Scandal in Spades

by Wendy Lacapra

  “I know,” he kissed her again, “enough.”

  “A little more time,” she hedged, grasping for her words. “A fortnight, at least.” Yes, a fortnight. She would work up the courage to tell him by then. “If you still want to marry me then, my answer will be yes.”

  His smile melted her core.

  Very well, then. She had tomorrow to worry. Not just tomorrow, but a fortnight. She let her worries fall away. Right now, she would stand in the rain, soaking up all the sun she required through the heat in his smile.

  “Shall we kiss on the agreement?” he asked.

  Yes, please. She nodded.

  Her bonnet toppled as his hand cupped her neck. She let it fall. She did not care.

  His palm was a furnace—his hold swept away the chill. His mouth met hers squarely on the lips, with a deft precision as much promise as potential. A kiss of agreement. A kiss that said, well, then, at last you are mine.

  “You will not be sorry,” he whispered against her hair.

  “No.” How could she be sorry? How could she not? She fancied she felt the earth move. “We—we had better return.”

  “Just,” he kissed her temple, “just let me hold you a moment longer.”

  The rain wet her unbonneted hair, trickling down in rivulets over her chest. If he held her for a moment longer, her favorite dress, along with the shoe she’d just broken, would be a ruin.

  “Yes,” she replied, as if she hadn’t a care in the world. “Hold me.”

  Her dress was already lost—like her shoe, her hat, her virtue, and her sense.

  For just this moment, she did not want anything to matter. Not secrets. Not scandal. Not shoes. Not hats. Not dresses. Not pain.

  For just this moment, she wanted to imagine Bromton was hers. And for just that moment, he was. Entirely. How did she know?

  An intoxicating blend of awe and need gleamed from within his eyes. Not even Septimus had gazed at her that way—as if she was the key to his most cherished desire. A first-rate jewel. A ruby beyond price.

  “I am glad you came. I—” She wet her lips. “I want to know you better.”

  “So, you shall,” he said. And then, he smiled.

  Coming untethered was an indescribable experience. Years of careful planning ensured Katherine had lived on a protected, if barren, plane—in a lightning-fast second, they were undone. Instead, she floated on a sea with distant horizons. And all it had taken was the dimple in Bromton’s right cheek and the light of affection in his eyes.

  But was the marquess guiding her to safe harbor, or would he strand her, broken and rudderless?

  He bent his head to recapture her lips, tasting of sunshine, even as the rain continued to fall.

  Chapter Seven

  Katherine’s fortnight pardon had nearly expired. She sat pond-side, her feet tucked carefully at her side, wondering if she would ever be able to summon the courage to tell Bromton the truth. Shielding her view, she spotted the boat that held Markham and Julia in the distance. Julia’s giggles mixed with Markham’s muted baritone.

  From the opposite side of the blanket, Bromton chuckled—likely at something within the pages of the gentleman’s magazine Markham had left behind. Their afternoon outing had been Bromton’s suggestion, though how he could have known she would find spending time with her family a more compelling enticement than the usual courtship gifts, remained a mystery.

  He was either truly a kindred spirit or devilishly good at deception.

  She ventured a surreptitious glance. He’d crossed his legs at his ankles, his boots still spattered from their ride. Morning rides, he’d explained, were a lifelong habit—a habit she had been happy to share, not just for his company but also for the sight of the honed muscles apparent beneath his buckskins.

  She had fallen for him, and she had fallen hard. A shiver passed through her body.

  “Are you cold?” he asked, without looking up. “I can get you a blanket.”

  She could have sworn he’d been paying her no mind. She placed a mark next to devilishly good at deception.

  “I should be cold out of doors at this time of year,” she replied. “However, the weather always cooperates when you make plans.”

  A soft smile dented his cheeks. “Everything cooperates with me,” he said teasingly, “but you.”

  “Ah,” she replied, “but I understand you adore a challenge.” She hesitated. “Spades.”

  He set aside his magazine and propped his head up on his elbow. “Delighted as I am to know you’ve inquired after me, as I have you,”—his smile deepened—“if there is something you wish to know, you’ve only to ask.”

