Scenting Scandal (Scandalous Siblings Series Book 2)

by Suzi Love

  She covered his shaking hands with her own, shifted his fingers, loosened the ties, laid open the placket, and placed his hands, flat, still trembling, on her warm, soft flesh. “Richard, I’ve no idea the topic of your muttered inner debate, nor, at this particular moment, do I damn well care. Though if it’s some idiotic notion of playing the gentleman, I’ll not stand for…”

  “Sweetheart, wait, please wait.”

  He pulled his hands away from the temptation of skin and flesh and woman, and groaned. Women, many, many women, if he were to be honest, had tantalized him with glimpses of clothing, various types, from ribald to silk lingerie from French designers. Dozens had discarded those layers of clothing, also in various positions, habitués, or during well-executed plans to impress or entrap him. Some for coin, some with hopes of becoming his countess.

  None had struck a chord in the same way as Laura’s contrasting layers.

  For something to do with his fists, wavering as if fighting the urge to delve into the snug crevice below her chemise, he grasped his head, forgot his injury and dislodged her bandage with his agitated actions.

  “Hell! It’s impossible to think. Not rationally. Not when you’re lying there, half-naked,” he waved one hand towards her and scowled when she giggled, “tempting me, taunting every smidgen of honor I possess.”

  “So, I tempt you, do I?” Her voice, husky, close, made him groan again and grip the hand she’d decided to trail up and down his cheek to further distract him. He needed no further distraction, her hot scent drifting towards his nostrils each time she leaned upwards to stroke him, to mock him, was agony enough.

  “You know you do. But if I were to continue…if a man shows someone like you…a young lady—”

  Her limbs went rigid beside and beneath him. No, no, no, his own body cried. Stay with me. Don’t leave me, don’t reject me. Not yet at least, not until he explained. Not until he delivered The Earl’s Speech of Regret. The one he painstakingly addressed to each and every woman before he flirted with her at a ball, or dallied with her in a garden, considered bedding her or, whatever the case might be.

  He caught her hands, imploring her understanding through body language and his carefully chosen words. Not for her would his well-practiced, sincerely-spoken sermon suffice. The one expressing profound regrets that his situation of raising four sisters tied his hands regarding marriage for some considerable years.

  Not for her were his usual platitudes that in other circumstances she, whomsoever the female of the month happened to be, would be his preferred bride above all others. For she, his friend, his nemesis, would accept nothing less than authenticity and sincerity. Now, if only she’d listen.

  “Richard, if you dare to deliver your infamous putdown to me, of all people, the one you use to warn off every female from sixteen to sixty, the Earl-Of-Winchester-Regrets-He-Cannot-Marry-You thing, you’re so renowned for, I swear I’ll not be responsible for my actions.”

  “Good Lord. You mean you’ve heard it?”

  “Half the women in London, and ones younger than sixteen and older than sixty, can probably repeat it verbatim. You’ve been quoted, frequently, when un-entangling yourself from some convoluted situation. Women have actually fought over you, incredible as it seems to me, and men copy parts of it to break off their own relationships with women. Please don’t say you weren’t aware of this.”

  He chuckled, and she made a strange noise, almost a growl. He wished he could see her face. “Well, perhaps I’ve given advice to the occasional unfortunate man, who has been trapped by an overeager female and he wants to avoid the parson’s noose. Though the bit about women fighting over me is rather flattering, don’t you think? Ouch! You pinched me.”

  “Regarding your disputable attractions as a husband, I assure you I’ve no need to hear your regrets before we proceed. As long as you’ve no regrets afterwards, I’ll be happy. You know I feel the same as you about marrying for propriety’s sake. I’d rather live out my days in seclusion on a Scottish mountain, than be forced to marry someone over trivial details.”

  ‘That trivial detail could become the loss of your innocence, if we let things get out of hand, here, tonight, my love. My control can only be stretched so far, and you’ve always enjoyed pulling my chain, testing me to the limit.”

