Scandalous Lovers

by Diana Ballew

  But she didn’t wait for him to comply, she went after the flaps. He locked his hands around slender wrists. “I want to know what you’re up to,” he growled. “Where you’re going with this?”

  “Really, darling, I would think experience would tell you exactly where I was going with this.” Her teasing tone threatened to unman him.

  He pushed her hands away and finished the deed himself. He kicked off his boots, tore off his trousers, and stripped the shirt off his back, tossing it across the room.

  Lorelei’s hand landed softly in the center of his chest. And pushed.

  Stunned, he fell back onto the settee. She stepped between his spread legs, silk skirts brushing the insides of his thighs, rustling softly. She dropped to her knees. If a man were to faint, now would be the time. The barely coherent thought rippled through his head as tapered nails scraped the inside of one thigh. His cock twitched.

  “I might be inclined to explore this area with a touch.”

  “You would?” he croaked out. How had his lips formed the question? “What else?”

  Her lips brushed his knee. “Perhaps a taste here.”

  His knee tingled.

  Her fingers drifted forward to a goal he dared never dream, reach dangerously close to …

  “Or here,” she whispered. Hot breath touched his scrotum, a flick of her tongue. “Or ... ” She slid her mouth up the length of his cock, which stood straight to attention.

  “Lorelei, darling, please, I beg you … ” Her mouth covered the skin of the head. Blood pounded through his head, his cock.

  He would do anything to keep his wife by his side. Anything.

  Lorelei had no idea where this sudden nerve came from. An ache filled her, driving the unbidden boldness. She’d missed her husband. Even if he didn’t love her, the fact that he spent time and money searching for Brandon heralded his respect. He truly cared for her, her feelings. It humbled her.

  His hands slid into her hair and pins scattered. She reveled in the odd texture of his rigid staff, jerking beneath her ministrations.

  “Lorelei, I need to be inside you.” His voice was pained. He didn’t wait for an answer, just pulled her from her knees. Fought her skirts. He ripped her drawers away and lifted her over his lap.

  Oh, God. She needed him, too. She sank down on him, gasping. She braced her hands on his chest and leaned into him. His breath heated her neck, and she gripped his hips with her knees. The first wave of passion shuddered through her in a burst of white stars. A scream hurled through her chest, but Thorne swallowed her cry, his response as urgent as her own. His hands dug into her buttocks, seating him deeper, his mouth never relinquishing hers, until his groan turned to a satisfied growl.

  Lorelei’s forehead fell against his shoulder, her breath ragged and unsteady. What had she done?

  “Thorne.” Her whisper sounded loud in the quiet library. Her hair must look a fright. His fingers tugged on escaped tendrils at the nape. His thumb traced her ear, her jaw line. He brought her flaming face to his.

  The lethargy that had taken hold shifted into another onslaught of desire. His tongue swiped just below her ear. His hands squeezed her hips and moved her to match his own twisting beneath her, his cock already hardening for another round. The rush of her pulse pounded through her ears, deafening her, blinding her to everything around her.

  His mouth moved over her breast, his tongue teased her nipple. His hands moved up, cupped her head. His raised his lips to brush over hers ... His hand stilled on her cheek and her body froze. Something was wrong. “What—”

  “Shush,” he whispered in her ear.

  Then she heard it. The front door in the foyer opened, followed by the sound of rustling skirts, a muted command. Mortified, Lorelei heaved herself up, disengaging her body from Thorne’s.

  A pained grunt met her ears. With Thorne’s assistance, she stood on shaking legs, her husband quickly righting her skirts. She spotted his shirt on the floor, near the table with their half-eaten meal. She dashed across the chamber, swooped it up and tossed it to him. He pulled it over his head. “My pants,” he said, stepping behind the settee.

  “Oh. Of course.” She snatched up his breeches, but a sharp knock at the had her dropping them at her feet. She stepped forward to shield them beneath her skirts just as the door flew open. Concern in Mrs. Metzger’s eyes met hers. The older woman moved aside and Quince barged in holding an unconscious young woman.

  “What the hell are you about, Quince?” Thorne barked.

  Lorelei winced. “Um. Please don’t mind my husband, Quince.” She frowned at her husband, hurrying forward. “Whomever are you holding, sir?”

