A Scandalous Request

by Micki Miller

  “Your lordship,” the woman said with a respectful bow of her head. “I can’t thank you enough. As you can see, the need is great.”

  Burke nodded, a little off put at the gratitude. Never before had he received such in person. A drawer in his desk contained a stack of hand-written thank you notes from charitable organizations, some from individuals. They never personally called on him. People, for the most part, considered him unapproachable. Before today, he always considered that fortuitous.

  “It gives me pleasure to see my money put to good use,” he said to the woman before shifting his attention back to Lady Sennett. “We should be going.”

  If Miss Cress believed anything untoward about Lady Sennett leaving alone with a man who was not her husband, she showed no sign of it. After giving the children time for their goodbyes, always one more hug, one more kiss on her cheek, the woman shuffled them in for their dinner.

  Lady Sennett waited until the last child passed under the wooden, chain-hung sign reading ‘Foundling Home’ in white paint. The little boy named Brennan, still holding the puppy, was the last one to go in. At the door, he gave her a final wave. The child then shifted toward him. He lifted one of the puppy’s paws and waved it at him. At his nonresponse, Lady Sennett shocked him by poking him in the ribs with her elbow.

  So, in an odd mix of affront, warmth, and silliness, Burke raised a hand and waved back to Raisin the puppy.

  This must have pleased the little boy, for he smiled wide before he went into the house, singing to the puppy, and the door shut. Rose pivoted away from him in the quiet yard, almost a full rotation until she faced the gate. Was she giggling at him? He had the urge to do the same. Good lord, he’d just waved goodbye to a puppy.

  After stepping through the gate, they both double checked to make certain its closure was secure. He crouched and ran his fingers along the woven sting making a barrier along the bottom. It was crude, but sturdy. As long as the gate stayed shut, little Raisin would remain within the walls of the yard.

  Burke woke her sleeping driver with a hard slap to the carriage, ignoring Lady Sennett’s gasp at his harshness. The imbecile coachman was taking a nap when he should have been seeing to the safety and well-being of his charge. When Lord Sennett heard of this, the fool would no doubt be sent packing for sure.

  Burke ordered her driver to return to the Sennett home alone and said he would personally escort the lady back. The young man actually had the gall to look to Lady Sennett for confirmation of his order. Would the strangeness of this day ever cease?

  “Thank you, Lord Darington,” she said to him. “But there’s really no reason…”

  “We have matters to discuss.”

  “Milady?” the young man on the driver’s bench asked before taking action.

  With the agility of youth, he bounded from the carriage bench and positioned himself near his mistress. Her coachman, who wasn’t long from his mother’s apron strings, puffed out his scrawny chest, as if he carried bulk and muscle to intimidate. He shot hard glances at Burke that should have earned him a reprimand from his mistress, if not Burke himself.

  The whelp was not even discreet in his insolence. Nor was his attire anywhere near to proper. By his appearance, one might mistake him for a low-ranking groom she’d plucked from the stables.

  “It’s all right, Horace,” Lady Sennett said. “We’ll be right behind you.”

  Her driver paused, and for a moment, Burke had the distinct impression the young man would actually argue the command. In the end, though, he climbed back onto his bench and set the horses toward home. Burke placed his hand on the small of Lady Sennett’s back and guided her to his carriage, lacquered and buffed to a flawless shine. His family crest of a lion on a shield adorned the side. His driver, in full black and gold livery, awaited at the open door.

  Burke followed her into the carriage. Instead of sitting across from her, as would be proper, he sat beside her. She hurried to scoot over a bit.

  Once the carriage was in motion, Burke found himself at a loss. He already had words with her about the dangers of being out in such a place by herself. Not that she needed a scolding. No matter her courageous veneer, what had happened in the alley back there, and the vile likelihood that hadn’t, must have scared the life out of her. It certainly did him.

