London's Wicked Affair

by Anabelle Bryant

  Amelia.

  The hellion would cause him nothing but trouble, yet she ignited his curiosity, his humor, and passion for living, long thought dead. He’d finish his business and leave London as soon as possible, or else risk an obsession. An image of her midnight curls, plump, seductive lips, and curvaceous body, formed with vivid clarity no matter he stood in pitch-black darkness.

  He muttered another round of expletives and stifled a groan.

  It was too late.

  She lived in him.

  He squeezed his eyes shut and drew a deep breath, assailed by jasmine and unmistakable female. Bloody hell, what was wrong with him? He could smell her, alive and vibrant in this musty closet, as if they shared a lover’s rendezvous. He cursed into the dark. Still the fragrance teased him as clearly as the evening he’d smelled her on his pillow. She’d bewitched him, the beautiful minx. This wanting would addle his brain. He clenched his fists to force the yearning free and shifted in the darkness.

  Then every muscle stilled.

  Bloody hell and jasmine.

  “Amelia.” His best attempt at a whisper sounded harsh as it sliced the air.

  “Yes.”

  At the sound of her voice, he leaned forward as if tugged on a leash, his body harder than stone. Then his heart prodded his blood flow with a sexual jolt so strong he rocked with vertiginous force in the opposite direction. Any well-respected gentleman would stifle naughty thoughts involving his comrade’s sister. What a mercy he didn’t fall into that category.

  “Why are you in this closet?” He’d dismantle his desire with mundane conversation.

  “I’m hiding from my brother. I thought I heard him coming. . . .” Her voice, a strong hushed tone, reached for him in the darkness. “I suppose it was you.”

  She shifted in the corner and it was as though he could see the sway of her curls, the defiant angle of her chin, her long silk-stockinged legs.

  “Why are you in this closet?” Her voice, part curiosity, part provocation, begged him to grin.

  “Never mind that. A little quiet will buy us time until we can leave this cursed confinement and follow to dinner.” She made a small sigh and he heard her smile, if that was even possible.

  A lively conversation took hold on the other side of the door, but the predominant voice belonged to Matthew and revealed little. Lunden forced his attention to decipher the words. Bits and pieces filtered through. Talk of an intellectual society occurred with frequency, and Collins’s deep baritone reiterated the theme. Then finally, when Lunden couldn’t bear the confined torture of knowing deliciously tempting Amelia was hidden in the darkness an arm’s length away, the word marriage stabbed through the closet with pristine clarity, and she rushed to the door, nestling beside him in an attempt to discern the conversation.

  Had any muscle, that muscle, relaxed during the interim, it awakened now. Unfortunately, it had never disregarded Amelia’s presence and grew harder still. Desire skittered to every corner of his being, invigorating a rush of blood through his veins, saturating him in carnal lust. What the hell was wrong with him?

  The rustle of her skirts brushed his thighs as she shifted position and his brain begged he step away. His body refused. The knowledge they stood sequestered in privacy hung heavy in the air, while only the impatient tap of her slipper marked time through the silence. He located her shoe with the tip of his boot and effectively pressed down.

  She swore with a startling knowledge of vocabulary, and her words, a heated breath against his face, caused a fleeting curve of his mouth. Damn her tart tongue. How he wished for another taste, her kiss sweeter than sugared orange peels.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Righteous indignation laced her question.

  “Your fidgeting will bring about our discovery. Stand still and pretend you’re invisible.” Ahh, if only he could do the same. He wanted her in the basest manner and every way in between. To take her, taste her, and claim her as his. He shook away the realization. By her own hellion protestations, she was scared of a life spent with a man she did not love, or worse, who did not love her in return. His future looked bleak, his chest as empty as an abandoned vault.

  Or so he believed. For a decade he’d ignored his heart, buried it in hopes it would shrivel and starve, but now it lurched to life, eager and anxious, pounding an insistent beat in his chest.

  “Have you lost your mind?” Her harsh whisper was accompanied by a swish of fabric. “Outside this door, my future may be decided, while I hide like a coward. It takes all my courage and self-possession not to open this door and demand Matthew explain himself,” she finished in a threatening tone.

