His Scandal

by Gayle Callen

  Suddenly, she bumped into what she had thought was a shadow. She gave a startled cry, and the “shadow” reached out to grab her, putting a hand over her mouth.

  Chapter 6

  Emmeline knew just who held her, and although she struggled, Sir Alexander did not release her. His arm encircled her waist, pulling her up against his body. She had never realized how wide and hard a man’s chest could be, and how easily she could be overwhelmed. She should be frightened, but instead excitement shivered through her.

  He suddenly stilled, then whispered, “Emmeline?”

  She nodded and tried to pull his hand away from her mouth.

  “Do you promise not to cry out?”

  She nodded again with great exaggeration. He released her mouth, but not her body, and she put her hands on his chest and tried to push.

  “How did you know it was me?” she whispered. 61

  She felt his hand sliding down her back to her waist. “You feel very different from Blythe.”

  She gave him a hard kick in the shin and he let her go.

  “Ow! I promise I have only held your sister as we danced, if that is what worries you.”

  She shivered as the wind blew her hood back onto her shoulders.

  When she lifted her hands to it, he said quietly, “Leave it, if you don’t mind. I like to see who I’m talking to.”

  “We have nothing to discuss,” Emmeline whispered, fearing discovery. She could still hear the laughter of her father’s grooms, scant yards away. “Our father has returned home suddenly, and Blythe could not leave.”

  “But you could?”

  She heard his doubts—good. “Blythe has a lovely singing voice, and she often entertains Father’s guests.”

  “You left your visitors for me?”

  Even by the moonlight that filtered into the stables she could see his amused smile, and it made her want to force some humility into him.

  “For Blythe,” she countered coolly. “My sister sends her regrets. She does not always understand the proprieties of what she does. You should know better.”

  She turned to leave and felt his hand clasp her shoulder. Just that one point of contact between them warmed her, and she remembered how it felt to be held against his body. Deep inside, she was embarrassed to realize she wanted to know such a feeling again.

  He was too scandalous, touching her as if he had a right to!

  “Are you scolding me, Emmeline?” There was open laughter in his voice now.

  She whirled to face him. “I know this meeting was my sister’s idea, but I resent your agreeing to it. She is young, and does not think through the consequences of her actions.”

  “She is not much younger than you,” he said mildly, folding his arms over his chest.

  “Seven years, sir. I have practically raised her, and will not see her abused.”

  “Abused? I feel abused at your implications. I am but a poor suitor, helpless before the beauty of the Prescott sisters.”

  Emmeline smothered the beginnings of a smile. He was too charming. It was probably easy for his mother to spoil him.

  “Do not bother using your charms on me, Sir Alexander.”

  “Alex,” he replied, stepping closer.

  She looked up at him, as dark as the night except for the white of his teeth. “Sir Alexander.”

  “Too formal. Even the queen does not call me that.”

  “And what does she call you?” she heard herself ask, some part of her curiously eager for the answer.

  “The best dance partner in all England,” he replied brightly.

  She rolled her eyes.

  “And since your sister enjoys dancing, I do not see the harm in allowing me to partner her. Blythe knows her own mind.”

  “And as you can see, her mind clearly told her not to come out and meet you this evening.”

  “And the next words out of your mouth would be, ‘because she has sense’?”

  Alex liked the quirk in her lips when she hid her smile.

  Her sense of superiority should grate on him. He should remind himself that she preferred men her noble equal, not second sons like him. She was the daughter of a marquess, related to royalty—

  Yet a sadness lingered about her faintly, as if he looked hard enough, he could see the reason why. But always he turned his head too quickly and her sadness darted back into the mysterious shadows around her.

  “Blythe does have good sense,” Emmeline replied. “She also has the sense not to anger our father.”

  “Ah,” he murmured, leaning against the rail of a stall. The horse behind him nickered and bumped its nose insistently against his back. “And why is it all right for you to risk his wrath by seeing me?”

  Alittle frown line marred the smooth perfection of her forehead. “Of course I do not wish to flout my father’s rules. I should not be here, either.”

  “Yet you are.”

  “Just out of consideration that you came all this way for nothing.”

  Was that all she felt, he wondered, even as he remembered the tremors of her soft body against his. “That’s hardly nothing,” he said. “You do admirably well for a man’s evening. Surely you’ve been told that by many a suitor.”

  He immediately regretted his words as a formal stiffness drew up her impressive height. In the gloom of the stables, her eyes glittered.

  “You mock me, sir. I am beyond marriage, beyond a man’s interest. And there was never much interest to begin with.”

  When she whirled away and clutched the wooden rail of the opposite stall, Alex realized she regretted revealing her pain. He thought again of the man she’d rejected, wishing he knew more of the story. Why was she sad, when she only had herself to blame?

  Was there a different Emmeline beneath her cool capability—an unsure, vulnerable woman?

