A Lady’s First Scandal

by Farmer, Merry

  She inched away from him slowly, desperate not to wake him. He was almost angelic in sleep, though he’d been the very devil in the way he’d plundered her the night before. A thrill zipped through her at the memory and a grin spread across her still-tender lips. She propped herself on one elbow beside him, carefully lifting up the bedcovers to get a look at his naked body in the morning sunlight.

  He was a sight to behold. As irritating and high-handed as he could be, she had to admit that. The army had given him a lean physique with well-defined muscles. The dark hair on his chest was deliciously manly, but it was the trail of hair that extended from his navel to his genitals that had her biting her lip. He was well-proportioned there too. Whether it was the rush of cool air as she pulled the covers back, or his body’s innate sense that it was being ogled, his penis seemed to expand before her eyes.

  A wild idea seized her. Biting her lip harder and peeking up at Rupert’s closed eyes and relaxed face, she reached for his penis. She touched it gently at first, her belly quivering at the mix of soft and hard. Hard increasingly won out as she circled her hand more fully around the shaft and worked it from base to tip. The effect was mesmerizing.

  Rupert sucked in a breath and shifted, his body going tense. It was all Cece could do not to giggle or lose her nerve and pull away. She glanced mischievously up to his face to see if he was awake yet. His eyes were still closed, but judging by the flush of his cheeks and the grin that he was failing miserably to hide, he was.

  She pushed herself to keep going, to explore this side of him boldly and without turning into a fainting violet. He seemed to be egging her on, daring her to back down, by shifting his hips and opening his legs enough to give her fuller access. If he thought he could intimidate her with his sexuality, he was wrong.

  She stroked him harder, until he felt like an iron rod in her grip. Slickness formed on his tip and his breathing turned shallow and rapid. The grin left his face to be replaced by a pinched look of pleasure, and he parted his lips to voice his enjoyment of her teasing, but that was just the beginning.

  An electric jolt of excitement coursed through her as a change in the tension in his body signaled his loss of control. The sounds he made turned desperate and he jerked his hips along with her strokes. She had the uncanny feeling as though he were utterly helpless, in spite of the obvious strength in his body, as the pleasure she gave consumed him. She could have asked him for anything in that moment and he would have given it.

  A moment later, he gasped and his groin tensed before a stream of pearly liquid shot from him, spilling across his abdomen. Cece watched in fascination as he groaned in acute pleasure as a bit more seed spilled from him, then as his body slowly uncoiled into absolute relaxation as he caught his breath. His penis began to soften and instinct told her to stop stroking. Instead, she gazed down at him, fascinated by the picture of debauchery he made and wondering if she should feel guilty for being so aroused by the sight.

  She didn’t have time to decide.

  “Right,” Rupert sighed at last. He reached for a corner of the sheet to wipe the seed from his abdomen, then came fully, scintillatingly awake. He surged toward Cece, flipping her onto her back and kneeling between her legs. “Now it’s your turn,” he said, gazing down at her with eyes so wicked they made her feel like desire personified.

  He hooked his hands under her knees and yanked them unceremoniously apart, exposing her sex fully to him. She shouldn’t have liked the aggressive move, but it left her swimming in need. She should have been shocked out of her senses when he bent forward, spreading her intimate flesh with his fingers and closing his mouth over the most private part of her, but all she could manage was a gasp and a moan of pleasure as his tongue went to work.

  It was fast and it was heady. She was already aroused from pleasuring him, and her body was primed for orgasm. So much so that she was almost angry when the throbbing, unfettered, divine sensation crashed through her within seconds. Rupert’s mouth against her sex was a revelation and she wished she could have held out as long as possible to revel in the sensation of him licking and stroking and suckling her so wickedly for much longer. He certainly was putting his all into the act.

  “You wanton little minx,” he growled as her pleasure began to subside, moving to cover her, his stomach sliding against hers. “You wanted that badly.”

