Ripe for Scandal (13 page)

B
eau skulked at the top of the stairs until she heard the library door open. Being excluded from something that so clearly
concerned her merely because of her sex was vexing in the extreme. Not even her sister-in-law’s intriguing little book had
been able to fully distract her, though she now knew words for body parts that she barely even dared to think about.

Sandison’s distinct footsteps followed the shutting of the door, and she hurried down the stairs. “Well? What happened?”

Sandison’s head snapped up. He looked somewhat dazed. “I rather feel like a horse at Tattersall’s at the moment.”

“Sold you off, have they?”

“Sold
us
off, you mean. Your father bargains like a gypsy horse trader. I feel as though I should count my fingers and toes.”

Beau grinned. “I’ve never seen anyone get the better of the duke.”

“My father certainly thinks he did.”

“And that’s a good thing, right?” Beau gave Sandison’s arm a squeeze, the hard muscles beneath the fine wool of his coat flexed
beneath her fingers. The knowledge that he was hers sang through her blood, pushing away the ever-present bubble of guilt.
“Come out to the folly with me,” she whispered, tugging him toward the door.

“Do you think that wise?” Sandison’s pace slowed, and Beau pulled him along, hands encircling his wrist. She fumbled with
the door and led him outside.

“We’re well past
wise
, don’t you think? Besides, I have something to show you.”

“I don’t trust that smile of yours, brat.”

Beau’s smile grew until her cheeks almost hurt. “Walk me to the folly and tell me what our illustrious fathers have cobbled
together.”

Sandison’s thumb circled inside her palm as they wove through the garden. All around them the gardeners were busy mulching
the beds and trimming the plants back for the approaching winter.

“More than I would ever have expected,” he said. “Fifty thousand pounds from your father and a small estate somewhere in Kent
from mine.” A subtle smile curled up one corner of his mouth. “It must have killed my father to make such a concession.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yes, brat. You’ve yet to be introduced to the feudal ways of the Earls of Roxwell. The earl himself comes first, his
son and heir second, and everyone else exists only to serve them. Breaking off a profitable estate for a younger son goes
quite strongly against the grain.”

“Younger sons are not allowed to marry?”

“They’re certainly not encouraged to do so. Traditionally, the earl uses a pocket borough to put them into the House of Commons.”

“Where the son is expected to support whatever views his father and brother dictate.”

“Precisely. If the eldest seems unlikely to produce an heir, then—and only then—would any of the younger sons be encouraged
to marry. The fifth earl was just such a younger son, and he didn’t marry until his late fifties. I’ve no doubt that I’ll
spend the rest of my life being reminded that everything I have is essentially food stolen from the mouths of my brother’s
children.”

“If any of your family ever dares to express such sentiments in my presence, he’ll rue the day,” Beau said, anger flushing
though her.

“Going to protect me, are you?” Sandison said with a chuckle.

“If need be, yes. Lord knows you deserve it, having already done the same for me.”

A slightly pained expression flashed across his face. No more than a pinch about the eyes and a tightening of the lips. Gone
almost before Beau could recognize it.

It could mean anything. Could be interpreted in multiple ways. She really didn’t know him well enough to be sure that she
could plumb the depths of his soul, but that brief hint of unhappiness made it suddenly hard to breathe.

Beau pulled Sandison to a stop at the base of the tower folly. He leaned back against the stone wall, stooping so they were
eye to eye. His hands settled about her waist,
fingers overlapped in the back, thumbs only scant inches apart.

She felt almost delicate. It was an alarmingly feminine sensation. Sandison tugged her closer, hands holding her against him,
arms encircling her.

Not willing to wait for him to overcome whatever gentlemanly sensibilities might constrain him, Beau tugged him to her and
kissed him.

Sandison kissed her back, his mouth hot and urgent as it covered hers. His hands moved lazily down to her hips, fingers kneading
her flesh through the layers of petticoats.

“Come upstairs,” Beau said, catching one of those roving hands and pulling him after her. “The view from grandmother’s folly
is enchanting.”

“It certainly is,” Sandison said as he followed her up the winding stairs.

Beau grinned over her shoulder, allowing the compliment to burn through her blood. Her heart was hammering, and not with exertion
from the climb. Words and ideas from her little book swirled inside her head.

The stairs ended at an artfully toppled battlement, with a sweeping view of a meadow and stream and the wooded section of
Leo’s estate in the distance. Beau watched the sheep in the meadow, pretending that she hadn’t led Sandison up there with
an ulterior motive thoroughly unbecoming of a daughter of the
ton
.

Sandison stood just behind her, his body touching hers from shoulder to hip, feet braced on either side of hers. His mouth
traced a line down her neck from her ear to the edge of her bodice. Beau sagged back against him, bracing herself with her
hands on his thighs.

“My brother might come looking for us.”

Sandison chuckled, one hand slowly drawing up her petticoats, fingers inching it up bit by bit. “Leo is currently enjoying
his own interview with your father. The duke sent a footman to fetch him when he was done eviscerating me.”

The tips of his fingers found the bare flesh of her thigh, and Beau fought to stay upright as her knees turned watery. She
put more of her weight onto her hands, letting him hold her up. The muscles in his thighs hardened under her grip.

“Besides,” he said, lips at her ear, “isn’t this why you brought me up here, little libertine?”

