Scandal's Bride (Three Times a Bride Anthology)

by Samantha James

  It was he who dragged his mouth away. Holding her gaze, he shrugged off his jacket, waistcoat, and shirt.

  He saw the way her eyes widened at the sight of his naked chest. Two spots of color bloomed on her cheeks. He sensed her uncertainty, but her fingers fluttered to the neckline of her bodice.

  His hand engulfed hers. At her questioning glance, he shook his head. “No,” he said. “Let me.”

  He undressed her down to her shift, so sheer the outline of her body was clearly visible beneath. He pulled her close, suppressing a groan, letting her grow used to the feel of him. His mouth sought hers, at first slow and exploring, then with mounting urgency.

  But suddenly she drew back, burying her face against his shoulder.

  He smoothed the tumbled gold of her hair. “What, Victoria? What is it?”

  The breath she drew was deep and uneven. “Oh, I know ’tis silly, but…we have been a long time coming to this moment. What if I should do something foolish? What if I should do something wrong?”

  He caught her hand and brought it to his lips. “You need not worry, Victoria. You are perfect. In every way. In all ways.” There was a small pause. “And now, countess”—it was his turn to tease as he tugged slender arms up and around his neck—“I would very much like for you to kiss me.”

  Her head came up, only now there was a faintly teasing light in her beautiful blue eyes. “What is this, my lord? Why, I do believe you told me once I should not force my attentions on a gentleman—let alone kiss him!—for a man finds such boldness distasteful.” It was her turn to arch a slender brow. “Your exact words, if I recall.”

  He smiled, his expression tender. “I think I will go quite mad if you do not kiss me. Besides, I am not just a gentleman. I am your husband.” His smile faded. “And your husband would very much like to make love to his wife.”

  Tears sprang to her eyes, yet she was smiling, a smile he knew he would carry in his heart forever. Her arms tightened around him. The dewy softness of her mouth hovered just beneath his, a provocative invitation. “And your wife wishes you would wait no longer, my lord.”

  And indeed, Victoria knew beyond any doubt that this was all she wanted—he was all she wanted. With infinite gentleness, he kissed her, then lifted her in his arms and laid her on the bed. When he stretched out beside her, she pressed herself against his length, eager for all he would teach her.

  Her shift was soon but a flimsy pile on the carpet. With her palms she skimmed the sleek outline of his shoulders. She could feel the knotted tension in his muscles, yet he did not hurry her. The touch of his hands on her breasts was a divine torment. With his thumbs he teased the sensitive peaks until they throbbed and stood up hard and erect. His head lowered. His tongue touched her nipple, leaving it shiny and wet and aching. She gasped as he took one deep coral circle into his mouth, sucking and circling, sweeping across that turgid peak with the wild lash of his tongue.

  His hand drifted lower, down across the hollow of her belly, sliding through dark gold curls. Victoria’s heart began to hammer, for there was a strange questing there in the secret cleft between her thighs. Surely he would not touch her there, she thought in half-panic, half-excitement. Surely she did not want him to, for such a thing was scandalous…

  It was heaven. A jolt of sheer pleasure shot through her. The gliding stroke of his fingertips was boldly undaunting, skimming damp folds, dipping and swirling against the pearly button of sensation centered within.

  Her eyes widened. Her nails dug into his shoulders. “Oh, dear,” she whispered faintly. “Miles, I do not think—”

  “It’s all right, sweet.” He stared down at her, his features were strained, his voice thick. “All I want is to please you.” Sweat beaded his upper lip. His blood pounded almost violently. As she gave a muted little whimper, his shaft swelled still further, straining his breeches until he felt he would surely burst the bonds of his skin.

  Her lashes fluttered closed. One long, strong finger slipped clear inside her, a blatantly erotic caress. Blistering flames leaped deep in her belly, for his thumb now worshiped that sensitive kernel of flesh. Her hips began to move. Seeking. Searching for something maddeningly elusive. And then it happened. Her body seemed to tighten, then explode in a blinding flash of ecstasy.