  She wrapped her arms and legs around him, sliding her fingers through his hair, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of thanking him or falling into his image of a weak and wanton woman. All she did was grin as though the whole thing were her idea and to ask, “Where did a humble soldier like you learn to give pleasure like that?”

  Unexpectedly, Rupert looked embarrassed. “I wasn’t lying to you when I said I’ve remained faithful to you since the day we met.”

  Cece wanted to writhe in discomfort at the guilt in his voice. “But?” she asked, loosening her hold on him and letting her legs drop to the side.

  Rupert’s face reddened. “Before we met…. Mama had quite a few friends that took it upon themselves to give me a proper education, as they called it.”

  Cece blinked, suddenly feeling as though Rupert’s weight above her was oppressive instead of sensual. “You were seventeen when I met you, weren’t you?”

  “Eighteen,” he corrected her. He must have seen the question in her eyes. “Yes, I was inappropriately young,” he said. “But I was also willing and eager.”

  “I see.” Cece pushed against him. To his credit, Rupert let her roll out from under him and stand. She bent to retrieve her chemise, fretting at the mass of discarded clothing that she wouldn’t be able to put on again without help more skillful than anything Rupert could give her.

  “Don’t be like that about it,” he said, scooting to the edge of the bed and sitting.

  Cece whipped back to face him, her eyes round with indignation. “Don’t be like what about what?” she demanded, in spite of knowing exactly what he was saying.

  Rupert winced and rubbed a hand over his face. “That was all in the past. It will stay there. I don’t intend to take any other woman to my bed but you, my wife, for the rest of my life.”

  Any other morning, his words might have melted her heart. She gaped at him, clutching her chemise to her chest, even though it did little to hide what he’d already thoroughly enjoyed. “I am not your wife,” she reminded him.

  He shrugged. “We can remedy that soon enough. Especially now. I’ll have the banns read starting this Sunday. In three weeks’ time—”

  “Who said anything about us marrying?” she asked indignantly.

  Rupert paused, his mouth hanging open, staring at her in disbelief. Considering the wild state of his hair and his complete nudity as he sat on the bed, the picture he painted was one of absolute bafflement. “Surely,” he said at last, glancing over his shoulder at the rumpled bedsheets with a wry grin. “I mean, you could be with child now.”

  Cece pulled herself to her full height, tilting her chin up. “What difference does that make? I did not go to your bed last night as a way to corner you into a speedy marriage. I went there for pleasure.”

  He blinked at her. “I never said you bedded me to spring the leg shackles around me, even though some women would.”

  “I am not that sort of woman.” She twisted away from him, bending over to scoop up as much of her clothing from the night before as she could and using it as a shield against his boorishness.

  “I can see you’re not that sort of woman,” he said, standing and attempting to help her but only getting in the way.

  She snapped straight, glaring at him. “And what is that supposed to mean? Do you think I am a whore for succumbing to your seduction so easily?”

  “What? I—you’re not—I never said—”

  “Never mind,” she huffed, carrying her armful of clothes to a chair that sat near his cold fireplace. “I’m going to need a robe or some such to wear back to my room.”

  “Of course,”
he said, tossing the clothes he’d picked up onto the bed and heading to his dressing room. “And I’m not trying to insult you. I love you. I always have.”

  “I spite of your education?” she asked, knowing full well she sounded petty and jealous and hating it. But she’d adored making love with Rupert, and even though she knew the experience would have been vastly different if he hadn’t learned how to do it all those years ago, a selfish part of her wished she was his only lover as he was—and would continue to be, whether she was ready to tell him that or not—the only one she would ever have.

  Rupert returned from the dressing room and thrust a thick, masculine robe at her. “Do you want to marry me or not?” he asked, frowning.

  Cece snatched the robe away from him and shrugged into it. “Not at present,” she snapped.

  “When then?” he asked, sounding as perturbed as she felt.

  “I will let you know,” she said, clipping her words and turning away from him.

