One for the Rogue (Studies in Scandal)

by Manda Collins

  And without waiting for her to finish her statement, he shifted so that her knees were over his shoulders. Her complaint, however, lodged in her throat as she felt his hot tongue slide up the center of her, right where she hadn’t even known she needed him.

  It was as if her body came alive at his touch, each new stroke of his tongue stoking the fire within her to higher flames. When he added his fingers, stroking then gently pressing inside of her, she cried out. That was what she needed. There, his fingers filling her. Of their own volition, her hips bucked against his staying hands, and she felt an overwhelming rush of excitement as she spiraled over some imaginary precipice into darkness.

  When she came back to herself, she was slightly embarrassed, but her limbs were far too limp to do anything about it.

  She felt Cam kiss her thigh before he moved up her body. Somewhere along the line he must have shed his breeches because she felt his strong legs slide against hers as he shifted to kneel between them.

  His kiss was remarkably tender as he slid her knee over his hip, placing his arousal at the heart of her, and the press of him, when it came, was uncomfortable but not painful. She waited for him to be fully seated, and when he stopped, she exhaled slowly.

  “All right?” She could feel the tension in his body, and knew his patience was not without cost to him. But he made no complaint.

  She reached up a hand to stroke her thumb over his furrowed brow. “Yes,” she said softly, memorizing his expression in this moment so that she’d remember it always. And before she finished the syllable he began to withdraw.

  This was different from the anxiety of that first stroke, and Gemma felt bereft as he left her.

  “Can’t go slow,” Cam said, in a voice both strained and apologetic, as he began to move faster and Gemma thought she would weep with relief. With each thrust, she struggled to hold on to him, and of their own volition her knees clasped him to her. His movements sent her into another frenzy of sensation, and she began to spiral up, up, up into the ether once more, even as she heard the sound of their breaths, and felt every touch of skin and sweat between them.

  “Come for me, sweet,” he said as his movements became more desperate and unable to hold back, she let herself fly.

  As she let the feeling of bliss overtake her, she heard him cry out her name.

  * * *

  Not wanting to crush her, Cam flipped them so that she was lying on his chest, though it took every ounce of strength he had left to do it.

  Never in his life had he felt more inclined to sleep than at this moment.

  “Just a few minutes,” he promised her, kissing the top of head as he struggled to get his breath back.

  As it happened, however, a few minutes turned into a few hours and when he awoke again it was to find she’d moved to settle at his side, her gloriously naked leg entwined in his and her hair a tangle of curls.

  He let his gaze drift lazily over her as he considered the consequences of what had been, all things considered, the most important act of his adult life.

  He knew she’d been intent on ending their betrothal once the year was over. He’d been intent upon it too. But once he’d made the decision to wed her, it had become a goal he had no intention of giving up. And now that she’d lain with him, there would be no ending their betrothal. Especially not with the possibility of a child.

  “You’re thinking quite hard, I believe,” she said, and he saw that she’d been watching him.

  Her lips curved into a mischievous smile as she stretched her arms over her head.

  “Thinking about you,” he said, pulling her up onto his chest. Gemma gave a slight shriek at the manhandling then she sat with her knees on either side of him.

  “You’re going to rouse the inn with cries like that,” he chided, brow raised. “Though I suppose they’ve already decided we’re shameless newlyweds.”

  To his amusement, the unfazeable Miss Gemma Hastings looked abashed. “Do you think they heard us?” she asked, looking worried.

  “You were quite loud at times,” he said with shrug. “But,” he added, “so was I, if it comes to that. I feel sure this inn has heard worse than the pair of us.”

  That must have relieved her concerns because she nodded, then leaned forward to kiss him. “I had no idea you had such a gift for tender talk,” she said as she stroked her thumb over the stubble of his jaw. “In fact, you were much more considerate than I’d have imagined.”

  He let her control the kiss for a moment, letting her tongue stroke his until it was impossible to tell who was leading. When she pulled her mouth away, he stayed her torso with a hand. “Why should it surprise you I’m a considerate lover?” he asked softly.

