And The Widow Wore Scarlet: Scandalous Sons - Book 1

by Clee, Adele

  With his heart thumping in his chest, he walked towards the blue paint-chipped door and let himself into the hallway, stood outside the entrance to the shabby room that held a treasured place in his heart.

  Damian raised his hand to knock, paused when he imagined being met by a toothless hag with a babe at her breast. He shook the picture from his head and rapped on the door.

  With the noise of the street echoing in the hallway, it was impossible to hear the pad of footsteps, to hear the sweet voice he hoped would bid him entry. But he stared at the doorknob, his pulse racing as he watched it turn.

  Scarlett opened the door, a nervous smile playing on her lips. She wore a simple day dress in a dull, moss green. Her ebony hair hung over her shoulder in a single braid.

  God, she was so beautiful.

  “One must do one’s best to blend in when walking the alleys in Covent Garden,” she said, gesturing to her plain skirt. “Won’t you come in, Damian?”

  “If we’re to reinvent the moment lost to us three years ago, should I not drape my arm around your shoulder and let you settle me into bed?” He had been incoherent that night. Now, for the first time in his life, his mind was sharp. Lucid.

  Scarlett arched a coy brow, looked just as eager to play this game. “As long as you don’t intend to spew brandy over my boots.”

  “Love, I have the funds to buy you a thousand pairs.”

  She took a step towards him. “Let me help you, sir. It is but a few feet to the bed.”

  Damian grinned. “Wait. There is something I must do first.” He unbuttoned his waistcoat, pushed his fingers between the gap in his shirt and withdrew the gold cross. “Mother, if you are watching from your heavenly plane, send me an angel, someone to love.”

  “I don’t remember it being worded quite like that.”

  “No, but a mother can hear the secrets in her child’s heart.” He glanced at the cross gripped between his fingers. “You kept it, even though you needed the money. Why?”

  “Some things have a value beyond that of material possessions.” Water filled her eyes. “It may not have bought me new boots, but it soothed my soul so many times during the last three years. As does coming here. I leased the room six months ago, and visit often.”

  A single tear hit her cheek, and he wiped it away with the pad of his thumb. He would make it his life’s mission to ensure she never cried again. “How long do you intend to make an injured man wait at the door?” he said, hoping to lighten the mood.

  “Your injuries are healed, sir, but I am willing to pretend if you are.”

  His mind raced forward to the moment she might cut his breeches and massage his bare thigh. “Just because I am not bleeding from my arm or leg doesn’t mean I am not suffering.”

  Curiosity danced in her pretty blue eyes. “Then let me help you to the bed. Let me soothe your woes.”

  He made no protest when she captured his wrist and draped his arm around her neck. He limped as she helped him across the threshold, smiled when she kicked the door shut. When he fell onto the small bed, she almost came tumbling down on top of him.

  “Now, tell me what ails you.” Scarlett lifted his legs onto the bed and then sat down beside him and stroked a lock of hair from his brow.

  “My heart is aching.” He took her hand in his, massaged her palm with his thumb. “Every fibre of my being writhes in torment and agony. Only you can ease my pain.”

  Her eyes sparkled like crystal blue waters. “What can I do?”

  “You can love me. Love me my whole life. You can marry me. Marry me and bear my children, our children.” He tried not to choke on the sudden surge of emotion. “Marry me as soon as I can purchase a licence, and I believe my symptoms shall subside.”

  Her eyes misted, and she pursed her lips. “Are you certain you wish to settle? I’ve spent my life believing no one wants me and I couldn’t bear—”

  “I want you. I need you. God, Scarlett, I’ve never been in love. Now I know why. I’ve been saving every ounce of love for you.”

  A smile touched her lips. “You love me?”

  Damian snorted—a sound between amusement and contempt for his own ignorance. “I believe I have loved you since the day you saved my life.”

  She caressed his thigh. “The stitching is remarkably good, even if I say so myself.”

  “I am not speaking of the wound. You saved me from a life of emptiness and misery. Thank the Lord—no—thank Maria. Had I not made that oath, I may never have seen you again.”

  They stared at each other for a heartbeat.

  “I love you, Damian Wycliff. Promise me we will not waste another minute.”

  “Not a single second.”

  She bent her head and kissed him. It was a kiss that spoke of deep abiding love, one that soon turned wild and ravenous.

  “Let us stay here tonight,” she said as her nimble fingers set to work on his cravat. “Just this once.”

  He smiled as he covered her hand to prevent her from unfastening the knot. “I intend to indulge your every desire, every lascivious whim, but I’ll not eat broth. Let me send Cutler back to Bruton Street so he may return with a picnic.”

  “Very well. I did promise never to serve you broth again.”

  Damian jumped to his feet, raced from the room to his carriage and instructed Cutler to fetch supplies—wine, food and candles, not firewood. On his return to the dingy room in the lodging-house, he locked the door and stared at the grate.