  “Tonight, I don’t care what normally happens between us. Nor what happens after. Nor will I hold you to blame. Not when my body burns hotter than a furnace, my limbs won’t keep still, and my senses are stretched, fit to burst. If I don’t get something…something I can’t even name…something you know about, can give me. Release from this torment. All I know, Richard, is that I need you. Now. Desperately. If necessary, I’ll beg.”

  He’d always considered her character as layer upon layer of intriguing traits and quirks, but now, in broken and filthy surroundings, she’d stripped away the last covering with her own hands. Revealed the hidden gem at the center. Offered it to him, openly. A more delicate, more precious layer. Definitely a more enticing one.

  “Oh, little one, you’ve no idea how glad I am to be the one you want to show you, to introduce you to new experiences. I’d give half my fortune to see you right now, spread like a feast for a man long starved for the sight before me. Though my eyes are blind, all my other senses are open to every part of you. Every precious inch of you I long to touch, to taste, to lick and to savor.”

  Her rising excitement, thankfully a match to his own wildly escalating passion, flooded those senses demonstrated by a sharp catch of breath, a violent vibration of her body, a shudder or shake through her limbs at every caress by his hands, which were now spread widely over her chemise. Over her breasts. Her tightening nipples. He felt them under his fingers.

  “Your nipples are calling to me, begging me, wanting me to take them between my teeth and roll them and squeeze them and taste them until your flavor fills my mouth–”

  Once more her hand covered his mouth.

  “Richard, I never realized how much you talked before. No wonder we fight. But at this moment, I need actions. Not more words.”

  He nodded. “I can do that.” He slid his hands under the chemise and hooked his thumbs into the scalloped lace hem to drag it upwards with his hands. As his palms skimmed over the round globes of her breasts on their northward journey, he groaned again.

  “Perfect. You’re so perfect. Oh, God, I need light.”

  He felt rather than saw her head shake. “No, this is perfect. Being here with you. Here, in the dark, I can be someone else. Someone besides Lady Laura, the odd Jamison sister. Loud, often incoherent, and generally…” He leaned close to catch the softly-spoken word, “…misunderstood.” The saddest word.

  “I understand you perfectly,” he said without thinking, busy removing her chemise without tangling her hair.

  Her small hesitations, her small catches on words of emotion, were so much easier to read when he could see her eyes, when he could watch as she screwed up kerchief after kerchief into tight balls. Or ripped them to shreds, which is how many of his ended when they argued.

  Perhaps he should simply stop offering his perfect squares of perfect linen, about which his valet lamented loudly after they were returned ripped, shredded, or sodden. Although, if he stopped offering when she’d used her supply of linen, she’d be too embarrassed to accept from any other gentleman their proffered personal item. So far as he knew, she’d never considered why, of all people, she didn’t refuse his, her professed nemesis, whenever he pressed his urgently-needed linen into her hand.

  Though unable to see the nuances of her emotions this time, he could interpret this one. “It’s easy to notice the more–” A small jab to his ribs. “I was about to say… interesting qualities about you. Your eccentricities,” another jab, “tiny ones to be sure, make you far more fascinating than most young ladies.”

  “If I’m so fascinating, why do you–”

  “Now who’s talking too much?” He chuckled. “Perhaps we could discuss
other fascinating things about you, after. After exploring your, to me, far more intriguing physical side.”

  With a sigh, he settled to his task, his extremely pleasurable task. Flattened palms ran in unison over the two tightly squeezed buds pushing out in demand from swollen breasts, equally eager, equally determined to claim his attention. Under his palms, his fingers, her muscles undulated, her chest rose and fell in a faster and faster rhythm, her skin rippled with sudden spasms, as he found and tormented particularly sensitive areas.

  And he reveled in every squirm, every wriggle and every moan. This is what he’d waited for all his life, this moment of pure enjoyment, yet an act of unselfish pleasure-giving. Not that he ever left his bed partners unsatisfied. But right now he was content, more than content, to administer every type of sensation and experience to her willing form, and spend the entire night admiring his success, enjoying with her every miniscule of feeling and anticipation.

