To Love a Scandalous Duke (Once Upon a Scandal)

by Rosa, Liana De la

  Alethea raced to her father’s study, where she found him hunched over a stack of reports.

  “Father, forgive me for interrupting, but I must speak with you,” she exclaimed, coming around the side of his desk and stopping with a jerk beside his chair.

  He pushed back his chair and yanked her into his arms. “What’s happened?”

  “Sarah and I were followed when we left Little Windmill House today,” she mumbled, her face buried in his chest, his sandalwood scent soothing her nerves.

  Lord Rockhaven pulled her back to look into his eyes. “You were followed?” His voice was tight with worry. “Did you see who it was?”

  “It was the man who came to see you the day you canceled our afternoon ride.”

  Alethea knew she’d never forget the man’s intimidating smile.

  The hard lines of the earl’s face relaxed, and he rubbed his hands down her arms, offering her a consoling smile. “You don’t have to worry about him.”

  She frowned, uncertain she’d heard him correctly. “I don’t?”

  Lord Rockhaven released her and took a step back. He gestured with his hand for her to take a seat at one of the chairs before his desk. She followed his directive on shaky legs. She felt like she’d been out to sea for months and had suddenly taken her first steps on solid ground. “The man you saw, Mr. Cartwell, is a business associate. I asked him to keep an eye on you.”

  “I don’t understand. Why would he need to do that?”

  “I feel your judgment has been…clouded as of late.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I am trying to help you make a smart match”—the earl pinched the bridge of his nose—“and you seem to be doing your best to undermine it.”

  Alethea’s head snapped back. “Undermine a match with…who?”

  “Lord Connington has made an offer for your hand.”

  “Lord Connington?” Alethea leaned forward, her hands clutching the armrests. “Why would he do that?”

  The earl huffed. “He needs an heir, Allie, and to get an heir he needs a wife.”

  Her mouth gaped but no words came out.

  “You seem to get along well together. And he’s quite fond of you.”

  “B-but he’s old enough to be my grandfather. Why would he possibly want me for a wife?” She stopped, blood rushing to her head and clouding her vision. “Have you been encouraging his suit?”

  “I’ve already accepted his offer.”

  Alethea felt as if she’d been dunked underwater. Every sensation suddenly dulled, except for the burning in her lungs. “You accepted his offer? I’m to marry Lord Connington?”

  “As soon as we finish with the settlements, yes.”

  Alethea jumped up, darting around her father’s desk to stand in front of him. She gripped her skirts with talon-like fingers, fearful she’d use them to shake him. “How could you do this? Why am I not free to make my own choice?”

  The earl rubbed his temples. “I asked you to mind your reputation, and you haven’t. Instead, you have decided to indulge your childhood tendre, and your name has appeared in the scandal sheets with alarming regularity. It’s obvious you can no longer be trusted to act with any sort of propriety, therefore Mr. Cartwell will ensure you do until Connington takes you in hand.”

  “Takes me in hand? I am not a child to be minded!” Alethea bit out.

  “Your actions of late have proven otherwise.” Her father walked to the sideboard and poured two glasses of brandy. “I’ve allowed you to dawdle instead of settling down because I haven’t wanted to rush you. But then you were in Aberdeenshire for those years and now that you’re back, it’s time to see to your duty.”

  To her surprise, he set one of the glasses in front of her. “My duty?” Her brain struggled to understand his words. Was he speaking English?

  “Your duty to marry and marry well.”

  She shook her head. “But—”

  Her father held up a hand. “I will not discuss this with you. Lord Connington is wealthy, respectable, and titled. You will be well secured.”

  “But well secured is not well loved.” The words were raw and mere breaths of air.

  “Love is not a requirement for marriage. You should know that.”

  Her breath whooshed from her lungs as if she’d taken a punch to the gut, and her mouth opened and closed. She’d always known she’d have to marry, and in truth she wanted to, but not under such an order. After being a witness to her parents’ cold marriage, she’d always desired more for herself. While her mother had railed at her for every proposal she declined or suitor she spurned, her father had been content to let her make her own choices. But now, her doting, loving father was a stranger.

