A Most Scandalous Proposal (19 page)

“Not wholly, no, but why make it worse?”

“Because you insist on making a fool of yourself over a man who does not deserve you.”

“How dare you!”

“I dare because I know exactly what sort of man Ludlowe is.” Only a slight flush on his cheeks, a reddening that caused his scar to stand out in greater contrast against his skin, betrayed his anger. “With or without his title, you were always far, far above him. Why you should wish to sully yourself—”

“Sully?” She fought to keep her voice from shaking. “But I suppose it’s nothing for my sister.”

He slid his hand from her wrist to grip above her elbow. A streak of heat coursed along her skin in its wake. “Your sister is not my concern. Your sister can hold her own against the likes of William Ludlowe, because she has no affection for him, while you—”

“While I what?”

“You are far too besotted for your own good. But I intend to remedy that.”

R
UFUS
settled his back against the squabs as his barouche inched along Mayfair’s crowded streets. Her shoulders set, Sophia sat opposite him, staring resolutely out the
window. Beneath that calm façade, she was seething. Her shallow breaths and clenched fists gave her away, but more than that, Rufus knew from experience the bitterness of betrayal.

He cleared his throat. She flinched in response, but kept her eyes trained on the parade of opulent conveyances and even more opulent town houses outside.

“He would never have been faithful, you know.”

There, that got her attention. Her eyes, shadowed to a dull gray in the darkness of the carriage, snapped to his. “I’ve no idea to whom you are referring, my lord.”

“Why, Ludlowe, of course.” He stretched his legs and waited for her explosion.

“He is called Clivesden now, I believe. And if I might ask, what do you know of it?”

He pursed his lips. He’d expected fire, not frost. “I know plenty about him. Plenty that you do not.”

Her right shoulder jerked upward, and she turned her gaze back to the window. “Lies, rumor and gossip, no doubt.”

“Do I strike you, madam, as the sort to bandy gossip about?”

Her gaze returned to his, and her bosom expanded as she took a breath. Just as quickly, she released it, and he knew. She’d puffed herself up for a bald-faced lie, a lie that, in the end, she’d been unable to force past her lips.

“No.” The whispered word floated to his ear, barely detectable.

She held her fingers laced together in her lap, the arc of her arms forming a protective wall around her—not about to let anything escape, no anger, no hurt and most certainly no tears. And yet all that and more had to be roiling inside her, longing for escape. He recalled the pain all too well.

“Sophia.” He said her name gently, as it was meant to be pronounced, a soft whisper of a name. The eyes she
raised to his shimmered with tears. “Sophia, let it out. There’s no one here to see.”

She swallowed before replying. “No one but you.”

“And I shall never tell. Your broken heart is safe in my hands. I know exactly how you feel.”

“You do?” she choked out. A lone tear escaped the corner of her eye and traced its way along the contour of her cheek.

“Shall I tell you?”

Her face contorted, her chin crumpled, and her mouth stretched into a grimace. She buried the expression in her hands. His heart turned over to witness such pain.

Easing himself to the seat beside her, he pulled her into an embrace. One hand behind her head, he pressed her face into his chest. Let his eveningwear absorb her piteous sobs.

“How could he?” she gasped. “How could he offer for my sister over me? I loved him.”

“He doesn’t deserve it, not from you, not from your sister, not from any woman.”

He let the motion of the carriage rock them both. He was not worried about arriving at her address in Boulton Row any time soon—he’d instructed his driver to circle the streets of Mayfair until further notice. So much remained to tell Sophia.

She burrowed into his embrace, and he inhaled her scent of roses and woman. Desire unfurled an insistent coil deep in his gut, but he fought to ignore it. After so many years of living alone, he was long used to its unrequited thrum.

The last thing Sophia needed was to fend off his advances. What she needed was his presence, his arms about her, a protected, private oasis where she could spill out her hurt in safety away from curious glances and impertinent questions.

Empathy tugged at his heart, stronger than the pull of
awakening desire. He followed where it led and brushed his lips to her hairline. Fine wisps of blond hair tickled his nose.

