Her Lovestruck Lord: 2 (Wicked Husbands)

by Scarlett Scott

  “Maggie,” he began in that familiar velvety drawl of his, “this can all be explained.”

  She crossed her arms in a show of defiance and pinned him with a glare. “Do not call me that. Only my family and friends are permitted to refer to me thusly.”

  He stopped halfway across the room, his eyes searching hers. “I’m sorry.”

  She let loose a bitter laugh. “Sorry for what? Sorry that you were caught out? Sorry that you lied to me? Sorry that you pretended to be someone other than the husband who has abandoned me for the past year?”

  He flinched. “I suppose I deserve your scorn.”

  “You suppose?” The man’s temerity knew no bounds. “What you actually deserve is a punch directly to your supercilious face, not scorn. You should consider yourself fortunate that I am not a violent woman.”

  “I’m sure I deserve all that and far worse. But would you care to listen to me, or are you going to continue your aimless railing against me?”

  “I hate you,” she said, unable to contain herself even as she knew she was acting more as if she were a young girl in short skirts rather than a woman grown. “You may as well remove your mask. I know exactly who you are, much to my shame.”

  He tore it away, tossing it to the floor. For a moment, her breath caught, for she had forgotten precisely how gorgeous he was. He was truly a fine-looking man, with his dark hair, rigid jaw, aristocratic nose and sculpted lips. But his looks hid a cold and devious soul.

  “I didn’t know it was you,” he growled, effectively ruining the moment. “You were wearing a bloody mask.”

  She wasn’t moved by his protestations of innocence. “I don’t believe you.”

  “We haven’t seen one another in some time, Maggie.” He strode toward her, cutting the distance between them in half. “You didn’t recognize me, either.”

  “I told you not to call me that.” She was determined to hold her ground. “If by ‘some time’, you mean an entire year, then you’re correct. Of course I didn’t recognize you. I scarcely even recalled what you looked like. But you obviously knew who I was. I could tell by your reaction at dinner. I’m not a complete fool.”

  “I did know, but I only discovered who you were this morning.” He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it askew, and sighed. “I removed your mask while you were sleeping.”

  She contemplated what he’d said, and she had to admit it did make sense. His reaction to her during charades had been vastly different from the passionate lover of the evening before. He’d discovered who she was and he had not wanted her any longer, at least not in the same way as before. Yes, it made devastating, awful sense.

  She stared, trying not to notice how near he stood to her or that she could smell his masculine scent of soap and musk. “Why have you come here, Sandhurst?”

  “To Lady Needham’s?” He appeared uncomfortable. “I should think for the same reasons as you.”

  “No.” She shook her head, her anger deflating inside her like a hot air balloon going limp. “Why have you come to my chamber?”

  “I don’t know,” he admitted, an underlying tone of honesty in his voice.

  She turned away from him, the sight of him hurting her too much. “You may go. I shall return to the townhouse in London at first light.” She preferred London to the country estate, always had, and never cared for the fashionable custom of leaving the city at summer’s end.

  He followed her, catching her bare upper arm. His touch was a hot brand on her skin. He spun her back to face him. “I never intended to hurt you.”

  “Your intentions are a moot point, for you already have hurt me. But this will be the very last time.” And she had never meant words she’d spoken more than those. She would avoid him at every opportunity. Good heavens, if she needed to, she would return to New York. The life she’d been living in England held nothing for her save disappointment and solitude.

  “I’m sorry,” he said again, still holding her to him.

  She wanted to lean into his strength so badly, weak heart that she was. But then she thought of what he’d told her the night before when he hadn’t known who he was plying his charms upon. His heart had been broken by a very old and very dear friend, he’d said. Lady Billingsley. The reminder cooled her blood. He’d never cared for Maggie. It had only ever been his mistress he’d wanted in his life, and he’d made that fact abundantly clear. She had given up the man she loved to wed him, and she’d been left with nothing.

  “You needn’t be,” she said sadly. “Go back to your Lady Billingsley. I’m sure that whatever heartbreak you’ve suffered at her hands can be mended.”

  “Lady Billingsley has returned to her husband,” he told her, his voice rough.

  “It was her decision,” she guessed, understanding him just a little. Perhaps he wasn’t an unfeeling cad, for it appeared as if he had been hurt by the woman’s defection. But he was still a horrid husband, and she must not soften toward him.

  He inclined his head, his expression impassive. “The decision was not mine.”

  Precisely as she’d thought. He would never have ended his affair. Lady Billingsley had left him, and instead of returning home to his wife, he had simply gone in search of another woman to bed. How dare he?

  “I’m afraid you’ll have to find another woman to serve as your whore,” she said coldly. “I’ll not be her replacement.”

  “I’m not seeking a replacement, damn you,” he growled, his eyes glittering into hers. He pulled her into his solid frame.

  She pressed her palms to his chest, keeping him at bay. “Then why are you here?” she asked him again, sensing that the undercurrent between them had once again snaked into dangerous territory. She was pushing him and she knew it, but she wanted to shake him in the way he had her. She wanted to know why, even after all he had done to her, he still made her feel quivery inside.

