His Scandal

by Gayle Callen

  “I have to go, Sir Alexander,” she said formally, trying desperately to push her foolish emotions aside.

  “It’s Alex,” he whispered, reaching to cup her cheek. For once he wasn’t smiling, and he looked more intense and handsome than she could have imagined.

  For her own sanity, she broke away from him and ran.

  Alex watched her go, then remained alone in the garden, trying to remember the wager, Blythe, anything instead of the beguiling sight of a flustered Emmeline. Strands of her hair had come loose to tumble temptingly down her cheeks and neck. Why hadn’t he touched them when Emmeline had lain beneath him?

  Because her hair wasn’t what he’d been thinking about then. With a sudden overwhelming need, he’d wanted to lift her skirts and settle himself between her soft thighs. He’d wanted to kiss every part of her skin, smell every scent, until she blushed for him alone.

  The thought of that damned wager made him sigh with regret. Unless…would Edmund agree to modify it? Surely a spinster was just as much of a challenge as a girl guarded by a spinster?

  Then he remembered the way her expressive eyes had dimmed when he’d asked if she were reporting his activities to Blythe. Did she truly think him so unworthy?

  Gritting his teeth, he strode back through the corridors of Whitehall until he reached the tiltyard. He found Edmund straddling a bench, a dipper of water in his hand. Alex took the dipper, slurped the last of the water, picked up his sword, and went out into the center of the yard.

  Edmund stared at him.

  Alex lifted his sword. “We weren’t finished, were we?”

  Edmund walked toward him, his weapon dangling from one hand. “What happened with Lady Emmeline?”

  “Nothing,” he said, raising his sword. “Let’s have at it.”

  But Edmund only circled him slowly, his eyes thoughtful. “Did she tell you why she’s been following you?”

  “I’ve always known why.” Alex thrust forward.

  Edmund parried, then stumbled back as Alex came at him again. “Since when has practice become serious to you?”

  Alex only answered with his sword.

  Emmeline’s father decided to celebrate his homecoming with an “event.” He wanted to have a masque, with actors performing for his guests, and she hoped planning it would make her forget the thoughts of Alex that constantly crept into her mind.

  But she wasn’t successful. Every moment that she wasn’t focused on the party, she thought of him and remembered their solitary moments in the garden like some secret dream she had never thought could come true. She’d felt every part of his body against hers, and the dark, simmering passion of it all would not leave her. She didn’t know how she would face him again, for she could barely face Blythe—or even herself in the mirror.

  He’d wanted to kiss her! Over and over she wondered what it would have felt like, and guiltily wished he’d done it. The shame of being dangerously attracted to her sister’s suitor was all mixed up with the excitement and dread. During the week before the masque, he had twice visited Blythe, and Emmeline made sure she was busy elsewhere. Oh, she was careful to keep a servant in the room with them, but she herself stayed far away.

  How could she look him in the eyes? Certainly all she would remember was his body on hers. Her face would give her away, especially to Blythe, who might want answers Emmeline couldn’t give.

  The sooner she got Alex Thornton out of their lives, the better. She personally oversaw the guest list, inviting every eligible man in London. Surely there were other men who would appeal to her sister.

  Though it had rained all week, the night of the masque was clear and moonlit. The gardens seemed to shimmer with moisture and the promise of summer’s heat. On impulse, Emmeline had allowed Blythe to set up a pavilion for the masked drama, rather than hold it indoors. All week she’d been close to changing her mind, but as the beauty of that Saturday night unfolded, she was thankful. Her father actually commended her efforts before he disappeared into his withdrawing chamber with the other older gentlemen.

  The guests hummed about her in droves, the food was devoured and praised, even the actors’ performances drew hearty laughter and applause. Though Emmeline was in the center of it all, she felt alone, removed from everyone. The week’s efforts had culminated in a success—but all she felt was tiredness.

