A Most Unusual Scandal

by Erin Rye

  Would she have liked Ella? Both were strong, intelligent women—and beautiful. The mental picture rose of Ella’s rounded derriere in tight breeches, then swathed like a Greek goddess, in a sheet. He stared unseeing out the window, enjoying the sensation of his cock pushing against his breeches.

  His mother had preferred gay parties. Did Ella? She didn’t appear to care much for such things, but she hadn’t had the opportunity to attend many since her fall from grace. A chill touched his spine. Did she like champagne? The last time he’d seen his mother, she’d stumbled unsteadily down the hall toward her chambers, glass of champagne in hand.

  “My lord,” Ella’s soft voice filtered through the room.

  Ashton jarred from his thoughts. He’d lost track of time. The last rays of sun cast the library in shadow.

  “What can I do for you, Ella?”

  “I thought dinner would be more comfortable in the library,” she said.

  He straightened from the window and faced her. She stood in the doorway. Even in the dim light of the embers, he discerned the ill-fitting dress of pink muslin that exposed more flesh than polite society allowed. His cock pulsed.

  He angled his head. “As you wish. Have a seat.” He strode to the fireplace.

  She sat in one of the two chairs before the hearth, as he knelt on one knee before the fire and added peat to the embers. From the corner of his eye, he watched her tug the skirts down around her ankles, clearly unaware that her actions further exposed the rise of her breasts.

  His damn erection grew harder. Ashton returned his attention to the fire. He hadn’t fought lust in this fashion with Anne. In fact, these past six months, the mere sight of Anne had shriveled his manhood. Before then, he’d never experienced such a heated response to his fiancé as he currently experienced with his wife.

  “Do you agree?” she asked.

  Ashton twisted and looked over his shoulder. “Pardon?”

  “There isn’t enough table space in the sitting room,” she repeated, still self-consciously tugging her dress.

  His attention caught on the silk draped about her hips.

  “Do you agree?” she repeated.

  He blinked. Christ, he’d lost track again. Ashton shrugged. “Of course.” He placed logs atop the peat, then rose and settled in the chair beside her.

  The ticking of the grandfather clock and the spitting of the flames filled the silence.

  “Do you care to read?” he asked.

  “Do you prefer the classics?” she asked at the same time.

  A smile trembled at one corner of her mouth. “I love to read. Do you?”

  How many countless hours had he spent hidden in some corner of Kinnettles, lost in the worlds printed on pages? How many times had those worlds saved him? Reality returned. Saved him for what?

  He looked at Ella. “You are welcome to read any of the books in the library.”

  A tiny crease appeared on her brow. “Do you not like to read?”

  “As a boy, I read a great deal.”

  Her expression brightened. “Then you do like to read.” She rose and went to the shelves. “Oh my, Shakespeare, Sir Walter Scott, Herodotus, Plato…”

  He watched as she walked her fingers over the leather spines. She was beautiful, and so very elegant, and despite the shame of her father’s scandal, she still found joy in such simple things as books.

  “Ah, John Fleming.” She looked back and met his gaze with a warm smile. “I do believe this will be my choice tonight.”

  If they truly were wed, she wouldn’t need a book, for he would make her winsome body sing. Would she cry out when he brought her to climax? His blood stirred at the thought.

  “Well chosen,” he said, his voice a bit gruff.

  She returned to her chair, the book in hand.

  They sat in companionable silence, and he was relieved she didn’t press him for conversation. His parents had never sat together quietly. In fact, their time alone was spent more in their bed chambers then out. They attended far too many parties, danced until dawn, and drank to excess. His mother could hold her liquor better than some men, and many a man couldn’t resist such a challenge. His father included.

  Ashton often wondered how different things might have been had his mother not loved such a life of glittering gayety and passion. But asking that question was like asking why birds flew south in the winter. No creature could change its nature.

  The rustle of a book page drew his attention and he cast a covert look at Ella. She absently smoothed the page as her gaze traveled the words. She seemed oblivious to his presence. How he envied her ability to lose herself in the beauty of another life. He’d lost that ability long ago.

  Light footfalls sounded in the hallway and, a moment later, a knock sounded on the open door. “Dinner is served, sir,” James announced.

