A Lady’s First Scandal

by Farmer, Merry

  “Dear god, Rupert,” she gasped, moaning as her body radiated with pleasure. She dug her fingers into his shoulders to keep herself from falling over as the surprising burst of pleasure climaxed and began to ebb.

  She fully expected Rupert to come as well, but with what must have been a supreme effort of will, he pulled out, still as hard as marble, and balanced above her with his hands braced on the edge of the desk beside her. A look of utter focus pinched his face, as though he were willing his body into control.

  At last, he stepped away from her, still erect, the head of his cock slick with moisture, but in command of himself. “What was I saying about clothes?” he asked, panting.

  “That they need to go,” Cece answered, shivery and panting herself.

  She hopped off the desk, her legs wobbling, and turned her back to him. Working out how to undress her from the layers of restrictive clothing was exactly the thing to calm the intensity of his ardor to a smoldering fire ready to blaze again at any moment. As soon as her skirts fell to the floor, she stepped out of them and closer to the bed. When she wriggled out of her bodice, she dropped that to the ground and moved closer still to the bed. Rupert worked the hooks of her corset free and tossed that aside, then lifted her onto the bed itself, laying her back so he could tug off her stockings and drawers while she shimmied out of her chemise.

  “You’re the most beautiful creature alive,” he said at last, drinking in the sight of her naked body splayed across his bed. He dragged his eyes up to meet hers. “All joking aside,” he began in serious tones. “Marry me. As soon as possible. I’m ready to forget whatever silly feud that has been keeping us apart. I’ll even admit I was wrong in every way and that I’ll dedicate the rest of my life to supporting you and making you writhe with pleasure every night if you’ll say you’ll marry me.”

  Cece’s heart expanded and throbbed in a way that far eclipsed the pleasure of any orgasm he could give her. She loved him. She always had and she always would.

  “On one condition,” she said, propping herself on her elbows and raising one eyebrow.

  “Anything,” he said. “Anything at all.”

  “Shave that ridiculous moustache.”

  Rupert grinned, then straightened with a look of mock solemnity, like a man condemned. It was a dizzying contrast to the full erection he sported. With a resigned intake of breath, he stepped away from the bed and marched to his washstand, reaching for his shaving things.

  “I didn’t mean right now,” Cece laughed, rolling to her side to watch him. “We’re in the middle of something.”

  “No,” he said solemnly, splashing his face and lathering his upper lip with shaving soap. “A promise is a promise. I must obey at once.”

  Cece shook her head and laughed, but there was something intriguing about watching him shave off the moustache she’d never liked. It was slow going, since he’d let it grow out so much, but his razor must have been sharp. Bit by bit, the hairy, offensive thing came away. At last, it was gone entirely. He splashed his face a few more times, then wiped it with the towel on the side of the stand. The face she had fallen in love with was back, and she loved it.

  “Now,” he said, swishing the razor in his washbowl then turning and pointing it at her. “It’s your turn.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Cece sat up, blinking at him.

  He picked up the washbasin and shaving soap while still holding the razor and walked over to the bed. “If I have to shave, you have to shave.”

  A fluttery anticipation prickled her skin as he moved to set the basin on the bedside table. “But I don’t have a moustache.”

  “I know,” he said, the light of mischief growing in his eyes. He sat on the edge of the bed and gestured for her to come closer. “That isn’t what I’m planning to shave.”

  “But there isn’t anything else for—”

  She gasped, both as realization hit her and as he reached for her. He managed to pull her close and roll her to her back, spreading her legs wide, with a few, deft movements. Before she could gather her thoughts, he rubbed the shaving soap in a lather and began to spread it through the curls between her legs.

  “You can’t,” she gasped, tingling and aching at the thought. “It isn’t done. It’s…it’s wicked.” She did nothing to close her legs and, in fact, let her knees fall farther to her sides as he covered every bit of her hair with lather and then some. She gasped and wriggled as he stroked her clitoris for good measure. “I’ll look like a girl,” she complained, or at least tried to. Her breath came in thready gasps that sounded more like mewling than protest as he reached for the razor.