  Even as she watched approvingly while the young men gathered about her sister, she thought of Alex. She didn’t want him here—yet she did. Once, she had seen him standing beneath a cluster of lanterns as he watched one man after another dance with Blythe. He didn’t seem sad, so much as…alone. He made no effort to dance with Blythe himself, as far as Emmeline could tell.

  Could he finally be realizing that Blythe was wrong for him? Or was he just bored and ready to move on to another young woman?

  Emmeline watched her father approach Blythe, while a young man trailed him. There were introductions made and shy smiles exchanged, and her father’s approving nod.

  Tears stung Emmeline’s eyes. But her hard work would be worth it if Blythe could be happy all of her days.

  Turning away, Emmeline hugged her cloak about her shoulders and followed a torchlit path. The breeze was cool off the river, and the sweet smells of budding flowers calmed her. She wound deeper into the garden, until even the voices of her guests faded. Nothing but lapping water and peace. She sniffed and wiped away a foolish tear.

  “Blythe!”

  Emmeline gave a start at the sound of Alex’s voice.

  From around the bend of hedges, she heard him call again. “Blythe, you know your sister wouldn’t want you to run off by yourself.”

  He was coming. Emmeline looked about almost frantically, but the Thames was before her and Alex close behind. She kept her back to him, wishing she knew what to say, how to explain the reasons for her actions.

  She heard his heavy sigh, then stiffened when he caught her elbow.

  “Blythe, let me take you back—” He turned her about, then froze, his hands gripping her upper arms. For what seemed like an endless moment they stared at each other, again caught alone in a garden, but this time with the magic of moonlight.

  She tried desperately to sound unaffected. “Alex,” she said, nodding her head.

  He didn’t let her go, just watched her with an unreadable expression.

  She felt her throat go dry, her heart beat strangely, but still he didn’t release her. “Is it your turn to follow me through a garden?” she asked in a husky voice unlike her own.

  He bent his head even nearer. “I’m glad I did.”

  She could feel his warm breath on her face, felt his hands slide down her back to her waist. She couldn’t seem to get enough air, didn’t know what to do with her own trembling hands. What was he doing? What could he be thinking?

  Then he caught her hard against him, and she only had time for a gasp before he touched her lips with his.

  Chapter 12

  Emmeline felt frozen with shock and the rush of such confusing emotions that she was overwhelmed. Alex Thornton was kissing her, his lips moving so gently, so lightly, that she wanted to groan with the tantalizing promise of it all.

  Then he lifted her up on her toes, pressing every part of them together. Through her gown, she could feel that hard part of him again, and her restraint vanished with this sure knowledge that he desired her.

  “Emmeline,” he said hoarsely against her mouth.

  Then his tongue slid along her lips and she gasped. Only one man had ever kissed her, but it had been chaste and sweet—not like this. Not like he had to go on kissing her or die.

  Her hands were caught between them and she pressed them flat to his chest, feeling the strength and hardness of his body, the tautness as he leaned over her.

  “Let me taste you,” he murmured, and the vibration of his mouth on hers made her moan.

  “You already are,” she whispered back.

  She could tell he smiled, could feel every part of him. He slanted
his head and his mouth took hers harder, until she helplessly parted her lips and let him do as he willed.

  He invaded her mouth like he’d invaded her life and dreams, swiftly, forcefully. His tongue claimed hers and she shuddered, letting him press her even harder to his hips. His hands cupped her buttocks, and she shamefully wished there were no layers of garments between them.

  She moaned, reveling in the wildness of his mouth on her lips, on her cheek, on her throat. She arched back, secure in his embrace, giving him freely whatever he wanted to kiss as she plunged her hands into the softness of his hair.

  He murmured her name against her throat, then against the barely revealed curve of her breast. She wanted more; she wanted to disappear with him into the dark, to—

  And then she heard laughter.

  They came apart so fast that Emmeline had to grab hold of tree trunk not to fall.

  Alex straightened his garments as he looked over his shoulder. “I don’t see anyone coming.”

