Duke of Scandal

by Adele Ashworth

  She nodded, turning to meet his gaze again, her own expression thoughtful. “Yes, but Edmund is like most gentlemen—pretentiously charming in the hope of favors, jovial even when they’re not feeling that way inside, complimentary not because they want to share their appreciation, but because they want something in return. The sad thing is, it’s all selfishly false.” She ran her index finger back and forth along the top of the railing. “The one thing I admire most about you, Sam, is that you’re honest. You may be serious to a fault, but that in itself is charming because it’s genuine. If there are ladies who don’t understand it, or sense that peculiar charm in you, then it’s they who have lost.”

  Her voice had taken on a contemplative quality, but he had no doubt that she believed what she said, and he couldn’t begin to consider a reply. In truth, he found her insight beyond flattering. She was the first woman he’d ever known who made him feel appreciated for who he was as a man.

  She remained quiet for several long moments, and he stood beside her in companionable silence. Music from the ballroom drifted outside through the many open windows; occasionally, animated voices or laughter could be heard in the distance. But the two of them were essentially alone, a move he’d planned, choosing a spot as far away from the French doors as he could reasonably lead her.

  “You asked about my family,” she said at last.

  “I did,” he replied, reveling, oddly enough, in the shared intimacy and her desire to open up to him.

  “Well, let’s see,” she began. “I am an only child. I knew my mother much better than my father, but then I was a girl, you know, and he didn’t think we had much in common.”

  Sam wasn’t the least surprised, but decided against mentioning that fact. He remained silent, allowing her to continue at her own pace.

  She turned her fan around in her hands, staring at it, smiling vaguely at her memories. “When my father died seven years ago, my mother—a Frenchwoman by birth who has extended family here—decided she wanted to return to France. Immediately we were on a ship and back in Paris. It was soon after our return that she met Monsieur Jean-Francois Nivan.”

  “The owner of the boutique,” he said for clarification.

  She nodded. “Yes, and it had been in his family for three generations. He was a good man, a good stepfather and provider, I suppose, and my mother did care for him, though he was nearly twice her age and in ailing health. But their marriage offered security for both of us. At his death, my mother became Nivan’s proprietor, but as much as she appreciated the social atmosphere the boutique provided, she had no sense for business. When she died two years ago, I took control, making it profitable again and expanding our name across France. This is precisely why the Princess Eugenie buys solely from us now, though thanks to your brother, I’m afraid that could change.”

  “How did your mother die?” he asked after a moment.

  She sighed softly. “She came down with a nasty bout of influenza. At least that’s what her physician said.”

  “And that left you alone.”

  She tipped her head to the side. “Not exactly alone. I do have family here, though they’re scattered about France.” Frowning, she added, “My closest relation is my aunt, and several cousins of Monsieur Nivan’s who live and work in Grasse, which has become the center of the worldwide perfume industry in recent years. And I do see them on occasion since I travel there at least twice a year to keep myself abreast of the latest scents and new information within the industry.” She lowered her voice to just above a whisper. “I’ve been using my inheritance to build our name. Edmund took that from me, and to be perfectly honest with you, Sam, the more I know you, and learn of my husband’s secrets and ill intentions toward me from the start, the harder it is to keep from hating him.”

  As he watched her struggle internally with a hurt deeply felt, caused solely by his coward of a brother, Sam felt his own anger toward Edmund flame anew. The more he grew to know Olivia, the more he grew to believe she truly was the innocent in all of this. His logical caution toward her, God help him, was starting to dissipate.

  “So I suppose you’re also curious as to why I remain in charge of the business?”

  He wasn’t thinking any such thing at the moment, but he brushed over that. “It is unusual for a lady of your means and social position to be… working, shall we say.”

  She smiled again. “My stepfather’s brother, Robert, was the beneficiary, and to this day he still owns it, though he lives in Grasse as well. He’s very confident in my abilities, and as I adore the work, I’m very dedicated to keeping Nivan one of the top-selling perfume boutiques in all of France.”

