Duke of Scandal

by Adele Ashworth

  His cheek twitched; he stepped closer. “Is that why you think I kissed you tonight? To make you fall for me?” He gave her a sarcastic smile. “Believe me, sweet, I don’t need to present lies to a woman to attract her interest.”

  She couldn’t think of a response, as such a statement was very likely true. “Then why did you?”

  “Tell me, darling, beautiful Lady Olivia,” he asked in deep murmur, ignoring her question, “did Edmund ever make love to you?”

  She gasped, appalled into silence as he moved nearer to her—so close he now towered over her, his eyes like shiny, hard marbles, reflecting lamp light and oozing anger.

  “Did he?” he whispered again. “And I don’t mean make love with words of flattery, but make love as a husband makes love to a wife, physically, in the marriage bed.”

  She blinked quickly, as terrified of his bearing at the moment as she was of the heat suddenly radiating between them. “The intimacy I shared with Edmund has nothing to do with this conversation,” she managed to choke out.

  That didn’t deter him in the least. “You opened the door with your question about our kiss,” he whispered huskily, “and your concerns about trust. Perhaps I worry about trusting you. Answer me, and answer me honestly.”

  He still hadn’t touched her, but he couldn’t get any closer without doing so. Olivia felt her knees go weak. “I’m going to bed.”

  “Answer me first.”

  “No.”

  His dark brows rose minutely. “No, Edmund didn’t make love to you as a husband should?”

  Tears filled her eyes again, though this time they emerged from pure frustration. “You’re despicable.”

  “I’ve been called worse,” he acknowledged flatly. “Did Edmund make love to you?”

  Why did he keep asking her that? “He’s my husband,” she seethed, clenching her hands into fists. “What do you think?”

  He pulled back a little, just enough to give him room to lower his gaze and blatantly ogle her, making her feel naked and exposed for his view.

  “I think that any woman who smells like you do, and looks like you do, and kisses like you do, is missing what she needs most from a husband.”

  Fury inflamed her and she drew her hand up to slap him hard. But instead of making contact with his cheek, he reacted just as quickly, grabbing her wrist in midair and holding it tightly.

  “Did—he—make—love to you, Livi?” he breathed, daring her to defy him.

  A tear rolled down her cheek but she refused to cower, to give in to a weaker emotion. Through clenched teeth she whispered, “No.”

  He seemed to stagger from that admission, as if he never expected it, sucking in a sharp, quick breath as he eased his grip on her wrist and took a half step back. She watched his expression falter in a matter of seconds, changing from stony determination to a sort of odd disbelief. And then he exhaled a long, warm sigh that touched her skin and made her shiver from the inside out.

  “He left me on my wedding night,” she continued, her voice breaking from the memory. “He kissed me as you kissed me, and then humiliated me, just as you’re doing now.” With a negligible lift of her chin, she recklessly asserted, “You’re just like him.”

  That instantly transformed his aggravation with her to a rage of the purest kind, as she knew it would. But instead of releasing her in disgust as she expected him to do, he placed his free hand flat on her bare chest, just beneath the base of her throat, shoving her back against the wall before she could blink.

  “I am nothing like Edmund, Olivia, and you know it,” he charged, his low timbre thick with warning. “I would never, and will never, leave you devastated and wanting for anything. I have more honor than that.”

  Something inside of her melted—from the veracity laced through his words, from the depth of urgency in his eyes—and with that awareness, she started to shake, her tears flowing without regard.

  Through a soft sob, barely heard, she said, “I know…”

  Her gentle submission gave him a second of pause. And then the look he gave her promptly changed from absolute fury to a raw, fiery hunger. His mouth clamped down on hers, hard and fast and consuming, covering the scream that welled up inside her from a contact so unexpected—but so desperately needed.

  He kissed her with a pent-up longing that went beyond all reason, his tongue invading, searching, searing, begging for response. She whimpered, trying to draw breath as he pushed his entire body up against her, pinning her to the wall. She felt every rigid muscle of his powerful form, every ounce of his incredible strength drawing her in, enveloping her, shielding her from escape should she try.

