Baron of Bad: Lords of Scandal Book 5

by Andresen, Tammy

  She peaked over at Ben who was frowning. “I can tell by your tone that you find this annoying, but I fail to understand why.”

  Grace let out a long sigh. “People like me because of my face or my hair. They don’t actually like me, not even you.”

  He grunted. “I never said I didn’t like you.”

  “You didn’t have to,” she replied.

  “Enough of that,” he answered. “I like you just fine but you go out of your way to provoke me.”

  That was most likely true. “You provoke me too.”

  He looked over to her then. “Do I?”

  She huffed a breath. “You know that you do. In fact, you have rejected me twice in the last several hours.”

  He raised a finger, which in her mind added insult to his words. “I didn’t reject you either time, I’m just being prudent.”

  “Can’t you see that a lady doesn’t wish for a man to be prudent when discussing their possible future? I’m glad you’re weighing your options with me like a transaction. That makes me feel truly special.”

  “That isn’t what I meant,” he snapped, slowing the carriage. “You want me now, Grace, after my rescue. How will you feel in a month from now when the fear has faded and you’re strapped to a former street urchin?”

  “Ben,” she gasped. “Is that what you think?”

  * * *

  Why had he gone and revealed how he still couldn’t lose the stigma of his past? He’d never shared any of this with anyone and he knew why. In the moment, he’d never been more vulnerable. “I’m not good with words. I wish I was.” He gripped the reins tighter. “I learned to read when I became a lord but…” Damn. He was doing it again. Sharing details that he’d never confessed before today.

  He squeezed his eyes shut, his chest tight, but then her hand gently wrapped around his biceps. “You’re doing marvelously well, in my opinion. I’m practically hanging on your every word.”

  He swallowed, trying to clear the emotion that clogged his throat. How had she known that’s what he needed to hear? “Thank you,” he said, leaning down and placing a soft kiss on her cheek.

  “You’re welcome,” she answered. “And just to make this clear, I would be lucky to be strapped to you, so to speak.”

  He nearly fell from the bench. “You don’t mean that—”

  Grace gave him a pointed stare. “I do to,” she answered, leaning in and placing a kiss on his mouth. Her lips were achingly soft against his.

  “Grace, I inherited a failing barony. You could have the richest duke in England. Well, except for Daring. He’s already spoken for.”

  “Is your barony still failing?” she asked, her eyebrows going up as if she were about to make a point.

  Damn the woman was hard to argue with. “No. But I used a gaming hell to lift it back up.”

  She nodded. “Resourceful.” And she touched one of her pointing fingers to the other. Then she began counting a list on her hand. “Brave.” Middle finger. “Strong.” Ring finger. “Honorable.” Pinky. “I’ve got more but I’ve run out of fingers.”

  He wanted to stop the carriage, pull her in his lap and kiss her senseless. “In terms of our marriage, it was never a question. I knew the moment I set after you that I may well have to marry you.”

  Grace cringed and he knew he said something wrong. She likely wanted a declaration of how he wanted to marry her, dreamed of a woman like her. He didn’t blame her, but he’d revealed so much, he wasn’t sure he was capable of more. Not today.

  He braced himself for her anger, but instead, she did something far worse. Her shoulders hunched over. “That hardly seems fair. After risking your life to keep me safe, you’re going to be forced into a marriage.”

  “I didn’t say forced,” he said, his lips pulling back from his teeth.

  Grace didn’t reply. Which was somehow so much worse than when she got angry.

  They sat in silence for the longest time. An hour, perhaps more. The sky turned grey, which suited his mood perfectly. But just as they reached the next village on the route, it began to rain. Light at first but then fat drops began to shower down over them. Grace did press into his side then and he wrapped an arm about her to keep her dry or at least warm.

  By the time they’d reached the stables, it was pouring, soaking their clothes through. “At least my dress will be cleaner,” Grace stuttered through chattering teeth.