  “Because I can’t seem to stay away.”

  The acknowledgment sounded torn from him. She stilled, studying his expression for any hint of subterfuge and finding none. He didn’t want to feel anything for her, that much was apparent. But their night together had meant something to him. She could see it reflected in his gaze and knew he saw the same in hers. She couldn’t help herself.

  But it wasn’t enough. He had still been an abysmal husband, and he had still lied to her. “I don’t understand you.”

  “Christ, I don’t understand myself.” He lowered his head until their noses nearly brushed. “You’re the last woman in the world I wanted to make love to, and now all I can bloody well think about is how it felt to be inside you.” His breath fell hot and wispy over her lips. “And how I want to be inside you again.”

  Oh dear heavens.

  How had her anger fled her so easily? When Jonathan had courted her, she’d never felt the incredible tumult her husband produced in her. She desired Sandhurst and yet she knew she shouldn’t. Loving Jonathan had been easy, sweetness and light. Sandhurst affected her in an entirely different manner, and she wasn’t sure she liked it.

  She wanted him to kiss her but she knew she must not allow it. Her chin tipped up of its own will, sealing their mouths together. He took her invitation, molding his lips to hers in a passionate, claiming kiss. She opened to him, sliding her tongue against his. He tasted of the wine he’d been drinking at dinner, sweet and dark.

  She wound her arms around his neck, her fingers happily sinking into his soft hair. She ached for him. As impossible and illogical as it was, the desire she felt for him was as strong as ever. Her sex tingled, already damp with the promise of more. She dragged her mouth from his, desperate for a breath, and kissed a path down the side of his neck. His hands went to the buttons lining her bodice, pulling them open.

  Then sanity returned to her. Surely giving in to him now would be worse than reckless. It would be stupid. She had to stop. They had to stop. Even if stopping was truly the last thing she wanted to do.

  She pushed at his shoulders. “We cannot.”r />
  He halted his efforts at whisking away her bodice, but his fingers didn’t stray from the buttons. “Why?” His breathing was ragged, harsh. His voice was laden with frustration and desire.

  “Because you don’t like me,” she forced herself to point out, “and I do not like you.”

  He raised a brow, looking down at her as if he were a god who had just been told he was mortal after all. “What has liking to do with it? We’re husband and wife. I want you and I know you want me, Maggie. I can taste it in your kiss.”

  She steeled herself against his potent persuasion. “Of course I’m attracted to you, or rather, to the man I thought you were. The problem is that now you are once again you, not him.”

  He stared at her. “Damn it, I haven’t a bloody inkling what you’re prattling about.”

  “What I feel for you is not real,” she explained. “It’s meant for the mystery man I met last night.”

  “Goddamn it, I’m that man.” He frowned, appearing perplexed by her logic.

  “No,” she corrected gently, still silently willing herself not to pull him to her for another kiss. Just one more, her evil body cajoled. One more kiss, caress. One more night. “You’re the man who is in love with another. You’re the man who has treated me as if I were no more important than a dusty book in your library. You’re the man who abandoned me.”

  “I didn’t abandon you. I gave you a home and carte blanche to buy whatever fripperies you desired.”

  What an arrogant brand of reasoning he possessed. Did he not know her father was a real estate tycoon who owned nearly half of New York? It wasn’t dresses and baubles that she wanted. “I’ve had fripperies and homes all my life. I wanted a husband.”

  “Christ.” He exhaled, his voice low, irritated. “I am your husband.”

  “In name only,” she insisted, though it was no longer true.

  “No.” He caught her chin in a firm grip, forcing her to look at him when she would have turned away. “I am very much your husband in deed as well as law after last night.”

  She was trapped in his gaze, heat simmering through her traitorous body at the reminder of what they’d shared. “It was for one night only.”

  “I don’t think so, my dear. You may hold on to your self-righteousness this evening, but we both know that I will be back in your bed.” He slid his free hand inside her gaping bodice, unerringly finding her breast beneath her corset. Only the fine fabric of her chemise separated her skin from his. Her nipple pebbled. He gave her a knowing smile. “You want me. You can rationalize it however you like in your mind, but I’m the man who made love to you last night. There is no mystery man.”

  He was right, drat him. Her mystery man had been a fiction. The man who had set her aflame was standing before her, rolling her nipple between his thumb and forefinger. How could she reconcile her heated lover with her icy husband? She was in a hopeless muddle, and the worst part was that he was making sense.

  “But what transpired between us last night has nothing to do with us as husband and wife,” she persisted, needing to resist him for the sake of her self-preservation.

  “Perhaps,” he agreed, still toying with her breast and producing maddening results. “Or perhaps not. You’ve questioned me as you liked. But I have yet to ask you why you’ve come here, Maggie.”

  She froze, a flush instantly warming her cheeks. She looked away from him, staring at her dressing table at the far end of the chamber. “We’ve been married for a year, and I’ve scarcely ever seen you. My dearest friend recently reconciled with her husband, and I suppose I envied her. I wanted to become a woman at last.”

