Marriage Most Scandalous

by Johanna Lindsey

  Both his arms were crossed behind his head. He looked entirely too much “at home,” with no intention of leaving. She was determined to put a dent in his current satisfied expression.

  She marched over to the chaise, crossed her arms over her chest, and said matter-of-factly, “Did I mention this isn’t going to work? Your spending the night here? Don’t interrupt me,” she snapped when he opened his mouth. “We are pretending a marriage. We can bloody well pretend you’ve spent the night in here as well.”

  He actually appeared to give that some thought, but then he shook his head. “That won’t wash, m’dear. Too many servants passing along the corridor out there. One’s bound to see me sneaking in and out.”

  “Rubbish. That is the impression you are striving for, that you have access here at any hour.”

  “Yes, but not if I’m leaving at night and entering in the morning. Besides, if I’m known to be sleeping here, I won’t be given a separate bedroom, will I? So where would you suggest I sleep?”

  “Do you really need to ask?” she asked with a tight little smile.

  He gave a short bark of laughter. “Sorry, but stables and kennels don’t agree with me.”

  “You aren’t being reasonable, Sebastian.”

  He came off the chaise quickly in one fluid movement. She wasn’t sure how he did it, but he was suddenly standing there, towering over her, much, much too close. Nor did he let her get out of his way. He put both his hands on her shoulders, pinning her to the spot.

  “Let me put this another way,” he said, his tone turned husky. “If you continue to stand here arguing with me, which I believe I mentioned before I find quite stimulating, I’ll be sharing that bed with you. I’d wager after a few moments of my persuasion you’d stop arguing about the sleeping arrangements and be involved in something much more pleasurable. So I would suggest that you take this opportunity, while I still have some meager control over the lust you inspire in me, to get your delectable body under those covers over there and out of my sight.”

  He let go of her so she could do just that. She didn’t hesitate, she raced to the bed. But she did pause there to glare back at him.

  “You’ve lost all semblance of sanity,” she began, only to be cut off.

  “Maggie, don’t tempt me,” he growled.

  She dove under the covers, pulled them up to her chin. Her heart was racing again, her arms and legs trembling. It took nearly ten minutes and the silence that followed for her finally to calm down.

  He had possibly waited for just that before he said all too casually, “I’ll sleep here on the chaise tonight, but if I wake up in the morning with a stiff neck, we’ll be taking turns here.”

  Margaret shot out of the bed, yanked off the thick bedspread, and tossed it on the floor across the room. It landed rather neatly spread out, she noticed, before she dove back under the sheets she had left to her.

  “There,” she said huffily, pointing out, “I believe John mentioned to me, when we were discussing the accommodations on the ship, that you both frequently had to sleep on the ground during your travels.”

  “Not on the floor of a bedroom,” he corrected. “But—you’re quite right, that will probably do much better. A pillow?”

  “Certainly,” she replied primly and tossed one in the direction of the spread. “Anything else?”

  “Good God, don’t ask such a leading question!” he barked at her.

  She blushed and refused to watch him cross over to his new bed on the floor. He said no more. And sometime in the middle of the night, before she finally succumbed to sleep, she realized that he’d managed to end their argument about his sharing her room rather abruptly with his threat of lovemaking. Odious man. She had no doubt that had been his exact intention.

  He’d be hearing what she thought about that—but tomorrow. Tonight, she was just thankful he wasn’t saying anything else that flayed her senses with more excitement than she could handle.

  Chapter 22

  M ARGARET STRETCHED, YAWNED, and sat up on the edge of her bed. She started to get up, then sat back down and didn’t move another muscle as her eyes fell on the man lying on the floor not ten feet away from her.

  Sebastian had rolled himself up in the thick bedspread she’d sacrificed for his use. She’d have to tell Edna to find some extra bedding for him—no, what was she thinking? He couldn’t stay in her room another night. They were going to have that conversation again, and this time she would have the last word on the subject of sleeping arrangements.