  He wasn’t sure why it mattered, but he didn’t want to think Gemma had thought he’d be an inconsiderate lout either.

  “Well, I have no one to compare you to,” she admitted with a shrug. “But, given our tendency to rip up at one another, I had thought perhaps you’d be—I don’t know—more demanding, I suppose.”

  “And what did you find?”

  She grinned. “That you were gentle and sweet,” she said, laying her head on his chest, and stretching her legs out over the top of his. “But also, forceful when I needed you to be.”

  “Forceful, eh?” he stroked a hand down her spine to the soft roundness of her bottom. “You liked that?”

  “Very much,” she said, toying with his chest hair.

  “Gentle and sweet and forceful,” he said. “Quite a combination.”

  “But you can change them up when the mood suits,” she said with equanimity.

  “Thank you so much, my dear,” he said wryly. “And what of my wishes?”

  “Of course you must tell me what you like too,” she said, and she sat up again and looked down at him. A long lock of dark blonde hair fell down to cover her breast and he couldn’t help but reach out and wrap it around his finger.

  “Cam,” she said, calling his attention back to her face. “I mean it, you mustn’t feel as if you can’t tell me what you want. I can assure you that I won’t hold back from telling you.”

  He heard the note of concern in her voice and let go of her hair and took her hand. Kissing her palm, he assured her, “I will. Though I’m sorry to say that my wants are quite uncomplicated. I want you, however I can get you. The ways and iterations aren’t all that important.”

  Her brow furrowed and he watched in amusement as she considered that there were likely more iterations than she’d previously imagined.

  “Do you mean to say you do not wish to take me bent over a chair?” she asked, with a frown. And suddenly he could think of nothing in the world he wanted more. He glanced at the wooden chairs they’d sat in for supper and considered if it were feasible.

  She must have read his expression right because she laughed. “So, perhaps your wants aren’t quite as uncomplicated as you’d thought,” she said wryly.

  He shrugged. “Perhaps not,” he agreed. “I will amend my statement and say that I very much want you in every way possible. You are the part of the equation that cannot vary.”

  “I feel sure Daphne would have something to say about your arithmetic,” Gemma said.

  And having decided they’d talked enough—especially given that his prick had very much liked the chair idea and wanted to be appeased, he flipped her onto her back again.

  “You cannot keep doing that,” she scolded, though it was evident from her wide smile that she wasn’t as unhappy as she seemed. “What if I wished to control things?”

  “Later,” he told her, “you told me you liked it when I’m forceful.”

  He pressed her hands above her head and held them there with one hand while his other stroked over her straining breast, and down her belly.

  “Yes,” she said in a husky tone. “I do like it.”

  “Good,” he said against her neck.

  And when his hand reached the wetness at her center, he stroked over her once before guiding himself i
nto her. With one swift thrust he filled her and they both cried out with relief at the joining.

  “Let me touch you,” she said, pulling her hands. “Oh please, Cam.”

  But he lifted her knee over his hip and thrust again. “Not yet. Trust me, sweet.” He leaned down to kiss her.

  And as he built up the fire between them, using the friction of her nipples against his chest to stoke them both, she began to twist beneath him.

  “Cam,” she exhaled as she followed his strokes with her hips and they began to move in tandem. He felt her inner muscles clutch him and he quickened his pace bringing her toward an edge that both of them longed to go over. When he felt the telltale tingle in his spine, he let go of her hands and she cried out again, the sudden freedom spurring her climax. And then they were both soaring over the edge into pleasure’s abyss.

  Chapter 23

  When Gemma awoke the next morning, feeling sated and a little sore, she was disappointed to find herself in the bed alone. But, much as she would like to remain here forever, there were still important things to be done outside of their cocoon of bliss. So when the maid scratched on the bedchamber door and entered with hot water for washing, she welcomed the girl in and set about putting herself to rights.

  By some miracle they’d managed to brush out her gown and pelisse and she’d be able to wear it to Lord Crutchley’s without fear of disgracing herself.