  Sensing her climb, inch by writhing inch, higher and ever higher towards something wondrous, something she trusted him to provide for her, filled him with immense gratitude. Knowing he was the one she’d chosen filled him with pride, and possession. Mentally, he shook his head. It always came back to that with her: that feeling of possession, of wanting to reach out and claim her for his own, even though he’d spent many a night reminding himself why such an outcome would prove disastrous.

  He pinched each nipple between two fingers, tugged, rolled, ‘til his she-devil squirmed like a worm on his hook and begged with a mix of grunts, moans and demands for him to stop, yet never stop. When her tormented noises edged towards shrieks, part-pleasure part-tingling-pain, and he judged she’d reached the edge, he took a long slow draw on her elongated nipple, using the sharp edge of his teeth to drag it through a drawn-out release from his mouth.

  He shuddered, the pleasure almost killing him. If he hadn’t been reclining, he’d have been brought to his knees. This perfect peak was given all the attention it deserved, his hand cupping her begging breast and finally lifting it fully to his mouth, securing it with his teeth and fingers against her out-of-control wiggles and squirms. Sliding across her chest with a long lick, he located the ignored breast, and at her urging, lavished it with the same concentrated treatment. Eventually, she grasped his head, pulled him away, her breathing jerky, her body twitching uncontrollably.

  “Richard, oh, my goodness, Richard! Oh, you need to stop. Oh, my.”

  With one hand cupped around a breast and the other tangled in her disarrayed hair, pins holding it under her cap having long since disappeared, he looked up. Held his breath, waited. If she asked him to stop, he would, naturally, despite it being the most arduous task he’d ever faced.

  “No, no, not the pleasure. Stop your infernal tormenting and teasing. Do something. I can’t stand it.” She grabbed hold of his wrist with both hands, shaking it, pleading, and begging. “You’ve years of experience. Fix this. Fix me. I’m about to explode. Shatter. Then nothing!” Her voice rose to a fevered chant as she shook his arm. “Do. Something. Now!” The last words screamed in his ear.

  He chuckled and she stabbed his chest with a finger, punctuating her angrily-issued instructions. “Do. Not. Laugh. This is serious.”

  Try as he might, he couldn’t smother his laughter, knowing the guffaws bubbling up every few seconds would raise her ire, rather than her excitement. He silently thanked the heavens their first adventure into sensuality was in a deserted area, not her bed chamber or an ante room off a crowded ballroom. At least Loud Laura could scream the roof off, or what remained of it, and nobody would hear.

  “Shush, shush, sweetheart. I love knowing you’re so eager to learn more about passion with me. But.”

  “Damn you! I sense one of your big brother lectures on behavior coming.”

  “The last thing I feel is brotherly. I want to be your teacher, your lover, not a family member struggling to do the honorable thing. This is neither the time nor the place to take your innocence, little one. I’ll ease your pain though, relieve your rising pressure. But you must promise not to push me for anything else. The rest of the time we’ll resist excitement. Discuss the weather.”

  He felt her nod. Whether she’d keep her word after he’d introduced her to her first taste of pleasure was debatable. He’d laid out variations of these restrictions, alongside reminders of the short duration of his liaisons, numerous times before. With numerous other women. And on many, many occasions he recalled, those women later paid absolutely no heed to his rules. Rules he’d set out before their very first contact, before their first assignation for mutual gratification. Women were not to be trusted in these affairs.

  “No, listen to me. On the aspect of our time together, I’m making it clear. This is one occasion, one only. No repeat performances. No demands, no begging, no pleading for another night. No opportunity for your brothers, or Cayle, to discover what happened. No chance of them challenging me to pistols at dawn.”

  “Do not dare compare me to any one of your previous mistresses. I’ve nothing in common with the preening empty-headed widows you generally escort about town. And I’ve no desire to monopolize your time. Nor your always-in-demand body. Plus, I’ve no more desire to be trapped into a relationship than you.” He heard her sigh, the softening of her tone. “Give me this one time, one chance to understand what more there may be to marriage. Knowledge to help me choose, at a later date, a husband who’ll suit me in every way. If I’ve never experienced the delights as men are so free to do, how can I make judgments on whether a gentleman, or the next after him, will provide the right stimulation? Excite me to an extent such as you have tonight. If I don’t find a husband, one who meets my requirements in every way, including the bedroom, I’ll happily remain a spinster. Knowing I at least investigated every possibility, examined every avenue.” She huffed. “Now, will you please shut up and move on to the next lesson.”

