Three Times the Scandal (Georgian Rakehells)

by Madelynne Ellis

  She let her attention stray back to Giles, still crouched by the fireplace. The position pulled his coat tight across his broad back and emphasized the narrowness of his hips. It also gave her a glimpse of his bottom every time he leaned forward and his coat tails parted. The cheeks were rather flat, but high and tight, and she liked the way the seam of his breeches formed a neat ridge between them. Her sister, Mae, was always looking at men, commenting on their calves and hands and bottoms. She tried to be more discreet, and covered her smirk with her clenched fists. Mae would laugh at her now. She had exactly the sort of man she’d been wishing would sweep her off her feet crouched on the floor before her, willing to do whatever she asked, and she was sitting here coyly peeking at him like a spinster aunt.

  “Do you often sit smirking to yourself?” Giles dropped the three of four twists of newspaper he’d rolled into kindling into the coal bucket and turned to look at her. “Do I have a black mark on my breeches?”

  “No.” He nose tingled as she stifled the urge to laugh.

  “Fortuna.” He crawled towards her. His green eyes glittered through the sweep of his messy fringe. “Were you staring at my bottom?”

  “No!” she spluttered.

  “You were.” He reached her chair, and propped his elbows upon the arm, so that he could gaze into her face.

  Fortuna nervously drew her teeth over her lower lip.

  “I asked you yesterday, but I’m going to ask you again. Do you want me to?”

  She immediately blushed and bowed her head away from him, unable to maintain eye contact. Of course she did. It wasn’t just a matter of expectation. Rakehells seduced. She’d expected him to pounce on her in the carriage. She also desired it, had done from the moment he’d kissed her on the snow-covered terrace. “I do,” she admitted and her voice trembled. “But…”

  “There’s always a but.” Slowly, he leaned forward and slid his hand behind her neck. Fortuna’s breath hitched. Her lips parted, but he just gazed at her as if in wonderment. “I think you should know that I’ve wanted you since Hallowe’en.”

  “Truly?”

  “Truly.”

  “Then why don’t you kiss me?”

  His smile stretched enticingly wide. “I was just waiting for permission, since I’m being a gentleman.” He closed his eyes as he tilted his head, and Fortuna closed hers too. Their lips met. Unlike their previous kiss on the balcony, this one wasn’t aggressive, more exploratory and sweet. Fortuna parted her lips, letting his tongue dart into her mouth. The sensation roused an ache deep in her womb. After just a few moments of tasting him, the kiss grew deeper, less playful. Giles swept her up off the chair and onto his lap. His hands pushed up into her hair, and down into the small of her back.

  Fortuna’s fingers in turn fluttered across the front of his coat. Her heart thudded as if she were in the middle of mad gallop. She hadn’t meant to do it so soon, but she’d made the decision. She’d have to trust him to keep his promise.

  “You should have called for me last night,” he said, as he took one of her hands in his. “I would have given you far greater pleasure than your candlestick.”

  “Candle,” she corrected.

  Giles sucked her index finger into the heat of his mouth, the act so intimate, so carnal, she could only stare at him in wonderment, while her puss grew plump and moist, and her nipples steepled.

  He released her finger, and instead covered the delicate swell of her breast with his large hand. “Oh!” she gasped, as the nipple further stiffened against his palm as he circled.

  “Fortuna.” He suddenly lifted her into his arms and stood. Surprised, she squirmed. Giles whooped in glee and swirled on the spot until he was staggering drunkenly and she clung onto the lapels of his coat.

  “Put me down, you crazy buffoon!”

  “I’m going to carry you to bed.” He managed as far as the door, where he let her slide from his grasp, only to neatly trap her against the wall and demand another kiss. “And I’m not crazy, nor a buffoon.” His solid thigh pushed between her legs, and brought more of their bodies into contact. Through his clothing, she could feel the rapidly rising swell of his cock. He rocked against her, as his kiss raised her onto her toes. “Actually, let’s forget about the bed.” He grasped at her skirt, and began to slowly bunch up the fabric, so that the hem inched its way up her leg until her stockings were revealed.

  “Giles.” She lifted her leg to show him the stockings, and his grip tightened around the garter.