  “What is it?” Scarlett crossed the room and closed the gap between them. “Is something wrong?”

  “Yes, something is wrong.” Damian cast her a wicked grin. “It’s damn cold in here. What the devil shall we do to keep warm?”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Two weeks later

  They married at St George’s Hanover Square. Not because it was the church the nobility chose to forge their alliances, but because Damian had purchased a common licence and it happened to be the best church in the parish.

  Mr Cavanagh and Mr Trent witnessed the discreet affair, the only other guests being Dermot Flannery and the Marquis of Blackbeck. Not that it mattered to Scarlett. Had a congregation of a hundred well-wishers watched them exchange vows, she only had eyes for Damian Wycliff—her dangerously handsome husband.

  After the ceremony, they stood on the stone steps and smiled when the marquis offered his felicitations. From his expression, it was impossible to tell if he was pleased or indifferent. Mr Flannery shed a tear or two during his congratulatory speech and then invited Damian to partake in an arm wrestling bout once his wound had fully healed.

  “Are you certain you don’t want to invite our guests back to Bruton Street for a small breakfast?” Scarlett touched his arm, and her pulse raced. She didn’t want to make idle chatter when she might spend the rest of the day making love to her husband.

  “While I am done with hating the marquis, I’d rather not break bread with him around the table—not today. Flannery is intent on snapping my arm to prove a point. And I need the use of both hands tonight.” His tone turned sultry, and his dark eyes scanned her face, her hair, and the midnight-blue gown she’d worn because she knew how much he liked the colour. “Have I told you how beautiful you look today?”

  Scarlett couldn’t help but grin. “Five times or more.”

  “Have I told you that I cannot wait to strip you out of that gown and devour every inch of your delectable body?”

  Scarlett swallowed. “No, but I am keen to hear what you plan to do with me once we return to the privacy of our carriage.”

  “Then let us say goodbye to Trent and Cavanagh. There’s somewhere I want to take you before we venture home.”

  Curiosity burned. “Is it to look at a house?”

  With the need to put the past behind her, Scarlett had agreed to sign the house in Bedford Street over to Joshua Steele. The lord could sell the property and pay his debts, start a new life, free from guilt. Joshua had cried when she told him, had promised
Damian he intended to wed the mother of his son. Having discovered that Jemima had been the one to spook Scarlett’s horse and had paid the groom to let his hound loose in Green Park, Joshua had banished the girl to his country estate in Yorkshire.

  “We are going to look at a house, but it is not for the reason you think.” Damian stepped closer, so close she felt the warmth of his body. “As the man tasked with satisfying your every desire, I wouldn’t dream of suggesting we remain in town. You once told me you want a house with countryside views that stretch for miles. A family who picnics in the park, children to love, a husband to adore.”

  “I have a husband.” Her heart swelled with excitement, happiness and love. “But would very much like to have a child.” She had feared it was too soon to broach the subject.

  “And I am more than happy to fulfil my part in the task. Lots of practice is needed, I think, if one is to be certain of success. I’m sure Dr Redman would offer similar advice.”

  Scarlett chuckled. “Dr Redman is a logical man.”

  “Indeed.” Those dark, hungry eyes dropped to her lips. A wicked grin formed though he said nothing. He gestured for Mr Trent and Mr Cavanagh to join them.

  “You were right, Mrs Wycliff,” Mr Cavanagh said with some amusement. It felt so good to lose the name Lady Steele. What did she care for a title? “And we were wrong. It seems that Wycliff is not doomed to roam the fiery pits of hell. Love has saved him from a stab to the leg, a lead ball to the arm and from a life of eternal damnation.”

  Mr Trent snorted. “If Wycliff can fall in love, there is hope for us all.”

  Once again, the brooding gentleman appeared preoccupied. While those vibrant green eyes were fixed upon them, his thoughts were clearly elsewhere.

  “Did you happen to discover who left the flowers, Mr Trent?” She did not wish to reveal the full extent of their conversation lest the man preferred privacy.

  Mr Trent shuffled uncomfortably. “No. But let’s just say the person is persistent in their efforts to ensure my brother enters the gates of heaven.”

  Scarlett hadn’t realised the grave belonged to his brother. Had she known, she might have given him an opportunity to discuss the matter further. Grief lurked behind many masks.

  “Are we speaking of your mysterious graveyard visitor?” Damian asked.

  Mr Trent’s mouth formed a grim line, and he nodded.

  “Well, we know the person is a woman,” Scarlett said. Who else wrote poetic verse and tied it with a pink ribbon? “A young woman, I suspect.” There was something of the whimsical, something romantic about the gesture that seemed too fanciful for a mature lady.

  “We have no aunts or sisters. And our mothers are dead.”

