Prelude to a Scandal

by Delilah Marvelle

  His dark brows rose. “You are putting far too much faith in London by parading yourself like this.”

  She stared up at him, abashed. “As if I care what London thinks anymore.”

  He leaned in closer. “You’d best have a care, Justine. You’d best. For if Carlton hears of this and shows up on our doorstep, what then? A veil isn’t going to hide who she is. Now, as I have no intention of making a scene on Regent Street, I ask that you follow me.” He quickly touched the front rim of his hat and strode past them.

  His tall, broad-muscled frame strode toward a waiting carriage just a few feet away. Its black-lacquered door was dutifully held open by a young footman dressed in dark livery.

  Though her pride wanted to throw a slipper at his head and knock off that hat knowing he still hadn’t apologized to her, she knew he was right. And grumble though she may, it was rather endearing he cared enough to come all this way to oversee their safety.

  Justine tightened her hold on Matilda’s arm and gathered her skirts from around her slippered feet, eyeing those around them. “Come. We must go.”

  Matilda leaned toward her. “I ought to take a separate carriage. I don’t wish to impose any more than I already have.”

  “Nonsense,” Justine insisted, pulling her forward. “Radcliff is right. We mustn’t linger or put too much trust in those around us. Come.”

  They hurried after him, trying to maneuver past men and women who seemed to suddenly take interest in them.

  Radcliff halted before the open door of the carriage and turned, holding out a gloved hand to assist.

  Justine guided Matilda toward him.

  He, in turn, assisted Matilda into the carriage with the footman. Once Matilda was settled onto the cushioned seat inside, Radcliff turned toward Justine and held out his hand again, his eyes meeting hers.

  She set her hand in his and gathered up her skirts. His large hand tightened around hers as she stepped up and into the carriage. She pinched her lips, lingering on his strength and warmth.

  Justine released his hand and settled beside Matilda, letting out a breath. Though she wanted to talk to him about what had happened last night, she had a feeling it was going to be a very awkward ride home without discussions.

  RADCLIFF FIXED HIS GAZE on the passing buildings and bustling crowds outside the glass window. It was best not to say anything throughout the remainder of the ride. It wasn’t as if his damn words were in any way wanted or needed.

  Matilda and Justine giggled and prattled on to each other about the shop, about the various fabrics chosen, about the cuts, about the courtesy shown by everyone there. Yes. About everything a man had no need to listen to.

  Every now and then Matilda affectionately squeezed Justine’s gloved hand and patted her knee. And Justine, in turn, affectionately did the same.

  He swallowed and achingly watched as Justine’s full lips curved into a smile as she beamed at Matilda, her cheeks rounding. It was obvious his own wife seemed to be enjoying Matilda’s company far more than she had ever enjoyed his. He only had himself to blame.

  When they finally arrived, Radcliff silently helped both women out of the carriage. He watched them disappear into the house, arm in arm, still gaily chatting until their voices faded into the distance.

  He stood there for a quiet moment.

  The footman eyed him—as if politely refraining from pointing out that he’d been abandoned by all—then folded up the stairs and slammed the door shut.

  Radcliff sighed. He supposed he should let Justine enjoy her time with her newfound friend, without him hovering over her and burdening her with his presence.

  He turned to his driver and called up, “Take me to Brooks’s. I feel like having a meal and playing cards.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  The footman quickly reopened the door and unfolded the stairs.

  Radcliff nodded to the man and stepped back into the carriage. He should have been used to being alone. Yet his heart and soul ached in a way it had never ached in all his three and thirty years. And he knew Justine had everything to do with it.

  SCANDAL EIGHTEEN

  Love always arrives in the most unexpected forms. Once you are able to comprehend that, it will allow you to better understand that love is far from being perfect. It is what it is.

  How to Avoid a Scandal, Author Unknown

  That evening

  JUSTINE REPEATEDLY GLANCED toward the empty seat at the dining table and couldn’t help but worry as to why Radcliff hadn’t joined her and Matilda for supper. In truth, she hadn’t seen him since he had returned them to the house that afternoon.