  “Which might be at risk because you married Edmund,” he interjected softly.

  She inhaled deeply, lifting her face to the moonlight as she closed her eyes. “Edmund never understood my dedication. To him, Nivan is a simple store that sells perfumery to spoiled ladies. But he only thought that because he didn’t care to understand the trade, and he certainly never understood me.” She opened her eyes again and pivoted slightly to look at him. “Nivan has been the only true joy in my life. Knowing every detail of my business, every eccentricity of each loyal patron, and ultimately using that knowledge to operate the shop superbly, has been my greatest personal accomplishment. Nivan, and I, are known throughout France for being the best at what, and how, we sell. Nothing in my world compares to that achievement. Certainly not my marriage, though at one time I confess that I’d hoped it might.”

  Sam remained silent for a few moments, admiring her commitment even as he sensed a gnawing, confusing frustration within him for his own lack of dedication to anything in his life aside from running his estate as expected. For the first time since they’d met, he realized what a truly unusual woman stood before him. He’d never known another like her. Not only was Edmund a fool for abusing the gift he’d been given, he’d been heartlessly cruel in stealing that very innocence that, combined with her astute personality, made her unique.

  “Olivia?” he murmured, his tone deep and soft.

  With resolve, she stood fully upright once more, straightening her shoulders and clutching her fan in front of her. “I’m sorry if I carried on. Would you like to go back into the party now?”

  He shook his head slowly, then reached out and took hold of her chin with his finger and thumb.

  She tensed, her eyes growing large as they reflected the moonlight in their dark depths. “We should mingle. We—We’re not learning much out here alone.”

  Her voice caught and he could swear she faintly trembled. She knew what was coming, sensed his desire, and he marveled in it because she made absolutely no attempt to pull away.

  “I think we’re learning plenty,” he whispered huskily. Then he lowered his head with agonizing control and gently covered her mouth with his.

  Sam wasn’t sure what to expect in her reaction, but they both knew immediately that this kiss was far different from the first one they’d shared in England. Instead of being shocked by the contact, or squirming for release, she remained very, very still, allowing him to begin an exploration of her lips with just a soft brush of his. And he took his time, knowing she would need to be coaxed into responding, waiting to embrace her until she realized how deeply he wanted to go.

  It took many long moments, it seemed, for her to begin answering the urgency in his touch. When at last he felt her start to succumb, he gradually lowered one arm and wrapped it around her back, palm splayed across her spine, pulling her gently nearer to him. She leaned into his body then, giving herself to the feel of it as her head tilted to one side and she began to kiss him back.

  And she was a marvelous kisser. Or maybe he imagined as much because it had been ages since he’d been kissed by a woman who wanted him as much as he did her. He could hear his heart beating loudly in his temples, feel the rush of blood course through his veins, sense her uncertainty even as she dropped her fan to the ground at her side without notice. Then she reached u
p and wrapped her arms around his neck.

  Growing confident in his effort, Sam placed his free palm high on her waist. She sighed, pushing her fingers into his hair, lightly caressing. He felt her breasts against his chest, their fullness taunting him with his ever increasing desire to touch, to let her realize the affect she had on him, to show her the extent of his need. His kiss grew ever bolder as he drew his tongue across her upper lip, then pressed his mouth against hers again, demanding, beckoning, tasting, savoring.

  She moaned softly and let herself go, giving in to the moment as she drew her palm to his face, stroking his cheek with her thumb. And he followed her lead, holding her firmly against him, moving one hand to her hair, entwining his fingers in the softness while daringly allowing his other hand to drift ever so slowly toward the soft curve of her breast. He couldn’t, wouldn’t, touch her there yet. Not yet. Not until she made it clear that she needed it.

