A Scandalous Passion Read online

  “Then you are staying—”

  “Here.”

  Her eyes widened. “But you cannot!” She struggled to sit up but he pushed her back down and she had not the strength to fight him.

  “Fear not. I have told them we are married.”

  “We are m-married?” But how could they be? Was that even legal? What exactly had occurred while she slept? Her head buzzed.

  “Not truly!” He held both hands up as if to fend off the notion. “I’m not that much of a martyr. I told the innkeeper we are Lord and Lady Thurston. Newlyweds who had embarked on a grand tour until we discovered you did not take well to sea travel and we were forced to disembark.”

  “I see.” She could not fault his story. It held enough of the truth to be believable and enough of a lie to keep her reputation from being ruined beyond reparation. But that still did not address the sticky issue of where he would sleep. “Then you are staying in here?”

  He grinned. He really was almost too beautiful for words, despite the fact his hair was a bit wilder than current fashion dictated and his clothing, while impeccable, made her think he had dressed in a hurry. Still, his physical appeal could not be denied. His lean, muscular body lacked the thickness one often saw in well fed lords with a penchant for overindulgence. The dichotomy of this wild refinement made him too angelic to be the devil, and yet his reputation made him too devilish to be an angel.

  Unfortunately, at the moment, neither side looked at all pleased.

  “How would it look if I left my new wife to fester in her illness all on her own? Not very gallant, I think.”

  “No. I suppose not.” Still, the idea of being cared for by Lord Huntsleigh did nothing to calm her stomach that had seen its share of woes already.

  Her gaze skirted the room once more. There was only one bed.

  “But where will you sleep?”

  He straightened. “Do not worry over that. I have ordered some broth to be made and sent up. Try to get some sleep and I will awaken you when it arrives. You need to eat to keep your strength up. The sooner you are well, the sooner we leave this place and get you home to London.”

  Her eyelids drooped as if on command and only as she drifted off did she realize Lord Huntsleigh had not answered the question as to where he would be sleeping.

  Chapter Four

  Spence paced the hallway outside the door of her—their—room. The edge he walked on was sharp and thin indeed. If the crowd of guests attending Lord Iber’s wedding recognized him—or worse, her—the ruse would be up. She would be ruined and the only way to repair her reputation would be for him to marry her.

  The thought left him sickened.

  The noise from the common room crept up the stairwell to taunt him. He stopped and leaned against the wall next to two of the trunks Garron had already brought up the staircase. He’d asked Garron to leave them outside of the room to avoid disturbing Lady Caelie’s sleep. The burly sailor had volunteered to accompany them to act as a driver and what not, though likely Captain Moresley had also instructed him to ensure Spence be on his best behavior.

  The captain needn’t have worried. He had no intention of doing anything that put a noose around his neck.

  Spence rubbed a hand down his face. How had his plan of escape gone so awry? It had been foolproof. Send Bowen on a fool’s errand to delay his arrival, reach the Windswept first and sail before Bowen discovered his intent. But from the get-go, things had not gone as planned. He’d had to convince Bowen of the legitimacy of the errand, not an easy task. His friend knew Grandfather’s business so well that even after he’d agreed to it, a glint of suspicion remained in his eyes. Why, they’d barely pulled up anchor and begun to leave the dock when Bowen arrived, running toward them, yelling and dodging vendors of all kinds.

  He had never seen Bowen so angry. Spence would have much penance to pay when he returned, even though he’d left a letter with his solicitor to be delivered after his departure, explaining to Grandfather the ruse he’d perpetrated and that it was not Bowen’s fault.

  Not that Grandfather would be angry with Bowen. He treated the man like family, which in Spence’s mind, he was. But he didn’t want Bowen to think he’d somehow failed in his duties, either. He knew how much pride he took in carrying them out properly.

  He’d taken every step needed to ensure everything went as planned and he could escape London and the disastrous fate that awaited him there—marriage.

  He shuddered.