  “Are we going to have other nights like this?” he demanded as she crossed the room to the door.

  She reached the door, but turned to him before unlocking it. “Do you mean are we going to fuck again?” She deliberately used the harshest tone and word she could think of. “Probably,” she said with a shrug. “I liked it. You’re good at it. As a modern woman, I believe wholeheartedly in the concept of free love.”

  “No, you don’t.” Rupert called her bluff with a wry laugh. “You’re loyal and true, through and through. But if you like fucking so much, my door will always be open to you, as I suspect your legs will always be open to me.”

  Cece yelped in offense, sending him a look of pure contempt. It didn’t help that her insides coiled with arousal and her nipples tightened at the crude suggestion. It seemed wildly paradoxical that he could be so horrible and that she would want to shed his robe and fall to her back willingly so that he could use her until they were both sated.

  The only way she could combat the conflict of feelings within her was by unlocking the door, wrenching it open, stepping into the hall, and slamming it behind her. The loud smack and the effort it took to pull off such a childish gesture actually felt good. That would teach Rupert to think he could control her with her pussy.

  The dark cloud of frustration continued to hang over her as she stomped through the house to her own room on the other wing. She had half a mind to slam her own door for good measure, but it wouldn’t have done any good. Her frustration had already started to melt away as she crossed from one part of the house to the other, and it was gone entirely by the time she poured water into the porcelain basin to wash.

  It wasn’t until she was mostly dressed and her maid came in to help with the last of the fastenings and to do her hair that she realized just how unwise everything she’d done in the last eight or so hours was. Betty was unusually silent as she dressed Cece’s hair and her expression was disapproving. She glanced at her unslept in bed through the mirror. If one servant knew, they would all know.

  That knowledge brought with it a far more sickening thought as she made her way downstairs to the breakfast room. It took a supreme effort of will to keep her expression neutral as she entered the room where her entire family was already seated at the table, eating and gossiping about the ball. It didn’t help matters one, tiny bit that Rupert reached the room mere seconds after she did and that the family glanced up from their chatter to see them in the doorway at the same time.

  All conversation stopped dead. Five sets of eyes—apparently, Lord O’Shea was still residing in the house too—bored into them. All of them, even Natalia, looked as though they were in no doubt of what had happened after everyone went to bed.

  Cece wanted to weep with embarrassment. She couldn’t even meet her father’s eyes. But she refused to give in like a ninny and flee from the room under the certainty that all of those closest to her knew just how sinful she and Rupert had been the night before. She kept her chin up and did the only thing a self-respecting lady could do at a moment such as that. She ignored every one of them and marched to the sideboard to fix a plate of breakfast meats and eggs worthy of a sailor about to circumnavigate the globe.

  By the time she took her seat at the table, nodded to the footman to pour her tea, and took the first bite of her breakfast, the conversation had resumed its normal pace.

  “I thought that Lady Helen was paying far too much attention to Lord Beaumont,” Natalia said in a superior tone. “He so clearly wanted to dance with me, not her.”

  “Lord Beaumont was dancing with a variety of ladies and behaving just as a gentleman should,” Lady Katya replied.

  There was something censorious in her tone, and when Cece glanced casually her way, she found her staring at Rupert with a harsh frown.

  For his part, Rupert looked just as angry as he had when she’d slammed the door on him. He didn’t even acknowledge his mother’s comment, nor did he look at anything other than the toast he was spreading with marmalade.

  “I don’t see why women should have to wait for a gentleman to ask them to dance,” Bianca said, pushing the last of her eggs around with her fork. “We know who we want to dance with, so it makes much more sense for us to do the asking. Don’t you agree, Cece?”

  Cece was forced to glance to Bianca. Her friend wore a mischievous look that asked far more than just one question. Beyond Bianca, Lady Katya was studying her with a penetrating gaze. Cece felt her face heat. “I have no opinion on the matter,” she said in a rush before returning to her ham.