  “Definitely more interesting on,” he whispered, the words peculiarly hoarse, perhaps from the same tightness that gripped her own chest.

  This certainly improved upon her dreamtime fantasy. She hadn’t anticipated the rush she felt just from knowing he was aroused because of her. She had no real experience of male desire, how it affected them, how it made them sound or look. This changed all that.

  “Yes,” she coaxed as his hand moved up her leg and onto the bare flesh of her thigh. He urged her legs wider apart, making a space for himself as he cupped her mound. Desire speared through Fortuna’s chest. His middle finger pressed into her heat.

  “Yes,” she squeaked when his thumb brushed her clitoris.

  Slick with need now, she drove herself against him. Her fingers opened and closed upon his back, dropped lower and squeezed his buttocks. Sir Hector was so very, very wrong. She did have needs and desires. They rode her now, as she abandoned herself to Giles’ touch.

  Heat rushed all over her skin. Giles kept circling with his thumb, troubling her sensitive bead until she wanted to scream. When he pushed two fingers inside her, she bit into the velvety collar of his coat in order to muffle her cries.

  “Scream if you want to. Don’t hold it in.”

  “Oh, oh...” she stuttered, her voice rising to a wail.

  “That’s it. Let yourself go.”

  “Sir!” The doorknob beside them rattled.

  Giles wedged his foot against the base of the door.

  “Master.”

  “Not now,” Giles growled at his servant. His fingers never lost their rhythm as he massaged her clit.

  “But you’ve guests. The Free Lovers, sir.”

  “What!” Giles snorted the exclamation through his nose.

  Feeling him stiffen, Fortuna dug her fingers more deeply into his bottom.

  “Show them into the library.”

  Half-heartedly, she pushed against his chest, wondering if they should stop, but not wanting to. Giles simply upped the tempo of his caress. His fingers glided over her slippery wet skin, while his kiss moved to the pulse point in her neck. He sucked, nibbled. Her puss clenched, driving her upwards, despite the flurry of footsteps on the other side of the door.

  She crested, the moment consuming her as her body jerked, hips rocking to a precise rhythmic pulse.

  Giles supported her weight, and pumped his fingers in and out of her puss as her inner muscles flexed around him. He kept pressing on her clit until the last pulse of her climax faded.

  Fortuna gasped into his mouth. She kissed him hard. So hard, she left his lips ruddy. “Who are your guests? Can you get rid of them?”

  He kissed the corners of her lips. “I don’t know.” His breathing still uneven and buffeting her cheek, he smoothed the wisps of hair that had escaped from her coif away from her face. “We’ll finish this...” He put his hand upon the doorknob.

  Fortuna pressed two fingers to her lips and held them out to press to his mouth, but at the last moment, swept her hand downward instead and daringly pressed them to the thick bulge that lay diagonally across the front of his tailored breeches. What his guests would think of such an obvious sign of his arousal she couldn’t imagine. If they were ladies, perhaps they’d turn a blind eye and giggle about it in private later.

  “Don’t.” His jade-green eyes glittered with fire. “Or else I swear I’ll have you right here, upright, so everyone hears. God, Fortuna...” He seized another kiss. “Stay out of sight. I’ll be right ba
ck.”

  He scuttled into the hall, closing the door behind him.

  Fortuna slumped against the back of the door, a grin stretched across her face. She could just see her reflection in the gilt-edged mirror that was set above the mantle. How wild she looked. Her cheeks were a-glow and her eyes liquid and luminous. Lo! Why had she waited? She should have demanded that he bed her last night.

  * * * * *

  Darleston left Neddy climbing into Lady Tiverton’s carriage. The self-proclaimed matron of society gossip would certainly have heard if there were any untoward rumours circulating regarding Fortuna. He turned west and trudged back to Darleston House in the snow. He’d spent an uneasy night on Dovecote’s daybed with Neddy beside him, staring at the ceiling until well after six ‘o clock, furious at himself for having given in to Lucy, and still curiously infatuated with Fortuna. He couldn’t seem to get her out of his head, but considering the adventure they were embroiled in, that was hardly a surprise. Hell, he hadn’t had this much fun in ages.

