The Tempting of a Devilish Lord (The Lords of Scandal Row Book 2)

by Samantha Holt

  He plucked at the waist of her dress. “There’s no way I am getting these wet clothes off you.” He pushed her skirts up until they were bunched around her thighs. “At least not quickly enough for my liking.”

  “Well, you were the one who pulled me in.”

  “And you were the one who snuck into my bedroom.”

  “Then perhaps we are even.” She moved her arms around his shoulders as he shifted forward and braced himself on one elbow and eyed her. She lifted her hips in invitation.

  “Let me remember the prim little woman I once met on a rock, just for a moment.”

  “Alex!” she moved into him again.

  “That’s enough remembering.” He rolled suddenly, taking her with him and urging her to straddle him, much like in the bath. “If you are on top you can control it better.” He smirked. “And I get a better view.”

  “I have little idea what I am doing,” she warned him, her throat tightening.

  She could not quite believe what she was about to do but the fire blazing through her veins would not let her do anything else. She loved this rake, this scandalous man, with every powerful beat of her heart, and she wanted nothing more than to be properly joined with him.

  She rocked against him, like in the bath, and he bunched her skirts up with his teeth gritted. With no fabric between them, she gasped at the feel of his hot flesh touching her delicate center.

  He guided her with her hips and lifted her a little. Swallowing hard, she sank slowly onto him, feeling him breach her just a little. She gulped down some air and sank deeper, eyes wide at the sensation. There was no chance she could have prepared herself for the stretching, full sensation, but by God, was it wonderful.

  Lucinda moved a little quicker now, taking him into her inch by inch until they were fully joined. Alex’s grip on her shook, and tension clung to his jaw. She waited a few moments before slowly lifting and lowering again.

  “Goodness.”

  He nodded. “You can say that again.”

  The tightness inside her eased and she moved against the delicious friction, over and over, again and again. Alex lifted his hips now, meeting her movements, his grip tight on her hips. The bed creaked beneath them and she spread her palms over his still damp chest, aware of the hard muscle beneath her fingertips.

  And how it was hers. All hers.

  Pleasure began simmering through her. Alex gave a rough curse and rolled her over then grabbed her legs, hooking them around his thighs. He thrust hard into her, making her gasp for air. She clung to his shoulders while he kissed erratically down her neck and made his way back to her mouth.

  The delicious feelings broke, shattering through her with all the power of a waterfall, hard and fast and then gently stroking through her, pattering her body with satisfaction. He groaned while kissing her deeply, his shoulders tense beneath her palms, and he muttered her name in an open-mouthed kiss before relaxing on top of her.

  Lucinda stroked her hands up and down his back, her eyelids heavy. She savored the feeling of him still inside her.

  “We cannot blame a near-death experience for that one, you know,” he murmured in her ear and drew in a long, deep breath before lifting up to view her.

  “No, we cannot,” she agreed with a smile. “Our scandalous natures might have to take the blame for that one.”

  “Let it be known you seduced me.”

  “You kissed me first,” she countered.

  “It’s these fichus.” He fingered the fabric around her neck. “You have no idea what they do to me.”

  She laughed. “Who would have thought a Lord of Scandal Row would find such things attractive?”

  “Only on you, Lucy.” He chuckled and pushed a curl from her face, tucking it behind her ear. “You know, I tried so hard not to scandalize you.”

  “I know.” She rose to press a gentle kiss to his lips and smiled. “But it turns out I rather like scandal.”

  THE END

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  Read on for an excerpt from Taking the Spinster

  Author Note

  Langmere is a fictional place, however, I based it very much on Lake Windermere and Bowness-on-Windermere, one of the most popular tourist spots on the lake. The town boasts some wonderful old buildings and fabulous shops, and you can catch a boat to do various trips around the huge lake.

  It has a special spot in my heart as its where my now husband and I had our first weekend away together. The place where Lucy and Mary-Anne intend to row their boat out from is near a boat house that belongs to Wray Castle. It’s a dramatic mock-castle that is certainly worth a visit if you have the chance.

  TAKING THE SPINSTER

  OF ALL THE things Freya had expected to come from Lord Huntingdon, asking her to walk with him was not one of them. Especially after yesterday.

  Admittedly, attacking him with an umbrella had not been her finest of moments but he had also made it clear he had no patience for her questions. He had described the last time he’d seen Lady Steele in the vaguest of terms and could tell her little more. She could not help think that if she had seen someone just the day before they had vanished into thin air, she would recall every moment, trying to figure out if there was some clue hidden in the interaction.

  Something was still not right about the earl and she would welcome an opportunity to dig deeper.

  However, she had certainly not expected that opportunity to be brought so directly to her.

  “Shall we?” he pressed, indicating down the slender path that cut through the grass toward The Serpentine. Autumn had left the park an array of greens, browns, yellows and reds. The beddings offered up nothing more than empty patches of dirt. Yet the park never seemed to get quieter, not until the dead of winter. So it shouldn’t mean anything that he was here really. After all, she didn’t own the park. She could not control who came and visited.

  It was still odd, though. That little instinct that had driven her this far through life niggled at her. She couldn’t let this be, no matter how she felt about the earl.

  Which was almost nothing of course. How could she feel anything else? She scarcely knew the man and dabbing his cheek with a handkerchief and being gifted one of his blankets hardly constituted as a friendship let alone anything else.

  Anything else. What was wrong with her? The only way they could be more divided was if he was royalty. He would never understand her life and she would never comprehend his.

