The Scent of Scandal (Rogues and Gentlemen Book 16)

by Emma V. Leech

  Freddie nodded, her mortification shifting as she realised that he’d not only expected her response to his attention, he’d wanted it.

  “You must think me dreadfully foolish,” she said, feeling gauche and ridiculous, and wondering if other lovers had acted so with him.

  Somehow, she doubted it.

  His expression darkened and the words were stern when he replied. “Na, that I do not. Ye are perfect, and I’m honoured by the gift ye give me. Christ knows I don’t deserve it and, if I were any kind of man, I’d leave ye untouched, but I cannae.” He lowered his mouth to hers, kissing her so tenderly that any doubts or thoughts of shame or embarrassment fled. “May God forgive me, but I want ye something fierce, love. Let me inside, mo leannan.”

  Freddie wrapped her arms about his neck as he moved over her, shifting to settle between her legs. There would be no going back after this. Even if no one ever discovered it she would be ruined.

  She was risking everything, risking getting herself with child but, in this moment, she could see no other alternative. She wanted him so badly she trembled with desire, there was no way on earth she could leave him or tell him no. The inevitability was so obvious to her heart and mind and body that she gave herself up to it. She loved him, and whatever came next, she would survive it, but at least she would have this.

  Ross slid against her as he’d done before, the silk of his hard length moving against her slick flesh, reigniting the heat that had overwhelmed her before. She stifled a moan of pleasure and he tutted, nipping at her lip.

  “Na, I want to hear ye. I want to hear every gasp and sigh and moan. They’re mine, ye see. My reward for a job well done,” he said, grinning at her.

  She laughed and the last of her inhibitions and worries faded to nothing in the light of his affectionate teasing.

  “That’s better,” he whispered, turning his attention back to her body with single minded devotion until she was a quivering puddle of nerves and sensation and he moved to enter her. “I dinnae want to hurt ye, lass but….”

  “I know,” Freddie said, nodding her understanding.

  “I’ll try to make it good, Freddie,” he said, his breath catching as he nudged into position. “I widnae hurt ye for the world.”

  “I know,” she said again, clutching at his shoulders as he pushed inside.

  “Relax,” he murmured, teasing her breast, toying with the nipple as he allowed her time to release the tension singing through her. “Aye,” he said, his voice approving as he slid a little deeper inside. “Like that.”

  The next time he spoke his voice was ragged, his powerful body quivering. “Lass, I can’t…. Oh, God, Freddie….”

  He pushed forward then, one powerful thrust that made Freddie shout and squeeze her eyes shut, breathing hard until the pain eased and faded.

  “Forgive me,” he said, gathering her closer. “Forgive me….”

  But then he was moving and there was nothing to forgive, only the knowledge that he was with her, inside her, filling her heart and body and soul, so completely it was as if she’d been made to fit him and him alone.

  Freddie could do nothing but follow where he led. Her hands moved over him, glorying in the powerful body that gave her so much pleasure. She traced the ridges of old scars with her fingertips, astonished that a man who’d known so little love and so much violence could touch her with such reverence, could bring her so much joy.

  As the pleasure began to crest again, the words were torn from her with no thought or knowledge of the impact they might have.

  “I love you,” she said, clinging to him and praying she would never have to let go. “I love you.”

  ***

  The words jolted through Ross, words he’d never heard before in his life and knew he was undeserving of. The only women who’d ever shown him physical love had always walked away with a handful of coin; there had never been the pretence that they cared for him, that it was anything more or less than a business transaction. He’d never been in one place long enough for more than that, even if he’d looked for it, and he hadn’t. He’d never expected it. No one had ever loved him. If he’d not deserved it as an abandoned bairn, then as the man he’d become it was an absurd notion.

  Even as pleasure the like of which he’d never known turned his thoughts to a jumble of nonsense, he knew in his heart he would hate himself for this night’s work. She would hate him too, soon enough. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to regret it.