  Licking her lips, she squared her shoulders. “If you’re insistent upon me marrying, does it have to be Lord Connington?”

  “A match between you and Darington is absolutely out of the question,” the earl uttered softly, even as his face turned a florid shade.

  “But why?” Alethea cried.

  Lord Rockhaven slammed a fist on the desktop. “He is not good enough for you! He may have found himself with the title, but that doesn’t mean there is anything ducal about him. He may not even be the true Declan Sinclair for all we know. And even if he is, his whole family has been embroiled in one scandal after another, and it’s only a matter of time before he finds himself in another one. I refuse to have you, and the Swinton’s good name, tainted by association. You will stay away from him.”

  “B-but…”

  “Enough.” The ice of his words made Alethea flinch. “You will marry Lord Connington. I will discuss it with you no further.”

  Alethea gulped, desperate to hold back a torrent of tears.

  “Finlay is leaving in the morning to settle a dispute between two of the tenants at Rockhaven Court. I’d go, but I have business here to attend to. I think it best if you accompanied him. He’ll only be gone a week, but a respite from London might be just what it takes to remind you of your duty.”

  With those words, he stepped around her, dropped his empty snifter on his desk with a thud, and walked out the door. The glass in the windowpanes shook with the force of the door slamming.

  Alethea watched him go, shock and confusion rooting her to the floor. When life returned to her limbs, she grabbed her glass, swallowing the brandy in one large, searing gulp.

  As she climbed the stairs, she contemplated whether Declan could find a reason to sojourn to Darington Manor. She needed to see him, to breathe him in. Needed to feel his arms around her. Needed to be reminded that the budding romance between them was worth fighting for.

  In the confines of her chamber, she scribbled a note to Flora, alerting her of her trip and asking her to notify Declan, and set Sarah to packing her trunks.

  While the maid hummed behind her, Alethea stared out the window at the manicured garden. Surrounded by the constant sounds and smells of the city, the Rockhaven House garden was a little spot of verdant nature that beckoned with its soothing and comforting space. She pressed her head against the cool windowpane and realized that her soul craved more than the small garden could possibly fill.

  Perhaps a trip to Herefordshire would be a welcomed relief more than an exile.

  Chapter Seventeen

  October 1818

  How I adore leaving London behind for the countryside. For the hills and valleys. Only in the fresh country air am I truly home.

  -The Diary of Lady Margaret Gordon

  He knew she’d be here.

  Declan had stepped out of Darington Manor in Herefordshire intending to call at the earl’s estate, but like a lodestar, his feet had taken him to this place. Perhaps the echo of happy memories spent with the Swinton twins, in a meadow between their two country homes, had drawn him. Or the need to connect with a small part of his past rooted in happiness. In innocence.

  As he approached the ancient elm that stood as a sentinel in the clearing, he glimpsed Alethea asleep under its exte
nsive canopy. A shuddering breath he hadn’t realized he held eased from him. Her mouth was ever so slightly ajar, and the sight made him ache to kiss her awake. His very own sleeping beauty.

  Instead, he unbuttoned his coat and sank onto the ground next to her. With her face sleep-softened, her mouth slack, and her dark lashes fanned out against the smoothness of her cheek, she was remarkably lovely. Vulnerable. His chest tightened at the sight.

  Minutes passed as he watched birds swoop down from the trees to frolic in the grasses, and chipmunks scuttled about the branches high above, their cheerful chatter an indelible part of summer. He arched back until he relaxed against the broad trunk.

  “Dec. Declan.” A soft, exasperated huff. “So help me, if I have to call you ‘Your Grace’ to rouse you, I will smack you.”

  His eyes opened—when had they closed?—and met Alethea’s jade green stare. A small smile curved her pink lips.

  She smacked the side of his cheek lightly with her gloved hand. “I knew you’d awaken if I used your honorific.”

  Declan sat up and immediately grabbed his neck as a sharp pain streaked down into his shoulders. He rotated his head, hoping to loosen the tight muscle. “Have you been awake long?”

