Simply Scandalous Page 27

  By the end of this remarkable speech, her beautifully sculpted nose was red as fire, and her gray eyes were bright with unshed tears. She gave him a fierce shove and ran out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

  "Impetuous little madcap," he murmured fondly.

  He particularly liked the idea about the sandwich boards.

  Swale was not present at tea, and when the ladies went upstairs to dress for dinner, he still had not put in an appearance. Juliet dressed automatically in the last of her London gowns. It had been made for a ball that she had never attended, having been forced out of London before the end of the season. Beginning with almost a white decollete, the fine silk gradually, almost imperceptibly proceeded through a half dozen deepening shades of blue until finally the hem reached a rich ultramarine. She was brushing out her glossy, walnut-brown hair when Mrs. Spinner tapped at the door.

  "Dear me! Don't you look fine, Miss Julie!"

  Juliet was too depressed to entertain compliments. "What is it, Mrs. Spinner?"

  "No one seems to know whether or not his lordship means to return for dinner," replied the housekeeper. "Mr. Corcoran says he ordered his grays put into the traces of his wee car-"

  "His curricle?" Juliet guessed with a faint smile.

  "Aye, and no one's seen him since. Master Cary said he didn't know and didn't care where his nibs had gone ... and I do hate to bother Sir Benedict. I have to tell the cook something-it's boeuf en croute and sherry trifle for the sweet. Do you know if his lordship means to return, Miss?"

  "I believe he had urgent business in London," said Juliet slowly, attempting a look of cool indifference. "But I had not thought-I did not think he meant to go immediately."

  "He ought to have taken his leave of Sir Benedict and Lady Elkins like a gentleman," said Mrs. Spinner indignantly. "What am I to tell the poor cook?"

  "That man," Juliet said crossly, setting down her hairbrush, "has no conduct! He is the rudest man in England! Go and see if he's left his things in Runnymede, Mrs. Spinner. Then we'll know absolutely if he means to return for dinner."

  Mrs. Spinner, who was all of fifty-two, with a lace cap and a huge gold cross hanging from the edge of her massive bosom, blushed like a girl. "Oh, I couldn't, Miss Julie! "

  Juliet sighed as she rose from her dressing table. "I'll go."

  "Oh! Do you think you should, Miss Julie?" cried Mrs. Spinner.

  "He can't eat me if he's not there," Juliet pointed out dryly.

  The first thing she saw when she entered Runnymede was a handsome pair of silver-backed brushes on top of the chest of drawers. Red hair in the bristles left no doubt about their ownership. The sight of them made her ache. She slipped her hand through the strap of one of the brushes and picked it up.

  How absurd that she had not recognized her feelings before! She should be engaged to Ginger, not Serena, and she might have been so. The knowledge that she had behaved honorably in Hertfordshire when she had declined to force him to marry her hardly consoled her. Honor, she decided, was ridiculously overrated. Honor was going to trap Ginger in a loveless, miserable marriage and herself in loathsome spinsterhood.

  She slipped the second brush over her other hand and clapped the two together violently, as though she could crush honor between them.

  "Hullo, Julie," said a friendly, familiar voice from behind her.

  She nearly jumped out of her skin and frantically tried to shake his hairbrushes from her hands. One fell to the floor, but the other clung stubbornly to her hand.

  Swale slipped it off easily and returned it with its mate to the top of the bureau. If he was surprised to find his hostess in his room handling his toiletries, he didn't show it. He did, however, show a dark, puffy ring around one eye where Cary had planted his fist earlier. The black eye had not dampened his spirits, however. "Don't have much use for those currycombs anymore, thanks to Pickering," he said cheerfully. "Nothing on my head left to curry."

  "I'm so sorry," she stammered. "I never meant for him to scalp you."

  Now he was surprised. "Don't you like the crop?"

  "I miss it," she admitted.

  "So do I," he said. "Oh well. It'll grow back, I daresay. Did you wish to speak to me?"

  He looked at her very directly with his clear green eyes.

