All's Fair in Love and Scandal

by Caroline Linden

  “I knew you’d be wild in bed.” He pressed a lingering kiss to her shoulder.

  “I blame you,” she said faintly.

  His grin was fierce. “Good.” His head dipped, and he ran his tongue around her straining nipple. “I want to drive you wild.”

  “Let me touch you.” She reached for him, and this time he let her caress his face.

  “God yes. I think I’ve got myself under control now.” Madeline giggled and wrapped her arms around his neck to give him another deep, consuming kiss. His hands stroked down her hips and then with deceptive ease, he lifted her. She clung to him as he carried her to the bed in the next room. Her back hit the mattress and his weight pressed her down. “I’ve been dying for you to touch me since the first moment I set eyes on you.” He turned onto his back. “I’m yours.”

  Madeline sat up. He seemed to fill her bed, his strong arms flung wide, his legs splayed. His skin was dusky against the white bed linen, his auburn hair dark. She ran her hand over his chest and down his belly. “Anywhere?”

  “Everywhere.” He reached up and fondled her breast until she arched her back.

  “Hmm.” She moved to straddle him, settling her hips atop his. Douglas’s eyes rolled back in his head, but his fingers kept teasing her breast. Madeline rocked her hips, and he said something so vulgar, she laughed. “Such language,” she whispered, lowering herself until her breasts were against his belly and his erection surged against her ribs. She licked across his chest, and bit down on his nipple.

  “God Almighty.” His arms bulged as he gripped the sheets.

  “You like that?” She bit him again, this time on the tender skin at the side of his rib cage.

  “Yes.” His voice was strained.

  She laughed softly and bent her head, tasting his skin. He kept talking, though Madeline didn’t pay attention to the words; it was his tone, urgent and rough, that sent heat pulsing through her body. Now it seemed amazing that she’d withstood him so long. Now she couldn’t think of anything except having him in her bed for the rest of her life.

  He almost jackknifed off the bed when she ran her finger over the head of his cock, once again hard and ready. “Enough—I want to see you.” His voice shook, and he reached for her. He angled his hips until his erection nudged at her. “Ride me,” he ordered. “Hard.”

  She pushed herself up until she hovered over him on her hands and knees. “So commanding.”

  Sweat glistened on his face and his grin was a grimace of clenched teeth. “Please, darling.”

  She felt a moment of uncertainty. She hadn’t made love to a man in over two years, and never this way. But Douglas’s feverish gaze bored into her. She wrapped her hand around his cock and guided it between her legs.

  His stomach spasmed. He tossed his head to one side. Madeline adjusted her knees, sinking lower, feeling him surge hard and deep inside her. “Oh,” she said in a thin voice. “Oh my—”

  “Ride,” he growled, bucking his hips. “Put your hands on my knees.” She obeyed, feeling sensual and wild as she leaned back, still moving up and down.

  He raised his head. His hands ran up her thighs and then his fingers spread open her lower lips. “You own me, Mad,” he rasped. His hips were still moving under her. His thumb stroked over her where their bodies joined. She quivered and almost pulled away, but he gripped her waist and steadied her, keeping her moving. “Keep on, just like that . . . I want to make you scream . . .”

  “Douglas,” she gasped. Her heart raced and her legs shook. She wasn’t sure she could take this, her body thoroughly invaded, her every sensation swamped with the sight and sound and feel of him.

  “Always, love.” He sounded as strangled as she felt but his hands and hips were relentless.

  “Oh—” Her thought and her speech died at the same time, as climax broke over her. Just as her ripples of pleasure began to fade, he swore ferociously and arched his back, and she felt him pulse within her. It wrung a last contraction from her body, and then another when he seized her and rolled over, pinning her beneath him.

  “I knew you’d be the death of me.” He kissed her, his tongue ruthlessly invading her mouth. He moved, sliding out of her and then thrusting home again. “I didn’t know it would be that fiery.”

  “So you’ve expired?” She could barely speak, her breath was so ragged.

