The Scandal in Kissing an Heir

by Sophie Barnes

  Idiot.

  “Cards?” Daniel sounded as if he’d been choking.

  Rebecca frowned. “Are you all right?”

  He groaned. Poor man, his wound was clearly paining him. “I’m sorry,” she said. “We never should have done what we just did. You obviously need rest.”

  “Stop,” he muttered, the words sounding like a croak. “Please, Becky, stop talking.”

  She said nothing further and just watched as he sank back against his pillows, closed his eyes and heaved a great big sigh. There was still a peak in the sheets. Oh dear. Biting her lip, she tried not to stare at it.

  “May I be perfectly frank with you?” Daniel asked.

  “Of course.”

  “Very well then. As you may have noticed, I have a bit of a situation.” He waved one hand in the general direction of his groin. “So there is some discomfort, not from my wound but from my overwhelming lust for you.” He paused, the edge of his mouth kicking up a bit until his signature smile of mischief returned. “I cannot be very active, given my current condition, but if you were serious before when you asked if you could return the favor, then yes, by all means, you may—indeed, I would relish it.”

  A warm, fuzzy feeling swept through Rebecca at his words. There was nothing crass about it, and he was making no attempt to seduce her back into a state of wantonness. All he’d done was explain his current state of being and what might be done to alleviate it. She felt humbled really that he would talk so plainly to her about his needs, and thrilled that he trusted her not to shy away from him. “I would do anything for you,” she told him reverently as she pulled the bed sheet away from him.

  “Anything?” he murmured, his eyes opening into two narrow slits. She nodded, and a deep rumble shook his chest. “I’ll have to remember that for later.”

  “For now, however,” she purred as her fingers curled around him, “I shall take great pleasure in doing this.” And then she bent forward and covered him with her mouth.

  Dear merciful God in heaven.

  It took every ounce of willpower within him to remain perfectly still while his wife did what no proper lady of breeding would ever do—or so he’d heard. Even his mistresses had seemed reluctant, never offering such pleasure of their own free will but only if he asked.

  Yet Rebecca . . . his hand fisted through her hair as her tongue worked magic along the hard length of him, her lips pulling and sucking as if . . . dear God, she was taking pleasure in this. The notion stunned him, and he thanked his lucky stars for whatever deity had brought her his way. What a lucky devil he’d turned out to be.

  Her hand stroked up his thigh and he felt a light tremble in his groin—the knowledge of what she would do . . . hoping for it . . . and then she did it, the one thing nobody had ever done before. She cupped him, fondled him gently and then . . . She lifted her head with a frown, a few strands of hair trailing lightly against her cheek. “Is this all right?” she asked. She looked truly unsure and concerned. “I mean, is this . . . do you like it?”

  Like it?

  He wanted to raise her to bloody sainthood for her efforts. “Yes,” he rasped. “Yes, Becky, it’s . . . very . . . very good . . . the best . . . ever.” Good Lord, he could barely get the words out, he was breathing so hard. The smile she offered in response was not in the least bit innocent—it was tantalizing and greedy, like that of a siren who’d just spotted a lonely sailor. She bent her head again and he closed his eyes, giving himself up to the pleasure of her ministrations until he began to feel his inner thigh muscles starting to strain. He pulled at her hair, tugging her away from him and asking her to use her hand instead as tingles started to spread across his skin. The pressure intensified with each stroke she made until he felt himself burst, heart bouncing in his chest, his breath coming in heavy gusts as he spent himself on his belly and her hand.

  He felt both exhausted and immensely gratified. “Thank you,” he said as he opened his eyes to gaze up at her wondrous face. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”

  She stepped away from the bed, righting the bodice of her gown as she went to the dresser and pulled out a couple of handkerchiefs so they could clean themselves. “You were just you, Daniel,” she said, “and you were . . . you are . . . everything I’ve ever dreamed of.”

  “Except for my inability to support you,” he said, the depression he felt whenever he considered their financial state taking hold of him once more.

  She scoffed at that, the little minx. “I think you’re doing just brilliantly under the circumstances. After all, you lost the financial backing your uncle had assured you of if you married, upon which you used your skill at gambling to help us get by for a bit, and when that turned out to be too dangerous you sold your beloved phaeton. On top of that, you’ve invested in some promising companies, which only proves your dedication to doing what is right and best for us. I’m proud of you, and I have no doubt that we’ll get through this somehow.”

  How could she be so relaxed about it? “I’ve considered selling the house as well,” he told her.

  She paused, then seated herself on the edge of the bed and took his hand in hers. “I understand that it has some unpleasant memories which I assume must be linked to your parents. Madame Renarde mentioned that the upstairs remains locked, and I have noticed that there are some rooms that you choose to avoid.”

  He didn’t wish to talk about this now, but since she was asking and he did not wish to brush her aside, he steeled himself. “You know that my mother left quite suddenly. We were here when it happened, enjoying the London Season. It was just as splendid as it had been the previous years, with picnics in the park, trips to Gunther’s and outings to toy shops. My parents had a lot of friends whom they would invite for daily visits. Many of them had children that I could play with. We were a happy family and a very loving one.