  Ella closed her book as a parade of servants entered with tableware, wine, and a variety of dishes. In less than a minute, they’d set the table and retreated.

  “I must admit, I’m famished,” Ella confessed as she spooned white soup into her mouth. She closed her eyes as if in ecstasy.

  He watched, mesmerized. If she tipped her head back and bit her lip, he just might come in his breeches.

  She chatted on about books, riding in the mornings, and her brother. Then, she paused and looked up at him through her lashes. In other women, the action would be calculated, but he read shyness in her eyes.

  “I will never be able to thank you enough for ensuring Cyril’s future,” she whispered.

  He angled his head. “Then we are even, madam. I cannot thank you enough for marrying me.”

  She shrugged. “We have a far better understanding than most couples who marry.”

  He sipped his wine. She was right, yet sadness wound through him.

  He roused himself to his feet. “The hour grows late, my lady.” She looked up and his heartbeat quickened. “Shall I escort you back to the room?”

  “If you would be so kind.” She stood. “This place is so large, I fear I would wander lost the entire night without a guide.”

  He recalled the spark of interest in Duncan’s eyes when he’d met Ella. “It isn’t wise to wander alone,” he cautioned.

  “Why?” she asked.

  “Kinnettles is large, Ella. There are servants and workmen who I am unfamiliar with.”

  “Surely, none of them are a threat?”

  They started toward the door. “I do not wish you to explore on your own,” he said, then fell silent as he led the way back to their room.

  At the door, he bid her a curt good night. He wouldn’t be sleeping in the sitting room. He knew that for certain. He’d find a nearby couch. The castle had nigh on a hundred of them.

  No doubt, a good night’s sleep would restore his control.

  * * *

  Ashton squinted in the mirror, illuminated by morning light, and, for the third time, adjusted his elaborately tied cravat. What a fool he’d been, thinking a night’s sleep would put him to rights. Not that he’d slept much. He’d closed his eyes, but each dream featured Ella writhing beneath him. He’d awakened in a painfully hardened state that threatened to remerge after a near-freezing bath. He gave his cravat a final tug and turned away. Time to collect Ella and sit down to breakfast, all the while, pretending wedded bliss.

  He reached the room, and called, “Good morning, Ella,” as he closed the door behind him.

  He eyed the leather couches before the fireplace. He’d have to sleep there tonight, temptation or no. He couldn’t chance a maid stumbling upon him elsewhere and spreading rumors, not with Duncan nosing about.

  “Ella?” he called again.

  When silence greeted his query, he strode to the bedroom. The door stood ajar. He gave a single knock then slowly pushed it open. Bright morning sunlight streamed into the empty room. Damnation. He’d erred. No doubt, Duncan was already making snide insinuations over just why Ella had appeared at breakfast alone. He hurried from the room. Wit
h a scowl, he took the stairs two at a time to the second floor then strode down the hall.

  “My lord,” a maid called.

  Ashton glanced over his shoulder. The woman seemed familiar. Vaguely. He slowed to allow her to catch up with him. Where had he seen her before?

  She reached his side, a slightly crestfallen look on her face. “It’s Mrs. Pitt, sir, the dressmaker. She sent a message that she’s delighted to assist and awaits your arrival.”

  “My arrival?” Ashton repeated.

  “The countess always sends a carriage for her, my lord. She’s rather elderly, but still expert with a needle. Doubtless, she understood from the urgency of the message that you’d pick her up yourself.”

  Women.

  “Then I shall be delighted to do so.”

  The maid stared at him a moment longer, then hurried away. He continued to the breakfast room. As expected, Duncan lounged against the breakfast buffet with the watchfulness of a lion observing its prey. Ella sat at the rosewood breakfast table, sipping tea and obviously trying her best not to appear miserable. She’d swept up her hair in a loose bun, but a ringlet had escaped to spiral down the soft curve of her neck. Ashton fought the impulse to brush the lock aside and plant a kiss beneath her ear. To make matters worse, she wore the same tight, little dress. By God, from the lecherous gleam in Duncan’s eye, the man clearly enjoyed the view far too much.

  Ashton crossed the room. “Good morning, my dear.”

