In Scandal They Wed

by Sophie Jordan

  “I might have had something to do with that,” she inserted, her lips twisting wryly as he carried her up the wood steps with jarring force. She smoothed a palm over his shoulder, the skin warm and smooth beneath her palm. Deliciously bare. “You forgot your clothes.”

  They cleared the threshold and stepped into the muted glow of the corridor.

  She blinked at the sudden emergence from dark and turned to stare at his face, searching the masculine angles and hollows, the deep-set eyes, the well-cut lips as though she’d never seen him before. She brushed a fingertip over the slight dimple in his chin.

  She devoured the sight of him, his hair mussed from her fingers, his green eyes bright, staring at her hungrily. The way a man stares at a woman he’s only known intimately.

  “I’ll fetch them later.”

  Her fingers fanned over his shoulder, enjoying the bunching muscles. “You intend to march through the house half-dressed? What if someone sees—”

  “We’re married, Evie. They can think what they like. And last time I checked, I was master of this house.”

  He strode the length of the corridor until he reached the servants’ stairs. He passed a footman on the way up. Startled, the callow-faced youth pressed himself against the wall, averting his gaze from their obvious state of dishabille. Evie buried her overly warm face in his chest, hiccupping with laughter, feeling lighter and happier than she had in years.

  He did this—made her feel young and free. As though happiness wasn’t a sentiment reserved for a lucky few. It was something she could have. With him.

  “We’ll acquire you some fresh clothes, food—”

  “A bath?”

  “Of course.” He turned his face then and nuzzled her cheek, lips dropping to her neck.

  Her belly fluttered at the warm press of his lips on her skin, at his easy familiarity with her. She’d never thought to have this with a man. Never, certainly, with a husband.

  She twisted her head around as he passed her bedroom door.

  “Where are you taking—”

  “I don’t really see the purpose of you sleeping in there anymore.” His gaze swung to hers, the green clear and probing. “Do you?”

  Heat crawled over her cheeks. Indeed not. Her body belonged to him now. She freely relinquished herself to him.

  “No. I don’t.” She didn’t want to sleep alone anymore. She wanted Spencer, to be his wife in the truest sense. Only one thing stood between them anymore. One thing killed the lightness sweeping through her.

  She hid her face in his neck to hide her frown.

  Inside his chamber, he set her on the edge of the vast bed. She forced herself to brighten as he stared down at her with those mesmerizing eyes.

  He brushed his thumb down her cheek. “I won’t be long.”

  She nodded, watching breathlessly as he left the room. Once the door clicked shut, she was on her feet and at the basin, determined to wash away any evidence of her virginity.

  Her hands shook as she poured water into the porcelain bowl. She told herself it was simply from the day’s events. Locked in the dark, forced to face that long-standing fear, and then her other fear—the risk of exposure when she surrendered her body to her husband.

  Surely it had nothing to do with the fact that she had fallen in love with her husband. A man that would want nothing to do with her if he learned the secret she harbored. She closed her eyes in a tight blink. If no longer seemed to be in question.

  It was a matter of when. When she told him. Because she couldn’t have him until she confessed the truth. She could no longer live with this lie between them.

  You don’t lie to those you love.

  A simple enough tenet.

  She could only pray he understood and did not judge her too harshly . . . that he did not toss her into the same category as his father.

  After ordering Evie’s bath and dinner tray, Spencer set out in pursuit of another matter that required his attention. After several knocks on Adara’s door, he opened it and stepped into an empty bedchamber. Not so surprising.

  Smiling grimly, he moved down the corridor and proceeded to beat on the bedchambers of each of her companions. Turning the latches, he flung doors open, heedless to shouts of outrage.

  Very few of Adara’s guests slept alone. They stumbled from their rooms with words of indignation, hastily knotting their robes. He found Adara in the last chamber. In Gresham’s bed.

  “Spencer!” she cried, wrapping a coverlet about her ample curves. “It’s not what you think!”

  He arched a brow. “I have eyes, Adara. Your mistake is in thinking I care.”

