When the Earl Met His Match (Wedded by Scandal)

by Stacy Reid

  His teeth raked against her nub of pleasure, and she convulsed, pleasure splintering through her body. While still on his knees, he grabbed her hips and tugged her down so that she slid off the sofa. Penetration was immediate, and she cried out wildly at the almost painful stretch. He took her mouth in a raw, domineering kiss, swallowing her cry at his invasion.

  Phoebe felt delirious with arousal. Her skin burned, and she wanted to get even closer to him. Wrapping her hands around his shoulder like a vine, her feet now braced on the carpet, Phoebe started an instinctive ride. Or was he using his hands to lift her up and then urged her down onto his manhood? She could not tell; Phoebe was lost in the provocative position and the lush eroticism of how they came together.

  He hugged her to him, twisted, and tumbled them onto the carpet. He slipped his hands beneath her buttocks, lifting her to meet his thrusts, filling her repeatedly in heavy surges. There was a hint of urgency, or desperation, almost a savagery to his movements as he plunged inside her over and over. A stunning pleasure and pressure built inside her, clawing to be free. Each thrust held her poised on the brink, and her body raced to reach a pinnacle it was familiar with. Except each plunge seemed to push her beyond a point she had never been taken before, and Phoebe screamed into the crook of his need, frantic pleadings and then demands falling from her lips as unbearable heat twisted low in her belly.

  Somehow, while he still rode her to bliss, he reached between them, took her nub between his fingers, and pinched. Phoebe’s mind blew apart as ecstasy writhed through her. She slid her hands over the arch of his back, caressing and urging.

  “I love you,” she cried against his lips as he claimed another kiss. That soft cry had tumbled from her before she could catch it.

  He froze, and his eyes fluttered open to stare at her as if arrested.

  With trembling fingers, she traced his lower lip. She had not meant to admit her feeling, not when things felt so odd between them. “I love you,” Phoebe breathed shakily, testing the weight and truth of those words.

  Something raw flashed in his eyes before his lashes swooped down, concealing the brilliance of his gaze from hers. Do not hide from me, she silently demanded. Then it did not matter, for his hands tightened around her, and with a few ravaging thrusts, he, too, found his pleasure. Stroking his back, she held him to her until his shaking had subsided.

  I love you.

  That cry of adoration lingered in Phoebe’s thoughts. She felt stupid and hopeful, as she waited, her heart beating for him to sign something…anything. Silence lingered, and his fingers did not move to caress, reassure, or return any sort of sentiments. Her belly went hollow, and the fact she told him she loved him felt unforgivable. It made no sense to lay her heart bare to a man who would never return her love. If only she did not desperately wish he would love her in return. When had she started to dream of that again? Of a man who would love her with every emotion in his heart and soul? Phoebe suspected that dream had started the very first time he kissed her.

  He pulled from her, and she whimpered at the ache between her legs. Gently, he helped her to stand, her legs wobbled, and she laughed.

  “I think, my lord, we almost killed each other,” she said softly, peering up at him.

  Phoebe’s heart squeezed at the frightful look of indifference in his gaze, as if what they had just shared was ordinary. She reached up to cup his jaw, and he caught her hand and slowly lowered it to her side. A cold knot formed in Phoebe’s stomach. He padded away to the wash basin and returned with a washcloth to tenderly clean her. She watched him in silence as he removed her stockings, garters, and slippers. When he was finished, he went over to the washbasin and started to tidy himself. Padding over to the armoire, she took out a nightgown and slipped it on then made her way over to the bed, climbed up, and sat in the center.

  Soon, he outed the lamp and slid into the bed. He did not take her into his arms as he usually did, and Phoebe sat there in the dark, her heart jerking. Something had changed. She fought hard against the tears she refused to let fall.

  “I did not betray you,” she said softly into the darkness. “Never once did I think of leaving, and if the viscount had not drugged and taken me away, I would still be in Scotland with you and Franny.”

