matter in the morning. Rosalind and I need some time alone.” He held out his hands to Joanna, who, red-faced, handed over the nightgown she was holding, and he promptly shut the door in his mother’s face before he turned to his little Scottish hellion. It didn’t stop him from hearing Jonathan and Charles chuckling just outside the room. He ignored them.
“Rosalind?” He let her name come out a gentle question.
She blinked, shook her head and uttered one word. “No.”
A strange pain in his chest caught him off guard, and he sucked in a breath.
“Wait a moment. Let’s think this through, shall we? I know you don’t wish to marry me, but consider this: I have a desire to put my mother off the scent of matrimony, and the best way to do that is to convince her I plan to marry you. She need never know we don’t intend to go through with it.”
She arched a brow. “I sense you’re offering something to me to entice me to play along? It had better be worth it.”
“Say the Southern Star shipping line to start. I would revert your ownership of that company to you and release parts of your debts in order for you to sustain that company on your own without fear of me claiming it back. In time, I would see fit to return the remaining companies and assets to you. Our solicitors could draw up the necessary paperwork first thing tomorrow.”
There was a heavy pause, but she soon nodded. “I suppose that would be acceptable. But let me make it perfectly clear that I shall not and never will marry you, no matter what games we might play in public for your mother’s sake.”
It was an answer he’d expected, but the intensity of her resistance piqued his curiosity. He placed his hands behind his back and began to pace in a militaristic fashion. “What are your objections to marrying me?”
Rosalind shivered and glanced away. “Do you mind if I take that nightgown? I’m cold.”
Without a word he handed it over. She walked closer to the fire, turning her back to him as she dropped the towel. He caught a full view of her naked backside, the sloping indentations of her waist and the flare of her full hips. A beautiful, addictive silhouette against the fire before she dropped the nightgown over her head and covered herself. It was impossible for his body not to respond to such a glorious sight, and he swallowed hard as he fought to quell his rising arousal.
“So what are your objections?” He waited, staring at her.
She walked over to his bed and picked up the dressing gown, sliding it over her body and tugging it closed.
“Simple. We cannot stand each other.”
Ashton scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “That’s not true, at least not for me. I find you rather fascinating when you aren’t stealing my business. Do you truly dislike me?”
He took two slow, measured steps toward her. Perhaps a little reminder of how hot it could burn between them was called for. When he was done, she would be moaning his name and begging for him to do all the wicked things he’d been fantasizing about for months.
Chapter Eight
Rosalind couldn’t believe the mess she was in. Marry Ashton? Was he serious? She wasn’t repulsed at the thought of pretending—truth be told, a part of her secretly enjoyed it—but now he was asking her why she wouldn’t actually marry him.
She shivered, even though the dressing gown she wore was warm against her. Her wet hair still lay thick and heavy on her shoulders. She felt vulnerable, too exposed physically and emotionally. Given the intense gleam in Ashton’s eyes, she knew he was aware of this vulnerability, and no doubt planned to use it to his advantage.
Yet she sensed in him a practiced restraint that always amazed her. She’d never met a man with so much control. Any other man would be pressing his advantage to slake his lust, but not Ashton. If it hadn’t been for that moment in the theater, she’d wonder if he even desired her. Was it all a game to him, even his passions?
“Is the thought of marrying me so dreadful to contemplate that it turns your stomach? What do you find distasteful about me?”
Rosalind’s eyes narrowed.
“Business practices aside, of course.” Ashton stepped closer. Only a few inches separated them now, but she held her ground. She raised her head and met him stare for stare.
“Let me think…” She tapped her chin with a finger as she compiled her list. “You’re too tall, for one thing. You’re arrogant, more so than most men. You think you can possess anything or anyone, and your actions are always justified if it gets you what you want. And frankly, I do not care for the way you kiss.”
She swore she saw a ghost of a smile. He raised one dark-gold brow and slowly lifted a hand to her cheek, brushing his knuckles over her skin. His touch felt wonderful, and she hated that it did.
“As to the first, it can’t be helped. The second I would call confidence, not arrogance. I readily admit to the third, and I believe you’re lying through your teeth about the last. Still, I see no reason why we shouldn’t go forward with this scheme to deceive my mother. Not if you believe it is to our mutual advantage. Should we see to settling the matter with our solicitors?”
She bristled. “That is perhaps what I despise the most. Everything is business with you. Details, facts, figures. All of it so cold and emotionless,” she growled in frustration.
“It usually is, but it certainly doesn’t have to be. I am a masterful lover.”
“There is that arrogance again.”
