Duke of Scandal

by Adele Ashworth

  Olivia swallowed her growing fear, though she’d absentmindedly reached behind her to latch on to the edge of the wooden fence butting up against her backside. With a lift of one brow, she singsonged, “You’ll never know for certain, I suppose.”

  He stood about two feet away from her now, bearing down on her with his immense height, arms to his sides, his expression ruthless. “What is it you expect me to do, Olivia? Hand you over a bag of coins?”

  She glared at him, leaning toward him to charge, “I expect you to give me every cent you stole, preferably in a bank note. And don’t even begin to tell me you’ve spent it all on my aunt Claudette.”

  That snide remark truly seemed to stun him. His features went briefly slack and his eyes widened a fraction as his gaze roved over her entire form. Then he sneered. “Aren’t you quite the tart.”

  He was obviously trying to shock her, even scare her. But she had waited far too long for this encounter to allow a little intimidation on his part to force her into retreat.

  Pulling back a little, she lightly shrugged and said, “If I’m a tart, then I’m a very clever one, aren’t I? And I’m certain you appreciate that since you’ve obviously known quite a few tarts in your day.”

  Olivia had never been so bold in front of him, and the minute shake of his head and faintly furrowed brows exposed his amazement.

  With a snort of absolute disgust, she pushed herself away from the railing and began to walk a slow circle around him, fingers interlocked behind her, looking him up and down as if he were nothing better than a cockroach.

  “What did you think I’d do when you left me? Cry in my pillow and accept my loss? Perhaps go to my aunt and cry on her shoulder while you listened and laughed at my naiveté in the next room?”

  She stopped moving as she now stood behind him, in the center of the arbor, crossing her arms over her breasts as she watched him turn to meet her gaze, his features hardened with his tightly controlled rage.

  “What exactly did you expect, Edmund?” she spat as her own anger grew. “Did it never occur to you that I’d pursue you? Did you think I’d just settle for the fact that a lying, betraying bastard pretended to marry me for my fortune, stole everything I’d worked for at Nivan, and then walked out on me during what I thought was my wedding night?” She snickered with loathing. “Really, Edmund, can you actually be that stupid?”

  He’d fisted his hands at his sides, so tightly his knuckles whitened, but he didn’t say a word for several long, intense moments of uncertainty on her part. Then in a low, haunting voice, he warned, “Be careful, Olivia.”

  Since she’d been boasting of her intelligence, she decided she’d be wise to heed his advice. He looked on the verge of explosion, his face red, his eyes glassy with a tightly controlled fury.

  Drawing a long breath, she pivoted around and took three steps to the edge of the arbor, farther away from him, then eyed him again askance, thoughtfully.

  “Are you planning to swindle Brigitte in the same manner?” she asked coolly, though truthfully not expecting him to admit it outright. He didn’t disappoint.

  “How did you learn our marriage wasn’t real?” he asked, nostrils flaring, ignoring her question altogether.

  “Didn’t we just cover that?” She smirked, then enunciated, “I’m smart, Edmund.”

  He didn’t do or say anything for almost a minute, just leered at her, his mind racing to put the pieces together. And then suddenly his tactics changed completely. Opening his fists, he stretched out his fingers then raked all ten of them through his hair, just like Sam did, and for a second or two it caught her off guard.

  He started pacing in front of her, his head down, a trace of a smile creeping across his mouth. “So you want your funds returned to you,” he said rather than asked, his tone taking on a lighter quality.

  Although her fear of him had abated somewhat, he’d thoroughly aroused her suspicions with such a repetitive comment. She knew him better than he thought.

  “And you want something in exchange,” she remarked, a thought that sprung up out of nowhere but made perfect sense where Edmund was concerned.

  He actually chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest as he paused in his stride and turned to face her directly. “I will return every penny posthaste if…”

  He purposely baited her, trying to be charming. Just like the Edmund of old. “If?”

  “If you swear to me you’ll never mention any of this to anyone, especially Brigitte.”