  Silence lingered, and her breath rose and fell unevenly.

  “I would never leave because you are my family…and I…I love you…so very much.”

  More silence. Of course, she would not see if he signed in the dark. Though she suspected he had not shifted at all, she could feel the potency of his stare on her, as if he could see her clearly. She was bewildered by his demeanor and could not understand why he had retreated to the aloof gentleman he had appeared to be when they had just met. When he made no move, she shimmied down and lay on her side, unable to understand the raw ache that was suffusing her heart.

  He moved, and she closed her eyes as he slid his arm around her shoulder and drew her into the curve of his arms. A soft breath caressed her forehead, and she sensed he lowered to kiss her there, as he did each night before they slept. Phoebe held her breath waiting for that kiss, but then his breath vanished. He had changed his mind.

  There was a rustle as he drew the thick coverlet over their bodies. They lay in the darkness, each unable to sleep. Though his chest rose and fell evenly, she knew he was awake. So many questions swirled in her mind; so many anxieties burrowed in her heart.

  “Why does it feel different between us?” she whispered.

  Nothing indicated that he heard her soft entreaty. She recalled the old earl warning that Hugh was not a man given to sentimentality. Yet before this trip to London, she had felt certain he held great affection for her in his heart, and she was so certain they had been fated to meet and have a grand love despite their rocky beginning. Am I just a naïve, silly girl? Her throat burned with supressed tears at the notion of losing a love she had felt blooming between them.

  Do not be silly, she warned herself fiercely. You knew from the beginning he did not believe in love and that you should have no expectation of it in this marriage of convenience. A stubborn tear leaked from her eyes, and she gently wiped it away. Oh, but I want it so very much. And when something was worth fighting for, she would not shy away from doing so. Her reckless, impetuous spirit surged, and she twisted in the cage of his arms, to encounter a gleam of brilliant blue in the darkness.

  You are awake, she silently said. What thoughts keep you from sleep? Are they the same as mine?

  Phoebe wasn’t certain how long she stared into the faint shimmering silk of the overhead canopy before the darkness of sleep lured her away from her tormenting thoughts.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The next day, Phoebe called upon her brother to bid him adieu. The duke was still away on a trip to Italy, so she had been spared meeting him on this trip. Not that she was at all anxious about a confrontation with her father. Phoebe suspected it was the annual trip he took there with his mistress. It was always under the pretext of meeting business investors, but she had been able to tell because the duchess would spend each night at a ball as if to distract herself from the knowledge that her husband was with another woman. Often, Phoebe wondered if the duchess had a similar discreet arrangement.

  She had left a note at home for Hugh, and once he finished his meeting with his man of affairs, he would pay a visit to Richard. She knocked on the library door and opened it, smiling at the sight of Evie and her brother locked in a passionate embrace.

  Evie pulled away and patted her elegant coiffeur, a delightful blush on her lovely face.

  “I shall leave you both alone,” she said, with a wide smile at Phoebe. “When your lord arrives, I will insist that he stay for dinner. I will go and organize the menu now.”

  Phoebe nodded, and soon she was alone with Richard.

  “I admit when I saw Lord Albury last night staring at you, I did not gather h
e was your husband, but a scoundrel I would have to teach a painful lesson,” he said by way of greeting.

  She hurried over to sit on the sofa. “How was he looking at me? By any chance, the way you normally stare at Evie?”

  Richard cast her a surprised glance, and before he could reply, Viscount Malfoy entered the library without knocking, looking a bit angry and anxious. A state Phoebe thought unique to the man.

  Richard lowered his drink, and he dealt his friend a questioning stare. “What is it, man? I’ve never seen you appeared so rattled.”

  “Something strange is happening,” the Sparrow said tightly, walking over to the mantle to pour himself a glass of brandy, which he swallowed in one long drink.

  “What?”