  “Of course you do,” Bianca said. “You’re a May Flower. They have opinions on everything important these days, Irish Home Rule, women’s suffrage, intimate relations, social protocol.”

  Cece pressed her lips shut, lowering her shoulders and wondering if she would have been better off taking breakfast in her room.

  “Bianca, give it a rest,” Rupert snapped from the other side of the table.

  Cece glared at him. “Don’t speak to your sister like that on my behalf. I’m perfectly capable of ignoring her prying on my own.”

  Rupert raised his hands in defense and leaned back in his chair but said nothing. The two of them stared daggers at each other before returning to their food.

  “Look at that,” Cece’s father said in a gravelly voice that was either amused or furious, Cece couldn’t tell. He nodded across the table to Lady Katya. “They’ve got us beat.”

  Lady Katya’s lips twitched into an unexpected grin that filled Cece with dread even before the woman said, “It took us a year to go from lovers to enemies, but they’ve managed it in one night.”

  It was the last straw. Cece shot to her feet, pushing her chair back so fast it would have fallen over, if the footman hadn’t caught it, and throwing her fork onto her plate with a loud clatter. “This family is an absolute disgrace,” she huffed, staring down each one of them, even her father, with looks of fury. “It’s a wonder anyone in polite society cares to acknowledge us at all. Not one of you has any respect for anyone’s dignity. You can’t just let something go without joking about it at the breakfast table. Well, I won’t sit here and be made a laughing stock by the very people who should have the most compassion for the awkward situation we all find ourselves in. I’ve had enough scandal for one season.”

  She stepped away from the table, making a speedy retreat into the hall before any one of them summoned up the gall to say something intended to soothe her. Her only consolation as she turned the corner was that Rupert stood and watched her leave. She caught him turning his glare on the rest of their family, as if censuring them on her behalf, before the whole sorry mess was out of sight. If only it could be out of mind as well.

  Chapter 12

  Rupert scowled and gripped the handle of his cricket bat as though his life depended on it, staring Fergus down as he completed his run-up as though the devil himself were charging at him. As soon as Fergus released the ball, Rupert’s instincts took over. He grunted as his muscles worked to swing the
bat as hard as he could. The ball hit the bat’s blade square in the sweet spot with a satisfying thwack.

  “Whoa!” Freddy called from mid off, twisting to watch as the ball sailed high over everyone’s head and well beyond the boundary.

  Reese stood from his position as keeper behind Rupert’s wicket, letting out a long whistle. “Shot!” he called out in congratulations, raising two hands skyward, as though he were the umpire as well as the keeper. As they were just practicing, he might as well have been both.

  “That’s the third ball you’ve donated to the urchins of St. John’s Woods,” Fergus said, shaking his head and marching across the wicket to thump Rupert’s back. “And you’re not that good of a cricketer.”

  Rupert straightened in indignation, knocking his bat against his pads to work off more of the restless energy pulsing through him. “What do you mean I’m not that good?” he demanded, far more irritable than he should have been at a friendly practice with his closest friends. “I was one of the regiment’s star players in South Africa.”

  “In your dreams, perhaps,” Freddy said, jogging toward the group forming around Rupert. He and Fergus exchanged chummy laughter.

  “He was the captain of our team at Cambridge,” Harrison said, striding in from square leg.

  John joined them as the other men they’d managed to recruit for their impending match against Denbigh and his cronies continued tossing a ball around or practicing batting at the far end of the Lord’s Cricket Grounds field.

  “Captain or not,” Fergus said, resting his forearm playfully on Rupert’s shoulder, “something is clearly eating at him.”

  Rupert shrugged his friend off, heat flooding his face. “Let’s forget the idle chit-chat and resume our practice. The last thing we want is for Denbigh to show us up at the match.”

  “The last thing we want is our star player too distracted to hit a ball straight,” John corrected him.

  Rupert glowered at him. “Did you not just see the six I hit?”