A Scandalous Marriage

by Cathy Maxwell

  “You can sleep this afternoon,” Devon replied, yanking the careless knot out of his neckcloth. He tossed the article of clothing aside and started pulling the hem of his shirt up over his head. “I need my back washed now.”

  Leah tossed her head proudly. “I am not your valet.” She picked up her feather pillow and puffed it up a bit. “I’m going to attempt to go back to sleep, if you will be courteous enough to let me,” she added with a hint of sarcasm.

  “I can’t,” he said easily. He threw the shirt over the footboard. She frowned at it. He was usually tidier.

  But then she had another concern as he began unbuttoning his breeches. She hugged the pillow protectively in front of her. “Can’t you do that behind the privacy screen?”

  “Then I’d have to walk naked to the tub and I’d catch cold. You don’t want me to be cold, do you?” He unfastened another button.

  Leah averted her gaze, finding something very interesting in the weave of the bedspread. “What I meant is that you should move the privacy screen over to the tub. That way the heat from the hearth will keep you warm.”

  “Well, I’m not that cold.” The mattress gave as he sat on the edge of it.

  She slid a horrified glance in his direction, suddenly concerned that he might pounce on her. But all he was doing was pulling off his boots and—thankfully!—he still wore his pants.

  She clambered to the other side of the bed and put her legs over the edge. “It’s time I got up anyway. I should take Ben into the nursery.” Of course, she realized belatedly, Devon was between herself and the crib.

  “Don’t worry,” he said, standing up. “Ben is happily asleep right where he is.” With those words, he pulled his breeches down.

  Leah feared she would swoon. She whirled around, but not until she’d had a glimpse of a generous expanse of flesh. “You don’t wear smallclothes,” she whispered.

  “Why should I?”

  “To be decent, and here—” She started to turn, thought differently of it, and stared instead at a point on the wall. “Think of the baby, Devon. You can’t let him see you naked.”

  “Ben doesn’t care. He’s sound asleep, dreaming whatever dreams babies have. Besides, I’ve seen his bum several times over the last few days. It’s only fair that he can look at mine.”

  The next Leah heard was the gentle splash of bathwater as Devon stepped into the tub. At last, she released her breath. “I’m going to take the baby into the nursery,” she repeated. She turned and started around the bed, careful to keep her gaze on the floor lest she glimpse something she’d rather not see.

  “Ben is fine,” Devon told her firmly. “However, I need the soap. Will you hand a bar to me? It is in that basket in front of the fire. Grandfather always insists on warm towels when he bathes, and the servants do a nice job with it.”

  It was on the tip of Leah’s tongue to tell him he could get his own soap, but then he would probably climb out naked to do it. With as much ill grace as she could manage, she stomped over to the basket and pawed her way through three warm, carefully rolled towels to find a complement of scented soaps. She grabbed the first bar and held it out to him without going around the privacy screen.

  “I can’t reach that,” he complained.

  Lack of sleep made her irritable. She’d had enough games. With a boldness she didn’t know she possessed, she stepped behind the screen and dropped the soap into the tub.

  “Ow!” Devon complained without heat.

  “Did I hurt you?” she drawled, so frustrated with him that his nakedness no longer mattered.

  “No, you splashed water in my eye.” He pretended to squint. “Now I can’t see the soap. You’ll have to find it for me.”

  “You’re joking.” She would have marched away, but he reached out and wrapped his wet arm around her legs. The water started to seep through her petticoat as he pulled her back toward the tub.

  “You seem to see well enough now,” she noted, relieved to discover that the water hid the embarrassing parts of his body from her view.

  He set aside all pretense. “Come, Leah. You promised last night that if I met your conditions, you would be a wife to me. It is not much I ask. Just a little lather, a little caress. Or did you not mean to keep the promise you made last night?”

  “I meant it, but I didn’t think you would expect me to bathe you.”

  “Not all of me,” he replied reasonably. “Just my back.”

  It didn’t sound like such an outlandish request.

  “Please,” he added.

