Scandal's Bride

by Gibson, Pamela

  Another bolt of lightning, followed by a severe jolt, shook the room, and she screeched and yanked the covers over her head.

  Her bedroom door flew open. “Gwennie. Are you all right?”

  She slid the covers down to her neck, breathing heavily, not able to speak. John stood by her bed in a nightshirt, but no cap, a candle in his hand.

  He set the candle on a table, blew it out, and climbed into her bed. Taking her in his arms, he drew her close and kissed her cheek. “I didn’t know you were afraid of thunderstorms. Phoebe was, because she was blind, but her fear has subsided now.”

  “I’m not afraid. The sound startles me, and I’m skittish after what happened. I apologize if I woke you.”

  “Nonsense. Close your eyes. You’ve had a bad day. I’m right here. Try to sleep.”

  She buried her nose in his nightshirt, sniffing the lemon-scented soap the servants used in the laundry. The scent and the warmth of his body should have infused her with peace. She was no longer startled by the storm, but another kind of restlessness took its place. With her head on his shoulder and her breasts pressed into the side of his hard chest, heat surged through her body, arrowing straight to her core. Her free hand brushed the fabric over his chest and slowly moved lower until she rested her palm on the hard ridge.

  La, I am a bold one.

  A moan escaped his lips. She rubbed her hand back and forth over the hardening mound, wanting, needing, frantic to have it between her thighs. He rose up and repositioned himself on his side, his mouth finding hers in the dark, his tongue twining with hers as she opened for him.

  She needed the pleasure he could give her to forget her ordeal, to remove all thoughts of evil from her mind, to reestablish the bond they had formed during their only coupling. She needed him.

  He sat up and removed his nightshirt, and she followed his lead, pulling her gown over her head. When they lay there naked, he climbed over her, his cock barely at her entrance as he kneaded her breasts.

  Her nipples pebbled, and she wanted his mouth there. Reaching up with both hands, she drew his head down until his suckling had her writhing beneath him.

  How could something so primal feel so good?

  He plumped up her breasts in his hands to give him better access. All the while she moved beneath him, working up a frenzy of need. Tingles of heat invaded her in her most intimate place, and she wanted him there, filling her, giving her the delicious friction that would lead to her release.

  Throwing her head back, she lifted her hips in invitation, and he feathered kisses down her belly to her mound. Positioning his hands beneath her bottom, he lifted her and gave her what she wanted, his tongue flicking a spot that drove her into a wild, thrashing climax.

  He groaned and moved his hips over her, entering her while she was still in the throes of her release. She cocked her knees and wrapped her legs around his waist. Reaching, reaching, she couldn’t believe the world was about to explode again. With a final groan, he collapsed on top of her as she cried out and held him to her, feeling warmth invade her body.

  Much later she remembered there had been no French letter tonight.

  She smiled as she finally fell asleep.

  ~ ~ ~

  John awoke in Gwen’s bed, feeling languid and peaceful.

  Then he realized what he’d done. And not done.

  She was awake, lying on her side facing him. Her long hair lay in soft waves over her bare shoulder, and the covers were not pulled up all the way, revealing her ample cleavage. But it was her sensuous, self-satisfied smile that undid him. He wanted her again, and he was appalled he had taken her in the night without a French letter or, at the very least, withdrawing before he climaxed.

  Her hand brushed his cheek.

  “You need a shave, my lord husband.”

  He grabbed her hand and kissed her palm. “I need more than that. I seem to have lost my wits somewhere.”

  “Do not apologize. You were not a beast. You did not discomfit me.” She grinned. “Actually, you did, but it was sheer pleasure after a terrifying day.”

  “We didn’t use . . .”

  “Do not abuse yourself on that note. My courses are due. No child was conceived. You can rest easy.” She turned onto her back, the smile still on her face. “Ah, I feel as limp as a blancmange.”

  I wish I felt limp.

  He kept her hand grasped in his. It was unlike him to have a lapse, given his fierce determination not to bring children into the world. But where Gwen was concerned, he seemed to lose control. She’d needed comfort last night. He’d heard her cry out and thought she had a nightmare. His plan was to hold her until she was asleep, then return to his bed.

  But you couldn’t resist her, could you?

  When her hand had roamed over his body, settling on his cock, he’d nearly moaned with pleasure. Her stroking had undone him. He’d had to have her, and she’d been so willing, so responsive, he’d lost all thought.

  Dangerous, that’s what she was.

  He felt a grin forming on his own mouth. “What will Sadie think if she finds me in your bed?”

  “She’ll pretend she didn’t see anything and discreetly close the door.”

  Footsteps in the hall told him it might be too late to leave. But they passed. In order to avoid further temptation, he got up and found his nightshirt but didn’t put it on. Instead he strolled over to the window and parted the curtains, hoping his ardor would recede before he turned around. Bright sunlight filled the room. “It appears the storm has passed. I’m glad. I didn’t want to attend the Livesley’s dinner in the cart, and these storms tend to linger for days. We would have been drenched before we arrived.”

  “Will you be ordering the new coach soon?”