  Cleopatra, she knew, had been given a moment like this-or rather, she had taken it for herself when she had rolled herself up in a carpet and had herself delivered to Caesar's chamber. Just a few minutes alone with him, and the great Julius Caesar had abandoned his wife, his country, and his honor and had made Cleopatra Queen of Egypt. History did not say what exactly the Egyptian beauty had done to poor Caesar to make him so compliant, butJuliet guessed it was probably fairly naughty.

  She was not Cleopatra, of course, but then, he was not Caesar, and the fact that she had not spent the last few hours rolled up in a carpet must be seen as an advantage.

  `Julie?"

  "I beg your pardon, sir," she answered with a violent shake of her head. "I thought you'd gone, or I should never have presumed-"

  "I'm just back now," he replied easily, taking off his coat and flinging it onto the bed. "I have been in the village, enriching the special messenger service."

  "Oh," said Juliet. "I thought you might have gone to London. I didn't know what to tell the cook. It's boeuf en croute," she added lamely, "so the cook absolutely has to know how many she's feeding."

  "Definitely put me down for the boeuf en croute,"he said, patting his belly.

  "Right," she said, knowing she ought to go at once. She could not even begin to tally how many standards of propriety she was violating merely by being alone with a man in his bedroom, but her feet refused to move. "You went for a drive?" she asked.

  `Just to the village. I sent my instructions to my father's man of business-urgent post. The announcement will appear in all the morning editions with any luck."

  Juliet stared at him, a huge hollow feeling opening in her chest.

  "Congratulations," she said, forcing a smile. "I'm sorry if I was rude to you earlier ..."

  He seemed surprised. "You, Julie? Why, you were bursting with great ideas. Minerva never had a better idea in her whole life than those sandwich boards. That'll make 'em sit up and take notice. That ought to convince certain people the marriage should take place sooner rather than later."

  Juliet's mouth fell open. "S-sandwich boards?"

  "Yes-announcing our engagement. I don't think it's ever been done before." The idea of being the first man in history to announce his engagement via sandwich board held great appeal for him, she could tell. The priceless ass!

  She very much doubted that his betrothed would share his enthusiasm. Serena would almost certainly die of mortification. She might even reconsider her decision to become Lady Swale. After all, any woman would balk at having her name printed up on a sandwich board to be displayed in Hyde Park, and what woman in her right mind would marry a man capable of such an absurdity, such an unforgivable lapse in propriety? Perhaps not even a greedy, grasping, long-in-the-tooth, ambitious schemer like Serena Calverstock.

  Juliet felt a ray of hope. If only .. .

  Of course, no honorable gentleman would ever break an engagement to a lady, but there was nothing to prevent Serena from changing her mind. Her rival was not unintelligent; she would be certain to realize how insupportable it would be to marry an uncivilized brute like Swale. And if Serena jilted Ginger ... then Miss Wayborn could certainly console him!

  "Indeed, my lord," Juliet said, now able to smile with genuine delight. "I hope this marriage brings you great happiness."

  "I believe it will make us both happy," he replied. "When two people are such good friends and so wellmatched in spirit, the marriage is bound to be happy."

  "I'm sure you're right," she agreed quickly. "I'd better go finish dressing. I'll send Pickering to youwith a poultice for your eye."

  "You look dressed to me," he said, holding the door for her. "I'm a fair judge of w
hen a lady is dressed or not dressed. And you, Julie, are dressed. Very clever the way it shifts color, that dress."

  He was not looking at her dress at all, she could not help but notice. He was looking deep into her eyes. With his swollen eye, he looked more than ever like a fantastic creature from a grotto. Why then did she feel the strongest urge to take his face in her hands and kiss him?

  "It's called ombre," she told him in a faint voice.

  "Ombre," he murmured. "That's French, isn't it? Clever little buggers, the French. Always coming up with natty new words and phrases. Bouillon-that's gold, but also soup."

  "Carte blanche," she suggested archly.

  She saw him swallow hard. "Bon appetit," he said huskily. "Cherchez la femme. "

  "Le coeur a ses raisons que la raison ne connait point."

  "Good Lord," he breathed. "What in God's name does that mean?"

  "The heart," she translated, looking up at him through her lashes, "has reasons of which Reason knows nothing."