  For this one, shining moment, she was his and she loved him, or thought she did. He’d kill any tender feelings in short order, but she was his and, may the devil take him, he’d not give her up. If he had any sense of honour, he’d at least take care not to get her with child, to leave her with some choice in what came next when she awoke to the inevitable regrets.

  For she would regret it. He’d wake and see those regrets in her eyes. He knew it, yet he’d not let her go now. She’d come to him despite his warnings, and now it was too late.

  So, he did nothing to ensure there would be no child, to give her a chance to be free of him as she would want to be when sanity returned, and she realised her mistake. Instead when the pleasure rose to impossible heights, he gave himself up to it, spilling himself inside her with a raw cry that shook him to his core, that ravaged his soul, and promised he would never be the same again.

  Chapter 20

  “Wherein our hero is an idiot.”

  Ross didn’t sleep that night, too captivated by the small woman in his arms. How had she not been snatched up by some fine gentleman? It bewildered him so much he couldn’t account for it. Why hadn’t Sam married her? He knew her worth, professed to care for her, even if only as a friend.

  Even as he thought it, jealousy uncurled in his chest like a great, belligerent snake, hissing its displeasure and showing deadly fangs. Perhaps Sam had wanted her, perhaps he’d tried to seduce her, and she’d rejected him. Perhaps he’d….

  He made himself stop, aware he was becoming a little unhinged.

  Could pleasure do that to a man, he wondered? The force of his release had stunned him. Even now, hours later, he could still feel the echo of that pleasure deep in his bones, simmering in his blood. Christ, he could feel it in his soul.

  He reached out and traced the curve of her jaw with a fingertip, careful not to wake her and fighting the urge to roll her onto her back and sink into the lush heat of her again. Even uncouth bastards had limits to their villainy, it appeared.

  Except it wasn’t villainy he had in mind. He wanted to fall to his knees and weep with gratitude, to beg her to say she loved him again, that she would never leave him… and wasn’t that just the most terrifying thing he’d ever experienced in his life?

  He’d faced bloodthirsty enemies, ridiculous odds, and certain death. Yet, it had taken one sweet and courageous, foolhardy English lass with eyes the colour of autumn, and a tongue that ran like a fiddle when it ought to keep still, to show him what real fear looked like.

  He knew it now, he could taste it.

  It was how it would feel when she walked away from him.

  The realisation that he had to make that impossible was the only thing that could have propelled him from the bed and her arms. If he didn’t marry her—and at once—she would come to her senses. She would realise what a bloody fool she’d been and run for the hills.

  Dawn was breaking, the first tentative flush of colour blooming over the darkened skies, illuminating the glowering mountain huddled like a sleeping beast on the horizon. He was moving towards the door when a sleepy murmur came from the bed.

  “Ross?”

  He stilled, unwilling to stay for fear he’d say something stupid and ruin everything.

  There was a rustle of bedclothes as she discovered him gone and she sat up, blinking in the dim light like a sleepy cat and looking so thoroughly kissed and adorable, he ached to go back to her and kiss her some more.

  “Go back to sleep,” he urged, trying to keep his voice
gentle, but he was being battered with a forceful combination of intense panic and gut-wrenching desire, and his brain had been paralysed by the impact.

  “But where are you going?” she asked.

  “To the smithy,” he answered his hand already on the doorknob, needing to make sure it was all arranged. “He goes to Fort William to fetch supplies on Tuesday. I need to catch him before he leaves.”

  This answer didn’t seem to have made things any clearer, as Freddie was staring at him with an uncertain expression. He gave an impatient sigh.

  “This is Scotland lass, have ye nae heard of an anvil wedding?” he asked, wondering what on earth she was expecting of him.

  Did she think he’d just walk away like his father had done, perhaps even leaving her to raise his bastard or die for the shame of it? A thread of anger added to panic weaving through his befuddled brain and his next words were perhaps harder than he’d planed.

