Love With a Scandalous Lord (20 page)

He pressed his mouth to the heart of her womanhood. His tongue stroked, velvet against silk, igniting the flames. She ran her feet up his thighs, buried her fingers in his hair.

“Rhys.” His name on her lips was a sweet benediction, whispered over and over.

His mouth worked its magic, his tongue swirling, stroking, thrusting. He skimmed his hands up her body
until his fingers were taunting her nipples and her spine curved upward.

The tension mounted, the sensations grew. She turned her head to the side and stuffed the corner of the pillow in her mouth to muffle her screams, as he propelled her into a realm where nothing existed beyond the pleasure.

She came to herself vaguely aware of the tears on her face, and his cheek pressed against her stomach. She looked down at his dark head.

“As beautiful as that was, Rhys, I feel empty without you filling me.”

He lifted his gaze to hers. “I won’t risk getting you with child.”

She saw no point in reminding him that she might already be. He eased off the bed.

“Don’t leave me yet,” she ordered.

He hesitated before lying beside her and drawing her into his arms.

“Why are you so willing to give, but not to take?” she asked.

His answer was only silence and the tightening of his arms around her.

R
hys stood in Lady Sachse’s cluttered drawing room awaiting her arrival. That she was willing to receive him was a promising sign. That she’d left him waiting for nearly an hour didn’t bode well for the meeting.

Swallowing his pride had left a bitter taste in his mouth, but for Lydia’s happiness he would endure all sorts of unpleasantness. That he’d been unable to resist pleasuring her again was unconscionable. He still did not remotely believe marriage was an option for them. Even if he could initially offer her the glitter of London, with him at her side it would soon lose its sheen. Of that he was utterly convinced.

“Well, well, well, I certainly never expected to welcome you into my home after our last parting,” Camilla said, as she swept into the room.

She approached him with her hand held out, fully
expecting what he would unwillingly give. He took her offering and kissed the back of her hand.

She spun away from him. “The news is that the Duke passed away. Not that I’m sorry to hear it, since you no doubt benefit immensely from his passing.” She glanced over her shoulder at him. “You wear the rank well.”

“It is not yet a comfortable fit,” he contradicted her.

She faced him. “Rumor also has it that you’re serving as benefactor for the old Duke’s bastard’s daughter.”

“She is Grayson’s
step
daughter.”

She arched a thin brow. “Then it is true.” She sat regally in a chair and glanced up at him. “Why would you make such a generous offer?”

“Why would I not?”

She ran her hand over her skirt. “I was at Huntingdon’s ball. It did not go well for the girl.”

“Her lack of success is the very reason I am here.”

She smiled, as though he’d simply confirmed what she’d suspected. “You need me again, Rhys. How that must gall you.”

Indeed it did, but he kept his facial features as blank as possible.

“Ravenleigh has influence. His wife not as much—being American,” he said.

Her smile broadened. “There is something to be said for true British blood running in one’s veins.”

“You have influence, Camilla.”

“Indeed I do.”

“I wish for her to meet with more success when she attends her next ball—”

“She must first be invited.”

“Which you can arrange.”

“Without a doubt. But what of me, Rhys?” She rose and began to pace. “They’ve finally managed to determine who is to be heir to Sachse. It seems I was not the only one incapable of breeding, and those in the family who did succeed have for the most part produced only girls. After much effort they tracked down some distant male cousin, and according to the solicitor, the heir was hesitant to leave his studies. He is a lad in short pants who will have a guardian, who no doubt will not favor me.”

Her agitation increased with each sentence uttered. “I will be moved into the small dower house. God knows what they’ll determine is an adequate allowance. My husband, may he rest in hell, did not leave a will with any stipulations regarding me. I am at the mercy of the new Earl who is due to arrive at any moment.”

She spun around and faced him. “What of me, Rhys? How do I benefit if I see that this girl is accepted?”

“You will become my duchess.”

That she had hoped for such an announcement, he had little doubt. That it still took her by surprise was evident by her open mouth and her slowly sinking into the chair.

“Do you mean it?” she asked hesitantly.

“Have you ever known me to speak falsely?”

She shook her head slightly, and he could fairly see the possibilities spinning in her mind. “It is not enough that you have given her your endorsement. You must attend the next ball as well. The title carries weight to be sure, but not as much as the man who wears it.”

“I’m in mourning.”

“If you were a woman, it would be unacceptable. As a man, you will garner a few frowns, but everyone is
exceedingly curious to meet the new Duke of Harrington. I believe you’ll be forgiven for your breach of etiquette. We can announce our engagement at that time.”

