The Perfect Scandal (13 page)

D
ESPITE STAYING UP
well past the hour of sleep, Lord Moreland's windows on the other side of the square had remained black as pitch all evening. Oddly, he hadn't returned after leaving uncivilly early in the morning. Unless she had somehow missed the return of his carriage.

Her concern for him had induced her to actually sit by the window most of the day and well into the night, hoping all was well. Exhausted, Zosia drew the curtains shut, ensuring she didn't yank them off the rod again, and veered her wicker chair away from the window. With several pushes of the large spoke wheels, she rolled toward the bed and kicked out her bare foot to stop herself beside it. Leaning far forward, she yanked back the plush coverlet and smoothed the linen beneath it.

Wheeling herself closer to the side table, she hoisted herself up onto her leg, hopped a turn away from her chair and leaned against the upper end of the mattress. Leaning back, she gathered up her nightdress from around her foot, swung up her leg and rolled herself onto the mattress, plopping herself onto it.

Gathering up the coverlet and pulling it up, she leaned toward the side table and blew out the lone candle lighting the room. Everything disappeared into a curling wisp of darkness.

She snuggled against the pillow, turning once,
then twice, as she always did before settling in, and closed her eyes. As time passed and passed, and she drifted ever so slowly toward the outskirts of sleep, she sensed her bedchamber door creaking open. She opened her eyes and blinked against the fuzzy darkness.

Had she imagined it?

A click within the lock met her ears, as if someone had turned the key from inside the room. Zosia bolted up in bed, eyes wide, and snapped toward the sound, but could only make out shadows pressing against shadows. “Mrs. Wade?”

“No,” a deep voice provided with faint amusement from somewhere beside the door. “'Tis me. Moreland. Forgive the intrusion.”

Her eyes widened and for a moment, she couldn't move, let alone find her voice. Moreland was in her house? And in her room?

The floorboards creaked against the weight of boots and she could sense his presence drawing closer. The crisp scent of leather tinged with cardamom drifted toward her, and she knew he was standing beside her bed.

She tightened her hold on the linens as panicked breaths escaped her lips. “Lord Moreland?”

“Yes?” His voice was soft and alluring.

She swallowed. “Is that really you?”

He hesitated. “Were you hoping for someone else?”

She was not going to swoon. She wasn't. She wasn't, she wasn't, she wasn't. “No…I…however did you get in?”

“Getting in was simple enough,” he casually provided from within the darkness. “Dealing with your servants, on the other hand, was not. Hang me for trying, but what a bloody mess. One of my footmen got assaulted, so we had to rope up every last one of your servants. I can only apologize for that.”

Zosia choked, gawking in the direction of his voice. “You roped up all of my servants?”

“It's only temporary. Until we get out.”

“Out?” she echoed.

“Yes.” He cleared his throat. “I was hoping you could join me for a coach ride. 'Tis a pleasant evening. Not a cloud in the sky. Would you honor me?”

She squinted at the darkness, wishing she could see him, but the shadows all blurred into each other. “A coach ride?”

“Yes.”

“Now?”

“Yes. Now.”

She shook her head and kept shaking it. “No. Absolutely not. Setting aside this rancid business of you stealing into my home and tying up my servants—
who had every right to assault your footman
for trespassing
—we are not even engaged, and as such, I cannot and will not permit any of this. Now, leave.”

“Whatever do you mean we aren't engaged?” A tender playfulness emerged in that low tone. “We
are
engaged.”

She inhaled sharply, wishing she could look into his eyes and get him to say it again. “Since when?”

“Since now.”

She huffed out an agitated breath. This was
not
how she envisioned him proposing. “I worry about your overall lack of thought in this.”

He leaned against the edge of the mattress, toward her, the outline of his broad frame barely visible. “I beg for your forgiveness in being smitten beyond my control.”

