The Birthday Scandal

by Leigh Michaels

  “Very neat driving,” Emily said. “You’re not quite in the style of the topmost sawyers in London, I believe, and there was that small trouble a moment ago—did your hands cramp for an instant, sir? But overall you’re the equal of any whip I’ve observed.”

  He thanked her, gravely.

  “Think nothing of it,” she went on. “We were, I believe, speaking of lovers.”

  “No, we were not; you were attempting to shock me. I find your choice of subject quite strange, you know, for I’d have sworn you disapproved mightily when you heard talk of a mistress I’d tucked away in the village.”

  “Such a change of heart would seem odd, would it not? I was only shocked that you dared to bring her to Weybridge village and announce the fact to Uncle Josiah. It was foolish of you, of course, for I suspect he has been keeping you too close to slip away and visit her.”

  He cursed himself for giving her the opening. She was clearly not going to rest until she had achieved her goal—so he might as well play along. “Tell me, Lady Emily, what are your criteria for selecting this ‘very good’ lover?”

  “Oh, there are far too many specifcs for me to list just now. Or hadn’t you noticed that we’re nearly at the castle? However, I am certain you will be relieved to know that Mr. Lancaster does not meet my standards.”

  Relieved was hardly the word. Gavin was still concerned about Lancaster’s intentions, because she appeared not to take the man seriously. But another part of him was positively giddy—for it was clear now that she was talking only to lead on Gavin himself, to annoy him and entertain herself, with no intention of acting on this foolish plan.

  “No,” she mused, “Mr. Lancaster is not at all like the gentleman I’ve chosen.”

  The curricle drew up in front of the castle’s main door, just ahead of the duke’s much heavier carriage. Gavin’s groom slid off the perch at the back and ran around to the horses’ heads, ready to lead them to the stables.

  Gavin had to admire her; she had timed her announcement perfectly. But sheer perversity would not allow him to stay silent after she delivered that coup. He would not let her slip away so easily to gloat over her triumph.

  “I suppose you prefer not to tell me whom you have chosen—though I must wonder why you would hesitate, when you have shared so much. I must wonder if this paragon among lovers only exists in your imagination.” He climbed down and turned to lift Emily from the curricle. Her hood had fallen back, and moonlight struck full across her face, casting a silvery gleam over her golden-brown hair and refecting from her big brown eyes. She hesitated for an instant with her foot on the step, looking down at him, and then she smiled.

  The effect on him was something like seizing a hot ember from the fire with his bare hand. Gavin knew that soon enough it was going to hurt like the very devil, but in the first instant he didn’t feel pain, only shock.

  “Oh, he exists,” she said sweetly. “I choose you.”

  Gavin’s reaction to her announcement was not exactly what Emily had hoped for. He stared at her for a moment, and then he doubled over laughing.

  No gentleman in the whole of her existence had ever before laughed at Lady Emily Arden—at least not directly to her face. No gentleman, she was positive, ever would; it simply wasn’t done, to laugh at a lady.

  Besides, Gavin wasn’t simply laughing—he was holding his ribs and chortling. As though she’d needed confirmation that he was no gentleman!

  “Of course,” she said icily, “it was you who implied my choice must necessarily be a paragon. I see I was quite mistaken!”

  He sobered then—but mainly, she suspected, because the occupants of the carriage had descended upon them. “Do share the joke,” Lucien said eagerly.

  Emily wasn’t about to hover and listen. She tipped her head haughtily and swept through the front door, already untying the strings of her cloak. Handing the wrap to Chalmers, she headed directly for the closest refuge—the library, which would be deserted at this time of night. She would, if necessary, stay there—pretending to read—until the entire household was asleep.

  But no sooner had she closed the door behind her than she thought better of the move. Anyone might ask Chalmers where she had gone, and follow her there. Her father, for instance, would not hesitate to run her to earth if he had any reason to suspect her of unconventional behavior—and if seeing Gavin doubled up with laughter didn’t make him ask questions, nothing would.