  There was a flash of mischief in his eye, one she found particularly endearing. When she’d been alone and frightened and had wanted to think of other things, she’d remembered Devon’s roguish twinkle.

  “All right,” she agreed. “But just your back.” She knelt down.

  “How about a kiss?” He found the bar of soap in the bottom of the tub and offered it to her.

  The reminder of last night brought sudden heat to her face. “No kisses.”

  His hopeful smile flattened into a comical frown. She couldn’t help laughing at him, and he smiled. He leaned forward, offering his back.

  Leah lathered the soap. She sniffed the air. “What is this scent?”

  “Sandalwood. I import it from India. Did you know,” he said conversationally, “it takes thirty years for one sandalwood tree to produce a growth that will yield the oil in the soap?”

  “No, I didn’t know that,” she said. She began rubbing her soapy hand over the warm skin of his back.

  His eyes closed, and he practically purred with satisfaction. Beneath her fingers, she could feel the strength in his muscles. Draycutt had not been as strong. Or had shoulders as broad.

  “Why do you act like you’ve never seen a man naked before, Leah?”

  She froze. Had he the ability to read her thoughts? “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “That’s what I mean. Your missishness. One would think you’d never seen a naked man before.”

  Leah slowly swirled the soap across his back. “I haven’t,” she admitted reluctantly.

  Devon leaned back to stare her in the face. “What about Draycutt?”

  “I never saw him—” She paused. “Completely naked. Well, except for halves of him.”

  If Devon had laughed, she might have thrown the soap at him and vanished for good. But he didn’t. Instead, he gently pulled her around, his hand on her shoulder. “You’ve never held your lover in your arms? Or felt the simple pleasure of having his flesh against yours?”

  The image his words conjured was something completely different than what had happened to her. In fact, the picture Devon created seemed almost wicked…in a good way. Leah swallowed. “No.”

  “Then how did he make love to you?” he asked bluntly.

  “The first time?”

  “There was more than once?” Devon asked, a tinge of jealousy creeping into his tone.

  “Three times. But I only liked it once because…” Maybe she shouldn’t discuss this. She wasn’t proud of the memories.

  “Because why?” he prodded.

  “Because I thought I should.” Her face glowed with hot embarrassment.

  “Leah,” he chided. “Don’t be ashamed. Not with me. Remember, we agreed we’ve both made mistakes. You caught me by surprise, that’s all. I would have thought that Draycutt would have shown you what it means to make love.”

  “We did that,” she answered abruptly.

  “Where?”

  “Why do you want to know?”

  “Because it confounds my imagination. There is a way of doing these sorts of things. Don’t tell me he cornered you in a garden. Not even a dairy maid deserves that treatment.”

  Scandalized by the rude way he’d described it, she could only nod. That is exactly what had happened. Suddenly, she wanted to go hide, to escape the humiliation of the moment, but Devon caught her wrist before she could run and wouldn’t let her leave.

  “Wait,” he ordered. �
��It’s not your fault, Leah. You didn’t know. Is that the only way the two of you ever made love?”

  “No,” she confessed miserably. “I mean, twice we did it that way. I did not mind the first. In fact, I’m afraid, I enjoyed it. It made me feel as if I was taking my own fate into my hands. I told myself I was in love and that everything would turn out like one of those romantic novels. The second time was not pleasant at all, especially when I saw him flirting with another woman. I started to avoid him, but then Meg, my maid, realized I was pregnant so I had to see him to tell him.”

  Ashamed, she had trouble looking Devon in the eye. “I asked him to meet me at Whitney’s. I arranged for us to use the back room we used to meet in. He thought I was looking for another tryst—” She drew a deep breath and released it before saying, “And it happened there.”

  Devon’s eyes narrowed angrily. It was as she had anticipated: He was disgusted with her. Her hands gripped the edge of the tub. She leaned forward, hiding her face from view.

  “Are you sure he is dead, Leah?”

  She nodded. It hurt to speak.

