Invitation to Scandal

by Bronwen Evans

  He nodded. “No more than I can help wanting to glory in it.”

  With those husky words, he rose over her, slowly pressing her back into the fresh green grass. She felt every inch of his lean, hard body, and his masculine scent filled her nostrils. Rheda’s body betrayed her, welcoming the feel of him; the aroma of sandalwood and virile man became a heady rush that enhanced all her senses.

  His lips hovered by her ear as he ran his hand slowly up the inside of her leg. His fingers found the top of her thigh, and with a small cry, she pushed her hands against his shoulders and squirmed beneath him. She tried to twist away from his touch, but he captured her wrists in his other hand and thrust them on the ground above her head.

  “Come now, do not play coy with me. You are old enough to know the games men and women play. I would give you great pleasure. I would satisfy you more than any of your other lovers.”

  She’d had no other lovers. How could she make him believe that?

  Before she could respond, his lips found hers in a drugging kiss. The slight stubble around his chin was abrasive on her skin—Rheda decided she liked the feeling. He played with her lower lip, sucking it between his, gently nipping. It made her light-headed. His tongue probed the entrance to her mouth until she surrendered and opened to him. His tongue swept in, and a tremor rocked her. He tasted divine. Like the waves crashing on the rocks, something wild and wanton unlocked and broke free. She embraced the madness his kiss was unleashing within her.

  She’d never experienced a kiss like it. With each heaving breath she could feel her breasts pushing against a solid wall of muscle, and to her horror, her nipples hardened. Her gasp formed a tangled knot in her throat. She could not speak. She could only feel the heat of his hand burning her skin where he touched her, igniting bewildering forces in her blood.

  Finally he drew back. “What is your name?” he murmured as he lightly tickled the back of her knee.

  Rheda’s brain spun. She could not give him her name; things had gone too far. She could barely think with his hand stroking her leg. Her heated skin turned maddeningly sensitive to his touch. It was humiliating to have one’s body react wantonly at the mere touch of a stranger, even if he was the most attractive man she’d ever clapped eyes upon. She shivered and jerked involuntarily, the movement causing his muscled thigh to slip between her legs.

  He flashed a smile full of sin and pressed his thigh against the most intimate part of her. Sizzling warmth flooded her lower body, making her burn with mortification. Her heart pounded in a frantic beat as she realized for the first time in her life she was aroused—aroused and infuriated.

  “Do not ... Get your hands off me.”

  Ignoring her words, Lord Strathmore’s lips pressed lightly to her neck and he whispered, “Where did you get the barrel?”

  Rheda froze at his words. The haze of frightening desire swirling around her vanished. This was not about a man wanting to pleasure a woman; he was trying to seduce her for information.

  Why did he wish to know about the barrel? He was obviously not a Revenuer. Her eyes narrowed. To atone for his father’s treason perhaps he was a government man. There had been an increase in patrols in the area. His Majesty was rumored to be annoyed at the smugglers. The king felt trading with the French was helping to line Napoleon’s coffers.

  She choked back her anger. Smuggling actually kept the king’s own people fed. Most of the inhabitants of Deal would starve without the income from this illicit activity.

  She stared back at Lord Strathmore, his handsome features a blur. His head lay so close that his hair feathered disturbingly over her cheek.

  Lord Strathmore hadn’t really wanted her. His focus had been on the barrel. Why that annoyed her, she could not guess. She usually never welcomed the attention men gave her. And she attracted plenty of attention.

  She would have to be careful. “Stop. Get off me.”

  He pressed closer. She stiffened in fright. She could feel his erection against her thigh. Perhaps this wasn’t solely about interrogation.

  He groaned. “You cannot mean that. If I replace my thigh”—he rubbed his leg familiarly against her mound—“with my hand, I’m sure I’ll find you wet with your own need.” He pushed his hips forward. “I know you can feel my desire for you.”

  She definitely felt it. It was hard to miss.