  How do you feel about unchaste brides? It was not a question one easily asked during the daylight. Then again, it was not a question ever easily asked. But if he continued smoldering every time their gazes met, she would have to ask the question soon.

  His smolder caused a corresponding burn she was becoming quite powerless to deny.

  Julia’s screech interrupted Katherine’s thoughts, drawing her gaze back to the water. Markham heaved the boat back and forth, splashing water in every direction. His laughter mixed with the echo of Julia’s protests.

  “Markham,” Katherine scolded, “stop it at once!”

  Markham stopped, but only long enough to send her a good-natured wave.

  “I don’t think he can hear you,” Bromton said.

  She made a humming sort of growl. “He can be such a child. If they fall in—”

  “I’ll take him over my knee, if you’d like.”

  Katherine reddened to her roots and admonished him with a sharp, sideways glance.

  “Warm enough now?” Bromton chuckled.

  “You cannot shock me,” she said.

  “Be careful.” He tsked. “I adore a challenge, remember?”

  She harrumphed. “How can shocking me be a challenge? There’s no reward.”

  “Oh, but there is.” He leaned forward. “Your very pretty blush.”

  She smirked. “Your humor is always a surprise, my lord.”

  “You, dear hellion, call forth a humor I never knew I possessed.”

  “Why, Lord Bromton, that could be the nicest thing you’ve said.”

  “Nice?” he asked, his brows raised.

  “Sincere,” she amended.

  “Sincere,” he repeated with a thoughtful expression. “And here I thought myself so sincere as to border on the suggestive.”

  She looked back to the lake—anything else was dangerous. She cleared her throat and changed the subject. “I suppose I do, on occasion, treat Markham like a child.”

  “On occasion,” he agreed.

  “Lucky for me, intimidation is not among his strengths.”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t say that.”

  “If you want me to believe you sincere, don’t pretend Percy has ever been able to intimidate you.”

  “He came tolerably close.” He grinned. “Why shouldn’t he? He learned from a master, after all.”

  “You?” She made a derisive sound.

  “One brute,” he bowed his head, “at my lady’s service.”

  Oh my. “Markham says you call him pup.”

  He squinted out over the pond. “Lord Rayne’s moniker for Markham has more to do with rivalry than inexperience.”

  “Rivalry?” she asked.

  He nodded. “Rayne is unused to competition.”

  “If Lord Rayne is your friend,” she said, “I seriously doubt he’s unused to competition.”

  “Why, thank you.” Both dimples made a rare appearance. “Though, when you meet Lord Rayne, you will understand.”

  “You speak as if meeting Lord Rayne is a foregone conclusion.”

  “It is.” He held her gaze. “Rayne’s lands border mine. I’ve known him since he was born.”

  Katherine studied the water, resisting a threatening frown. Hadn’t Markham told her that Bromton had been engaged to Rayne’s sister? She decided she did not want to ask.

&
nbsp; “Markham,” she continued, “told me he’s called hearts to your spades. Somehow I cannot imagine ladies fawning over my brother.”

  Bromton’s breath teased the hair at his temples. “He’s more Don Quixote than Don Juan.”

  Katherine laughed. “Markham, a knight errant? I could no more believe that than I could believe he’s gained the reputation of a legendary lover.”

  Bromton sent her a glance. “Be that as it may…”

  “Is his heart engaged?”

  He fixed his eyes on the horizon.

  “Really, Lord Bromton,” she chided, “you just said that if there was anything I wished to know, I need only ask.”

  He winked. “I had hoped you wished to discuss me.”

  “And so, we shall,” she replied a touch too lightly. “But first, tell me if I need to worry.”

  He shook his head no. “Markham can care for himself. I suspect he’s developed a tendre, but the lady in question is…” he looked back out over the lake, “…not his.”

  Her cheeks colored. “She is not yours, is she?”

  “Hellion,” he said in a disappointed voice. The word sent a thrilling trickle over her skin.

  “Well,” she lifted her chin, “is she?”