  He chuckled. “Absolutely, my delightfully demanding miss.” He reached down and unbuttoned the flap of her trousers. “Lift up,” he ordered, while tugging the trousers over her bottom and down her legs.

  Leaving them tangled in her stockings and boots would thankfully provide another large road block, supposing passion carried him away and he missed the point at which he’d vowed his lesson in seduction must halt. His wandering hand touched warm and arousal-dampened flesh on its northward journey, and he sucked in a sharp breath at the feel of her hidden flesh moving under his.

  “No–no drawers,” he said between short gulps for air.

  “Impossible to fit them under this clothing. Do you know how difficult it is too keep one of these wretched shirts tucked in? Keep the tails secured?”

  “I do have some experience with that problem.”

  “And I imagined only women had problems with clothing when–”

  His fingers eased through her nest of hair, the curls twining around his fingers, his imagination filling in their color. Raven’s wing dark, with a blue sheen, even down there. A sharp jolt of arousal had his erection jerk, twitch against her thigh, and his fingers unconsciously tightened and pulled.

  “Ouch!”

  “Oh, damn, sorry,” he muttered, hauling back on the reins of his self-control. Stopped his over-active imagination before it took any giant leaps forward and dived into the wetlands he sensed a fraction out of finger-reach. Seducing Laura, or rather not seducing Laura, was proving infinitely harder than contemplated, and he’d assumed drawing a line, not crossing boundaries, would require every scrap of willpower.

  Wiggling one finger between the lowest part of her folds, he tested her response.

  “Ooh, ah, ah, ah, ooh.”

  While she chanted a barely-comprehensible string of encouragements and audible displays of enjoyment, she arched, bucked and squirmed, although so far, he’d only inserted a forefinger, pushing it ever-so-slowly higher. When he brought her to orgasm, she was so responsive she’d quite possibly leap clear out of their little hidey-hole.
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br />   Groaning with a mix of agony yet delight at her response, he battled to ignore the throb and swell in his groin, the hardening and growing length of his arousal as it screamed for the same attention. But no. His vow was to make this night entirely about her, her voyage of discovery. Even if it killed him. Her first experience would be joyous, exciting, leaving her panting for more. Resolutely, he pushed aside the image of another man having the privilege of teaching her the next lesson. For now at least, she was his.

  A mere graze of her swollen nub, no longer hidden as the folds became engorged, saw her back arch, made her thrust herself forcefully into his waiting hand. He circled with his palm and with increasing pressure on the outside of her mound, continually dipping further, probing deeper at the same time. Two fingers could now slide inside with ease, twist, probe, retreat. Until she ran wet, the excess of juices dribbling between his fingers and down her thighs.

  “Oh, God, you’re so wet. So ready for me.”

  Her passage was soft, wide and brimming. Three fingers slipped inside, impaled her, and with the uttermost effort, he focused his other hand’s efforts outside. A repetitive motion, round and round; rub and soothe, caress and pat and reward. Beneath him fully now, for she could stand no less, Laura panted, strained, reached, urged him to faster action.

  ‘Reach for it, love. That’s it. Now. Let it come. Yes. Come for me. Now, Laura. Show me. Show me how much you want it. How much you want me.”

  His thumb swirled in a merciless pace, while his plunging fingers relentlessly drove her, faster and faster, a frantic rhythm her body matched until, on an upwards buck, she screamed. A high-pitched wail of release, and eruption to out-do any one of her favorite island volcanoes.

  Moving with lazy circles and caresses, he allowed her to ride out the violent climax, waited until her movements slowed, her breathing eased, and her clutch on his arm and shoulder relaxed. It took several minutes before her breathing returned to normal and she flopped back. Her only noises then were tiny whimpers, reassuring him, because a non- talkative Laura terrified him, alerted him something was awry.