  The effect on him was everything she could have wished for. Abruptly, he closed the door, forced her up against it, and kissed her, his hands buried in her thick hair. It was a fiery, undisciplined kiss, his tongue leaping wildly as he discovered her openness. Juliet welcomed it, her heart beating wildly as again and again his mouth closed over hers. When he was finished, he reluctantly released her, but leaned his hands against the door on either side of her head. He was panting as he touched her forehead with his own.

  He must realize now, she thought joyfully, that he could never marry Serena Calverstock.

  "Now I expect I've earned this black eye," he said ruefully. "It is impossible to practice restraint when you look at me like that, and you say those things, and you smell so good, and your skin is so soft, and your eyes ... Julie ...

  She reached up very deliberately and kissed his mouth. Unlike his kiss, hers was gentle, savoring, sweet. She touched his lips with the tip of her tongue, tasting nectar. "There is not the least need for restraint with me, Ginger," she whispered. "I'm yours if you want me."

  He laughed shakily. "Careful, Julie. I'm not made of stone, you know."

  The weakness she saw in his eyes made her feel allpowerful, irresistible. Slowly, she pulled the laces of her ombre dress and shrugged out of it. As he watched, stunned, the silk crumpled at her feet, and she stood before him wearing only her white silk drawers, stockings, and satin slippers. Her hair covered her breasts, but almost defiantly, she pushed the long, dark curls aside.

  Mirabile visu,"he murmured, and all restraint left the room.

  The snowy white sheets felt cool against her burning skin as he crouched over her. "That's Latin," he murmured, his head moving between her breasts. His tongue trailed down her breastbone, and she felt the tips of her breasts swell almost to bursting. "It means `wondrous to behold.' You, my darling, are bloody wondrous to behold."

  She cried out in pleasure as his mouth covered her upstanding nipple. She had never thought of her body as sensual before. She had compared its physical lines to Greek and Roman engravings and to garden statues of nymphs, to which, she thought, it compared rather favorably. But never this. Every inch of her skin was wild with feeling where he had touched her and where she longed to be touched.

  He suckled at her breast tenderly until the wildness calmed into a dreamy pleasure.

  "I know quite a bit of Latin," he went on, lifting his head. "I read Latin at university."

  "I thought you were sent down from Oxford," she murmured, staring at his wide, red mouth. She had not noticed before, but his lips had a sensual pout to them. Kissing was what they did best. How many women, she wondered, had he driven mad like this? Actresses and opera dancers. He was certainly rich enough to keep a string of high-priced mistresses. Jealousy and insecurity bit her suddenly. How paltry her offering of love must seem to him after the practiced ministrations of skilled courtesans! Her breasts were too small, her body too thin and awkward ...

  "I learned a thing or two before I left," he whispered in her ear, his tongue flicking against the sensitive lobe. "Cunnilingus. Do you know what that is, my sweet?"

  She propped herself up on her elbows and looked at him, irritated because he had stopped fondling her breasts. Were they really too small to please him? What if the nipples were too hard? She could not understand it-usually, they were soft. And there was a strange wet feeling between her legs that was not at all normal. She felt all at once that her body had betrayed her. Decidedly, she was not in the mood for a Latin lesson.

  "Is it important?" she asked impatiently.

  He chuckled, his hand slowly exploring the soft hummock of her belly. She gasped as, dipping lower, he pulled the string of her drawers. She was horrified that he would discover the mysterious and embarrassing moisture.

  "Please, Julie ..." he begged, his voice dark with desire, and she melted. As long as she was certain of his desire for her, she could not be reluctant. She closed her eyes tightly, and the sensation of her drawers being pulled off both excited and terrified her. He kissed her down the length of her body, driving her almost to sobs, but her body jumped involuntarily as he pressed his hand between her thighs. He sucked in a ragged breath and slowly opened the petals of her sex. She willed herself to be still; the sensation was unlike anything she had ever experienced in her life, and she meant to feel it to the utmost. "You have such clever, sensitive fingers," she murmured happily as he continued to explore the exquisitely sensitive flesh. More and more honey flowed from her body, but she was no longer embarrassed. All she could feel was him, his hands, his lips, his desire for her. His head moved lower, his lips trailing sweet fire over her skin.

