The Night Before Scandal (Heart's Temptation Book 7)

by Scarlett Scott

  She was curious, after all. Horridly, thoroughly curious.

  Lord Harry had awakened a wickedness inside her that had been slumbering but was now decidedly awake. The wickedness was restless. It wanted more. The pages she’d turned thus far had certainly aided in that mission.

  Naughty grooms.

  Wicked maids.

  Tongues that performed improper feats upon unmentionable places.

  Her cheeks were hot, the flesh between her thighs tingling with anticipation as she turned each page. And she could not stop reading. She forgot about her intentions to measure the temperature and sky for her map. She forgot about everything and everyone in these stolen, quiet moments to herself. Everyone but Lord Harry, that was.

  For he never seemed to stray far from her thoughts.

  “What are you reading?”

  Alexandra yelped, the forbidden book she’d been devouring nearly leaping from her hands in her discomfit. She turned to the source of that delicious voice to find that Lord Harry had appeared as if conjured from her fantasies.

  Except he was more sinfully handsome than her woeful imagination could recall. Though he had not strayed far from her side for the last sennight, each time she saw him, her body gave an instinctive, inward sigh of appreciation.

  He stole her breath. Her gaze traveled hungrily over his golden hair, high forehead, the blade of his nose, high cheekbones, that firm, rugged jaw. He was tall and broad and muscled.

  And he was staring at her in an intent, expectant fashion.

  Belatedly, she forced herself to stop ogling him and respond to his query. “Something quite edifying.” She snapped the book shut and stuffed it beneath her skirt. “What are you doing here, Lord Harry?”

  “Edifying,” he repeated, sauntering toward her as though the two of them alone in a far-off tower was the most natural and inevitable thing in the world. “What is the subject?”

  Alexandra watched helplessly as he skirted the divan and settled himself next to her, his strong horseman’s thighs splaying wide enough to touch hers. She swallowed, took a breath, and dismissed any inconvenient thoughts or emotions that would have impeded her ability to behave.

  Or so she thought. The leather cover of the book, trapped between her skirt-clad thigh and the cushion, seemed to burn her fingers.

  She blinked, focused on Lord Harry. “The subjects are varied. It is a collection of short stories.”

  “What manner of stories?”

  Alexandra forced herself to frown at him, ignoring his question. “Surely you must realize better than anyone that your presence here, with me, is unacceptable. We have already created the scandal of the year together, and I shudder to think what will happen if you are found alone with me.”

  A lone, golden brow raised. “You do realize, do you not Danvers, that the year is nearly over? As such, we can create as much scandal as possible, given that it will cancel itself out upon the new year. Further, no one will find us here together. We are well beyond the reach of other guests. Indeed, we could safely remain here for the next day and no one would be the wiser.”

  His words warmed parts of her she had not previously known existed. “Your logic is regrettably unsound, Lord Harry. The end of one year and the beginning of another has no bearing upon a scandal. A mark upon one’s character cannot be removed by the mere changing of a number.”

  His expression sobered, his eyes intense as they bored into hers. “You are right, my lady. It cannot. But it can be ameliorated by actions taken to rectify the mistake.”

  She stiffened, diverting her gaze from him. “Am I a mistake to you, my lord?”

  Lord, she hated to think that was how he viewed her. That she was one of his regrets. That he wished he had never kissed her in the carriage. She did not want to be a burden to anyone. Nor did she desire for Lord Harry to sacrifice himself for her upon the matrimonial altar.

  “No.” His fingers brushed over her jaw gently, turning her face back to his. The decadent green of his eyes took her breath as she fell into them. “You could never be a mistake to me. But my disregard for your virtue was. And now you will be forced to pay the forfeit for my massive error in judgment.”

  His words failed to mollify her. He had already told her he intended to marry her that night at the Welcome Ball, and he had courted her with steadfast attention in the week since, but she would not be his burden. She had been adamant that she would not wed. Regardless of the damage to her reputation, she did not need to marry Lord Harry. When Julian had married a wealthy American heiress, he had settled a handsome sum upon her as dowry. She was reasonably certain that her brother could be persuaded to enable her to access the funds.

