Her Lovestruck Lord: 2 (Wicked Husbands)

by Scarlett Scott

  “Ah, what I want to do to you.” He stopped, pressing his forehead to hers, seemingly trying to gather his wits. “You have no idea.”

  She was sure he’d given her a fair idea the night before, but perhaps there was more to coupling. She didn’t wish to seem unschooled, even if it was precisely what she was and he knew it. “Show me,” she urged instead. “For the next two days, I am yours only.”

  He began undoing the buttons on her embroidered corset cover. “Are you sore, darling?”

  In truth, she was, but she wasn’t about to allow some tenderness to thwart her now that she’d set her heart on two days of unbridled passion. “Not a bit,” she lied, her heart thumping heavily in her breast. Anticipation unfurled with a sweet, blossoming lust. She knew the pleasures of the flesh, and she wanted them again. But it was more than mere sensation.

  He kissed her then, long and hard. She met him with all the longing clamoring inside her. When at last he dragged his mouth away from hers, she felt as if she were in a daze. He did something to her formerly practical mind. She hadn’t been a romantic since she was a girl. She’d seen her good friend Victoria find happiness with her husband but had never thought about finding fulfillment herself.

  She reached up to cradle his face, searching his gaze. “I fear I’m growing quite attached to you, my lord.”

  He became rigid. His expression became impassive. “Whatever it is you think you feel for me, you’re mistaken. We’re sharing our bodies, not our bloody souls.”

  A chill settled over her that had less to do with the drafty chamber than with his cutting admonishment. “I am aware,” she murmured, secretly feeling more confused than ever. What had happened to her blistering lover of the night before? He’d been replaced by a man with all of his hungers and none of his heart. Misgivings assailed her. She released his face and took a step away from him, trying to assemble her jumbled thoughts into some semblance of order. “Perhaps this was a mistake after all.”

  “Of course it’s a mistake,” he snarled, closing the distance between them once more. “But we’ve gone too damn far now, and we can’t undo what’s already been done.”

  She had a sense once more that he spoke beyond her ken. He knew something she didn’t and that rather nettled. Perhaps she’d uncovered the reason for his odd question about her husband the night before. “Is it her?” she asked before she could think better of it. “The woman you love. Is she your wife?”

  His lips tightened. “No.”

  “You must love her very much.”

  He stared. “I don’t bloody well understand you, woman. Only moments ago, you were rubbing my cock like a seasoned courtesan, and now you want to talk about my past as if we’re having tea and muffins.”

  She blanched. Perhaps she had mistaken him entirely. “Nor do I understand you, my lord. But I can see now that you are not the man I thought you were.” Tears threatening to humiliate her by pooling in her eyes, she sank to recover her shucked bodice. She stuffed her arms into the sleeves and pulled the gaping silk together in a poor attempt at modesty. Her pride wouldn’t allow her the time required to fasten the buttons. “I think you ought to find another partner for naughty charades.”

  He sneered. “You want me to fuck someone else? Would you care to watch? Is that it? Has Lady Needham’s little party debauched you already?”

  Maggie gasped, horrified by his crude words. “No. How dare you?”

  “How dare I?” He laughed, but it was a bitter, jaded laugh. “How dare you?” He caught her around the waist once more, anchoring her body to his. “How dare you make me want you so much that you’re all I can think of? How dare you kiss me and touch me until I want to take you so badly I ache with it? You aren’t an innocent in this wicked game we play, my dear, and you know it.”

  His mouth swooped down over hers, possessive and firm. She didn’t want to enjoy his kiss for it was laced with anger, but she couldn’t deny the way he made her feel. It was elemental, primitive. Potent. She too was angry with him for his sudden coldness toward her, but she was drawn to him as ever, much to her dismay. Even so, she willed her lips to remain still. She would not return his kiss. She didn’t want ugliness between them.

  He drew back, staring down at her. His eyes had darkened with such stormy passion that they were more hazel than their ordinary true green. “Kiss me, damn you.”

  “Who are you?” she asked, her fingers traveling to the edges of his black mask. She wanted to know with a desperation that tugged at her heart.