  “While you were having your adventure, I did some calculations. We can afford a modest conveyance. Our coach will not be as magnificent as Jeremy’s, but it should do nicely for the two of us.”

  He stretched and moved toward the sitting room.

  “Have I ever told you what a magnificent backside you have, my lord?” Her tone was saucy. What a minx she was.

  He wanted to laugh as he picked up her nightgown and laid it across the bed.

  Ah Gwennie, you are delightful. “Have I ever told you what a magnificent frontside you have?”

  “Lydia says I am too plump, that I resemble a Covent Garden trollop.”

  “Your sister-in-law has a lewd mouth. Your body is more like a Rubens model. I find it exquisite in proportion, sensuous in its appeal, and yet . . .” He stared off into space, his finger on his lips. “Spiritual in the sense that you never flaunt your charms but reserve them for . . . hmm . . . special occasions.”

  “Very poetic, my lord.”

  But he knew she was pleased. Miranda had once told him Gwen thought her body unfashionable and therefore unlovable.

  I love every inch of her.

  Her beautiful face, her creamy skin, her quick wit, and her pure heart. The thought flitted in and out of his mind in an instant, but he would bring it out again to examine later. Was he in love? He never thought he would fall in love with his convenient bride. They would be companions and, hopefully over time, good friends.

  He scurried from the room before he could no longer resist climbing back up into the bed to create yet another special occasion.

  Chapter 24

  Sadie bustled in without knocking—something Gwen would have to change—and put her morning chocolate on the table next to Gwen’s bed.

  “What happened to your nightgown? Were you warm in the night? The rainstorm seems to have passed, but I found it quite chilly.” Sadie looked up. “Oh.”

  She must have noted the dreamy expression Gwen was sure she wore. “Would you order me a bath. I find myself in need of a good soak.”
<
br />   Sadie laid out her robe. “Lady Culbertson once told me she feared you would become ill because you bathed so often.”

  “Posh. Mama was raised with a pitcher and basin. She didn’t know what she was missing.”

  Gwen slid her legs over the side of the bed, drank the dark liquid in the cup, and put on her robe. She would stay indoors today, examining her wardrobe to find something suitable to wear to the Livesley’s fete. John had firmly put the tower off-limits, at least until he could remove the door or install one that could be easily opened.

  She wrinkled her nose.

  Lady Livesley was not her favorite person. Cold, unsmiling, the woman reminded her of Lydia. The day Gwen paid her morning call, the baroness wore her hair in a bun so tight her eyes seemed to narrow, and her gown, while fashionably styled, was plain and unadorned as if she were afraid fripperies of any kind would soften her.

  Her visit to the baroness had been a whim, on a day she’d been missing John and had tired of her daily routine. Their home appeared as old as the abbey, with a moss-covered dark stone façade built around an interior courtyard. Sturdy square towers marked the front corners of the building. When she’d crossed a narrow bridge over a stream that led into the River Ouse, her lively mind had pictured a moat.

  Lady Livesley had seemed surprised by Gwen’s visit but had led her into a dark sitting room with high walls covered in tapestries, where tea and cakes had been served. After a polite half hour, Gwen had excused herself, having exhausted her opinion of the weather, London fashions, and the ongoing improvements she and John were making. The baroness had nodded here and there but had not offered her own views.

  She and her daughter had been the women in the tea shop the day Gwen and Sadie had ventured into town. Her snobbery had put Gwen’s back up, like one of the barn cats facing a rival. But the Livesley estate was an adjoining property, and now the baroness had kindly invited them to dine. She would swallow her dislike and be gracious because John was fond of the baron and did business with him.

  The tub arrived with cans of hot water. When Sadie deemed it the right temperature, Gwen stepped in and immersed herself in the glorious heat. The lemon soap reminded her of the scent of John’s nightshirt as she snuggled in his arms.

  I shall never stop smiling.

  After an hour’s dawdling, Sadie lifted the warmed towel, and Gwen dried herself off. Her morning gown was laid out on the bed, and after she’d dressed, she and Sadie scrutinized her wardrobe to determine what would be suitable for dining out.

  “Not a ball gown. I think the amber silk with the ruched hem. The pearls sewn into the bodice give it an elegant look, and I can wear the pearls my parents gave me for my come-out.”

  “A wise choice. I shall press it and return it to your armoire. On the night of the dinner, I can address myself to your toilette.”

  The dress was slimming and was one she’d purchased for her trousseau. She’d felt positively regal the first time she’d put it on.

  I’ll need all the armor I can muster to be gracious to my hostess if she is as intimidating as she was during my previous visit.

  With the day stretching before her, she skipped down the stairs and out the front entrance into the welcome sunshine. Lionel walked toward her, carrying a black bundle.

  “What do you have there?”

  “’Tis a wee kitten. One of the barn cats gave birth a few weeks ago, but only this one has survived.”

  “Let me have it.” She took the tiny kitten, a little larger than the size of her hand, into the house. Taking him to the kitchen, she found cream in a pitcher and poured some into a bowl. The kitten lapped it up, stepped back, and promptly fell asleep.

  “What do you have there, my lady?” Mrs. Bertram bustled over and stroked the tiny head with her finger.

