Suzi Love

by Embracing Scandal

  “However,” a finger stabbed his chest, “if I require a guard, I’ll engage a Metropolitan Policeman. A professional in trapping criminals. Which you, on the other hand, are not.”

  He was tempted to contradict her but this was neither the time nor the place, so he swallowed his confession. He watched Becca’s rant with amusement and admiration. Fiery, flaming red, and in full steam. His blood heated, roiled, and matched her rampant hair colour.

  “Therefore, your only task will be to collect some records. Only when I’m certain there will be no danger to you. At the first sign of suspicion from one of your peers, you’ll stop.”

  With the fluidity of a cat, he straightened to his full height and looked down at her. “I’ve been in precarious situations more times than you’re eaten kippers for breakfast. No termagant in a redheaded temper will dictate what I may, or may not, do. You’re in my hands, whether you like it or not.”

  She scowled. “I. Will. Not.” Stabs to his chest accompanied her words. “Accept that.”

  “You either accept my protection or I refuse to gather the evidence you require to convict these men.” Anticipating victory, he displayed a smug smile.

  Though his ultimatum silenced her, her foot tapping resumed. Drat the woman. She was probably pondering how best to prick his momentary bubble of swollen-headedness.

  She tapped a finger to her front teeth. “As you’ve declared open warfare, I’m forced to reveal my trump card.” His attention skidded away from her mouth and his smile slipped a little. “You require our assistance as fully as we need yours. It has come to our attention — ”

  “Laura or Charlotte? Who was eavesdropping this time?”

  “How we gain our information isn’t important. What matters is that you are about to be besieged.”

  His demeanour changed as quickly as a jungle animal that had scented a predator. “Besieged. By whom?”

  “We feel reasonably sure we know the identity of your foe but, despite intensive enquiries, we can’t confirm the identity of the person who is orchestrating the plan. We’re narrowing the events down. Estimating times and locations the plot will be executed.”

  “Damnation! Your convoluted explanations tie my thoughts in knots.”

  “I’m surprised I need to explain. I expected that a man of your ilk would detect a trap long before it snapped shut on him.”

  “Just tell me how and why I’m about to be trapped?”

  She gaped at him. “I thought it was obvious. You’re a duke. Someone wants to force you to marry.”

  “Marriage?” Sweat dotted his brow. Not another of these schemes. “I can promise you I’m not marrying anyone. Not for a long time.”

  “No matter your wishes, if we can’t stop it, you will be caught.”

  He swiped at his damp forehead with his coat sleeve. “If your aunt thinks she can force me to marry one of your sisters, she is very naïve.”

  “Oooh!” Her hands went to her hips and his eyes followed every movement. “Your ducal conceit is beyond ridiculous.”

  He met her angry eyes. “Perhaps it’s you! Maybe you’re after my title.”

  “Certainly not!” Her hands flew upwards. “A married woman is a man’s possession. Marriage would rob me of the control I’ve worked so hard for.”

  “Husbands could shoulder the burdens. Instead of you ladies.”

  “Ha! Relieve us of our burdens while they rob us of our fortunes?”

  “Not all men think that way, you know.”

  “Most do. And Laura certainly isn’t after you. She cares little for titles. She’s studying the aromas men emit. Their differences. If a man’s scent attracts us, draws us to be with him, then he could be the perfect mate to provide companionship and to give us children. I advised her to attack the problem scientifically. List each gentleman’s qualities, good and bad, and according to Madame Faberge’s summations. Unsuitable gentlemen are quickly eliminated. Some will be given further tests.”

  “Rather a cold-blooded scheme.” He considered the idea. “Unless of course,” he said with a smirk, “the final test is bedding each candidate in turn. Comparing their virility.”

  “Ridicule Laura’s methods if you must, but I agree with Madame Faberge. If men constantly think about — ”

  “Women’s bosoms?”

  “Marital relations. Wives should know how to please their husbands in bed. Otherwise, married men will keep mistresses. Or visit brothels.”