  “No one to you.” He reached up and tugged her hands away. “Have you changed your mind so quickly, my lady?”

  “You changed it for me,” she said steadily, her gaze never wavering from his. “You insulted me, my lord.”

  He traced her lower lip with his thumb, staring at her intently. “I’m sorry for insulting you.”

  “Are you?” She wasn’t certain she believed him. Desire was one thing. Self-respect was another entirely. Her husband treated her as if she were nothing more important than a speck of lint on his coat and she’d be damned if she’d allow another man to do the same.

  He inclined his head. “I am. You affect me in ways I’ve never known.”

  She heard a rough thread of honesty in his voice. For some reason, she believed him. He seemed as lost in their maze of seduction as she. His thumb was still absently rubbing her lip. She wanted to kiss it but somehow stifled the urge. “That is not an excuse for abominable behavior,” she pointed out.

  His jaw clenched. “I’m aware, but there are other factors you cannot know.”

  But she wanted to know them. He simply didn’t wish to share. Was it that he didn’t trust her? Something was afoot, and she was determined to weed it out by its insidious root. Now, however, was not the time. She took a breath. “I accept your apology.”

  He appeared to relax, his mouth tipping up into a smile. “Thank you.”

  “But I don’t wish to play charades any longer at the moment,” she forced herself to say. “Naughty or otherwise. I think it best if I return to my own chamber just now.”

  His smile disappeared. “As you wish.”

  She stepped away from him again, clutching her mangled bodice to her as if it were a shield. “I shall see you at dinner, my lord.”

  With that, she all but fled from his chamber before she did something horridly foolish. Before she turned around and threw herself back into his arms.

  Chapter Three

  Dinner that evening was a sumptuous affair served à la russe and laden with oysters, trout, pheasant, aspics, hothouse fruits, fresh cream and endless stores of wine. In short, Nell had concocted yet another indulgent delight featuring anything a man could possibly want in terms of food and drink. As the night wore on, the company grew steadily louder, the women laughing with increasing gaiety, the men chortling and winking as they sized up their next conquests. Simon wished he could enjoy the hedonistic display, but his mind was too damn preoccupied by thoughts of her.

  He still didn’t want to think of her by her given name, and certainly not by the diminutive she preferred, for that would render his folly far more real. He took a gulp of his wine, then another. She was seated opposite him. Yet another instance of Nell’s immoral machinations.

  He glanced up from his plate, his gaze unerringly going to his wife who was dressed to perfection in a completely black evening gown that complemented the fieriness of her hair. She was doing her best to flirt with the man seated to her right, who he was convinced was the lecherous Earl of Ravenscroft. He’d recognize the bastard anywhere. Damn the man, whose reputation as a lover-for-hire preceded him. Simon found himself scowling at the pair as they laughed over some nonsense or other.

  Ravenscroft was not suitable company for any lady at all, and certainly not for the Marchioness of Sandhurst. Why, she had a reputation to uphold, blast her. She’d better not take the man on as a lover. An uncomfortable sensation pierced his gut, and it felt remarkably like jealousy.


  Jealousy?

  Absurd. He had bedded his wife and enjoyed it. Nothing more. What did he care if she took up with Ravenscroft next, as long as she did so quietly? He didn’t, he told himself firmly. He was relieved that she was showering the louse with such attention, truly he was, for that released him from his burden. He was free to find another woman and lose himself in her.

  His wife laughed, the sound throaty and alluring, and his cock was instantly hard. Damn, damn and damn again. He was lying to himself. His patience fled him. “Do share the reason for your levity,” he bit out rather loudly. The pair turned matching shocked gazes to him. He fought down a flush, aware he was behaving boorishly.

  “Pardon me?” His wife’s violet eyes were upon him, pinning him to his seat as if he were a preserved insect on display.

  He resisted the urge to fidget, feeling a bit like a lad being reprimanded by a dragon governess. “I merely inquired as to the source of your merriment.”

  Her suitor raised his glass in a mock salute, seemingly laughing at him. “You, old boy.”

  The hell he had. Simon clenched the stem of his wine goblet with so much force he wouldn’t be at all surprised if it snapped. “I’m sure I’ve mistaken you.”