  “No, I awoke only a few minutes ago.” She stopped and timidly grabbed his hand, even while a becoming blush spread over her cheeks. “She told you, I assume.”

  “Lady Flora?”

  She nodded and a lock of flame red hair fell along her face. “I hoped you’d come.” Relief relaxed her expression. “Did you have business at Darington Manor?”

  “I did.” He tucked the curl behind her ear. He didn’t reveal his business entailed digging through Albert’s belongings at the manor house, hoping to unearth any clue of what he’d learned about their father. “You just gave me an excuse to move that particular business to the top of my list.”

  “I’m glad,” she whispered. She relaxed next to him and laid her head on his shoulder, her gaze fixed on the meadow that stretched out before them. “It’s comforting to know it hasn’t changed in the years since I’ve been gone.”

  The sweet weight of her head, the ease of the gesture, made him smile. “Three years is not so long a time to be away. Surely this elm, and those wildflowers, or some very much like them, have held court in this meadow long before we ever stepped foot in it, and I’m sure will do so for lifetimes after us.”

  Alethea eased away from him and met his gaze, her head cocking to the side and the same errant red curl falling across her brow. “It’s been longer than three years. I haven’t been back since the last time you, Fin, and I raced our sleds down the far hill.”

  “Why not?”

  She shrugged and looked away. “I knew it wouldn’t feel the same without you.”

  Declan jumped to his feet to walk off the regret of so many years lost without her pressing down like Sisyphus’s boulder on his chest. He ambled from under the elm’s canopy and into the waning sunlight, beams snaking through the western trees. He sensed her come to stand beside him.

  “Lady Flora said you had been sent here.” He looked down at her. “Why?”

  Alethea kept her gaze trained on a far-off point. “Because I wasn’t obedient enough.”

  He frowned. “I find that hard to believe.”

  “He told me I’m to marry Lord Connington.” She swiped a strand of hair off her cheek. “I, of course, rejected such a proposal and was sent away to ‘remind me of my duty,’ as he said.”

  “Marry Lord Connington?” He heard himself say, rage bubbling up from the depths of his core. “Absolutely not.”

  “You don’t have a say in the matter.” Alethea ran her fingertips along her brow.

  “Like hell I don’t.” He turned her until she met his eyes. “After our night at Vauxhall, how could you think I wouldn’t have something to say about this news?”

  “You’ve made it clear, Dec—on more than one occasion—that your future does not lie in England.” She dropped her gaze to his chin. “And even if it did, you still would not choose me.”

  How could he be so stupid to have thought he could enjoy Alethea’s smiles and wit, sample her kisses, and then just leave her like the other women he’d met at ports all over the world? How could he have let her think she wasn’t important to him?

  He’d been a fool.

  “I was wrong. I should never have made you think I could leave England without you.”

  She stared at him with luminescent jade eyes. “I’m afraid it’s too little, too late.”

  “It will be too late when you’re Lady Connington.” He cradled the back of her head with his hands. “Until that time, I intend to talk to your father and tell him of my intentions to pay you court.”

  Alethea pulled free, turning her back to him. “I don’t believe it would do much good.”

  He scowled. “He doesn’t think I’m good enough for you, does he? Even in spite of my elevated title.”

  “No,” she said softly, the word almost captured and tossed away on the breeze.

  He’d been second-guessed, underestimated, and judged by superficial factors his whole life, but he’d be damned before he’d allow the Earl of Rockhaven to use those same measures to keep him from being with Alethea.

  He moved until he stood behind her, so close his chest brushed against her back and her delectable bottom nestled in the curve of his hips. He dipped his head until his breath coasted over the delicate arch of her neck and the curve of her jaw, letting any lingering reservations about his decision tumble to the ground below.

  “Do you believe I would be here if I was unaccustomed to fighting for what I want?” A low growl sounded from the back of his throat. “I will call at Rockhaven House every day, rain or shine, winter or summer, until I convince your father I can take care of you in the manner you deserve.”

