A Scandalous Marriage (5 page)

“All I want is—”

“Two.”

“Will you listen to me? Just one moment—”

“Three.” She opened her mouth and would have screamed except for the fact that he took complete advantage of the circumstance and kissed her, an effective muzzle if ever there was one.

That caught her by surprise.

Her body tensed. He braced, waiting for her to strike him with her fists or kick him or the dozens of things ladies do to express indignation. He had no doubt that in spite of her petite size she could deliver a smarting blow.

But the blow never came.

Instead, with lightning speed, the kiss between them took on a life of its own—and Devon was suddenly questioning who was in charge.

Leah Carrollton could kiss. Their mouths meshed together perfectly. Her kiss was chaste, but there was a seductive quality to it. Their legs brushed, and Devon hardened. A need, the likes of which he’d never felt before, welled up inside of him for more. More, more, more, more, more.

And he would have asked for it, too. His common sense had fled. Every muscle, every fiber of his being urged him to lift her in his arms, raise her skirts, and bury himself deep inside her.

But from the garden came a sound. It could have been a servant or a rabbit. Whatever, it brought her to her senses. Their lips broke contact. She pulled away, and he wisely released her. She escaped the few feet to the opposite side of the terrace.

Devon stood rooted to the spot. Dear God, his heart was racing. He had never felt desire of that force.

She pressed her gloved fingers to her lips, which were already rosy red and slightly swollen from his kiss. “This is madness. If Julian finds out what just happened, he will kill you.”

Madness. Yes. He took two steps toward her until there was only a foot between them. “Hold your hand out.”

“Why?”

“Just do it,” he said patiently.

She glanced at the door. He waited. This was a moment of truth. She could leave if she wished, but he was willing to wager all he owned that she wouldn’t.

Leah held her hand out.

“Palm up. Like this,” he instructed, holding his own hand up in the air as if taking an oath.

She rolled her eyes but did as he said. Their hands were mere inches apart.

Devon watched her, holding his hand steady. Already he felt the almost magnetic pull, but would she?

Slowly her expression changed from one of skepticism, to uncertainty, and then wonder. “What is it?”

she whispered.

He let his hand move forward. It pressed against hers. The kid leather of her gloves was warm with her body heat. “It’s something between us. Did you not feel it the other night at Lady Trudgill’s ball? I sensed it the moment I walked into the room that evening.”

She stared at their hands pressed flat against each other. “I grasped that there was something different in the air that night. A sort of heat. I turned and you were looking at me. I even knew you were here this evening.” She smiled shyly. “You about drove me wild in church the other day.”

“It was all I could do to keep my hands from you. I wanted to touch you, to hold you.” He pinned her with his gaze. “To kiss you.”

Leah snatched her hand away as if she’d been burned. “We can’t”

“Yes, we can.”

“It’s not right.”

“Leah.” He used her given name, and it sounded sweeter than music. “I didn’t ask for this. I don’t know why it is happening between us. But I do know that I must see you again or I will be ready for Bedlam.”

“We can’t. Julian will—”

“Julian won’t know. Meet me tomorrow at Whitney’s. It’s a small bookstore on Dobbins Street. Do you know the location?”

“No, no.” She took a step toward the door.

He didn’t know if she meant the bookstore or if she was still denying what was between them. “Meet me there at eleven. The store is very private that time of day, but we’ll still be in a public place.”

“I don’t—”

He stopped her protest by covering her lips with the tips of his fingers. Almost reverently, he ran the pad of his thumb across her full lower lip. “Perhaps we are mad. Tommorrow. At eleven.”

He stole a kiss. One quick brush of lips, and then he jumped over the terrace balustrade into the night garden. Taking a post in the shadow of a pear tree, he waited for her to return to the party. She hesitated a moment, then quickly turned and opened the door.

He could leave now. Inside, Leah would be mobbed by admirers and would probably dance until dawn.

Men would argue over her and vie for her favors.

But Devon no longer felt jealousy.