  Mothers? They were half-brothers, then? It was a morbid conversation to have on one’s wedding day, but Mr Trent looked as though he’d not slept in weeks, as though this problem plagued every waking hour.

  “Have you asked the vicar?” Damian said.

  “Of course I’ve asked the vicar. The villain comes and goes like a ghost in the night.”

  “She is hardly a villain if she is paying her respects,” Scarlett countered.

  “Then you must go there tonight.” Damian patted his friend on the upper arm. “You must go every night. Wait in the darkness and discover the identity of this mysterious stranger. What I cannot understand is why you’ve not done so before now.”

  “Sometimes one fears what they might discover,” Mr Cavanagh interjected.

  Sadness lingered in Mr Trent’s eyes. Anger simmered beneath the surface, too. She wasn’t sure what had happened in his past but knew tackling the problem was the only way one might sleep soundly at night.

  “Go tonight, Mr Trent,” Scarlett said. The longer one spent worrying about problems, the worse they became. “Call on us in Bruton Street if you require our help.”

  Mr Trent inclined his head. Clearly aware that this was not a topic one wanted to discuss on their wedding day, he made his apologies and agreed to inform them of his discovery.

  “Now mind neither of you suffers an injury,” Mr Cavanagh joked before leaving them to join Mr Trent.

  Damian and Scarlett took the carriage to Howland Street, where she was to learn of this mysterious surprise. During the fifteen-minute journey, her husband’s ravenous mouth made her forget all about deceased brothers and graveyard meetings in the moonlight. Indeed, it took every effort to straighten her clothing and alight from the vehicle.

  “Well, what do you think?” Damian draped his arm around her shoulder and stared at the three-storey townhouse in dire need of renovation.

  “It would help if I knew why you’re showing me this house when we intend to move to the country.”

  “I did what you suggested and collected my winnings from White’s.”

  “As the only man who will ever grace my bed, you earned every penny.” Had he not claimed his prize, the club would have returned the money to the pompous prigs who’d made the group wager. “But that still doesn’t explain why you’re interested in this house.”

  “I thought we could use the money to open a home for destitute women. A safe place where they might live comfortably while training for a profession.” He turned to face her, pressed a soft kiss to her lips. “A place you might have come. A place that might have protected you from the likes of Lord Steele.”

  Shock rendered her momentarily speechless. “You wish to spend fifty thousand pounds helping downtrodden women?”

  “Men do exaggerate. It was closer to thirty thousand. What better way to recognise the strength and courage of the Scarlet Widow?”

  Scarlett stared at him, resisted the urge to claim his mouth in the wild, reckless way that heated her blood. Love for this man infused her body with a hot, vibrant glow. Every fibre of her being ached to join with him, join with him now.

  “I think it’s a wonderful idea.” Thoughts of hiring staff and a matron to oversee the women’s progress entered her mind, but she pushed them aside. “And you have my support no matter what you choose to do.”

  He kissed her then, a slow, sensual kiss—a prelude to what she might expect once back inside the carriage.

  “Have I told you I love you?” he said in the tender voice of the man who no longer hid behind a facade. Not with her.

  “Many times.”

  “Many times is not enough. I love you to the depths of my soul.” A sinful smirk touched his lips. “But if I don’t plunge deep into your body soon, I fear I might die.”

  Scarlett moistened her lips. “I love you more than you can ever know. But I need to feel full with you. Else my heart might simply give out.”

  Without uttering another word, he captured her hand and escorted her back to their conveyance.

  “We’ll take the long route home, Cutler,” Damian said, opening the door.

  The coachman nodded, but it was Alcock who spoke. “Down to the Strand and once around St James’ Park?”

  Scarlett glanced at Damian and bestowed a look of love, lust and a lifetime of longing. “Three times around the park.”

  * * *

  Thank you!

  Thank you for reading

  And the Widow Wore Scarlet

  What will Lawrence Trent do when he discovers a mysterious woman tending his brother’s grave?

  How will he react when he hears her incredible story?

  Find out in The Mark of a Rogue

  Scandalous Sons - Book 2

  Coming soon!

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  Books by Adele Clee

  To Save a Sinner

  A Curse of the Heart

  What Every Lord Wants

  The Secret To Your Surrender

  A Simple Case of Seduction

  Anything for Love Series

  What You Desire

  What You Propose

  Wha
t You Deserve

  What You Promised

  The Brotherhood Series

  Lost to the Night

  Slave to the Night

  Abandoned to the Night

  Lured to the Night

  Lost Ladies of London

  The Mysterious Miss Flint

  The Deceptive Lady Darby

  The Scandalous Lady Sandford

  The Daring Miss Darcy

  Avenging Lords

  At Last the Rogue Returns

  A Wicked Wager

  Valentine’s Vow

  A Gentleman’s Curse

  Scandalous Sons

  And the Widow Wore Scarlet

  The Mark of a Rogue