  “A kitten I’ve decided to keep. I fancy a house pet. Marmot spends most of his time outdoors chasing rabbits. Have the footman bring up an old blanket and perhaps a bowl of dirt.”

  “What will the master think of this?”

  “I suppose we’ll have to see. Is he in the study?”

  “Lionel said Mr. Montague was going into the village on an errand.”

  Odd. He usually asked her if she wanted to accompany him.

  “What shall you name him?” said Mrs. Bertram.

  “I know not. I must see what his personality is like first.”

  The kitten remained asleep as they transferred him to a basket with rags in the bottom. She took it upstairs.

  When John returned, she quizzed him about keeping the cat. He said he liked cats. He and Jeremy had several at Longley, along with a kennel full of hunting dogs. The dogs were the earl’s pride, and he let them have the free run of the house when he was home.

  Since the housemaids had fallen in love with her new pet, she named him Romeo.

  When the night of the dinner arrived, Gwen dressed early, taking care to look her best. Two days ago, John had returned from town with a smart new curricle. Pulled by a matched pair of horses, it was perfect for two people and had a top that could be put up if it rained. The vehicle was quite an improvement over the cart, but she wouldn’t want to travel a long distance in it. The new traveling coach had been ordered but would not be ready for another month.

  They arrived late, bid their host and hostess good evening, and settled down to have a good coze with the other guests. Gwen knew most of them from church.

  The evening progressed well, and soon after arrival, they went in to dinner. The food was not up to London standards, but the fish course was served with dill and the roast beef was not overcooked. Gwen was seated between the Livesley’s younger son and the vicar. Two more diverse personalities did not exist.

  John sat opposite, charming the vicar’s wife and attempting to converse with the Livesley’s daughter. Lady Charlotte looked like a woman who would rather be anywhere other than her parents’ chilly dining hall. Her stiff demeanor mirrored that of her mother, who sat at the end of the table with her eldest son, Marcus, and their neighbor, Lady Quimby. The baron sat at the other end of the table with a few other neighbors interspersed among the guests, twelve in all.

  Gwen set her gaze on Geoffrey, the younger son, who appeared to be the same age as John. He had the look of a young Lord Byron. He’d be handsome except his mouth was set in a perpetual sneer, and when their gazes locked, his eyes narrowed and his lip curled before he looked away.

  She shuddered. The atmosphere of this medieval-looking home was off-putting, not helped by the fact she’d read a few chapters of her book before dressing for dinner. She must remind herself not to read gothics if she was invited here again.

  The vicar touched her arm with his finger to get her attention. “I was sorry to hear about your fire.”

  She set her fork down on her empty plate and focused on the elderly man who addressed her. “The damage to the east wing was unfortunate, but Mr. Montague and I plan to rebuild next spring.”

  “What about the west wing?”

  “Fire did not reach that part of the house. Smoke was thick, but after two days of airing, it was habitable again.”

  “I’m glad no one was injured.”

  “As am I. It could have been much worse if the fire had ignited the roof of the west wing. Our living quarters were thankfully unaffected.”

  The younger Livesley son interrupted. “You’re not planning to sell then? If something like that had happened to me, I would find a buyer and scurry back to London.”

  She turned her attention to the young man. “The abbey is our home. We’d never give it up. A fire in an unused portion of the building is a small setback.”

  “You plan to remain then.”

  She smiled, hoping to coax one from her questioner, who looked like he’d swallowed something sour. “As I said, we are c
harmed by the place. La, I consider it a great challenge to bring it back to its former glory.”

  “You’re not put off by the ghost?”

  The vicar chimed in. “I heard there was another sighting not too long ago. Not that I believe in ghosts. But I find it unsettling that so many do.”

  The tickle in her stomach became an outright laugh, loud and uninhibited. John looked up, as did Lady Charlotte. Gwen winked at her husband and turned to the vicar. “The latest sighting was real. A ghostly light moved back and forth in front of the tower windows. The candle was held by a woman about . . . hmm . . . my age.”

  “You saw it?”

  “No, I lived it. There was no ghost. It was I. Somehow, I got locked in the tower. My poor husband had to rescue me.”

  The vicar patted her hand. “You are a very brave lady.”

  “La, I was a ninny to go there alone without telling anyone.”

  “Yes, you were.” The younger man’s tone was dark and ominous. “You could have slipped and fallen down the stairs, your body not found for days.” He averted his eyes. Did he know something about her mishap?

  She pursed her lips and faced him. “I’ve promised my husband I shall be careful in the future.”

  The dessert dish was served, a pudding of sorts with fruit. Gwen lifted her spoon and nearly swooned. Ah, this was their cook’s forte. Desserts. She finished her portion, grateful for silence from both of her seatmates.

  After dinner, Lady Livesley rose, and the women followed her into the withdrawing room for tea. The men remained to smoke and drink port.

  Searching for more pleasant conversation, Gwen seated herself next to the vicar’s wife. A pleasant woman with gray hair and laugh lines around her light-blue eyes, she talked about embroidery patterns and flower arrangements. Her passion was daffodils, and she offered bulbs to Gwen for her garden.