  He smiled even as he reached the public barn, two grooms coming out to greet them. “We’ll have to stop until the rain lets up.”

  She nodded as he helped her down.

  It was the only time, in his entire life, that he’d wished for rain. In fact, he’d spent most of his childhood wishing that damn stuff away. But today, he’d be cozy inside a warm room with a soft woman that he might just have to strip down to make sure she’d dried. He had a whole new appreciation for water falling from the sky.

  Chapter Eight

  Even in Ben’s coat, Grace shivered again. Her hair was wet, her cheeks soaked with rain, her dress saturated with water.

  Ben helped her from the bench, holding one hand in his much larger palm as his other wrapped about her waist. He didn’t even bother to set her down as he sprinted for the inn. A large fire roared in the common room and he set her in front of the flames as he searched out the innkeeper to secure rooms. “We beat the crowds,” he said as he returned. “I was able to get two.”

  Grace frowned. She didn’t want to sleep in a bed alone. In fact, she quite liked being tucked against his side warm, safe and so snug against his large frame. “Excellent,” she murmured as she spread out her dress, hoping to help the light fabric dry faster.

  “I’ll get us some stew and then we can go to our rooms.” He held out his elbow to lead her to a table.

  The stew did warm her but as they headed up the stairs, she immediately began to feel cold again. Her dress was still damp and without the fire, she started to shake again. “I wish I’d known I’d get abducted. I would have worn something more practical.”

  He smiled as he tucked his arm about her. “You’ll have to take off your clothes to dry them out.”

  “And my hair too,” she replied, feeling her wet coif. She’d twisted a braid and pinned it to the back of her head, which had seemed sensible this morning, but now it held in water.

  He sucked in his breath, she heard the soft sound and her eyebrows went up. “I’ll see if I can’t find you a comb.”

  “Thank you,” she answered as he inserted a key into the first door.

  “Our rooms connect.” He pushed open a door to a room that was much larger than the last they’d stayed in. After dropping her hand from his elbow, he crossed and opened the interior door to the other room. “They are equal size,” he reported, standing in the doorway.

  Grace shrugged off his coat, hanging it on a peg on the back of the door. There was a fire going and she crossed the room to stoke the flames before she began pulling pins from her hair.

  Her back was to Ben but she knew he was still there, standing in the door between their rooms. He hadn’t made a sound but she could feel his gaze and her skin heated at the knowledge. The braid unfurled and fell down her back. She pulled off the cloth she’d used to tie it at the bottom and began to pull apart the three sections of hair, shaking them out as she went. When the strands hung down her back like a wet curtain, she looked over her shoulder. “Since you’re still here, would you mind helping with my dress?”

  He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. Grace felt a pinch of regret. She knew he had an affection for her mane of hair and she was using that knowledge against him.

  “Of course,” he answered, stepping toward her.

  She left her hair swinging down her back, forcing him to push the strands aside. He reached for the hair, letting it run through his fingers before softly placing the silky mass over one shoulder.

  Then his fingers began, once again, working the row of tiny pearl buttons. She turned to look back
at his face, which in turn pushed some of her hair back in his way. His face tightened as he gently pushed the hair back again.

  Her plan was working. She had no intention of sleeping in this room alone and thus far, Ben had been exceedingly good at avoiding her advances. Which had hurt her pride a bit. As did the knowledge that her affection for him was one-sided. Since he’d already proclaimed that he’d marry her, she might as well make sure their union was enjoyable for both of them. The thought of being smitten alone…well that sounded dreadful.

  He reached the last button and she shrugged the dress down her arms, pushing it off her body. Ben began untying her corset, which joined the dress on the floor. She grabbed the wooden chair seated at the writing desk and sat, holding up one boot. “Would you?”

  Without a word he bent down and began unlacing the boots, pulling the shoes from her feet. When his fingertips grazed down her calf, she smiled even as her insides tightened in anticipation. A breathless excitement fizzled in the air, almost tangible enough to touch.

