Tempting Bella (Entangled Scandalous)

by Diana Quincy

“My family would have been ruined if I hadn’t agreed to the alliance. It was well before Cam inherited the marquisate. There were no funds for the education of my younger brothers and long-time servants would have been put out without a pension. I could parse no other way to save my family from certain destitution.”

  The world tilted. He seemed so far away. “A gambling debt that you were forced to pay the price for?”

  A look of puzzled alarm firmed on his face. “Surely, at some point, His Grace informed you of the circumstances of our marriage.”

  Tears blurred her eyes. “A wager.” Air gushed out of her lungs. She shook her head. “Dear Lord, it cannot be.”

  “I assumed you knew.” His face softened. “Your father owed mine a significant gaming debt. The resolution was our marriage. I resisted, but not strongly enough. My family gained the invaluable connection to yours and Traherne’s debt was satisfied.”

  “But why would His Grace need to resort to that to settle the debt? Traherne is very profitable.”

  An expression she couldn’t interpret crossed his face. “It has not always been so. Traherne’s purse was considerably less robust when we married.”

  “My father wagered me away like one of his mounts or a fistful of guineas?” She blinked away tears. “Tell me it’s a lie.”

  He came to kneel before her, taking her cold, lifeless hands in his large warm grip. “It is the regrettable truth. I resolved at that moment to soften the blow of this marriage for you in every way.”

  “You sent me away.”

  “No,” he said fervently. “I vowed to give you your freedom, to restore whatever bit of your youth that was within my power.”

  “I was alone.”

  “When you wanted to travel, I agreed because it was what you deserved.” Tenderness infused his voice. “What you did not deserve is what we did to you.”

  She raised her hand to her strangled throat. “I mean nothing to my father. He wagered me away.”

  “On the day we married, I vowed to treat you with complete honor. That included remaining faithful to my wife.” He tilted her chin back to him so she that she gazed into his emerald depths. “I cannot regret it. However it happened, you are my wife and I am grateful. I look at you and I know you were worth waiting for.”

  Bella’s chest squeezed with some unknown emotion. A sob escaped her throat. He brushed a tender kiss on her forehead. “I am here, Bella. Let me cherish you as you deserve.”

  Tears streamed unabated down her cheeks, as though they would never stop. He leaned over and lifted her in his arms. Weightless in the air for a moment, she settled blindly on his lap, large, comforting arms drew her close against a wide protective chest.

  Her heart burst with pain for the little girl whose father cast her off on a stranger, for the times she aimlessly traveled the world with no real family ties to speak of. Grief rose up and consumed her. Gentle hands stroked her hair and cheeks, the curve of her back, murmuring words of comfort, showering her with soft kisses. She nestled into the smooth contours of his enormous chest, feeling the hard turn of muscle beneath it, her tears sopping his linen shirt.

  She rubbed her lips against the bare expanse of his sinewy throat and the warmth of his bronzed skin. He swallowed hard, the muscles of his throat working.

  “Bella.”

  Ignoring the warning in his tone, she kissed the hard curve of his jaw, relishing the feel of the unyielding bone beneath it. She ran her hand across his cheek with a light touch, exploring the stubble that scratched against her skin. The musk scent of shaving soap enlivened her, awakening her body to his maleness.

  He closed his eyes, nudging his cheek into her hand with a shuddering breath. “Bella, we must stop.”

  “Why?” She kissed along his temple, to his brows, her hands stealing around his neck. “We are married. Haven’t we waited long enough?”

  Chapter Twelve

  Sebastian knew something of heaven and hell because at the moment he was experiencing both. Ever since her arrival, Bella had constantly challenged his hard-won equilibrium. He’d spent years honing the ability to keep his impulses in check, yet his wife provoked emotions far beyond anything he’d experienced before.

  She was all soft curves and welcoming woman in his arms. His senses were attuned to her arousal, the headiness of it like an opium addict who has abstained from his drug for far too long. He longed to make love to her, to take her as his own, to plunge years of need into her lush, accommodating body. For a moment, he thought to let her have her way with him because it was what he wanted, what his body ached for.