  “This morning I was paid an early morning call by my banker. Someone has bought my debts. Then my solicitor came around only minutes later, informing me those debts were called in. It is even worse. Three investments that I’ve made, ones that you recommended, I was suddenly closed out of.” A harsh bark of laugh escaped the viscount. “I set out about town to try and find out what the hell is happening. I sent my connections in the underworld to discover any information, and the word that came back to me is that I have grievously wronged someone who is powerfully wealthy to make the world turn at his commands. Rubbish, if you ask me, but upon returning to my townhouse, I’ve discovered someone bought the damn townhouse I was letting, and I no longer have a home.”

  Phoebe slowly eased from off the sofa, her heart pounding. She recalled the dark, unfathomable look in her husband’s eyes last night. What she had perceived to be indifference had been possessive anger and ruthless resolve to ensure making Malfoy pay for taking her from Scotland.

  Pleasure burst bright and hot inside her heart.

  “I can see from your expression that you know what is happening,” Richard said.

  Phoebe glanced up to see her brother staring at her coolly, and the Viscount’s eyes narrowed in contemplation.

  “It is just a theory on my part,” she murmured, sauntering over to the mantle to pour sherry into a glass. She took a considering sip, staring at the viscount with a deliberate smile hovering on her lips.

  “I gather it is more than a theory,” the viscount said tightly. “You look quite pleased at the inconvenience I am experiencing.”

  She lifted a shoulder in an inelegant shrug. “You were the one who kidnapped me from my husband and child.”

  “At my orders,” Richard interjected smoothly.

  “A-Are you saying this is the work of your husband?” the viscount spluttered.

  “Yes.” A thought occurred to her. “I wonder what he will do to George!” Phoebe had not a thought of him since she saw her husband last night.

  Richard stiffened. “George Hastings?”

  “Yes, George,” Phoebe said tartly. “You encouraged him to approach me, and he said some foolish things and kissed me without my permission. My husband saw it all, I suspect.”

  The viscount frowned. “I cannot believe this would be your husband. I was watching you last night, Lady Phoebe, and—”

  “Lady Albury,” she interjected with a smile, willing to always remind them to whom she was married. “And I cannot understand why you are watching me.”

  He had the grace to tug at his cravat as if discomfited. “When Albury saw young George taking liberties, I tell you, Richard, the young earl did not care one jot. He simply held out his hand, she placed hers in his, and they left. He could have issued a private challenge to Mr. Hastings or planted a facer. He did neither! Why should I believe that man is now responsible for my woes?”

  Phoebe could not help the delighted laugh that slipped from her.

  “You are pleased?” Richard demanded.

  “I am terribly pleased that my husband feels something that is not indifference.”

  A single knock came on the door, and her husband sauntered inside. Her heart leaped, stuttered, and then began to pound. A surge of longing and an ache travelled through her heart. He had only to be in the same room, and the response came unbidden.

  He was astonishingly handsome in dark trousers and jacket, a brilliant blue waistcoat, and an expertly tied cravat. His eyes, so very distant and unaffected, scanned the room, touching briefly on Richard then lingering on her. He smiled briefly in greeting, but the sentiment did not quite reach his eyes. It was like a knife slicing through her. She had fallen in love with a man who obviously desired her, but a man who would never be able to tell her he loved her.

  The Sparrow he ignored completely. The insult was subtle but unmistakable.

  Was Hugh recalling the fierce way he had tumbled her last night and the wicked way he had made her sob and scream his name? A wave of heat engulfed her face, and she quickly glanced away from his intense stare.

  His fingers lifted, and he signed.

  “My husband is pleased to make your acquaintance, Richard. Given the hasty and unexpected circumstances of our marriage, he understands why you panicked in your actions to bring me home. He thanks you for your hospitality in having me these last few days and looks forward to meeting with you regularly when we return from Scotland. Our family is currently in mourning, so we will miss the upcoming season. He extends an invitation for you to visit us in Scotland at your earliest convenience,” she translated.