  Grace stood in her stocking feet and reached under her chemise, pulling down the damp pantaloons underneath. She heard him suck in his breath and he reached for her hip, grasping her softer flesh in a tight grip. “Grace,” he groaned out, low and guttural. “You go too far.”

  She looked up at Ben as his dark gaze stared down at her. She pressed her hands to his chest, resting on the hard muscles beneath. “I’m freezing.” Her tongue darted out to wet her lips and his gaze followed the movement. “Aren’t you going to help warm me up?”

  He pulled her closer, his head dropping. “You’re a witch, you know that don’t you? You’re trying to cast a spell on me.”

  Rather than be insulted, that made her smile. “Is it working?”

  “Perhaps,” he answered. He searched her face. “What happens when you succeed?”

  His question confused her. Wasn’t it obvious? They’d marry. She’d stay tucked by his side. Forever. “We’ll be together.”

  He narrowed his gaze even as he shifted away. “What then? I won’t tie you to me to have you hate me later.” Then he stepped away and, retreating across the room, slammed the door behind him.

  * * *

  Bad knew what she was doing. Hell, he even understood why. He’d resisted her thus far but a woman like Grace was used to getting her way. He’d made himself a challenge and she’d accepted.

  He needed to be sensible for the both of them. If he allowed her to coerce him into taking her then they’d both be well and truly stuck. Hell, maybe they were already. But right now, there was a chance. Once he bedded her, there was none.

  It wasn’t that he didn’t want her. In fact, he wanted her in the worst way. His whole body ached from need. But he didn’t want a wife who hated him. Who looked at him and saw the filthy boy who’d slept in doorways. The man who would never quite fit in with polite society. How would she feel when he used the wrong fork at a dinner party, uttered the wrong words to their host? He’d borne looks of disdain his entire life and he couldn’t stand the thought of her disgust. Everyone else’s he could bear but not hers.

  Pacing the room, he watched the rain and fought with himself. She was his for the taking. Every minute, he considered opening the door again and making her his. How would she taste? He already knew how she felt pressed against him. The memory made him ache.

  But then he’d return to his senses. Even if they married, he could be a gentleman now. Somehow, that mattered. As though he could prove to her he was worthy.

  After ringing for a servant, he ordered food brought to his room. Taking a deep breath, he knocked on the connecting door. “I’ve ordered dinner. Are your clothes dry?”

  There was a pause. “Mostly,” she finally answered.

  “Do you need help dressing?” He tightened his fingers on the doorknob. Part of him hoped she said yes while another dreaded the idea of touching her again. He thought back to yesterday. His first intuition had been correct. Every time he grazed her flesh with his fingers, he drew further into Grace’s web. There was little chance he’d escape.

  The thought made his head fall against the door. It was already too late. He cared for her and no matter what happened, he was likely to get hurt.

  “No. I’ll be all right,” she replied.

  Dinner arrived twenty minutes later and he set the tray on the writing desk. The connecting door swung open and Grace walked into his room. He was in trouble. She’d put on her dress but nothing underneath. Her feet were bare; he remembered the slender curve of her calves and ankles. She obviously wasn’t wearing a corset, and her natural shape left him near breathless. And her hair. Dear God, it was dry and hanging down her back in shimmering golden waves. She must have undone the strands to help them dry. “Smells delicious.” She stopped leaning over the tray and inhaling a big whiff. “Travelling has made me quite hungry.”

  He was hungry too. But not for the stew. “It smells passable and you should have on your stockings and shoes. These floors must be freezing.”

  She shook her head. “These fireplaces do a marvelous job of heating the rooms. The floors are quite warm.” She gave him a glowing smile. “Shall we eat?”

  He narrowed his gaze as he nodded. When she smiled like that, she looked near angelic. He went into her room and retrieved her chair so that they might both sit and when he returned, he found her already ladling out his stew. She was bent over the desk as she worked and his hand ached to run over the curve of her backside.