  Sensing the awakening of her body, how roused with need she was, caused lust to shoot through him. He clutched the chair arms to his sides, not trusting himself not to lose complete control and ravage her like the beast in him clamored to do. “You are not yourself.”

  She pulled his shirt from his breeches and over his head. He was not so righteous that he did not lift his arms to assist her efforts. “Wrong, I am finally being myself. You have no idea how wicked I can be.”

  He couldn’t wait to find out.

  “So strong,” she murmured fanning her pale hands across the breadth of his bare chest. Her tapered fingers appeared even more delicate against the crude expanse of his bronzed skin dusted with dark curls. She bent her head to taste him there and he almost jumped out of his skin.

  “You have to stop or I will lose all control.”

  She paused and gazed at him, eyes bright with sensual agitation. “Sebastian Stanhope, losing all control?” She reached for his breeches and brushed her hand intently against his hardened male flesh. “I should like to see that.”

  He was so aroused he almost came right when she touched his vitals. Clenching his teeth, he gripped her hand. “Duchess, be careful of what you ask for.”

  Her untutored fingers worked at unfastening his breeches. “Duchess, hmm? As the daughter of a duke, I am accustomed to being accommodated. And, at present, I want you. Immediately.”

  He closed his eyes and groaned, slamming his head back against the soft leather of the chair, hoping to pound some sense into his addled brain, fighting for the control that had served him so well all of these years.

  “Blast it! How is this done?”

  He peeked one eye open to glimpse Bella’s flushed cheeks and how she bit her lower lip, a tiny frown of concentration on her forehead. He dared to peer down to her hands, where she appeared to have trouble opening his breeches.

  The sight of her delicate hands so close to his arousal was too much. Any reservoir of restraint cascaded out of him. Surging out of the chair, his arms closed around her. Now that he had her, he would never let her go. Certain he wouldn’t be able to contain himself long enough to make it to the bedchamber, he went to the carpeted floor with Bella in his arms, her easy curves eager against his body. “This is not the way this should happen,” he uttered harshly, even as he swooped down to ravish her.

  She was laid out on the carpet like an earthy sacrifice, cheeks blazing, her rapid breathing pushing the swells of her breasts against that God-awful spinster’s gown she’d squeezed her curves into. He flipped her over onto her stomach straddling her behind and made quick work of her dress. He spread it open, unveiling the pale smooth expanse of her nape and shoulders. He nipped the back of her neck, tasting the delicious blend of sweet femininity and salty earthiness.

  Before she could react, he flipped her over again, working on her stays and pulling them open; her chemise followed until, except for her stockings and slippers, she at last lay bare before him.

  He paused to take in the lushness of her womanly form, the roundness of her peaked breasts, the indentation of her belly button, the soft, downy hair that began just below her stomach and exploded into a riot of heavenly dark curls between silken creamy thighs. His enthralled senses inhaled every part of her, feasting on the elemental things he had missed all of these years. “You are so lovely.”

  She laughed, the imp. The sound th
roaty and inviting. “Are you just going to stand there? Perhaps you have forgotten how it’s done.”

  “You are a bold piece.” She caught her breath when his hand closed over the soft swell of her breast, savoring its quivering warmth. He thumbed the rigid point. It had been so long.

  Her hand came over his, her voice pleading. “Sebastian, I want you to lie with me. Please.”

  Still cupping one breast, he pressed a gentle kiss on the other and inhaled the sweet scent of her skin. “It will pain you.”

  “Meeker women than I have withstood it,” she said, breathless, arching her unbearably soft breast deeper into his hand.

  His body shaking with need, he felt through the tangle of her sweet curls, relief flooding him when he felt the moist honey of her readiness. He knew he should slow down and keep himself in check so that he didn’t hurt or frighten her, but his manly urges crowded out all cogent thought. On a plaintive groan of long-suppressed need, he freed himself and poised his swollen flesh at the entrance to bliss.