  Images of a willing Becca catering to her husband’s every whim burned his eyes. The notion that some nameless man-about-town would benefit from Becca’s well-researched sexual activities burrowed like a maggot into his brain.

  Though their selection process seemed methodical, detached, and even vaguely humiliating for a candidate, he could easily picture himself auditioning. Could see Becca’s red curls rioting across his pillows. Feel her small feminine body spread beneath him. Within seconds, he was hard and aching and sure as hell not thinking clearly.

  He’d forfeited any right to see Becca’s body, unclothed and glorious, when he’d left. Even if he was prepared to fall to his knees and beg her forgiveness, he couldn’t give up his vow of celibacy. Not if he wanted to show his peers how well he was managing the St Martin’s estates and reclaim his position as a respected social leader. Dukes were supposed to set gentlemanly examples. To avoid gossip and scandal. Sometime in the future he’d no doubt keep a mistress but he’d ensure his liaison was so casual and so discreet that none of the ton’s tabbies would notice. For the present, he was doomed to a private and celibate hell.

  Visions of hell flames engulfing him still didn’t prevent him asking, “What have you learned from the infamous Madame Faberge, font of all lovemaking knowledge?”

  In his smugness, he’d failed to notice her eye colour deepening to a stormy sea-green and her face reddening. Oh, hell. She licked a finger and dragged the moistened tip along the scooped neckline of her morning dress. He tracked its path with breathless attentiveness.

  “Men don’t regard it as making love.” Her seductive murmur sent fiery shocks through every nerve and centered them in his groin, like sharp stabs from heated prongs. “Rather, as satisfying lust. Women are vessels to receive — ”

  “Enough!” He swung to one side as his erection, hovering the past hour at half-mast, swelled to full arousal. After an attempt at tugging his coat flaps together, he mistakenly glanced her way. The infuriating minx had the audacity to grin.

  “But I haven’t described all the ways Madame’s girls are taught to pleasure men.”

  “Dammit, did they also explain that taunting a man in this wanton fashion stretches his restraint?” His voice deepened. “If you don’t cease, right now, I’ll toss you on that rug and demonstrate the numerous ways I know to pleasure a woman.”

  Becca gulped, glanced down, and the bulge in his trousers swelled to an even more uncomfortable size. She stepped forward with a hand outstretched.

  “Cayle, I’m sorry. May I do something to help?”

  The mixture of seductress and innocence drove him over the edge. Thrusting her hand away before it touched its mark, he turned his back. For two long minutes, he surveyed the limited merits of a country painting on the far wall before he could face her.

  “Becca, never, and I repeat, never, ask a provoked man if you can assist him. Men … even many gentlemen … will take advantage of you.” He scrambled for a distraction from a situation he should never have allowed. Where the hell was his mind? “Do you know when, and where, my hypothetical entrapment into marriage is to take place?”

  “At Lord and Lady Hetherington’s house party in two week’s time.”

  Shock and horror paralysed him. He needed to digest the implications of this. If indeed Becca’s information was correct. And, if he trusted what she told him.

  “Coincidental that my stepmother insisted I accept that particular invitation, and that I not ride my stallion, but journey with her in the carriage.” Becca frowne
d, looked worried, but stayed silent. “Is that who’s involved? Julia? She’s as cunning as she is greedy.”

  “That is why you need our protection from this marriage net.”

  With a sigh of resignation, he nodded. “Regardless, I alone will question the inner circle, while you confine yourself to discreet questioning amongst the ladies.”

  “That … that is patronising, unreasonable, and — ”

  He pressed his fingers to her lips, firmly. “On the matter of your safety we shall agree, here and now, that I’m in charge. Or, I shall exclude you entirely.”

  As soon as he freed her mouth, she blurted out, “Exclude me, you arrogant — ”

  Once again, he covered her mouth. “Calling me names does not alter the fact that you need me, the Duke of Sherwyn. Now, agree to my terms so we may decide how to proceed.”

