His Scandal

by Gayle Callen

  Huddled in her corner, Emmeline tried not to glare at Alex. He was right—there was no sense in beating futilely at the coach, though the impulse to do just that almost had her squirming.

  But how could he be so relaxed? Why did that damnable smile never leave his face?

  And why did he have to keep watching her from beneath lowered eyelids, making her forget the danger, forget everything but his mouth on hers, his hands touching her, cupping her—

  She had to distract herself. “Alex, the noise has died away, so we must have left London.”

  “I know. We can only wait and see what their intentions are.”

  “Then…distract me!”

  He was off his bench and over her so fast that she gave a little gasp, even as she stopped him with a hand on his chest.

  “Not like that!”

  He leaned even harder against her, his body overwhelming, the heat in his eyes stunning her. They were in horrible danger, and the first thing he thought about was…that?

  “Then shall I compose poetry for you, fair Emmeline?” he murmured, his lips so close to her upturned face. “I’m sure I could think of something for the occasion. We could call it ‘The Seduction of Emmeline.’”

  “Alex!”

  “‘A proud, noble beauty, above reproach; lost her innocence while traveling in a—’”

  “Stop!” she cried. In a weak voice, she continued, “Tell me…tell me about when your brother was spying against Spain.”

  He blinked, and though he didn’t move, she could sense everything freezing inside him. After a moment, he gave her a bland smile and slid back onto his bench. His ability to control his expression always amazed her.

  “So you’ve been talking to people about me.”

  “Not deliberately. I overheard a conversation.”

  “I can only imagine,” he said dryly. “How long have you known?”

  “A fortnight.”

  He said softly, “Why didn’t you say something before now?”

  She felt another dreaded blush steal over her. “If you’ll remember, whenever we’ve been alone, you haven’t given me much chance to…talk.”

  His narrowed gaze roamed down her body, and she wished she had not reminded him.

  Quickly, she said, “But I’d like to talk now.”

  “Very well. Ask your questions.”

  “I don’t have any questions yet, because I don’t know what happened. Won’t you tell me?”

  She held her breath, waiting, until he finally nodded.

  “It is quite simple, really. The Queen asked my brother to run off to Spain and pose as a Spaniard, all for the sake of our good England. And I was to stay behind, posing as Spencer, though occasionally I came to town as myself just for appearances. I was much better suited to playing the nobleman than the spy; my command of the Spanish language would fool no one, you see.”

  Emmeline watched him, barely daring to breathe, knowing that even as he made light of his situation, there was a lingering bitterness he thought hidden from her. “Did the plan succeed?”

  “Oh yes, Spencer returned quite the hero, England was saved, and I was released from the drudgery of estate management.”

  “Perhaps your brother had all the glory, but your efforts were just as noble,” she said softly.

  He laughed. “Emmeline, how kind you are, but the danger was all Spencer’s. I had nothing more dangerous than three mistresses and too much money to spend.”

  She ignored her painful spasm of jealousy. “But without you, Spencer couldn’t have succeeded as a spy for so long. It was over a year, wasn’t it? Questions would have been asked, threatening his life. You prevented that.”

  The coach rumbled over another hole in the road, and she held onto her bench lest she be tossed into Alex’s lap.

  As the silence continued, she asked, “What was it like, pretending to be someone else for so long?”

  He hesitated, then said simply, “I almost forgot who I was.”

  She forced away the sting of tears, knowing he’d hate her sympathy. His smile spread wide, and he leaned forward to rub one finger over her skirt-covered knee.

  “I’m teasing, of course. Can you imagine me as a viscount, with all those responsibilities, all that money to manage? I had to give Spencer some of my personality, for how else could I repay him for such a sacrifice?”

  “Hence the mistresses,” she said dryly. “The naked statue given to Queen Elizabeth.”

  He laughed. “You know about that, do you?”

  She studied him, knowing that perhaps there was a deeper reason he felt the need to add his own behavior to Alex’s. Hadn’t he said before that no one ever recognized him? Which meant that somehow he wanted desperately to be seen for himself.

  “Oh please, do not think Spencer was ever a saint,” Alex continued. “He cut a swath through London that I had a hard time following. After Roselyn left him—”

  “She left him?” she interrupted, intrigued.

  He shook his head. “Too long a story. But suffice it to say, my brother set quite the example. And I continued it, giving him more of a personality than he deserved.”

  “But surely there’s more to the life of a viscount than women and scandal.”

  “Sad to say, but yes, the drudgery did take up a good part of my day.”

  “What drudgery?”

  “The estates, of course, the many people who depended on the Thornton name for their livelihood.”

  “I heard of no mass starvation from the Thornton households,” she said in a teasing voice.

  She knew he wanted to withhold a smile, but couldn’t.

  “True. I didn’t quite manage to ruin everything.”

  “Ruin everything? I seem to recall a comment my father made a year or so ago. He was quite grudging in his praise of how well the Thornton estates were managed. And it wasn’t Spencer managing them, but you.”

  He remained still, watching her. “And how would you know if I had employed a very capable steward?”