  He had witnessed the catastrophic nature of the institution firsthand. His parents’ epic battles had left an indelible impression on him as they waged war against each other. By the time he was nine their lives had become a constant contest to see who could cause the other the most hurt. It didn’t matter that he was caught in the middle.

  How many times had he begged them to stop, to be nice to each other?

  Be nice to each other.

  He’d been such a hopeful child. Not to mention a blind fool. Their deaths had ended that, though. When they died, the truth glared him in the face. There had never been any hope. How could there be? Marriage was nothing more than a prison that held no hope for escape or pardon. Survival could only be found through affairs or vice. Or both.

  The bevy of married women Spence had bedded, and their husbands who had mistresses of their own, only reinforced the veracity of that belief.

  Yes, marriage was an institution to be avoided at all costs.

  Yet, when he tried to do just that—while doing a good turn for Bowen as well—Fate, with its warped sense of humor, decided to throw Lady Caelie and her heinous mother in his way.

  The sudden turn of events was beyond absurd.

  Heavy footsteps sounded on the wooden steps used by the servants. A few seconds later, Garron’s jovial voice joined the footsteps as he hummed an unrecognizable tune. Once he’d reached the door, he swung the trunk in his arms and set it down next to the others.

  “How is she?” Garron pushed the trunk against the wall with the others.

  “As helpless as a mewling kitten.” He’d requested the local doctor and received word the man would be there once a Mrs. Cranston had delivered her baby.

  “Can’t say as I ’eard her doing much in the way o’ mewling, m’lord. She’s been a right stalwart type, if you ask me.”

  “Which I didn’t.” He didn’t need the reminder of Lady Caelie’s virtues. He’d had the great misfortune of seeing enough of them when he’d tucked her into bed. Her mother had not seen fit to dress her before they left; leaving her in the same linen shift she’d been wearing when she first fell ill. The lack of care galled him.

  “Seen men twice her size cry more over a splinter than she did bangin’ at death’s door.”

  The image of Lady Caelie going toe to toe with the Grim Reaper did nothing to improve Spence’s mood.

  “She is not banging at death’s door. She will be fine. I’m sure when the doctor arrives, he’ll tell us she’ll be ready to travel in a day or two and we can quit this place and be on our way.” Not that he was in any rush to return to London, but the longer they were together, the greater the chance they’d be discovered.

  Still, he had to admit Garron had the right of it. Lady Caelie had been quite stoic in the face of adversity. Even when he told her they were to share a room she did not faint away from the horror. She was not pleased, of course, but she’d voiced little in the way of objection. Whether because she possessed a sensible nature and understood nothing could be done about their situation, or because her mother had never allowed her to express an opinion, he could not say.

  He only hoped her sensible nature extended far enough that she would not expect him to do anything as foolish as marry her for real because of this short-term imposition. He had, after all, been on the best of behavior. Well, other than that one peek when he’d tucked her into bed.

  He’d regretted it immediately. That one glimpse had hinted at a wonderful treasure, ripe for discovery. Gentle curves, lush s
kin and—

  Hell and damnation. It had been easier when he’d thought her dull and ordinary.

  “We need to leave as soon as possible,” he said. “Tomorrow perhaps. Or the next day. If we stay too long, we risk being recognized.”

  He made it a habit not to debauch innocents. He had some morals, questionable though they were. But he was also a man, and the more time he spent in Lady Caelie’s company, the more he realized her true beauty.

  It was a dangerous combination.

  Garron crossed his arms across his barrel-shaped chest. “We’ll leave when she’s well enough to travel and no’ a moment a’fore. Settle yourself to it, laddie. I gave Captain Moresley my word I would see to her safety and I mean to keep it.”

  His eyebrows shot upward. “Settle myself to it?” When had he abdicated control?

  “Aye. Now go tend to your wife. Better you stay out o’ sight as well, with all these lord and ladies millin’ about. Now, if you’ll excuse me, m’lord. Seems the innkeep ’as a bevy of fine lookin’ daughters. Think I’ll get m’self some of that stew they offered.”