  “But then it all changed. One second my mother was there, joking and laughing with my father and me . . . and then she was gone.” He shook his head, still unable after all these years to fathom how she could have done it. He hated her for abandoning him like that, hated thinking of her laughing happily with a new family . . . new children that she loved more than she did him. And he hated her for pushing his father to the limit, for taking his father away from him as well. He wondered if she even knew that he had died somewhere in France. “How can a mother’s love for her child fade like that?” he asked.

  “I cannot answer that,” Rebecca said, her voice filled with pain and regret, “for I do not know.”

  Damn, how he hated the melancholy that had settled upon them. He made an attempt to brush it aside. “Anyway, I found that note she left me in the nursery and have never returned there since. I try to avoid some of the other rooms as well, like the study, where I’ll always see my father seated behind his desk, and the music room. My mother loved to play the piano.”

  “Is that why this room is so much smaller than the guest bedroom?”

  He nodded. “I switched the two when I realized that I’d soon be returning with a wife. It was the only thing I could think of in order to preserve my own sanity.”

  She gazed back at him with big round eyes, and then she leaned toward him, not to kiss him but to embrace him, her slim arms coming around him in a tight hug. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “No child should have to go through something like that.”

  He said nothing, just taking comfort in the warmth of her closeness and the love she imparted to him with every breath she took. What he needed—what they both needed—was a fresh start. He pulled away and looked at her with renewed determination and with a clear vision of what he wanted for his future. “We’ll sell the house and find something else—a place where we can make our own happy memories without any of the unhappy ones lurching in the shadows. And if you will permit,” he said as he reached for her sketchbook, “I think these fairy pictures of yours wou
ld work brilliantly for a children’s storybook.”

  Rebecca’s lips parted in surprise. “A storybook?”

  He nodded. “Yes. I mean, they practically tell a story on their own, but if we add some words I’m sure it would become immensely popular. Kingsborough’s brother runs a small publishing house, you know, so I could speak to him.”

  “I don’t know what to say.” She glanced hesitantly at the sketchbook. “Do you really suppose it might be a success?”

  “I am confident of it.” He smiled reassuringly. “Why don’t you fetch some paper so we can get started, and I’ll ask Hawkins to send a note over to Lord Winston requesting an interview. Surely he must be back in town by now.”

  Three hours later, they had the basics for their story and had cut out the pictures and pasted them on separate sheets of paper with the text below each one, creating a sample of what they envisioned for the final book. “I think it looks great,” Daniel said as he leafed through the pages, “and I cannot wait to show it to Lord Winston. I have every confidence that he’ll agree to publish it for us.” And if he didn’t, Daniel would take the book elsewhere. Somehow he’d ensure that it made its way into shops all over the country, because the pictures were just too incredible to be hidden away—they deserved to be seen by everyone.

  Chapter 27

  “The Duke of Grover to see you, my lady,” Hawkins announced the following day. Rebecca had expected his visit and had seated herself in the parlor, still dressed in her widow’s weeds and with Laura in attendance.

  The duke entered with a smug expression upon his face and executed an elegant bow. “Your beauty always astounds me,” he said as he reached for her hand and kissed it. He was carrying a bouquet of flowers, which he thrust in Laura’s direction. “Perhaps you’d be good enough to put these in some water while I keep your mistress company. There is a matter that she and I must discuss in private.”

  A queasy sensation settled upon Rebecca, and she looked to Laura with concern.

  “I’ll ring for Molly to take care of it, Your Grace,” Laura dutifully said. “After all, it would be the height of impropriety for me to leave you completely alone with my mistress. Why, you—”

  “She is not an innocent and has no virtue to protect,” the duke ground out, his warm gaze from a moment earlier transformed into a deadly glare. “Besides, I’ve no desire for an audience when I propose. I wish to do so privately.”

  “But I—”

  “You are nothing more than a servant, and I suggest you remember your place,” he said, cutting Laura off. “Now be off with you and be sure that you close the door behind you so Lady Rebecca and I can be alone.”

  “Your Grace,” Rebecca said, desperate to prevent a disastrous situation, “my maid is merely concerned about my welfare. I’ve been terribly distressed lately after everything that has happened, particularly after discovering that the miniature of me that my parents acquisitioned for my thirteenth birthday has gone missing.” She threw her hands up in the air and dropped onto the sofa, hiding her face in her hands as she started to sob.

  There was a beat of silence before the duke slowly asked, “Have you no idea of where it might be?”

  Raising her head, Rebecca looked back at him, bleary-eyed, and sniffled. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her as she replied, “I gave it to my husband as a wedding gift and he carried it with him wherever he went, but it was not on his person when he was brought to the morgue at the hospital. I asked the coroner myself.” She sobbed again and drew a quivering breath, hoping that she looked convincing in her grief.

  “Perhaps it fell from Mr. Neville’s pocket when he got shot,” Grover muttered.

  “The thought of it falling into a stranger’s hands is so distressing, Your Grace, but I suppose it is an outcome that I must accept.”

  “You’ve no idea of where to look for it?” Grover asked, looking pensive.