  She was putting the final pins into the simple chignon she’d managed with her hair—thanks to pins borrowed from the maid since she couldn’t find where hers had gone the night before—when Cam returned. He too had had his waterlogged coats from the day before brushed and dried out and his cravat was even snowy white again.

  “I thought we’d set out after breakfast,” he said, clearly mindful of the maid’s presence.

  When the girl was gone, and Gemma had turned to face him, he stepped forward and kissed her properly.

  “Good morning,” he said, pulling away, though he did take her hands in his.

  “I missed you,” she said simply. It was the truth, and if she were going to be in this with him she wouldn’t suppress her feelings.

  “I wanted to let you sleep for as long as you could,” he said with a smile. Then, ruefully, he added, “And I wasn’t sure I could keep myself from reaching for you again.”

  “But I wouldn’t have minded,” she told him, her heart beating faster at the thought.

  “That’s precisely why I had to leave,” he told her firmly. “You might not care about your poor, ill-used body, but I do.”

  “Your being the sensible one is very tedious,” she complained. “Though I will admit to some soreness, so perhaps you were right.”

  He pulled her arm through his, but not before kissing her hand. “If we are to find your lizard then you need to be in fighting shape.”

  At the mention of the Beauchamp Lizard, Gemma sighed. “Right again. So let’s be off.”

  It took nearly an hour for them to breakfast in a private dining room, and by the time Cam lifted her into his curricle, it was almost mid-morning.

  They made good time, however, and since yesterday’s rain had all but passed, leaving in its wake the same cloudy skies and brisk winds that had come before it, they remained dry if chilled.

  The innkeeper had given Cam the direction of the Crutchley estate, and when the curricle turned into the evergreen-lined drive, Gemma sent up a tiny prayer that he’d have the information they needed.

  Grooms were at the ready to take the reins from Cam and when he helped Gemma down, they were greeted by a dour-looking butler flanked by bewigged, liveried footmen.

  “You’re expected, Lord Cameron, Lady Cameron,” said the butler as he gestured them into the imposing wide doors of the sandstone manor house.

  Gemma’s eyes widened at the words, and a glance at Cam revealed him to be as surprised as she was.

  How did anyone at Lord Crutchley’s estate know about their ruse at the inn? Besides the innkeeper and his staff, only Lord Paley had …

  As if conjured by her thought, that gentleman himself stepped forward and took her hand. “Lady Cameron,” he said with a silky smile, “How good to see you again.”

  “Paley,” said Cam from beside her. She hadn’t noticed the way he held her against his side, as if to protect her from the urbane gentleman before them. “What a surprise.”

  “Only if you think it a surprise to find me at my godfather’s estate,” said Lord Paley with a charming smile that didn’t meet his eyes.

  “Godfather?” Gemma shook her head. The possibility of a connection between the men hadn’t even occurred to her.

  “But let’s not discuss it in the hallway,” said Paley with a welcoming gesture. “Come into the drawing room. Lord Crutchley is quite eager to meet you both.”

  Not as eager, Gemma guessed, as she was to meet him. There were many things she wished to question the man about, not least of which was more about what Lord Paley might have told him about the goings-on at Pearson Close and Beauchamp House.

  Feeling Cam’s strong hand at her lower back, she followed the viscount up the double-sided staircase and into a lushly carpeted hallway.

  The drawing room was a lavish chamber with brightly colored wall hangings and floor to ceiling windows that looked out over what was, at this time of year, a rather dour landscape.

  Before the fire sat an elderly gentleman, who rose upon their entrance.

  “Miss Hastings,” he said as they neared him. “What a delight to finally make your acquaintance.”

  She curtseyed before him, then offered him her hand, which he kissed.

  Behind her, she heard Cam clear his throat before saying, “I’m afraid she is no longer Miss Hastings, Crutchley, but Lady Cameron Lisle.”

  .