  Gresham visibly relaxed at his declaration. He even had the temerity to wink. “Your brother never bothered to care either—”

  “I’m sure,” Spencer drawled, imagining that his amoral brother had been too busy chasing the skirts of other women to care who diddled his wife. He issued a fervent prayer of thanks that Evie was nothing like these people, that she knew nothing of the ton’s sordid practices. Like him, she likely had no wish to frequent the drawing rooms of London’s High Society.

  “Spencer, listen to me. I made a mistake when I chose Cullen over you. I’m sorry I lied and said I would run away with you. I was young. Don’t punish me for one bad decision. I’ve suffered enough. The way Cullen died—” She shuddered. “It was mortifying.”

  He sighed. “I’m not punishing you. I simply don’t care.”

  Rising from the bed, she latched onto his arm. “You cannot mean—”

  “You’re my sister-in-law, Adara. Nothing more. I’ll see to your needs until you’ve remarried. Something I suggest you do with all haste.” He narrowed his gaze on her.

  Hurt flashed across her face. She quivered her lips. “You wish me to marry another man?”

  “I expect the banns posted within the fortnight. Mind you, I’ll bestow a handsome settlement on you.” He shot Gresham a significant look. “Something to consider, Gresham, if you’re so fond of bedding her.”

  “Quite so,” he murmured.

  Adara glared between them. “As if I would marry a mere mister.”

  The crowd that had gathered near the door tittered at this slight.

  Gresham’s face flushed. “Good enough to tup, just not wed, is that it? And I suppose a woman that’s serviced half the ton can expect better? You’ll be fortunate indeed to attract a husband half as understanding or forgiving.”

  The crowd tittered again.

  A female muttered, “This is the best house party I’ve ever attended!”

  Weary of the lot of them and eager to return to Evie, Spencer snapped, “Until you wed, you’ll only be granted the most meager of allowance. Perhaps that will change your mind.”

  “Allowance?” She pressed a hand to the swell of her cleavage above the coverlet.

  “Yes,” he said tightly, leaning his face close. “And rest assured, that will vanish in a heartbeat if you ever”—his voice dipped darkly—“harm Evie again. The streets would be too good for you.”

  “Evie!” she screeched, bouncing with rage. “This is all because of that little drudge?”

  “Wife,” he inserted, teeth clenched. “Have a care, Adara. Evie is my wife.”

  “Indeed.” She narrowed her eyes to slits. “You daft fool,” she snarled. “You’ve fallen in love with her.”

  Spencer pressed his lips shut . . . letting the words sink in, settling deeply inside himself. Surprisingly, he felt no impulse to deny them. “Perhaps,” he allowed.

  “Bastard! How dare you prefer her to me?” She charged him, fingers curled to strike.

  He caught her wrist, speaking calmly, flatly. “How could I not? I want you gone. Pack your things.” He swept his gaze over Gresham and the rest of Adara’s friends gawking from the doorway. “All of you.”

  “Tonight?” Gresham demanded. “Not very hospitable of you, Winters.”

  “Nor have any of you been very gracious to my wife, your hostess. Now get out. You’re
not welcome here.”

  Gresham ducked his head. Looking a bit shame-faced, he nodded.

  Spencer flung Adara from him. “I will look for your announcement in the Times. Don’t thwart me on this. You won’t find me a forgiving man.”

  Adara stumbled to the bed and dropped down, her small frame sagging with defeat in a very affected pose. The sight did nothing to move him.

  In that moment, Spencer felt spared, relieved. Well and truly saved from the miserable fate that would have been his had he married her all those years ago. He sent forth a small prayer of thanks to Cullen for stealing her away.

  Gresham patted her bare shoulder. “Come along, Adara. Let’s pack.”

  She ignored him. Her eyes glittered across the shadowy room at Spencer. “You’re a damn fool. A fool! You think you love her? You think she loves you?” she sneered.

  He held himself still, watching her, listening. He knew he shouldn’t. Knew he should turn away, but he couldn’t. He watched, transfixed as she blasted him with her venom.