She stiffened and raised her head, eyes widening, as if she’d just recalled who was holding her. Her face, still lovely despite the stain of tears and spent emotion, hovered inches from his. An impulse to close the gap, to set his lips to hers and teach her, struck at his gut, but he held firm against it.

It was too soon. If he tried to kiss her now, he might only succeed in frightening her off. He’d driven his wife away with his ardor. He refused to make the same mistake twice.

To cover the moment, he reached into his pocket and offered a handkerchief.

On spying the scrap of linen, ghostly white in the darkened carriage, a thin smile stretched her lips. “I’ll have to buy you some new ones. I seem to be in the habit of ruining them.”

“If I’ve lost them, it’s to a good cause.”

She dabbed at her eyes. “I feel like a silly girl, crying all over you like that.”

“Believe me, my dear, I understand. Would you like me to tell you how?”

She blinked and drew back. Uncertainty creased her brow.

He let her go, let her slide back into her corner and put a bit of distance between them. “I will admit up front you will hear things you will not like.”

“Tell me the worst of it. What is there between you and Clivesden? There must be something since he insinuated you killed your first wife.”

He leaned into the squabs and considered her for a moment. At times—a few minutes ago when she was crying over that blackguard—she seemed so young, but now, when she dared be alone in his presence, despite
what she’d been told of him … Now she struck him as strong and brave.

“He gave you that idea, did he? I don’t suppose I ought to be shocked. Tell me, though, why you accepted my suit if you were under that impression.”

“I did not believe it. Not after our talks, and certainly not now. Clivesden must have been mistaken.”

“He was not—not completely.”

She pressed into her corner, trying to make herself as small as possible.

“I assure you, I am no danger to you. I shall see you home immediately, if you like.” He raised a hand to signal the driver.

She straightened and folded her hands in her lap. “No … no, I think I’d like to hear what you have to say.”

Aware of the risk he took in letting her in, he drew a breath. Best to have it out. He’d ruined one marriage. He liked to think he’d learned from his mistakes. “I loved my wife. When we married, I knew she did not return my feelings. I thought, with time, that might change.”

“Why did she marry you then?”

“Her family encouraged the match. They wanted a title for her, you see.”

“Yes, I do see.”

He nodded. “Not unlike your mother, I daresay.”

She looked away. “She might have let me follow my heart and still have seen me a countess.”

“You must trust me when I tell you Ludlowe would have broken your heart eventually. Whatever pain you’re experiencing now might have been multiplied hundreds of times over had you accepted a suit from him. He would not have been faithful.”

“You’ve said that before.” She raised cautious eyes to meet his. “How … how do you know?”

“A clever girl like you can guess, like as not.”

“Are you telling me he … and your wife …”

“They had a liaison, yes. I’m certain there were others, but her connection with Ludlowe was one she made sure I knew of. She arranged for me to discover them, you see.”

She clutched at her bodice. “Oh. Oh dear.”

“Indeed. I now wonder if her aim wasn’t to push me to divorce her.”

He closed his eyes at the image of the pair of them in bed, naked and disheveled, waiting for him. He’d never seen his wife so satisfied as when he broke down the door to the room they had chosen for their rendezvous.

“I quite understand the anger you must feel right now. The shock. The hurt. The questions. Why couldn’t she return my true and honest feelings? Why must she seek comfort with someone else? Why was I not good enough?”

Her breath hitched. Her eyes shone with a fresh spate of tears.

“If it’s any comfort, I can tell you the pain dulls with time. As difficult as it may be for you to believe now, one day you will wake up and wonder what you saw in that idiot.”

She choked and covered her face with his handkerchief. “How long?”

“How long depends on the depth of your feelings.”

“I’ve loved him for five years.”

Five years. Somewhere inside him, his heart hesitated in its steady rhythm. A five-year infatuation was a great deal to recover from. But then his heart raced ahead, his blood hot in his veins, the feeling nearly comforting in its familiarity. He had become acquainted with jealousy long ago.

He tamped down bitter laughter over the irony that Ludlowe should, once again, stand between him and the woman he wanted.

For he wanted Sophia.