  He turned away from her and absently petted the horse’s neck. He did not want to know. He only wanted to care about his pleasure; not worry about everyone else, as he’d begun to do when posing as the viscount. But it crept back on him insidiously, this need he’d never had before to take care of people. He still remembered the overwhelming feeling of awe he’d had the first time he realized a decision he’d made had enriched someone’s life. It wasn’t his appearance as the viscount that had mattered, but the knowledge that he’d shared. It had made him want to educate himself on the newest inventions to ease a workman’s labor. But it had all been for nothing when people found out the truth, that it was not Spencer but he who had shared his advice. Though they tried to hide it, he knew the bailiffs of the estates went back to examine every decision he’d made.

  Suddenly Alex heard the slowly rising voices of men in the garden as they approached the stables. With his luck, it could only be the marquess himself. Before he could even make a decision about how to protect Emmeline, she pushed him aside, unlatched the gate of the stall and dragged him inside with her.

  She shoved him into the corner closest to the interior of the stables, then surprisingly covered his mouth with her hand. Did she think he did not understand the need for silence?

  My, she was amusing—and strong, too. He quite liked the way she leaned against him. He almost felt…forced, a novel and intriguing sensation. Her head was turned aside as she listened to the voices now within the stable itself. He heard the invasion of the groomsmen, saw the eerie shadows of oil lamps in procession.

  Should he be wary of being caught alone with a rich virgin who’d given up on a husband? Perhaps she did this deliberately, to ensnare him.

  But no, she was too honest, too forthright. And, he thought with a touch of bitterness, she could have someone better than him.

  But for now, there were many ways to provoke a reaction from the proper Emmeline. Very deliberately, he licked her palm.

  She yanked her hand away with a stifled gasp, then promptly covered her own mouth, eyes wide with horror.

  A man’s voice boomed just on the other side of the wall. “Wait until you see the stalli
on I just purchased, Stokesford. He’d been smuggled in from Spain.”

  The horse inside their stall had given up sniffing them for food, and now leaned his head out. Was their luck so poor that this was the horse the marquess wanted to display?

  But the party kept on moving down the stables, and the flickering light went with them. He could feel Emmeline sag against him with relief. What lovely breasts she had, so full and proud. He rested his hands on her waist, barely resisting the urge to slide them up her sides and cup her fullness. He breathed in her scent, and thought about how her hair would feel against his face.

  He suddenly realized he was becoming oddly aroused by this spinster guardian. She was nothing like the open, sensual women he usually preferred.

  But perhaps that was the true challenge. Her lush body contradicted all the formal restraint of her manner. Every quirk of her lips implied something hidden, something worth seeking out.

  He leaned over her very slowly, feeling the first tickle of stray strands of hair, then the brush of softest silk against his cheek. He could not miss the way she quickly inhaled. Yet she didn’t move away, though he felt her tremble.

  Oh, he wanted more of her.

  But there was the wager, and Blythe—whom he could barely picture in his mind.

  The voices drifted away, and darkness curled itself around them once more, as he heard the restless movement of the horses. Emmeline remained still except for the occasional shiver. He wanted to enfold her in his embrace, but she would only fight him.

  Instead he took her hand and pulled her out of the stall.

  “They could return!” she hissed, using all her strength to tug at him.

  He gripped her harder, not knowing what he meant to do, but only enjoying it. “We cannot talk here. Follow me.”

  He left the stables and moved out deeper into the gardens, where rose vines climbed trellises and blocked part of the starlit sky. Only when the path opened up again to circle a gurgling fountain, did he stop to face her. Her breath came rapidly, and one long curl had come loose against her cheek.

  He released her and she withdrew her hands back into the armor of her cloak.

  “This was unnecessary, Sir Alexander. We have nothing left to say to one another.”

  “But I was so enjoying our conversation.” He stepped nearer and was rewarded when she held her ground. He admired her courage, which only made him more puzzled about the men in her life. “So, tell me why you had so few suitors. It makes no sense to me.”

  “You mock me, sir. Surely you can see that I am not the ideal of beauty.”

  “What?” He tried not to laugh because he knew how serious she was. “There is only one ideal? Then I should have been disappointed that the women with whom I’ve been…well acquainted have all been so different. Who told you such nonsense?”

  He saw her bite her lip, sensed that she once again regretted her impulsiveness. Her silence was eloquent, sad, and he wanted to lighten her mood.

  “Then a jealous woman must have said so. Any woman who would berate your figure must be as flat as a Yorkshire moor.”

  She gave a choked little snort, then her shoulders shook with laughter. “My—my aunt.”

  “Don’t give the old crone another thought. That can’t be the reason you’re not married.”

  “I had a suitor once.” He heard the defensiveness in her voice.

  Immediately he regretted the turn of the conversation. He didn’t want to hurt her—nor did he want to hear about her ideal man, one whom she considered her equal. But it seemed he’d opened a floodgate.

  “He was a gentle, intellectual man, a poet.”

  Her voice went all soft and dreamy with remembrance and pain, and Alex wanted to scoff, for how many poets were amongst the men of his class?

  But he remained silent, and thought he was a fool for respecting a pain she had caused herself by refusing this “wonder” of a man.

  “A poet, eh?” he said, keeping his tone light. “I am very good at poetry.” He sprawled leisurely on a bench beside the fountain.

  Emmeline told herself to leave, that he would not dare follow her. But she had foolishly opened up herself to this man, and now she was trapped, morbidly fascinated that he did not mock or insult her.