  “Justine?”

  She snapped her gaze to Matilda, who quietly sat across the table. “Yes?”

  Matilda sighed, set down her fork and knife beside her plate, and lowered her chin in a genteel form of reprimand. “You don’t actually miss him, do you? He didn’t even offer an apology for what he did to you last night.”

  Justine looked away and shrugged. “I know. I…worry about him, is all. After last night, I realized he really has no one to look after him.”

  Matilda sighed again, threw down her napkin and rose from her chair. She rounded the table as deftly as she could in her state and paused beside Justine. Taking up her hand, she insisted, “You have me now. You know that, don’t you?”

  Justine smiled at the hand that firmly grasped hers. She squeezed it and rose from her seat to join Matilda who still hovered at her side. “Yes. I do.”

  Matilda released her hand and observed her with sad, blue eyes. “Do you love him?”

  Justine swallowed, and even though she did, with all of her heart, she was afraid to admit it aloud. Because it would only make her feel more vulnerable than she already did.

  “Do not love him.” Matilda’s hands slipped up the length of her arms and drew her closer. “He is not worthy of your love. No man is. There are other things that can bring a woman happiness.”

  “Such as?” she muttered.

  “Such as this.” Matilda leaned toward her and brushed her lips against hers. She pushed Justine’s mouth open with a hot tongue and circled the inside of her mouth as her hands roamed into her hair and loosened the pins holding her curls in place.

  Justine froze as her mind tilted off its axis to understand what was happening to her.

  Matilda’s mouth pressed harder against hers, as hair now tumbled down around her shoulders.

  Justine blindly grabbed Matilda’s hands from her hair and stumbled back, gasping. “What are you—”

  The rush of cool air pulsed against her lips. For a few passing moments, Justine couldn’t even bring herself to look at Matilda. Yet alone move.

  Matilda had kissed her.

  With the urgency of a man!

  “Forgive me,” Matilda finally admitted in a low, raspy voice. “I…I’ve always wanted to do that. From the moment I met you. And given your father’s observations, I knew you would understand. I tolerate men, you see, and have tried to tolerate them all these years because that is what society expects me to do. But I don’t want to tolerate it anymore. I can’t. I am disgusted with myself for pretending to be something I never was. And this is what I am. This.”

  Justine swallowed and scrambled back, glancing toward the male servants who quietly stood in the corners of the room. Despite all the flushed shaven faces, they continued to stand there stoically, eyes set straight ahead, as was their duty.

  It was more than obvious Matilda didn’t care about what she was revealing before them. Had Justine in any way misled Matilda to think she could do this?

  Matilda continued to stare her down with fiery blue eyes. “It doesn’t matter to me that you are married and must share his bed. We can enjoy each other as we are. He doesn’t need to know.”

  “I…oh, God…Matilda—” Justine shook her head. And simply kept on shaking it, unable to find the words to even answer. For her heart, her mind and soul belonged to Radcliff, would always belong to
Radcliff, and she could never betray him. Not for a woman. Not for a man. Not for anyone.

  Matilda half nodded, as if privy to Justine’s thoughts, and slowly stepped back. “I did not mean to burden you with my own desires. It is loathsome to desire a woman. I know. But is it any more loathsome that I denied myself happiness because of society? I… Forgive me, Justine. I didn’t mean to kiss you. I—” She turned, gathered up her skirts and bustled out of sight.

  Justine lifted a trembling hand and covered her swollen mouth, which still burned from the heat of Matilda’s lips. What was she going to do? She couldn’t tell Radcliff. He’d be livid. He’d toss Matilda out. And then what would happen to her and her child?

  Oh, God. She needed to find Radcliff. She didn’t want to be left alone in this state of confusion as to what she should or shouldn’t do. She needed him. So desperately. For in that moment she realized something. She realized that if nothing existed between them, not love, not even friendship, anything and anyone could come between them. And she couldn’t have that. She couldn’t. Because she loved her husband far too much.

