Scandal's Promise

by Gibson, Pamela

  The news had horrified her, and she knew she must go to her friend.

  Stealing away near teatime had been difficult, but she’d pleaded a stomach ailment and crept out of her room, fleeing through the woods to the lake. When she hadn’t found him, she’d walked all the way to the Hall, looking in the stable to see if Andrew’s horse was there.

  She’d found him in the loft, and when she climbed up, she’d taken him in her arms and held him as he silently wept. She could not stay, but remained until soothing caresses turned into heated kisses and groping hands. Knowing the consequences of any further actions, they had reluctantly parted.

  I loved you so much then.

  She loved him still—she was long past denying it—but old hurts lingered, and trust was hard-won once it was broken. He’d changed, and in some ways not for the better. His continued dependence on laudanum worried her, but his eagerness to take an interest in his estate was a positive sign. Even his initial disdain for his son seemed to be weakening. Who could not love an innocent child?

  “I believe I am about to fall asleep. I’m afraid I must bid you good night,” she said.

  He opened his eyes, and his heated look almost undid her. “Have I thanked you for throwing your reputation to the wind and staying here to help with the boy?”

  “I need no thanks. Mrs. Townsend seemed overwhelmed, and it was the least I could do.” She rose from her chair. “I have no need for a sterling reputation. I am a spinster now and plan to spend my days at Langston Grange in company with my unconventional aunt.”

  As she moved past his chair, his hand shot out, and he grasped her hand. “Do you not long for the social life available in town? Was there no one after me who took your fancy?”

  She took a deep breath and faced him. “One man seemed to be heading toward a declaration. I didn’t love him, but I liked him. He was intelligent and kind and seemed to have an air of sadness about him, as though life had dealt him some kind of harsh blow he’d never been able to get past.”

  “Did he offer for you, Em?”

  “No. He offered for my cousin Miranda. If she hadn’t been tending to her child the day we met in Hyde Park, you would have noted a remarkable resemblance. He courted me, I believe, because he thought he could not have her. Good night, Andrew.”

  She found her room and closed her door, breathing hard. Her hand still tingled from the physical contact, and her body trembled with delicious aches she refused to name. She was exhausted, and the wine had dissolved her usual barriers. If Andrew had tugged a little harder, she would have dropped into his lap and made a proper fool of herself.

  Her room, right across the hall from Andrew’s, enveloped her in warmth as she disrobed and found her nightwear in the valise Aunt Lily had sent. Someone had freshened the water in the ewer and placed a drying towel next to it. A lighted candle was placed on a table close to the bed. Andrew knew she loved to read and probably had it put there in case she couldn’t sleep.

  That would not be the case tonight.

  She felt like the ghost of Hamlet’s father, walking the parapets with unseeing eyes. Her movements were methodical, but if she looked in a mirror, she’d see blank eyes glazed over from a full stomach, wine, and fatigue.

  Mrs. Townsend was to wake her at midnight. Thank God. She probably would not be able to wake herself.

  She dropped into bed and pulled up the coverlet, leaving the candle lit. She closed her eyes, lying rigidly in the center of her bed. Sleep would not come. Her thoughts were not on the child, but on Andrew. God help her, she burned for him. When he’d held her arm in the library, then let his hand drift to her palm, stroking the tender skin gently with his thumb, she’d nearly melted into a puddle of treacle.

  She wanted his hands and mouth on her. She wanted to run her hands down his muscular arms, reach around his back, and pull his body against hers to ease the pulsing between her thighs. She wanted to know what it felt like to lay skin against skin instead of always with a layer of clothing between them.

  She didn’t want to die never having experienced physical intimacy with a man. Andrew wanted her, she was sure. But if she walked across the hall and entered his room, she’d be no better than Caroline Woodley.

  Scrunching into a ball, she tightened every muscle, wishing this longing would go away. She could never marry anyone else, not even for children. Every time she closed her eyes in the marriage bed, she would pretend it was him.

  You have to stop this nonsense right away, or you will be too weary to be useful when it’s time for you to tend the child.

  He was inside his room now. She’d heard his footfalls not five minutes past.

  She’d resigned herself to spinsterhood. She had Aunt Lily as a companion, a house full of books with a pianoforte and a sewing room to indulge her creativity. What more could she possibly want?

  A door closed, and someone walked down the hall. Lester—she recognized his heavy tread. Andrew was alone.

  She uncurled and tried to relax. Her breath caught in her throat. What was she? Some kind of wanton? Did she really want to “let go” as Aunt Lily put it?

  You’ve been raised as a lady. You know what you want to do would seal your fate. There would be no marriage ever in your future, not even to a widower because you would be used, soiled, no better than a barque of frailty.

  “Damn.”

  She rose from her bed, leaving the lighted candle, and jerked open the door.

  Chapter 21

  Andrew stood in front of her, his hand fisted as if about to knock. He lowered his hand, locked his gaze on her, and remained silent as she slowly widened the door and allowed him inside her room. Conflicting thoughts warred in her brain as she closed the door and leaned against the smooth wood.