  Rheda fought against her own longing, trying to deny she wanted to feel more. At the age of five and twenty, she’d seen and experienced more of life than most young ladies. Yet her station in life meant his current seduction would have consequences. Consequences he would not want to pay any more than she did. She was not naive. If he compromised her, he would be forgiven, she would not. Society’s rules were devised by men, for men. Men like her hedonistic father.

  She gave a small snort. The mess her father left upon his death meant she’d had little chance of doing what Society expected. Not if she’d wanted to save Tumsbury Cliff Manor for Daniel.

  Lord Strathmore pulled her slightly off the ground and reached behind her. “Let’s get rid of some of these clothes. I want you naked, skin to skin, when I take you.”

  Naked.

  Naked! Take her ...

  She shook her head and began to struggle in earnest. This was a mistake. A dreadful mistake. He couldn’t really want to “take her” in an open field where anyone could stumble across them. Were all men pigs? Slaves to the animal hanging between their thighs?

  However, he did seem to have forgotten about the barrel.

  Her hands rose between them, to batter against his chest, forcing some space between their bodies.

  “No. Don’t. Please ...”

  At her word “please” he hesitated. Rheda held her breath, feeling her heart race with trepidation. With a man of Lord Strathmore’s ilk, she may have already gone too far to appeal to his noble self. She could not rely on his honor, because he did not know her true identity.

  Now he never could.

  His face was disquietingly close to hers. She found herself transfixed by his mouth, a mouth she could still feel and taste.

  God help her. She wanted him.

  Rufus could see where her gaze rested. The feel of her eyes upon him ... If anything, his desire for her grew. He was so hard, so aroused ...

  This woman was all softness and curves. She had an air about her that teased and confused—a combination of innocence and siren. Her beauty caught him in her web, and he could not break free. He had an overwhelming need to stake a claim on the wild gypsy woman lying panting in his arms.

  After the amount of riding he’d done today, searching for any clues as to the area Dark Shadow used for his illegal activities, he would have thought sex was the last thing on his mind. His body obviously thought differently.

  He had not been looking for a further dalliance. Lucy had been willing and very obliging. But the barrel meant he needed this woman. What better way to ensure her cooperation than seducing her, using pleasure to conquer any reluctance in revealing the source of her barrel.

  He could take her, here and now. He saw it in her eyes. She wanted him. Why then did she hesitate?

  Rufus’s arms tightened around her. The flowery scent of her filled his nostrils. He inwardly cursed. He wanted her, but this wasn’t about giving rein to his baser instincts. He needed information. Information about the origins of her barrel. With the utmost reluctance he tempered his desire.

  The barrel could hold the key to his mission. A traitor was using a Kent smuggling operation as cover. His capture would help the war effort. The spy sending vital war intelligence to Napoleon had to be stopped.

  When he’d rounded the bend in the road, the barrel was the first thing that had drawn his attention, after which he’d become enchanted at the sight of the golden-haired goddess prone against the tree. His hunger for her was growing, as was his admiration. She’d faced him with bravado, trapped. She would have been hurting, yet she faced him down like a tigress. But when she lay in a dead fa
int in his arms, he’d felt every soft sensuous curve.

  A powerful, overwhelming desire swept through him again. He immediately pictured her silken tresses falling over his bare skin as she rode naked above him. However, at present, the most powerful aphrodisiac was the chance her seduction could lead him to Dark Shadow.

  He frowned. If Dark Shadow was a down-on-his-luck noble, perhaps she’d been given the barrel—payment for services rendered. To have a woman of her beauty, he’d pay almost anything, and he was sure other men would, too.

  His eyebrow rose. Perhaps that is what she was after. Why had she stopped him when he could tell the sensuous beauty before him was as aroused as he?

  By the state of her drab dress, money was in short supply. He could pay her. He was certainly wealthy enough, and he’d paid for the pleasure of a woman’s body numerous times before. In his line of work, working for the government, it was almost impossible to keep a mistress, so his liaisons were frequent and fleeting, often in exchange for money.