Beau’s
yes
caught in her throat as Sandison’s hand slipped between her thighs, the tip of his finger circling the peak hidden just inside.
Clitoris. Seat of passion. Throne of desire. All the terms in her new book fluttered past the back of her eyelids.

Sandison’s fingers pressed harder, stroking, grinding, and then he stopped. “What did you say?” His tone was almost shocked.

Beau’s breath shuddered out of her. “Nothing. I didn’t—”

“You most certainly did, brat.” His fingers swirled, making her gasp and grind back against him. “Clitoris? Seat of passion?
Just what has your sister-in-law been telling you?”

“Gave me a book.” Beau’s breath hitched as he continued his rhythmic assault. “And I’ve read Rochester—just didn’t know what
the words meant.”

“No? Poor little frustrated libertine. Those poems must have made no sense at all.”

Beau’s knees gave out as her climax took her. Sandison held her up, one arm securely about her waist, his wicked hand still
teasing her slick, throbbing flesh.

After a moment, she drew a shuddering breath and locked her hand about his wrist, forcing him to stop. “They make more sense
now.”

“I’ll just bet they do,” Sandison said with a self-satisfied chuckle. “Now show me this book of yours.”

Gareth flipped through the small book that Beau pulled from her pocket after she shook out her skirts and caught her breath.
Leo’s wife was full of surprises. As was his wife-to-be.
Throne of desire
, indeed.

“
These amorous engagements should not be often repeated
,” he read aloud, “
And it may not be amiss to remind the bridegroom that the fair lasts all the year, and that he should be careful not to spend
his stock lavishly, as women in general are better pleased in having a thing once well done than often ill done
. What say you, little libertine?”

Beau gave him a wicked, coquettish smile, which did nothing to help subdue his clamoring cock. “I’d hazard that most women
would be better pleased to have the thing done both well
and
often,” she said with a bit of a purr.

Gareth smiled back at her and handed back the book. Beau thrust it into her pocket with a conspiratorial grin. “Viola said
something when she gave me the book.”

Gareth raised his brows. Lord only knew what Beau’s former courtesan sister-in-law was capable of.

“She-she-she said I might not want to fall pregnant too
soon. Otherwise it might look like you had to marry me. Or that I had to marry someone, at any rate.”

“Lady Leonidas is correct. I told you much the same thing that first night.”

“But she also said there were ways to prevent conception.”

“Well,” Gareth said, feeling something of a fool for trying to explain such a thing, “there are methods to make conception
far less likely, but the only sure way is for us to put off consummating the marriage.”

“No.” Beau shook her head, sending her dark curls bouncing. “To be a virginal bride for months on end? No.”

Gareth laughed and pulled her to him, wrapping his arms about her. “I’m forced to agree with you, brat. Ours may be a marriage
of convenience, but there’s nothing convenient about celibacy.”

“Is that what it is?” She looked surprised and slightly crushed. “A marriage of convenience? I-I-I guess I hadn’t quite thought
it through. Not in that way.”

Gareth felt a flicker of guilt. He shouldn’t have said that. A girl—even such a one as Beau—didn’t want to be told such a
thing. “It’s the common parlance, yes. But like celibacy, there’s nothing convenient about you either.”

Doubt and hurt scuttled through her eyes. She swallowed hard. Gareth took a deep breath. He was making it worse with every
word. “That came out wrong, brat.”

“Stop calling me that,” Beau snapped. “I’m not twelve anymore.”

CHAPTER 16

A
marriage of convenience. Beau couldn’t get the phrase out of her head. It swirled inside her brain, twisting around her sister-in-law’s
observations about her and Gareth, and always circling back to one another.

The curate droned on, and Beau parroted back the marriage vows, hardly even aware that she was doing so. Gareth stood beside
her, gaze holding hers, a hint of a smile on his face. For once in his life, his brows didn’t seem to be begging for her to
sooth away some hurt.

Viola was right. The realization struck her an almost physical blow. What they’d been doing was their own special brand of
flirtation. And it certainly wasn’t one-sided. He’d been flirting with her too. For years now.

Gareth slipped a simple posey ring onto her finger, and the curate pronounced them man and wife.
Man and wife
. The words echoed through her mind as clearly as the clarion call of the church bells that followed them back down the aisle
and outside into the crisp autumn air.

Beau took a deep breath as their families joined them.
Only their female relatives looked truly happy. Their mothers were wreathed in smiles. Viola was keeping a firm hold on Leo’s
arm, but she looked pleased. Their elder brothers hadn’t even bothered to bring their wives, a point that clearly annoyed
the duke.

“Shall we return to Dyrham for the breakfast?” Leo said, not even bothering to try and sound as though he were happy to be
hosting it.

“We shall,” his wife replied, pulling him away toward the carriages before he could make a scene. Viola threw Beau an apologetic
look over her shoulder, and Beau forced herself to smile back.

Leo hadn’t softened in the slightest. He was still too furious to speak to either of them. Glennalmond had moralized over
her that morning, saying he wished her happy in her marriage in a tone that clearly implied that he believed she would regret
it.

Beau raised her chin and smiled. She was going to be happy. She was already happy. And so would Gareth be, as soon as he realized
what she already had: that he loved her, just as she loved him. It might be an unconventional, uncomfortable, disarming sort
of love, but it was there all the same.