  He groaned low in his chest, and the sound of it, the sound of desire in its purest form, inflamed her in a manner she’d never felt before.

  Tears stained her cheeks as she began to kiss him back, greedily, without clear thought, her body, her mind and modest intentions invaded and conquered by a yearning as great as his. She placed a palm on his shoulder, but with a savagery she didn’t at all understand or expect, he grabbed both of her wrists in his large left hand and raised them above her head, securing them against the wall while he continued his delicious assault on her mouth, overwhelming her with a perfectly rapturous torment.

  He lowered his free hand and she vaguely became aware of him fumbling with the tie on her robe. She squirmed a little in protest, but he ignored it, persistent in his longing to arouse the depths of her passion, his kissing relentless as he suddenly grasped her tongue and sucked it.

  Olivia felt her nerves ignite, her body tingle through every tremor that whipped through her, her whimpering a din from a world of instantaneous pleasure. And then he covered her breast over her sheer cotton nightgown and she could no longer stand.

  He sensed her weakness, held firm to her wrists as he shoved his knee between her legs to help support her. She moaned low and long when he began flicking his thumb across her nipple, encouraging him with a lust she could no longer control.

  At last he pulled away from her mouth and she leaned her head back, gasping for breath, her eyes tightly shut. He kissed her cheek, her chin, and neck as his palm and nails caressed her breasts, one after the other, with arduous determination.

  She panted; he responded in kind, his breath hot and heavy and rapid against her neck, her cheeks and ear. He gently bit her lobe, and with a low, throaty moan she instinctively rubbed herself against his thigh, encouraging him with the uncontrollable response. He inhaled sharply, squeezing her nipples, rubbing them with his thumb, expertly caressing her with one strong hand.

  “God, Livi,” he said in a pained, muffled voice against her ear. “Let me give you what you need. Let me...”

  She jerked against him, her short, little mewls echoing through the bare, dark kitchen in a wordless plea for fulfillment. He took her mouth again, hungrily, forcefully, granting her desire. And then he dropped his hand from her breast and reached down, pulling at the hem of her nightgown, lifting it handful by handful, tugging until it gave way from between their legs. Then, as no man had ever done before, he traced a line of exquisite fire up one bare thigh until he reached the point of his desire, her hidden pleasure.

  Olivia squirmed against him, suddenly afraid, and yet wanting his touch beyond all sanity. When at last she felt his fingers graze her intimate mound of hair, a flicker of shame shot through her, only to pass quickly into oblivion as he slipped between her delicate folds and began stroking her slowly, gently, her wetness coating his fingers.

  He pulled his mouth away from hers. “Feel me here,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, ragged, against her cheek. “This is what you need.”

  His movements summoned exquisite sensations within her, pushing her beyond hearing anything but the pounding of her heart. Eyes squeezed shut, she moaned quietly, pressing herself against his fingers, her head shoved back, letting him take the full weight of her arms above her.

  With deliberate slowness he caressed her, slipping one finger inside of her
and then out again, and then picking up the pace to meet her demand, resting his cheek against hers, his forehead on the wall, kissing her ear, brushing his nose in her hair. She met his rhythm, panting, her mind screaming for him to stop, beseeching him to probe deeper and give her everything.

  Suddenly her body tensed against him. He moved his mouth to hers, sensing her fulfillment, driving one finger inside of her as she thrust against the others.

  “Oh no,” she breathed against his lips, “Oh, no…”

  “Yes,” he answered with urgency. “Let me feel you come.”

  Her eyes shot open. “No…”

  He pulled back to watch her, his teeth clenched, his gaze melding with hers. “Oh, yes…”

  It hit her then, a shockwave of forbidden ecstasy that exploded deep within, making her cry out, causing her body to shudder through each crest of intense pleasure, through each measured pulse that squeezed his finger and left her breathless.