  “I hear them!” She covered her mouth with her hands and waited, trying desperately to invent a fabrication for why she would be out in the dark with a known scoundrel. She looked into the trees, out across the dark Thames, anywhere but at him. Oh God, what had she done? What would she have done, if they hadn’t been interrupted?

  Then the voices drifted away, and they were alone again. She burned with a humiliation she’d never felt before. This couldn’t go on; he had to get out of their lives, out of her thoughts.

  “Alex.” She winced at how uneven her voice sounded. “I have to tell you something, something important. And I want you to listen very carefully.”

  By moonlight he looked amused, but his intense eyes never left her.

  “Emmeline, what just happened was—”

  “No! Do not speak of it; just listen to me. I don’t mean to offend you, but you have to understand that you are not the man for Blythe.”

  One of his eyebrows rose, but she was desperate to get the words out now—because otherwise she might remain silent just so that she could occasionally see him, even if only from afar.

  “Allow me to finish. Blythe wants marriage and children. She needs a steady man, one who will provide for her.”

  His smile never diminished, and she hated feeling that he laughed at her.

  “My dear Emmeline, I have no plans to marry.”

  “Well, that settles that,” she said in a rush.

  “But that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy myself, and provide some enjoyment in return.”

  Her cheeks heated again, and she was grateful for the night. “You must understand that that isn’t what I wish for my sister.”

  “Or yourself?” he asked softly.

  When he reached for her, she stepped away.

  “I have to return. They’ll be looking for me.”

  “Blythe will, but I’m not so certain about your father.”

  “Don’t!” she warned coldly. “Don’t speak about things you don’t understand.” She turned away, drew her cloak tighter, and began to walk as quickly as possible.

  Alex walked slowly up the path, whistling softly. As he approached the lights of the party and the sounds of guests enjoying themselves, he tried to analyze what he was feeling—something he hated to do. He’d never lost control of himself like that, especially not in someone else’s home. But in those few moments when he’d held her against him, nothing else had mattered, not even the dangerous excitement of impropriety.

  Kissing Emmeline was more exhilarating than even he had imagined—and he could imagine a lot. There was a hunger inside her, a passion she denied, probably because she hadn’t known it existed.

  But now he knew, and just the thought made him hard again.

  When he finally had himself under control by thinking about crop management rather than Emmeline, he left the dark garden paths and returned to the party. Blythe was making a speech, thanking her father for the evening. But her true thanks were reserved for her sister, whom she drew forward despite Emmeline’s protests.

  Emmeline was blushing prettily as she hugged her sister. She curtsied to applause, but Alex thought she looked uncomfortable, that she forced her pleasure for her sister alone. He knew her well enough to know exactly what she was thinking: I just kissed your suitor!

  Alex didn’t feel guilty. Blythe was led off to dance by Seabrook, while Emmeline did the hard work of keeping the masque running smoothly. Blythe would easily find someone better than Alex to marry. But Emmeline—

  His thought stopped as he watched her speak with the servants, and he felt something in his gut tighten. Emmeline seemed to always be in the background, making everything run smoothly for everyone else. Even he, who’d wanted to visit her during the week, had pretended it was Blythe he meant to see. He was positive no one had danced with Emmeline tonight.

  Alex stepped forward to right that wrong, then halted. She wouldn’t welcome an offer to dance from him now. So he stood in the shadows and watched her.

  It was another hour before Emmeline felt like she might make it through the evening after all. She had calmed her mind by returning to her duties, and now Alex’s kiss was just another memory, best forgotten. She was grateful he did not come near her—yet depressed at the same time. She needed a distraction.

  And got it in the form of Maxwell Willoughby, a baron and cousin to an earl. They met at the refreshment table, and Emmeline found him charming and gentle, so thoughtful in his speech. He had a blond English handsomeness that seemed refreshingly safe. He wasn’t very tall, or very broad, not threatening in any way.

  He might be perfect for Blythe. After all, Blythe would tire quickly of Lord Seabrook when she realized all he truly loved to talk about were his horses.