  “By now, I thought you understood.” His eyes—more blue than gray in the afternoon light—glittered. “There’s no one for me,” his deep voice rumbled, “but you.”

  Those baby thrushes in her stomach had, apparently, been quietly waiting for just the right moment to burst again into wild dancing. Och, she was in danger. Actually, she’d sprinted straight past danger and was hell-bound for a lit powder keg.

  “Bromton—”

  “Giles,” he corrected, “when we are alone.”

  “Giles,” she said.

  He groaned and closed his eyes, looking as if he’d just tasted sugared cream. “Say it again.”

  She lifted a brow. “I don’t think I should.”

  He lifted a brow. “Don’t make me come over there.”

  Shocking images saturated her thoughts—images of her laughing and writhing as the marquess pinned her arms and sunk his weight between her thighs. The sound of water lapping hid her sigh.

  “Giles,” she whispered.

  One corner of his mouth turned up—wolfish.

  Another screech and simultaneous bellow rent the air—this time followed by a loud splash. Katherine leapt to her feet, but before she could dive, strong arms caught her around the waist.

  “Julia!” she yelled, straining against Bromton’s protective hold. “Markham!”

  Both her siblings surfaced, laughing loudly. With great effort, Markham walked his way to the boat line. Slowly, Julia and Markham made their way toward the little dock, Markham pulling the dinghy in their wake while Julia’s skirts billowed around them like clouds. The maid Katherine shared with Julia emerged from the house, her arms laden with blankets.

  “Get out of the water, you ninnies,” Katherine said.

  Julia fished around in the water and then lifted out her shoes. “Look, Markham! You’ve ruined them.”

  Markham’s lips puckered with distaste. “You should thank me. They are hideous.”

  Julia shoved a wall of water in Markham’s direction. Markham dove beneath the waves and came up behind Julia, raining from his coat sleeves. Julia took a deep breath and then plunged beneath the surface, too. Markham stumbled, disappeared, and then they both came up laughing.

  “Wait! Wait! Wait” Markham said, holding Julia arm’s length. “Truce.”

  “Declare me victor!” Julia shot back, grabbing for the boat’s line.

  “Allow me to take care of this.” Bromton winked again and then he let her go. Leaning over the water, he grabbed the rope and secured it to a post.

  “Sorry, Jules,” Markham said, “but I think Brom just won.”

  Julia emerged dripping and shivering. The maid handed Bromton a blanket for Markham and then wrapped Julia. The maid turned Julia’s shoulders and began marching her toward the house.

  “I’ll expect new shoes,” Julia called over her shoulder.

  Katherine turned, vacillating between the duty to go and the desire to stay. Then, something cold and wet touched her neck. She squealed and swiveled. Markham shoved what looked like a bundle of muddied weeds into her face. Bromton—a wall of muscle—stepped between them before she could shove Markham away.

  “What are you doing?” Bromton asked.

  Markham shook out the weeds, revealing the form of a painted wooden ship. “The first ship of my fleet has returned triumphant.”

  “Eww, that is disgusting, Markham,” Katherine said over Bromton’s shoulder. “Throw it back.”

  “Never!” Markham crowed.

  “His fleet?” Bromton asked, sounding confused.

  “I sunk his toy ships,” Katherine explained. “He’s never forgiven me.”

  “Now that I know where to find them, I intend to mount a rescue mission!”

  “See?” Katherine said to Bromton. “Child.” She turned to Markham. “Even if you retrieve every single ship, it still won’t mean I have to listen to you.”

  Markham’s gaze moved pointedly between Bromton and Katherine. “You don’t have to listen to me, but you might want to from time to time.”

  Katherine made a sound of disgust.

  “Positively drool,” Markham said.

  “Go away,” Katherine replied.

  “Come,” Markham held out dripping arms, “give us a cuddle.”

  “Percy!” Katherine shrieked and closed her eyes.

  The expected assault of slime never came.

  “You’ve no humor at all, Brom.” Markham’s voice was muffled. “Just wait until she comes after you! You’ll want me to lend a hand, I promise.”

  She opened one eye. Bromton had mummified Markham in a blanket, which he held closed.