He wasn’t certain which he dreaded more: attending the damnable ball or having his engagement to Camilla cut in stone.

“If that’s what you wish.”

She laughed lightly. “Oh, that’s definitely what I wish, Rhys. As for our wedding—”

“The specifics on that will wait until Lydia has been satisfactorily situated. I’ll not be distracted from my purpose where she is concerned.”

“Which is?”

“To find her a suitable husband among the aristocracy.”

“You care for her.”

It was issued as a statement, not a question, one he found rather irritating.

“She is delightful,” he admitted. “That aside, I simply wish to see her happy.”

“Then why not marry her yourself?”

He bestowed upon her a pointed glare that indicated he thought she was an idiot for even asking.

“You fear your sins will be uncovered. My ladies wish to keep their secrets as much as you do.”

“We shall hope that is the case. Regardless, I am not willing to risk hurting her.”

“Whereas I cannot be hurt.”

“You know going in
what
you are marrying.” He wasn’t referring to the title, and well she knew it. “You’ll overlook it to gain a title. I think she wants so much more.”
She deserves so much more
.

“Then we shall see that she gets it.”

He shifted his attention to the doorway where the but
ler had just entered. Camilla leaned to the side of the chair and glanced back over her shoulder. “Yes, Matthews?”

“His Lordship has arrived.”

Rhys had never seen Camilla grow as pale as she did now. For all the cold armor she wore, he sometimes suspected she wasn’t as strong as she seemed.

“You mean the Earl of Sachse?” she croaked.

“Yes, my lady.”

She rose unsteadily to her feet. “Then by all means, show him in.”

Rhys wasn’t certain what compelled him to move forward and squeeze her hand. She gave him what looked to be a terribly forced smile.

“Perhaps they’ll appoint me his guardian, and then I can have everything,” she said.

“My lady, the Earl of Sachse.”

Rhys looked toward the doorway and decided that the Earl didn’t need a guardian, and if the way Camilla’s fingers were closing tightly around his were any indication, she’d reached the same conclusion.

“My lord?”

The tall, well-tailored man bowed slightly. His brown hair, unfashionably long, fell across his brow. “Lady Sachse.”

“Please, do come farther into the room so we needn’t shout.”

He walked into the room, glancing around as though feeling quite lost. When he was near enough, Camilla said, “Your Grace, my I have the honor of presenting…”

Obviously she’d paid little attention to the heir’s name when she’d received notification that he’d been located. How typical of her.

Sachse blushed. “Archie Warner, Your Grace.”

“His Grace is the Duke of Harrington,” Camilla explained. “My betrothed.”

Rhys shuddered as though she’d just applied the chisel to the stone in order to begin carving what could not be changed. Sachse looked completely delighted.

“Well, congratulations are in order to be sure! I had no earthly idea!”

“At this point in time, no one does,” Rhys hastened to assure him. “We have yet to make a formal announcement, and until we do, I would prefer that we keep the news to ourselves.”

“Of course, Your Grace,” Sachse said. “That goes without saying. I have never been one for idle gossip.”

“Then we are of a like mind, Sachse.” Rhys found himself taking an instant liking to the man.

“I would have waited to discuss Rhys’s suit with you, my lord,” Camilla said, “but I was under the impression you were still a boy in school when I was told you did not wish to leave your studies.”

He laughed. “My studies? I’m a teacher up north.”

“A scholar then.”

“Indeed.”

She swept her hand to the side. “Shall we all sit?”

“I would be honored to join you,” Rhys said, “but I’m certain you and the Earl have pressing matters to discuss, and I do not wish to intrude—”

“It would be no intrusion, Your Grace,” Camilla said.

“Then let me simply confess that I cannot stay for I have guests who require my attention.”

She smiled falsely. “Of course. Allow me to walk you out. If you’ll excuse me, my lord?”

“Oh, indeed. Do not mind me.” He strolled over to a
table where a book rested—as decoration only, Rhys was certain—and turned back the cover.

Rhys walked from the room with Camilla following close enough behind him to have stepped on his heels a number of times.

“Coward!” she spat once they were in the hallway.

He grinned. “You’ll have him wrapped around your little finger before the day is done. You don’t need my assistance.”

“He is not at all what I expected.”

“Not a callow lad, that’s for certain. I should imagine he won’t have any trouble at all finding a suitable lady in London. Perhaps you should have waited to become
betrothed
.”

She angled her head haughtily. “Don’t be ludicrous. Settle for an earl when I can have a duke? Not if my life depended on it.” She patted his arm. “Be sure to look overjoyed when you announce our betrothal.”