  There wasn’t much gossip going around. He’d caught a few remarks hinting at the soon to be announced engagement of Macleane to Miss Fortuna Allenthorpe, but not so much as a whiff of scandal regarding her disappearance. He almost mentioned her absence when he happened upon Mrs. Allenthorpe and the rest of her brood perambulating around the park, but thought better of drawing such attention.

  In the chequered hall of Darleston House, he shed his caped greatcoat into the arms of the second footman and hurried upstairs. Last night’s decorations littered the airy ballroom. Darleston stopped in the centre of the room, the pack of maids having flown upon his arrival, and turned a slow circle to observe the wreckage, half expecting to find a few comatose young men beneath the swathes of fallen fabric. Time past, they’d have been naked and sore too. The countess had been notorious for her wild parties. Alas that she’d curbed her wantonness now the title was real.

  He still had trouble accepting her as his new mama. He supposed he could have snubbed her, refused to acknowledge her as his kin, but actually, he rather liked her, and since the whole estate was entailed upon him anyway, he didn’t stand to lose out financially, even if by some miracle she produced a child.

  The ferns by the summer parlour door were looking decidedly droopy. He flicked at one serrated leaf and frowned. Did plants get hangovers? He knew a few bloods that surreptitiously poured away their drinks in order to appear less like the greenhorns they were. The result—ill ferns.

  Leaving the ballroom to the brace of maids, he headed on through the music room towards his own suite where he quickly changed into a buff-collared ensemble. Macleane was leaving the winter parlour as Darleston arrived there.

  “Milord,” the obnoxious bore grunted.

  Darleston acknowledged him with curt nod, and waited until he was certain the man had left before he swept through the double doors and into the parlour. Three smiles greeted him. The countess and her two companions sat around a low circular table, set with the second best china. He paused, sorry to find the countess accompanied, but nevertheless closed the doors and bowed.

  “Good morning, ladies. Countess.”

  “Why Robert, you’re home. How fortuitous.” Lucy loosed a high-pitched cackle, and waved him towards the circular table as if she were the actual hostess.

  Choosing to ignore his wife, Darleston remained by the doors. “Did Sir Hector forget something?” he asked.

  The countess rose and extended her hand towards him for him to come and take. He stepped forward at the summons and placed a kiss beside her sapphire engagement ring.

  Somewhat Amazonian in proportion, the new Countess of Onnerley was certainly a striking woman, if a little past her prime; her hair six shades more fiery than his and her skin as flawless as freshly fired porcelain. Nor did the few patches painted onto her cheeks didn’t detract from her natural beauty.

  “He came to offer his congratulations on the success of my ball. Are you going to afford me a similar courtesy?” She smiled at him, her gaze curiously narrowed. Only a few inches shorter than him, she hardly needed to look up to meet his gaze, but she still adopted an imperious tilt of her chin.

  “You were a triumph, as always.”

  “And you’re a liar. Why, you, Neddy and Mr. Dovecote left early. Extremely early. I’m most put out. Barely gone midnight, wasn’t it?” She resumed her seat and patted the coil of coppery hair piled upon her head. “Punishment may be in order.”

  Darleston glanced at the two other ladies.

  Clemencè Morton merely sipped her tea, while his wife nodded her head in simpering agreement.

  The countess smiled, showing her less than perfect teeth. “Perhaps, I’ll let it go, this once, Robert. Actually, ‘tis fortunate you’ve just arrived. Miss Morton was only just enquiring after Mr. Dovecote. It seems they missed one another last night. I’m sure you can tell her how he fares better than I.”

  He met Clemencè’s gaze with a stiff smile. “He fares admirable well, as I believe I told you last night.”

  Not a whisper of her chestnut hair moved out of place as she lifted her chin, but the set of her mouth showed grim determination. “You also told me that he wasn’t in attendance, which I realize now was clearly an untruth.”

  Darleston held her unfriendly gaze. He refused to be rattled by a mere snip of a girl. “He’d left, by the time you asked after him.”

  Clemencè continued to eye him sceptically, but didn’t press the point. The other two women twittered disapproval into their teacups. He let the matter stand. They might not see it, but it was in everyone’s best interests to keep Giles and the Mortons apart. There was bad blood there, had been ever since Emily’s death. Who knew what grisly details might spill out if it were pressed?