  “You’ll do no such thing.” He kept his voice even, though his displeasure steeped. “The last thing you desire is to be married to a social outcast.” He was a lesser level, actually. A murderer and a fool. He tempered his words. “And that’s the first thing you’ll accomplish if you open the damn door.”

  She stood silent for several minutes and then her breathing hitched as if he’d upset her. She moved closer and again he begged his feet to take a reluctant step as his instincts stirred with warning.

  “I’m sorry, Lunden.”

  Her soft-spoken apology delved to the center of his soul, although it remained unclear for what she apologized. Was it his fall from society that brought her sorrow or disreputable status as a bridegroom? He could not know. His chest grew tight with uncertainty.

  Her hand curled around his cheek and he wanted to turn into the warmth she offered, kiss her palm, and run his tongue along the seams of her fingers. He grimaced in frustration. If he possessed a modicum of respect for a gentleman’s code of behavior, he’d stop this madness now. Guilt, disloyalty, he nudged the emotions aside. Nay, he shoved them. With both hands. Then he reached for her.

  She fell into his embrace with a soft sigh of agreement.

  “Troublemaker.”

  He waited for her objection.

  Instead, her full, delicious mouth pressed hot onto his and a wild, desperate need scratched at his skin from the inside out. She might be a hellion, but she kissed like an angel, and any feeble objection he meant to initiate evaporated. She tasted like her words, bittersweet and invigorating; as habit forming as opium.

  He immediately became dependent.

  The revelation shook him to the core. He was a man of intense emotion, when he allowed it. Romantic entanglement was out of the question.

  Still, her tentative kiss, the sweet softness of her mouth upon his, would shatter his soul if he wasn’t careful. She smoothed her palm against his cheek, a silken sweep, and some strange shadowy emotion, buried bone-deep and long hidden, sparked to life. He’d do best to extinguish the fledgling sentiment, yet instinct took over and he deepened the kiss, backing to the wall and taking her with him. She was wondrously warm and soft against his body, his remaining senses acutely aware of every nuance as they kissed in the dark: the flavor of her mouth, her light jasmine scent, the crush of her breasts against his coat, the sound of their breathing, heated and erratic.

  His heart beat faster, harder, as his hands found the small of her waist, smoothing the fabric over her hips, the delicate silk as erotic as her petal-soft skin hidden under layers of cumbersome cloth. He splayed one hand at the small of her back, bringing her flush against him, and his breath caught when she made a pleasure noise in the back of her throat. He should stop. He really should. He needed to pull away.

  She drew back the scarcest breadth. “Lunden.”

  Had she the strength he lacked? Her velvet whisper sent a wicked sensation spiraling through him. Possessiveness, raw and unforgiving, consumed him, and he wrapped his arms around her tighter. “Yes?”

  Chapter Twelve

  Nothing this exquisite could be a good decision, but logic failed her and Amelia pressed into Lunden’s embrace, her heart hammering applause against his solid chest. From the morning she barged into the study and viewed him across the room, his whisky-warm eyes full of u
ntold emotion, questions trembled on her lips. What did he hide, this man of unending challenge? Why did he live such a private existence? Keep such a tight rein on pleasure? He’d returned her kiss deliberately, as if she were a puzzle he needed to solve. Indeed, she yearned to unravel his secrets bit by bit, layer by layer, until she reached his heart.

  Now, when he called her “Troublemaker” in his low tenor, intimacy took hold. A sensual shiver teased her senses while fire licked beneath her skin. Somehow the name on his tongue became an endearment, each syllable a caress. The opportunity to grow closer, to learn the mystery behind the man, was never more attainable or more enjoyable.

  She imagined a flash of his charming smile and breathed deep, inordinately pleased they shared the same air. They may be closeted away, but he brought with him the scent of the weather. Crisp and fresh, warmed by the afternoon sun and very male. With belated awareness, she realized he waited for her to speak.

