Not Proper Enough (A Reforming the Scoundrels Romance)

by Carolyn Jewel

She studied him, and he didn’t like at all that he felt she was seeing more than he wanted. “What’s got into you tonight?”

  He made an impatient gesture. “I am in a mood, that’s all. Forgive me. I don’t mean to be cross with you.” He touched the pearls she wore. She lifted her chin, and they stood there with him thinking thoughts he shouldn’t. “Diamonds, I think, is what I ought to buy you.” He let his hand fall away.

  “Nothing so extravagant.”

  “Would you marry Aigen if he asked?”

  “I don’t know him well enough to answer you. And if I did, I don’t believe I’d tell you.” She gave a tiny shake of her head. “Robert is gone. But you’re right; he wouldn’t have wanted me to stop living.” She licked her lips. “I did for a while. For too long, but then you know that. You’ve helped me see that.”

  He didn’t look away from her.

  “Sometimes, when I’m with you, I feel…”

  “Vexed?”

  “Yes.” Her quick smile flashed over her face. “Exasperated, too. But you make me laugh. You do. It never lasts, you know it doesn’t. We don’t suit at all, but I want to thank you. For making me remember what it’s like to be happy.”

  Jesus, she might as well tell him she’d already given her heart elsewhere. “Oh, Ginny. You break me.”

  “I’m sorry if I do.” She touched his arm. “I don’t mean to hurt you.”

  And there they were again, with the world closing in around them in that heavenly way that only happened with her. He cocked his head, and when she didn’t speak or move, he held out his hand in invitation. “A last time for us?”

  She didn’t deny that. Nor tell him she had good news or disastrous news. All she did was place her fingers on his hand, and he led her out of the ballroom. They might have been going anywhere perfectly proper. The card rooms were down the corridor in this direction. As were two saloons opened up for those looking for conversation away from the dancing. But he did not take her any of those places. He took her to the office he kept at Bouverie, a floor above the ballroom and tucked away in a corner that, during the day, had a view of a small garden. His spurs jingled as he walked, her hand in his.

  In his office, he brought her inside, then closed and locked the door. The servants had strict instructions to keep the fire going so the room was not frigid, thank God. The curtains were drawn for the night and the only light came from the banked fire. He pulled off his gloves and shoved them into the pocket of his coat.

  “How can you see in this dark?” Eugenia said in a low voice.

  The room was pitch-black, but he knew his office and the arrangement of its furniture. He drew her to him, sliding an arm around her waist. “Can’t see a bloody thing.”

  “Will you light a candle?” Her hands landed on his chest, resting there lightly. There was amusement in her voice, but tension as well.

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because we’re going to do this.” He kissed her, and while he did, while she kissed him back, he ran his hands along her sides and then underneath her short jacket and over the curve of her bosom, and she leaned into him, looping her arms around his neck and opening her mouth under his. As mad as he.

  He wasn’t in a mood for delicacy. Not tonight. Not after watching her dance and wondering what he would do if this man or that was the one she fell in love with instead of with him. She’d danced with Aigen, for pity’s sake, when Aigen was a credible threat to any woman’s heart. She could do worse than Aigen.

  Fox kissed her the way a man kisses a lover, and, by God, she kissed him back. Matters went quickly out of control, not that he’d intended for anything but that to happen. She pressed herself against him and brought his head closer to hers, and she kissed him with all the passion he’d dreamed about with her.

  He drew away and led her the five steps to his desk. He moved behind her, with her facing his desk and, at first, with just his hands on her shoulders. She didn’t move. This wasn’t a flirtation that might lead to more; this was a prelude to sex. He knew it. She knew it.

  Fox slid his hands down to her waist, below the short jacket, then below the sash that belted the frock made of the fabric he’d dreamed about. She wore a short corset, but below that was her natural figure. He gathered a handful of her skirts, then another. He pressed his mouth to the back of her neck, the side of her throat, and she let her head fall back to rest against his shoulder.