  He was lying on his side, still sleeping, one arm outside the cover. Her eyes followed that arm up to his shoulder before she realized both were bare. He’d removed his coat and shirt! She noticed them on the seat of the chair nearest him, quite rumpled now, as if he’d just tossed them there. And what was that with them? Oh, good God, he’d removed his britches too! This was intolerable. It was bad enough he was even in the room, but without his clothes on?!

  Margaret shot across the room to her bureau, snatched under-garments and stockings out of the drawers with barely a glance, grabbed a morning dress from her wardrobe, and ran straight to the bathroom. With the door closed behind her, she took a few moments to regain her composure, then quickly dressed for the day.

  Well, that didn’t work very well. She couldn’t reach all the bloody buttons on the back of her dress and she was wearing two stockings that didn’t match. She poked her head outside the door to make sure Sebastian was still sleeping, then rushed to grab a shawl and her shoes. She’d have to wait until later when Sebastian was gone to change her stockings.

  She’d just reached the bedroom door to make her escape when she heard, “Open it and I guarantee you will be scandalized when I make the effort to stop you.”

  Margaret dropped her forehead against the door and groaned. She understood the threat. But he was all the way across the room. Surely she could get out of there before he reached her. And then chase her down the corridor? Bloody hell. She wouldn’t put that past him.

  Angry now that he was being utterly unreasonable again in trying to keep her there, she turned about to blast him with a piece of her mind and lost every thought.

  He was standing there with his pants back on, thank God, but still no shirt, stockings, or shoes. The expanse of his chest was amazing. He had seemed to be a prime specimen under his clothes, but without them, it was confirmed without a doubt. A Corinthian body, firm muscles, not a speck of excess flesh. A thin mat of dark hair across his chest that didn’t travel much lower than that. Tight, firm waist that led to narrow hips before his very long legs began. Thick bunches of muscles in his thighs rippled and smoothed out with each movement he made.

  His long black hair had come undone from the tight knot where it was usually contained at his nape. It spread across his shoulders and back. Even when he tossed some of it back with one hand, it fell back to annoy him. He looked quite wild. He looked so handsome she could barely breathe.

  She searched frantically for the anger she’d so justifiably felt toward him last night, found it, but still couldn’t open her mouth while he was standing there half naked. So she crossed to her bureau to find a pair of stockings that matched, praying he’d be finished dressing by the time she faced him again.

  He was, mostly. His shirt on, at least half fastened and tucked into his pants, he was sitting in the chair now putting on his shoes. His hair was still in wild disarray, though, and he simply looked so different like that! Not so in control, certainly not so sinister. She had a brief urge to help him with his hair. Actually, she just wanted to touch it, it looked so soft.

  “You need a barber,” she said curtly.

  “I need a drink,” he shot back, then pinned her with his golden eyes. “That was quite possibly the worst night of hell I’ve ever experienced.”

  “Muscles aching from the hard floor?” she smirked.

  “No, Maggie, aching for you.”

  Her mouth dropped open. The fluttering in her belly that his w
ords caused actually felt—pleasant. But she forgot to breathe again. What a horrid habit that was starting to be. She swung around, gulped in a deep breath, started to head to the bed to sit down to change her stockings, but quickly vetoed that idea and moved to the chaise longue instead.

  By the time she had her own shoes on and stood up to glance at Sebastian, he had finished dressing as well, even had his hair clubbed back again. Much better. At least he looked civilized. But he was just standing there staring at her. Waiting for her to reply to his last outlandish remark? As if she would, she snorted to herself.

  Calmly, or at least as calmly as she could manage with his eyes so intent on her, she said, “You really are going to have to be reasonable about this, Sebastian. There simply isn’t enough privacy in here for us to share this room.”

  “I agree.”

  “Thank God.” She went weak with relief.

  “But that doesn’t solve our dilemma.”