  “I’m sure you had one, for you cannot be everywhere at once. But your conversation with Clifford about farming—it was not the talk of a man uninterested, uninvolved. I seem to recall…” She lifted his hand from her knee and turned it over, spreading his fingers wide. “…calluses.” She ran her finger over the hard bumps at the base of each finger. “You did not get these from dancing.”

  She stared at his large hand resting in hers, afraid to look up and meet his eyes. There was such a discrepancy between what Alex truly was, and what he showed the world. Why? Why did playing his brother seem to damage him somehow? And did he lodge away from Thornton manor because he couldn’t bear to watch his brother take back what had given Alex so much pride?

  She was afraid if she looked into his eyes right now, she’d gladly surrender to his embrace, melt against this man she was growing to care too much for. And then it would truly be “The Seduction of Emmeline.”

  “We’ve been traveling too long,” Alex finally said, his hoarse voice making her shiver.

  She let go of his hand.

  He turned away toward the door and threw his shoulder against it repeatedly, until she began to shudder with each painful-sounding hit.

  “Alex, stop. This won’t work—”

  But the door suddenly flung wide, and Alex leaned out to catch it before it could bang against the side of the coach. Emmeline smothered a cry as he seemed to hang precariously out over the moving landscape.

  Cold air rushed in and swirled about them. The sun had set, and the growing darkness made the retreating fog seem ever more ethereal. It hugged the hollows in the farm fields, and obscured where the road ended at their side.

  Emmeline grabbed Alex’s doublet and hauled him back inside.

  He sat back and held the door partially closed as he glanced at Emmeline. “Thank you. We’ll wait a few moments to make sure they didn’t hear us.”

  “Wait for what? The next time they stop, we’ll burst out at them and�
�”

  “Be shot or stabbed for our effort? I don’t think so. There are at least two men holding us prisoner, and you’re not up to the fight. So we’ll go now.”

  “Now?” she echoed, her voice a high-pitched squeak. “But…we can’t even see where the ground is. We’ll break our necks.”

  “I saw a grassy embankment. We’ll be all right.”

  “But Alex—”

  “Would you rather wait here and see what they have in mind for you?” he asked bluntly.

  “But ’tis you they’re after,” she protested.

  “And you’ll be the added treat.”

  After only a brief hesitation, she leaned forward and opened the door herself. She stared transfixed at the fog-covered ground that moved past, the brisk air swirling, rushing about her. Before she could gather her courage, she felt his arms about her waist, then her feet leaving the floor, heard “What the hell,” and then they were flying out into the night.

  Chapter 23

  Alex twisted his body in mid-air, landing beneath Emmeline on a mossy hill. The air was knocked out of him, but he held onto her; they fell, tumbling over and over until they came to a sudden halt against a field of small, sharp stones, then lay still, gasping for breath, Emmeline sprawled across his chest. In the sudden silence he heard the gurgling of water nearby, and a shrill chorus of insects.

  While he lay there, trying to decide if he’d broken anything, she lifted her head. In the twilight he could see that her hair had come down, and hung in long, curling waves about them. This was how she would look in bed, riding him.

  He groaned and tried to banish the vivid images his lust brought to mind.

  “Oh Alex, are you hurt?” she whispered. 298

  He felt her hands move almost frantically across his chest, pressing.

  “If you allow me to sit up, I’ll be better able to tell you.”

  She slid off him hastily, and he regretted not pretending a small injury. With a sigh he sat up, feeling only a twinge in his lower back. He moved his neck, bent his arms and legs, but everything seemed unbroken.

  “I’m fine, Em. How do you feel?”

  She sat back on her heels. “Except for the terror of finding myself flying, I have survived intact.” She hesitated. “I know you broke my fall.”

  “Accidentally, I assure you.”

  “Thank you, Alex.”

  He waited for tears, her worries, even the possibility that she was terrified of the outdoors. Instead, her spirits seemed to be lifting as she looked about them with shining eyes.

  “Where do you think we are? Do you think they heard us and are even now circling back? Should we—”

  “Wait, wait,” he said, getting slowly to his knees. “One question at a time—after I’ve had a drink.”

  He leaned over the shallow stream and dipped his cupped hands. He drank in the cool sweetness, amazed to find how thirsty he actually was. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Emmeline attempting to imitate him, but her hair and the ruff at her throat kept getting in the way.

  “Here, allow me to help,” he said, moving behind her. His spread knees pressed into her lower legs. Carefully he untied the strings and removed her ruff, and she gave a little sigh and rolled her head about. Then he pulled her hair back and held the heavy, silky mass in both hands while she bent over the stream. He closed his eyes, but could not stop his thoughts of pulling her skirts up and thrusting inside her from behind. By the time she had satisfied her thirst, he was feverish with wanting her.

  She straightened up and her back bumped into his chest. She would move soon, he knew she would. He remained frozen, enjoying the possibilities, with his hands tangled in her hair. They were alone, where no one would interrupt them.

  “You were going to answer my questions,” she said softly.

  “Hmmm,” he murmured, pressing his face into her hair and breathing deeply. It was torture—yet he waded in gladly.

  “I asked if they could be coming back.”