  He shook his head to clear the desire clouding his judgment. With iron-willed control, he set her away from him and forced his desires back into check.

  She lowered her eyes, and with a flush staining her creamy skin, she began to straighten her clothes.

  “Will you look at me, darling?” he managed.

  She tossed her glorious mane of fiery-gold curls over her shoulder and gave him a mutinous look. He kept his tone disarming. “What has caused your sudden about-face? I know you were enjoying my attentions. When we are fully joined, flesh to heated flesh, I’ll give you such pleasure your screams will be heard over the pounding surf.”

  She sat back on her heels, her eyes weary. “I don’t doubt your skill as a lover, but I am not read—that is, I am not yours for the taking.”

  He smiled. “Perhaps an incentive is required. How remiss of me to expect to sample your bountiful favors when I have offered nothing in return.”

  Chapter 3

  Afrown stole over her poignant heart-shaped face. Lord Strathmore felt himself harden further. God he wanted her. He resisted the urge to push her down into the long grass and forget his troubles by sinking deep within her hot, welcoming body.

  He couldn’t help one further attempt at getting what he wanted—knowledge about the cask of brandy. He reached for her and pulled her back into his embrace. “Name your price. I am an extremely wealthy man, and I shall be very generous.” He paused and gently kissed her lips. “Especially if you tell me about the barrel.”

  Rheda was beginning to hate the barrel.

  She couldn’t look away; there was something warm and tender in his eyes that seemed to be lulling her toward her own demise.

  “How does five guineas sound?” He paused and ran his finger gently down her cheek, tracing the outline of her lips until they parted on a soft sigh. “I’ll double it if you tell me where you found the barrel.”

  Her heart beat a wild pulse in her throat. A man just bartered for her as if she were a whore. She shouldn’t be surprised. Her actions were deplorable. She’d let him touch her, kiss her ... To her great shame, she longed to do more. With him. With this beautiful, dangerous rake.

  Remember your mother.

  Rheda twisted within his firm grip. “I am not for sale at any price, my lord.” With her pride hurt she uttered, “Let me go.”

  His arms tightened. “Is the sum not enough? One hundred guineas?” She was shocked at the small fortune he’d offered, yet the purring quality of his husky voice quieted her alarm.

  Vaguely Rheda realized she was letting him caress her again, stroking with hushed delicacy the column of her throat, her bare shoulder, her tingling breasts ...

  Slowly he bent his head, his lips following the path his fingers had taken, his soft caress sending desire shooting through her body. A tremor shook her as he tugged her bodice lower, deliberately exposing her breasts to his heated gaze and wicked tongue.

  “Two hundred,” he said, his voice husky with want, before his tongue played in a leisurely erotic dance on her skin.

  Rheda came to her senses just in time. Just before his mouth latched on to her nipple. Just before she forgot everything except what this man could make her feel.

  She struggled in his arms, trying desperately to pull out of his tight embrace.

  “Don’t be afraid, angel ...”

  She felt the soft brush of his breath on her ripe swells. If he suckled her she’d be lost, so she suddenly found her strength. Spying a heavy stick, she grabbed it and swung it at his head. It connected with a sickening thud, and he let her go. She fell backward on the grass as he struggled to his feet with a roar of injured pride.

  “What the hell was that for?”

  Rheda hid her fear, pulling up her bodice. She scowled up at him, refusing to let her own helplessness conquer her. “I am not for sale and you would not listen. You wouldn’t unhand me.” She lowered her voice. “Perhaps rape is the only way you can take a woman.”

  He stood staring down at her, his breath coming in ragged pants. “We both know it would not have been rape. Even now I can see the desire in your eyes.”

  “Yes—a desire to be left alone. Not to be molested by a brute stronger than me simply because he feels like it. Not all women are whores. Or is monetary incentive the only way you know how to get a woman?” She all but spat the words at him.

  Shock flared in his eyes. He glared down at her, his rigid stance indicating how livid he was.

