Lady Wicked: Notorious Ladies of London Book 4

by Scott, Scarlett

  If so, she could not be more wrong.

  “I am cruel,” he said flippantly. “But no one told you to seek me out, did they? The choice was yours, chérie. And if you want to speak with me, you have to play the game by my rules.”

  For some reason, his stupid, sadistic mind had decided she must join him in his chamber. While he disrobed.

  He would like to believe he was calling her bluff instead of acting recklessly. Instead of stupidly giving in to his lingering desire for her.

  “I do not want to speak with you,” she told him, trailing him to the top of the stairs and down the hall. “It is imperative that I do, however.”

  “More of this marriage nonsense?” He cast a glance toward her, which proved another mistake in a long series where she was concerned.

  She was strikingly lovely, and she was worrying the bow of her upper lip in the way he recalled. The way that was so Julianna. The lust coursing through him was instant and irritating.

  He quashed it and reached his bedchamber door, throwing it open with so much force, it crashed against the wall.

  “It is not nonsense, my lord. If you will but give me a few moments of your time, I am quite convinced you will be persuaded to understand the import of what I am about to suggest.”

  That was it.

  Sidney spun on his heel, finding her hovering at the threshold as if she were a meek, frightened virgin. He knew she was no virgin. Because he had taken her maidenhead. Instantly, he wondered how many others had shared her bed since. And he hated himself for the venom spewing through his veins at the notion.

  “I have already given you more of my time than you deserve, Lady Julianna,” he snapped. “There is nothing you can say that will change my mind.”

  “I will make it quick,” she said, her blue eyes vivid on his. “I could not speak with you about something of such great import when you were in your cups.”

  “Darling, I am always in my cups,” he said with a sneer. “Say what you must and go.”

  That was not entirely true, but he had been turning to the bottle for comfort far more frequently in the years of her absence.

  “My American uncle has left me a significant fortune,” she blurted. “But to inherit, I must be married. If I am not married by my twenty-first birthday, I will lose my rights to my inheritance.”

  “I have funds aplenty.” He began unbuttoning his coat. Truly, he ought to ring for Grove, but there was something about Lady Julianna watching him remove his clothes that made his heart thud hard. “Get out.”

  He shrugged his coat to the floor.

  Her eyes were wide. “You are disrobing.”

  He toed off his shoes. “As I recall, you liked the sight well enough before.”

  Her cheeks went scarlet. “This is scandalous.”

  “I’ve already told you to leave. If you remain, the scandal is yours.” He opened the fastening of his trousers.

  Damn, his cock was hard. Just because she stood near. Watching. He could hardly drop his trousers and let her see him in this state with nothing but his smalls to shield him. Could he?

  “I am offering you a marriage of convenience,” she continued. “I will return to America. You will live here. I will give you half the inheritance, and I will be free to live as I choose.”

  Live as she chose? His ears went hot.

  “And what do you mean by that, living as you choose? You will take lovers?” He longed to slam his fist into the faces of each invisible man.

  Which was ridiculous. She was not his. He was not going to marry her. As soon as she left him alone, he was going to forget her.

  No he wasn’t. What a stupid bloody lie to tell himself. He had never forgotten her. Expunging her from his memory had proven impossible.

  “It would be my right to take lovers,” she said quietly. “As it would be yours to do so as well. You have a mistress now, do you not?”

  How the hell did she know about Charlotte?

  He raised a brow. “Jealous, chérie?”

  “No. I am not the naïve girl I once was.”

  He was not sure why her words stung. Whatever the reason, it seemed an excellent time to begin plucking the buttons on his shirt from their moorings. He had gone to the Black Souls straight from the fencing club, which meant he was still dressed for the sport. No necktie. A private chamber had rendered formality unimportant.

  She was still hovering at the threshold of his chamber, a temptation he could not afford to want. “My answer remains no. You may go now, Lady Julianna.”

  He took great care to keep his tone cold and biting. To keep her at a distance. Any nearer, and he could not be responsible for his actions. Lunacy ill-became him.

  “Will you not consider my offer?” she asked, lingering.

  To perdition with her.

  He tore off his shirt, leaving himself bare to the waist. Let her look her fill. Damn it if he did not feel her gaze upon him as if it were a caress.

  “I am about to wed another.”

  The color fled her cheeks. “You are? Helena said nothing of your having a betrothed.”

  Helena was his sister and Julianna’s friend. Also the reason he had first become acquainted with the fiery-haired temptress who had upended his life.

  “Helena is busy enough with her own affairs. I endeavor to keep her out of mine,” he said grimly.

  That much was true. His sister had recently married his best friend, the Earl of Huntingdon, after managing to escape the clutches of the marriage their father had wanted for her. He could not fault his sister for wanting to avoid a union with the pigheaded Lord Hamish White. And whilst it had taken him some time to grow accustomed to the idea of his friend and his sister married, they were both contented, and he was happy for them.

  “You are marrying another, truly?” Julianna pressed.

  “Yes.” And he was still sporting a cockstand for the woman before him.

  This had been a bad idea.

  A terrible one.

  The worst he had ever had, save maybe bedding her in the first place.