  “Good. Because otherwise, I’d have to kill him.” His hand rested on her shoulder. His voice close to her ear, he said, “Now I understand why you jump like a skittish colt at the thought of intimacy. You shouldn’t feel that way. The bonding between a man and a woman is a joyous thing. At no other time are you more alive than when you find yourself in your lover’s arms.”

  She responded to the conviction in his voice and turned her head to look at him. “I didn’t feel alive.”

  “That’s because you weren’t made love to.”

  Her hair still hung tangled and wild around her shoulders. He pushed a lock of it back with one hand, carefully tucking it behind her ear. “Making love is like being on a quest. It’s discovering what the French call le petit mort, when all the forces in the universe center on that one moment of ecstasy. One day soon, I will introduce you to that moment. And we will find it together.”

  She nodded, mesmerized by the conviction in his voice.

  “We are man and wife,” he continued. “You are never to feel shame with me. I vowed to protect you, to honor you—and as unconventional as our wedding was, I meant those words.”

  She wished now that everything had been different, that she had not let Draycutt have her. That she could be unsullied for Devon.

  “Ah, Leah,” he whispered. “When you look so sad, you turn my soul inside out.” His lips covered hers.

  Last night, the kiss between them had been an education. But now she knew how to kiss. He had taught her.

  Even more important, she had a reason to kiss him.

  She offered herself with shy eagerness, and Devon took full advantage. His arm pulled her close, his mouth became more demanding, and when his tongue first stroked hers, she thought she could melt from the pleasure of it.

  He kissed her lips, her cheek, her neck. The tickle of his hot breath against her ear almost sent her to the ceiling.

  “Touch me, Leah,” he whispered. “Feel how much I want you.”

  She ran her hands, still soapy and wet, over his back and his shoulders. But that wasn’t what he wanted. He guided her hand under the water, running it along his thigh. His skin felt like raw silk beneath her palm. Her fingers brushed what seemed like steel wrapped in velvet.

  He was hard, and she understood what that meant. She couldn’t touch him. She didn’t want to. It was too soon after the baby. She attempted to pull away…but his voice gentled her.

  “Don’t be afraid. I won’t jump on you or do anything you don’t want. I just need to feel your skin against mine. Can you understand that? I want to know your touch.”

  She relaxed. He kissed her again, urgently. Her hand wrapped around him.

  Devon groaned against her mouth. She started to retreat, afraid she’d hurt him.

  “No,” he begged and brought her hand back.

  He kissed the line of her neck down to her shoulders and across the bodice of her gown. The heat of his mouth against her skin was delicious.

  She moaned with happy pleasure. David Draycutt had never given her this.

  Devon covered her mouth, his hand covering the place his lips had just explored. Her nipples pressed against his hand, begging for his touch.

  At that moment, Ben started crying. In response, her breasts filled to overflowing. She felt the sudden heat and the leaking.

  She was mortified—until Devon started laughing, his mouth still covering hers, his hand still covering her breast. The next thing she knew, she was laughing with him. Joyful, carefree laughter. They laughed so hard that she fell back onto the floor and he almost rolled under the water.

  “I’m sorry,” she managed to gasp out.

  He turned serious then. “Don’t ever apologize.” His hand caressed the side of her face, his fingers lightly touching her brow and her cheeks. “I think at this moment, you are more beautiful than I’ve ever seen you.”

  “You said that when I had the baby.”

  “Yes, and I will say it tomorrow and the next day and the next—” He kissed her hard and fast one last time. “You make me happy.”

  Tears pooled in her eyes. Happy. Yes, that was the word to describe how she felt.

  Ben was showing a bit of temper. His cries were angrier than she’d ever heard them. “You’d best see to him.”

  Leah nodded, rising. She looked down at her chemise and petticoat. Worn and washed so often that they were almost gray, they hadn’t handled this morning’s dousings well.

  “I’m going to buy you a dozen undergarments,” Devon declared. “The best London has to offer. They will be trimmed with lace and ribbons and…” He paused. “Whatever else you want.”