  And as Cam stepped forward to exchange bows with the older gentleman, Crutchley laughed. “Too right, my boy. If this were my lady I’d be quick to claim her as my own as well. Especially if, as Paley has told me, she’s the gift of knowing wheat from chaff.”

  Before Gemma could respond to that, Paley gestured for them to all be seated and once he was also in a chair, he said, “I wish you’d confided in me when we met yesterday that you intended to visit my godfather. But I suppose you had other things on your mind.”

  The insinuation hung in the air between them for a moment before Lord Crutchley spoke up, apparently oblivious to his nephew’s gaffe. “I must admit, I have wished to make your acquaintance, Lady Cameron, ever since I learned Lady Celeste had chosen you to be one of her heiresses. That lady had as good an eye for fossils as anyone I’ve ever known and it wounded me dreadfully to know she was taken from this world so prematurely.”

  “But I don’t understand,” Gemma said with a frown. “How did you even know who I was?”

  “Oh I didn’t, I didn’t,” he assured her with a wave of a gnarled hand. “But I did know Celeste, and if she chose you to be the keeper of her collection, well, then that was endorsement enough for me. I may not move about in local society much anymore but I do have my ways of learning about the goings-on in the area. Paley, for instance, has been most informative about the goings-on at Beauchamp House and of course the gathering of fossil hunters at Pearson Close.”

  “Imagine my surprise,” Lord Paley said before Gemma could respond, “when I learned that the collection at Beauchamp House I’d so recently toured was one which he’d played a role in shaping with Lady Celeste.”

  “You’re overstating it, boy,” said the older man with a frown. “I merely accompanied Celeste on a few of her fossil-hunting expeditions. That collection was all Celeste’s doing. Especially once we had our falling-out.”

  This was the first Gemma had heard of a rift, and she risked a glance at Cam to see if he too was surprised. His answering nod told her he was.

  “I had seen some mention of you in her collection notebooks,” Gemma said, trying not to appear too eager for information lest Lord Crutchley should regret his con
fidences. “But nothing about an argument.”

  “Oh it wasn’t really an argument, my dear,” said the old man. “It was really more wounded pride on my part.”

  He shook his head at the memory, then continued, “You see, she found a fossil skull that she was convinced held the key to some major understanding of the way that animal life developed on the Sussex coast. Found it right there on the bit of shore beneath Beauchamp House. And despite her trying to keep quiet about it until she was able to do some investigation into it, word spread among the collecting circles. Well, since I was there with her when she found the blasted thing, she thought I’d been the one to spread the news. It wasn’t me, of course, and she even went so far as to take measures to hide the thing away because she became convinced someone would try to steal it from her.”

  “And did you know where she hid it?” Gemma asked, her breath catching.

  “No,” Lord Crutchley said with a mournful shake of his head. “And what’s more, I didn’t ever talk to her again after that dustup between us. I was stubborn in those days, and that bit of doubt on her part was enough to make me storm off in a huff and never go back. But I always regretted it. Always.”

  To Gemma’s surprise, he wiped away a tear. “I’m a sentimental old fool, you see, and I thought we’d make it up again some way. But she was gone before someday ever came.”

  “I feel sure she would have liked to see you again,” Gemma said quietly. Having read her benefactress’s journals and other writings, she knew that while proud, Lady Celeste had been a loving person and she didn’t doubt that if Lord Crutchley had initiated contact with her, Lady Celeste would have welcomed him with open arms.

  “So you have no idea where she might have hidden the fossilized skull?” Cam asked, changing the subject back to the fossil.

  “I don’t,” said Lord Crutchley. “Though we did have a mad conversation once about the best place to hide one’s valuables. I thought of it because Paley, here, mentioned that you’d found a particularly impressive skull on that same stretch of shore, Miss H—er, Lady Cameron.”

  “And what was that?” Gemma held her breath, not quite daring to hope what he was about to say. They’d come here to ask the man about his dealings with Lady Celeste, but if he could give them some way to secure the provenance of the skull, they’d be that much closer to finding the person who stole it.