  “Ye’ve been angling for me to ruin ye these many weeks and now ye’ve got what ye wanted, but I’ll nae ruin a virgin and leave her to fend for herself like my father did. We’ll be wed, and at once, so get your best frock on and tell Mrs Murray to make what arrangements she thinks fit.”

  With that, he hurried from the room before she had the time to think, let alone raise any objections. There was no conversation to be had. She might carry his child even now, therefore they had to marry.

  That he’d become helplessly aware he wanted her to marry him, no—was desperate for her to marry him no matter the circumstances—was something he was not prepared to admit. If she had the slightest inkling of the power she had over him, he was sunk.

  ***

  Freddie stared at the door Ross had just left through.

  He’d gone.

  It was barely dawn and he’d run for his life.

  Yes, he would arrange the wedding. They were to marry. He’d said so. Yet it was abundantly clear that he believed he’d been trapped into it. He was only marrying her because he’d not allow himself to be the villain his father was. He’d not ruin a virgin and leave her to fend for herself, like his father had. That’s what he’d said.

  There had been no mention of love or affection, of wanting her. It was his duty. He’d spoiled the goods, so now he had to pay the price by marrying her.

  Freddie felt her throat grow tight. “Don’t cry,” she scolded herself, clenching her fists against the rising tide of emotion. “Don’t you dare.”

  Freddie had known there were risks to her plan. She had thought she might get him for a night and then find herself cast aside. She’d known she risked that, and she’d accepted it. Of course, she’d hoped he would want to marry her. Of course, she had, but… not like this. Not because of duty, not because….

  Ye’ve been angling for me to ruin ye these many weeks and now ye’ve got what ye wanted.

  Her stomach clenched in revulsion as she realised, she had trapped him. Ross was an honourable man; he’d never turn his back on her. She’d left him no option but to marry her, like it or not, and judging from his manner and his words he didn’t like it one bit.

  Freddie swallowed hard. She couldn’t do it. There was no way she could marry the man she loved knowing he didn’t want her, knowing she had trapped him. He would come to resent her, and she couldn’t bear the thought of it.

  There was only one thing to do. She had to leave. At once.

  ***

  “Sam,” she whispered, giving him a forceful shove.

  Sam made an incoherent sound of protest and then blinked at her, before sitting bolt upright in bed and clutching the covers to his neck.

  “Freddie!” he exclaimed, so obviously shocked it might have been funny if she wasn’t trying to keep her heart from shattering.

  “Sam, I need your help, please.”

  Her quavering tone, combined with the fact it was barely dawn, made a sum of two plus two as far as Sam was concerned.

  “I’ll kill him.” He was out of bed and pulling on his clothes in an instant and Freddie was torn between turning her back to give him privacy and making him understand.

  “No, Sam, you don’t understand—”

  “Oh, I understand,” he said, yanking up his trousers, his voice dark with fury. “And Moncreiffe will understand my bloody fist.”

  He headed for the door, forcing Freddie to scurry after him and grab his arm, tugging him to a stop.

  “He’s not here. He’s gone to the village to arrange for the blacksmith to marry us.”

  That, at least, gave him pause. “Oh,” he said, brightening. “Well, that’s all right, then. What the devil are in such a lather about? Many people, er… anticipate their marriage vows, you know. Can’t blame a fellow for being eager.”

  Freddie stared at him, overcome by a profound sense of shame. She burst into tears.

  “Freddie!” Sam exclaimed, horrified. “What in the blazes did I say now?”

  Freddie shook her head, trying to find the words through her tears.

  “H-He doesn’t want to m-marry me. H-He’s just being h-honourable.”

  Sam shrugged, not understanding the problem. “Well, honour must be served, Freddie. If he’s had, er….” He waved a hand, grimacing a little and clearing his throat. “Er… knowledge, of you… it’s…. Well, dash it all, Freddie. It has to be done.”

  “No.”

  “What do you mean, no?”

  “I mean, no,” she said, sniffing and wiping her eyes on her sleeve. “I won’t have him. It’s all my fault. I trapped him. I went to his room, Sam and… and I forced him….”