  When he’d seen her in the clutches of her attacker, a violent rage the likes of which he never before experienced blinded him to all but the loathsome creature he wanted to slay. His fists barely registered the two hard blows that felled the villain. If not for the urgent need to see Lady Sennett was unharmed, he may well have killed the man.

  Beyond the window through which he stared, a low, half-moon shed a fair glow to landscape better left unlit. Decrepit buildings rife with all varieties of filth, long ago and rightfully abandoned, made a perfect refuge for malevolence. Even with a proper escort, the lady should not have been anywhere near to this section of town.

  “Ashton doesn’t need to know about…about what happened,” she said, her voice breaking into his maddening ruminations.

  He shifted his eyes toward her as they adjusted to the interior of the dark carriage. Burke couldn’t quite make out Lady Sennett’s expression. For a moment, he wondered if she feared her husband.

  His mind conjured an image, unbidden, of himself in a heroic role, taking her from an abusive situation. But that was not the way of things. She did not fear the wrath of Lord Sennett. The lady did not want to upset the dear friend to whom she was married.

  “He’s your husband,” Burkes stated. “He has a right to know you were attacked.”

  “Please, Lord Darington,” she said, placing her delicate hand on his sleeve. Had a woman ever before touched him without sensuous intentions? Her guileless entreaty was like the puppy, sweet, innocent, and rife with trouble.

  “Ashton has been so very good to me. I don’t want to cause him any distress.”

  “He should never have allowed you to come down here by yourself,” Burke said.

  Her fingers stiffened just before she withdrew her hand. Burke could rightly claim he witnessed her gain height as she harvested what little mass she had and tied it into a taut bundle. When she spoke, her voice flashed an unmistakable sharpness as her statement pruned his remark.

  “Ashton is my husband, not my owner. I’ll thank you to keep your directives to yourself.”

  Burke smiled in the dark. No man should tolerate such impertinence from a woman. In no situation should he even find it amusing. Burke found himself not just indulging both, but also enjoying her bold show of mettle, immensely.

  “Are they not one in the same?” he asked. His sole purpose to elicit a response.

  “No, Lord Darington, they are not,” Lady Sennett answered, with definite emphasis on the last three words. “At least they are not in our marriage.”

  Her seething demeanor, at odds with the sweet woman he’d seen in the courtyard hugging children moments before, and the perfect hostess at last night’s soiree, added yet another tier to this fascinating woman.

  Her distinct spirit flew on forbidden wings and she would not see them clipped. He wondered if the lady was aware of her distance from the norms of society. Yes, of course she understood the way of things. She knew how to behave amongst the upper classes. Her public comportment showed nowise a flaw. Beneath her polished propriety, though, beneath the manners and decorum, beat the heart of a peppery woman.

  His man’s mind envisioned her passion unleashed, emblazoned, golden hair free of her straw bonnet, of her pins, body liberated from gown and shift and stockings, warm and naked, spread across the mussed sheets of his bed. His body reacted as if all the desires the image raised had the ability to make it real by the power of want.

  “Lord Sennett treats me as an equal,” she stated.

  The images in his mind did not instantly fade, but rather drained from his pores in tortuous wonder like a phantom siren, departing with a final, taunting caress. Eventually, her outla
ndish statement came into focus.

  Burke repositioned himself before saying in a roughened voice, “I’ve never heard of such.”

  “My husband is a very…unique man. There is none better.”

  “I meant no insult,” Burke said. He no longer wanted to see her riled. In the aftermath of his minds imaginings, he sought now her softer side, marveling, though, at the whole of her. “It is only natural for a husband to be concerned for his wife’s safety.”

  “True,” she said, in a more conciliatory tone. “The fact is, when I visit the foundling home without Ashton, I always take Big Bart with me. He was unavailable and the day was too lovely to miss. There is no taking back what happened today. Telling Ashton would serve naught but to upset him.”

  If she were his wife, he would want to know of the attack. If she were his wife…Burke saw her again, not in a seedy alley, or the courtyard of a decaying building, or even tucked away within the confines of his bedchamber, but in sunlight.