  She did not move from Lord Harry’s touch, for she relished his nearness and the slow stroke of his caress on her skin. But neither did she hesitate to tell him the truth of the matter. “Lord Harry, I will not be forced into anything, least of all nuptials.”

  A frown marred his forehead, but even in his displeasure, he was so handsome he made her ache. “Do you not wish to marry me, my lady?”

  “You have not yet proposed,” she pointed out. “Thus far, you have expressed a desire to make me your wife, but you have also spoken of mistakes and scandal and errors. If you feel obligated to ask for my hand because of what happened in the carriage, allow me to relieve you of that worry. My brother is prepared to settle a handsome amount upon me, and I do not need to marry you to obtain it.”

  He blinked, the corners of his supple mouth turning down all the more. That elegant brow of his furrowed. “I beg your pardon, my lady. Are you suggesting that you wed another man in my stead?”

  She pursed her lips, considering the suggestion objectively. “I am certain I could find any number of suitors who are pockets to let and only all too eager for the opportunity to fill their coffers with my sister-in-law’s American gold. Of course, there is always the other, far more preferable option that I simply remain unwed and collect the funds myself so that I may live my life as I wish, dedicated to the pursuit of science.”

  His hand had traveled to the side of her face, cupping it tenderly, his thumb stroking over her ear. She had never found the ear to be a receptive or particularly delightful appendage—aside from the mechanical necessity of hearing, naturally—but ever since Lord Harry had appeared in her life, she was heartily rethinking her dismissal of it and any number of other body parts.

  The pad of his thumb stroking over her ear’s delicate shell was enough to make a sharp pang of need surge through her.

  “Alexandra.”

  Her name in his dark, sensual voice caught her attention. A frisson of something delightfully wicked licked down her spine. She stared at his lips, noting how finely formed they were for what had to be the fiftieth time. “Yes?”

  “Do you wish to marry another? Is there some other gentleman who has claimed your affections?” His voice was strained as he posed the curt questions.

  “Of course not.” She blinked. “If I must marry any man, I would choose you, my lord. Supposing you had asked for my hand, of course. Which you have decidedly not, thus far.”

  His thumb stroked from her ear to her cheekbone, gliding in such a tantalizing caress that she shivered. “You do not inspire a great deal of confidence in a man. Should I ask, what would your answer be, my lady? I have half a notion to expect you to tell me to turn around and never look back.”

  Somehow, the thought of Lord Harry Marlow leaving her made her mouth go dry. It was lunacy, for she had only known him for little more than a week’s time. But already, she knew the heat of his lips on hers, his hands roaming her body, the taste of him, his heartbeat’s rapid thrum.

  “Forgive me, my lord.” She paused, gathering her thoughts, for this was one area of her life that never failed to cause her any number of difficulties. “There is no one else. I merely relish my liberty, and I imagine you do the same. Do you wish to ask for my hand? To truly ask? Not out of duty or necessity but out of want?”

 
“I want you, yes.”

  “To marry me,” she pressed. “Wanting to marry me is a different beast entirely from merely desiring me physically, my lord.”

  “Agreed.” He paused, his touch remaining upon her in a way she liked far, far too much. “This thing between us is sudden, I know. Perhaps it is the spirit of the Christmas season, or perhaps I have taken leave of my senses, but the moment I saw you standing in the snow, I knew I had to make you mine.”

  He had? She frowned. “But you thought I was a gentleman.”

  “No.” He shook his head, a slow, sensual grin curving his lips. “I always knew you were a female.”

  The scoundrel. Had he been having her on? She wouldn’t have thought it in him, for though his kisses and caresses were most wicked, his reputation was above reproach. “You called me Mr. Danvers.”