  “What?” Sam exclaimed. “I don’t believe you.”

  “I did, S-Sam,” she sobbed, knowing that Sam would hate her too now. “I went to his room to s-seduce him and I did and now he has to m-marry me, but he doesn’t want to, I know he doesn’t and I… I won’t have him. Not like that.”

  Sam gaped at her, looking sceptical. “When you say you forced him,” he began, his tone careful. “How exactly…?”

  “Oh, Sam!” she said in despair. “Does it matter?”

  From Sam’s expression it looked like it probably did matter, but he was wise enough to hold his tongue.

  “Freddie,” he said, his tone gentler now. “You might be pregnant.”

  “If I am, which is not certain, then… then I may have to rethink, but….” She stopped and drew in a deep breath, calming herself. “I thought he loved me, Sam, or… or at least that he might come to love me, but this morning….” Freddie stopped, needing a moment before she could explain the rest. “This morning it was very clear he was only marrying me out of duty, and I won’t have him on those terms. He’ll come to resent me, and we’ll make each other miserable.”

  “What will you do?” Sam asked, such concern in his eyes it was all she could do to not to crumble into a ball and wail with misery.

  “I’ll go back to London. I have friends there. I’ll sell the cottage. That, along with the money my uncle left me, will allow me to live well enough. You’re the only one who knows what happened, after all. There’s no need to believe people will find out how… how monstrously stupid I’ve been.”

  “You can rely on me,” he said, with the utmost seriousness.

  “I know that,” she said, trying to smile. “That’s why I’m here. I know you’ll not let me down.”

  “And… and if…?”

  “If there’s a child,” she said, her voice firm now. “I will return and let him know, for I’ll have no other choice. Perhaps then we can come to some amicable arrangement, but until I know that is a possibility… Sam,” she whispered, knowing she sounded pitiful. “Please help me leave.”

  Sam sighed and put a comforting arm about her shoulder. “Oh, Freddie.”

  She turned into his embrace, clutching at his shirt and sobbing. “Please, Sam. I’m so… so ashamed. I can’t face him. Please, don’t make me.”

  He placed a kiss on the top of her head before releasing her. “I’ll rouse John Coachman,” he sai
d, his voice resigned to what he clearly thought a bad idea. “But I must give Sampson some kind of explanation. It’s his carriage and four. I can’t just disappear with them.”

  “Tell him whatever you think best,” Freddie said, too weary to care now. “The truth if you must. I know he’ll not speak of it.”

  Shamed and appalled by what she’d done, all she could do now was try and make amends. Sam and his brother had been kind, and she owed Sampson the same explanation she’d just given for their help and their silence.

  “What about Maggie?”

  She shook her head. “Maggie belongs here with Digby. I’ll write her a note to explain while you ready the team. Once we’re back in London, I’ll stay with Bunty for a few days until I can sort things out.”

  Sam stared at her for a long moment. “You’re sure, Freddie? Sure this is the right thing to do? It’s what you want?”

  Freddie wasn’t sure of anything other than that leaving Ross would tear her heart to shreds, but she’d rather that than see the resentment in his eyes that would be there if she let him do the honourable thing. With that in mind, she gave a resolute nod and told herself to buck up.

  “I’m sure.”

  She would survive this. Somehow.

  ***

  Sampson awoke with a jolt to see his brother glaring grimly at him.

  “Wake up,” Sam said, an urgent note to his voice which was the only thing that stopped Sampson from telling him to go to the devil.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, trying to force his eyes to open.

  “I’m in the basket, Sunny, that’s what,” his brother said, uncharacteristically grim.

  With as much brevity and tact as he could muster, Sam explained the situation.

  “The stupid bastard,” Sampson said with a groan, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’d bet my last farthing on the fact he loves her.”

  “I thought much the same, but she’s overwrought and I can’t say for certain she’s got it wrong. Either way, I can’t help but think he would be well served if I take her back to London, put things in perspective for him. If he thinks he’s lost her, he might come to his senses.”