  “I believe it’s Miss Elvin, my lady.”

  Lorelei’s face paled. “Is she d-dead?”

  “She’s alive,” Quince said. His glance shot to Thorne and fire crawled up his neck. “Sir, what shall I do with her?”

  Thorne was stuck. He couldn’t possibly move.

  “Let’s move her to the morning room, Quince.” Lorelei guided the man from the library, giving Thorne the opportunity to pull himself together, as Mrs. Metzger’s voice filled the hall. “I’ve a room readying, my lady.”

  Groaning, Thorne fastened the flap of his breeches and quickly donned his waistcoat and followed the voices to the morning room. “Set her down,” Lorelei was saying as Thorne walked in.

  Quince laid the girl on the divan.

  Thorne peered at the unconscious girl, noting the protruding lump near her temple. It did indeed appear to be Miss Elvin. “I thought the chit was on her way back to London. What happened to her?”

  “Mrs. Metzger thought the same,” Quince said. “I found her slumped against the gate.”

  “Good heavens,” Lorelei said, faintly.

  Mrs. Metzger appeared in the arch. “The green room is available, my lady.”

  The unthinkable assembled then reshuffled through Thorne’s muddled brain. He did not believe in coincidences. This, coupled with Rowena’s death, was too convenient to be random. “We should wake her,” he said. “It’s possible she was attacked by the same villain who did in Rowena Hollerfield.”

  “Thorne. This girl is in no condition to be interrogated.” She spoke sharply. “Whatever you may think of her, she is still practically a child.”

  It was difficult to argue that fact. Her hair had tumbled free from its confinement in a torrent of dark red curls. Her closed eyes veiled the cynicism he’d witnessed in the carriage ride to Kimpton. Combined with her now lax features, Thorne could almost believe her younger than Corinne Hollerfield.

  He’d lost any sympathy he felt compelled to share in learning said child had threatened to sell Maudsley’s daughters, one of whom was not yet in the schoolroom.

  “Send for tea, Lorelei. I have questions, and I mean to have them answered.” She flinched at his tone. “Please,” he added, forcing a gentleness he didn’t feel.

  Lips compressed, Lorelei slipped from the room.

  Thorne leaned over, studying the girl. “Are you sure she’s alive?”

  “Reasonably sure,” Quince said. “She’s groaned a couple of times, and that lump on her noggin is the size of a plum.”

  Thorne kneeled down and tapped her cheek. “Miss Elvin?” He spoke softly.

  She groaned and tried shifting from his hand.

  “Miss Elvin, open your eyes.”

  A moment later they fluttered, then settled on him. “Where am I?” she whispered.

  “You are in Kimpton, Miss Elvin. You accompanied the Ladies Irene and Cecilia. We arrived earlier today. Do you recall?”

  “Kimpton?” Her confusion was not feigned.

  “You work for the Maudsleys.”

  Fear replaced her confusion, and she started to move. “I-I think I’m going to be—”

  Thorne barely reacted in time. As it was, her expulsion covered his and Quince’s once shiny boots. He stood, gaping at the absurdity of what had just occurred. Of course, Lorelei returned that exact momen
t.

  “My lord, I insist you cease tormenting that girl this instant. Whatever her past sins, surely Miss Elvin is in no condition for your query.” She stepped aside for the housekeeper, who was carrying a tray of steaming tea and sandwiches. “Mrs. Metzger, set the tray on the desk. I fear we will need your help further.” She pointed to the floor where he and Quince still stood rooted.

  He’d lost this round. Exasperated, he said, “Just toss me a towel.”

  The morning room was quickly set to rights, and despite the lump on Miss Elvin’s head, she appeared well on her way to recovery after having devoured most of the sandwiches and half a pot of tea.

  Thorne opened his mouth to question the girl, but Lorelei quelled him with a dark look. He crossed his arms over his chest and curtailed his frustration.

  Lorelei lowered herself next to the chit, arranging her skirts. “Miss Elvin, is it? We were under the impression you were on the stage back to London. You can imagine our surprise when Quince carried you in.” She smiled at the girl.

  A blush colored the chit’s face as she turned adoring eyes on Quince. It was all Thorne could do to keep from snorting his disbelief. “How old are you?” he demanded. Lorelei glared at him. “Please,” he added.