  He pressed his lips together, attempting to squelch his smirk and failing. His fingers followed the line of her throat in a gentle sweep that made her ache. “I wanted to nettle you, I’m afraid. You were being frightfully highhanded for a lady dressed in her brother’s ill-fitting clothing, standing about in the snow. I wanted to rattle you a bit, but I also wanted to get you alone so that I could kiss you.”

  Oh my.

  Warmth suffused the region of her heart. Her stomach performed an odd little somersault. My God, he was charming. And infectious. The urge to spend the rest of her days thus hit her: staring into his emerald gaze, kissing those splendidly formed lips, and chatting with him in such a cozy fashion that the scent and warmth of him washed over her like a golden glow.

  “You are quite the rogue, my lord,” she observed, willing her restless heart to calm itself. She could not be falling in love with Lord Harry Marlow after knowing him for all of a week. Could she? As a woman of science, she could not credit it. And yet, the evidence was there in her wild pulse, the tingling settling between her thighs, the hunger roaring through her.

  “A rogue who very much wishes to marry you, my lady. If you will have me.” His hand splayed over her heart, bare skin upon bare skin, absorbing the frantic beats. “Will you have me?”

  She blessed fashion for the cut of her ribbon-trimmed décolletage. The rational part of her, the science-minded part of her that believed in observation, in facts and reason, knew then what she must do. It would be a bold move, perhaps foolhardy, and certainly hazardous for her already tarnished reputation.

  But it was the only move she could fathom. It was the sole manner by which she would be able to determine whether or not they were truly compatible, and whether the feelings he inspired in her were physical or had their roots in something more.

  The book she’d been reading gave her the boldness she required. Was this not a new era, and was she not an independent-minded female capable of making her own decisions and forging her way in the world?

  Yes. It was. She was.

  Alexandra took a deep, fortifying breath. “I will marry you on one condition, Lord Harry. You must first engage in sexual congress with me.”

  Chapter Nine

  Harry stared at Lady Alexandra Danvers.

  She did not look mad.

  Neither did she appear soused.

  Which thoroughly dispelled the only two explanations for what he had just heard her say. Unless…he supposed it possible. His great-uncle Xavier had been as deaf as a snuff box. Surely he was beginning to lose his sense of hearing at an inordinately early age.

  Either that, or the gorgeous, eccentric, lush woman before him had just invited him to bed her. Without benefit of marriage. Good God.

  Perhaps he was not her first lover. There was yet another solid explanation for the words that had just fallen from her pink, soft lips. Lips he suddenly envisioned circling his cock. If she was not an innocent, that certainly changed matters. He couldn’t lie. The possibilities such a thing brought to mind were as delightful as they were depraved.

  The breath hissed from his lungs as the erection of the century sprang to rigid life in his trousers. Damnation. What could he do?

  “I beg your pardon,” he said with great difficulty, for all the blood in his body seemed to have rushed to his groin. “What did you just say, my lady?”

  Lady Alexandra held his gaze. Blue, copper-lash-studded eyes stared into his, unblinking. “I said that I will marry you if you bed me. I should have added one caveat, however. I consider this to be a scientific experiment, you see. If you bed me, and I am provided with ample proof that we are compatible, I will wed you.”

  Holy hell. Of its own accord, his hand slid lower until the lush, heavy weight of her corseted breast filled it. He could not help himself. The urge to play along with her game, to take what she offered, supplanted all else. “And if I bed you but you do not find us compatible, what then?”

  Which would never, ever happen.

  If he bedded her, she would be ruined for all other men just as he would be ruined for all other women. He would make certain of it.

  She remained calm and poised, as though they discussed something as simple as the snowfall or Christmas pudding. “If we are not compatible, then naturally neither of us would wish to wed the other.”

  “A novel concept.” He squeezed her breast gently, wishing he could feel her hard nipple kissing his palm. “But if I take your innocence, your brother will have my hide. I would have my own hide, for that matter. No gentleman would bed a lady without first giving her his protection.”