  “Oooh! You’re the most annoying, conceited — ”

  By covering her mouth with his lips, he cut off this tirade. Not a kiss of passion, or even desire, but a warning as to who owned control. For one pleasurable moment, she relinquished power and relaxed into him, clutching his lapels as he tugged her closer. Victory, however, was short lived. Her breath coming in small pants, she shoved him away, while his senses remained addled after her surrender to his body. Momentary as it had been.

  After gulping air, she launched into speech. “And remember one more thing, I don’t want you flirting with my sisters. Because they’re so beautiful — ”

  “Staggeringly beautiful.”

  Her shoulders hunched, as if protecting her sisters from a stampeding bull. She glared at him. “They learnt at an early age to recognise fawning behaviour from men.”

  “Do you also recognise it? Or are the compliments paid to you more sincere? As when they speak of your hair being the colour of sunrise or that — ”

  “Cease! Gentlemen don’t pay me such excessive compliments.”

  “Why not? You’re as beautiful as your sisters.” He stepped closer and appraised her face and hair. “With your vibrant colouring, you’re infinitely more dazzling than either Laura or Lottie.” She gave a telltale squeak. The little minx was not as immune to flattery as she’d like him to think. With each rising breath, her breasts brushed his clothing. How could she not know what she did to men? To him.

  “Don’t talk nonsense to me, Sherwyn.”

  “Ah, I’ve offended you. We’re back to Sherywn. Soon you’ll be Your Gracing me.” She stepped closer and her nipples rubbed his coat, heated him, and mocked his attempts at control. Her figure was too ripe, her energy too unbounded, for her to hide her attributes. “My sweet temptress.”

  He traced her décolletage with one finger.

  “I’m not offended, nor do I believe you,” she contradicted in anger, her arms now crossed under her breasts in a way that thrust them even further into his eyesight. His downward view allowed him full sight of lush breasts straining above what should have been a discreet neckline, although nothing would look demure on Becca’s curves, despite her attempts to dress circumspectly. The woman aimed to kill him.

  “So, when I tell you that every time I anger you, your eyes flash the most brilliant shade of green, you’ll not react.”

  “Nothing you can do or say will offend me.” Those amazing green eyes narrowed and the air between them sparked with emotion. “I refuse to respond to anything you say.”

  “Or, if I tell you that every time I watch your dainty little tongue poke out to wet your lips, I want to lick them again.”

  “I … I already know what gentlemen say of me. Even the women.”

  “And what is that?”

  Her expressive eyes clouded with pain.

  “They think me too much a bluestocking to be of any consequence.”

  “Your intelligence is a factor in your favour, sweetheart, not a drawback.”

  “It’s not my only drawback as far as men are concerned. Moreover, do not call me sweetheart. I loathe false endearments.”

  He ignored her reprimand. “What else have these gentlemen been telling you?”

  “I’m too headstrong.”

  “Only milksops want a woman without spirit. One who doesn’t challenge their manhood?”

  “Lord Ben … a certain gentleman informed me on more than one occasion that expressing passion was common. Only women of the night exhibit such emotions. Ones that are paid to appear exuberant.”

  “If Lord — whatever his name is — was a real man, he’d want a woman with heat. With passion.”

  “Well, he didn’t want me. He said he couldn’t risk marrying a woman who acted the harlot, as he would never know if she performed the same way with his friends.”

  “Hell! Lord what’s his name disgusts me. Any man would be proud to have you as a wife, Becca.”

  “Even you?”

  She gasped, and then covered her mouth with her hands. “Forget I said that, please.”

  Drawing her hands to his lips, he kissed the backs. “I’m not in a position to take a wife. But if I could, you’d definitely suit me, or any sensible man.”

  “Huh! Not the sensible men I’m acquainted with. They happily quiz me for advice yet, if asked, they deny taking heed of anything a woman told them.”

  Becca jerked her hands away and walked to the tea tray to pluck up a biscuit. Her small retreats intensified his determination to uncover the identities of her detractors.