  The silk of her frock and the linen underskirt beneath rustled as he brought the fabric higher. He put his mouth by her ear. “Put your hands on the desk. It’s sturdy enough for us, I promise.”

  She complied, and the position bent her at the hips. He took a step closer, trapping her skirts between them, and slid one hand between her legs, waiting for her to adjust her stance, which she did. He found her slick and hot. He stood with his pelvis against her bottom, slightly bent forward himself in order to reach her. He swept his thumb along the top of her thigh while his fingers delved.

  He was hellishly aroused. She drew in a breath and held it, but he waited until she let it out before he caressed her there. He fetched her with a great deal of deliberation. In the dark, he relied on senses other than sight to judge how close she was; the tension in her body, the way her breath shortened, the flesh swelling under his fingertips, and then, as well, her whispered plea for him to bring her release.

  In the darkness, her long, low moan was all the more arousing to him. He moved a hand to the middle of her back and exerted a gentle pressure when she would have straightened. With his other hand, he brought her skirts up higher, out of the way. She understood what he intended, for she went quite still while he unfastened the fall of his trousers.

  “Yes?” he asked. He asked because he didn’t want to be wrong about whether she wanted to do this with him and because, very selfishly, he wanted her to admit she desired him. She did not love him, but by God, she desired him.

  “Yes.”

  He found her entrance and his mind locked out any sensation but her and his cock. He pushed forward, and she pressed her hips back, and his foreskin slid back, and he hadn’t intended to slam into her but he did. She made a sound in the back of her throat, a grunt, but then she lowered her head. “My God, Fox.”

  He hesitated.

  “Again.” Such a fierce whisper.

  So he did, and she braced herself, and when it came right down to it, she set the pace between them, not him. He held her hips with both hands, and she steadied herself against his thrusts. Shoves, really. Hard. Almost as hard as he liked his fucking. Once or twice he had to adjust her skirts to keep them out of the way.

  The pressure of her around him, the softness of her, and the friction sent him mad with desire. Taut with it, alive with the joy of having his cock in her. She shifted her hips and pushed out, and he had barely enough presence of mind to think about making sure he responded to what she needed from this. There was a particular angle that made her moan, and he concentrated on that.

  So close. He was so close.

  He managed to slow things down so he’d last a little longer and found the angle that made her shudder and then cry out, and that pressure was damn near as good for him. At one point, he worked his fingers into her hair, cradling the back of her head while he wound tighter and tighter.

  They fell quiet now, the two of them, silent in respect to words, but not for a second was his awareness of her anything but the very reason for his desire. He could barely see in the dark, but it didn’t matter. He recognized her in her cries, the sound of her moans. The scent of her perfume and the fever heat that burned through him.

  He dropped his torso over her back, hands on the desk outside hers, and she braced herself again as his hips rocked into her, meeting his every thrust into her. Sooner than he would have liked, he reached the point where he was so close to coming that he took over the pace. He pushed back to hold her hips again, tightly now because they were both near to climax.

  There was
only them in this delicious cover of darkness, and in the next instant there was only his approaching crisis, and, Jesus, her passage was clenching around him, and he shouted something incoherent, and he nearly didn’t withdraw in time.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  The next day.

  FOX ARRIVED AT BOUVERIE FROM WESTMINSTER shortly after nine o’clock that night. There was a dusting of snow on the ground, and when the front door closed behind him, he stamped his feet to knock off the ice. He pulled off his gloves and rubbed his hands together, but his fingers stayed cold. The butler took his coat and hat. “Where is everyone?”

  “His grace is in his study. Miss Rendell has retired to her room. As has Lady Eugenia, I believe.” As he said this, the butler handed him a note, sealed with plain red wax.

  “Thank you.” He slipped the note into his coat pocket. “Here it is, the last days of the season, and we’re all at home.” He handed over his gloves. “We’re a sorry lot, aren’t we?”

  “A bit nippy to be out gallivanting, milord.”

  “I suppose you’re right. I’ve not dined yet. Have a light supper sent to my room?”