  She laughed at his clowning and went to her son. Ben was very wet. Fortunately, she had two more nappies, but the wash would have to be done. She began changing him, pulling off his nightdress first.

  Devon rose from the tub completely at ease with his nakedness. She still wasn’t ready for it. He reached for a towel to wrap around his waist and stepped back behind the screen.

  He’d still been aroused. His “stick” was larger and appeared much bolder than Draycutt’s. But instead of fear, she felt pride. Something deep and primal reacted inside of her at the sight of him…and at the image of their bodies joined together. Someday. Someday soon.

  Devon dressed, taking his time with it and gifting her with lingering kisses as she changed Ben. “I’m going down for breakfast. Do you wish to join me or have a tray up here?”

  “A tray will do. These are my only undergarments, and I need to dry,” she reminded him pointedly.

  He laughed. “I’m sending for Madame Nola.” He referred to London’s premier dressmaker. “I’ll have her here this afternoon.”

  “Madame Nola won’t come running,” Leah answered. “She is in constant demand. You have to book fittings weeks in advance.”

  “She will come running for me,” Devon assured her. “I supply her silks.”

  Leah marveled at the pride in his boast. Perhaps if more noblemen, like her brothers or father, found self-esteem and respect in the fruit of their own labors instead of gambling, they’d all be much happier.

  Devon kissed her forehead. “You relax this morning. If you need anything, ring for the maid. And don’t worry about Venetia. I will talk to her. Understand?”

  She nodded, and he left the room.

  Leah stared at the door long after he’d left. Finally, she whispered what was growing in her heart. “I love you.”

  Devon found Venetia in the Morning Room, clearly enjoying a cup of tea while Rex read the morning newspapers.

  He greeted Devon. “Congratulations, coz, your name is on everyone’s lips.”

  “I live to entertain,” he answered curtly. “Venetia, we must talk.”

  “We have nothing to say to each other,” she replied, pouring more cream in her tea. Her hair was perfectly coifed, every pin in place—but he knew Lea
h had not fabricated her story.

  “You have ruined your family,” she continued. “You have only to look at the papers to know how thoroughly.”

  “The papers? What do you mean?” Devon snapped. He practically grabbed the paper out of Rex’s hands.

  “Look on page three,” Rex advised.

  Devon didn’t have to look hard. “Mystery Beauty Is Found” read the headline.

  He swore softly. Carruthers had been quicker spreading the story than Devon had anticipated. The information came from Carruthers. There were several paragraphs about the discovery of a Lord C that Lord H—“a noted favorite with the ladies”—had succumbed to the parson’s knot with none other than the lovely Miss Leah Carrollton, “last Season’s Reigning Debutante.”

  He tossed the paper down on the table. “It had to be announced.”

  “Have you no pride?” his aunt declared. “We are the topic of every table all over London.”

  “And tomorrow there will be some other gossip and scandal to occupy the ton’s narrow minds.”

  “The Marshalls have never been the object of gossip. Not until you.”

  Devon threw himself down in the chair opposite hers, stretching his long legs out to infringe on her space, something he knew from boyhood she didn’t like. “Aunt, you may recite all my faults until the moon falls from the sky and it won’t replace the fact that I will be the marquess of Kirkeby before Rex has a chance at it.”

  The color drained from her face. She used rouge. It showed up now as two bright spots on her cheeks. “You are unworthy.”

  Devon placed a fist over his heart. “You wound me.” He sat up, leaning toward her. “And you may say whatever you wish to me or about me,” he said almost pleasantly. “But you will leave my wife and my son alone. When you and Leah are in public together, you will be all that is good and gracious. Am I clear?”

  “I won’t. I can’t.”

  “You have no choice,” he said silkily, “unless you wish to be cut off.” Vainhope had not left her in good financial straits, and, knowing Rex the way he did, Devon doubted if his cousin was more generous. Plus Venetia wanted to live at Montclef. She had lived most of life here, even while she was married. Devon knew she would do as he wished.