  What he suggested was positively outrageous and unscrupulous, and if she complied, it would make her as deceitful as he. Yet that’s what he wanted—to put her in a position where she’d be just as accountable for her actions. Her silence in exchange for her inheritance. And considering how much Nivan mattered to her, he fully believed that he held her tightly in the palm of his sneaky, oily hand.

  “You think I would actually stoop to your despicable level and allow that woman to be robbed of not only her future but her dignity?” she asked, with more hesitation in her voice than she desired.

  “I love Brigitte,” he said matter-of-factly, “and I would never hurt her.”

  She shook her head, eyes narrowing. “Don’t make me laugh, Edmund. You don’t know the meaning of the word.”

  He shrugged. “Just because she’s not as beautiful as you are, Olivia, doesn’t mean I don’t have feelings for her.”

  She couldn’t believe his gall. “You’re despicable.”

  He ignored that, taking a step toward her. “I’ve already bedded her,” he disclosed rather casually. “I’m sure you don’t want to see her reputation ruined.”

  A loud clap of distant thunder startled her—almost as much as his unbelievable revelation. “That’s impossible,” she blurted as a gust of wind blew her hair in her face again. She brushed it away quickly without thought. “Brigitte would never allow you to take such advantage before the wedding.”

  He shook his head negligibly, his features distorted by a disgust he refused to hide. “No, unlike you, Olivia, she isn’t cold and insensitive to her future husband’s needs.”

  She gasped as he stepped closer, staring down to her stunned face.

  “I’m sure you don’t want to see her ruined,” he repeated for emphasis, his tone dark and admonishing, “and so I’m suggesting to you that you keep your pert little mouth shut about everything you know. In return, I will have a bank draft sent to you at Nivan within the week.”

  Olivia stared at him, hugging herself from the moist chill in the air, enraged at his audacity yet at this point totally unafraid of him. “You are such a loathsome creature.”

  His gaze drifted over her face. “Only to those who don’t know me well, and you never really got to know me, Olivia.”

  She glanced down his frame, then up again. “Could you possibly be any more arrogant?”

  He offered her his familiar, charming smile, placing his palm gently on her cheek. “Oh, I can be so much more.”

  She quickly shoved his arm aside. “You don’t fool me or frighten me, Edmund. I know exactly what you are.”

  His congenial nature eroded before her eyes. Leaning very close, lids thinned, face taut, he murmured, “I’m certain your… banker of a husband can’t provide for you, or Nivan, the way your inheritance can. And of course if you’re lying to me and you really aren’t married, as I’m more inclined to believe, because…” he sneered, “I’m smart, too, then you absolutely need your funds returned to you. Think about that, Olivia.”

  Keeping his cold gaze locked with hers, he slowly backed away. “I’ll never bother you again,” he continued, his voice low, expression grave, “as long as you never mention any of this to Brigitte or anyone else.” He paused, watching her closely, then added, “Do we have an agreement between us?”

  He knew what she had to say, and yet he had no idea that she and Sam were one step ahead of him this time.

  “Yes,” she spat in a whisper.

  “Good,” he said pleasantl
y. He brushed his palms down his shirt and the front of his trousers. “I’ll leave you then, since it appears it’s going to rain.” He turned, and with a wave over his shoulder, he remarked, “Au revoir until tonight.”

  She had such trouble containing a squeal of triumph until he was well out of view. And then as thick water droplets began to fall upon her cheeks, Olivia fairly waltzed from the arbor.

  Until tonight, indeed.

  Chapter 18

  Sam was enraged beyond anything he’d ever felt before. Enraged at her deceit and the great risk she took in meeting Edmund alone in a secluded alcove without his protection, enraged that he hadn’t chosen to follow her when he found her excuse to visit a perfume boutique for the third time in as many days entirely suspect, and mostly enraged at himself for feeling the most absurd, irrational jealousy he’d ever experienced. He’d noticed her immediately as he stared out the window of their suite, his second-floor room facing the garden and its center arbor. He couldn’t miss her lavender gown among the greenery, and it had only taken seconds for his confusion to turn to shock when he laid eyes on his brother for the first time in a decade—close to her, baiting her, touching her with his hand. True, she’d batted it away, but the contact, the whispered words, the notion that they were together again, this time without his knowledge because she’d lied to him, left him shaken and, unbelievably, immensely scared of losing her.

