Page 48 of One Night of Scandal
“You can’t say it’s a scandal, because I already did that. And since I did earn it and didn’t get to do anything truly scandalous in the library earlier, I think you owe me a night of scandal.”
His dark brows arched high on his forehead. “Ioweyou?”
She stepped closer. “Maybe we owe each other.”
He swore under his breath, then started to take her hand. Letting her go, he swore again. “I will be very glad when you are no longer disguised as a man.”
Viola couldn’t help but giggle as he led her up the steps to his door. He opened it and held it while she moved into the small but elegant entrance hall. Pale gray marble gleamed beneath her feet. To the left, she saw his study—the room with the bow window that faced the street. Stairs marched up the right wall, while a corridor extended back from the entrance hall.
A middle-aged butler came into the hall.
“Good evening, Gardner,” Jack said. “Allow me to present my betrothed, Lady Viola Fairfax. Viola, this is my butler.”
Viola gaped at him before turning her attention to the butler. “Pleased to meet you, Gardner. Pardon my…costume. I was at a masquerade.” No one would ever believe she’d gone to a masquerade dressed so thoroughly as a man, but Gardner was evidently a butler of exceeding grace and talent, and his gaze didn’t reflect even a hint of surprise or affront.
He bowed to her. “It is my pleasure, my lady. We are most delighted to hear of your upcoming marriage. On behalf of the staff, we are eager to serve you.”
“Thank you, Gardner. Mr. Barrett is just going to give me a tour.” She hoped he was, anyway. Actually, she hoped he was going to do far more.
“Exactly so,” Jack said smoothly. He gestured toward the back of the house. “That way is the dining room as well as a small morning room that opens to my miniscule garden. Let us go upstairs.”
She smiled at the butler before preceding Jack up the stairs. On the first floor, he gestured toward the front of the house to a wide doorway. “The drawing room, not that I entertain much.” He turned and pointed to the rear of the house. “A bedroom for guests. Not that anyone comes to visit.” He took her hand again, and this time, he didn’t let go.
Guiding her up to the second floor, he took her to the front of the house and opened the door to a small sitting room. Leading her through it, they emerged in a bedchamber. His bedchamber.
He let go of her hand and walked farther into the room until he stood in the center. “And this is where I sleep. When I am not tortured by thoughts of you.”
Viola took off her hat and tossed it aside, then did the same with her gloves. “You’re tortured by thoughts of me?” She sauntered toward him and began to pluck the pins that held her wig in place.
“Positively bedeviled.” He removed his coat and set it on a chair near the window that surely overlooked the street below. She couldn’t tell because the dark green draperies were closed against the night. A small fire burned in the hearth, and lanterns glowed from either side of the bed. Overall, it was dim, but there was enough light for her to see him.
When all the pins were free, she dislodged the wig and set it atop a table with the pins. Then she peeled the whiskers from her face. “Would it surprise you to know I have been tortured similarly? When I close my eyes, I feel your lips on mine. When I lie in bed, I imagine you beside me. On top of me.Insideme.”
“Viola, dear God.” He was suddenly before her, his fingers deftly pulling the pins from her upswept hair and tossing them to the floor.
“The pins,” she said.
“Can go to the devil.” When her hair was free, he plunged his hands into the strands and cupped her head. He stared at her as if he couldn’t get enough of looking at her face, then he brought his thumbs down her cheeks to her jaw and over her lips until they met. “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. I don’t think I can bear to see you as Tavistock again.”
She stuck her tongue out and licked the pads of his thumbs. He groaned and moved his hands to the sides of her head. Then he kissed her, his mouth meeting hers with a towering passion she knew would consume them both. And she could hardly wait.
Chapter 13
Jack was so glad to see the wig and the whiskers gone. He’d longed to rake his hands through the silken honey of her hair, and it felt better than he’d ever imagined. Now he wanted Tavistock banished for good.
He dragged his mouth from hers and kissed along her jaw as he loosened her cravat. He tugged the silk free and dropped it to the floor. Trailing his lips down her neck, he pulled the collar of her shirt so he could access her collarbone. It wasn’t enough.
Passion rising, he pushed at her coat, and together, they cast it aside. He didn’t wait for it to fall before he began unbuttoning her waistcoat. A moment later, the garment joined the coat wherever it had landed.
She pulled the shirt from the waistband of her breeches and drew it over her head. But of course she wasn’t bare—her breasts were bound, which he’d known they had to be. When he’d kissed and held her in the closet at the ball, her breasts had pressed against his chest in a way they never had when she was dressed as Tavistock.
He longed to unbind her, but first, he wanted her boots off. Guiding her toward the bed, he sat her on the cushioned bench at the end. Then he knelt on the floor and pulled her boots from her feet.
“You are an excellent valet,” she said. Her voice had deepened, but not in the way it did when she played Tavistock. This was a sultry, feminine sound that curled deep in his belly.
“We’ll see about that when you have to get dressed again.” He went to work on her stockings next, and when her feet were bare, he massaged them briefly before pressing his lips to the inside of her calf.
She twitched, then shivered as he kissed his way up to where her breeches started. He lifted his head and knelt between her legs. Looking up into her face, he brushed her hair back and cupped her nape, drawing her down so he could kiss her again.