  “Sir.”

  As he headed for his room he broke the seal on the note. There was a single sentence:

  We must talk.—Eugenia

  With her note in hand, he went first to his room where he opened a carved rosewood box.

  His valet came in carrying his robe and a pair of felt slippers, but Fox waved him off. “I may be going out again. I’ll need a coat and what have you. I’ll carry them with me now, if you don’t mind.”

  “Milord.”

  Inside the box was the fob his mother had made for him. The edges were worn and there was a stain on a corner. He touched it once before he took out the gold band he kept inside, along with the few other mementos he had of her. He put the ring into his coat pocket.

  His valet came back with the requested items. “Thank you. If I’m not back in fifteen minutes, it’s because I’ve gone out. Don’t hold my dinner past then. I’ll find something to eat later.”

  “Milord.”

  With his coat, hat, and gloves in one hand, he went to Eugenia’s room. He tapped the back of his knuckles on the door.

  She opened the door, and in her eyes he saw an entire universe there, moving according to laws beyond his understanding. She took a deep breath and stepped into the corridor. She closed the door behind her.

  “I take it we need the strictest privacy?”

  She nodded.

  His chest was tight while he walked with her down the stairs to a saloon at the back of the house. If it were daylight, there would be a view of the rear garden. Not much of a sight with the wintery weather of late. At present, the curtains were drawn tight. The fire wasn’t even laid, for they’d not used this room so far this season. He put his things on a chair and lit a branch of candles and then another so the room wasn’t unbearably dim.

  Eugenia walked to the fireplace, but it was cold and barren, not even ashes in the hearth.

  “Shall I start a fire?”

  She gave a tight shake of her head and picked up a porcelain Buddha sitting on the mantel. Still facing the fireplace and turning the Buddha over and over in her hands, she said, “I’ve been doing arithmetic all day it seems.”

  “And?”

  She faced him and shrugged. “As I said, I’ve never been terribly regular.”

  “Yes.” He waited for her to continue.

  She let out a quick breath and surveyed the room. She briefly clasped a hand over her mouth, then slid her fingers downward over her lips. “I’ve been ill. In the morning. Afternoons, sometimes. It started this week.”

  He had, in the course of his life, dreaded hearing such words from his lovers. He’d not faced those consequences before because he’d been lucky, careful, and circumspect. Now? A mass of emotions burst over him, rained down on him. Part of him was terrified; part of him was overjoyed. He wanted to pick her up and spin her around. He did neither. Nothing, absolutely nothing with her was easy. What he wanted was her to be happy with him. Instead, she held back tears.

  She said, “I’m sorry.”

  He crossed the room and took her hand in his. “I’m not. Nor should you be. No tears. I won’t have that, my love.” He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed her palm then went down on a knee. “Will you marry me, Ginny?”

  She gazed at him unflinchingly. “Why ask when there’s no choice?”

  “There are always choices.” He kissed the other side of her hand. “Some are harder than others. Not this one. Not for me. Must it be so for you? Marry me. Now. Tonight.”

  “Tonight?”

  “I’ve a special license.”

  Her shoulders slumped. “Of course.”

  “Marry me. Or am I to have your brother’s rage heaped upon my hapless self?”

  “You know I will.”

  “Don’t be sorry.” He stood and pulled her toward him. The satisfaction of knowing he was getting what he wanted was tinged with uneasiness. He wanted her to marry for love, and she wouldn’t be. “This was always a possibility. You knew that. As did I.”

  “And this—”

  He kissed her on the mouth. Just once. Not long enough to be crude, but not so short a kiss that she didn’t have time to respond to him. He took a breath and stopped. With the tip of his first finger, he smoothed the space between her eyebrows. “I recognize that frown. Stop. You’ve nothing to worry about. I’ll take care of you. You’ll want for nothing.”

  “That isn’t the point.”

  “I won’t be the sort of husband who expects his wife to follow him in all things.”