She rolled her eyes. “I suggest you cease being a court jester and return tomorrow afternoon during more respectable calling hours. Try to put more civil effort into this, will you? Bring me a pretty bouquet. I prefer violets, not ropes.” She waved toward wherever his voice was coming from. “Now, go. And untie all of my servants on your way out or I will inform His Majesty of this nonsense and you will never see me again.”

A throaty laugh escaped him. “I will ensure you get those violets. But I am not leaving.” He patted the
mattress beside her, then hopped onto her bed with a thud.

She gasped and yanked the coverlet up to her chin, as if that would somehow protect her from whatever he had in mind. “
Co ty
…what are you doing?” she amended in English.

“Sitting on your bed. Why?”

She snorted. “Will you cease being so nonchalant? We are not sitting on a chaise in the parlor. Now, remove yourself from my bed at once!”

He snorted right back at her. “I don't intend to ravage you.” He tauntingly lowered his voice. “Not yet, anyway. I was hoping we could talk. Might we?”

“Talk? In the dark? And in my bed? What is amiss with you? Are you bright in the eye?”

“Of course not. I only had one glass of brandy before crossing the square.”

“That glass must have been the size of a barrel. For you are not behaving like the Lord Moreland I like and know. Lord Moreland would never tie up my servants so he could crawl into my bed and…
talk
.”

“Perhaps the Lord Moreland you think you know isn't the Lord Moreland you deserve to know.” He settled closer, shifting the pillows around them. He behaved as if it were the most natural thing in the world for a man to climb into the bed of a woman he wasn't married to and arrange all of her pillows.
He hesitated. “You don't sleep in the nude, do you? You aren't…nude right now, are you?”

Her cheeks burned, and despite the tremble overtaking her hands, she somehow managed to keep her voice steady. “No. I do not sleep in the nude. I always sleep in a nightdress.”

He feigned a laugh. “A pity. I was envisioning something far more exciting for myself.”

She offered her own mock laugh. “'Tis obvious what you were envisioning, and I assure you, I require matrimony first. One does not slaughter the cow before collecting the milk. Now, remove yourself from this bed and from this house before I—”

“For God's sake, Zosia. I am
not
here to ravage you. I came here to discuss a very serious matter with you.”

“Return during calling hours, my lord. Not sleeping hours.”

He shifted toward her, his agitation pulsing toward her in the darkness. “Would you prefer I stand in the farthest corner of the room and turn myself toward the wall? I can do that if it will appease your damn virginal propriety.”

Zosia jerked toward him, her brows coming together. He actually did want to talk? Now? Like this? This couldn't be happening. Or could it? She poked his shadowed but very solid shoulder with a finger. “Are you even here?”

He blew out a breath and leaned closer, the heat of his body now unnervingly close. “Zosia. Since I last saw you, I have uncovered an astounding amount about your life. I am still trying to grasp everything I have learned. 'Tis an involved history your own mother has kept from you since birth. One you deserve to know. Now, before I say anything more, did you ever suspect something was amiss? Did you ever suspect that perhaps your mother may have been hiding something from you? Something important? Like who your father was?”

Zosia snapped back her hand in disbelief and hesitantly touched the locket around her throat. Her fingers gripped the locket, the metallic smooth edge pinching into her skin, as a voice within her soul whispered that what she had known all along, but had refused to accept, was in fact true. Her best friend in all matters, her own dear mother, who had seen her through everything with the brightest of smiles and intelligence, had hidden something very important from her.

Zosia had always known the locket was part of a secret. It was an empty locket her mother had always worn, its portraits long stripped. Her mother had refused to reveal its history, though in time she had admitted that it had been a gift from Zosia's father. Despite that admittance, her mother never did disclose anything more on the matter. She had asked to
die with his name buried within her soul, claiming it was shame enough to have ever loved him. It was something Zosia had never understood.

Her stomach squeezed. “Are you saying you know who my father is?”

A large hand gently touched her thigh. “I know that and more.”