She left him then to make his own way to the door. His life was a maze of regrets, but if he could see that Lydia was happy, he thought he could forgive himself almost anything.

“You should have seen it, Lyd. There was blood everywhere and people were hollerin’. You could tell from looking at ’em.” Colton scrunched up his face, wrapped his hands around his throat, stuck out his tongue, and made choking noises.

Sitting in the front parlor of Rhys’s home, Lydia tried to look appropriately horrified. Snuggled on her lap, Sabrina squealed and buried her face against Lydia’s chest.

“Colton, behave,” her stepfather chastised. “The
whole point behind having those particular wax figures in a separate room is to spare the ladies’ sensibilities.”

“Thank goodness for that,” her mother said with a shudder. “I’ve heard enough from Colton to squelch any desire I might have had to see what was inside that room.”

Colton puffed out his chest with pride. “Only me, and Pa, and William got to go into the Chamber of Horrors. You would have liked seeing what Madame Tussaud did, Lyd.”

While her curiosity was piqued, she decided if she did visit the exhibit, she’d pass by that particular room without peering inside.

“You took William with you?” she asked.

“Sure did. Uncle Rhys said it was okay if he went with us.”

Her stepfather cleared his throat. “Colton, I’ve explained about how you are to address—”

“Uncle Rhys don’t care if I call him uncle.” He gave Rhys a pointed stare. “Do you?”

Rhys sat in a chair that made him appear to be an outsider looking in.

“Not at all,” he remarked.

Pleased with the answer he’d been given, Colton beamed his smile around the room. “Honestly, you shoulda been there, Lyd,” he reiterated.

“I can visit with you anytime, but not with my cousin. I had an enjoyable time shopping with Lauren this afternoon, thank you very much. No blood, no gore.”

“Shopping. Boring.” Colton flung himself back in the chair.

“I liked the animals in the zoological gardens,” Sabrina said, sitting straighter, as it became evident that
Colton’s time as the center of attraction had drawn to a close.

Lydia tugged on Sabrina’s braid and smiled. “Did you?”

She nodded enthusiastically. “I saw an elephant and a lion and a—”

Lydia touched her finger to Sabrina’s mouth knowing her sister had an impressive memory and would no doubt list every animal she’d seen and then some. “Why don’t you draw me pictures of all the different animals you saw?”

She wrinkled her nose. “I wish you’d go places with us. We’ve seen all kinds of things, and you missed every one of them.”

“I’ve seen lots of things, too. I’ve just seen different things.”

“Why can’t you go with us?”

“It’s difficult to explain,” she told her sister.

“Are you still studying for that test you were telling me about?”

Trust Sabrina to remember things said that were better forgotten. “I simply enjoy shopping for clothes more than I like looking at animals.”

“I think we’ve seen just about everything there is to see in London,” her mother said. “I’m so glad you’ve had your dream of attending a ball in London. I’m more than ready to return home.”

Lydia shot her gaze at Rhys. Her dream wasn’t to attend a ball. It was to have a successful Season. To live a life beyond that into which she’d been born.

Obviously aware of her trepidation, Rhys eased up in his chair. “I thought we’d agreed Lydia would enjoy the remainder of the Season.”

Her mother darted a glance at her stepfather before
settling her attention on Rhys. “You’d mentioned finding Lydia a husband. She assured me that she wasn’t interested.” She looked at Lydia. “I thought you were going to explain—”

“I want a Season, Mama. Not necessarily a husband. Although if I find one, I won’t be disappointed.”

“Lyd, are you gonna get married?” Sabrina asked. “Is that the test?”

“Colton, take Sabrina to the kitchen for some cookies,” her mother ordered.

Sabrina slid off Lydia’s lap, patted her hand, leaned close, and whispered, “You’ll pass the test, Lyd. I know you will.” Then she followed Colton out of the room.

Her mother rose to her feet and began to pace, more agitated than Lydia had ever seen her. Her stepfather simply sat as still as stone and studied Lydia.

“How long is a Season?” her mother asked.

“It’ll last through July,” Lydia supplied.

“That’s almost two more months. You can’t possibly expect us to stay when we’ve already been gone for over a month. I know Johnny and Micah are capable of handling the businesses, but it was never our intent when we left to stay away for such a long time.”

“You can go home, Mama. Simply leave me here.”

Looking frightened, her mother sank onto the sofa and took Lydia’s hand. “I don’t believe I can do that. Go home and leave you here? You’re my little girl, Lydia.”