He wanted her for all her youth and innocence and capacity to love. He wanted her idealism, wanted to reach out and hold a piece of that wide-eyed certainty that the future would work itself out for the best, and recall how it felt to believe.

She dissolved into a fresh round of sobs, and he couldn’t stop himself from reaching for her, from putting his arms around her again and murmuring into her hair, “If you let me, I’ll help you get over him.”

It took her several minutes to collect herself and respond. Then she raised her head. “How can you possibly?”

A tear trembled on the curve of her cheek. He reached up to brush it away. Her breasts hitched against him on a sharp intake of breath, and she pulled her lower lip between her teeth.

It was his undoing.

“Like this.” Holding her gaze, he leaned closer, measuring the movement, giving her a chance to stop him.

Eyes wide, she waited, and he let his lips fall to the corner of her mouth. He tasted the salty bitterness of her tears. For a moment, she sat perfectly still, and he fancied he could hear the pounding of her heart, while he waited for her reaction. If she slapped him, he would take his due without complaint.

With a sigh, she turned her face to the right, and her lips settled against his.

N
EVER
once, since she’d first set eyes on William Ludlowe, had Sophia imagined kissing another man. She most definitely should not allow her lips to slide together with this man’s, but she couldn’t stop herself. The tenderness of gentle nips pressed to her skin tugged at her heart
and demanded she return in kind, softness for softness, heat for heat.

Highgate’s arm snaked about her waist, pulling her flush against his chest. She inhaled the rich scent of sandalwood and spice that hovered in the air about him. An alarming jolt of heat clenched deep in her belly.

With a whimper, she pulled back. His dark eyes studied her for a long moment until the intensity of his gaze sent another bolt blazing through her. She heaved in a ragged breath, aware of her breasts crushed against his chest. She ought to push him away and distance herself.

To her surprise, she didn’t want to.

Daring, she reached out a shaky finger to trace the jagged line of the scar that slashed his cheek. The intuitive knowledge of how he’d come by it ought to unnerve her, but in this moment, all she could see in him was the understanding, the stark empathy, the connection created by their mutual heartbreak.

Deep within, something splintered, and a wild, reckless feeling erupted to pour through her veins. Hang them all—her mother, her father. Hang society. Hang Julia and, most especially, hang William Ludlowe. To the devil with him for his blindness.

She fitted her palm to Highgate’s cheek, covering the scar, and pressed her lips to his.

A growl rumbled deep in his throat, and he took the mastery. His mouth opened beneath hers, demanded a response, dictated she follow suit. Gone was the tenderness, replaced by searing heat and driving need as the brand of his tongue darted between her teeth.

Compared to the darkness of this assault, their earlier kisses were nothing but the fluttering of a butterfly’s wings. This was a battle, and he demanded no less than her complete surrender.

Dear God, how she wanted to give it.

He tore his lips from hers to crush them to her cheeks,
her throat, the ridges of her collarbones. She could do no more than cling to him and tilt her head back in offering—an offering he freely accepted.

He pressed lower to the swell of her breasts above her bodice, and a moan welled up her throat. Parting her lips, she allowed it to escape.

Abruptly, he thrust her away. Her pulse still pounded in her ears.
Thump-thump, thump-thump
. Mind whirling with confusion, she opened her eyes to find him regarding her from beneath half-closed lids.

His normally tidy hair stood in disheveled tufts. Had she done that?
Thump-thump
. She stared down at her hands, half expecting to find dark strands caught between her fingers.

“ ’Tis a dangerous game we play, Sophia.”

Thump-thump
. She should not permit the use of her given name. She should not permit any of this. She opened her mouth to protest, but he set his fingers to her lips before a sound escaped.

“Under the circumstances, I think I can be forgiven the use of your name. Such innocence and yet such passion in you. How I should love to take you home and let you discover your true depths at my leisure.”

The promise of those urgent words burned into her soul and raced through her blood. Such forbidden promise. In this moment, she craved the forbidden.

“But you must understand, if we allow this to continue any further, you shall indeed be ruined and our betrothal must then play itself out into marriage.”