  Sparrow’s eyes widened as the import of their actions hit him. His hand tightened around his glass.

  “I see,” Richard murmured, staring at her husband. “I’ve been made to understand you’ve made ruinous steps toward Lord Malfoy. Many would call it an overreaction to the matter.”

  Hugh’s fingers lifted. Each time his gaze touched hers, her heart trembled in response. Richard and Sparrow looked to her for interaction.

  Phoebe bit back her smile as she translated. “I am not many.”

  “Do you have nothing more to say?” Sparrow snapped.

  Finally, he shifted his gaze to the viscount. “This is a lesson I trust you will remember well. I’ve restrained myself, as my wife assured me you did not hurt her. But you did frighten her and caused her to worry. I am serious about anything that affects her.”

  Phoebe carefully repeated exactly what her husband signed. Richard’s lips twitched, and the viscount’s expression grew more foreboding.

  “I should call you out for this,” Sparrow said icily. “Many children in the slums depend on my wealth to survive. Dozens, in fact, and you casually play God with their life and welfare.”

  Tension snapped through Phoebe as her husband signed. She cleared her throat and carefully translated, “If you wish to call me out and lose your life, I will oblige.”

  A tense, perilous silence blanketed the library, and Richard’s face was carefully composed as he stared at her husband. Phoebe could tell he was wondering if he should allow her to go back with him. Anxiety cramped her stomach. She did not want Hugh and Richard to fight. She had always been loyal to her brother, but that was before she got married. Unquestionably, she would stand with Hugh, always. The awareness was painfully shattering. Oh God, she loved him, desperately so.

  His fingers moved again, and Phoebe said, “I trust you will tread carefully in the future, knowing you have such vulnerable dependents.”

  Then he faced her. “I will wait in the hallway while you say your good-byes. Your few items of apparel have been packed, and our carriage is waiting. I propose for Franny’s sake we delay no longer.”

  Then he turned and left.

  “My…he has always been a man of few words,” she said by way of explanation, flushing slightly.

  “That’s it?” the viscount demanded. “I have words to say to him,” he said and marched out of the library.

  With a sigh, Phoebe faced her brother. “Our carriage is waiting on me. Franny is waiting on us, and we must leave right away.”

  Richard
scrubbed a hand over his face. “I will convey your regrets to Evie and to our mother. The duchess returned to her townhouse. I will send her a note that you are returning home. She was hoping to have us over for dinner tonight.”

  “Thank you. I am very astonished you and Mother have come to some sort of amicable resolution. And Father, too?”

  “Your disappearance brought us together. The relationship is still…very tentative, but I have seen their efforts with Emily. Her illegitimacy is not a sore point for them anymore. Unless they are pretending. Either way, my daughter is happy to know her grandparents.”

  “I have missed little Emily,” she whispered, thinking of the beautiful, golden-eyed child her brother loved with his whole heart.

  Richard smiled. “I have not asked about my niece.”

  “Francesca Winthrop. She is…wonderful, Richard.”

  “And Albury has willingly claimed her as his?”

  “Yes,” she said softly.

  Richard stared at her. “George—”

  “No. He is in the past, and I do not even think of him. None of his words impacted me last night. We were friends, but I did not love him.”

  Richard frowned; then he stiffened. “I will clean up the mess I made, I promise. I will be careful to not reveal the child, for he will cause trouble over it, though he knows you are no longer available to him. Why do you frown?”

  “There is a part of me that feels incredibly sad that George might never know that he has a daughter,” she murmured.

  “It would be foolish to tell him given that he showed up here this morning, creating a scene even after seeing you with your earl last night. Any fool watching you dancing could see the attachment.” Richard cleared his throat. “The knowledge would serve George no purpose, since he can never claim or acknowledge her in any way. The scandal and damage that would cause does not bear thinking about.”