  Her breath came as fast as his, quickened by the rising heat between them, and finally he pulled away a fraction and lowered his lips to her chin, to her throat and jawline, kissing, teasing, brushing her soft and delicate skin with his lips. She panted in his arms, holding his head firmly, lifting her face skyward to allow him access.

  Her eagerness became clear. With reckless abandon, he raised his hand to cup her breast over her gown, the decorative golden lace grazing his palm as he lingered there, unmoving.

  She moaned again, this time with an unquestionable desire to be touched, and as his lips found hers once more, his fingers at last dipped below the lace to caress the top slope of one soft mound of enticing flesh. She didn’t even appear to notice. She clung to him, tasting him, and he held her, his muscles taut, his mind and body losing control with each passing second.

  And then before he knew what was happening, she started pulling away, very faintly, bringing her arm down from around his neck to grasp the hand he still held at her breast.

  It took all that was in him to allow her to remove his fingers from her forbidden softness, his head reeling, his skin on fire, his heart pounding in his chest. It seemed like hours before he realized she had taken a step back and now held his hand between both of her own, placing small kisses on his knuckles, running his fingertips back and forth across her cheek, her lips.

  At last he opened his eyes to look down at her, and Sam knew immediately that this would be a defining moment in his life. Never had a woman treated him so tenderly during a spell of such raging desire between them. To say he felt awkward was an understatement. She was shaking, breathing as heavily as he, and yet she caressed him as if he were delicate and rare, even cherished.

  Slowly, senses returning, Sam once again became aware of where they were, where they stood, of the music and gaiety surrounding them, of the smell of the warm, night air mingled with the arousing scent of her skin, which seemed to cling to him even now.

  Her eyes remained closed, but he could almost feel the flush of desire still emanating from her. With one quick motion he reached for her, placing his palms on her shoulders and pulling her against him. She followed his lead in silence as he tucked her head beneath his neck with one hand, her cheek against his chest, wrapping his other arm around her to hold her close.

  God, there had to be something wrong with him. He’d never before felt protective of a woman he’d just passionately kissed, never before experienced such a hunger within for a pleasure he shouldn’t have. She confused him as she surprised him, giving herself to him, not as a lustful woman, but as one in desperate need of passion, of feeling desired. He still tasted the sweetness of her lips on his, still reeled from her unique feel, her scent that lingered, the charge of their attraction sizzling in the air around him.

  He held her until her breathing slowed, until her trembling stopped, wondering with irritation and a trace of desperation where the hell they would, or should, go from here.

  “I think there’s something wrong with me.”

  Her soft, husky whisper of apprehension that matched his own warmed his heart. “There’s nothing wrong with you, Livi,” he said quietly, smiling to himself.

  She stayed still for another moment or two, staring out to the moonlit night. He leaned over and kissed the top of her head, inhaling the scent of vanilla and spice that he knew he would forever associate with her and her unforgettable beauty. Then finally, gradually, she placed her palms on his chest and pushed herself away from him.

  He stood upright, his hands at his sides, though he never moved his gaze from her. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him, though, and he allowed her a few seconds to collect her thoughts.

  “This—This wasn’t right,” she whispered. Drawing a deep breath, she tried again. “This wasn’t right, it was—”

  “Perfect,” he finished for her.

  She shook her head as she loosely covered her mouth with her fingers. “I’m married, Sam.”

  He swallowed with aggravated emotion from the shame she expressed in her desperate need to convince him of something that nagged him to his bones.

  “What you had with my brother was never a marriage,” he maintained after a long pause, shoving his hands into the pockets of his evening jacket.

  “That’s irrelevant.”

  Not bloody likely. “We have a job to do, Olivia,” he said with an insistence that surprised him. “Until we find Edmund, we take each day as it comes.”

  For the first time since they’d kissed, she raised her lashes and gazed up at his face. His insides gnawed at him as he noticed the glassy covering of tears she was trying very hard not to suffer. As much as he wanted to reach for her this very second, to take her in his arms again and shield her from hurt and bewilderment both he and his brother had caused, he didn’t dare. Her emotions were volatile from their unconventional and explosive attraction—as were his.