  With utter clarity, he pictured her on a picnic blanket beside the crystalline pond on the property of his country estate, children frolicking about the summer trees. The scene, wondrous enough to be the fruit of a peaceful slumber, ripe with love and place, humming of absolute rightness. It was as if the vision was too wholehearted, too anxious, and too keen to wait until he closed his eyes this night and drifted into sleep.

  They hit a rut and the carriage jolted to the left, shaking loose the sublime image to which he yearned to cling. Lady Sennett kept her eyes on him, beseeching through the dark, her heart worried for the feelings of another.

  “I’ll hold my silence, on one condition,” Burke said. He didn’t have to intuit the lady would do as she pleased, but his sanity compelled him to demand this one stipulation. “Give me your word you will never again travel to the foundling home without proper protection.”

  She paused, only a beat or two before saying, “I promise. Thank you, Lord Darington.” She reached for him again, this time placing her hand upon his. “You truly are a good man.”

  Burke drew in a quick breath. No one had ever said such a thing to him before. He grew up hearing his father speak of him as tainted beyond redemption. On rare occasions, when his mother bothered to spare him a tick, she would offer some small measure of defense. Her weak-hearted efforts only left him craving more. The fact that defending him at all required effort was itself a parental statement of his lacking.

  From Lady Sennett, however, her simple, unbidden words nourished a soul he believed starved beyond resurrection.

  Burke turned his hand over and squeezed, careful of her bones, small and fragile in his large hand. When he would have released her, should have released her, he kept a firm hold. She made no effort to pull away. In fact, her fingers curled around his hand, returning his affection.

  A covetous wish to possess this woman, this mix of purity and passion, of the unexplored and untainted, leapt over his walls and affixed itself between his desire and his good sense. Before he knew what he was about, Burke bent until his lips brushed against hers.

  Her small gasp of shock quelled a bit of the folly that had overcome him. Burke held himself still and paused before he would have backed away, would have offered a humble apology. Before he could do either, however, she stretched up and touched her lips to his.

  Her kiss was unsure and awkward. Had she never even experienced a kiss? After drawing in a breath full of her sweetness, he touched his tongue to her lower lip, and the question was lost in her taste.

  Burke slid a hand to cup her neck, his fingers inching up her downy nape, beneath her bonnet and into the silk of her golden hair until her head cradled in his palm. At the tentative touch of her tongue to his, at her innocent bid for more, his breath turned ragged.

  With his thumb, he tugged on her chin. She opened for him without hesitation, met him, curious, receptive, and responsive. Shifting his body over hers, he drew her closer, until his chest pressed against the firm rise of her breasts. A sharp catch of her breath told him the penetrating sensation affected her as much as it did him.

  A sound at his mouth, a small whimper, an expression of her growing desire, inflamed his passion, and he strained to keep from crushing her against him.

  Dragging his hand down the slope of her narrow waist, over the rounded curve of her hip, Burke gathered handfuls of her skirts, lifting them inch by inch.

  Nothing in this world had ever beckoned him so as this maddening need to touch her. In that instant, he would swear it was the only reason his lungs drew in air and his heart pounded out another beat. Before he could lay hand to skin, though, the carriage came to an abrupt stop.

  The fact that they were no longer moving, that his coachman was at the very moment setting the break, after which he would climb down from his perch and open the door, occurred to him before it did her.

  “Rose,” he breathed against her sweet lips, their unsated desires quivering between them. “We’re here.”

  Her eyes fluttered open and for a moment, Burke would swear she was unaware of her place and position. Her long-lashed lids blinked several times before a blush bright enough to see in the dim light rushed up her face. She jumped back as if he had scalded her, which, ironically, is much how he felt. His advantage was experience. Not that it made frustration easier to bear, just easier to understand.

  Burke leaned back and gave her a moment to collect herself. He found himself in dire need of the same.