  “I’ll make a deal with you,” he said, his voice deep and sensual. “I’ll keep mine shaved off if you do the same.”

  “How do I even know I’ll like the feeling?” she panted.

  Pure devilishness filled his eyes. “You will,” he said with such certainty that Cece throbbed with desire.

  He didn’t wait for her to say more. With a deft touch, he set to work with his razor, removing all of the hair that marked her as a grown woman. It was awkward and arousing and slightly terrifying. She’d never dreamed of such a thing. The feel of a shaving razor applied to such tender flesh worried her, but Rupert had a steady hand. The level of concentration in his gaze as he worked made her want to writhe with need, but the fear of being cut kept her frozen. She held her breath as he whisked the razor across the most intimate parts of her, and only when he was completely finished did she let out a breath and relax.

  “There,” he said in triumph, swishing the razor in the basin, then setting it aside. He rubbed the last of the soap away from her bare pussy with the damp towel, then leaned back to assess his work. A slow, wicked grin spread across his face and fire lit his eyes. “I’ve never seen a prettier sight.”

  Cece scooted back toward the center of the bed, lifting to her elbows to peek down at herself. She was as bare as a babe. The whisper of cool air across her skin was undeniably erotic. She couldn’t help but shift so that she could reach one hand down to feel what was so familiar and so unfamiliar.

  “I stand corrected,” Rupert said, his voice rough with lust. “That’s the prettiest sight I’ve ever seen.”

  “This?” she asked, teasing him by teasing herself. It was shocking and dangerous for her to stroke herself with him watching her, but it also filled her with an undeniable sense of power. She could see full well the effect her self-pleasuring had on him. His eyes went dark with desire and his whole body tensed. His erection had never really gone away, but it seemed to stiffen and grow as he watched her.

  “I told you that you would like it,” he growled, shifting to surge toward her.

  She tipped back as he kissed her. With her legs already spread, he fit easily against her. The heightened sensation of his flesh against hers, his hot thickness rubbing against her smooth cunny without entering her, was a revelation. She was too breathless and undone to kiss him back properly. All she wanted was to mate with him, to feel him throbbing inside of her as he strove for his release.

  “I need to inspect my handiwork,” he said at last, shifting to slide down the length of her body.

  He paused along the way to tease her nipples into points with his tongue, but his objective was unmistakable. She gasped when he brushed his mouth over her shaved skin and couldn’t even begin to catch her breath as he licked and teased her sensitive folds. The whole thing was amazing and intimate. The sensations were heightened in every way. Within moments, the swooping, tightening feeling of an orgasm about to crash over her began to gather. Sounds that she hadn’t known she could make escaped from her, and Rupert groaned in answer.

  It was his tongue that undid her in the end as he delved between her bare folds to tease her opening and circle around her clitoris. She arched toward him and cried out as her climax crashed over her. He sucked in a breath and shifted quickly over her, thrusting his thick cock into her and holding himself there for a moment as she squeezed around him. />
  As her throbbing began to subside, he moved within her, igniting her all over again. She cried out in time to his thrusts, which quickly went from slow and deep to demanding. She loved every moment of it, every mood his desire took on within the short space of time. She moved with him, working to give him as much pleasure as he could take and more while speeding toward another orgasm, hard on the heels of the last one.

  She broke apart again with a sigh of triumph, and moments later, his whole body tensed as he spent himself inside of her. It was the most glorious feeling. The two of them were one being, one heart. She wrapped her arms and legs around him as they tumbled from the heights of passion into a much deeper pool of satiety and affection.

  “I love you to distraction,” she confessed as they lay tangled in each other, trying to catch their breath. “And there was never any doubt in my mind, not for one moment, that I would marry you.”