“Confidence,” Ashton corrected. His warm breath fanned across her face. She tried not to think about how good it felt to be so close to a large, warm, masculine body. She never asked anyone for help when she could avoid it, but sometimes she could still be tempted by the strength of a man like Ashton. Someone she could imagine would protect her, care for her.
It doesn’t
make me weak; it’s simply that he’s too hard to resist.
“I’m not interested in being your lover,” she said. Yet she couldn’t stop staring at his lips. Full, sensual, kissable…
“You don’t have to be. But a few kisses at the right time would at least convince my mother we are courting. And it should seem to her as if we have kissed before.”
“We have kissed before.”
“Practice does make perfect…” His head dipped a few inches toward hers, but his lips did not touch hers. Her body was nearly exploding with tension at being so close to him. She was angry, yet full of desire and utterly confused, but she knew she did want to kiss him…because he was right about her lying before. She liked how he kissed far too much.
She wasn’t sure who moved first. When their mouths met it was like setting a torch to a keg of gunpowder. All that she’d endured the last two days exploded out from her through her kiss, equal parts anger and passion.
She gripped Ashton’s shirt by his neck, clinging to him, meshing her lips against his. Suddenly she was lifted up in the air, and she wrapped her legs around his waist.
Hard wood slammed against her back as he pressed her against the wall and kissed her ruthlessly.
Even in this we compete. The thought had her smiling, and then a chuckle escaped between their breathless kisses. When he paused to look at her, she couldn’t help her silly grin.
“What?” he asked, his tone playful. “What is so amusing?” He nuzzled her cheek.
She almost didn’t tell him, but the fire in the room and his hot body flush against hers felt divine. She couldn’t think past the delightful haze sweeping through her.
“We compete, even in kissing.”
His laughter at that was dark and delightful.
“We are rivals, darling. Perhaps we ought to compete in bed as well?”
His suggestion flooded her with images of their bodies entwined, fighting to be the best at pleasuring the other to the point where neither of them would recover for days.
“Don’t you want to best me in that, future wife?” he asked huskily. “Put me in my place?”
Future wife. That brought her dire situation crashing back down upon her.
“This is only a game.” It was as much to remind herself as it was him.
He pulled away, but only a few inches. “I know, but why are you so frightened of the idea?”
She wrinkled her nose. “Because I cannot give a husband what he would want.” She could never let him know just how terrified she was to lose the sense of identity she’d managed to build for herself.
He kissed the corner of her mouth, gently fisting one hand in her hair. The gentle but possessive hold made her body burn with heat.
“Why…not?” Ashton asked again, licking the shell of her ear now.
“Because I don’t…” Her mind was too fuzzy, her body too hot to think clearly.
One of his hands stroked up her outer thigh, his grip hard but not hurting. Just right…
“Come now, sweetheart, what has you so frightened?”
Damn, the man knew how to hold her, to touch her… “I cannot let any man control me ever again.” Memories of long, cold, frightening nights in Scotland when her father’s temper ran high had left scars on her heart.
He pulled back from her in order to stare at her. “Your husband was cruel to you?” Ashton guessed.
With a shake of her head, she pushed at his shoulder, but he didn’t release her.
“No, not my husband. He rescued me from hell, but he also taught me strength and how to be my own woman. He was my white knight.”
“He sounds like much more than that. Any knight who teaches a damsel to wield a sword and defend herself is a man I can respect. But if he wasn’t the one who controlled you, then who was?” Ashton’s eyes narrowed. “Your brothers?”
“They would never! They often took the beatings to spare me.”
Clarity sharpened Ashton’s eyes. “Ah. Your father.”
She didn’t respond. He could read her face and the pain she’d spent years trying to hide.
“It’s a story I’ve heard far too often,” Ashton continued. “The weak hurt those who are weaker so they can feel strong. No man should ever do that to a woman, let alone his own child.”
He reached up and brushed a damp lock of hair back from her face. She ducked at the touch but didn’t retreat. She felt less threatened than before. He’d echoed those words Lord Melbourne had said the night he’d met her, and she didn’t think Ashton would lie about that. There was an earnestness in his voice that made her believe him.
Ashton brushed a hand through her hair, tucking it behind her ear. There was a myriad of questions she saw flash in his eyes before he finally spoke. “What if we played this charade for a week? If you find it not too disagreeable, we could continue on for a while longer to give me more time to assuage my mother’s incessant need to see me settled down.”
“A week? I suppose I could suffer that long, but I’m not sure I’ll wish to continue this beyond that.”