  “No.” The blackleg took a jovial sip of his wine, grinning. “I don’t think you have. I very clearly said just now that we were laughing at you.”

  Simon didn’t think twice. He stood. Yes, pistols at dawn was long since outlawed, but fists certainly hadn’t been. He was going to bloody well beat the blighter to a pulp. Break his hawkish nose. Split open his sneering lip.

  “Meet me outside,” he demanded. “Now.”

  His nemesis grinned even more, appearing to contemplate his demand. “No,” he drawled at last, sounding as if he hadn’t a care. “Don’t think I shall, old boy. Do sit back down and smooth your feathers.”

  He shook his head slowly. By damn, this weekend had put him through the paces. All he had wanted was a bit of peace and companionship, a way to distract himself from Eleanor’s defection. Instead, he had discovered the most beguiling passion of his life with a woman he had spent the last year resenting. And now this scoundrel dared to laugh in his face before everyone, suggesting he had feathers as if he were some sort of old rooster strutting in the barnyard. It was the outside of enough.

  “I won’t,” he growled. “Be a gentleman and meet me outside.”

  “That’s the odd thing.” The bastard had the gall to wink beneath his mask. “I’m not a gentleman. Anyone who knows me can tell you that. Indeed, I pride myself on my lack of gentlemanly conduct.”

  “Oh blessed angels’ sake.” Nell popped up from her seat at the head of the table, twin patches of pink on her cheeks. She appeared to be in fine dudgeon. “I’ll not have all this ridiculous masculine posturing ruining my dinner. Sit down at once, Simon.”

  He gave her a warning stare. There could be an infinite number of Simons in the world, but she’d better not reveal his full name. Good God, they’d all be better off if his wife never knew the identity of the man who had taken her innocence.

  But he still wasn’t about to allow Ravenscroft to insult him before the entire company without reparation. “I’ve been gravely insulted,” he said at last.

  “What tripe. You’ve been on the arse-end of a joke.” The earl tossed back the remnants of his wine and gestured for a footman to refill it. “Nothing more. This is meant to be a lighthearted party, is it not, Lady Needham? In truth, we were speaking of my lovely companion’s misplaced attempt at ice skating back when she lived in the barren wasteland of New Jersey. Were we not, my dear?”

  Her eyes were still fixed to him. He couldn’t tell if he read horror or dismay or disgust or a combination of all three in her gaze. “New York,” she corrected quietly. “And yes, we were. I’m sorry, sir, for the misunderstanding.”

  He’d been the arse-end of Ravenscroft’s little sally all right, and now he felt like an arse. He sat because there was nothing else to do short of marching around the table and punching the earl in his obnoxious, laughing countenance. Surely the latter had its fair share of appeal, but there was no need to further make a fool of himself.

  “Lovely, my lords. I’m relieved it was all in good fun.” Nell’s voice was wry. “Now do calm yourself, Sandhurst. I daresay nothing untoward was meant.”

  Sandhurst.

  Bloody, bloody hell. She’d slipped and spoken his name. He tensed, his gaze swinging back to his wife. Her ivory skin had taken on a sudden waxy pallor. She stared at him with such intensity he feared she was penetrating the contents of his black soul. And he had no doubt she didn’t like what she saw.

  She knew. Those violet orbs darkened to a violent, stormy blue. The lady was not pleased. Indeed, he’d never seen a woman look more irate than she did in that moment. As quickly as her face had paled, her cheeks went crimson, her mouth compressing into a stern frown. If she’d been equipped with a weapon, she likely would have hurled it at his head with every intention of maiming him.

  “Christ,” he muttered, for the die was cast. There was only one Sandhurst. He couldn’t prevaricate his way out of this one. He told himself it shouldn’t matter, that he didn’t plan to see her again after this weekend anyway. He loathed having been saddled with a wife he neither wanted nor loved. Certainly, he detested the reminder that he’d been forced to sell his title to her papa or face financial ruin.