She pinched her eyes shut, her shaky fingers digging into the hard edges of the locket, and willed herself not to succumb to years of pent-up emotion. Somehow, he had uncovered the greatest secret of her life.

She reopened her eyes. “Tell me. Please tell me. I have been wanting to know all of my life.”

“I will tell you,” he whispered, drawing away his hand. “But not right now and not like this. There is far too much to tell and time we do not have. I came here to offer you far more than your own history, Zosia. I want to be with you and protect you and assist you in all matters, including voicing your concerns for your people. It is my hope that by offering you all of this you might…marry me.”

Zosia drew in a tremulous breath and smoothed the linen around her waist, all too aware of how close he really was. She didn't realize anyone could ever be
this
intent on overseeing all of her wants, needs and dreams. She had learned to repeatedly climb over others to reach her own desires. It was beyond
endearing to know she was not alone anymore and that someone not only cared for her but sought to watch out for all of her needs.

Angling herself toward him, she let out a breath and strategically offered, “Propose in a gentlemanly manner and I will accept, momentarily disregarding that you tied up my servants and crawled into my bed.”

He leaned toward her, his shoulder grazing hers. “Are you giving me permission to propose?”

“Yes. You may, in fact, propose.”

He leaned in even closer. “I
propose
we remove your nightdress.”

Zosia gasped and hit the muscled shoulder closest to her all the same. Hard. “I
knew
it would come to this!”

He let out a gruff laugh, his large, leather-gloved hand grabbing not only her fist, which had swung out at him, but the side of her thigh hidden beneath the coverlet. “I wasn't going to insist.”

She froze, realizing her wrist and thigh were still in his full possession. The frantic thudding of her heart made it almost unbearable for her to breathe. She swallowed, knowing if they stayed in this position it would progress into far more than she was willing to entertain.

She pried her wrist from his grasp and pushed off
his hand. “Try it again. Only without slaughtering the cow.”

“I will try. Don't move.”

She froze.

He leaned in, placing his hand back onto her outer thigh, and ever so slowly, he slid it up past her hip, toward the waist of her nightdress. “Marry me, Zosia,” he murmured against her cheek. “Have me. I do not wish to know a life without you and it is my hope you feel the same about me.”

A strange fluttering overtook her stomach as he slipped his other hand around her shoulder and pressed her against the heat of his muscled frame. She felt the room sway in the darkness, his solid warmth pressing harder against her. She held her breath, anticipating lips, but…he didn't kiss her.

His hand trailed up toward her breast, grazing her nipple, making her suck in a sharp breath. But his fingers did not rest there. Cool, gloved fingertips brushed up past her throat, before cupping her face gently.

He turned her face up toward the fuzzy outline of his own face, which she wished she could fully see. “Your life is about to change,” he whispered down at her. The tantalizing movement of every breath escaping his lips feathered hers. “But I promise, by the blood of all that I am, it will be for the better. I will
ensure you have everything you could ever want or need.”

She melted against him and wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders, feeling more adored than she ever thought possible. “I feel as if I have been pushing you toward me against your own will from the very first moment we met. Are you certain this is what you want? Forever is a very long time.”

“Forever will ensure we do it all,” he murmured, his fingers skimming the curve of her throat. “Including properly fall in love.”

She swallowed against the hot ache growing within her throat as his fingers wandered toward her mother's locket. She had always wanted to fall in love. To truly fall in love with a real man, as opposed to a man who simply did not exist.

“Can I kiss you?” he whispered.

She could barely breathe. “Yes.”

His fingers dug into her and his weight pressed her harder against the mattress beneath her. His shadowed face lowered and warm, soft lips brushed against her own, causing her heart to skitter.

After a lingering, heart-pounding moment, he pressed his mouth harder against hers, his tongue sliding between her lips and forcing them open. The tantalizing zing of spiced brandy transferred from his tongue to hers as he deepened their kiss, erotically probing her tongue, her teeth and the roof of
her mouth. The taste of him magically awakened not only her body but her soul, making her want him so much more.