Love With a Scandalous Lord (10 page)

“She is a duchess. Being spoiled is a privilege of her rank.”

“A good tongue-lashing is what she needs.”

Tongue-lashing?
An image flashed through his mind of the sort of tongue-lashing he’d like to bestow on Lydia, certainly not in the manner to which she was referring. No, his tongue would deliver lashes that would more closely resemble velvet against silk in the most intimate of places, until she was writhing against him and crying out his name.

He shoved away the thoughts, before he did something he’d regret, like take her in his arms and begin his seduction. She wasn’t a bored lady who’d sought what he could offer in the ways of pleasure. She was an inno
cent, his guest, his bastard brother’s stepdaughter. What he had in mind for her would be entirely inappropriate. It was best to turn to the matter at hand if he had any hope of restoring his sanity.

“I trust as our guest, you will refrain from giving the Duchess what you’ve deduced she needs.”

Those damnable, kissable lips of hers shifted into a soft smile. “I’ve managed so far, haven’t I?”

“Just barely. I suspect had she bothered to take a breath, into the silence, you would have stormed like a knight on a crusade.”

Her smile withered. “That would have been unladylike.”

“Indeed.” Reaching out, he cradled her cheek and trailed his thumb across her sumptuous lips. “Although in truth, I cannot envision you being anything except a lady.”

And not a very wise one at that. For she did not move, but simply watched him. Waiting. Waiting for what he saw in her eyes she knew he wished to bestow. Waiting for what he knew in his heart he should not.

“Your cousin is absolutely incorrect in her assessment of your situation,” he murmured. “You will have besotted men flocking to your side should you make it to London before the Season is over.”

“You’re much too kind.” She sounded breathless, as though she found it as difficult to draw in air as he did.

“I assure you, I’m anything but kind. And I’m going to give you your second lesson. Something your books undoubtedly failed to teach you. Something you failed to learn last night. Never allow yourself to be alone with a man.”

He lowered his head. Her eyes widened a fraction
before they slid closed and her lips parted. His gut clenched with her acquiescence, and the blood roared through his head, as he touched his lips to hers.

The fire was instantaneous. Not a spark needing to take hold and grow, but a deafening blaze. She melted against him, her breasts flattened against his chest, her arms going around his waist, her hands stroking his back.

He was acutely aware of every inch of her entwining around him like a vine seeking purchase against the mighty oak. Her innocence filled him, swamped him, and took him under. He wanted to possess her, own her.

As his tongue swept through her mouth, he cupped her buttocks and ground her hips against his aching body. His guttural groan sounded like that of a wounded animal, an animal that recognizes the prey has become the hunter.

He’d thought to intimidate, and instead, he’d discovered her arsenal was far superior to his. Innocence unleashed was devastatingly powerful.

“Lyd!” Colton yelled from the outer hall. “Pa’s back.”

Lydia sprang away at the precise moment that Rhys abruptly straightened. They were both short of breath, trembling with needs unfulfilled.

With her blush creeping over her face and along her throat, she extended his handkerchief toward him with a shaking hand. He saw no help for it but to take it.

As she darted from the room, he closed his fingers around her warmth which still lingered within the cloth. But it wasn’t enough, failed to restore his sanity.

L
ydia couldn’t explain what drew her into the shadowy hallway long past midnight. She couldn’t sleep. Her mind swirled with too many questions and too few answers.

Rhys had been the perfect gentleman that evening. Too perfect. She found herself irritated with him for reasons she couldn’t explain and more fascinated with him than she cared to admit.

He’d kept his promise to help her learn what her books couldn’t teach her. He’d escorted her into dinner, murmuring near her ear that it was considered ill-bred to wait until everyone was served as she had the night before. Rather she was expected to begin eating as soon as food was placed before her. She’d somehow missed that little caveat.

Her family always waited until everyone was served. Maybe because they put their own food on their plates and passed the pots and bowls around the table.

Although Rhys had conversed openly with her stepfather more than he had anyone else, Rhys and she had engaged in a silent conversation during the entire meal. The challenge had been to discreetly convey her messages only to him, in a way that no one else would notice. A dropping of her gaze to her plate, the arching of her brow in question. His nods were indiscernible to everyone except her. She’d never found herself so attuned to someone else’s thoughts or moods.

Especially when they kissed. She answered every stroke of his tongue, each movement of his lips. He guided her without words. Yet she never doubted the direction in which he wished to travel, was never bored with the journey.

He represented everything she’d ever dreamed of acquiring.

Handsome. So handsome that she’d be content to look at him for the remainder of her life.

Kind. Hadn’t he demonstrated that by inviting her stepfather there against the Duchess’s wishes?

Generous. He’d given Colton the Duke’s watch, a family heirloom, something he no doubt could have passed on to his own son.

A gentleman. His manners were impeccable. Even when they were alone, she didn’t consider his kisses as taking advantage. By the bridge, he’d warned her off. She simply hadn’t wanted to heed the warning.