  Katherine lifted a brow. “My knight errant?”

  Bromton moved away from Markham in order to bring her fingers to his lips. He kissed her knuckles and then, to her laughing protest, drew her close.

  “I’d rather be your legendary lover,” he replied under his breath.

  She scolded him with a look, but she tingled all over. “I should attend to Julia.”

  Markham freed his arm and pulled down the blanket. “It’s Julia’s own fault; I told her not to stand. I wouldn’t be surprised if she orchestrated the whole debacle in order to get new shoes.”

  Katherine snorted. “You’re probably right.”

  “Julia is in good hands,” Bromton said against Katherine’s ear. “Stay with me.”

  Katherine swallowed. “Very well.”

  “Don’t you have to change?” Bromton asked Markham, without turning.

  Bromton had played her knight errant. He wanted to be her lover. Her legendary lover. She sighed as she looked up into his impossibly beautiful eyes.

  “Positively drool.” Markham made a gagging noise as he trudged toward the house.

  Her lips curled into a smile. Who could fault her if she drooled just a little?

  …

  Provided he was not in the company of the slightly younger, wealthy, and uncommonly chiseled Rayne, Bromton had never lacked female attention. On the other hand, the female attention he received hadn’t been real admiration.

  Ladies batted their lashes and dropped their fans, heedless of his widely rumored future alliance with Clarissa, although Clarissa, herself, had only ever treated him with a kind of curious awe. He’d been prized for his fortune and title. His mind had been of very little consequence.

  To Clarissa he’d been respectful, to the others, indifferent. Then, his mother had revealed the truth behind his birth.

  His title and fortune were lies. He was nothing. An alliance with Clarissa became an impossibility. And the flirtations of the other ladies became grotesque. The same ladies who simpered and fawned would have given him the cut direct were they to discover the truth behind his birth.

  A
nd so, he’d wallowed in a swampy mix of anger and disdain until Katherine had called him Giles.

  Giles, she’d sighed in a purr tinged with supplication.

  Giles, as it happened, was the one thing, the only thing, he could freely give. Reflected in her eyes, he was new. Resurrected like Markham’s muddied, weed-choked ship.

  He probably shouldn’t have teased about becoming her lover, but he couldn’t muster regret. Katherine appeared transfixed. Breathless. With a quick glance to the blank windows, each one possibly concealing an overcurious gaze, he led her by the hand toward cover.

  “Giles!” She laughed in protest.

  He segued into the hedge lining the formal garden. There, in the shadow of the brush, he drew her into his arms. Her eyes remained laughing as her body came to his, pliant…trusting. A heady feeling entered his being. Keeping her clasped with one arm, he brushed the strands of hair away from her face.

  …desire.

  The strange song simmering beneath his skin had to be desire—even if the verse accompanying the heat was sung in wholly unfamiliar incantations. Hold her. Protect her. Keep her safe.

  Her lips drew him like a beacon. They parted and he accepted their invitation. She was succulent. Ripe. And her lingering laughter tasted sweet.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “Giving you,” he said with another kiss, “exactly what you need.”

  “You’ve gone mad.” Her breasts pressed into his chest as she panted.

  “Mad, perhaps,” he said, “or suddenly possessed of singular purpose.”

  He used that singular purpose to plunder her mouth. She opened beautifully. Lusciously—a winged creature fluttering fearlessly next to flame. Still, he coaxed, his lips trailing from her mouth to her neck. As he nipped at the smooth skin of her shoulder, she threw back her head.

  “I may be,” she heaved, “going a little mad myself.”

  He secured her with his arms and lifted his head. “Just a little?”

  She glanced down beneath her lashes. “Bedlam-bound, I’m afraid.”

  “Mmmm,” he hummed. He cupped her neck, entwining fingers into her hair. “Am I in danger?”

  “You?” she cooed against his ear. “I am the one in danger.”

  “You are beyond danger.” He brushed the small of her spine in comforting waves, encouraging her ever so gently to give him the rest of her weight. “You, my dear hellion, are in absolute peril.”