A Common Scandal

by Amanda Weaver

  She was furious with him for being such a shameless flirt, and furious with herself for wishing she was the one he was flirting with.

  Even worse than Madame Fortunato, and the spectacle of Natty and Lady Julia, was Mr. Cheadle. He was every bit as odious as Victoria and Grace had claimed, attempting to engage her in conversation every time there was even a momentary break in the music. Considering they’d just met and she’d said scarcely six words to him, his attentions were woefully transparent. He must be penniless.

  When Madame Fortunato took a break, Amelia did, too, scrambling out of her seat and practically falling across the laps of the other guests as she made her way out of her row. Genevieve would kill her for such deplorable manners, but she didn’t care.

  No one had made their way out to the terrace yet, since everyone was trying to impress either Madame Fortunato or each other with their pithy observations about the performance. It was cool and quiet after the stuffy ballroom behind her. As long as Cheadle didn’t find her out here, she’d be safe. Plucking a late-blooming rose from one of the bushes edging the terrace, she pulled it apart, tossing its withering petals into the darkness beyond.

  What on earth was Natty doing with Lady Julia? And why did she get this courtly version of him dancing attendance on her? Of course, Lady Julia was lovely, the ideal well-bred young lady and the daughter of an earl. She had sat through the concert with her hands folded in her lap and her attention fixed on the soprano. Julia Harrow didn’t fidget or count the minutes until she was free. Apparently the adult Natty appreciated well-behaved young ladies.

  It was none of her business. He had nothing to do with her world and what he did with himself—and with whom—was none of her concern. So what if one glimpse of him tonight had made her stomach erupt in butterflies and her face flush? It was of no account.

  Despite knowing the sort of marriage she was destined for, she’d resisted making a choice for so long because she’d hoped in time she might encounter a suitable man who sparked some kind of fire in her. But not once, in all her forays into Society, had she met a man who raised more than mild curiosity. She’d read about flaming passions and heated kisses in the lurid, forbidden novels she had traded with Vic and Grace, but her blood had never been stirred by a flesh-and-blood male. She’d begun to think those passions were the invention of novelists and no man could ever make her feel that way. And now one had, and he was hopelessly out of her reach. It was wretched, wanting something she couldn’t have.

  “What’s the verdict? Does Cheadle love you madly or not?”

  She didn’t trust herself to look at Natty, knowing her insides would plunge in an unwelcome, delicious way. When he came near her, it was as if her whole body stretched luxuriously and unfurled. Terribly unhelpful, when she was determined to send him packing and behave.

  “I’m sure the answer will always be ‘not,’ regardless of the state of the petals and irrespective of whatever he might proclaim. Isn’t Lady Julia waiting for her glass of punch or something?”

  “Pardon?”

  “The lovely Lady Julia Harrow. I saw you sitting with her. Surely she’s missed you by now.”

  “Somehow I doubt it,” he muttered. “And what of Cheadle? Surely he’s climbing the walls pining after you.”

  She sighed and turned to face him, tossing the last of the ruined flower to the ground and brushing her gloved fingers together. “You know he’s not, Natty. Men don’t pine after me, only my money. The only reason anyone at these things speaks to me is because of my fortune.”

  “I’m speaking to you and I have my own fortune, thank you very much.”

  “You only speak to me to tease me.”

  “You used to like it when I teased you.”

  “I’m not a child anymore.”

  “Obviously.”

  The word hung between them for a moment, rife with meaning. He might have only meant she was all grown-up and out in Society, except his eyes made a lightning—fast perusal of her body as he said it, so fast, he was likely unaware he’d done it. In a rush, it broke over her that Natty was aware of her in the same way she was aware of him. Not as an old playmate from his childhood. As a woman. He was as affected as she was, even if he was spending his evening paying court to Julia Harrow.