A bond existed between them. He hesitated to put a name to it other than forbidden, secret, and exciting.

Furthermore, he was not the only one of them caught up in this strange new emotion… because the next day, she met him at Whitney’s.

“Julian said no woman should trust you.”

“Why were you and Julian discussing me?” Devon asked.

He and Leah stood in the back stacks of Whitney’s, Book Proprietor, hidden by shelf after shelf of dusty books from the view of anyone in the front of the store. Few people ever visited the shop, especially at this time of day, and Whitney himself was an octogenarian who spent his time napping at his desk in the front of the store. Devon found the shop alternately stifling or charming, depending upon his mood.

But when Leah was present, it was paradise.

They’d been meeting in secret for the past week. Sunday had seemed to stretch forever because the shop had been closed and Devon had not been allowed a moment with her.

To their good fortune, Leah’s maid, Mae, had a cousin who lived nearby. Apparently Mrs. Carrollton rarely gave the servants time off, and Mae had been so overjoyed at Leah’s suggestion she visit her relatives that she hadn’t questioned Leah’s sudden interest in books too closely.

From the beginning, conversation had flowed easily between them. They talked about everything and about nothing. They debated, argued, and teased. He learned she hated peas. She lamented his lack of appreciation for a trained voice and never-ending arias. He promised to quote Shakespeare if she would quit praising Shelley. They both discovered they held similar values and beliefs.

Devon may have begun this endeavor with seduction on his mind, but he was quickly falling in love. It surprised him, delighted him, frightened him.

However, in spite of their candor on other subjects, this was the first time either one of them had mentioned their families.

She traced the binding of a book of poetry with one gloved hand and took it off the shelf. “I mentioned that one of my friends thought you attractive,” she replied coyly.

“Testing the waters, hmmm?”

“Yes.” She opened the book and pretended to peruse the contents.

“I don’t expect Julian to approve of me. What is more important to me is what you believe.”

“I don’t know what to think,” she answered. “Julian is my brother and cares for me. He is right in saying you have a certain reputation.”

He took the book from her, his fingers covering hers. “What reputation would that be?”

She raised her dark eyes to his. “As a lover.”

The last word lingered in the air. It shot through Devon like an arrow. He reshelved the book, leaning close to her ear to whisper, “Perhaps Julian is correct. I would like to be your lover.”
I would like to
make love to you right here this moment, in fact.

She drew in a shocked breath as if she’d heard the unspoken as well as the spoken, but she didn’t run.

Her nipples had tightened, pressing against the sky blue material of her sprig muslin dress. His Leah was a seductive mixture of innocence and temptation. He longed to bend down and cover one of those proud, sensitive points with his mouth, to suck and wet it right through the material of her dress.

Her lips parted as if she knew the train of his thoughts. Suddenly, she turned and slipped around the corner of the stack. Her soft kid shoes barely made a noise as she moved away from him.

Devon followed at a more leisurely pace. She was leading him to the back of the store where it was most private. Rounding another corner, he was stopped by the palm of her hand flat against his chest.

Did she realize what her touch did to him? Already, his heart beat double time.

“This is madness,” she whispered, her expression bleak. “I can never be yours. It can never be.”

“Because of the past? Because of incidents and quarrels that neither of us have anything to do with?”

“Because I don’t know if I can trust you. How else to strike out at your enemy than through the weakest member of his family?”

Devon almost laughed. “You are anything but weak. Julian’s weaker because of his love for brandy and cards. William—” He broke off with a shake of his head. What could he say that was good about Leah’s youngest brother? And he’d better not discuss either of her parents. For a second, he almost agreed with her: His attraction to her was madness.

“I know their faults,” she said softly, “but they are my family. Someday, I’m going to see everyone’s fortunes restored.”

Her loyalty to them sparked sudden jealousy. “How? By selling yourself in marriage?”

She gasped as if surprised by his harsh words. Her temper flared. He caught her hand in midair before she could slap him. The movement brought their bodies close. He could feel her heat and breathe the scent of her skin. Her lips were only inches from his.