  Her eyes opened, smoky and dazed. Miles had pulled away, but it was only to strip away his breeches. Lamplight flickered over his body, turning his skin to burnished gold. He looked like a god, she thought wonderingly, strong and proud and irresistibly masculine.

  Tentatively, she touched the hair-matted plane of his chest. He sucked in a harsh breath. Emboldened, she dared to explore still further, brushing the grid of his abdomen with the backs of her knuckles. His eyes half-closed.

  “Touch me, Victoria.” His voice was taut. With his own hand, he dragged hers where he wanted it most.

  Her cool fingers curled about his shaft. He was enormous, hot and thick. A fingertip traced the velvet-tipped crown. Even as she marveled that something so steely hard could be so soft, she swallowed, for she could not imagine how she could accommodate something so immense…

  His breath rushed out. “God, Victoria. Oh, God…”

  Then he was there between her thighs, kneeling between them. He levered himself over her, his features heated and searing. His belly was hard as stone against her—as was his manhood. One swift, stretching stroke of fire and virginity was no more; his shaft pierced hard and deep inside her, to the very gates of her womb.

  A ragged sound broke from her lips. Above her, Miles went utterly still. Victoria blinked, for he lay buried to the hilt within her. Her velvet heat clamped tight around his swollen member, the pressure of his shaft stunningly thorough.

  “Oh, my,” she said shakily.

  He braced himself above her. His lips grazed hers. His voice was but a breath of air. “Do I hurt you, love?”

  She was stunned to find her body had yielded. Already the stinging pain was but a memory. She shook her head, wordlessly offering her lips…her body…

  Her very soul.

  He kissed her then, a lingering, binding caress. His shaft withdrew, only to return with a deft, sure plunge that stole her very breath. Pleasure, dark and heady, swirled all around her. The flame was back in her belly, burning higher and higher as their hips met again and again. His hands slid beneath her buttocks. Guiding even as she blindly sought…Lifting as she arched to meet each downward plunge…

  The rhythm of their love dance was hot and driving, frenzied and urgent. She felt herself swept high and away, deep into a white-hot vortex of sheer rapture. She was only half-aware of crying out. Above her, Miles gave one final, piercing lunge. She could only cling to him while his climax erupted inside her, a fiery rush of molten heat.

  The tension eased gradually from his body. His lips nuzzled the baby-soft skin behind her ear. “Sweet,” he whispered. “So sweet.”

  Without warning she began to cry.

  Warm fingers brushed the dampness from her cheeks, a touch of infinite tenderness. “Victoria. Victoria, love, what is this?” He froze, propping himself on an elbow and staring down at her. “Never say I hurt you!”

  “It isn’t that.” She buried her face against his chest. “It’s just that—I thought you did not want me,” she sobbed. “I thought you didn’t want me—I thought you would never want me!”

  In some strange way, she knew he understood. A possessive arm locked around her, drawing her close and tight against him. A hand beneath her chin, he brought her gaze to his. “Never doubt that I do want you, sweet. Never doubt me.”

  And in that moment, she didn’t.

  Eight

  A soft rapping on the door woke the pair the next morning. Miles rose and reached for his breeches, then walked barefoot to the door. From the depths of the bed, Victoria stirred, vaguely aware of a low-voiced exchange.

  The door shut. As he retraced his steps, she peered at him sleepily. “Miles? Who was it?” Her voice was still blurred fr
om sleep. “Is something wrong?”

  His features grave, he sat on the edge of the mattress. With his fingers he smoothed the tumbled hair from her shoulders, leaning forward to kiss her before he spoke. “I’m afraid so, sweet. I’ve an estate and holdings in Cornwall, and it seems a vicious storm has just swept through the area. It destroyed a number of tenants’ homes and also damaged the manor house.”

  Victoria sat up, tucking the counterpane over her bare breasts. Despite the night just past, she was still a bit shy about Miles seeing her naked. Gently she touched his forearm. “Oh, no. I do hope no one was hurt.”

  “Luckily, there were no serious injuries.” His gaze snared hers. “But I’m afraid I must be off as soon as I can to assess the damage.”