  “Wait and see. Your perfect bride will break your heart. I see it in her. She’s the same as everyone else. Out for herself. She doesn’t really care about you. Why do you think she married you?” Her pretty lips twisted. “Do you even know each other?” She laughed cruelly. “You’re nothing but a title to her. Wealth and security. Not a man! Not anyone she would ever care for!”

  “You’re wrong.” He shook his head slowly. “Your mistake is in thinking Evie is anything like you.”

  With that parting comment, he turned and left the room, ignoring the ring of her words in his ears, the uneasy feeling they left in his gut.

  She was wrong.

  He wasn’t a fool to permit affection for his wife into his heart. He wasn’t a fool to think she might return his affection. She was different. Good and sincere. Why not let himself care for her?

  A dark voice whispered across his mind. Because she’s Ian’s Linnie.

  He shook his head. Not anymore. She was his now. His Evie. It wasn’t a mistake to let hope creep in . . . hope for a marriage based on something more than duty and convenience. Hope for them both.

  Chapter 23

  Evie woke to warm lips on her neck, her throat, her breast. Opening her eyes, she smiled and laced her fingers through Spencer’s thick hair. A predawn gray crept between the damask drapes.

  “Hmm, good morning,” she murmured, then frowned. “I tried to wait up for you last night. Why didn’t you wake me when you came to bed?”

  She remembered little after her bath and meal save climbing into his bed. Apparently, replete with food and relaxed from her bath, her body’s exhaustion had overcome her.

  “You looked so peaceful, I didn’t want to wake you.” He kissed a spot directly beneath her ear and she shivered. “I decided this could wait for morning.”

  She surveyed the broad, naked chest spread above her. “It’s morning now,” she murmured, secretly awed at the wanton she had become.

  He grinned. “I’m aware. I waited this long before waking you.” He pulled back slightly to gaze down at her. Even in the shadowy room, his intense gaze penetrated her. He fingered the modest neckline of her nightrail. “I’m going to burn this. All your nightrails.”

  “What will I wear then?” she teased.

  A wicked gleam entered his eyes. “The sheerest, smallest satins and laces.” His finger slipped inside the high neckline. “More like handkerchiefs, really. They’ll cover your most delectable parts for all of five seconds before I remove them with my teeth.”

  She couldn’t help herself. She tossed back her head and laughed. “My, my, you are wicked.”

  When she looked at him again, he wasn’t smiling. He simply stared at her, somber and brooding.

  Her laughter faded. “What?”

  “I’ve never seen you like this.”

  Her chest felt tight, the air frozen in her lungs. “Like how?”

  “So easy to be with, so . . . happy and free. I like it when you laugh. When you’re not fighting me.”

  Her chest felt tight, impossibly small. “Me, too.” And she suspected he possessed the power to make her laugh often. To make her happy. If she permitted it.

  He smiled then. A smile she had never seen on him before. A smile she felt echo through her. He brushed a strand of hair off her neck, his thumb remaining, lingering over the pulse at her throat as he looked at her in that intense way that melted her bones.

  And she knew she had to confess everything to him. If she held any hope of building anything meaningful between them, anything true, she must. Somehow. Some way.

  She opened her mouth to begin, unsure how to start.

  He shifted, pressed his erection against the curve of her hip. The hungry look in his eyes stopped her. Heat pooled low in her belly. She shifted, rolled her thighs apart as much as her gown would allow, inviting him in.

  Mouth flattened into a firm line, he reached down and dragged her nightrail up over her hips, her torso, her head. She shivered in the morning air. He came over her again, warming her with his naked body. His skin felt like satin stretched over solid muscle and sinew. Wherever she touched him he rippled and undulated. He made her feel small and delicate.

  “Hope you didn’t have plans for the day.” His calves slid against hers, his coarse leg hair erotic and stimulating. Her insides quivered.

  “Why?” she breathed.

  “Because we’ll be doing this. All day and all night.”

  “Can we do that?”

