Page 111 of His Scandal
She had orchestrated their betrothal—but did she love him?
He came down by her side, pulling her into his arms. As he stroked her back, he smiled and whispered, “So who is the father of your child?”
She groaned and pressed her face into his neck. “I’m not with child.”
“I know. But now that I’ve given you a demonstration of how babies are made, you won’t make that mistake again, will you?”
She laughed and lay back against her pillow to look up at him. Slowly her smile died, and she reached up to brush his hair back from his forehead.
“Alex, we should talk.”
“No.”
“Don’t you want to know why I—”
“You chose me, and that’s all I need to know, Em.”
“Then you aren’t angry?”
He leaned down to kiss her mouth. “Do I taste angry?” He took her hand and brought it to his hard penis. “Do I feel angry?”
Wearing an intrigued expression, she explored him with her hands. He allowed it, though her every touch made him want to thrust inside her, as if they hadn’t just shaken the bed with their lovemaking.
Keeping a tight hold on him, she glanced at his face. “Am I allowed to kiss you as you’ve kissed me?”
He stared at her, and desire blotted out his every rational thought. “Do anything you please,” he said hoarsely.
She pushed herself up onto her knees and sat back to look at him. Though her blush never diminished, she explored his body with hands soft as silk. She pressed delicate kisses along his chest and thighs, and her hair trailed after her in anerotic wake. She lingered above his hips and looked up at him.
“May I do anything here?”
He sucked in a breath and could only nod. How had he ever imagined innocence to be boring? Then she took him into her mouth and a moan escaped him. He lasted only a minute before he pulled her knee across to straddle him.
“Alex?”
“Just hold on.”
He thrust up inside her, and she threw her head back and smiled, catching onto the motion quickly. Her breasts were like ripe fruit that he eagerly captured. He reached between her legs to stroke her, and it was only moments before they both climaxed again.
She fell down shuddering against his chest. He rolled her to the side and held her and was glad that in only two days’ time he’d never have to leave her bed.
He kissed her cheek, and she smiled, but didn’t open her eyes. “I must go,” he whispered, nibbling her lower lip.
“Hmmm.”
He looked at her—sweet and warm and soon to be his wife. He tucked the blankets around her, wondering if tonight they’d made a babe, and trying to imagine himself a father.
It was a strange feeling, one that made himwant to distance himself from the overwhelming nature of it. Emmeline opened her eyes and looked up at him, and he said the first stupid thing that came to mind.
“Well, if we have to marry, at least now there’s a reason for it.”
She blinked at him, and he cursed himself for a fool and got out of bed before he made it worse. She never said another word, even when he stood on the windowsill and blew her a kiss good-bye.
Emmeline spent a restless night. Oh, she didn’t worry about Alex’s foolish words, because she knew he didn’t mean them. She even found it reassuring that their lovemaking meant so much to him that he had to joke about it to cover his feelings.
But all the next day, she pondered her unease, even while she chose one of her newer gowns as her wedding garment. The servants bustled about her, preparing a feast, though her father hadn’t ordered one. They were thrilled for her, and Emmeline was touched.
But something was wrong. On the drive to the church the following morning, she felt nauseated and shaky, and altogether unlike herself. Had she made a dreadful mistake, manipulating Alex’s life just as her father had manipulated hers?