  She spoke quickly. “Would you like me to go with you?”

  He considered but a moment. “I think not. It’s a long, arduous journey in the best of times, and frankly, I’m not sure what I’ll encounter when I arrive. If the manor house is damaged extensively, it might well be a hardship for you.” He paused. “Will you wait for me here?”

  “Of course,” she said promptly.

  His lips quirked. He patted a rumpled portion of the coverlet. “I mean here, love”—his gaze warmed—“in this very spot.” The pitch of his voice grew seductive. “Preferably, dressed as you are, though perhaps I should say undressed as you are.”

  Victoria blushed furiously. Miles chuckled, then rose to hurriedly bathe and pack. She remained where she was, content to watch him lazily.

  At last he was ready. He looked dashing and handsome, and as he returned to the bedside, a tiny little thrill went through her. She slipped her arms around his neck. “Hurry back,” she whispered.

  He rested his forehead against hers. “Oh, I will, sweet,” he murmured huskily. “Of that you may rest assured.”

  The kiss they shared was long and passionate.

  Victoria spent the next few days quietly. Though she longed for Miles’s return, her heart was filled with burgeoning hope. Their marriage was not the disaster she had feared. Miles had made her feel cherished and special in a way she’d never dreamed possible. Indeed, she was suddenly quite certain marriage could be all her heart had ever wanted…

  Late one afternoon she returned from tea with Sophie. Nelson greeted her at the front door. “My lady, while you were out, a messenger arrived from Lyndermere Park.”

  Victoria frowned. Lyndermere was Miles’s estate in Lancashire. “A messenger?”

  “I didn’t have the opportunity to speak with him myself, my lady. But he brought with him this note for his lordship.” Nelson picked up a small missive from a silver tray, extending it toward her. Victoria hesitated before picking it up.

  “The maid who took it said the messenger was directed to deliver it in all due haste, my lady. Unfortunately, she neglected to tell him his lordship was in Cornwall at the moment.” Nelson cleared his throat. “That’s why I thought it best to direct it to your attention, my lady. If it should be a matter of importance…”

  “Yes. Yes, of course. And thank you, Nelson.” Victoria dismissed him with a smile.

  Upstairs in her room, she laid the letter on the bureau, then stripped off her gloves and untied her bonnet. Laying the bonnet aside, she bit her lip.

  Her gaze was drawn to the letter.

  Should she open it? Despite Nelson’s concern, she was reluctant to do so. She couldn’t help but feel she would be trespassing where she should not. Yet that was silly, wasn’t it? After all, she was Miles’s countess. And if the contents should indeed be urgent…

  With a sigh she went to retrieve it. Uncomfortable as she was, she decided it was best to open it after all. Before she could change her mind, she broke the seal.

  The letter was short. It contained but a few sentences. Quickly she scanned it.

  You’ve been gone a very long time. I miss you dreadfully. Please, please come home…

  Love,

  Heather

  A faint, choked sound escaped her throat.

  It was written in a precise, flowing…and unmistakably feminine hand.

  Love, Heather.

  There was a crushing pain in her chest.

  Love, Heather.

  How could he do this? she screamed silently. The memory of their night together rose swift and high in her mind. He had been so sweet. So tender. God! she thought brokenly. She had been almost certain that he cared—and cared deeply—for her. That perhaps he’d even begun to love her…

  What was it he’d said? Never doubt that I do want you, sweet. Never doubt me.

  It was all a lie. A lie.

  Only one thing could have made it worse—oh, how great her humiliation would have been if she’d told him she loved him.

  Because she did.

  She just hadn’t known how much…until now.

  But his betrayal was too much for her wounded heart to bear. So Victoria did the only thing she could think to do. She ordered her bags packed and went home to Papa.

  The marquess of Norcastle was quite astonished when his daughter appeared in the entrance hall, bags and baggage in tow.

  “Victoria! Good heavens, girl, what is this?”

  Victoria took one look at Papa and burst into tears.