  By the time his coachman opened the door, Rose was brushing down her skirts with shaking hands and tucking errant strands of hair back into her crooked hat. He affected her. He’d awoken in her passions to which she had been completely unaware. That pleased him beyond understanding, though it helped naught with relief.

  Burke stepped from the carriage before helping her to alight.

  “Good night, Lord Darington,” she said, flicking her eyes no higher than his chin.

  The lady rifled through her chaotic state in search of her perfect demeanor. Her breath was unsteady. Her hands fluttered, straightening and patting and brushing at her skirts, her bonnet, at nothing at all. He had aroused her senses and offended her sensibility. Burke might find that more amusing if she’d not had the same effect on him.

  Her husband’s outlandish request that not twenty-four hours ago had him shaking his head now tempted him beyond reasonable sanity.

  “Good night, Lady Sennett.” He reached for her then and she gasped. “My coat,” he said, taking it from her shoulders, grinning at her flustered condition, bemused at his own.

  His eyes stayed on her as she carried herself with all the dignity she could muster, up the stone walkway toward the front door of her home. She was almost to the porch steps when she stopped. Her head and shoulders rotated until she faced where he stood.

  Burke speculated as to whether or not enough moonlight fell from the sky for her to see his face. Some mischievous, adolescent aspect, to which he’d never before granted access, inspired him to set his most wolfish grin on her.

  From his place beside the carriage, Burke heard Lady Sennett’s quick intake of breath. He wondered if she heard his low chuckle.

  ****

  Having slipped unnoticed past Ashton and Lewis as they sat sipping brandy in the drawing room, Rose tiptoed up the stairs with quiet intention. She needed to change her mussed clothing. She needed to set herself to rights. And, she needed a few minutes to sort her head before facing the two gentlemen with whom she lived.

  In her lovely, spacious room of cream and coral, Rose removed her straw bonnet and dropped it on her dressing table before lighting some candles. Her trembling legs carried her across the fine Aubusson carpet where she flopped, face down, across her bed. The counterpane absorbed her disconcerted sigh.

  After rolling onto her back, Rose let her hand drift up until her fingertips touched her lower lip.

  The earl had kissed her! And he did so in a very intimate fashion. What’s more, she’d allowed it, encouraged it even
. Embarrassment summoned her hands to cover her face. Never in her life had she behaved in such a shameful manner! The palms of her hands muffled her groan, a low, pitiful sound.

  What shocked her most about those moments alone with Lord Darington in his carriage was she’d enjoyed it, just as Ashton had told her she would.

  Since they’d married, her husband had urged her to seek her pleasures. She wasn’t exactly sure what that meant and was too embarrassed to ask. All she knew of men’s ways was what Piers had shown her. Repulsive, all of it, and she’d never been able to imagine it any better.

  The night Ashton had taken her in, the night she fled the baron’s home with nothing but an amber pig and a hatful of trouble and she and Ashton made their bargain, he’d made it clear he would not be sharing her bed. She could not have been more pleased.

  Her husband was a dear man, kind, considerate, generous. Since she had no want whatsoever to feel the touch of a man, for her, it was the perfect marriage. For Ashton, too. They both had what they wanted, what they needed. If her husband was telling the truth, and she believed he was, his life was as happy as hers.

  Except when Ashton was trying to convince her of all she was missing, Rose didn’t give the issue of intimacies even the tiniest of considerations. At least, she hadn’t until tonight.

  Could she really partake in an affair? When Lord Darington caressed her, when he kissed her, what she experienced was far from revulsion. It was haunting, this sensation, foreign, exotic…desirous. How much more was there for a woman to feel? Could it be even more intense? Based on the sensations still roiling through her body, she had to assume so. Her curiosity climbed another degree.

  She didn’t need to scour her memories to recall where the earl had touched her, for the warmth of his large hand against her back, the firm press of his lips to hers, their hearts beating against each other, still resonated. The smell of him, soap and musk and man, stayed with her, too. Yet this unearthing of newness did not fill a void, but rather, created one.