  Ella glanced up and her face broke out in relief. “My lord,” she murmured, preparing to rise.

  “My lord?” Duncan noted with a dry laugh. “Trouble in paradise, already?”

  Ashton ignored him and looked down at Ella. He placed a finger under her chin and tilted her face toward his. By God, she was beautiful. He dropped his gaze to her mouth and ran his thumb over her bottom lip. Her breath hitched.

  Ever so slowly, he lowered his lips to hers.

  Chapter Seven

  Answers

  Ella remained motionless, caught in the spell as Ashton lowered his mouth over hers. He started with a bare brush of lips, then pressed his mouth fully against hers, soft, gentle, but without demand. Was he seeking permission? Aside from their kiss when the priest had pronounced them man and wife, she’d only experienced two other kisses. One, a quick peck on the mouth, the other, an awkward, three-second smashing of the lips. Both left her sorely lacking in knowledge. Was she supposed to—?

  Ashton nudged her lips apart with his tongue. Ella gasped at the feel—and fresh taste—of his tongue against hers. Mint. He’d cleaned his teeth this morning. She rose to her feet—or did he lift her? Suddenly, his arms encircled her. The breakfast room faded away as he pulled her close and teased her tongue with his. She hesitated, but when he deepened the kiss and his tongue invaded the recesses of her mouth, she tangled her tongue with his.

  Her heart pounded. He held her so tight, the firm muscles of his chest pressed against her breasts and the beating of his heart seemed to match the rhythm of hers. An unfamiliar longing made her want more. She molded herself against him.

  His tongue pulled back. She didn’t want the kiss to end. Was that whimpering moan coming from her? She started to cringe, but Ashton dropped his hand on her back and pulled her closer, deepening the kiss. His tongue again swept her mouth, a heated ember of passion that sent a shiver down her arms. She ran her hands up his chest, marveling at the solid muscle beneath her fingers. He moaned softly, then drew a long breath and sucked her bottom lip into his mouth.

  At the sound of a dry laugh near the door, she sprang back.

  The countess stood in the doorway, a gleam of humor in her eyes.

  Duncan was nowhere to be seen.

  Ella turned and curtsied. “Lady Leighton,” she whispered, as heat burned her face.

  “Grandmother, my dear,” the woman corrected, sweeping into the room.

  “Good morning, Grandmother.” Ashton nodded.

  Ella drew a wavering breath. His kiss had stolen her good sense along with her breath. He’d obviously kissed her to make some kind of point with Duncan. Blushing even more, she forced her focus onto the countess gliding with regal grace toward the dining table.

  As Ashton pulled out his grandmother’s chair, her eyes fell on Ella. She gave a humph. “Fetch this child a dressmaker, Ashton. Not just any dressmaker. Send for Mrs. Pitt. At once.” She primly took her seat and arched a disapproving brow his way. “I swear, must I take care of every detail?”

  “Mrs. Pitt is ready and waiting,” he replied coolly. “I was on my way to fetch her.”

  “Oh?” She skewered him with a glance, but a twinkle danced in her eye. “On your way? You appeared rather occupied to me.”

  Ashton blinked and, to Ella’s astonishment, a faint dusky color flushed his cheeks. Her stomach fluttered. Had the kiss meant something to him, too?

  “I shall leave you ladies to your meal.” Ashton bowed. “If you will excuse me, I’m off to fetch one dressmaker, as ordered.”

  He turned to Ella and their eyes met. A hungry expression flashed over his face that sent a tingle straight down to her toes. Then he left. Ella watched him go. She touched her fingers to her lips. He’d kissed her in such a blatantly passionate way, a way that, for all appearances, announced to the world, ‘You are mine.’ Her heart skipped a beat. Could he have…meant it?

  “Come now, child,” the countess’s voice intruded upon her thoughts. “There’s time aplenty to pine over Ashton later. Fetch me a cup of tea, will you?”

  Ella blushed and gratefully escaped to the sideboard.

  “My old bones are weary,” the Countess complained as she stretched in her chair. “Perhaps a game of whist would take my mind off the aches? I’ve missed our games so.”

  “I would be delighted,” Ella replied, struggling to collect her thoughts. She reached for the teapot.