  “None at all,” Rebecca said, praying that Grover would believe her. “I was informed of my husband’s death when the coroner discovered his calling card in his pocket, confirming his identity, but when I asked where the shooting had taken place, no one could give me an answer. Apparently the men who brought his body to the morgue disappeared again before they could be questioned.”

  Grover stared back at her for a second and then addressed Laura. “The flowers will wilt if you don’t put them in water quickly. Don’t argue. Just do it.” He licked his lips and looked at Rebecca. “I will comfort your mistress until you return.”

  Looking hesitantly at her mistress, Laura waited for a nod of approval from Rebecca before hurrying to do the duke’s bidding, leaving the door to the parlor wide open as she left. Grover frowned, but he didn’t try to close it, seating himself at Rebecca’s side instead. He took her hand in his and turned to face her, piercing her with his stare. “It is a great pity that your miniature has gone missing, my dear, but perhaps it will surface again soon. I certainly hope so, for I would love nothing better than to carry it with me the way Neville did.”

  Rebecca held her breath. It appeared her plan was working.

  “I trust you’ve had no second thoughts about becoming my wife?” the duke asked bluntly.

  Swallowing hard, Rebecca tried to ignore her dislike for the man and slowly shook her head. “No, Your Grace.”

  A smile of pleasure slid across the duke’s lips, and he leaned toward her as he lowered his gaze to her bosom. “We will marry tomorrow then,” he murmured as he trailed his finger along the length of her arm. “I still have the special license, if you recall.”

  Every fiber of her being was rebelling against his touch, yet she somehow managed to force a smile and say, “How very convenient.”

  “I will inform your aunt and uncle of the development then and will ensure that your bedchamber at Grover House is made ready to receive you.” The chuckle that followed was perverse.

  Rebecca stiffened at the unwelcome implication and was thinking of an excuse to distance herself from the duke when he surprised her by pressing her against the corner of the sofa and licking the side of her neck. “Your Grace!” she squealed, struggling to escape him but finding it difficult to do so. He was stronger than he appeared, and his determination to press his advances on her made him impossible for her to budge. This was exactly the sort of thing that Daniel had warned her about, but it was not an outcome she would have expected with the parlor door wide open as it was. If only Hawkins or Laura would see what was happening so they could interrupt the duke’s amorous efforts.

  “I can hardly wait to undress you,” the duke was saying.

  “Please release me, Your Grace. What you’re doing is unseemly,” she said as she squirmed against his embrace.

  He laughed with menace and placed his palm against her breast. “I find it amusing that you’re always trying to play the part of a proper young lady who has no need for a man’s touch. You needn’t keep up the pretense for my benefit however, for I am more than happy to accommodate your every desire—indeed, I’ve fantasized about doing so since seeing you for the very first time three years ago.”

  Rebecca gasped at the outrageousness of what he was saying and the troubling thought of what this awful man might have imagined doing with her. Dear God, she had to get away from him quick, but without causing suspicion. Where on earth was Laura? “Your Grace, you are being too forward. Someone might see. If you would please wait until tomorrow night when we are alone, then I will be happy to accommodate your every need.”

  He leaned back and smiled with approval just as Laura returned with a look of alarm on her face. Her breath was coming fast, suggesting that she’d hurried back as quickly as possible. “I can scarcely wait,” Grover said as he rose to his feet and went to the door. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, there is a matter that I must attend to. I will return tomorrow morning to escort you to the church.”


  As soon as he was out the door, Rebecca collapsed against the sofa, her whole body trembling with disgust. She looked at Laura, who appeared overwrought by the state her mistress was in. “I’m so sorry that you had to endure his presence alone,” Laura said. “I never should have left you with him.”

  “I will survive it,” Rebecca muttered, “though I daresay another bath would be most welcome.” Rising, she crossed to the door and headed numbly toward the stairs. As much as she dreaded telling Daniel about everything that had transpired, she determined to do so as soon as he returned home. She would not keep secrets from her husband, no matter what. Hopefully by the time she told him about the duke’s advances, Grover would no longer pose a threat to either of them and the anger that Daniel was likely to feel would be alleviated a little as a result.

  Hidden away in a dark doorway, Daniel leaned against his walking stick and listened for the click of footsteps that were sure to arrive at any moment. In anticipation of Grover’s arrival at Avern House, he’d snuck out through the kitchen earlier in the day and had been keeping watch on the alley ever since. He was getting tired of standing up, but he couldn’t risk moving and being seen. So he bit back the ache in his midsection and the exhaustion he felt in his bones, and remained perfectly still . . . watching and waiting.

  Dusk began to fall, deepening the shadows, and a chill set in. Pulling the collar of his greatcoat up around his neck, Daniel leaned back against the door and briefly closed his eyes. He had to get through this, if not for his own sake, then for Rebecca’s, so they could have a chance at a happy future together. He drew a deep breath and exhaled it slowly, stiffening at the sound of a soft thud. A cane or a heavy footstep? He opened his eyes and peered out into the murky darkness, noticing nothing out of the ordinary. A foot scraping against the paving stones said otherwise, and Daniel straightened himself, careful not to make a sound that might give him away.