  From the table near the fire, he picked up an open book. “The Idea of Progress by Francis Bacon. Hmm. Interesting reading.” He glanced at her. “Yours, I presume?”

  She nodded. “Bacon is a great social visionary. He believes that if learned persons, armed with new methods and insights, would open their eyes and minds to the world around them, then social injustices could be righted.”

  “Ah, yes. Something that appeals to your profound sense of right and wrong.”

  “Knowledge is power.” She waved her half-eaten biscuit in the air as a prop to her speech.

  “Bacon has been criticised for underestimating the role of imagination and overestimating the value of observation in new scientific knowledge. You shouldn’t make that mistake, Becca.”

  “It’s not a mistake to depend on tangible evidence when making decisions.”

  “I’d rather see the vivid imagination of a young girl unleashed again, one who believes in fairies and dragons. Burying yourself in accounts and ledgers to help your family is a noble cause, but you’re also a woman.” He stepped closer to run a finger down her cheek. “A remarkable one who should be courted by gentlemen who appreciate both sides of your nature. The pursuing and the pursued.”

  “I fear you may be the only man in England who feels that way. My sisters are pursued. Not me. I’m happiest pursuing information, researching ideas, not chasing dreams.”

  He studied her in silence. “I’ve decided how to claim my recompense.”

  She sighed, her shoulders drooping. “You’ve decided on money after all.”

  “Uh, uh.” He shook his head. “Not money.”

  “What then?”

  Colour flushed her pale cheeks. The other thing he’d claimed last evening must have occurred to her. He laughed. “Ah! You’re not as brazen about these matters as you’d like me to believe. You’re thinking about bedroom pleasures.”

  “Madame Faberge says that’s all men think about.”

  “Except for me.” He waggled his eyebrows and grinned. “Not at present. I’ve had no time to think of pleasure for many months. Although, re-encountering you has reminded me of what I’m missing.”

  Her cheeks pink tinge deepened and she gnawed her bottom lip.

  “However, I’m unable to entertain such thoughts until I’ve settled my family matters. That may take some time. My short-term solution to both our problems is for you to accompany me on my jaunts around London. I shall gather your information. You shall safeguard me.”

  “That’s impossible. My sisters are being brought out, at long last, and I assist
Aunt Aggie in providing chaperonage.”

  “And who chaperones you?”

  She sneered. “I’m long past the age of requiring one.”

  “Rubbish. You’re still a young woman and an extremely desirable one.”

  “Nevertheless, I’m the eldest and therefore responsible for my sisters’ safety.”

  “And who is responsible for yours?”

  “My pistol keeps me safe.”

  “Michael also told me you missed experiencing your own season.”

  “My brother had no business discussing my personal affairs with you.”

  “He was concerned for your well being. You’ve no more experience than your sisters with men whose sole reason for attending balls is to seduce innocents.”

  “You’d know all about that of course,” she sneered.

  He flinched but ignored the stab of pain to his heart.

  “The obvious solution is to join forces. If we attend the same events, our search will proceed faster. And you can’t dispute that your sisters would benefit from being accompanied by a duke. Plus, I would be on hand to protect all of you.”

  “What a ridiculous idea. If you are constantly in our presence, it will cause gossip. People will assume you are courting one of my sisters.”

  He gave her a smug smile. “Not if we announce that you are my betrothed.”

  “Betrothed? Me?” Becca gaped at him. “Preposterous. Who would believe such a thing?”

  She glanced down at her morning gown and frowned. Having recently been in Paris, he recognised it as not being of the latest fashion. The Jamison’s strained finances may have restricted the ladies spending on their gowns recently, but their garments were tasteful and of good quality. Somebody in the family knew how to stretch their money while still keeping up appearances. Probably Becca.

  “I’m me and you’re Sherwyn, a man of importance and wealth.”

  “Nonsense. You’re the daughter of an Earl and your pedigree is as blue-blooded as mine. If it’s the outlay stopping you, I’ll bear the expenses for you and your sisters. For gowns, shoes, and such.”