He dropped his hands from her hair. The loss of that soothing stroke surprised her, as did it when he let her down from where she’d been pinned against the wall. She hadn’t noticed how relaxed his touch had made her feel until he stepped back away from her.
“Then it’s settled. I’ll have my solicitor contact yours to start returning the Southern Star company to you. I’ll check on your supper. Please stay here. I can’t have you running about my house half-naked. It’s likely to give my mother a case of the vapors if I give her any more shocks tonight.” He was the cool, collected baron once again.
He left her alone in his bedchamber. The chill that his kisses had melted minutes ago soon returned. She stayed put, leaning against the wall, her mind racing, her heart beating wildly. What was she going to do?
The door opened a few minutes after Ashton was gone, and Lady Lennox slipped inside.
“Lady Lennox, I am so sorry to have met you like this,” she apologized.
Regina waved a hand. “I have no doubt that whatever brought you to our house like this is my son’s fault and I’m the one who should be apologizing. My daughter explained to me you were discovered half-dead on our doorstep, covered in mud and water.”
Blushing, Rosalind nodded. “I was forced to walk a few miles through the storm.”
“Heavens, child! I’m almost afraid to ask what role my son played in all of this, but I must know.” She led Rosalind over to one of the two chairs by the fire and ushered her into one before taking the other.
Rosalind fiddled with the lace of her borrowed nightgown. “I don’t wish to upset you.”
Regina pursed her lips before speaking. “Please, tell me. It cannot be as bad as what my fertile imagination has supplied.”
Where to begin? Rosalind tried to ignore the sudden throb of a headache that built behind her eyes. She sensed Lady Lennox was far more observant than her son believed. She wouldn’t simply fall for some ruse of his intent to marry out of the blue. It would be best if she stuck closer to the truth.
“Lord Lennox, in some Machiavellian attempt to punish me for competing with his business, has frozen my accounts, stalled my credits and bought my debts. He took possession of my townhouse in London. I used the last of my money to come here, only to be robbed by a highwayman after my coach fractured a wheel. I was then forced to work for my supper at an inn before I walked here through the storm.” There, she’d said it all, but the headache didn’t go away.
Regina’s face was ashen. “Then…but…you’re not marrying my son after all that, are you?” she asked, a little worried. “If I’d just endured all that, I’d want to kill him, not marry him.”
Despite her black mood, Rosalind chuckled. “Yes, that is exactly my sentiment towards Lennox, but the damned fool believes he’ll marry me. He is quite used to getting his way in things, as you know.”
“Of course,” Regina murmured in agreement, her eyes still wide with
concern. “Oh, my dear, what a mess this is. I suppose it is my duty to save you from him, seeing as how it is my fault he is the way he is.”
“In what way, Lady Lennox?” Rosalind didn’t have any idea what Ashton’s mother was talking about.
The older woman sighed and leaned back in her chair, staring at the fire, or rather staring through the fire and seeing something beyond it that no one else could.
“My two sons have the two worst parts of their father in them. Rafe has all the love of vices, women, gambling, racing, and Ashton all the cold, power-hungry determination to control the world. Despite my efforts, I could not remove those qualities from them. Their failures are my own, I’m afraid.” Ashton’s mother wiped one of her eyes and blinked.
“I don’t believe Lennox is the sort of man who would let anyone shape his future but himself. You mustn’t blame yourself for his stubbornness.” It was strange to feel herself allied with the mother of her sworn enemy.
Regina gave a watery chuckle. “Stubbornness? That’s an awfully polite term for it. Let me guess, you have brothers?”
Rosalind grinned. “Three of them. All as stubborn as your son, perhaps even more so because of their Scottish blood, which I can attest is far worse.”
Ashton’s mother laughed. “We have Scots in the family, on my side. I know exactly what you mean.”
They shared a quiet moment together, smiling at each other. Regina straightened her dressing gown. “So, we must decide what to do about this marriage business.”
Sobering, Rosalind replied, “I told him I am afraid to marry again.” She hesitated, but there was something sincere and honest in Regina’s expression that Rosalind trusted. “I lived under the iron fist of a brutal father. My late husband was many years my senior, but he left me well off. If I were to marry, most of the fortune I’ve built since his death would transfer instantly to my next husband. I will not sacrifice that control over my life to another man.”
Understanding lit Regina’s blue eyes, eyes so like Ashton’s it was almost eerie. “Ashton’s father was a loose-handed spender. I came into our marriage with a large dowry, which he lost at the card tables. He had no control when it came to his vices. The fool I was, I still loved him, even when he brought shame and ruin to this house. I understand better than anyone how you must feel.”