  “We came here, I suspect, for much the same reason,” he murmured, his voice silken. “For a taste of distraction.” He lowered his head until his lips nearly grazed hers. “For the pleasures of the flesh.”

  She swallowed, falling back into his gaze. “I will admit that I was curious, yes.”

  “Of course you were. You were untouched.” He gave her a whisper of a kiss. “I have a proposition for you. Let me slake your curiosity. For the next two nights, let me bring you passion. We’ve barely touched the surface. There’s much, much more I could show you if you’ll but say the word.”

  It was a tempting offer to be sure. “I don’t think it would be wise,” she forced herself to say.

  “Few pleasurable endeavors are ever wise,” he pointed out, smiling. “Drinking too much wine? Great fun but great misery the next morning. Overindulging at table? Delicious but the older you get, the more it lands round your middle. I’m afraid wisdom had very little to do with anything worthwhile, my dear.”

  He was once again speaking undeniable truth. But still, where the notion had once held endless appeal for her, it now seemed treacherous. She couldn’t afford to become more involved with a man who had proven himself unreliable and downright unfeeling. She’d suffered too much heartache already, and surely he could only bring her more.

  “And after the party is over, what is to happen then?” she demanded. “Are we to simply go our separate ways as if none of this has ever occurred?”

  His gaze became shuttered. “I don’t know, Maggie.”

  Not particularly reassuring. She frowned, disentangling herself from his arms with a heavy heart. “I’m afraid that isn’t good enough for me.”

  “But you suggested just such an arrangement earlier today.” He was beginning to sound vexed.

  Of course she had, but that had been before, when he had been a dream rather than a reality. When making love with him and never seeing him again had been far simpler. She wondered why this sudden scheme of lovemaking mattered so much to him. He had shown more concern for her in the last twenty minutes than he had in the last year. Was he that desperate for another woman in his bed? No. She instantly discounted that thought. Nell herself was lusting after him and other ladies in attendance had been open in their admiration. He was a very handsome man. He could have his pick of any other woman so inclined.

  “Why?” she couldn’t help but ask. “Why are you so determined to have me back in your bed?”

  “Damn it,” he growled. “Why must you ask so many bloody questions? Why can’t you just let me take off your gown and make love to you until you’re senseless?”

  Oh dear. His forthright speech made her mouth go dry. She must be an inner minx at heart, she thought, for whenever he said sinful things to her, all she wanted to do was throw herself into his arms. Of course, he hadn’t answered the question he’d been lamenting. The omission hadn’t escaped her notice. Did it hold significance? She couldn’t be sure.

  It occurred to her suddenly that for the first time in their union, she was in a position of power over him. He wanted her in his bed. She wanted to be in his bed as well. But the last thing she wanted was for him to once again leave her, only to return in a year. She couldn’t bear another abandonment, not after the way he had held and kissed her. Not after the way he’d brought her back to life.

  “Very well,” she said slowly, formulating her strategy. “I will agree to your madcap plan.”

  “Thank God,” he all but groaned, pulling her against him once more.

  “But,” she added, tipping her head back to avoid his kiss, “it must be on my terms.”

  “Your terms.” His voice was flat.

  “Yes. My terms.”

  “Christ, you’re a cock tease.”

  She didn’t think she approved of that particular appellation, even if she wasn’t entirely certain what he meant. But she forged onward, choosing to ignore him. “My terms are simple. I don’t want a mere two days. I want a month of your time. During that time, you may not pursue any woman but me.”

  “A month?” He raised a brow, his eyes hot on hers.

  “That is correct.” She took a breath before continuing. “And after the month is over, we are both free to pursue anyone we choose.”

  He didn’t appear pleased with that idea. “Both of us?”

  She would not budge on t
his. She had no intention of ever being miserable and lonely again should he once again favor another. “Both of us.”

  “Promise me you won’t pursue Ravenscroft,” he muttered. “I couldn’t bear it.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know him,” she said sincerely.

  “He was…” Sandhurst shook his head. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter any longer. Fine. I agree to your terms. But I have one of my own.”

  Good heavens. She should have anticipated as much. “Go on.”

  He pulled another of her buttons from its mooring. “During this month, your body belongs to me. I’m free to take you as often as I wish, in whatever manner I wish.”

  Your body belongs to me.

  She thought of all the deliciously naughty things he had said and done to her. A sweet, hot burst of desire hit her anew. Oh, what this man did to her. She was helpless to defend herself. An image of the two of them nude and entwined rose in her mind. She recalled all too well how he had used his tongue on her to bring her to the heights of pleasure. How she longed for him to once again send her careening into that heady world of desire.

  “I agree,” she said quietly, lest she change her mind.

  After all, she had come to Lady Needham’s country house weekend in search of wild and wicked adventure. She’d been seeking a lover, someone to awaken her body to the bliss her dear friend Victoria had told her about. And she had found that, albeit with the very last person in the world she’d ever expected.

  Her own husband.

  Chapter Four

  He had just secured himself a new mistress, albeit the very last woman in the world he’d ever expected. His bloody wife. He stared at her, wondering if he’d gone utterly mad.