  If Emily could just get upstairs, she wouldn’t have to face anyone until morning—except Isabel, the only one who would dare to invade her bedroom. But Emily could deal with her sister.

  She waited till her heart had stopped racing and her cheeks no longer felt brilliant red, and hoped that the company wouldn’t be milling around the hall. Then she tucked a book—selected at random from the shelf—under her arm, opened the door a crack, and listened. She could hear nothing, so she tiptoed down the hall toward the stairs.

  The door of the billiard room stood open, and she could hear the solid, meaty thunk of one ivory ball striking another. She hesitated for an instant and then tried to slip past.

  Gavin came to the door in his shirtsleeves, still holding his cue. “I thought everyone had gone upstairs.”

  She took refuge in haughtiness. “That no doubt explains why you are only half-dressed. A gentleman puts on his coat in the presence of a lady.”

  “And a lady doesn’t proposition a gentleman to become her lover, even in jest—Lady Emily.”

  She felt a hot flush rising in her cheeks. “How amusing that a man who feels able to give a lady a scold such as you have delivered to me feels the need to stand on ceremony with her title.”

  “Very well. We will agree that neither of us can claim such a term of respect. Do you wish to hold this conversation in the hall?”

  How was it she hadn’t noticed where she was standing? She knew how easily voices carried in this cavernous space. Catching a glimpse of a servant passing by in the shadows under the stairs, she stepped quickly into the billiard room.

  Gavin closed the door.

  She could barely remember the last time she had been alone behind closed doors with a gentleman. The man had been Philip, of course, and the occasion had been just a few days after he had made his formal offer of marriage. That must have been the day he had kissed her, too.

  “What were you thinking?” Gavin began. “I only pray you are not considering carrying this clanker any further. You’re safe enough with me, Emily, but—”

  “That’s a pity,” she said crisply.

  “But if your father should get wind of this—”

  “You mean you did not tell everyone I’d made a fool of myself?”

  “I said you’d entertained me with a very funny story which would be altogether too difficult for me to repeat in a way others would find humorous. You may wish to supply yourself with a funny story before breakfast, in case someone asks you to recount it.”

  “Thank you for the warning.”

  He eyed the table as though judging his next shot. “Mind you, offering to make me your lover was a good joke, even if you carried it a bit too far. Exactly the sort of humor a barbarian colonist could appreciate.”

  “Is it?” she said drearily. “I mean—of course it would be.”

  “What did you mean by saying ‘That’s a pity’? Surely you don’t think it’s a pity that you’re safe with me?”

  She bit her lip.

  “Oh, no. You’re serious?” Gavin laid down his cue, leaned against the corner of the table, and folded his arms across his chest. “I think you’d better tell me the whole story.”

  “I already have. Weren’t you listening?” Emily sighed and started over. “I will never marry. But that doesn’t mean I’m not…curious. Since the main reason a woman needs to remain a virgin is to satisfy her husband, and since I shall never have a husband who might object to the fact that I’m not a virgin, then why cannot I satisfy my curiosity?”

  “By taking a
lover?”

  “There seems to be no other option to accomplish my purpose,” she said tartly. “There are, however, limited opportunities in Barton Bristow. I am inclined to think it would be uncomfortable to meet the gentleman again afterwards.”

  “I should think it would be,” he said dryly. “So that’s why you were flirting with every male at the Fletchers’ party.”

  “I considered each of them, yes. But aside from the practical difficulties—”

  “Slipping away with one of them to the conservatory to make love would have presented a challenge.”

  “The conservatory? Is that even possible? It’s such a public…” He started to smile, and Emily felt her face heat. “Never mind. I felt that any of those gentlemen might misunderstand the reasons for my request.”

  Gavin nodded. “Yes, I can see why a man might be confused about your intentions. He might even suspect you were trying to trap him into marriage, regardless of your protests to the contrary.”