  “Thank you,” he said, letting out a breath and relaxing into her. He embraced her as if his life and hers depended on it and as if nothing in the world made him happier. “I love you more than you could know.”

  She giggled, low and deep in her throat. “Good, because you’ll have to love me that much when you tell my father why you need to marry me immediately.”

  Rupert tensed and muscled himself to stare down at her, eyes wide. “You’re not with child already, are you?”

  Cece shook her head. “Not that I know of.”

  “Then why do we have to marry immediately?” he asked.

  She grinned from ear to ear. “Because nothing and no one will be able to keep me out of your bed on a nightly basis, now that we’ve made our no moustache pact. And I don’t believe I have the power to hide just how well-loved I am when we’re out in public together.”

  “Marriage it is, then,” Rupert said, looking as though Christmas had come early.

  He dipped down to kiss her. Cece opened herself to him in every way she could, digging her fingertips into his back as their bodies pressed together. He was hers to care for and protect as much as she was his. They might have teetered on the edge of uncertainty in a thousand ways, but together they could face anything.

  Epilogue

  As it turned out, the wedding had to wait slightly longer than either Cece or Rupert wanted to. They were more than ready to rush to the nearest church the morning after the May Flowers meeting, but it took several weeks for the most important guest of all to be in adequate health to attend.

  “I only wish I’d been able to stand up with you,” Fergus said with a lopsided smile from his wheelchair at the luncheon after the ceremony.

  “You’ll be on your feet again in no time, old chap,” Rupert said, thumping his shoulder.

  He instantly regretted the action. Fergus winced sharply through his smile, his mangled face going pale for a moment. Fergus was still swathed in bandages of all descriptions—from the patch of gauze hiding his damaged eye to the splints that held his broken arms still and the bulk of more splits keeping his shattered legs in place under the blanket draped over his lap. Rupert didn’t know how his friend had pulled through the first few days or how he managed to keep his smile now. It was as painful for him to see Fergus in a state of near helplessness as it would have been if he’d sustained the injuries himself. But at least his friend was still alive.

  “He most certainly will be on his feet soon,” Lady Tavistock said, sweeping up to the side of Fergus’s chair with a smile that was strained around the edges. “I demand a dance no later than midsummer’s eve.”

  Fergus laughed, though even that seemed to bring him pain. “You might have to wait until Christmas, but I promise that dance will be yours, my lady.”

  “And there’s much you can do to support Lady Tavistock and myself in the meantime,” Cece said, returning to Rupert’s side after chatting with some of her father’s friends.

  She looked positively radiant in her white wedding dress, her hair caught up in a crown of curls dressed with orange blossoms. Rupert noted that all of the May Flowers in attendance wore white orange blossoms as well in solidarity. But as far as he was concerned, his beautiful, formidable wife outshone every flower that God had ever invented. Her face shone with joy and her lips were a deep pink from the numerous kisses they’d stolen whenever they could throughout the day.

  “I will do whatever you fine ladies need me to do,” Fergus said, with far more bravado than a severely-wounded man in a wheelchair might have.

  “We are hosting a fundraiser for the Irish Widows Society in two weeks,” Cece told him, hugging Rupert’s arm and glancing up at him with far more adoration than he thought he deserved. “And a week after that, we’re staging a march in Hyde Park for better treatment of mothers and children in the workhouses.”

  “The May Flowers have decided not to hide their radical views any longer,” Lady Tavistock said.

  “Did somebody say radical views?” Bianca asked, striding over to join their group with an overexcited expression.

  Rupert laughed. “Why am I not surprised to see you pop up like a spring daisy when radical views are being expressed?”

  Bianca swatted his arm in a playful, sisterly way, but gave most of her attention to Lady Tavistock. “My darling sister, Cece, said you wanted to speak to me, Lady Tavistock?” She exchanged a giddy grin with Cece, the way the two of them had been doing for the last several days as their family bonds were strengthened.