  She gasped. “Sam—”

  “I’m right here,” he whispered gruffly, soothingly, “watching, feeling everything.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut, unable to look at him, unable to comprehend what she’d just done with him, what he’d done to her. He continued to touch her, keeping the sensation alive and tingling, his fingers moving faintly, almost lovingly, as he seemed to relish in the hot, slick moisture that now poured out of her with each easing ripple of gratification.

  Finally she stilled, forcing herself to calm as he slowly released her wrists so she could lower her arms to her sides. He continued to hold her pinned against the wall with his body, and for the first time Olivia became acutely aware of his rigid need pressed against her stomach. She tried to ignore it as she kept her eyes tightly closed, as she attempted to slow her breathing, her racing heart, tried to come to terms with what had just happened.

  Neither of them said anything for a few seconds, though she could feel the tenseness and heat emanating from his body, knew he was attempting to remain in control as he once again leaned in to rest his forehead on the wall, his flushed cheek grazing hers. She moved one knee toward his thigh, uncomfortable with his hand still between her legs, and at last he withdrew, allowing her nightgown to fall in a bunch to the floor.

  Mortification overwhelmed her as her mind gradually cleared and she realized what he’d just done to her—and how wantonly she’d reacted to his touch.

  “Don’t,” he said weakly, sensing her sudden desire to flee. “Don’t go yet.”

  Olivia couldn’t speak, didn’t want to, but she remained perfectly still as he asked, unsure what to do, what he expected from her at this moment.

  His breathing continued to come in rasps, but he’d edged his body sideways enough to allow her to inhale deeply and steadily, which in turn kept her from shaking.

  Emotions she couldn’t at all understand raced through her mind—a thousand and one of them that trapped her, made her feel at the same time vulnerable and alone, cherished and admired, afraid and devastated, and more than anything, charged with an almost paralyzing wonder.

  He shouldn’t have done this, and in a way she hated him for taking advantage of her. She hated him almost as much as she trusted him, needed him, and everything he did for her.

  She couldn’t help the tears this time. They welled up in her eyes even as she kept them tightly shut—tears of frustration, anger, hurt, even longing for unfulfilled dreams. He could have taken her, had wanted to be with her intimately, and yet he hadn’t forced her to do anything but betray her own body. And at this moment, still embraced by him, still recovering from a blissful turmoil, she despised him as much as she wanted him again, in every way.

  At last, in a husky murmur, he broke the silence. “You asked me why I kissed you tonight.”

  She shook her head minutely, incapable of responding.

  “Livi,” he whispered, rubbing the tip of his nose along her ear, “I kissed you because everything about you begs me to.”

  “No,” she breathed.

  He inhaled fully, and gradually pulled away from her, though even with her eyes closed she could feel the heat of his gaze on her face. And then she felt his fingertips gently glide along her brow, down one cheek, wiping away her tears.

  “You’re so soft, so beautiful,” he whispered in a gruff, faraway voice. “Please—”

  But she’d already moved to the side, quickly, knocking the pantry with her hip and rattling her beautiful porcelain teapots as she skirted past him toward the door, away from the shame and confusion, leaving him alone in the silent, dimly lit kitchen.

  Chapter 13

  Claudette paced the floor in her parlor, absolutely furious. Furious. Never had Edmund treated her with such disdain as he had last night. Oh, she supposed he’d been himself when they danced, if not a bit aloof, which she assumed had to do with her finding him returned to Paris without notification, just like a naughty puppy with his tail between his legs. But to disregard an open invitation to her room went far beyond anything he’d ever done before. In all the years she’d known him, he’d never denied her the pleasures of the bedroom. Discovering, after a thorough search of the ballroom at one o’clock in the morning, that he’d left with his wife at just past midnight had completely enraged her. She couldn’t sleep, couldn’t eat, and had arrived back at her suite just before eight that morning, surprising her entire staff with her untimely appearance as they all stared at her with open mouths.