  Why didn’t she leave? Why could she not forget the way he had felt when she’d pushed him against the stable wall? His body was so different from hers, hard where hers was soft, confident where she was unsure.

  “You are a poet?” she heard herself say.

  He clutched a hand to his heart. “You doubt me? Fa, how you wound me, my lady. Night and day, only pretty words occupy my mind.”

  She knew he was teasing her. “Then surely you could give me a small performance.”

  “Now?”

  “Now.”

  “No longer in such a hurry to leave me?” he responded in a low voice, rising and walking toward her, the dark mystery of the night enveloping him like a cloak.

  He did not intrigue her, and she would not allow herself to be intimidated.

  “You are changing the subject. Show me proof.” She blushed with embarrassment at so obvious a challenge.

  He cleared his throat and struck a pose, one hand on his hip, the other raised to the sky.

  She held back a giggle.

  “My lady,” he began slowly, “is like the moon, calling to me with mystery, clothing herself in dark garments that glitter with diamonds.”

  She felt a little catch in her breath, and her knees went weak at the deep currents of his voice. He was a sorcerer, an actor, and he would enthrall her if she were not careful.

  He lowered his voice and drew nearer, and still she could not move away.

  “I am but the earth, ever apart from her, a mortal to her goddess, mud to her dark seas, dirt to her glow, an ant to her flower—”

  “An ant?” she interrupted, almost happy to be amused rather than experience the puzzling emotions she’d first felt with his words. “Surely I have never heard a poet compare himself to an ant.”

  He shook his head solemnly. “Only talented poets understand the implications.”

  “I thought the point of poets was to explain things with words.”

  “I’ll leave such judgments to the critics, my lady, as I bid you good night. Shall I walk you back to your house? And if it is dark inside, I could walk you to your room.”

  Oh, he was too amusing—and for a moment, she wished their meeting didn’t have to end. “No, that will be quite enough for one evening, Sir Alexander.”

  “Call me Alex. And does that mean there will be other evenings?”

  Shaking her head, she turned and hurried away.

  Emmeline was wearing her night rail and dressing gown when there was a sudden knock on her door. The latch lifted and Blythe peered inside.

  “Emmy? Might I come in?”

  She gave her sister a tired smile. “Of course you can. Come tell me all about Lord Seabrook.”

  Blythe took Emmeline’s hands and pulled her to sit down on the bed. “There is nothing much to say, for our fathers never left us alone, although I did enjoy the intriguing looks he gave me. But I can wait no longer—tell me what happened!”

  “Nothing much,” Emmeline said with a sigh, unable to meet her gaze.

  “Nothing? But Father took the duke and his son out to the stables! I tried to stop them, but Father kept insisting that he’d had enough singing for one evening.”

  Emmeline smiled and squeezed her sister’s hands. “I guess even your beautiful voice can’t keep a man away from horses.”

  “Can I assume Father didn’t find Alex?”

  “You assume correctly. Not that it wasn’t close.” She regretted the last sentence immediately.

  “Close? What do you mean?”

  “I…I had to pull Sir Alexander into a stall to hide.”

  Blythe’s blue eyes widened. “Oh my goodness! Was he offended?”

  “Of course not. Naturally Sir Alexander did not wish
to be found, either.”

  “Then he might have had to marry you,” she said, wearing an impish smile.

  Emmeline’s mouth suddenly went dry as a hot summer day. Marriage to a man like that? Forever knowing that he’d been forced to marry her? Even spinsterhood was a better option.

  “I certainly would not let such a thing happen,” Emmeline said in a tight voice. “I could never hurt you like that.”

  “Dearest Emmy, your happiness could not harm me. Losing one suitor of many would be a small price to pay.”

  “It is of no consequence, because we were not discovered. We were able to leave the stable unseen.”

  Blythe nodded, then caught her lip between her teeth. “Was Alex angry that I did not come to meet him?”

  “Of course not. He understood that our father had newly returned and wanted your company.”

  After a quick kiss to Emmeline’s cheek, Blythe walked to the door. “Thank you, Emmy. I will return the favor the moment you ask.”

  “You will waylay strange men in the stables for me?”

  Blythe giggled as she opened the door, looked carefully both ways down the corridor, then closed it behind her.

  Soon Emmeline lay in bed watching the patterns cast by the fire across the beamed ceiling. But she could only remain still so long. She rolled over on her side and punched the pillow into a new position. After a moment, she groaned and rolled onto her stomach, but still her rambling thoughts would not allow sleep to claim her.

  Every time she closed her eyes, she remembered Alex’s cheek against her hair, his body pressed to hers. He was so large that he made her feel delicate.

  She pulled the coverlet over her head. What could he have been thinking? Surely he was just making sport of her.

  But when she was with him, she felt like the only woman alive. Truly, he was gifted with this unique ability to make a woman feel like the focus of his every thought.

  But he focused on every woman, not just her.

  Emmeline covered her face with her hands. Why did he have to be intelligent? Why was there so much more beneath the surface he showed everyone? He intrigued her, and that wasn’t good.