  "If you enjoy my fingers, you will like my tongue even better," he murmured.

  Juliet's eyes popped open. With a shock, she realized that he intended to kiss her there. "You can't-!" she protested weakly.

  "You are about to experience all the benefits of a classical education, my love, without any of its inconveniences," he announced firmly, taking her powerless legs over his shoulders.

  In the next moment, his mouth was on her, and she forgot all the half-hearted protests that had formed in the back of her mind. In her innocence, she had thought his mouth on her breast the pinnacle of pleasure, but she soon realized her mistake. The first crisis shuddered through her body almost before she knew what was happening. The blood rushed into her ears, and she bit her lip hard to keep from shrieking like a newborn babe. The most exquisite, wringing pleasure overtook her entire body in a seemingly never ending spiral of torrential emotion. She had not thought herself capable of such strong feeling; the closest she had ever come to this had been-she nearly laughed as the thought entered her reeling brain-the closest she had ever come to this feeling in her life was when she had heard this man play Beethoven. Now he was playing her, though not with those remarkable hands, which looked so clumsy but were so sensitive. He was playing her with his tongue, and the music was divine.

  When at last he lifted his face, she was a changed woman, and her lover's face, with its black, swollen eye; short nose; and wide mouth, was exquisitely beautiful. "The Romans were a curiously oversexed bunch," he told her. "I expect it's why Italy is such a popular destination for travelers."

  She blinked at him in confusion, her ability to think and speak returning slowly. "What are you talking about?" She wanted to ask why he was talking at all. Tears streaked her cheeks. She was now his forever. Surely words were unnecessary?

  "Cunnilingus. That was cunnilingus. From the Latin lingere, meaning `to lick,' and cunnus ... well, I will leave you to guess what cunnus is Latin for."

  "Oh." She sat up and, for some absurd reason, pulled the blue velvet coverlet up over her naked breasts. A bit late for that, miss! her conscience mocked her. The second before she had offered herself to him, she had felt proud and powerful; now, she was horribly weak and shy. "It was not what I expected," she said slowly. "I had thought the gentleman would have to undress in order to perform t
he act of love."

  He had not even removed his boots!

  "Good God, no," he said, sitting on the edge of the bed. "If I were to unleash my poor, tortured pego, your virginity wouldn't be worth the paper it's printed on, my dear."

  "What? You mean there's more?" It was an exhausting thought. An exhilarating thought. Moments before, she had thought herself entirely depleted, but the desire returned now at double strength. If the mere preliminaries had transported her into bliss, what would the act itself do to her fantastically responsive body? And what would it do to him? She was dying to find out.

  "Of course there's more," he said brusquely, averting his eyes from her. The velvet coverlet had slipped from her breasts. They were bigger than he had anticipated, with a soft round weight to them and proud nipples, still red from his wild mouth. The sight made him short of breath. If she gave him the barest provocation, the barest sign, he knew he would lose all control.

  "You don't think I'm going to take your virginity, do you?" he asked.

  "I thought you had," she whispered. "You mean you didn't? Don't you want to?"

  He groaned.

  "I'm not a complete cad, you know," he said, acute sexual frustration making him more curt than he meant to be. "I don't go about the place violating wellbred young ladies, you know. I'm a guest here. Your brothers would hardly thank me-"

  "My brothers aren't here," Juliet said quickly. "I'm here. I'm here, Ginger." She pulled his hand to her and placed it on her breast. "I want to belong to you ... forever. You must know that. More than anything in this world, I want to be your wife."

  Her skin was warm and throbbing with life. In vain, he had tried to kill his desire for her. "You win," he muttered as he swiftly unbuttoned his trousers. This time her legs fell open to him easily, without any nervousness. The neat little sex he had kissed and sucked so shamelessly looked like a full-blown rose now, a rose drenched in dew. She instantly closed her legs around his waist, clasped her arms tightly around his neck, and arched her back to receive him. She made only the barest complaint as he broke through her maidenhead, and then they moved, fiercely in tune, Nature teaching her to match her rhythm to his, until he was fairly exhausted. With a last, violent thrust that almost frightened her with its intensity, he emptied himself into her.