  Garron turned and disappeared down the servant’s staircase. Spence stared at the man’s broad back as he left. It appeared Lady Caelie had captured the loyalty of Garron. The burly ox refused to budge an inch. It wasn’t until Garron had disappeared from sight that Spence realized the trunks still needed to be hauled into the room.

  “Bloody hell,” he muttered.

  He opened the door and then grabbed the leather strap on the end of one trunk, hauling it inside. When he finished his task, he quietly walked to the edge of the bed. She remained still. He leaned down close enough to feel her breath against his skin. Her color had picked up somewhat, but when he laid a hand upon her cheek his concern returned.

  Was she too warm?

  The fear that hovered in the back of his mind rushed to the surface. He could not afford for her to catch a fever. He touched her face once again. Definitely warm.

  What did he do now? His particular skill set did not include nursemaid. Mr. Brampton, the innkeeper, had several daughters. Perhaps one of them could assist. He strode out into the hallway but balked as he glanced over the railing to the common room below. It had filled to capacity with the arrival of a group of dandies. Spence returned to their room. He couldn’t chance going downstairs and being recognized.

  How long until the doctor arrived? Spence knew little about the birthing of babies, but he guessed expelling another human from your body was not a quick endeavor.

  He racked his brain and tried to think back to his own childhood. He’d been uncommonly healthy, rarely catching more than the occasional case of sniffles, but there had been one time as boys that he, Bowen and Nick were climbing trees. His foot had slipped on a weakened branch and he’d tumbled to the ground. Nothing had been broken, but he had managed to bump his head.

  He’d been put to bed and the doctor called. He had no recollection of what they had discussed, though he did remember Mother had stopped by briefly, kissed him on his cheek, blamed his father for Spence’s fall, then left again. It had been Grandmother who had stayed with him. She’d sat on the edge of his bed and wiped his face with a cool cloth while scolding him for partaking in such a dangerous activity.

  “Such a foolish boy. What would I have done if I’d lost you?” Worry had lined her face.

  “I’m sorry, Grandmother. I promise I won’t climb the tree again.” She gave him a dubious look. He’d loved climbing trees. Oh, he would keep his promise and not climb that particular tree again, but he’d climb all the others and they both knew it.

  “I hope you never know the heartbreak of burying a child,” she whispered as she pressed the cool cloth against the bump on his forehead. Blood pounded beneath the skin and bone, but the cool cloth and her soothing touch made him feel better somehow.

  Perhaps the same would help Lady Caelie. Spence walked over to the chest of drawers and poured cool water from the washstand ewer into the bowl. A small towel hung nearby and he soaked it, then carried both to the night table next to the bed.

  The mattress compressed where he sat on its edge. He wrung out the cloth over the bowl and placed it on Lady Caelie’s forehead. After a few minutes, he drew it down one cheek then the other. A small sigh escaped her. It must be helping. He dampened the towel again and slowly pulled it down her slim, graceful neck and onto the exposed skin above the dipped neckline of her shift. She’d moved about after he’d settled her and the covers had slipped downward. He forced his gaze to go no lower than her chin.

  He did not need that kind of temptation. He had been several weeks without a woman since he’d broken off his affair with the Duchess of Franklyn. The woman had become clingy and demanding as if their relationship had some deeper purpose than slaking their lust. The situation had left a bad taste in his mouth and he had not sought out new companionship since. The bulge straining against his trousers after only a few moments of touching Lady Caelie suggested he should have.

  He kept his breathing even. If he kept his thoughts pure and his gaze fixed elsewhere, it would be fine. He could do this. Surely he had not sunk so far into depravity that he could not minister to the needs of a lady—no! No, that was the wrong way to think about it. He was not ministering to her needs. He was…he was…

  Lord, she had the most delectable skin.