  “Why must gentlemen persist in thinking that the pinnacle of every woman’s dreams is to capture a husband? Then I thought—why not you? You’re not at all typical.”

  “Thank you. At least, I think that may have been intended as a compliment.”

  “You don’t reason in the same way an English gentleman does. You’re not hidebound, and you’re not a traditionalist—at least I thought you weren’t, until you began dishing me that scold. You are experienced with women, which means you’re capable of satisfying my curiosity, and just now you must be…uncomfortable.”

  His eyebrows went up. “Just now? If you mean because of this conversation, I’ve been uncomfortable for quite a while.”

  “If you haven’t been able to visit your mistress, I mean. I understand—at least, I’ve heard other ladies say—that gentlemen feel out of sorts when there is no outlet for their…”

  The barest trace of a smile tugged at his mouth. He had nice, full, smooth lips, Emily noticed. Not red and chapped-looking, like Mr. Lancaster’s had been.

  She took a deep breath and changed direction. “Also, since there is nothing about me that you admire, you are unlikely to pretend you wish to marry me. Not even to get your hands on my dowry—which as the duke’s heir you don’t need anyway.”

  He gave a low, long whistle. “I see you’ve given this a great deal of thought.”

  “I had all evening to plan, since I found my dinner partners exceptionally boring.”

  “That’s a facer for Lancaster, who thinks himself a notable swain. One of your objections still applies, however, for you and I are very likely to meet again.”

  She shook her head. “In truth, only Uncle Josiah’s fond memories of our mother have kept the connection as close as it has been in the years since her death. Of course all of us—Lucien and Isabel and I—are very fond of him. But the fact is that once he is gone, there will be no occasions for us to come to Weybridge Castle, and you will hardly be interested in visiting Chiswick. You’ll be very busy with estate responsibilities, and you will soon have your own family here. Besides, I shall be living retired at Barton Bristow, so we would not even risk a chance encounter in London during the Season.”

  He looked thoughtful. As if, she thought, he was nearly persuaded.

  “In fact,” Emily finished, “you and I shall likely never meet again after this week.”

  “Then we should by all means take advantage of every moment we have.” His voice had a rough edge.

  Before Emily had quite realized that he had capitulated, he pushed himself away from the billiard table and caught her tightly to him. His hands slid down her back, pressing her close against him. Her breasts felt as if they were melting from his body heat. Even Philip had never held her like this; no wonder there was a rule about gentlemen always wearing their coats when they were in the company of ladies.

  He cupped her derriere and pulled her even closer. She tipped her head back, trying to see his expression, but his mouth came down on hers, so hard and hungry and demanding that her vision blurred.

  Her mind was going fuzzy, too, but she retained enough awareness to know that this kiss was so far unlike Philip’s that to use the same word for the two experiences was utter foolishness. When Philip had kissed her, she had been puzzled by his actions and a bit put off because he had tasted of stale wine. Now, though Gavin was doing things she had never dreamed of, she was too swept up in the moment to wonder what might be next. And his mouth was the most luscious favor she had ever tasted, something exotic but so perfectly attuned to her tastes that it seemed she had always known it and had been waiting patiently to sample it again.

  He was no longer holding her so tightly; his hands had wandered higher, and suddenly she felt the brush of cool air against her naked skin and realized that he had released the fastenings of her dress. The silk and lace of her bodice whispered down her arms, holding her fast and leaving her breasts open to his gaze—and his touch. He ran his tongue along the edge of her chemise, across the tender upper swell of her breasts, and then around her nipple. She gave a little squeak of surprise as a pleasurable shock shot through her.

  She planted her hands against his chest, not to push him away but simply to enjoy the feel of him, the smooth linen of his shirt barely concealing the strength of muscles underneath. She had never touched a man so intimately, but she wanted more. She wanted to rid herself of the last remaining barrier between his flesh and hers.