  “I didn’t mean to—”

  A burst of congratulatory laughter interrupted her mid-sentence and she stilled, her attention drawn to the activity on the other side of the door. The noise faded as Matthew and Collins exited the study. If she held her breath, she could hear the mahogany grandfather clock striking seven in tune to the hour. They were expected for dinner though she’d rather stay wrapped in Lunden’s strong arms. Impulsivity was a weakness, but something else drove her to lean into his mouth. As if controlled by an invisible force, some pull she could not name.

  Awkwardness broke the mood and she withdrew from his loosened embrace. Channeling the energy that hummed in her veins, she twisted toward the door and placed her hand on the knob, surprised at how her palm slipped against the brass. With the door opened, she glanced over her shoulder and squinted, unaccustomed to the lantern light. Lunden stepped forward. When their gaze locked, she searched for some show of emotion, but his eyes were clear.

  “I’ll distract and stall while you change your gown.”

  How could he appear unaffected by their kiss? Hadn’t he lost a piece of his soul, too?

  “Thank you.” She forced her mouth upward in makeshift appreciation.

  His eyes softened to a smoky amber and he looked pensive, as if he meant to say more. When he didn’t, Amelia fled the room.

  * * *

  Lunden entered the dining room no worse for the wear, his conflicted emotions smothered and full concentration on the task at hand. Matthew was up to something.

  “Good evening.” He greeted Lord Collins as Matthew acquainted the men.

  “Scarsdale.” Collins viewed him with a disapproving crease in his brow. “I had no idea you’d returned to London. Nasty business in your history. I thought this city would never hear from you again.”

  The stark honesty of Collins’s statements rattled him. Focused on Amelia’s plight more than his own concerns, he never expected a discussion of his past character from someone he’d never met before. “Life is full of unexpected circumstances.” He managed an even tone.

  “How very true.” Matthew offered brandy as he interjected. “Consider your current situation, Collins. It’s a fine example of unpredicted life change. Last month, I daresay you never suspected your brother and sister-in-law would pass and you’d become responsible for their brood of children.”

  Lunden took a long swallow of brandy and scrutinized Collins with new understanding. So this lay at the core of Matthew’s matchmaking. What would be gained? With surety, the aged lord could not be Matthew’s ideal match for Amelia. What coveted compensation did Collins offer?

  “Agreed.” Collins minced no words. “But you have offered me a gracious solution to my problem.” He swerved his eyes to the door. “Where is your sister anyway? I believe punctuality to be a necessary quality in a wife. Obedience, congeniality, and docility as well. She will need a firm hand with the children and an anxious hand when they are put to bed.”

  Lunden coughed into his fist. “Her tardiness falls on my shoulders.” He would shoot Matthew in the other leg before seeing Amelia married to this pompous fool. “Unforeseen circumstances detained her, although I believe she’ll arrive shortly.” He drained his glass and set it down with too much force.

  “And here she is now.” Matthew stepped forward and completed introductions.

  They moved to dinner and as Matthew seated Collins beside Amelia, Lunden struggled to keep his temper in check. The two men had a collusive arrangement. They eyed each other often, as if the dinner conversation were part of a dubious game.

  Want for calm, he studied Amelia across the table, breathtaking and beautiful in a gown of pale yellow silk. She played the part of compliant sister, although he held no doubt she perceived her brother’s haphazard plan with ease. The vixen proved an expert at disguising displeasure when useful. He watched as she laughed at Collins’s inane quip about the weather. Was that the best he could do? Discuss the rain and unseasonable temperature? Good Lord, his blood still simmered from Amelia’s hot, erotic kiss, her mouth his problem. One glance and fierce desire wracked his body. And the tentative touch of her hand against his face. It was black as pitch inside that closet, yet he’d experienced her touch as if the stars burst in heaven. She’d reached inside him with the intimate gesture. That one, perfect kiss. He’d see hell freeze over before Amelia’s lips lowered to Collins’s corpulent jowls. He sliced into the roast beef and his knife clattered to the plate. All conversation ceased as three heads swiveled in his direction.