  His eyes made their way back to hers and they both held the gaze. This newly discovered knowledge sizzled through her body. Her skin flushed and her breaths grew shallow. Natty’s eyes stared into hers. His lips parted slightly, as if he, too, was baffled by this sudden shift in the air. The atmosphere around them felt charged, the way it did when thunder began rattling the windows and lightning lit the night sky, but still the rain refused to fall. At any minute the clouds could collide and deluge the world, but until then, all the energy of the universe danced on the breeze.

  She wanted to tease and flirt with him to see how far things would progress. She wanted to see the skies open up. She wanted to be drenched by the rain.

  But blasted Genevieve’s counsel began whispering in her ear, reminding her of what she should do, how she should behave. She truly despised doing what she ought and not what she wanted, but even she had to admit, standing out here alone on a dark terrace with Natty would lead nowhere she should go. There were titled, eligible men inside waiting to pay court to her fat fortune. Natty was all wrong, out of reach, in another world. Which made him doubly appealing, thanks to her contrary nature.

  “I should go back in,” she murmured, gathering the train of her dress and turning away.

  “What, not up for teasing anymore? That’s hardly the Amelia I remember.”

  “That Amelia was a little girl. The grown-up me has a bit more control, Natty.” A barefaced lie, but he didn’t have to know it.

  “Would you please leave off calling me ‘Natty?’ No one’s done that since I was a boy. It’s Nate now. Although we can’t be on such familiar terms with each other.”

  Now she couldn’t even use his old nickname? It seemed as if everything they’d once had was gone. Turning on him, she poked a finger into his chest—his exceedingly broad chest, which felt terribly solid under his starched shirtfront. “Very well, Mr. Smythe, we’ll be as formal as you like.”

  “You don’t have to be as formal as that.”

  “Don’t I? You were painfully formal when we met at the Miltons’ ball. You were so crisp I nearly cut my finger on you. That is, before you walked away from me like I was any stranger on the street.”

  “Is this why you’re so snippy with me? You’re angry because I behaved appropriately in a public place?”

  She couldn’t resist rolling her eyes. “Just what I need. Another gentleman behaving appropriately. My life is overrun with appropriate gentlemen.” And now, when she finally felt something wild and hot for a gloriously inappropriate one, he insisted on manners. It made her feel positively reckless.

  “Ah, yes, you’re quite the proper little lady now, aren’t you?”

  Amelia bristled, her hands curling in so tightly she could feel her fingernails cutting through the fine thin leather of her opera gloves. Well, there went another pair.

  “You’re as much a phony as I am. Look at you in your fine suit and your fine manners. What are you about anyway?”

  “Are you implying I don’t belong here?” His voice had dropped to a low, dangerous growl. When an animal made that sound, a sensible person took a step back to preserve their safety. Sensibility had never been her strong suit.

  “Oh, no, you belong all too well. I thought you were just putting on an act for these toffs, like me. But I can see now, you’ve been domesticated through and through. I bet I could still beat you climbing to the top of the mast, couldn’t I?”

  “A fine suit of clothes hasn’t taken the edge off me. I could best you at that race. And a great many other things, as well.”

  Oh. Th
at proclamation made several parts of her body suddenly come to life and sit up at attention. She drew in a great shuddering breath. It would be wise to back down now, end this argument and return to the safety of the ballroom. But backing down from a scrap had never been her style.

  “Really? You look as tame as they come now. A veritable lap cat for Lady Julia to cuddle.”

  “Be careful, Amelia. I’m no lap cat.”

  “Aren’t you?”

  His eyes narrowed and his lips thinned, one corner curling up into a smile like a slash through his face. A sweep of unruly blond hair fell across his forehead. In an instant, the sophisticated gentleman in neatly pressed evening wear was gone and in his place...a pirate. “Do you really want to find out?”

  Amelia’s eyes widened as she felt the electric air coalesce and condense around them. It was so thick she could barely draw a breath. Her entire body trembled, anticipation and trepidation dancing a waltz down her limbs, but she forced out a careless scoff. “You might have changed, but I don’t believe for a second you’d ever be a danger to me.”