  Douglas laughed and rested his forehead against hers. “Never fear, love. I shall rise again.” He shifted his weight until he lay with his chest against her side. His arms went around her and pulled her tightly to him.

  She pressed her lips to his chest. “I always wanted you.”

  “I knew it,” he said under his breath, laughing when she poked him. “Thank God you succumbed to it at last.”

  Madeline smiled. “Would you really have gone away and stayed away, if I hadn’t stopped you tonight?”

  “Yes,” he replied at once. “Miserably, reluctantly, and bitterly blaming myself for being the biggest fool in the world. But I would have honored your wishes.”

  She drew circles on his chest with her fingertip. Arthur had been strong but not nearly this sculpted. Douglas was gloriously built, all firm muscles and golden skin. His body tightened at her touch, and something inside her knotted with desire—incredibly, given that she’d already climaxed twice. “And now you’ve won the first wager, haven’t you?”

  He went very still and didn’t say a word.

  “I know it was a wager that brought you to my side in the first place,” she went on. “Did you win a great sum?”

  “Let’s not talk about it,” he muttered.

  She raised her head and looked at him. “Are you blushing?”

  “No,” he said indignantly. Now his neck was red, too.

  “You are.” She stroked her knuckles over his flushed skin. “It won’t shock me. You weren’t the first to make such a wager. Do you think I don’t hear the gossip?”

  Something flashed in his eyes. He pushed himself up on one elbow and loomed over her, his hair falling forward to hide his expression. “It was an idiot’s idle boast—”

  “You’re not a fool,” she whispered. “You’re the first to win.”

  “I want to be the only one to win.” He brushed her hair from her face. “No—I don’t want to win at all. You’re not a fortress to be conquered or a game to be beaten. I deserve to lose because it was a damned stupid, rude thing to do in the first place, and if I could take it all back, I would.”

  The only one to win. Her heart gave an unsteady thump. “But you cannot. What did you win?”

  “Nothing.” He bent his head and kissed the base of her throat where her pulse had barely slowed.

  “Don’t you trust me enough to tell me?” Even as she spoke her arm stole around his neck. “Does it have something to do with our wager, about my writing?”

  The look on his face was stark horror. It gave her a moment of pause. “Your reaction when I named my stake was remarkable,” she went on, with some trepidation. “How did you guess?”

  Douglas closed his eyes. “Please don’t make me tell you.”

  Oh God. All her happiness and contentment drained away. Her mouth went dry. “Tell me. If you mean to stay here longer than tonight, there cannot be secrets between us.”

  He turned onto his back and stared at the ceiling, which did nothing for her nerves. “Remember that I’m an acknowledged idiot,” he said at last.

  “Very well,” she murmured.

  “It would also help if you forgave me right now,” he added. She raised her brows in alarm, but he nodded. “Just to set the proper mood. It will give me courage.”

  “Then I forgive you.”

  Douglas took a deep breath and blew it out. “Someone placed a bounty on the identity of the author of 50 Ways to Sin.”

  Madeline blinked. She stared at him, and then she
laughed. It was a small giggle at first, but quickly burst into a full peal of laughter. “Lady Constance? You think I’m Constance?”

  His expression was priceless: a mixture of discomfort, alarm, and curiosity. “Aren’t you?”

  It took her a moment to catch her breath, she was laughing so hard. “No,” she gasped, wiping her eyes. “Although I wish I’d thought of that conceit!”

  “You’re truly not?”

  “Truly not. What made you think I was?”

  His face assumed an expression of intense relief. “You bought all that paper . . . and you wagered ownership of your writing . . .”

  “Yes, I wanted you to agree!” She smiled. “Agree, and then lose.”

  He looked a bit piqued, but didn’t respond to that. “Er . . . Your maid’s name seems a great coincidence . . .” He glanced sideways at her. “Could she be . . . ?”

  Madeline rolled her eyes. “If so, she is writing complete fiction. She would also be an idiot to use her own name. What else?”