  Emmeline allowed Lord Willoughby to pour her a wine punch, then asked, “Lord Willoughby, do you live in London?”

  “Only occasionally, my lady. I spend most of the year at my estate in Sussex.”

  Not too far away; that was good. “And what most occupies your mind there?”

  His eyes widened a bit, but he had the grace to laugh pleasantly. “Do not allow me to start on my passion, Lady Emmeline. I might bore you.”

  “Never, my lord!”

  “Very well. I am endeavoring to grow wine grapes. It is such a shame to import wine, when here in England we have the finest soil, if only we could figure how best to use it.”

  “So you study for this interest of yours?”

  “Oh, yes. And I travel each year to the best vineyards in France.”

  This was even better. Blythe had always talked about wanting to see the world. As he talked longer; Emmeline was charmed by his fascination with his project, his good-natured intelligence, and his love of reading.

  When Blythe came over to speak with her, Emmeline tried to control her excitement.

  “Blythe, dearest, I’d like you to meet Lord Willoughby. My lord, this is my sister, the Lady Blythe.”

  Lord Willoughby’s eyes widened as he beheld her sister, and he bowed quite charmingly. Smiling with excitement, Emmeline looked back and forth between them. But…Lord Willoughby remained silent, though his posture spoke interest and attention.

  After a moment, Blythe said, “How nice to meet you, my lord,” and reached out her hand.

  Emmeline looked at Lord Willoughby and waited. He licked his lips once, and just as Emmeline was tempted to give him a subtle kick in the ankle, he wiped his palm on his breeches, took Blythe’s hand, and bowed over it.

  “Lady B-Blythe,” he murmured. “A p-pleasure.”

  Emmeline wanted to gape at him. Where had this stuttering, unsure young man come from? He had been so pleasant and confident with her. She tried to bring up his estate, surely a good topic. But he seemed to have nothing to say, and could only stare at Blythe.

  Blythe managed to escape when Lord Seabrook asked her to dance. She shot a sympathetic smile at Emmeline and whirled away.

  Emmeline was speechless. She watched her sister for a moment,
then turned to Lord Willoughby, whose face now glowed a dull red.

  “I muddled that, didn’t I?” he murmured, and shook his head in obvious disgust.

  “I don’t understand what just happened.”

  “Lady Emmeline, forgive me. This always happens. Whenever I try to impress a beautiful woman, I cannot think of a thing to say.”

  “You had no problem conversing with me.”

  “But you’re different, my lady. You’re easy to talk to, and you seem interested in what I have to say. A woman like your sister—why would she be interested in someone like me, when she has Lord Seabrook dancing attendance on her?”

  Though Emmeline felt frustrated, she wasn’t going to let Lord Willoughby off this easily. He was too nice a man, and she wanted her sister to see that. There had to be something she could do.

  When Alex finished a dance with Lady Morley, he escorted her to the benches, then turned to look for Emmeline again.

  She was talking to a man.

  Frowning, Alex walked slowly towards them, keeping to the shadows beneath the overhang of the trees. He eventually recognized Maxwell Willoughby, a decent fellow, if a bit shy. They were talking rather animatedly, then Emmeline laughed and shook her head in a fond way.

  Had she finally found her next poet?

  Alex folded his arms across his chest, and a wave of blackness enveloped his mind, a sudden surge of jealousy that took him totally unaware.

  The women he usually surrounded himself with were but pale imitations of Emmeline’s vibrancy and intelligence, yet she remained ignorant of her own attributes. Now she was trying to replace one weak man with another, as if she didn’t deserve better.

  And suddenly Alex knew he wanted better for her, that somehow he wanted her to move ahead with her life, and leave her past mistakes behind. And he was just the man to show her the way.

  Late that night, Emmeline stood behind Blythe and brushed out her hair. Usually a maidservant did the task, but Emmeline felt a need to be close to her sister. She knew it was out of guilt, but felt she could make it up to Blythe by introducing her to the perfect man. If only Lord Willoughby had cooperated.