  Alethea shook off his hands and spun in his arms. “I don’t need you to rescue me, Dec. You don’t have to sacrifice your plans out of some misguided sense of chivalry.”

  Declan advanced on her, his eyes never wavering from her face, and he silently cheered when her own grew wide. “If you don’t believe my words, then believe this,” he rumbled before he snared her waist and crashed his lips down on hers.

  Chapter Eighteen

  May 1818

  She’s made of sunlight and laughter. I long to return to the time when I was, too.

  -The Diary of Margaret Gordon

  How had they come to be on the ground?

  The thought entered Alethea’s mind as a particularly large rock wedged between her shoulder blades, the pain it induced releasing her from her lustful haze.

  “Is something wrong?” Declan asked, even as he pressed a kiss to the spot behind her ear that made her purr like a content feline.

  “Umm…” she began, hesitant to mention her uncomfortable position lest it caused him to stop his mind-numbing kisses. She’d gladly lie upon a heap of jagged rocks if it meant Declan continued to touch her…and taste her.

  He didn’t stop, but merely rolled until he lay beneath her, his broad chest cushioning her from the rough ground. She blinked down at him, suddenly shy as she noticed how hard and delicious he was as she straddled his waist. She had never allowed a man the liberties she had Declan, and she’d certainly never touched a man in the way she touched him. And while she may be an innocent, she was not naive.

  “Comfortable?” he asked, his hands rubbing circles on her thighs.

  She nodded, her palms coasting over the firm planes of his chest without her permission. Caressing him in this way made her hot all over.

  Declan propped himself up on his elbows, and the motion tipped her back in his lap. She stretched her arms to keep from falling but one long arm wrapped around her waist before her hands hit the ground, and his other came up to grasp her behind the neck. In a swift movement, he brought her mouth to his.

  Alethea’s eyes drifted shut as she sank into his embrace. His bay rum scent made her toes curl as she
reached around to clutch at his black curls. When he nipped at her bottom lip, she opened for him readily, a deep sigh rising from her when he slipped his tongue alongside hers in a spine-tingling caress.

  Gone was her bonnet. Gone was her light muslin shawl. Gone were her cumbersome gloves that made touching him, skin-to-skin, impossible. More importantly, gone were her inhibitions when she pushed him back on the ground, eagerly following him until she lay stretched out across the length of him. The hard length of him that made her itch to free him of his bothersome clothing. And hers.

  She latched her lips to his as he ran his large, talented hands up the back of her thighs. Cool air drifted over her skin, alerting her that he’d pulled up her skirts. Alethea found she didn’t care. A deep longing settled between her thighs and she burned to feel his hands there. Everywhere.

  When he gripped her knee, she tore her mouth away from his and tucked her head into his neck, breathing him in. She needed to concentrate. She wanted to allow all her senses to revel in the magic of Declan’s touch on her bare skin. Skin that had never been as sensitive as it was in this moment.

  His calloused palm slowly released her knee and started a slow ascent, the rough feeling causing goose bumps to explode across her body in places he had yet to touch. Oh, but she hoped he would.

  “You have the softest skin,” he breathed in her ear. His voice was thick and raspy, and she felt every word as if he’d said them with a kiss to her body. “I didn’t know it would be like this.”

  “I didn’t, either.” Deep down inside, though, she’d suspected it would be this perfect.

  His hand drifted higher, his touch setting off sparks between her legs. “I was completely unprepared for you. You’ve lived in my memory as a young girl with red braids in crisp white pinafores. I was flabbergasted by the Alethea I encountered on the theater rooftop.”

  With a speed she couldn’t begin to fathom, he turned her again, until they lay facing each other in the cool grass. His hand remained warm and possessive on her hip, and she could swear she sensed her heartbeat where they touched.

  “But since the night at Drury Lane, I can’t get you out of my mind.” Declan leaned forward and placed a kiss under her jaw. “Your scent haunts me.” His hand yanked her skirts up higher and he traced a long finger up across her thigh. “Your touch leaves me crazed.” He leaned back and his gaze danced across her face and cascaded down her body. “The sight of you, Lord, it makes me weak.”