  He wasn’t going to be reasonable after all. She could see that, and it incensed her. “We don’t have a dilemma!”

  “Be quiet, Maggie.”

  She glared at him. “Don’t you dare start ordering me about again. If I want to chatter for a week, I bloody well will.”

  “I was referring to your tone, m’dear. Flay me all you like, just do it without shouting. The walls are thick, but they’re not that thick.”

  “Oh,” she said nonplussed and with a blush.

  “Now, as I was saying,” he continued. “I do have another suggestion. But first, tell me, where did you get the kind of money you intend to pay me with?”

  “I don’t have it, but I can get it. My family owned many properties. I’ll just sell a few.”

  “Unless you’re talking about ducal estates, you won’t be getting more’n a few thousand pounds for ‘properties.’”

  She blushed. He was probably right. But she simply hadn’t thought that far ahead.

  When she didn’t answer, he added, “You could pay me off in trade.”

  She raised a brow at him. “What trade? I have nothing to trade you.”

  His golden gaze moved over her. “Your body will do.”

  She drew in her breath sharply. “You are despicable!”

  “No, just randy at the moment.”

  Could her face get any hotter? She’d never in her life been subjected to the sort of things this man said, and he said them as if there was nothing wrong with saying them. The man really had forgotten how to behave in polite society, had far too long been The Raven, uncouth, deadly, a merciless mercenary.

  Stiffly, she said, “That’s out of the question. I’ll get your money.”

  Was his shrug a little bit disappointed? she wondered, but he merely warned, “Don’t make me wait too long proving that you can.”

  “Or what? You’ll leave? Without finishing the job?”

  “A job you haven’t paid for.”

  “This is your family,” she reminded him. “I shouldn’t have to pay you.”

  “Ex-family. I warned you that they mean nothing to me now.”

  “Liar,” she retorted, and then in an incredulous tone, “Good God, you even said it yourself, that you weren’t serious about that price.”

  “I’ve changed my mind.”

  He started walking toward her. Margaret stiffened, but by the time he reached her, she could have been a statue for all the movement she was capable of. She expected the worst. He was looking too damn serious. And such close proximity to him flayed her nerves as it usually did. And quickened her pulse. And shot her anticipation sky-high.

  He ran the back of his finger across her cheek. It was the lightest touch, and yet it set afire every nerve in her body and made her feel as if she were melting. How could something so harmless nearly buckle her knees? How could this man affect her so strongly? She simply didn’t understand it.

  “You do realize that no one will expect you to be a virgin after you obtain your ‘divorce’?” he said in too soft a tone. “And it will settle the difficulty we are having with a single room. Think about it, Maggie.”

  She’d do nothing of the sort. He was mad even to suggest it. But she wasn’t about to say that with him standing so close to her that she could feel his body’s heat and hear him breathing. She had to remind herself to breathe! And she wanted to step back, she really did, but couldn’t seem to move. Fear. That had to be it. He was terrifying her. Yes, that was a much better conclusion to draw than that he excited her beyond anything else she’d ever experienced.

  Her silence must have encouraged him because he suddenly caressed her other cheek. Really, so lightly she might not even have noticed if it had been anyone but him touching her.

  “You’re soft,” he murmured. “I wasn’t expecting that, as hard-nosed as you are.”

  She blinked. Teasing her when she was so frazzled she couldn’t put two thoughts together? But it allowed her to break the trance she’d been in and stumble away from him—stupid knees still weren’t working right.

  But the distance let her think clearly again and she was quick to mention, “There is another option, the most commonsense one. You simply return to White Oaks until your father recovers. Make some excuse for doing so. You can’t talk to Douglas, anyway, until he regains consciousness. There’s really no reason for both of us to take the bedside vigil.”