  Two hours later

  RADCLIFF DIDN’T KNOW why he still sat in the darkness of his carriage outside his home or why he continued to stare at the empty, upholstered seat across from him.

  He closed his eyes, challenging himself to go straight into the house and tell Justine that he was going to be the man she deserved. Even if he had to crawl every inch of the way to do it.

  The clicking of heels against the pavement echoed in the distance, and suddenly, the carriage door swung open so vigorously, it shook the vehicle.

  His eyes popped open.

  “Radcliff!” Justine stumbled up and into the carriage, dragged in the rest of her skirts and slammed the side door behind herself, falling into the upholstered seat opposite him. “I am so happy you’re finally home.”

  “You are?” he echoed.

  “Yes.”

  He blinked as Justine shifted into the seat, noting that she had his evening coat draped over the top of her head and shoulders like a shawl.

  Radcliff chuckled. “Perhaps you should have bought yourself a shawl whilst you were out this afternoon.”

  She shook her head. “It isn’t that,” she whispered. “I needed something of yours to comfort me whilst I waited for you to return. I waited by the window all this time. Where were you?”

  The glow from the carriage lamp shone in barely enough to light the side of her face. For some reason, her chestnut hair had escaped its pins and lay in a lovely mass of disheveled curls past her shoulders and waist.

  He veered his gaze back to her face. “I was at the club. What is it? What happened? Why is your hair—”

  “All that matters is that you are here.” She yanked the curtains shut on each side of the windows, then scrambled toward him and onto his lap, the evening coat sliding down from her shoulders and falling onto the carriage floor.

  He sucked in a harsh breath as she grabbed his shaven face in the darkness with chilled hands and kissed his cheeks, repeatedly.

  He choked, trying not to touch her, and blew out a breath to keep his body under control. “Justine, you shouldn’t—”

  “Yes. I should. We ought to demonstrate to one another how much we care. Because we do. Do we not? Tell me how much you care about me. Tell me. I need to hear you say it.”

  “Of course I care. Justine—”

  “Do you?” she insisted. “Do you really care?”

  “Yes, of course. Justine, what—”

  She knocked off his hat, causing it to tumble onto the seat, and kept on kissing his forehead and raking her fingers through his hair. “Touch me, Radcliff. Show me how much you care for me.”

  Christ. May he never awake from this bliss.

  His fingers and palms gently brushed the sides of her soft, muslin gown, hesitating at first. “Perhaps we ought to take this inside.”

  “No. I want you to myself. Alone. Here. Now. Tell the footmen and the driver to leave us as we are. Tell them.”

  He swallowed and slid his gloved hands toward her corseted waist, convincing himself that he’d be a fool not to. He inhaled the faint, playful fragrance of powder and citrus clinging to her skin as feathery soft locks of her long hair fell heavily onto his hands, arms and shoulders. He focused solely on breathing through his mouth to prevent himself from losing too much control too soon, even though his cock was already painfully rigid.

  He knocked on the carriage roof with a gloved hand and yelled out toward the window, “Secure the horses and retire! All of you! And you’d best not bloody linger!”

  “Yes, Your Grace!” two shouts responded.

  The carriage bobbed to the movements of the footman and the driver jumping off. Soon their hurried, booted steps echoed into the distance and disappeared.

  Using his teeth, Radcliff stripped his gloves from his hands and whipped them aside. Firmly pressing his bare hands to the sides of her warm, silken face, he drew in a breath and whispered, “If you do not want this, Justine, then you’d best leave this carriage.”

  He couldn’t breathe as he awaited her reply. He was afraid that one breath would push her and this unearthly fantasy away.

  “I want more than this, Radcliff. I want you.”

  The heat from her body and those tender words from her lips melted away each and every barrier that had ever been set between them. He pulled her mouth down to his before she could even think of taking back her words. He forced her mouth open, urgently searching for that hot, satin tongue.