  He looked into her exquisite face to find it empty of all guile. Cheeks flushed, her expression was open and emotive as it had been in those first days before she’d realized his deceit. Her golden-brown eyes were brilliant with expectation.

  He nudged in a little at a time until he came up against the barrier that proclaimed her a maiden. A surge of masculine satisfaction rifled through him at the confirmation that no other man had ever taken possession of her. Blood roaring through him, he pushed past her maidenhead until he was fully encased, surrounded by the welcome of her sweet, snug heat. He stilled and savored what he had missed for far too long—the essential essence of a woman, the soft breaths and lilting murmurs of pleasure, the scent of feminine arousal. What a glorious woman.

  She urged her hips against his. Liquid fire shot through his vitals. He began to move in slow, deliberate movements; her dark wet tightness caressed his swollen gland with each thrust. Her body responded, curving into his. He quickened his pace. Waves of pleasure and pressure intensified, building almost beyond his capacity to bear it. His body’s natural instincts took over and he lost any hope of finesse in this first loving of her.

  He stroked hard and strong, throwing off years of restraint, of economy, of suppressed physical longing until everything fell away and there was only her. Ecstasy burned up through his legs into the small of his back. A squeezing, pulling sensation gripped his ballocks and the unbearable tension finally released. He saw black before spinning away into the achingly brilliant bliss of reaching his peak with the incomparable woman who was his wife.

  …

  The following evening, for her first official showing in society, Bella selected a royal-blue silk gown with a stylishly deep décolletage that was in no way scandalous. The appreciative glint in Sebastian’s eyes as he escorted her out to the dance floor suggested he approved. “How do I look?”

  “There is no lovelier woman in the room.”

  She moved into his arms for the start of the waltz. “And yet I had to beg for the flattery. How ungallant of you.”

  “I was loath to compliment your appearance for fear you’d retreat back to your chamber for a gown more suited to an opera singer.”

  She suppressed a smile. “This costume is exceedingly appropriate for the performance I plan this evening.” She pulled her shoulders back in a way that emphasized her full breasts, an asset gentlemen—especially her husband—seemed to appreciate.

  The deliberate subtle arching of her back had the desired effect. His eyes went to the pale swells on prominent display above her bodice. His throat moved a little. “And what performance is that, may I ask?”

  Batting her eyelashes, she said, “Why, that of the perfect wife and daughter, of course.”

  “Wench.” His expression sobered. “Are you certain you are in good health after last evening?”

  A sense of well-being flowed through her. “Supremely.”

  The tense lines of his face relaxed. “I’m glad to hear it. I fear I was not gentle enough with you.”

  “Not to worry. I’m no fragile hothouse bloom.”

  “So I noticed.”

  She smiled, feeling almost giddy in his arms. Being bedded by her husband had been an astonishing experience, more intimate and pleasurable than she anticipated. She still had lingering misgivings about his financial activities, but at least for this evening she intended to put them aside for a bit. With so many curious eyes observing their every interaction, she was grateful for the security of his embrace. Even though it was a smallish affair by ducal standards—dinner and dancing for fifty, rather than the hundreds typically included in more lavish affairs—she felt the strain of people’s interest in her.

  Gazing about, she took in her surroundings. Thousands of candles provided brilliant lighting throughout the public rooms, which were overfilled with mahogany furniture atop gleaming oak floors. The ballroom itself was mostly empty of furnishings except for chairs and benches lining the perimeter of the room intended for chaperones, matrons, and those who preferred to play the part of spectator. Elaborate tapestries graced the walls and a series of niches around the ballroom held ancient statues. She marveled that all this would one day be part of her inheritance, yet she had never seen any of it before now.

  Her eyes fell upon a group of people congregated near a statue. Like most guests in the ballroom, they watched with open curiosity, doing little to disguise their interest in her and Sebastian. “They’re all staring at me as though I were some exotic zoo animal.”