  But as she stood, pressing a hand to her midriff as if she were about to be ill, he was hit with a knifelike stab of compassion. They had made love and that simple act had forever altered the way he saw her, whether or not he liked it. He’d never intended to consummate their marriage. He’d thought that if he couldn’t bear a child with Eleanor, he had no need for one, hadn’t cared if his title passed to a distant relative from the gutters. But now, he had done the very thing he’d sworn to never do, and in so doing, he had hurt her. Unintentionally, but he had hurt her all the same.

  She offered a mumbled apology to Nell and, her other hand pressed to her mouth, she fled from the dining hall before the shocked and tittering onlookers. He watched the swirl of her black silk train disappear around a corner, wondering if he ought to follow her. Did he owe her an explanation? He told himself that he did not, that she was just as guilty as he. After all, she had flirted wickedly and invited him to her chamber. If she had not, he would have found someone else, someone very much not his wife, and enjoyed her charms instead.

  Only it wouldn’t have been the same. She had worked her way past the walls he’d built between them, sneaking over the barrier as if she were a thief. For some reason, her name worked its way into his mind at that moment, the name she had asked him to call her on their wedding night just before he’d left her. The name he’d refused to even think.

  Maggie.

  He looked to Nell, who appeared as stricken as he felt. “You must go after her, Simon,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry. I never meant to—”

  “But you did, damn you,” he snarled, his voice more cutting than he’d intended. “You did, and now I shall have to bear the consequences.”

  He stood, knowing Nell was right. He had to at least follow Maggie. Perhaps he did owe her that much. He wasn’t completely made of stone. He had a heart, but it had simply been taken by another. Christ, he was confused. His life was falling apart as if it were a poorly constructed shirt, gaping at the seams. Damn it, he had to try to put an end to the madness.

  * * * * *

  Maggie raced through the halls for the sanctity of her chamber, running as fast as the heels of her evening slippers would allow. Her surroundings were a blur as her mind raced to comprehend the devastating truth that Lady Needham had unwittingly divulged. The man who had shown her the pleasures hidden within her body, who had kissed her and made love to her with a passion she hadn’t dreamt existed, was the man whose defection she had been trying to shake. He was the husband who had not spoken to her in over a year, the aloof but handsome stranger who had bo
ldly proclaimed his love for another woman and refused to consummate their marriage. The man who had been living in sin with another man’s wife.

  Sandhurst.

  Her husband. Why hadn’t she known? In the wake of her discovery, everything began to make sense. Nell had known, she realized, recalling her hostess’s reaction when she’d introduced herself as Lady Sandhurst. You don’t know, she’d said.

  Of course she had not, stupid girl that she was. She had been too blinded by a handsome smile and a knowing touch and the promise of a man in her life to see what everyone else had already known. Including Sandhurst. His words replayed in her mind as she continued her determined retreat.

  You.

  There are things at work here that you don’t understand.

  Perhaps you’ve already met me. Did you ever think of that?

  She felt ill as the full ramifications hit her. Blessedly, she reached her chamber door and threw herself inside, slamming it at her back. He had duped her, lied to her, seduced her. But why? What could he have possibly had to gain? If he had wanted to consummate their marriage at last, he could have done so at any time. He needn’t have disguised himself. It made no sense.

  With a cry of pure rage, she whipped her silly mask away from her face. Some good it had done her. This was to have been her one chance for escape from the mundane loneliness of her ordinary life. And he had ruined this as well as he had ruined the last year. For one miraculous night, she’d been given hope again, and now he had taken it all away. She had never felt more betrayed.

  She pulled off her earrings and slammed them down onto the dressing table, then undid her necklace before going to her hair. While she knew she ought to wait for her lady’s maid’s assistance, she was overcome by the need to escape from the shams of elegance. She wanted to shout and beat her fists. Instead, she systematically plucked pins from her dramatic coiffure. A fat curl fell, brushing her shoulders.

  Suddenly, her door swept open.

  She spun, heart pounding with disbelief, to find Sandhurst striding inside as if he belonged there. He slammed the door behind him, eliciting a wince from her. She tried not to notice what a handsome figure he cut in his evening tails, tall and debonair and lean. Drat him, she was drawn to him as ever, the longing she felt for him elemental and undeniable even as she wanted to rush at him and pummel his broad chest.