  True, she undoubtedly looked a fright, as her expertly pinned coiffure had come loose during her coach ride home, and she still wore her ball gown, now wrinkled. But then she had every right to be upset! First she learns that Edmund returned to Paris unannounced, and then she finds the two of them alone on the balcony, of all places, sharing their own little tête-à-tête as if there were no one else on earth! If she had never been jealous of Olivia before last night, nothing compared to the surge of emotions that coursed through her upon finding Edmund beside her, bodies nearly touching, heads tipped together as they engaged in intimate discussion. She’d never seen Edmund so clearly enraptured by anything Olivia had to say, and the second she came upon them by moonlight, she fought the urge to rip the little minx to shreds with her perfectly painted nails. Or better yet, walk to Edmund’s side and kiss him soundly in front of Olivia’s pretty, innocent eyes, laying claim to him, letting her know at last that the man she thought she married was, in point of fact, already taken and had been for years. But, alas, good breeding reigned and she’d restrained herself to the best of her ability, reminding herself with gleeful satisfaction that Edmund might be pretending with Olivia, but it would be her bed he’d be lying in come dawn. His ignoring her demand for a late-night sexual interlude had been the final blow.

  Now, after what she could only view as a purposeful, spiteful avoidance of her, she didn’t know what to do. She needed to talk to him, to learn exactly how much had been accomplished in Grasse before Olivia found him, and then just exactly what transpired between the two of them in the days leading up to last evening’s fiasco. His explanation of staying in his faux wife’s good graces and returning to Paris with her made sense, and yet… it didn’t. Edmund never did anything without her consent, or at the very least informing her, especially something as vital and delicate as this. More importantly, she knew, just knew, that he couldn’t possibly be finished courting the Govance heiress.

  After hours of careful consideration, she decided she had no choice but to confront him at Nivan, where he likely was at the moment, curled up in her bed. God, she didn’t know what to do without telling Olivia everything, without admitting her part in this incredible fraud. Oh, she wanted to, but then what? Where would that leave her? Very probably imprisoned, a situation in which she simply refused to find herself. Still, Olivia would need to prove fault on her part, and Olivia certainly still believed that she and Edmund were married or she wouldn’t have been so cordial last night, or quite so attached to him.

  But for now she could think of only one
thing to do, and that was to see Edmund and make certain he hadn’t decided on his own to bed darling, little Olivia. And the only way she could be sure of that was to catch them off guard, together, in her niece’s apartments.

  That resolution in mind, she grabbed her parasol from the coatrack by the front door and swiftly headed for Nivan.

  ———

  The storefront looked deceptively vacant upon her arrival. Normand stood at his usual post by the front display case, tallying receipts or some other such business. He looked up when the door opened, then fairly gaped at her, as surprised as her staff, apparently, at seeing her wide-awake and moving about the city before luncheon.

  Planting a smug smile on her face, she said, “I’m here to visit the happy couple.”

  He immediately clamped his mouth shut and closed the black receipt book. After glancing around quickly to make certain they were alone, he walked out from behind the glass case and came toward her.

  “Madame Comtesse, how lovely you look today,” he said, honoring her presence with a slight bow.

  She scoffed, knowing she looked horrendous from lack of sleep and no morning toilette, though she had no time to argue his ridiculous comment. Closing her parasol with some fuss, she replied, “I know my way to her apartments, Normand.”

  “Oh, of course, madame,” he muttered, popping up onto his toes, his hands clasped behind him. “But you’ll not find her there, I’m afraid.”

  Claudette started, staring at him. “I beg your pardon?”

  He gave her a half shrug. “She isn’t here. When I arrived this morning, Madame Carlisle was on her way out.”

  “Out?” Her eyes narrowed with malicious intent. “Out to do what? Where?”

  He frowned deeply. “I’ve no idea, though she was quite plainly in a hurry. And she had baggage brought down and carried a large valise.”

  Claudette’s brows drew together. “Baggage? And what time was that, dear Normand?” she asked too sweetly.