  She dropped her forehead to his chest. “Don’t be so decent.” She whispered, “Please, don’t. I can’t bear it.”

  He drew a deep breath. “This is what I want.”

  “And here I thought you were overcome by passion.”

  “Oh, never doubt that I was. As were you. Several times as I recall.” He laughed very softly, but she heard and thumped her fist on his chest.

  “Don’t make me laugh.”

  He cupped the back of her head and drew her closer. “I have seen your goodness. Your kindness, your generosity. Your wit. I lust for your independent mind as well as your body.” He waited a beat. “There. Does that help?”

  His coat muffled her laugh. “Horrible man.”

  “Yes. Awful. I know. I shall willingly give you all that I possess.” The words, which he had intended to sound certain, instead took on a recklessness that threatened to give him away. He could not stop himself. “My heart, too. Have you not yet accepted that you have that?”

  She lifted her head. “I know.”

  “When I am with you, I’m happy. I won’t ask you for anything more.”

  “What about someone who loves you? Someone head over heels in love with you?” She leaned against him, and he slipped an arm around her shoulders. “You should ask for that.”

  “Robert would be glad to know I will take care of you.”

  She brushed her fingers over his cheek. “All that and diamonds, too?”

  “Yes. All that.” He set her back a step. “I’ll come with you to fetch your coat.”

  She closed her eyes, and he could see her trying to hold back tears. “What if I’m wrong? What if I’m not pregnant after all?”

  “There’s very little in life that’s certain. What if the sky falls or the world ends? Suppose tomorrow is Judgment Day?” He allowed his hands to slip off her shoulders. “And then suppose it’s not. We can’t wait until you’re showing, for God’s sake. That won’t save me from your brother’s wrath.”

  She let out a short laugh.

  “Shall I send a servant for your coat or will you want Martine with you?”

  “Martine. She’s waiting for me.”

  He picked up his things, blew out the candles, and headed back upstairs. When they reached her room, Martine was in the anteroom dressed to go out. She held Eugenia’s coa
t in her arms. He returned her a considering glance. Of course Eugenia’s maid would know her employer’s intimate condition. And the man responsible. “I trust you are not presently armed.”

  She patted the pocket of her coat and gave him a rather vicious smile.

  He set down his hat and gloves and put on his coat. “Pray don’t shoot me yet.”

  She returned him an unflinching gaze. “Depends why you’re here, milord.”

  “After you’ve helped Lady Eugenia with her things, please go to the mews and ask one of the grooms to bring my carriage, the plain one, to the side street. No livery. Wait for us there.”

  “Milord.”

  He put on his gloves. “We’ll be there shortly. Thank you, Martine.”

  Forty minutes later, he stood before the clergyman with Eugenia at his side. Her hand rested atop his raised one as the man read off the words that bound him to Eugenia for as long as he should live. He put his mother’s ring on her finger, and moments later, he was a married man.

  Whether he would ever have his heart’s desire was another matter entirely.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Later that night.

  NOT A HAMPTON. A BRYANT NO LONGER. A TALBOT.

  What on earth had she just done?

  God knows she was returning to Bouverie a different woman from the one who’d started out from that labyrinth of a house. No longer Lady Eugenia or Mrs. Bryant. She was a married woman again. To Fenris.

  They’d decided, she and Fenris, not to make a formal announcement of their marriage. Camber would be told. Hester. The Bouverie staff. Mountjoy would be told when he arrived in London. She dreaded each and every revelation to come.

  Fenris held her hand during the entire drive from the reverend’s house to Bouverie. He frequently swept a finger over her wedding band. He didn’t let go except to leave the carriage at the side exit of Bouverie. He opened the gate one-handed and then turned the key over to Martine and let her open the side door.

  When Martine opened the door for them, he swept Eugenia into his arms and carried her inside. He kissed her once, quickly and on the mouth, before he set her on her feet. “Well, Lady Fenris.” His voice was all smoke and desire, with a large amount of satisfaction thrown into the mix. “Welcome to Bouverie.”