  Don’t do this. Yes, do it! You’ll regret it. No, it’s long past time.

  Andrew, dressed in a velvet robe, his feet bare, his hair tousled in boyish disarray, gently brushed her cheek with his knuckles. His breathing seemed labored, like he’d run a mile to be with her. He looked adorable, and she wanted to wrap her arms around him, feel every curve and indentation, and ease her aching body. But she stood back, waiting.

  He dropped his hand. “I-I want you, Em. I won’t stay if you tell me to go. I have no right to be in this room, no right to touch you or kiss you. I know you can never trust me again, and this probably solidifies your opinion that I am no gentleman.”

  She kept eye contact, inching forward, her heart beating wildly, her body tingling with anticipation. She raised her hand and touched his face, as he’d touched hers. His cheek was rough under her fingertips. His eyes closed as she brushed her fingers across his lips.

  And then she moved closer, pressing her body against his, loving the feel of his arms as they wrapped around her, pulling her closer, his erection evident beneath his robe. She sighed. How had he known this was what she wanted? Were they so close that her thoughts had drifted across the hall to his?

  He held her, and warmth from his body seeped into hers, making her long for all those missed moments they might have had over the years. Now it was time to act, and she would have no regrets.

  She stepped back and looked into his eyes. “I expect nothing, Drew. I am not Caroline. If I take you to my bed, please understand we will be fulfilling a promise our bodies made years ago. I do not expect a proposal, and I assure you there will be no guilt. Circumstances have given us an opportunity to do something we both want, hopefully without others snooping into our privacy. I want you, and you want me.” She turned toward the bed, tugging his hand. “It is long past time.”

  Without shame or reluctance, she took off her nightgown and unbound her hair. Climbing into the cold bed, she moved to the side and watched him shrug out of his robe. He was naked underneath, and she was glad she hadn’t doused the candle and could see the magnif
icent body she’d always pictured in her mind.

  He climbed in beside her and turned on his side. “You’re sure?”

  “Quite.”

  Anticipation made her breath catch as his lips touched hers in a feather-light kiss that felt like the petals of a newly opened rose. She savored the delicate pressure on her mouth that increased as his tongue coaxed open the seam of her lips. She murmured softly as the kiss deepened and her senses reeled. Her breasts tightened, and her core throbbed with need. This was Andrew, her childhood friend, her first infatuation as a maiden, and her passionate love when she became a woman—Andrew, the man who once had been her betrothed.

  She pushed the past aside to live in the moment as his mouth left hers and kissed its way down her neck to her shoulder, and then closed gently over her taut breast. She squirmed with the pleasure, rubbing her hands over his silky hair, moaning when his mouth tugged on her hardened peak and caused exquisite pleasure to build between her thighs.

  Had she ever loved another man? Could she? They’d been meant for each other almost since the day they were born. When they grew old enough to engage in awkward moments of passion, she had never imagined anything like this.

  He left her breast and moved to the other, then came back to her mouth, making sounds at the back of his throat as his mouth covered hers again. His hands in her hair, he kissed the tender flesh beneath her ear and the pulse point beneath her chin. She tentatively rubbed her hands down his chest and around his back, her eyes flying open as her fingers felt scars.

  “Oh my God, Drew. I knew your father beat you, but what I feel is much worse.”

  He paused, breathing hard, his body moist with his labors. “He made frequent use of the whip.”

  “I am so sorry.”

  “The past is gone, Em. I don’t want it to spoil tonight.”

  She raised up to kiss his bad shoulder, hoping he was not in pain, and then sank into the feather mattress. Leaving her exploration of his back, she slid her hands to his taught buttocks, then around to hold his shaft.

  “If you touch me there, Em, I shall embarrass myself.”

  She smiled and instead opened her legs in invitation. Obliging, he kissed her neck, the area between her breasts, and positioned himself over her to kiss his way down her stomach.

  “Andrew. What are you doing?”

  “Shh. You will like this, Em.” He slid his hands on either side of her hips and around to raise her torso. Lowering his head, he licked at her most intimate place, parting the folds with his tongue and finding a sensitive spot to receive his attention.

  He held her fast as she writhed, the pressure building with each lick and thrust of his tongue. She gathered the bedsheets with her fists and strained like a reed in the wind. He held her fast, the pressure coiling tighter and tighter before it sprang free with waves of sweet pleasure that seemed to go on and on until she was limp.

  Andrew moved off her and turned away, making sounds of his own until his back tensed and he, too, relaxed.

  What was he doing? She may be a virgin, but she certainly knew what happened between a man and a woman. One cannot live on a working estate with breeding animals without knowing.

  He left the bed and walked over to the basin, returning with a towel. He swiped at the floor, set the cloth aside, and climbed back into the bed. Turning to Em, he kissed her forehead, then tucked her into his arms, his body still warm. She snuggled against his chest and waited for him to speak.