  “Indeed,” Lady Tavistock said, suddenly taking on a more formal air. “Lady Bianca, I would like to formally invite you to become a member of The May Flowers.”

  Bianca burst into one of the widest smiles Rupert had ever seen from her, but she didn’t look surprised. “Cece told me you might ask,” she said in a rush. “And yes, of course. I would absolutely adore the chance to be a May Flower.” She clasped her hands in front of her. Rupert waited for her to continue clapping and to jump up and down the way she had as a girl when she’d been given a treat, but miraculously, she restrained herself.

  “Perfect,” Lady Tavistock said. She reached into the large corsage of orange blossoms pinned to her chest, plucked a few as though she’d intended to do so all along, took a long pin from her reticule, then stepped over to pin them to Bianca’s bodice.

  “This is such an honor,” Bianca said, blinking rapidly to hold back tears.

  Rupert gaped at her. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you cry.”

  “Nonsense,” she said, sniffing. “I cry all the time. I’m rather high-strung, you know,” she told Lady Tavistock with a laugh.

  Rupert hoped Lady Tavistock knew what she was getting herself into, but the woman was all confidence when she said, “We need high spirits and enthusiasm. We need women who aren’t afraid to speak their mind and who can face the enemy boldly.”

  “She can certainly do that.”

  Rupert turned to find Jack Craig approaching their group. He looked as distinguished as any of the aristocrats at the party, though his suit was of a simpler cut and he wore it with an air of casualness. Bianca beamed at him as though he were Prince Albert returned from the grave and shoved right past Rupert to stand by his side.

  “Look, Jack,” she said, standing before him with shoulders squared and chest thrust out to show off her orange blossoms. At least, that was what Rupert hoped she was showing him.

  “Lovely,” Jack said with a rake’s grin, definitely not staring at the flowers. “I bet they’re as fragrant as spring and soft to the touch too.”

  He started to lean toward Bianca, but Rupert cleared his throat. Jack pulled back, acknowledging the warning in Rupert’s eyes with far too cheeky a nod. When Bianca whirled to the side to stand next to him, he placed a hand possessively on her back in a gesture that was far too informal for the setting. Rupert’s sense of impending disaster flared to life. The trouble was, he liked Jack immensely, and he owed the man an enormous debt.

  “Looking alright, O’Shea,” Jack said to Fergus with shocking informality. “You’ll
be chasing after the bugger with me in no time.”

  “Remember where you are,” Cece whispered as a group of their parent’s titled friends walked past.

  Jack cleared his throat and stood straighter. He looked every inch the Scotland Yard Chief Inspector as he continued with, “I’ve done a little more digging, and I think I might have Denbigh cornered.” He focused on a frowning Fergus. “Buster Jones might be on the verge of squealing, now that we have proof of his counterfeiting operation. He says he’s got all sorts of information he’ll offer in exchange for leniency.”

  “And will you give it to him?” Cece asked. “If he helps you prove that Lord Denbigh did this to Lord O’Shea, would you actually let him go?”

  Jack looked suddenly uncomfortable. “It’s a tricky business, my lady. It all depends on whether the information he gives us is useful and if I have enough men at my disposal to track him once we let him go to nab him if he offends again.”

  “Policing is a delightful game of intrigue,” Bianca said, swaying closer to his side and brushing her fingers through his hair as though straightening it.

  Again, the feeling of impending dread filled Rupert. Bianca had all the sensuality of their mother, but she had none of the experience and very little of her cunning. He could only hope that his sister had inherited a modicum of their mother’s good sense along with everything else.

  The orchestra began to play and she practically gasped in excitement and clung to Jack’s arm. “A waltz,” she declared. “Jack, we simply must dance.”

  “Anything for you, my lady,” Jack replied, looking and sounding as though he’d made a salacious suggestion instead of offering polite platitudes.