  “Sixteen, my lord.”

  Thorne glanced at Quince, who appeared quite faint.

  Lorelei took her hand. “Can you tell us what happened?”

  She glanced at Lorelei then dropped her gaze. “I-I don’t remember, my lady.” The red in her cheeks heightened.

  Thorne scrutinized her intently. “Tell me, Miss Elvin, who accosted you in the woods? I would see justice on Kimpton lands.” She pulled her hand from Lorelei’s, and her fingers curled into tight fists, showing her knuckles white.

  “I-I don’t remember, my lord.” Fat tears rolled down her cheeks.

  She was lying. Thorne felt it with every instinct he possessed.

  “Thorne,” Lorelei whispered. He ignored her.

  He covered Lorelei’s hand with his and squeezed. “Lady Kimpton will see to your comfort, Miss Elvin.”

  A startled breath escaped his wife. “Yes. Yes, that is so, Miss Elvin. Peg will look after the Maudsley girls the next few days. You should be a hundred percent after a few days,” Lorelei assured her.

  Thorne squeezed her hand again. Good. He did not relish Miss Elvin’s tending the younger girls, no matter how innocent she might appear. He stood, bringing Lorelei up with him. As luck would have it, Mrs. Metzger’s homely face appeared around the door.

  “Miss Elvin’s room is ready,” she said.

  He let go of Lorelei’s hand somewhat reluctantly and stood back. Lorelei assisted the girl to her feet, and Mrs. Metzger bustled forward to help her from the room. “Quince, perhaps we should check for other signs of intruders.”

  Quince nodded and made a quick exit.

  After all the excitement, Thorn felt a little awkward in the sudden silence. He let out a breath and pulled Lorelei into his arms, determined to not lose what little ground he’d gained. “Let’s get some rest, darling.”

  “But—”

  “But nothing. I need you in my bed now,” he whispered against her neck. He covered her mouth, effectively swallowing any further protests.

  Chapter 16

  The next week settled into a routine of sorts for Lorelei. Keeping Cecilia and Irene occupied was a full-time occupation. Ginny would be horrified to learn her very proper girls were pulling weeds in the garden, but Lorelei had to do something to entertain two young and energetic beings. Of course, Irene was all that was dignified. But at the end of day the girls laughed during a thorough cleaning from head to toe.

  Lorelei settled back with her needlepoint, her sitting room cozy where a fire roared in the grate. Irene sat in the chair across from Lorelei, and Cecilia lay on her stomach on the floor, flipping through a large book filled with flowers. Lorelei managed to convince Corinne to join them, and she was ensconced on the settee, staring blankly out the window at the cold slashing rain.

  Cecilia’s thumb plopped from her mouth. “Might Mrs. Wells bring in the babe?”

  Irene glanced up. “Oh, yes. Mightn’t we?”

  Corinne’s gaze had moved from the window. All three stared, waiting on Lorelei to answer while thousands of birds in her stomach seem to have decided to fly south suddenly. She didn’t know what to say. The words “of course” should be easy enough to say, but they stuck in her throat, and perspiration formed at her nape. Lorelei glanced quickly about, panic creeping over her skin in chilled bumps. Where was Bethie?

  A soft knock sounded and Mrs. Wells leaned her head in. She held the child in one large, sturdy arm. “I was passing by, my lady, and I couldn’t help overhearing. It’s all right, isn’t it?”

  Of course. But the words never made it past her lips. Both Irene and Cecilia jumped up, rushing the wet nurse, Irene demanding to hold the child. Lorelei felt as if the walls were crashing in. Before she could object, Irene had settled beside Corinne and Mrs. Wells was placing the newborn in her tiny arms.

  “No.” The only word that managed to burst through. If Irene dropped him ... black teased her vision.

  “Don’t worry so, Lady Kimpton,” Irene calmly informed her. “I took care of my sister when she was a baby, and I was only four at the time.”

  “Worried?” She was terrified.

  “What is his name, Miss Corinne?” Cecilia’s sweet voice pierced Lorelei’s chaotic thoughts.

  Corinne never looked away from the raging storm battering the windows. “Call him whatever you wish, it makes no difference to me.” Her melancholy was heartbreaking.