  “It’s our charity dinner tomorrow night,” Clemencè said, shifting tack. She poured a cup of tea, into which she stirred two teaspoonfuls of sugar, before holding it out to him. “He’s always attended in the past. Perhaps, you might prevail on him.”

  He most certainly wouldn’t, even if he hadn’t been occupied with this lark with Fortuna Allenthorpe. “I believe he’s already mentioned a prior engagement, Miss Morton, but what say I promise you Neddy and myself instead?”

  Her forced smile wrinkled her pert nose. “That would be some compensation.” She rose to her feet. “I have to go now, Countess. Lady Darleston. Milord.” She curtseyed to each of them. “If you could pass on my regards to Mr. Dovecote the next time you happen to see him, I would be most grateful.”

  “Of course.” He skimmed his lips over the air above her knuckles, and bowed.

  “I also have appointments,” the countess said. “Will you join me, Lucy?”

  “Not today, thank you.” Lady Darleston replied.

  The countess rose, and swished elegantly towards the door, trailed by a yard of sumptuous fabric, leaving the Darlestons together.

  Lucy smiled serenely at him from over the rim of her teacup once the door shut. Darleston returned his cup and saucer to the table and poured himself port instead.

  “I expect you’d like to know why Sir Hector was really here.” Lucy said.

  “Not to bestow compliments, I assume.” He circled the table and took the chair the countess had previously occupied.

  “Of course he was looking for your little runaway. Although, I have to say, he was remarkably obtuse about it. Do you think they’re going to try to hide the fact that’s she’s missing? I suppose it’s their only choice with so many daughters to dispose of.”

  Darleston stretched out his legs and lifted his booted feet onto the low table. “What do you want, Lucy? I’m not in the mood for games.”

  “I want you to stay away from that little tart. I’m your wife. I won’t sit back and watch you fawn over some chit. I won’t be embarrassed by you.”

  He clasped her arm, and curled his fingers into the flesh. “Don’t threaten me.”

  She met his gaze with an aggressive smile. “Stay away from her, or I w
ill tell Sir Hector where to find her.”

  “How dare you?” He rose to his feet. “Do you forget your own position in this marriage? How many times have you cuckolded me with my own brother? Don’t you dare tell me whom I can fuck. I can revoke all the freedoms I’ve granted you like that.” He snapped his fingers under her nose.

  Defiantly, she faced him, though her head barely reached his shoulder. “I’m serious, Robert. Don’t you touch her.”

  “Madam,” he growled, “There is little likelihood of that. Giles is playing her savior. I’m merely the devil’s advocate.”

  “She is taking away what is rightfully mine.”

  Darleston raised his hand, but instead of slapping her, he stormed away, slamming the door in her face. She was mistaken, if she believed he would tolerate her shackles. Not that he had any intention of attempting to ensnare Fortuna’s affections. He’d just anticipated a few pleasant diversions. Giles had been mooning over her for months, ever since Hallowe’en. He wasn’t about to get in the way of his friend’s happiness.

  As for Lucy, she maddened him. Taking away what was rightfully hers! She had no right to him, let alone the affections of his friends.

  * * * * *

  Giles Dovecote stood on the threshold of his library and did his best to resemble the seasoned reprobate he purportedly was, but his mouth continued to fall open with the arrival of each successive guest. Piss and hellions! How had he managed to forget that he was hosting the monthly tête-à-tête of the Free Lovers society?

  So far, there were nine men, three women and a lap dog occupying his library, and he could expect a few more. Oxbury hadn’t arrived, and he always brought at least a brace of bobtails with him. Then there were the twins. Darleston and Neddy were both conspicuously absent. Likely they’d forgotten about the meeting too.

  Giles bit his tongue. He needed to get Fortuna out of the drawing room and upstairs into his locked bedroom before the political debate went the way it inevitably did at these gatherings and descended into rampant debauchery. Hell, if Oxbury or Littleton got wind of her presence, a minor scandal over her absence from home would be the least of his worries. Both men were dire rogues and enjoyed making sport out of the seduction of innocents. Not that Fortuna was entirely innocent, but he wasn’t going to have her ruined by those reprobates.