  “Miss Haversham?” he pressed.

  Warmth flooded her cheeks. She must look like she was one step away from the asylum, standing here and contemplating their relationship. Or lack of.

  “I cannot,” she admitted.

  The furrow between his brow deepened “Cannot what? Walk?” He peered down at her. “Are you injured?”

  “No, I—”

  “I see.” His stance stiffened. “Well, I shall leave you—”

  “No!” She blew out a breath and tried again, more softly this time. “No, it’s just that The Brigadier cannot walk any further.” She gestured to the dog. “Once he sits like this, he struggles to get up. I shall have to carry him home now.”

  He glanced between her and the dog several times. “So you bring him for a walk, but he does not even walk?”

  “Well, he manages it a little way here. He’s very old,” she reminded him.

  “And you carry him home?”

  She nodded.

  “He must weigh a ton.”

  Freya lifted her chin. “I’m stronger than I look.”

  “Indeed.” He kneeled down and gave the dog a rub under his chin.

  She expected that he would bid her good day then. And she couldn’t fathom a reason to persuade him to stay. Oh yes, Lord Huntingdon, why do you not remain here at my side while my blind dog sits on the grass and does absolutely nothing? But she needed him to stay. Desperately.

  For the
story of course.

  “Perhaps—”

  He scooped the dog up in both arms. The Brigadier panted heavily, showing no sign of any unease in the earl’s arms.

  “What are you—?”

  “Which way is home?” the earl asked.

  “You really do not need to—”

  “He weighs a ton. Are you certain you do this every day?”

  Freya gestured along the path that led toward the north gates. “Every day,” she confirmed. “He would be frightfully sad if I did not. Are you certain you can manage him?”

  “Miss Haversham, I would think you would know better than to question a man’s strength, especially when he is in front of a pretty woman.”

  She blinked several times, glancing around. “Oh. You mean—”

  He gave her a sideways look and she bit down on her tongue. For an intrepid reporter, she was being incredibly slow around this man. She could put it down to several things—the great divide between their wealth perhaps or an opening that was vastly different.

  Oh, yes, she could not forget that he was keeping secrets of some kind. Of that much, she was certain.

  She’d be a fool not to admit, however, that the sight of him hauling her dog around like a fat, white baby touched something inside her. She’d also be a fool if she let it dissuade her from her investigations. For all she knew, he had come here deliberately, to charm her in some way and stop her following this story. Well, it didn’t matter if he did look dashing in his winter coat with her dog shedding hairs all over the black fabric. Nothing would stop her from getting her big chance.

  “Lord Huntingdon, I cannot help but feel there is something you are not telling me about Lady Steele.”

  He scowled. “I answered all your questions.”

  “As vaguely as possible.”

  “I’m not certain how one can be specific when one knows very little.” He hefted the dog in his arms with a grunt, moving the animal so he had a view over the earl’s shoulder. “He seems to prefer that.”

  “Brig wasn’t always blind so I think sometimes he pretends he can see.”

  “Pretends? Dear Lord,” he muttered.

  “Back to Lady Steele.”

  “I told you all I know. We, as members of the nobility, tend to run in the same circles. We had a little polite conversation, likely discussed the weather, the health of her family and all that, and went our separate ways. She did not imply she had any intention of vanishing nor that she was in some sort of danger.”

  “Danger? Do you think she knew she would be kidnapped? That someone would try to harm her?”

  “That is not what I said,” he said tightly.

  “Do you not think these kidnappings strange, though? Does it not concern you? What if it was your mother or...someone else?”

  “My mother avoids England at all costs. Too cold apparently.” He paused and fixed her with a look. “Unfortunately, the roads are dangerous. They always have been, especially when one is travelling in a luxurious vehicle. Highwaymen have been in existence forever and I’m certain they will remain so.”

  “So you think these men are taking these women, ransoming them then killing them? Surely it would be easier to return the women?”

  “I don’t think anything,” he insisted. “Because I do not know anything. I am no highwayman but if I were you, Miss Haversham, I would turn my attention away from the kidnappings and back to my gossip columns. If they are willing to kill noble ladies, I’m certain you could end up in danger too.”

  She pursed her lips. “That sounds like a threat, my lord.”

  “A warning, Miss Haversham, nothing more. I have no desire to see you harmed. Continue with your gossip column. You’re so good at it after all.”

  “I wish to write this story, my lord.”

  “Write about balls and the like. I’m certain the gossip columns are far less work than pursuing whatever silly story you think you have here.”

  Freya held in a heated breath for several seconds She could recall almost every moment she had been told something similar. You’re a woman, Miss Haversham, stick to what you know or women simply do not have the capacity to write of the real world or some word of derision aimed at female writers in general. She had heard it all and each phrase would be forever embedded in her, just like his dismissive words would be.

  Releasing the breath and feeling rather like a furious dragon, finally taking care of the knight who had been pestering her for so long, she glared at him. “I am not scared of hard work.”

  She snatched the dog from his arms and pivoted away from him, taking fast steps along the street to create distance between them.

  “I can carry him the rest of the way,” he offered while he hurried to catch up.

  “No, thank you, Lord Huntingdon. I can manage perfectly well on my own,” she called over her shoulder. “Good day.”

  She could manage the heavy dog perfectly well on her own, just as she would figure out this story on her own too. And if Lord Huntingdon was somehow involved, she’d make certain she would be the first to find out.

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