  He chuckled and lowered his head, kissing her long and deep until she was gasping, clinging to his shoulders and urging him closer. His mouth dragged free from hers, burned a searing trail down her neck. “We can do anything we want.”

  She sighed and arched against him. “Anything?”

  “Everything.” He took her nipple in his mouth, sucking deeply. She cried out, arching more sharply against his warm tongue, clutching harder at his head. With each pull of his mouth on her breast, he created a deep pull inside her. A tight ache that throbbed between her legs.

  “I’m never leaving this bed,” she moaned.

  He chuckled, his warm breath fanning her wet nipple. “Not even tomorrow?” He flicked the tip with his tongue, tormenting her.

  “What? Why?” she moaned, thrashing her head, beyond understanding as he danced his fingers up her thigh, brushing her wetness.

  “We could do this in a carriage, couldn’t we?” He paused to blow over the tip of her wet, engorged nipple.

  A carriage? She shook her head. “Why would we wish to when we have a bed?”

  He closed his mouth over her other nipple, biting down lightly. She shrieked and grabbed his hair.

  “I thought you might like to take a trip.”

  “Where?” she panted, tugging him back to her breast.

  “Little Billings.”

  She blinked and propped herself up on her elbows. Her heart tripped at the crooked smile he wore. He really was too handsome. “You’re taking me home?”

  “You miss your family, don’t you?”

  She nodded mutely, overcome that he cared enough about her to grant her this. Her heart seized in her chest when he reached out to stroke her cheek. “I want you to be happy, Evie. I’ve sent Adara and her friends home. We can stay here or in Little Billings. Wherever. I’ve lived in a tent for years, so anything is an improvement.”

  Her hand flew to her chest, pressing against her racing heart, hearing only one thing just then. “You sent Adara away?”

  His face tightened with a scowl. “You didn’t expect me to let her remain after her little stunt.”

  She touched his face, delighting in the rasp of his cheek against her palm. “This is your home, Spencer. I want it to be mine, too. I want it to be where we raise Nicholas and our children.”

  She’d clung to The Harbour out of fear and desperation. For so long she had viewed the outside world in the same way she’d perceived the darkness. Something to be feared. Avoided.
A place where only bad things happened. Like in Barbados.

  “You mean that?”

  The Murdochs were long overdue a rest, a reprieve from hard work and the overhanging cloud of poverty. Because of Spencer, she could give them the security and peace to enjoy their last years. Nicholas would adore Ashton Grange and the grand adventure it presented. Amy, too. It would provide them hours of exploration. Her aunt, on the other hand, would likely choose to remain at The Harbour. She’d not wish to leave her home of so many years.

  Evie nodded, smiling. Again. “I do.”

  He smiled back, a deep, contented curve on his lips. He lowered her back down on the bed, his arms twin bands of muscle on either side of her, caging her in. Her belly tightened. His eyes gleamed pale green down at her, devouring. “Then let’s fetch Nicholas and bring him home.”

  Home. Their home. For the first time, she believed it. Believed she could have that with him.

  Perhaps she could have everything.

  He kissed her then, and her heart thrilled at the taste of him on her lips. She gasped when he entered her, exulted in the hard fullness of him fitting inside her so perfectly. Nothing had ever felt as sublime, as right as his body merging with hers.

  He slid his hands under her to cup her bottom and lift her for his every thrust, driving her deeply into the bed. She turned her face, crying out into the pillow beneath her head and hiding her tears.

  Tears of joy. Tears of grief that her courage had failed her and the man she had fallen in love with did not yet truly know her. That when he did, she risked losing him forever.

  Much later she woke to a darkened room. Her sore and well-used body stiffened for a moment at the swirling black surrounding her until she felt Spencer’s chest beneath her cheek.

  She sighed. The dark didn’t frighten her anymore. Not with Spencer near her. “Hmm.” She stretched. “What time is it?”

  His hand caressed her arm, the rasp of his callused palms already familiar. “Late.”

  He slid from the bed, and she shivered, bereft without his warm body against hers. “Spencer?”