  But she didn’t move. He let her hair cascade down as he settled his hands on her shoulders. He marshaled his thoughts, tried to concentrate on their predicament. But all he could manage was, “I don’t hear anything.”

  “Perhaps we should hide?” she whispered.

  She seemed to sway beneath his hands and her head tipped to the side. The length of her hair slid back to reveal her delicate neck. The darkness lulled him into oblivion, and he wanted to press his mouth to the sweet curve of her skin.

  But she had recently brought his conscience back to life, and it didn’t look to be abandoning him now.

  “You’re right,” he said with a sigh, coming to sit beside her. “We’ll need to find a safe place to camp, and try to start a fire.”

  She laughed suddenly and he glanced at her in surprise.

  “Did you intend all along to steal me away?” she teased.

  He saw the shine of her eyes, and his respect for her courage grew.

  “Of course that was my plan. Remember ‘The Seduction of Emmeline’? How perfect that my nemeses did the deed for me.”

  “You can’t mean the seduction,” she said, giggling at her own joke.

  “No,” he said, lowering his voice. “’Tis an honor I claim all my own.”

  As silence grew, Emmeline found she could not stop looking at Alex. In the growing darkness he appeared even more dangerous, with the shadow of stubble on his face, and the wicked gleam she so adored in his eyes. But there was a seriousness there as well that was unfamiliar to her.

  She frightened herself, because the danger of their situation had retreated, and only the excitement of being alone with him remained. She couldn’t stop the thrill of adventure that made her shiver. She’d never been away from London alone with a man—especially not a man like Alex, with mysterious depths he was only just beginning to reveal.

  In the next hour, he surprised her yet again. She watched in amazement as he cleared the brush from the base of tall hedges that blocked them from the road. He cut branches for them to sit on with a knife he kept in his boot. When she returned with kindling, he grinned and produced flint and steel from a pouch at his waist as if by magic. Soon they were sitting side by side just above the bank of the creek, with thick hedges at their backs, and a cheery fire at their feet.

  Their silence was rather comforting, and Emmeline thought that Alex was the one person she’d want to be stranded with. Being alone with him had its own danger, but he made her feel safe from everything else.

  Then her stomach growled loudly.

  She groaned and hugged herself. “Forgive me, Alex; I can wait until tomorrow to eat. But I guess my stomach can’t forget that you were going to offer me a meal worthy of kings.”

  From that same pouch, he removed a bulging wallet. “Did you think I meant at the finest inn in London? I am much more original than that—and ’tis a good thing, too, for here is our evening repast.”

  Smiling, she watched as he shook out a napkin over the grass. On it he placed lumpy cheese, flattened bread, some rather crushed strawberries, and two apples. Their eyes met over their feast, and Emmeline experienced such a feeling of sweet contentment, of—rightness. She hoped she wasn’t falling in love. But tonight, she would not think about how disastrous such a thing would be with Alex Thornton.

  “Ah, sir, how you do woo me,” she said, pulling off a chunk of bread.

  “Such high praise.” Grinning, he tossed some berries in his mouth, and licked the juice from his fingers.

  Emmeline felt her smile die away, replaced by a deep longing. What was wrong with her? Why was she so foolish as to wish that she could understand Alex? He’d seemed jealous over Maxwell’s friendship to her—he’d said no one could touch her but him. He would have considered it an “honor” to seduce her, as if he hadn’t done such a thing to other women.

  She was afraid to hope, but could not help it—could he have feelings for her that he didn’t recognize? Why else would he want to spend time with her? Why els
e would he show only her the competent man that he truly was?

  But he’d tried to be honest when he’d said he wouldn’t marry. She should listen to him.

  Dazedly, she put a berry in her mouth and chewed. Alex watched her as if eating food were something new and fascinating. There was a drop of strawberry juice on the corner of his lip, and she wanted to lick it with her tongue. His smile died, as if he read her mind and was willing to complete “The Seduction of Emmeline.”

  She was willing, too, regardless of the risk.

  To distract them, she said, “Tell me more about what it’s like to be a twin.”

  He merely blinked at her, then looked down to wrap bread about a small piece of cheese. He popped it into his mouth, and after he’d swallowed, his guarded gaze rose to meet hers.

  “Where do these questions come from, Em?”

  She shrugged and picked apart her bread. “When you posed as your brother the other night, you seemed so good at it. I couldn’t help thinking that you had done such a thing long before Queen Elizabeth asked it of you.”

  He leaned back on one elbow at her side, staring into the fire. Endless minutes passed before he spoke, and she’d begun to think he wouldn’t answer.

  “It was natural, I guess, for Spencer and me to play at being each other. The servants began it first, by confusing our identities so often. By the age of eight, we learned that trouble could be avoided by blaming the other brother.”

  “Was that not cruel?”

  He shrugged. “We both thought it was funny to see who could get the other in the most trouble. As long as we did nothing bad enough to involve our parents, the servants were content to deal with us themselves.”

  She tried to understand. “But wouldn’t the innocent brother protest with the truth?”

  “And risk being unable to get his revenge the same way? No, it was too good a scheme.” Alex’s fond smile faded. “As we grew older, I sometimes took his place when it was necessary to display the ‘heir.’”