  He’d stunned her when he grabbed her arm the minute she returned from her little tryst and walked into the foyer, disregarding her surprise as he practically dragged her back to their suite without uttering a single word. She hadn’t bothered to protest, probably because she felt guilty, but more so because she’d have to be asleep not to detect the depth of his anger at her.

  It wasn’t even eleven in the morning, but the second he saw her with Edmund, he’d made a final, everlasting decision. He was going to take her to bed. Right now.

  He latched the door behind him quickly, then moved at once, past her, to close the open windows and lock them as well. The sky had darkened to almost black, the rainfall growing heavier by the minute, which would prove the perfect atmosphere for an afternoon of lovemaking. Inhaling a deep breath to calm the tension within him, he pivoted around to face her.

  Fuming mad, her face flushed with indignation, she stood beside the floral sofa, glowering at him with hot defiance, hands on her hips as she struck a pose to intimidate him. He almost laughed.

  “What are you doing?” she asked suspiciously.

  He gazed into her eyes for a second or two, then began unbuttoning his shirt. “I’m going to make love to you.”

  She gasped, stepping back until her legs hit the edge of the sofa, her eyes widening to bright circles of complete mortification. “Absolutely not!”

  “Oh, yes,” he drawled, beginning a slow saunter in her direction, turning his attention to his cuffs.

  To her credit, she didn’t scream or try to run, which told him how shocked she was by his pronouncement—or just how badly she needed him, regardless of whether she realized it yet.

  She scooted back along the edge of the sofa, away from him. “I—I refuse to give myself to anyone other than my husband.”

  A reasonable argument, he decided, but it didn’t deter him in the least. “No more games, Olivia,” he said decisively.

  She looked him up and down as he approached, her gaze lingering on his exposed chest as she clutched her hands at her breasts in a growing panic she couldn’t hide. “You’re insane,” she whispered with thick enunciation.

  “Yes, I probably am,” he agreed, a smirk on his mouth. “I’m insanely crazy about you.”

  She blinked, startled. “I’ll scream,” she muttered shakily.

  He slowly shook his head. “No, you won’t.”

  Thinking fast, she asserted, “You told me our first day in Paris that we would never be—”

  “I lied,” he enunciated.

  He stood directly before her now, her back against the door, her eyes shining pools of consternation, of worry and longing she probably didn’t even understand.

  “It’s time, Livi,” he murmured, his tone gravelly and filled with conviction.

  “You—” She licked her lips. “You wouldn’t dare force me.”

  He didn’t know if he should laugh or be insulted. Pressing his thumb lightly on her mouth, he whispered, “I know you don’t believe I would. But it doesn’t matter because I won’t have to.” He rubbed the tip across her lips, back and forth. “You want me just as much.”

  She started trembling. “You don’t know what I want,” she whispered.

  That gnawed at him, tearing at that very minute part of him that made him fear she’d rather still be with Edmund.

  In a dark, choked voice, he leaned over to whisper against her lips, “I’m not going to lose you now.”

  And then he kissed her, not gently, but with a strong, quick need, disregarding her immediate response because he knew it wouldn’t last.

  She squirmed against him initially, then tried to push him away with her palms to his chest.

  He’d had enough. Without a word, he broke away from the kiss, took one look at the desire she tried to hide in her pinkened cheeks, the depths of her eyes, then leaned over and hoisted her onto his shoulder like a sack of grain.

  “What the devil are you doing?” she wailed, shoving her palms into his back and pushing up hard in a fruitless attempt to free herself.