  Sweet Judas! He yanked his hand away from the swell of her bosom where it had inadvertently dipped beneath the shift while he’d kept his gaze averted. It was not averted now, however. Now it had firmly fixed on her breast. The linen shift did not allow much in the way of modesty and he had a perfect view of a softly rounded mound.

  His body tightened. The messages his brain sent to his eyes to look away were ignored. Lady Caelie stretched and took a deep breath. Any hope he’d had of looking away was lost as her breast pressed more fully against the linen until the budded nipple came perilously close to spilling over her low neckline. God help him but he wanted to lean forward and put his mouth on that eager little bud and know its taste.

  Alarm bells clanged loudly in his head until they deafened, and still he sat there like some green boy while unexpected desire strained his groin and good sense until it dangled by a thread.

  What was wrong with him? He couldn’t be doing this. If Nick ever caught wind of it, he’d drag him to the altar—after beating him within an inch of his life. He considered Lady Caelie a part of his family now. This behavior was unacceptable. He needed to gather his wits and—

  “Lord Huntsleigh?” Lady Caelie’s quiet voice threaded through the noise in his head. “Might I inquire as to what you are doing?”

  “I beg your pardon!” Spence jerked his hand away even though it had been nowhere near the breast his gaze had coveted. “I—I—”

  She stared up at him, her eyes widened in expectation.

  “Nothing. My mind wandered…” Did a more pathetic excuse exist?

  “As did your gaze, apparently.” She reached for the recalcitrant quilt and pulled it to her neck.

  “You were flushed and I…I thought to cool you down with a damp cloth.” Where the devil did the cloth go? He looked around only to realize it had slithered away and hung on the edge of the bed.

  “I see.”

  What had he done? She had bewitched him. What else could explain it? Why, he’d been contemplating taking her breast into his mouth to draw in her sweet taste. What would have happened had she not awakened?

  “I meant no disrespect.” The words possessed a hollow ring.

  “What did you mean?”

  He closed his eyes. Her question was not said with accusation but rather…curiosity. If only he had a suitable answer to satisfy it, but the truth was far too scandalous to speak aloud. Here he had feared discovery by the crowd down below, as if they were all that stood between him and the reading of the banns. Instead, he had been the enemy, his own desires lying in wait to sabotage his quest for freedom. He’d been trying to do her a service
and instead he’d walked straight into a trap of his own making!

  “Forgive me.” He ground his back teeth together. “I am not used to playing nursemaid to innocents.”

  She smiled then and the gesture surprised him, but no more so than her actual words. “You may rest easy, my lord. I have no intention of repaying your kindness by demanding you make amends.”

  Had he heard her right? “I don’t understand?” He had convened them into a room acting as man and wife. He had leered at her near-naked body like a boy with his first woman. He had touched her and thought of doing so much more. If she demanded he preserve her reputation and marry her, honor dictated he had no other recourse but to agree. What woman in her right mind would pass up such an opportunity? Especially a woman who had no other prospects.

  “While I do not condone the liberty you took, I am willing to overlook it this once. Consider it payment of the debt I feel toward you.”

  “Debt?”

  “You did not have to leave the ship and see to my well-being.”

  “Of course I did.” What other choice did he have? Her mother had made it clear she cared not what happened to her daughter. Lady Caelie was Nick’s kin now and helpless, given her state of health. What kind of man would he be if he had left her sick and unattended on a dock in Portsmouth? He may be a cad and a reprobate, but he had not abdicated his honor yet.

  “I know you do not want to return to London. Your reticence toward marriage is quite well known, my lord. While my own prospects would be much improved if I were to demand recompense for our situation, I have no desire to marry a man who would only despise me for it. It hardly seems a recipe for happiness, does it?”

  “No. I suppose you are right.” He had seen the damage resentment wrought. It was his worst fear.

  “Then we are agreed.”

  “On what exactly?”

  “You will, going forward, not take such liberties and I shall forgive this incident. There were no witnesses. No one will be the wiser. It will be as if it never happened and I trust you will not allow it to happen again.”