  “Has it been announced?” she asked.

  He sighed. “Why are you still here, Lady Julianna? Have I not made myself clear? If you remain another moment, you will have to come in the door and close it at your back lest I give all the servants a show.”

  What he wanted more than anything was for her to surrender and go the hell away so he could continue disrobing without unmanning himself before her. His pride could not afford for her to realize the effect she still had upon him.

  “Has it?” she persisted.

  “No,” he admitted, raking his fingers through his hair.

  It was that goddamn purple gown and the way it magnified her eyes. He swore it. That was what was producing this demented weakness he possessed for her. It was the only explanation.

  “Then you can change your mind.” She finally crossed the threshold, venturing deeper into his territory, closing the door at her back.

  How strange it felt to have her here with him. In his chamber.

  It was as if all the air had been sucked from his lungs for a heartbeat. He recalled, in vivid detail, the way she had felt beneath him. The way her lips had clung to his. Her scent, curling around him. How she had sighed when he had sucked her nipples. The way she had tasted. How his cock had pulsed deep inside her tight sheath.

  That forbidden summer, he had been convinced he had nothing short of a miracle.

  His tongue felt overused and sluggish now, the same way it had then. He was silent as she glided toward him, that infernal plum-hued dress swirling about her in a whisper of seductive sound.

  “I will not change my mind,” he ground out, irritated with himself. Irritated with her.

  “It is imperative you do.” She stopped just short of him.

  Near enough to touch.

  And he was cast into flame. The old longing burned, forceful and hot.

  “You have overstayed your welcome, Lady Julianna.” His voice w
as bitter but firm.

  He reached for her at last, not taking her in his arms as the traitor in him so desperately wanted, but his hand closing on her elbow. Safe. Except her warmth seared him through her silk.

  Sidney told himself he did not give a damn and began hauling her from the chamber. If she stayed any longer, there was no telling what he would do. He was a madman. A Bedlamite on fire.

  “There is something I must tell you, Shelbourne.”

  Her tone gave him pause. That, and the expression on her face.

  A strange sensation washed over him. An odd prelude, as if he had been in this moment before. As if he had stood in this spot on the Axminster in his chamber, the delicate bone of Lady Julianna Somerset’s elbow prodding his palm through her violet silk, and already knew what she was going to say.

  “Tell me,” he urged her, voice hoarse. “Go on.”

  “You have a daughter.”

  His ears rang.

  The world went dark around the edges.

  He shook his head. He must have misheard. There was no way… She had not just said what he thought she had… What the devil was…?

  Good fucking God.

  That odd sensation returned, clobbering him with the force of a fist.

  “I beg your pardon?” he demanded hoarsely. “Say it again.”

  * * *

  Julianna ran her tongue over lips that had gone suddenly dry. “You have a daughter.”

  She waited for his reaction, as tense as a coiled watch spring. This was not the manner in which she had imagined revealing Emily to Shelbourne. He was half-naked, his bare chest and muscled abdomen on display, distractingly gorgeous and barbaric all at once. And they were in his chamber. She had wanted a civilized discussion. A reasonable discourse. Calm, measured speech. Clear answers. Rational decisions.

  Instead, everything was the opposite, just as she had feared.

  All her reasons for keeping Emily a secret returned. She ought to have kept her existence from Shelbourne longer, she feared. She would have done, but she was getting desperate. Indeed, for some time, she had been convinced she would never tell him. Or that she would be able to keep Emily a secret until enough years had passed that Shelbourne would no longer care. That he would not bother to seek either Julianna or their daughter out in America.

  But she had not anticipated the Shelbourne she would find on her return to London. The devil she knew was a devil indeed, but one who was a distant, cold stranger. He did not resemble the man who had stolen her heart with his careless grins and wicked teasing and passionate kisses.

  His grip on her arm tightened with almost painful intensity. “A daughter?”

  Her heart pounded fast, so fast. “Emily.”

  “Emily?” he spat.

  There was such vitriol in his voice, she flinched. “Yes, Emily. That is… Her name is Emily.”

  “She is yours?” he demanded, so still it was unnerving.

  “Yes.”

  “And mine? You are saying you bore my child. Is that correct?”

  The rage vibrating from him made her think she never should have made this revelation. It was too much. But she could not have gone on as she had been, living with Emily and her mother in New York, pretending her daughter was not her own.

  That life had been abysmal.

  Painful and wretched.

  Everyone thought her the pretty debutante, an English lady. A curiosity. She was sought-after. Admired. Not one of the American social elite with whom she dined, shopped, gossiped, and danced knew she had a secret daughter at home. A sweet baby with dark ringlets and green eyes and Shelbourne’s stubborn chin; the image of him, it was true, much to her consternation. A baby who was walking and saying words and who knew nothing of her papa because Julianna had only discovered she was enceinte when she reached New York and the seasickness never stopped.

  “I—yes.” She bit her lip, watching him.

  Terrified.

  Not that he would hurt her. Shelbourne may have many faults, but violence was not among them.