  Lorelei studied Corinne for a long moment, desperate to find a way to reach her. She was as beautiful as Brandon had portrayed her. “Bethie says you are recuperating nicely.,” she said gently.

  That captured her attention, and she turned to Lorelei, her eyes glaring hatred. “I wish to speak to my sister, but you made her stay at that cottage because s-she’s a—” She glanced at the younger girls. “—because she’s a tart.”

  Lorelei stilled, confused. “I don’t understand.”

  “Oh, how lovely.” Cecilia jumped up. “Our mama is a tart, too.”

  Corinne gaped.

  Irene’s eyes widened.

  A giggle escaped Miss Elvin.

  Peg snorted.

  Lorelei glanced to Cecilia, shocked, then shook her head and looked back at Corinne. “Nonsense. She means her mother is ... is ... ” Lorelei grappled to maintain a handle on the situation before things spiraled out of control. As if that hadn’t already happened.

  “She means her mother is not sickly sweet like too much sugar.” Thorne spoke from the door. Amusement was wreathing his gaze, although his tone was grave.

  Cecilia huffed. “A-course that’s what I meant.”

  Lorelei quickly gathered her bearings. “My lord, perhaps you would not mind escorting the young women to luncheon? I need a moment with Miss Hollerfield.” She shifted to the wet nurse. “Pray take the infant to the nursery, Mrs. Wells.”

  Mrs. Wells acceded, murmuring softly to her charge as they left the room.

  Thorne bowed at the waist. Cecilia snatched up his hand with an eagerness that pained Lorelei. He would make a most wonderful father. “It would be my pleasure. Ladies?” He held out his arm, which Irene took shyly. They departed, Cecilia’s excited chatter fading down the hall.

  Lorelei sent a pointed gaze to Peg and Miss Elvin. They stood and rushed after the others. She turned to Corinne. Her bottom lip protruded like a petulant child’s. A child who’d birthed Lorelei's brother’s baby. Lorelei went to the settee and positioned herself beside Corinne. Took her hand. “Miss Hollerfield, Corinne. I believe there has been a grave misunderstanding.” Lorelei blinked back tears, determined to help lay Rowena’s death to rest. Corinne had a duty to her child, and only the truth would help her find her way.

  Corinne shook her head. It began slowly, and she made an effort to scoot away, but s
he was too wrought with grief. “No,” she whispered. “Rowena?”

  “I’m sorry, dear. She fell and hit her head.” Lorelei dropped her head. It wasn’t the complete truth. But did the girl need to hear her mother had been murdered? “She didn’t survive. Her injury was fatal.”

  “She’s dead?”

  Lorelei looked into her pale features. “I couldn’t possibly leave you there. I would not have left your mother there, either. I truly wish to help.” Heartbreak gripped Lorelei’s chest, and tears filled her eyes. “I’m so sorry.” Lorelei pulled Corinne into her embrace and held her as the girl’s body racked with silent sobs.

  It seemed an interminable time before Corinne’s cries subsided. When she finally pulled away, she whispered, “What is to become of me? Of my baby?”

  “My husband and I shall look after you. We have plenty of room, and resources to assist you in every way possible.” To Lorelei’s relief, Corinne did not seem inclined to argue with her on this point.

  She sniffed and glanced about. “You called her my mother.”

  Lorelei pulled a handkerchief from the drawer of a table and pushed it into Corinne’s hand. “Yes, she confessed your relationship to me when you were quite ill.”

  “But ... ” Corinne blew her nose, shook her head, and spoke into the cloth. “She’s not my mother. She is my sister.”

  Lorelei paused. What did it matter? “It’s of no consequence. We must see to the care of you and your baby.”

  A stubborn light flashed in the girl’s eyes. “She is my sister, I tell you. I don’t know why she would tell you she was my mother.” She heaved in a deep breath. “How ... how did she fall?”

  The question caught Lorelei off guard.

  “The truth, my lady. My sister was afraid. Of what or whom, I can’t imagine,” she said, her gaze direct and unwavering.

  Lorelei did not relish this conversation. But she was encouraged to see Corinne’s persona resemble that picture her brother had captured. “Someone broke into the cottage. I think she fought most valiantly, and—” Lorelei took a shallow breath, squeezed the girl’s fragile hand. “—her head hit the wall.” She ended on a whisper.