  He appeared to give that some thought, then said, “No. I need to be here when Juliette gets back from London. I need to see her reaction to my return. And besides, leaving here now that I’ve gained entrance defeats the purpose of our ‘marriage.’ I can’t very well push and prod to find out what’s been happening here if I’m at White Oaks.”

  She sighed. “Fine. I’ll return home, then, and you do the bedside vigil.”

  “I don’t do bedside vigils. And we don’t want my face to be the first thing my father sees when he awakens. That would probably shock him back to unconsciousness. Denton was right in that regard. He’d much prefer you for his nurse.”

  Margaret gritted her teeth. The man was absolutely impossible to deal with. And absolutely determined to share a room with her, apparently.

  She threw up her hands and marched to the door. “Very well, but your bedding will be moved into the bathroom. There is plenty of floor space in there for it, and don’t you dare try to insist there isn’t. And the door will remain closed between us. And you will knock before entering this room. And I will not discuss it further. That is my last word on it.”

  She’d reached the door, opened it, and turned to glare at him, daring him to come up with an excuse to refute what she’d just said. He said nothing, was giving her his usual inscrutable look. He’d gotten what he wanted in the end, both of them “appearing” to be sharing the room. He’d thoroughly wracked her emotions and she’d still lost the battle. Odious man.

  “And I’m not the least bit hard-nosed!” she added before she closed the door on him. “I merely exercise common sense.”

  Chapter 23

  D OUGLAS’S FEVER WAS STILL VERY HIGH, Dr. Culden stopped by again that morning, and this time even he was starting to look worried after he tried with no success to wake his patient. He wasn’t ready to resort to funneling liquid down his throat, but he did order them to feed Douglas the very moment he woke.

  To accomplish that, Margaret had a cauldron of soup brought up and set near enough to the fireplace in Douglas’s room that it was kept warm. She also had buckets of icy water fetched from the cold cellar to be used for compresses for his brow, which were to be changed regularly.

  Dr. Culden had checked Douglas’s head wound again and reported that it looked clean and didn’t appear to be infected. The swelling hadn’t gone down, though. And until they knew otherwise, the fever remained the greater problem. As long as it remained high, Douglas was still in danger.

  Margaret spent the morning in his room. He’d certainly had enough sleep, so if he was going to wake, it should be soon, and she wanted to be there when he did.

>   At midmorning Abigail poked her head around the door. She didn’t come into the room, merely squinted at the bed, though she probably couldn’t see that Douglas was still sleeping.

  “Any change?” she asked.

  “No, none yet,” Margaret told her.

  “I’m not surprised,” Abigail said in a disagreeable tone. “He’s a stubborn fool even when he’s sick.”

  That remark harked back to Abigail’s old bitterness, the reason she and her son hadn’t spoken in all these years. Margaret joined her by the door and said quietly, “He doesn’t know yet that Sebastian is here. I’d rather keep it that way, until he’s feeling up to scratch and able to deal with it.”

  “Deal with it?” Abigail scoffed. “You mean give Sebby the boot again.”

  Margaret winced. “That’s quite possible. In fact, Sebastian expects it. He’s here to visit with you, Abbie, not patch things up with his father.”

  “Which would be a useless endeavor if he tried,” Abigail predicted.

  Margaret raised a curious brow. “Do you really think so? After eleven years?”

  “Has it been that long? Yes, of course it has. But nothing has occurred to make Douglas change his mind. He wouldn’t discuss it back then, why would he now?”

  “I’m sure he had his reasons—”

  “Don’t defend him to me, gel,” Abigail cut in. “He was wrong, so wrong. Instead of standing by Sebastian in that unfortunate tragedy, he did what he assumed would be expected of him.”

  “Sebastian outright defied him and caused a death in doing so. Did you never think that that was the reason Douglas took the stand he did?”

  “Sebastian made a mistake. He didn’t deserve to be condemned by his own family for it.”

  “You have a tender heart, Abbie. You see it that way. Obviously Douglas saw it differently. But that’s all water under the bridge.”