  Sebastian kept a firm hand on her torso, guiding her in the dance movements. “A beautiful woman always draws her share of attention.”

  “I’m sure my looks are secondary. They all want to gawk at Sebastian Stanhope’s mystery wife.”

  “It’s more likely they’re curious about Traherne’s heir. A duchess in her own right is a rare thing indeed.”

  When the music came to an end, they reluctantly parted since manners dictated each should dance the next set with someone else. A few gentlemen lingered nearby, poised to approach her for a turn on the dance floor, but His Grace beckoned her to his side before they could.

  “Come,” he said, settling heavily into a simple chair too small for his large frame. The other guests cleared a respectable space around them. “Sit beside me. I’m getting too old to dance.”

  “Or too foxed,” she said drily.

  He barked a laugh. “Girl, you are your mother’s daughter.”

  “Am I?” She knew so little about her mother. “Why did you never remarry?”

  “I loved that woman. It’s the only thing that made her constant nagging bearable.” He swallowed a good portion of his drink. “I wouldn’t have found another woman half so fine.”

  Bella looked in the deep lines of her father’s face, the bleary eyes and broken blood vessels in his cheeks an overt testament to years of overindulgence. She felt the same tug of longing she always felt in those rare moments she was in her father’s presence. “What was she like?”

  “Very like you, with the same fire and beauty.” Glassy eyes assessed her. “You remind me of her.”

  Her parents had been a love match? She’d never known that. It pressed home how little she knew about them. “You loved her.”

  “I did, very much. Each time I visited you, it brought the pain of her loss back again.” He held up his glass. “Drink helped, but not much.”

  Emotion swelled in her chest. Her father had loved her mother. So much so, that any reminder of his wife had pained him. “Yet you forced my marriage to Sebastian. You did not allow me to find a love match.”

  “Balderdash. I’ve seen the way the two of you look at each other.” He chuckled. “It took you long enough. For a while there, I feared I’d miscalculated.”

  “Miscalculated?” Emotion closing her throat, she looked unseeing to the swirling blurs of color on the dance floor. “Losing a fortune at cards hardly required a clever stratagem on your part.”

&n
bsp; He guffawed. “I had other means of settling the debt. Sebastian happened to be the most expedient.” He finished off his drink. A footman instantly appeared with a replacement. “Even then, your husband had a reputation for his clever mind and firmness of character.”

  She searched his face. “Are you suggesting that you purposely chose Sebastian for me?”

  “He has four brothers. His father tried to get me to take any one of the others. I refused.”

  Breathlessness assaulted her. “Why?”

  He shifted heavily in his seat. “Fortune hunters were already lining up for you. I selected a gentleman who would treat my daughter with care while also overseeing the dukedom with a clever hand.”

  “Perhaps too clever a hand.”

  “What are you getting at?” He peered at her with bloodshot eyes. “Speak plainly girl.”

  “You give him complete control over Traherne funds.”

  “Yes. I trust him implicitly.”

  “Do you not worry he might avail himself to more of the ducal coffers than he should?”

  He frowned at her. “Why would he do that? After my demise, he’ll have access to it all anyway. Whatever he amasses goes to his offspring, who will also be your children. Any way you look at it, it all stays within the family.” He nodded. “Fortunate thing it was that he married you.”

  “Indeed.” The funny thing was, she was beginning to feel lucky to be bound to Sebastian.

  “I’d moved heaven and earth to make you my legitimate heir,” the duke went on. “Your future needed to be assured even if I died before you reached your majority.”

  Her mind whirled into light-headedness, shaking loose everything she’d always believed about her father. The duke hadn’t been absent and careless. At least not totally. He’d wanted to secure her future and keep her safe.

  They were silent for a moment, both with their eyes on the dancers. “Are you content with Sebastian?” he asked.

  The wanton part of her certainly was, so much so that it frightened her. “We are still learning to…accommodate each other.”