Respectable. Unlike her stepfather, he hadn’t been sent away because of scandal.

He was lord of the manor. How easily she thought he could become lord of her heart.

Yet he seemed as quick to retreat as he was to advance. One moment willing to teach her, the next obviously wishing he hadn’t agreed to any such thing.

She had little doubt he had a great deal on his mind because of his father’s failing health. The responsibilities regarding the management of the estates fell to Rhys. A part of her felt selfish for asking him to devote any time to her at all, but she so enjoyed his company when he wasn’t being irascible.

Earlier, just as he had last night, he’d left her in the library to read to the younger servants, while he’d gone to visit with his father. This time, her stepfather hadn’t joined him. She didn’t know whether Rhys was still there.

She’d been listening for the opening of a door, the tread of dignified footsteps. But she’d heard nothing except the steady pounding of her heart.

He might have left this wing before she’d ever retired upstairs. Or he might still be in this portion of the house.

Taking a deep breath, she knocked softly on the Duke’s bedchamber door. She heard the hushed sounds of someone trying to walk without disturbing anyone, and wondered briefly what she’d do if the Duchess were inside.

Rhys opened the door slightly. Behind him, pale light flickered and the shadows danced. He stared at her as though he couldn’t quite comprehend what she was doing there.

She wasn’t certain she could have answered that question had he asked. She only knew he appeared weary. At some point, he’d untied his cravat, but it still hung around his neck. He’d removed his jacket. Three buttons on his shirt were undone, providing her with the barest glimpse of his chest. She supposed a true English lady would have been shocked. But she’d worked in the fields beside men who often took off their shirts
when the sun beat down unmercifully.

She licked her lips, and he immediately dropped his gaze to her mouth. She would have smiled if the occasion weren’t so somber.

“Are you alone in there?” she whispered.

His dark eyebrows drew together until they resembled the wings of a raven. “My father is inside.”

“Of course, I knew that. I meant anyone else? In particular, the Duchess?”

A corner of his mouth quirked upward. “No. It has been some years since my mother has been in the habit of visiting my father’s bedchamber during the evenings.”

Embarrassment caused her to blush, as she realized exactly what he was revealing. It seemed intimate, in a way a violation of the privacy one would expect in marriage.

“Is he awake?” she asked.

“No.”

“Would you like some company?”

His eyebrows shot upward, almost becoming lost in the heavy, dark strands of hair that had fallen over his forehead. “This is hardly teatime, Lydia.”

“I know. But whenever we were sick and Mama would sit beside the bed taking care of us, Papa was always there as well. More to offer support to Mama than anything else. I thought since you don’t have a wife to share your sorrow, perhaps you’d settle for my company.”

“You fancy yourself an angel of mercy then?”

“I fancy myself a friend.”

Regret washed over his face. “I apologize. I am indeed going quite mad listening to nothing but the ticking of the clock and the crackling of the fire. By all
means, join me.”

Stepping back, he opened the door wider and swept his hand to the side in invitation. She eased inside, acutely aware of the clicking of the door as he closed it. He moved past her, and she watched in fascination, as he hefted a chair and placed it beside another one that was situated near the head of the bed. She took pleasure in the rippling of his shirt as his muscles bunched and relaxed with his efforts.

With a slight tipping of his head, he indicated the chair he’d just placed beside his. As quietly as she could, she glided farther into the room and sat. He dropped down beside her.

A fire burned low within the fireplace, providing the only light in the room. Darkness hovered in the corners, threatened the large canopied bed. Its thick velvet curtains were drawn back, tied in place with golden corded tassels. The posts on the bed were massive, intricately carved, and she wondered briefly if Rhys had been conceived there. If her own stepfather had been.

“Who watches him when you’re not here?” she whispered.

“A nurse is sleeping in the adjoining room. She’ll move in to sit at his bedside when I’m of a mind to retire. With his frail health, we dare not leave him unattended.”

His low voice didn’t carry the rasping of a whisper. It didn’t hint at the sharing of secrets. Yet it managed to weave a cocoon of intimacy around them, caused her to lean toward him.

“You left him alone last night,” she reminded him.

“Yes, well, I think we can both attest to the fact that I was not behaving as I should.”

She knew he was referring to his misbehavior going
far beyond simply leaving his father with no one to watch over him, but she thought it wise to divert the conversation back on to safer ground.

“Your father was asleep when Papa brought us in to introduce us. Does he ever wake up?”

He held her gaze. “Seldom. He sleeps more deeply now.”

“It’s very generous of you to allow everyone else to visit during the day and to save your visits for night.”

He gave her a wry grin. “You flatter me with false assumptions. I have many responsibilities in regard to Harrington and Blackhurst. They are best handled during the daylight hours.”

She felt like a little girl chastised for sticking her hand in the cookie jar before dinner. She didn’t know why he tossed all her compliments back into her face. It was as though he had no desire for anyone to recognize the goodness in him. Perhaps he wasn’t aware of it himself.