  “It’ll be all right,” he soothed, reaching up to skim her hairline with his fingertips. “Everything will unfold as it should.”

  For several long moments she continued to stare at him with wide, troubled eyes. And then, with resolve, she visibly shook herself and straightened. “I’m sorry this happened.”

  He grinned wryly. “No you’re not, and neither am I. We both knew it was coming.”

  “It won’t happen again.”

  That made him want to laugh. Instead, he said, “Whatever the lady wants.”

  She peeked at him sideways. “I enjoyed it, though.”

  He couldn’t believe she admitted that. So much for his abating arousal. “As did I.” His expression, his voice, grew serious. “I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed a kiss more. I mean that, Livi.”

  She inhaled sharply, shakily, then whispered, “Why?”

  He hadn’t expected her to ask, and he certainly wasn’t prepared to respond. But somehow the truth revealed itself. “I’ve never known a woman like you. In everything you do and say, even how you kiss, you’re unique.”

  With a trace of a smile to her lips, she looked at him and breathed, “I would have said exactly the same about you, Sam. I’ve never known another man like you.”

  He couldn’t stop himself from asking, “Even Edmund?”

  She didn’t hesitate to reply. “Especially Edmund.”

  A rush of odd sensations engulfed him in waves. He’d never been thought of as uniquely different from his brother by anyone. That the first would be Olivia proved to be the irony of the ages.

  “We should get back to the party,” she said through a long sigh.

  “Damn the party.”

  She grinned, a slow grin that widened with each passing second.

  “My goodness, there you are. How did the two of you find your way out here?”

  Olivia took a quick step away from him, turning toward the shadowed figure of a well-coiffed woman who stood watching them in the distance. But it was the voice that had startled them.

  Her voice.

  Sam felt his blood turn to a river of ice, drowning out all but a paralyzing shock. A peculiar
unreality set in and his heart began to thud in his chest; his body broke out into a freezing sweat.

  “You… uh… seemed to have dropped your fan, darling.”

  Olivia recovered herself quickly. “Oh. So I have.” She reached down to retrieve it. “My husband and I were just talking, Aunt Claudette.”

  “Of course you were. What else would you be doing out here all alone?” the older woman replied.

  And then she stepped closer to them, and the image he’d tried to shove forcefully from his thoughts, his memories, his past, came back with clarity to slap him hard in the face.

  Jesus.

  “The night is beautiful, Aunt, and Edmund and I—”

  “Were talking by moonlight. Yes, so you said. How lovely.”

  Sam couldn’t move. He stood frozen to the spot, reliving a nightmare that was only just beginning anew.

  Claudette. Jesus, holy God in heaven. Edmund, what have you done?

  Olivia moved toward her, grasping her shoulders and offering a peck to each cheek. “It’s wonderful to see you,” she said brightly. “Edmund, the Countess Renier has arrived.”

  She’d said that for his benefit, to inform him of her aunt’s title, which told him only that Olivia was even now completely oblivious to the depth of his brother’s deception.

  Claudette looked beyond her, and Sam could feel the woman’s intense gaze upon him, sensed a rush of emotion from her, none of it pleasant.

  Jesus.

  “I see you’ve found your husband,” Claudette quipped, moving closer so the rising moon finally cast a dim light upon her features. And then she placed her palms on his cheeks and gave him a fast kiss to the mouth. “Edmund, dear, I’m so glad you’re home. Olivia has missed you terribly.”

  For a split second Sam had no idea what to do. Then his mind kicked into action, and as much as he despised the pretense, he became his brother once more. “I was afraid you might not make it tonight,” he said, grinning devilishly, “but then Olivia and I know you far too well.” He paused, then added, “Don’t we, Claudette?”