  “Scarsdale, you’re too quiet. How do you find London now that you’ve returned?”

  “The same way I left it.” He strove to remedy his surly tone, although his scowl stayed in place. “Full of disreputable gentlemen who seek to satisfy their own agenda, rather than serve the greater good.”

  Collins’s eyes widened and he swung his attention to Matthew, who in turn skewered Lunden with a pointed stare meant to implore he not instigate disaster.

  “I understand your bitterness considering the circumspect incident of your brother’s death, yet it seems unfair to categorize all polite society in the same shade of black.” Collins’s satisfied expression erased any sincerity in his commentary. “Gossip will out when no clear truth has been established. Either way you acquired the dukedom. You should enjoy the spoils of your title.”

  “My brother’s death is a private matter.” He wouldn’t say more. Let Collins be damned for crossing all lines of etiquette with his insensitive remarks. From the corner of his eye he noted Amelia’s look of distress. Matthew cleared his throat and motioned a footman forward to refill the wineglasses.

  “No need to look toward the past when we have an eye on the future,” Matthew gushed as he lifted his glass. “Now that dinner has completed, perhaps Amelia can show you through our garden, Collins. The pyramidal orchids have flourished this year.”

  The gentlemen stood and Lunden’s severe glower trailed after Amelia’s departing form, uncomfortable with Collins leading her through the garden unchaperoned. “Shouldn’t Mary accompany them?”

  “What has gotten into you?” Matthew charged with purpose, his limp a forgotten disadvantage. “I thought I had your allegiance in this matter.”

  “I never pledged to withstand ignorance. Collins is a bumptious snob who likely spends most of the day peering down his nose with indecision on how to serve his own purpose. I could never envision Amelia finding happiness with a man of his cut.” Lunden blew a long breath and lowered his tone. “The field of bachelors cannot be that shallow. I’ll make a more concerted effort.” A twist of emotion accompanied the statement but he did his best to ignore the inner jab.

  “Collins’s title is unblemished and he has wealth to spare. While he seems a forthright speaker, the trait has served him well as president of the Society for the Intellectually Advanced. I’ve not heard an unsavory word against him in the years I’ve belonged. He’ll serve as ballast for Amelia’s impetuous and often feckless behavior. My sister needs predictability and routine.”

&nb
sp; Lunden had wandered to the window, his eyes on the garden, but he whipped his head around upon hearing Matthew’s last statement. “Do you not know your sister in the least? Amelia will wither and die if trapped in a mundane routine. Her rebellious behavior is an act of boredom—” And fear. He caught the words before they left his tongue. “Consider your choice with care.”

  “I do. Be assured of that.” Matthew joined him near the window. “It’s no easy feat to see my sister settled. At least Collins aligns with the list my mother comprised. I see no reason not to encourage the match.”

  “And what will you gain in return? I’ve known you long enough to understand the workings of this dinner arrangement.” He raised a brow in dark skepticism.

  Matthew reached to his cravat, the knot all at once too tight. “Your implication is disreputable. You suggest I have some personal motive. I’m insulted.”

  “You are not.” Lunden encouraged a lighter tone. “Just don’t do anything rash. If you’re set on this courtship, allow Amelia time to adjust.” And me, more time to achieve her list of demands.

  “I thought you were in a hurry to rid this city.”

  “Make no mistake, I am. As soon as I resolve my business, I plan to leave. Forever. London holds memories I wish abandoned once and for all.” He paused and a sense of loss enveloped his final words. “Nothing could keep me here.”

  For some reason, his mind returned to Amelia’s kiss and he wondered for the hundredth time why she’d done it. Why he’d allowed it. Ha, allowed it? Now that was a bit of voluntary self-deception. He’d savored every minute of it.

  Marry Collins? Unthinkable. He’d see to each of her requests. That way, if Matthew did foist her off and pursue this insane courtship, she’d be able to shoot Collins and flee on horseback. A bubble of amusement percolated within his chest with the preposterous vision and he almost chuckled. If she committed the deed, he’d harbor the little refugee at Beckford Hall afterward.