She shifted her gaze to the man lying on the bed. The shallow rising and falling of his chest were the only indications that he remained with them. His hair—fine, snowy-white strands brushed back off his brow—looked as though it had recently been washed. Responsibilities she could not imagine had carved deep lines within his face. She wondered if they would do the same to Rhys.

Yet she sensed peacefulness had come to the Duke. She would have liked to have known him, this man who’d had such a profound influence on her life. He had sired Grayson Rhodes, raised him, and then sent him away. And in the sending, he’d provided her with a father to replace her own.

“What color are his eyes?” she asked quietly.

“The shade of pewter.”

She shifted her gaze to Rhys and smiled softly. “Like yours?”

“They hold much more wisdom.”

“You admire him.”

“Of course. He’s accomplished a good deal in his lifetime.”

“You’re close, then?”

“Hardly.”

She was taken aback by the bitterness she heard reflected in his voice. “But you were raised here—”

“You were correct this afternoon when you stated that within English law a bastard has no rights, no claims, and no family except the mother who bore him. But within this household, my father’s legitimate sons had little hold on him. He thought Grayson walked on water. My mother believed Quentin did.”

“And you?” she prodded gently.

She watched his throat work as he swallowed, his jaw tightening.

“I oftentimes floundered.”

Reaching out, she wrapped her hand around his. “I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want your pity. I long ago accepted my place within their hearts. I have settled for scraps for so long, I fear a feast would no doubt make me ill.”

She tried to make sense of his words, to decipher his meaning. Was he referring to love? That he neither wanted nor needed it?

“I can’t imagine how difficult it would be to feel like you were less favored than one of your brothers. My parents have always loved us all equally.”

“You do not think Grayson loves Colton, a child he sired, a child who carries his blood within his veins,
more than he loves you?”

“I know he doesn’t.”

“You are naïve.” He averted his gaze to the bed. She fought her urge to punch him in the shoulder.

“You’re cynical,” she tossed at him before removing her hand from his.

“I am a student of life. Love is overrated.”

“Spoken by one who has obviously never experienced it fully.”

He jerked his head around, his gaze as hard as flint. This conversation wasn’t going at all as she’d imagined. She’d hoped to console and comfort him. Instead she had a strong inclination to shake some sense into him and self-pity out of him.

He leaned casually back in his chair and studied her insolently. “You know of the love between a parent and a child. What of the love between a man and a woman?”

“What about it?”

“Have you ever experienced it?”

She shrugged, trying to keep her temper in place. “There have been boys I’ve
liked
, men whose company I’ve
enjoyed
. But no, there’s never been anyone I couldn’t live without.”

“In my world, it is better to settle for someone you can live
with
.”

“Like your mother and father did,” she shot back. “Settling for each other when the love of his life was someone else.”

“Exactly,” he answered smugly.

All her irritation vanished, and sadness swept over her. “It must have been a lonely existence for them both, don’t you think?”

“That is the nature of a marriage of convenience.”

“And that’s what theirs was.”

“Most marriages among the aristocracy are such.”

She hadn’t taken into consideration that unflattering aspect to marrying a peer. As much as she’d thought she wanted to marry a man with a title, she’d always assumed she’d meet a man who had the power to sweep her off her feet and entice her into falling head over heels in love with him—and having him feel the same way about her.

“There are some who marry for love, though, aren’t there?” she asked.

“None I know of, although I must confess to my acquaintances being few.”

“Lauren’s stepfather is an earl. He married her mother, because he loved her,” she said, pointing out what she hoped wasn’t the only exception to his rule.

“A rare occurrence, I assure you.”

“How sad,” she murmured.

She’d always thought it unfair that her stepfather hadn’t been considered part of the aristocracy, but now she had to wonder if perhaps the Duke had done him a great service by not marrying the actress. The Duke had left his illegitimate son free to marry a woman based on his love for her and hers for him.

“Don’t distress yourself over it,” Rhys said. “Those of the aristocracy know well their roles in society.”

“I’m not distressed. I just…” She was incredibly tempted to raise her feet to the chair, tuck her legs beneath her, and settle in to tell him all the things she truly wanted in a husband. Love, of course, but respectability as well.

“Believe marriage should be based on love,” he finished for her.

“Yes, well, no. I mean, based on love, yes, but not only on love.”

“How like a woman not to be content with the jewel but to insist it be surrounded by gold as well.”

She scowled at him. “I don’t think respectability in addition to love is too much to ask.”

He quirked a brow. “Respectability?”

She hesitated. She’d never shared this secret with anyone, not even Lauren. It resided in her heart, a part of her that she didn’t particularly relish revealing. Yet surely a man such as he was, a man who understood honor, who would place the welfare of his dynasty over the comfort of his heart, would understand.

“If I confide something to you, will you promise never to tell a soul?”

“Who would I tell?”

She darted a glance toward the man lying on the bed. His even breathing was still shallow; his eyes were closed. She looked back at Rhys.

“I love my stepfather.”

“That is quite apparent.”

She took a deep breath. “Do you know the story of his marriage to my mother?”