  He frowned. “The way you attend every ton party just to watch, as if you were sizing up gentlemen for discreet liaisons . . .”

  “But I turn down every man who speaks to me.”

  “Except me.” He kissed her thoroughly, as if to make her forget all that he had just said.

  Madeline kissed him back, feeling much lighter. She knew about 50 Ways to Sin. Whoever wrote it must be very daring indeed. She supposed it was plausible that someone thought she could be the author, but the effort necessary to sustain such privacy would be incredible. At the very least, servants would talk. Still, she knew it sold almost as fast as the printer could print the issues, and for that alone she envied Constance. It must be making her a fortune. “Here I thought every man in London harbored hopes of bringing the mysterious Constance to bed! What disappointment you must feel!”

  Douglas shook his head. “I will never be disappointed to find myself next to you in bed.”

  That ended her laughter. She cupped one hand around his jaw. “Nor I, with you.”

  “Keep that thought in mind. Someone . . . some damned bloody guttersnipe . . . taunted me into trying to locate proof that you’re Constance.”

  “Oh my.” She laughed again. “It will be very difficult to win that wager, since there is no proof.”

  “I didn’t wager that you were Constance,” he quickly replied. “I only agreed that he and I would split the bounty if I found proof that you were.”

  Madeline smiled. She couldn’t seem to stop. It all seemed so silly. “Then I forgive you, completely.”

  “I only wagered, just the once, that I would dance with you.” Douglas seemed in the full flow of confession. “It was before I knew you at all. I still want to dance with you but I don’t care a damn about the wager, and I don’t intend to mention it ever again.”

  “Don’t you like to win?”

  Some of his cocksure grin returned. “I have won. You’ve not drawn a pistol on me or thrown me out into the street.”

  “Yet,” she said, but with a smile that ruined it.

  “Then . . .” He frowned curiously. “What writing did you plan to confess to?”

  “It seems so tame now. I write the gossip for the Intelligencer.” Douglas’s expression was completely blank. “It’s a small newspaper owned by a friend of my late husband’s. Arthur was an investor and I inherited his shares. The newspaper was struggling and I needed some occupation. It’s a great secret; I attend parties and balls in order to gather material, and I would be cut by all society if it were known.”

  Slowly a smile crept over his face. “Gossip. That’s what you write. Good God, what a joke.”

  “Whoever made that wager deserves to lose,” she said.

  “Agreed.”

  A scratching at the door interrupted. Madeline gasped. “Mr. Nash!” She scrambled out of bed and threw on her dressing gown as she hurried to the door.

  Douglas sat up. “Mr. Nash?”

  “Yes, my usual bed partner.” She opened the door and scooped up the cat when he prowled into the room. “Isn’t he a handsome fellow?”

  Douglas stared at the cat, then fell back into the pillow, laughing.

  “Mr. Nash,” came Constance’s furious whisper from the dark corridor. “Where are you, silly cat?”

  “He’s here.” Madeline pushed open the door.

  “Oh.” The maid stopped short. “Quite a racket he made downstairs, wanting in. I tried to catch him before he woke you . . .” Constance glanced over Madeline’s shoulder and gave a tiny coy smile. “But I see he didn’t. Poor George; he’ll be without a position now, won’t he?”

  Madeline put down Mr. Nash, who was struggling. “Good night, Constance.”

  Her maid went back toward the stairs, shaking her head and murmuring about poor Mr. Steele, too. Madeline closed the door and regarded the scene with a tinge of amazed satisfaction. Douglas had pushed himself up on one elbow and looked virile and gorgeous in her bed. Mr. Nash lay on her pillow, regally allowing Douglas to scratch his head.

  Douglas glanced up. “Mr. Nash, eh? And George and Mr. Steele? Quite a lot of fellows in this house.”

  “Constance has a healthy imagination. George is the footman she hoped I would hire, and Mr. Steele the butler. Neither is a real person.” She slid back into bed. “I’m not the wicked widow people seem to think I am.”