  “There’s more than one kind of danger.”

  Her throat constricted with nerves, and her hands fisted. “Quite a lot of talk from such an elegant gentleman.”

  His voice was a gritty growl, forced out between clenched teeth. “I may have learned to slip in alongside them, but I have never—not once—claimed to be a gentleman.”

  One long arm shot out to wrap around her waist, pulling her up tight against his chest. Her lips parted in shock, but before she could utter a single word, his mouth came down on hers.

  Good God, what was he doing? Certainly not thinking. He was quite sure there hadn’t been a single rational thought at work when he reached out for Amelia and kissed her. Immediately, he knew he’d crossed a line and should let her go. But when she was pressed up against him—every delicious curve of her—he found it impossible to let go right away.

  And then she did the unthinkable. She kissed him back.

  What did he expect from the hellion he’d been sparring with for the past quarter of an hour? How could he think she would back down in the face of a little lust?

  Not a little lust, it turned out. He was drowning in a veritable sea of it. His hand was on her waist, wrapping nearly halfway around its tiny span. His other hand held her head, the almost fragile curve of her neck. Her hands slipped from his shoulders up to his hair, her fingers curling in and tugging until it almost hurt. He groaned as it caused an unexpected reaction farther down, his body roaring to be set loose. Her kiss was inexperienced but enthusiastic, and any lack of nuance ceased to matter when he opened his lips over hers and she responded in kind and without hesitation. Not thinking, not questioning, his tongue swept in and found hers. A tiny, breathy moan slid from her mouth into his and he swallowed it down.

  Her breasts were pressed against his chest, swelling over the edge of her bodice, making him imagine tugging it down, setting them free. He could shift the fabric off her shoulder and it would give way and give him access... He didn’t decide to slide his hand up and touch her, but there he was, his large palm over her breast, his thumb dragging across where he could imagine her nipple would be, pebbled and hard beneath the bones of her corset. Her fingers clutched into his hair again, the luxurious pleasure-pain of it sending a jolt of heat straight to his groin.

  From inside the ballroom, mere steps away, came a tinkle of a broken glass and startled laughter.

  Nate pulled his mouth from hers with a gasp.

  For a long, heavy moment, they simply stared at each other, absorbing what had transpired. Her sparkling dark eyes were huge. Her lovely rosebud mouth was open slightly, lips pink, swollen and glistening. He squeezed his eyes shut. Slowly—achingly slowly—his body cooled and his brain began to turn again. He was still painfully hard. With a start, he realized where his hand was, still cupping her breast. Dropping it away as if he’d been burned, he took an unsteady step back and cleared his throat. Amelia’s eyelids fluttered down and she moved back, too. Her fingers came up to touch her mouth, but she quickly reached back to smooth her hair instead.

  Nate brushed his own hair off his face, flattening it where her fingers had plundered... Good God. He’d kissed her. Kissed Amelia. And not some shy brush of the lips to test the waters. That had been a full-fledged assault. He’d touched her. If the noise from inside hadn’t startled them, he might have gone much further. No, he knew he would have. Even now he was cursing the interruption that had kept him from pulling down the bodice of her dress the way he’d wanted to.

  He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. What had he done? He’d compromised her. Men had ended up at the altar for trespassing less. When he opened his eyes, Amelia was turned to the side, head bowed, eyes on the wrist of her glove as she struggled to refasten a tiny pearl button that had come loose.

  “Amelia...” What could he say or do to make this right? Would she weep? Would she run to her father and reveal what he’d done? After all his careful planning, his entire future might be decided by one rash moment when lust had overruled common sense.

  “Hmm?”

  “I’m very sorry. I don’t know what came over me. My behavior was inexcusable.”

  Amelia turned back to him, rolling her eyes. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Natty. Don’t be so dramatic.”