  She followed his angry stare, only to gasp as she quickly lowered her skirts from where they were bunched around her waist, her legs exposed to his heated gaze.

  He was breathing heavily. She could not quite meet his eyes. She had been enjoying his touch, his fingers’ caress, and his lips’ soft trail. Her eyes could not meet his knowing gaze; instead, they roamed downward and came to rest on the great cylindrical bulge in his trousers. He was still hard for her. She could not tear her gaze away.

  “If you keep staring at my trousers like that, I’ll think you are lying and you do in fact want me as I want you.”

  His words brought more heat to her cheeks.

  “Are you going to put me out of my misery?” When he spoke, his voice was an intimate murmur designed to coax the deepest secrets from her. Her eyes were drawn back to his bulge. “I meant were you going to tell me about the barrel ?” His voice grew heavy with sarcasm. “Unless you were thinking of some other way to end my obvious suffering. I wouldn’t want to touch you again and be accused of rape.”

  She shook her head and looked away. With a strangled sigh, Rheda leaned back on her elbows and looked up into his ruggedly handsome face, trying to still the sparks of heat flaring in her veins. She had to tell him something. She knew from experience that a man of Lord Strathmore’s fortitude would not leave her alone until he had his answer.

  “We had a big storm pass through here a couple of nights ago. I found it washed up on the beach this morning. It must have fallen off a ship. I thought I’d roll it home.”

  “On your own?”

  “I couldn’t risk leaving it. Someone else might take it. Selling the contents of this barrel could feed us for a month. Unfortunately, as I was rolling it, the barrel slipped off the road down this little slope. I managed to stop it from going over the cliff, but became pinned against this oak tree.”

  She kept her features blank as the lies rolled off her tongue. If Lord Strathmore was with the government he’d learn nothing from her. Smuggling was punishable by transportation to the colonies, but finding goods washed ashore after a storm was merely salvaging.

  His voice became resolute and dropped an octave. “I do not think so; the barrel is not even wet.” He dropped down to kneel on the grass beside her, making any idea of escape ludicrous. Besides, with his stallion there was no way she could outrun him. “Do I need to coax a better response from you?” He reached to cup her chin in his hands. He lowered his face until their lips almost met. “I ask again, where did you get it?”
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  Rheda swallowed her fear. “On the beach, my lord.”

  “You will tell me the truth. It wasn’t in the water, was it? What beach? Where did you find it exactly?” His words flew at her with urgency.

  She stammered, his nearness affecting her more than she liked. “I—I cannot remember exactly which beach, but it was near here. The cask is heavy, and I hadn’t rolled it very far before I became pinned.”

  He eyed her wearily as if judging the truth of her words. Her heart began to pound as his eyes darkened from deep brown to almost black. He lifted one hand to stroke her hair as it lay flowing loose on the ground. In a low, deadly tone he said, “Perhaps I should summon the Revenuers and let them extract the truth from you since my methods of persuasion do not work.”

  Meg always told her to work with the devil you know. She would be wiser to place herself in this man’s hands than let the Revenue men get her. But she seethed with indignation at having to beg. She crossed her fingers behind her back and lied. “Please, Lord Strathmore, I swear on my father’s grave that I found it on the beach.”

  “If you tell me which beach, I shall not hand you over to the Revenue men. Do you know what would happen to you if I do? They’ll likely not care about my being accused of rape.”

  She lowered her eyes. “I will tell you.”

  His hand continued to cup her chin, forcing her to look at him. “Well, I’m waiting.” His eyes bored into hers. “Which beach?”

  She chewed her bottom lip. Which beach should she pick? It would have to be Fraser’s Landing. It was the only beach with a slope gentle enough for her to have rolled the barrel up it. Besides, it was a beach smugglers never used.

  “I found the barrel on Fraser’s Landing. It’s not far from here. Do you know where it is?”

  He gave a small nod—followed by such a devastating smile she wished him to Hades. A ruthless man should not own such a smile. It made remembering the danger he represented impossible.