  “Don’t be hasty.” He plopped the cat on the foot of the bed and pulled her close. “There’s much to be said for wickedness at the right time and place.”

  “In bed with you?”

  “Absolutely,” he growled.

  “I’m sorry to cost you another wager, even if a ridiculous one. If only there were some way to turn the tables on the fool who enticed you to it.”

  “Well,” he began tentatively. “I agree—mostly because I don’t want him to spread it about that you are Lady Constance. I did have one idea . . .”

  Madeline was quiet for a minute. “Is it likely to work?”

  “I think it might.” He hesitated. “With your help, it might be guaranteed.” And he told her his plan.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  The next evening, Douglas arrived with unusual punctuality at the Cartwright ball. He took a glass of wine for courage and stationed himself where he could see the whole room, and waited. Philip Albright wandered in some time later. Douglas resisted the urge to check his watch. Madeline would be here. The only question was, would Spence?

  But it wasn’t long before the familiar figure strolled in, his customary smirk in place. Douglas took a deep breath and made his way across the room.

  “Ah, Bennet. How goes your detection?” Spence asked idly when Douglas reached him.

  His gaze swept around the room. He had to wait until Madeline arrived. “So much for a polite greeting, eh?”

  The other man’s lip curled. “Such nice manners! I didn’t expect it of you. Very well: good evening. I trust you are well?”

  A flash of green at the far end of the room caught his eye. Douglas’s heart jolted into his throat as Madeline stepped around a pillar with a swish of her emerald skirts. Her golden hair gleamed in the candlelight. She raised a glass of champagne to her lips, taking a leisurely glance at the guests. And when her gaze connected with his, she smiled.

  Elation surged within him. Helplessly he returned her smile. He was about to take the biggest gamble of his life, but it would be worth it.

  Please God, let it be worth it, and not the biggest mistake of my life.

  “I’m very well,” he said to Spence.

  “Very well?” The scoundrel raised his brows. “That rings of certainty.”

  “It should.” God, she was beautiful. Douglas watched her a moment longer before wrenching his gaze away. “I owe you some thanks for setting me on this matter.”

  Spence sniffed.
“Make it worthwhile for both of us. That’s all the thanks I want.”

  “Right.” Douglas found Albright, standing near the musicians, and gave him a nod. “The problem is, I don’t see what you’ve put into it besides telling me about Chesterton’s bounty.”

  Spence turned his head sharply. “And that’s worth a great deal since you would have had no idea otherwise. Nor any idea which woman to investigate.”

  “Well.” Douglas shrugged. “That’s not worth enough to compensate for the three weeks of my time. Sorry, old man; all’s fair, you know.”

  “Bennet!” Spence seized his arm as Douglas started to walk away. “I’ll bury you if you cheat me on this.”

  “Oh? With what shovel?” He shook off Spence’s hand. Near the center of the room Albright had sidled close to Lord Chesterton. Keeping his steps slow and unhurried, Douglas headed toward them.

  “Thief,” snarled Spence, following close at his heels. “Cheat!”

  “I took nothing that was yours. Not one man in this room would convict me of cheating—especially not when they consider the effort I exerted.”

  “By God I will not allow this,” the man muttered before brushing past him.

  Douglas waited until Spence had almost reached Lord Chesterton before he cleared his throat. Albright had already fixed it with the musicians to delay the next dance, so few couples were assembling; Douglas stood almost alone in the center of the floor. “Ladies and gentleman,” he said in a carrying voice. “A moment of your time, if you please.”

  Everyone seemed to turn toward him at once. His blood pounded with the thrill of the moment. He caught a fleeting glance of Madeline’s expression before he forced himself to look away. “I apologize for interrupting,” he went on, giving one wide-eyed matron a rueful wink and his most charming smile. “I shan’t take up much of your evening. I merely feel compelled to share some news which will, I believe, amaze more than one person in this room—”

  “But not as much as my announcement!” Spencer’s angry shout cut him off.