  “But what I did—”

  “I did it, too.”

  “What?”

  “I kissed you back. Or did you miss that part?”

  “Regardless, I should say something—”

  He took a step toward her but she held up her hand to stop him. “Oh, no you won’t. We’re going to forget all about it.”

  Her words should have relaxed the unbearable tension in his shoulders, but oddly, it didn’t. “Forget it? But Amelia, your reputation—”

  “It’s perfectly intact. Well, it’s as good as it ever was, which wasn’t all that good. Still, no damage done. Be sensible, Natty. No one saw us. The only two people who know about it are you and me, and I’m not going to tell.” She arched an eyebrow at him.

  “No. No, of course not. I’ll be perfectly discreet.”

  “See? Nothing to worry about.” She cast a glance at the doors leading back to the ballroom. “Papa’s sure to have missed me by now and he’ll have my hide if I snub Mr. Cheadle. I have get back to work on Radwill.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  She looked back at him. “My marriage. I’ve got to marry a title, so I’d better get to it, hadn’t I?”

  Sweeping up her train in one hand, she turned and disappeared back into the crush of guests inside. Everything she’d said made perfect sense. She was following the most logical course of action for both of them. But Nate watched her go feeling absolutely sick to his stomach.

  * * *

  Amelia careened through the ballroom, not noticing whose elbows she banged or whose hems she trod on. Her heart was pounding and her breath was coming in sharp pants. Even though she was surrounded on all sides by bodies, she was aware of only one body, back there behind her on the terrace. No, that wasn’t precisely true. She was aware of her own body in a way she never had been before. Her palms itched inside her gloves. Her breasts felt far too confined by her corset. And underneath all her skirts and petticoats and stockings, she was trembling—her thighs and between her legs.

  Natty had kissed her. Nate. He was right. A man who could do things like that with his mouth and hands had no business being called a little boy’s name.

  Nate had kissed her. And touched her. And it had been glorious.

  She’d wanted to poke at the sparking energy between them to see what might happen. Never had she dreamed such a thing could happen, or that it would be so...spectacular. He’d almost ruined it after, with his stricken, honorable expression, like he was cons
idering doing the Right Thing or some such nonsense. Thank heavens she’d smoothed it over, because if anyone found out what she’d done with him—if her father found out—it would be the end of her. He seemed to be prepared to keep it to himself, however.

  Now she needed to do the same. And there was the rub. She wanted to shout it from the rooftops. “Nate kissed me and it was wonderful and every man will pale in comparison!”

  Every man. Or just the one man.

  Her eyes sought out Lord Radwill on the other side of the room. There he was, as pleasant and inoffensive as he had been an hour ago. He was speaking with Lady Bishop. A rather perfunctory conversation, if she could read it properly. This was her opening. She could go pay her own respects to Lady Bishop. She could strike up another conversation with Lord Radwill. Lady Bishop would facilitate the conversation for a bit before discreetly excuse herself, leaving them alone. It was a well-used maneuver, and rather to be expected at a function like this. Still, her feet were rooted to the floor. She didn’t want to go make small talk with Lady Bishop. She had no desire to engage Lord Radwill in conversation and spend the rest of the evening subtly flirting with him.

  This was a disaster. Radwill was perhaps the best option she’d encountered yet. There he was, ready and waiting, and all she could think of was that scoundrel back on the balcony. She couldn’t do this. There was no time for distraction.

  Just as she was shaking off the last of their encounter and resolving to join Lady Bishop and restart her campaign, someone tapped on her shoulder.

  “Miss Wheeler?”

  Lady Evelyn Sanbourne, the only daughter of the Earl of Tewsbury, gazed expectantly at her, with none other than Lady Julia Harrow at her side. Lady Evelyn’s eyes were lit up with some sort of unholy glee. Had someone seen them after all? Was she about to be called out as the trollop she was in the middle of this ballroom?