  “I could not in good conscience take your maidenhead after you said you expected no proposal. While it would wound me more than the saber thrust to my shoulder, if you change your mind and choose to wed someone, you will still be intact. You’re still young, Emily, and you are beautiful inside and out. Any man would be proud to call you wife. I would be, if you would have me, and yes, that is a proposal, but I shall say no more.”

  He wanted to wed her? She closed her eyes and imagined what it would be like to lie with Andrew night after night after so many years of expectation. Had he changed enough for her to consider it? Had she changed enough to defy her family and face the titters and guffaws of the peers who would remember her humiliation?

  Tonight’s act had been one of impulse, brought on by too much wine and anxiety. True, after seven years, the pain of Andrew’s perfidy had shrunk to an occasional twinge, but he’d only just returned. They were beginning a new relationship as adults who had both reached their majority.

  “I told you I wanted no proposal.”

  “You didn’t say you didn’t want one. You said you didn’t expect one.”

  “You’re twisting my words.”

  “Am I?”

  She reached up and kissed the scar on his shoulder.

  “Can you just hold me for now? I do not wish to discuss the future. I want to enjoy the present, and I fear I owe you an apology.”

  “For what?”

  “You had no pleasure.”

  His voice softened as he tightened his hold. “Never doubt giving you pleasure was the greatest experience of my life. I promise to hold you until you sleep, but I cannot be found here when Mrs. Townsend comes in to wake you. I know you said at dinner she was to come at midnight.”

  She murmured her assent, feeling sleep ready to overcome her. She wasn’t sure she believed what he’d said about his own pleasure, but the memory of what he had given her would warm her night after night in the cold years to come.

  “Andrew?”

  “Yes, my love.”

  “Thank you.”

  She closed her eyes. If dreams came, they would be of him, even though she had only a few hours left to sleep.

  But when she awoke, a shaft of sunlight filtered through her window. She stretched and looked over at the empty spot on the right side of her bed. Andrew was gone, but his scent was still on the sheet.

  She turned over to snuggle into the pillow, and then bolted upright. Why had Mrs. Townsend not awakened her at midnight? She jumped out of bed, happy for once not to have a maid. Forgoing her corset, she quickly clothed herself in the simple dress her aunt had sent, grateful that it buttoned up the front. After braiding her hair and slipping on her shoes, she ran up the stairs and burst into the nursery.

  Mrs. Townsend was nowhere in sight, and when she peeked into George’s room, she found his bed empty.

  What’s happened? Why did no one wake me?

  Had Andrew come in her stead? Had he been awake when Mrs. Townsend arrived, and had he decided to let her sleep? She took deep breaths, trying to calm herself so she could think rationally. If he’d done that, George would be here, as would Andrew.

  She looked around the nursery, noticing odd scuff marks on the floor. Following them to a small storage room, she opened the door and screamed. Mrs. Townsend lay on the floor, her hands and feet bound, a rag tied around her mouth. Her eyes were puffy, as if she’d been crying, and she wailed through her gag.

  Emily worked to untie the gag, but it was tight, and she couldn’t budge the knot.

  “I’ll get help.” She ran toward the door, just as Andrew bounded in, followed by Lester.

  “I heard a scream. What happened?”

  “It’s Mrs. Townsend. In the storage closet.”

  The two men were able to pull the gag free but had trouble with the knots binding her legs and arms.”

  Andrew lifted the woman to a sitting position. “What happened? Where’s George?”

  “My lord. He’s gone.” Mrs. Townsend’s eyes welled with tears.

  “How? Where did he go?”

  She swallowed, her gaze finding Emily. “A strange man with a mask over his face took him. I tried to scream, but he had a knife and said if I made any sound, he would kill me and the lad.”

  “And then he tied you up and took the boy?” Andr
ew’s lips were in a grim line as he spoke.

  “Yes. Why would someone take the poor mite? He’s still feverish.”

  Emily listened to the conversation and shook with anger, at herself, at Andrew, at the world. While they’d been enjoying a bit of bed sport, someone had crept up the stairs and kidnapped a sick child.

  When Andrew came over to her and touched her arm, she pulled away.

  His shoulders drooped, and he rubbed his injured one. “This wasn’t our fault, Em.”

  “Wasn’t it?” she snarled. “I should have taken the first watch. Then maybe I could have prevented this.”

  He put both hands on her shoulders and held her at arms’ length. “Then you would have been in the closet, not Mrs. Townsend. Someone wanted George, for no reason I can comprehend, and somehow got into this house. You had nothing to do with this.”

  She nodded and helped a sobbing Mrs. Townsend downstairs after Lester returned with a knife to cut her bonds. Technically it may not have been her fault, but one fact twisted her heart.

  If anything happens to the child, I will never forgive myself.

  Chapter 22

  Rain gushed from the sky, making roads impassable and spirits plummet. A solemn group gathered in the drawing room, not knowing how to go on.