  He nipped once more at her breasts, then picked her up and set her on the edge of the billiard table. Catching the ruffe at her hem, he pulled it up until skirts and petticoats pooled around her waist, then tugged her knees apart and stepped between her legs. The same cool air that had tightened her nipples brushed across her most private areas, followed by heat once more as he pressed against her. The bulge of his erection felt firm and eager against her. “You’re not ready for that just yet,” he whispered against her lips, “but you soon will be.”

  His hungry, openmouthed kiss left her panting, and his fingers sliding inside her made her gasp. But when he began to ease her down onto the table, she was stunned. “Here?”

  “Why not?” Gavin laughed softly. “Oh. My apologies, for I am in truth a barbarian. No, not here.” Gently, he pulled her skirt down, smoothing the fabric over her hips, and lifted her from the table. He turned her away from him and cupped his hands over her breasts for a moment before he raised her bodice back into place and refastened her dress up the back. Then he bent to press his lips into the hollow under her collarbone. His breath teased across her throat and down between her breasts, sending a wave of heat over her once more.

  “Shall I come to your bedroom, my dear?” he whispered. “Or will you come to mine?” The rumble of his voice against her skin made her entire body resonate.

  Emily hesitated, feeling the full weight of this decision. She knew she was contemplating far more than the question of where they should rendezvous. “Yours.” Her voice was little more than a croak.

  “Then I shall wait for you there.” He kissed her once more, long and thoroughly, and his hands roamed over her as if he planned to draw a map of every inch of her skin.

  When he released her, Emily fled.

  She had won, and she should be celebrating. But she had never in her life been more confused.

  The evening had been long and wearing, but Isabel was not eager to go to her room. Emily had vanished, however, and Lucien was yawning—though Isabel suspected he was more bored than tired. She was never excited about spending time with her father, and Gavin seemed preoccupied, interested only in billiard balls. Which left just her husband—and though conversation with Maxwell would be preferable to the other activities he no doubt had in mind, she was certain she would not enjoy the topics he chose.

  You’re not upset, you’re aroused, he had told her in the Fletchers’ conservatory. A little jolt ran through her at the thought. She was feeling anxious, that was all. Yes—anxiety about the night to come was mixed with some disdai
n. Even a tinge of distaste.

  None of which explained the slight sensation of heaviness in her womb. Was it possible she had already conceived? Surely there could be no physical sign—and yet…

  You’re not upset, you’re aroused.

  He must be wrong. Her body was not tightening in anticipation of him making love to her again.

  The mere suggestion sent a sudden rush of heat through her belly. The reaction took her by surprise, and suddenly she wanted only to be alone. “You may go, Martha,” she said, and began pulling pins from her hair. Then she thought better of the command. She couldn’t get out of her dress, much less her corset, without help. If her assistance must come from either her maid or her husband, the choice was clear. “No, wait.”

  Her half-undone hair had fallen over her face. Silently the maid took over the task of searching out hairpins. When Martha began brushing, Isabel relaxed under the gentle strokes and closed her eyes, letting her head tip back.

  The door must have opened silently, for she didn’t hear Maxwell until he spoke from beside her. “Thank you, Martha. You may go now.”

  Isabel’s eyes snapped open. The maid looked even more surprised than Isabel herself felt. Isabel was more startled by the fact that he knew her maid’s name than by his presence, though she had thought herself safe for another half hour.

  Martha bobbed a silent curtsey and went out, leaving Isabel annoyed that her own servant had obeyed Maxwell without even a glance at her mistress for instructions.

  “I didn’t realize you enjoyed acting the part of lady’s maid,” Isabel said.

  “I don’t, particularly.” He stepped around behind her, laying his fingertips on her shoulders, and studied her in the dressing-table mirror.

  Isabel flinched under his touch. Or was that a shiver of expectation instead? No, she told herself. It was only that tonight she knew what to expect, and she was bracing herself for his demands. She returned his inspection, noting that he was still dressed as he had been at dinner.