He spoke. “The idea of you giving yourself to another is like a sword going through my heart. I care about you, Leah.”

She was not mollified. “You are the one who doesn’t understand. My father was unjustly accused of your parents’ deaths and has paid the price every day of his life. Every time I meet you, I am being disloyal to him.”

“And yet, you come.”

“I shouldn’t.”

“Neither should I.” He released her hand. “I can never sit at the same table with your father. Whether he engineered my parents’ deaths on purpose or it was an innocent accident, I would be disloyal to their memory to honor him.”

“He was not responsible! You don’t know him. If you did, you would know he would never have done such a thing as damage another’s rig to win a race.”

“I know he expects you to save his reputation through marriage. What sort of man does that to his daughter?”

“Every one of them,” she countered cynically. “There isn’t a debutante in London who isn’t expected to marry above her station for the sake of her family.” Her tone turned conciliatory. “If I don’t help my family, who will? Father was always a gambler, but he drinks more than he should now. My brothers are only following his example. But Mother and I know that if I marry well, everything will be made right.

We’ll all be happy.”

“Your marriage wouldn’t solve anything. It won’t make them better men.”

“My marriage is the
only
solution. But then, how can I expect you to understand? Your family is the one who has persecuted mine.”

“Your father is the man who killed mine,” he retorted with surprising heat.

She physically flinched at his words. The color drained from her face and Devon stood paralyzed, unable to move or think. His charge lingered in the air around them.

When she spoke, her words sounded disjointed, distant. “I don’t think we need see each other again.”

She turned and walked away.

He watched her move toward the front of the store, his mind numb. She didn’t even look back. Then, suddenly, against all sanity, he had one thought:
Don’t let her go.

In three giant steps, he caught her arm at the elbow and swung her around.

She resisted, hissing under her breath for him to release her.

Devon tightened his hold. He took her by both arms. “Listen,” he ordered. “
I love you.”
The words, new feelings that he’d not had time yet to explore, were out of his mouth before he’d even given them a second’s thought—but once said, he did not call them back.

He loved her.

He barely knew her. Her father had murdered his, and yet… he loved her.

His declaration caught her by surprise, too. Openmouthed, she stared at him.

Devon released his hold and took a step back, self-consciously shoving his hair from his forehead. He was in a devil of a fix. What did one say to a woman after he’d just announced his deepest feelings?

She closed her mouth. “It can never be.”

“You’ve said that already. It hasn’t stopped me.”

“The man I marry must assume my family’s debts.”

“I have money.”

She shook her head sadly. “It would call for a fortune.”

Devon regained his equilibrium. “I have a fortune.”

“Oh, Devon. What you’ve earned from gaming wouldn’t be enough.”

“You make it sound like I’m impoverished.”

“Everyone knows your grandfather cut you off years ago,” she said gently. “Besides, I have only to look at the cut of your coat to know you don’t have blunt to spare.”

He defended himself. “I don’t need my grandfather’s money. I have my own, but I don’t waste it on servants I don’t need or in paying overinflated prices on coats. And be fair, Leah,” he said, tugging his sleeve, “my careless style is aped by all manner of young bucks. I’m considered a Corinthian of the first stare.”

“But look how rounded your heels are.”

“These are my favorite boots. I wear them because they are the most comfortable.”

She laughed as if she felt on firmer ground. “A Pink of the Ton would never value comfort over fashion.”

“I’m my own fashion. Unique. Singular. Brazen.”

She smiled, but then her expression turned bittersweet. “You are truly different than any man I expected to meet in London, but we are pretending to ourselves. We can never be together. Not publicly.”

Practical Leah. Usually he was known for his practical business sense, but now he wanted her to believe that anything was possible.

“I must go,” she said. “Mae will be here shortly. Perhaps we shouldn’t meet again. It is not wise.”

He caught her hand. “Leah, I don’t care about what is wise. When I’m with you, the world suddenly makes sense. I must see you again.”