  He closed his eyes as he set the chair down with a decided thud.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked as she sat in the other chair and he followed suit.

  She picked up a spoon, delicately balancing the utensil in her hand.

  “How do you do that? How do you hold a spoon as though it were a part of your hand?”

  She blinked at him, turning her head to the side. Then without a word, she set her spoon down again and stood, padding over the floor in her bare feet. “My mother subjected me to years of decorum lessons followed by finishing school. If either my mother or my instructor, Madame LaVeau, saw me now, they’d drop into a dead faint.”

  His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. “I’m turning you into an urchin too.”

  She let out a tinkling laugh and then grasped his hand in her own. Sliding his fingers open she curled the middle and pointer finger back together, resting the spoon in his grasp. “Just like that.”

  He stared at the spoon. It looked ridiculous in his massive hand. “How do you actually eat?”

  She pressed her lips together. “It will take practice,” she murmured close to his ear. “But I’ve every confidence you can master it. I’ve seen you fire a pistol. You’ve exceptionally dexterous hands.”

  The hair on the back of his neck stood as her breath whispered across Bad’s skin. He’d like to show her another way his hands were quite skilled. But before he could formulate a more appropriate response, she crossed back to her spot and picked up her own utensil. “Shall we?”

  He gave a nod. At first, he watched her, then he attempted to use the spoon in the awkward position she’d placed it in his hand. He grimaced. He looked like a fool. Worse yet, there were a thousand instances when he noticed that he did not behave as the other lords did. And she’d see them too just as she’d seen this one.

  But she didn’t look up as she ate, giving him the freedom to attempt to figure out the awkward positioning without fear of being caught in a mistake. Which surprised him. He hadn’t thought Grace could be so subtle, accepting. Verbally, they were always at odds. But now, she wasn’t trying to spar with him. Instead, her actions were…supportive.

  “Are you the youngest of your sisters?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Yes.” Then she let out a soft sigh. “Ruined before I even had a season. That takes some doing.”

  He shook his head. “None of this was your fault.”

  She looked at him then, one of her eyebrows arching. “Really? That isn’t what you sa
id yesterday.”

  He deserved that. Leaning forward, he returned her stare. “Well, I would appreciate it if you used sense when it came to your own safety.”

  “Touché,” she replied leaning back, her chin tucking into her chest. “Sense, I suppose, is not something I’m known for.”

  Guilt clogged his throat. Usually, she’d reply back with some sort of smart retort and, to his surprise, he liked their back and forths. “I did not mean to offend.”

  “I’m not offended.” Her head remained down. “You’re right. I’ve always been rash. And sassy.”

  This Grace, humble, helpful, would undo him. “I love both those qualities about you, except for when they lead to your kidnapping.”

  She tilted her head up and peered at him for several seconds. “You like them?”

  “I like our discussions. Your wit. Your tendency to speak your mind.” How had she done this? Now he was listing her finer qualities. “And one person can’t be smart, beautiful, funny, and sensible. It simply wouldn’t be fair.”

  That made her smile. A smile that stained her cheeks pink and glowed with gratitude. She stole his breath from his lungs. “Thank you.” Then she nibbled her bottom lip. “I have a favor to ask.”

  He’d been leaning forward as their conversation grew more intimate but he pulled back, needing distance. Somehow, he was fairly certain that he’d just been led like a lamb to the slaughter.

  Chapter Nine

  Grace needed Ben to say yes. She held her breath as his eyes widened.

  “A favor?” he asked.

  She could tell, just by the growl in his voice, he’d grown suspicious again. She didn’t reply. Yet. With a few hours alone to contemplate, she’d come up with a new plan. First, she’d tried being her sassy self. He hadn’t budged. And she’d attempted, when she’d asked him to undo her dress, to be more like Diana. Bold and brave. He’d retreated. So… her next strategy was to be more like her sister, Cordelia. Kind, soft, and understandingly intelligent. It had been working, right until the favor part.