  Enfolded snugly in his ample arms, Victoria cried her heart out against his shoulder. Little by little, the story came out. How, against all odds—against all reason!—she had fallen in love with her husband. How she had only just discovered there was another woman in his life…

  Her lips were tremulous. “’Twould have been silly for me to expect to be the first, nor did I expect it. But he gave me every reason to believe that”—her voice caught—“that he truly cared. Papa, I believed him! And now I feel so—so foolish!”

  The marquess sighed and touched her hair. “Victoria,” he said slowly, “I have always taught you to judge fairly and without bias, have I not?”

  Victoria nodded, her face still ravaged by tears.

  “Then I ask you now to be fair, child. Give him the chance to explain.”

  Slowly she drew back. “Papa, no! You—you would defend him? Against your own daughter?”

  He gestured vaguely. “No, of course not. But remember the night you were wed? I told you that he was not so cold as you believed. I was right, wasn’t I?”

  He detected a faint layer of bitterness in her tone. “Only yesterday I would have agreed wholeheartedly, Papa. Now I am not so sure. Indeed, I think he is cruel beyond words! He held me in his arms, knowing all the while that this woman named Heather awaited him in Lancashire! Perhaps she is his mistress. Or perhaps she is the one he meant to marry, for it was his intention that in time our marriage should be dissolved. He was only biding his time and awaiting the right moment.” Her eyes blazed as she announced, “Either way I-I do not care. I shall consider myself well rid of him!”

  The marquess cocked a shaggy brow. “You deceive no one, daughter, least of all yourself. You love him. You love him or none of this would matter.” He studied her for a moment. “And it may not be as it seems, Victoria. Have you even considered this?”

  “What need is there to—” she began, then stopped abruptly. Her eyes narrowed. “You confuse me, Papa. Why, I could almost believe that you know something you refuse to tell me—”

  “No.” He quelled her swiftly. “I know very little, except that I would never entrust my daughter to a man I thought to be a scoundrel.”

  “And you believe Miles is not a scoundrel?”

  “I do.”

  “Papa, you are a traitor!”

  The marquess winced. “No, daughter, I am not, and I can say no more, for it is not my place.” He sighed. “These doubts must be laid to rest, Victoria, and only Miles can do that. Go home. Go home and await your husband’s return.”

  “I don’t want to go to Miles,” she cried. “I don’t want to see him ever again. I-I am home and I want to stay here!”

  The glaze of tears in her eyes was almost his
undoing. The marquess spoke softly, yet there was no doubting his conviction. “No, Victoria. This is no longer your home. You are the countess of Stonehurst and for now, your home is with your earl. Look to him for answers. But know this, child. If all is as you believe, I will do everything in my power to see this marriage ended, for I could not bear to see you unhappy. But first you must find out the truth—and that must come from your husband.”

  Her shoulders drooped. Her anger fled as suddenly as it had erupted. Papa was right. Deep inside, Victoria knew it. But that didn’t make it any easier to bear. Battling a feeling of helplessness, she kissed him good-bye and returned to Grosvenor Square. For the second time that day, a parade of servants traipsed through the house carrying an array of trunks and baggage.

  Sleep eluded her that night. But by the next morning a righteous resolve had fired her blood—as well as an unfaltering purpose.

  Papa had advised her to wait for Miles. Well, that was all well and good. But Victoria remained convinced that she fully understood why Miles had been so reluctant to speak of Lyndermere. Perhaps it was folly. Perhaps it was sheer foolishness…

  But she would see for herself this woman named Heather—the woman she’d come to consider her rival.

  She set out for Lyndermere the next day. By the following morning, she was rolling along the hills of Lancashire. It was a part of England she’d never before visited. Had her mood been more lively, she’d have exclaimed with delight over the brilliant green valleys and flower-strewn fields. Before long, the coach turned down a long lane bowered with dozens of gracefully arched trees. Soon the coach rolled to a halt before an E-shaped stone building.

  Her stomach knotted and tight, Victoria peered through the carriage window.

  Naturally the coach was emblazoned with the Stonehurst crest. Apparently it had already been spotted, for a dozen or more servants had filed out the front doors and down the wide stone steps. They stood in a scraggly line, beaming nonetheless.