  His body turned into a blazing, tingling mess such as he’d never known. Loosening the arm that he had wrapped tightly around her shoulders, he traced her back, traveling down, down the coolness of the gown that draped her body.

  He shoved up her skirts until they were both buried in them to their chins and pushed her exposed open thighs hard against his cock. A growl escaped him as he continued to devour her mouth and his tongue probed hers.

  He wanted this. Her. Always.

  A shiver escaped her as his fingertips grazed the thin chemise interrupting the sensual journey he intended to make toward her quim. He shoved the garment up and out of the way, exposing her lower half fully.

  Her fingers dug into his hair, gripping it so tightly it stung his scalp in an intoxicating way.

  His cock throbbed as he lowered his mouth to her throat. Using the tip of his tongue, he followed the graceful curve from her earlobe to her bust line. Her chest rose and fell against his tongue from the sharp intake of quivering breaths.

  To have her in his carriage, and at his will, was maddening. He never wanted this moment to end.

  She wrapped her arms around him, tighter, kissing his chin, his scar, his brow.

  His hands trailed down and then back up her smooth silk-stockinged legs, splayed on each side of him. “Why are you allowing this? I thought—”

  “If there is nothing between us, Radcliff, nothing at all, not even these tender moments between us, anything and anyone can come between us. And I refuse to allow that to happen.”

  He untied the satin bows holding her silk stockings in place and let them slip into the darkness at his booted feet. He rolled her stockings down to her ankles, sliding his hands against the bare, soft skin of her legs beneath. “Nothing will come between us,” he whispered. “I have never, nor will I ever, share myself with anyone the way I am sharing myself with you.”

  “Tell me what it is between us, Radcliff. Please. I need to know.”

  “Above all, it is devotion. Unlike anything I have ever known for any woman.” His skin burned and his arm muscles tightened as he reached to unbutton the flap on his trousers. He dug out his thick cock, pulling it free from his undergarments.

  “Will your devotion ever lead to more?”

  “Words mean nothing, Justine. Let me show you how I feel.” He held on to her corseted waist with one hand and guided his length into the opening of her wet warmth with the other. He buried himself de
ep into her with a shuddering gasp that almost caused every ounce of his seed to spill.

  She moaned and gripped his shoulders, her sweet, tight wetness slowly riding him.

  “Justine.” He threw back his head onto the upholstered seat and gave in to every moment of having her, pulling her down onto him again and again. Harder and harder. Trying to show her how much his body, his mind and his soul were completely and utterly devoted to her and her alone.

  “Radcliff,” she gasped, dragging her nails from his shoulders up to his hair. She shifted against him and gasped again, gathering his hair into tight fistfuls, tugging harder.

  He gripped her thighs tighter and yanked her down again, harder and faster onto his full length, trying to heighten her climax.

  He felt her core tightening as her warm wetness slathered his rigid cock. He winced from the unbearable pressure as his body demanded release. No. He couldn’t. Not until she—

  She cried out, her voice drifting into the darkness around them. Her body shook as she arched and writhed in his arms. He slammed into her faster, wanting her to feel her pleasure all the more. When her hips bucked against him and then stilled with a soft sigh, he knew she was done.

  Between heavy, almost painful breaths, his mind blanked and there was nothing more he could do but give in to the pleasure he’d been so desperately needing. He held her savagely in place against the length of his cock as his body shook with an explosive rush.

  He moaned as he pulsed deep within her tight, wet warmth. He moaned again, louder, realizing he was still spilling his seed into her. He’d never had it last so damn long. He’d never had it feel this damn good. Never.

  His arms fell away from her corseted waist and onto the upholstered seat of the carriage. He closed his eyes, mentally and physically exhausted, and wondered what the hell had just happened. It was unlike anything he’d ever experienced.

  Justine gently freed herself and quietly climbed onto the seat beside him. Laying her head against his chest, she sighed almost wistfully.