  He ignored her meager desire to resist him, veering the two of them swiftly and with little effort toward his bedroom. Closing the door behind him with a shove from his foot, he walked straight to the bed, dumping her in a pile of lace and lavender silk atop the bright purple and green quilted coverlet.

  He gazed down to her, watching with some amusement as she blew loosened hair from her mouth and brushed it off her cheek with her fingertips. “This is entirely inappropriate,” she sputtered, though she made no attempt whatsoever to move.

  “In what way?” he goaded, suppressing a grin.

  She stared at him as if he were daft. “It’s daylight, you idiot man,” she said through clenched teeth.

  “Good.” He pursed his lips to keep from teasing her about her wickedly adorable innocence, kicking off his shoes then grasping his shirt as he pulled it from his shoulders and down his arms. “I want to see every delectable inch of you, so my timing couldn’t be better.”

  She gasped, her mouth dropping open in absolute shock.

  Very slowly, keeping his gaze locked with hers, he placed one knee on the bed, then his palms, gradually starting to inch toward her.

  She reacted at once, pushing herself into the layer of thick pillows that rested against the wrought-iron headboard. “Do not come any closer to me, Samson. I’m warning you.”

  He said nothing to that, just gave her a sly grin as he straddled her feet, pinning her to the spot with his knees atop her wide skirts.

  “Sam, please, you’re not being rational,” she said matter-of-factly, attempting to reason with him.

  He grasped one foot and pulled at her soft leather shoe until it came free, then he dropped it to the floor and worked on the other. “You know what, Livi? I don’t think I’ve ever been more rational in my entire life.”

  She shook her head in small, brisk movements, trying again to push herself farther back into the pillows. “This isn’t right,” she argued, though her voice quivered as it began to dawn on her that he couldn’t be thwarted.

  Discarding her other shoe, he very slowly began to run his palms over the arches of her silk-stockinged feet, to her ankles, caressing in circles, pausing only seconds before he grew bolder and pushed his fingers up and under her gown, his gaze never wavering.

  “What—What are you doing?”

  “I’m taking your clothes off,” he murmured.

  “Oh, no you’re not.”

  He grinned again. “Now who’s not being rational?”

  She said nothing to that, just stared at him,
mortified.

  He caressed her calves with his palms. “Are you wearing a corset?”

  “That’s none of your business !”

  “I’ll assume that means no.”

  She hadn’t made any attempt to flee, hadn’t fought him physically at all, but she would undoubtedly try his patience every step of the way. An effort, he mused, that would prove highly rewarding.

  Leaning over, he gently kissed her stockinged toes, laying tiny pecks on the tips of each one, then the bottom of each foot.

  “You can’t do that,” she barked out, trying to pull her legs under her gown, which she couldn’t possibly manage because he held them firmly with his palms.

  Sam had only been with one other virgin, at the age of seventeen, and she had seduced him. This time—a far more meaningful time—he would have to be the initiator, a role he would savor minute by minute, demanding every bit of stamina he possessed to make him last until he slid himself inside of her.

  “Even your stockings are scented,” he murmured, his lips grazing the balls of her feet.

  She just continued to stare at him with wide, dazed eyes. “That’s because I keep them in a drawer of lilac-scented sachets and—”

  “Stop talking, Olivia,” he ordered in a whisper, his palms skimming her shins, his lips brushing her toes. And then he raised himself over her, his knees straddling her hips, and took her mouth with his.

  She didn’t protest this time. Instead, she didn’t move, didn’t respond, hoping, he supposed, that he would find her cold and undesirable. Instead, it made him all the more anxious to win her compliance, her heart and mind.

  He coaxed her softly into giving in to him, indulging the taste of her lips, the soft scent of spice on her skin, the supple feel of her body beneath his that he just barely touched with his bare chest. He kissed her over and over, tempting her with a promise of things to come, gently giving, never pushing, never insisting she respond, until finally he felt her ease into the bed as she started to relax.

  He pulled back enough to view her face, now flushed a dewy pink, her lips red and moist, her eyes shimmering from a gradually expanding desire.