  Terrified of his reaction. Of what he would say. Of the possibility she could admit she was the mother to his daughter and he would still send her out the door, telling her never to return. That he would not agree to a marriage of convenience and she would be forced to find someone else to marry her in the next three months. Someone who would be kind to Emily and accept her as his daughter.

  None of the men whose acquaintance she had made thus far had been that sort of man. Not one of them could have understood the choices she had made. And the shock at finding out she had a child out of wedlock—it would have sent any one of them running.

  Shelbourne released her at last and turned, stalking away from her, raking his fingers through his hair in his agitation. She remained where she was, watching him, uncertain of what to do next. What to say, if anything.

  He braced his hands on the fireplace mantel at the opposite end of the chamber. For a long moment, he remained thus, body diagonal to the floor as he held himself up with all his weight, the muscles of his shoulders and back rippling, his head bowed.

  “Shelbourne?” she asked hesitantly, afraid to move.

  His response was a roar. He shoved himself away from the mantel, then picked up the ormolu clock resting in the center and hurled it into the grate. The sound of breaking glass and crashing brass echoed in the room.

  In one swift motion, he swept the assorted bric-a-brac from it as well. Frames, figures, she knew not what—all went crashing to the floor. More broken glass, more destruction.

  He was in his stockinged feet. And she was breathless, hoping he would not walk through the shattered remnants and injure himself.

  “Shelbourne, please,” she said, reading his face when he turned back toward her.

  Fury did not begin to describe his countenance. Nor did outrage. She had never seen him so angry.

  It required all the composure she possessed to remain where she stood as he stalked back.

  He was breathing with the force of an irate bull, his chest rising and falling. He stopped just short of her, lip curled. “I thought I could not possibly hate you more than I already do. But I was wrong.”

  Everything within her tightened even more. There was a band around her heart, squeezing, constricting. “Shelbourne, I—”

  “No,” he roared, cutting her off. “You do not have the right to speak just now, Julianna. What you will do is answer my questions.”

  She compressed her lips. She was at a disadvantage in their bargaining. He had all the power. She had none. “Very well. What are your questions?”

  “When?” he growled.

  “When what?”

  “When did you know you were carrying my child?” His tone was more cutting than any blade. “Before you left for New York?”

  She shook her head. “No. It was not until after my arrival there that I realized there had been consequences of our time together.”

  His mouth tightened, his nostrils flaring. “How soon after you disembarked? Months? A day? What was it, damn you?”

  “A month,” she admitted quietly.

  “How do I know the child is mine?”

  She blinked. That was most certainly not a question she had expected. “I have just told you she is yours.”

  “Yes, and you have proven yourself to be of sterling character, have you not?” he sneered once more.

  “More sterling than yours,” she countered. “Though I should think it hardly a claim I would bother making to anyone else.”

  How dare he suggest Emily was someone else’s daughter? He, who had bedded her and then offered to marry her after visiting with his mistress and kissing the woman in the streets? A mistress he would have had every intention of keeping even after they were wed, Julianna had no doubt. The memory—the shock of her discovery—still was as sharp and painful now as it had been then.

  “Is the child—Emily—here in London?” he demanded next.

  “Yes.” The admission wa
s torn from her. The truth.

  “I need to see her.”

  “See her?” The thought of him meeting Emily was enough to make her ill. She had never intended for their paths to cross. Indeed, there was no reason. She and Emily had created a fine life for themselves.

  Even if all the world believed Emily was an orphan Julianna’s mother had taken in after a terrible carriage accident. Even if Julianna had never been able to call herself Mama to her own daughter, for fear of her nurse and the other servants overhearing.

  “Yes,” Shelbourne bit out. “I want to see her. I need to see if she…resembles me before I believe she is mine and not the offspring of some American twat you allowed into your bed after me.”

  The insult stung. She had never been intimate with another man before or after him.

  “You cannot see her,” she said hastily.

  “You claim to have my daughter, whom I have been denied the right to know, and yet you will not allow me to meet her?” He was incredulous.

  “No one knows she is mine. Everyone believes she is my mother’s ward,” she admitted. “I cannot have you bursting into my father’s home, demanding to see your daughter.”

  “Yes,” he snarled. “You can. And will.”

  Julianna was thinking of her daughter’s best interests. Emily could not have a father suddenly thrust upon her, a father who was never meant to have met her. A father who would not remain in her life beyond their initial meeting. “I need time to prepare. She has naps and feeding times and routines, Shelbourne. You can visit her tomorrow.”

  “I will visit her today, or you can take your offer and shove it up your arse.”

  Clearly, Shelbourne was not in the mood to concede.

  “You have a dinner party,” she reminded him, desperate to keep him at bay until she could collect herself and prepare.

  “Fuck the dinner party,” he said. “If I have a daughter, I want to see her. What the hell did you think would happen, Julianna? That you would waltz into my home and inform me I have a child you have been keeping a secret in New York and I would blithely agree to marry you and send you both on your merry ways? Christ, if you believed that, you are mad.”

  When he phrased it thus, her plan certainly sounded madcap. However, she had her reasons for believing he would want to continue his life of dissolution. The man she had met last night in his library had been the man who would be willing to accept her bargain without making a single counter offer.