  “My lady,” a man’s voice interrupted.

  Ella looked over her shoulder. James stood just inside the door, facing the countess.

  “Your company has arrived,” the man said with a formal bow. “The urgent matter.”

  The countess sighed. “Then it’s tea and whist later, my dear child. If you will excuse me?” She rose.

  “Certainly,” Ella murmured and dipped a half curtsey as the woman left the room.

  She expelled a breath of relief. Solitude, as last. She left the breakfast nook and hurried down the hall, headed for her room. At the fourth turn, she spied a large table of marble busts she hadn’t seen before. She frowned and backtracked.

  By the sixth turn, Ella expelled a breath. She was lost. She peered out the nearest window. The gravel carriage drive lay below her to the left. Perhaps she’d do better to escape out the nearest entrance and reenter the castle’s main door, then start again. Feeling rather foolish, she smoothed her skirts and turned back the way she’d come. This time, when she entered the narrow hallway, she heard someone whistling.

  “At last,” she muttered.

  Ella rounded the corner just as a jolly, middle-aged chambermaid emerged from a nearby room, her arms overflowing with laundry.

  “Lor’ bless me,” the woman screeched. A few of her linens slipped to the floor. “My lady, but you gave me a fright.”

  “Forgive me.” Ella stooped and picked up the spilled linen.

  The woman frowned. “Oh, no, you shouldn’t do that, my lady. Please, I can tend it myself. It’s soiled toweling.”

  Ella laughed. “Believe me, I know a thing or two about washing.” She handed the maid the toweling. “What is your name?”

  “Mrs. Thornton, my lady.”

  “Forgive me for giving you a scare, Mrs. Thornton, but I am so very glad to see you. I’m lost. Could I trouble you to point the way to my room?”

  “Why, I will do one better, my lady.” The woman’s jolly dark eyes sparkled. “I am going that way myself. I’ll just show you.”

  “That would be delightful.” Ella heaved a breath of relief. “No doubt
, I would only lose myself further.”

  “Aye, Kinnettles is a baffling place, if I may say so. You will get used to it soon enough, though. It won’t take long,” the woman prattled as they headed off down the hall. “It’s so wonderful to see Lord Ashton back after all these years, and with a bride, too. Och, you’re a bonny one, my lady, if I say so myself. It warms the heart to think the lad found love, at last. He’s suffered so, you know, ever since the...accident,” she said, the last word, spoken in a whisper.

  Accident? She itched to ask what accident. But a wife would be expected to know such things. Instead, she merely smiled as if she understood.

  “Aye, I’m glad you agree.” The woman nodded, then lowered her voice, “That title they call him behind his back. I won’t say it. I simply will not.” She clucked and wagged her head. “As far as temperament goes, I’ve always said Duncan matches it more.”

  The woman had to be talking about The Demon Earl. Ella didn’t know Duncan, but what little she knew, she didn’t like, and murmured, “Indeed.”

  The woman appeared pleased. “I never did believe that lad and his tale.” She drew her lips into a prim line. “It was years ago. Still, there’s folk who call his lordship that terrible name. I feel for the lad, I really do. After all this time, when he swept through the door this week, you could see he still feels the weight of it all. It’s in his eyes.”

  Demon Earl. Who would cherish such a name? Small wonder, the gossip bothered him. “Indeed,” Ella murmured again, this time with more feeling.

  “Folk should know better after all these years,” Mrs. Thornton babbled on. “His lordship was treated harshly as a lad, but it doesn’t mean he killed his father on purpose now, does it?”

  Ella came to an abrupt stop. Killed? The rumors were true?

  Mrs. Thornton gasped in horror. “Oh, heavens, my lady. I’m a fool. My mouth gets away on me now. I shouldn’t have said such a thing. We all know it was an accident—”

  Ella forced her thoughts into order and lay a comforting hand on her arm. “Nae, please, don’t fret. I assure you, I am not at all offended.” Anxiety tightened her stomach. When Stirling talked her into marrying Ashton, she’d told herself that Stirling wouldn’t have let her marry a violent man. Yet, had he known all the details? Suddenly, she needed to know every detail—she had to. Her very life might depend on such knowledge.