  “My body is mine alone to give.” Her chin rose, her stubbornness on display. Damn if it didn’t make him want her more. “It is not for you, for my brother, or for anyone else to decide what I choose to do with it. If I am to be bound to a man for the rest of my life, then I need to be sure he is the man I want.”

  Harry considered Alexandra, drinking in the impressive sight of her. With her copper locks confined in a series of coils and twists and her elegant gown, she looked every inch the part of the lady she was. But she was not the average cossetted miss, and the way she did not shrink from his hand claiming her breast coupled with the boldness of her suggestion confirmed that.

  His thumb traced circles over the curve of her breast where he knew her nipple hid. Damn the thickness of her corset for robbing him of the pleasure of torturing it as he longed. But as much as he yearned to take what she offered, he could not find it within him to do so. “I cannot bed you, my lady. It would be wrong.”

  “It would not be wrong if I wished it,” she argued, her tone serious. “If you wished it as well. Society’s rules need not define us. I do not know about you, my lord, but I wish for a happy life. Why consign ourselves to a lifetime of misery if it can be avoided?”

  She was an innocent. Of that much he was certain now. Only a virgin would assume that one round of fucking could determine whether or not a man and woman were compatible forever. “I do not wish to discourage you from your current path as it would please me more than you know, but one bedding is not enough to determine a lifetime’s worth of compatibility.”

  But Lady Alexandra did not waver in her determination. “It may not be foolproof, but it is what I require. What do you say, Lord Harry? Will you conduct this experiment with me, or do I need to find a substitute?”

  The very notion of another man touching her made him want to commit murder. He would tear any other poor sod who got within a foot of her to bloody pieces. He was not a particularly violent man, but everything in him said that he would not share Lady Alexandra Danvers.

  “No one else will touch you,” he growled, his fingers tightening over her breast as if to stake his claim. For that was how he felt about her, he realized in a moment of stark, shocking realization. Somehow, she had become his. And he would be hers. “I alone will conduct this and all future experiments with you. Is that clear, Alexandra?”

  She pursed her lips, considering him in a fashion that could not help but to make him feel as if she saw far more than he would have preferred. “If I desire it.”

  “Oh you will desire it,
my lady.” He would make certain of that.

  His brother may have snared the lady he had once wished to wed, but Harry was more than competent at seduction. Besides, he had already become convinced that Spencer and Bo were perfect for each other.

  Perhaps, whispered a voice inside him before he could stifle its unwanted insight, Lady Alexandra is perfect for you in the same fashion.

  “You have yet to complete the first experiment,” she pointed out then. “How can you be so confident?”

  Devil take it. He was left with no other choice. The saucy wench had provoked him, had taken it too far. There was nothing to do but lower his mouth to hers and kiss her as he’d been longing to do from the moment he’d entered the chamber.

  Her lips opened in a soft exhalation of surprise, and he took the opportunity to taste her once again as he had in the carriage, sliding his tongue inside the warm cavern of her mouth. This time, she tasted of mulled cider and Christmas and spicy, delicious woman. Her tongue slid against his, tentatively at first but then with greater urgency, her lips clinging to his. She had learned how to kiss him back, what he liked.

  And what he liked was ferocity. Brazenness. Uninhibited want. The fantasy of a proper lady who liked to be stripped and fucked made him so hard he lost the capacity to think. He had done his best to quell his wicked longings, knowing they were wrong. But here in the charmed safety of the old north tower, snow blanketing the land, an enchanted season upon them, this eccentric, intriguing woman so soft and lush against him…

  He could not do anything but kiss her.

  By the grace of God, her arms twined about his neck, bringing him closer to her yet, and her fingers sank into his hair, the soft score of her nails on his scalp telling him she could be as brazen as her suggestion to “experiment” was. Lord Harry Marlow, treasured MP of the Liberal party with his sterling reputation as the faultless younger son of the Duke of Bainbridge, ought not to be dallying with the innocent sister of the Earl of Ravenscroft. Doing so was wrong, and it went against his every principle.