Tempting Bella (Entangled Scandalous) (9 page)

Her father looked at her, his forehead wrinkling. “Have you taken to imbibing like a dockside strumpet as well as dressing as one?”

Brushing a gaze over Bella’s revealing vibrant red gown, Stan’s eyes lingered for a moment on the exposed mounds of her breasts. She reflexively brought her hand up to cover herself, embarrassed Stan should see her in such a scandalous gown. She’d worn it to provoke her father and husband, to show them she didn’t care what they thought and would do as she pleased. But Stan’s good opinion did matter to her.

He surprised her by bringing her hand to his lips. Warm, reassuring eyes caught and held hers for a moment. Heat pushed through her when his soft lips touched her skin in a tender caress. He replaced her hand back on his sleeve before turning back to the His Grace. “Pray do not insult my wife, Traherne.”

The room shifted. When had the duke insulted Stan’s wife?

“I credited you with more brains than you apparently possess, Stanhope. Can you not see it is Mirabella who insults us both with her behavior?” Traherne blew out an exasperated breath. “I don’t care for proprieties, but they must be observed. You refused to bring your wife to heel and now she’s allowing strangers to take liberties in full view of the
ton
.”

Stanhope?
Stanhope.
Why was he calling Stan by Sebastian’s name? Sebastian Stanhope. It finally dawned that “Stan” was a diminutive of Stanhope. Good Lord.

“Kissing one’s husband is hardly scandalous,” she heard the man beside her say, confirming what her mind was still trying to parse.

What an idiot she was.

His Grace frowned. “What the devil are you about, Sebastian?”

“The gentleman in the lending library with my wife was none other than myself.” He flashed a slow, confident smile at Bella. “Perhaps I am guilty of enjoying my wife’s abundant charms, but she is entirely blameless. I take full responsibility.”

Fire flared deep in her. Stan was Sebastian. He’d known all along who she was—that they were husband and wife—yet he’d tempted her into what she’d believed to be an indiscretion.

“Is this true, Mirabella? Were you with Sebastian in the lending library?”

Fury clawed her chest and she gritted her teeth, not trusting herself to look at Stan…Sebastian. “This is the person who accompanied me to the lending library, yes.”

Traherne barked a relieved laugh. “How is this possible?”

Sebastian placed a hand over Bella’s, where it rested on his sleeve. “I summoned her home just as you suggested. We have passed the last few days becoming reacquainted again.”

Her heart pumping, she pulled her hand out from under Sebastian’s. It was all she could do not to break the vodka decanter over his deceitful head.

Traherne walked over to the sideboard to pour himself another drink, this time, apparently, a congratulatory one. He emptied the decanter into his glass. “Well, this is capital. That old biddy, Lady Hervey, won’t have a chance to make mischief after all.” He emptied the contents of the glass in one large gulp. “She always ran to your mother with word of my peccadilloes and my late wife was like Bella here. She was never one to let a perceived transgression go unnoticed, especially when it involved her husband.”

Her pulse pounded so hard in her head, she thought her skull would burst open. “You are correct, Father.” She cast a patently false sweet smile at Sebastian and was gratified to see a glitter of alarm in his mendacious green eyes. “I am not one to let a husband’s offense go unpunished.”

“Excellent, excellent,” her father said in an absentminded way that showed his thoughts had moved on to other matters. “Well, I’m for the club. I have a luncheon date.”

They’d been reunited for barely an hour and her father was already leaving her again. No matter. She’d reserve the full force of her emotion for Sebastian. It was exactly what he deserved.

…

Traherne had barely closed the door behind him before the decanter he’d emptied moments before came barreling through the air, aimed straight for Sebastian. He ducked, the alarming
whoosh
of air alerting him to just how close the crystal carafe had come to bashing him in the head. It sailed over and slammed into the wall ending its flight with a graceless thud on the carpet.

“Good God!” he exclaimed. “Are you mad? You could have rendered me senseless.”

“As if you have any good sense to lose!”

“Surely we can discuss this like rational adults.” Bending to pick up the carafe, he placed it on a lowboy. “Once you regain your wits, I’m certain—”

This time it was too late to duck. His arm shot up to protect his face from an incoming marble paperweight. Pain shot through his arm when it struck his elbow. “Blast it! Stop this nonsense at once.”

Her expression feral, she scanned the chamber as if searching for something. Her wits, hopefully. She spun and grabbed for something on her father’s desk. A letter opener. He lunged, reaching her just as her grip closed around the marble handle of the blade. Careful not to hurt her, he forced her wrists above her head, maneuvering the glinted edge so that it couldn’t harm either of them.

“Let it go, Bella. You could hurt someone with that.”

“Not someone, nitwit,” she snapped. “You.”

Her hold still tight on the weapon, she struggled against his superior strength. He held firm, certain she’d seize any opportunity to run him through. “Give it up. You haven’t a chance against me.”

Her breaths came in short, harsh gasps. “We’ll see about that, you mutton-headed clod pole.”

His own temper sparked. “Drop it.”

“
No
.” He could feel the fury rippling through her muscles. Her cheeks were flushed with exertion, tendrils of curls had escaped her coiffure. She looked like sin in that scarlet dress that barely covered her, leaving a wide expanse of luminous pale shoulder and plump, creamy mounds exposed to his lusty gaze. And from this vantage point, the view was excellent.

His body’s elemental urges surged, swamping him with the need to lay her across the desk, toss up her skirts, and feel her moist heat. He ached to pull down her bodice to see what color her nipples were. In his imaginings, they were the same delectable pink as her temptress lips.

“You’re hurting me.” Her soft tone snapped his attention back to his steel grip on her wrists. Mortified at the thought of injuring her, he loosened his hold. She instantly tried to jerk her arms away. When that failed, she slammed him hard with her body instead.

The shocking shunt of her body against his—glorious soft breasts, stomach to belly, masculine parts against decidedly feminine ones—awakened his body to stunning alertness.

Triumph flared in her exquisite face, followed by an expression of clear malicious intent. He recovered his senses in time to catch her knee when it shot up, aiming for his bits. The unexpected movement upset her balance. “Blast you!” she cried.

His heart jumped when she fell away from him. He tightened his grasp around her bent knee, keeping it uplifted, steadying her. “Unmanning me will solve nothing,” he said between harsh breaths.

She growled something in response, but his mind was too busy parsing their awkward position to comprehend her words. With her one leg hitched up, her feminine charms were snuggled against his thigh. Any hope of bodily control cascaded out of him. His vitals surged to attention, straining toward her inviting warmth.

Red shot through her face when she registered their indecent stance. She jerked back, but he held her firm. She teetered on one leg, totally at his mercy. Raging at him through clenched teeth, she growled, “Let me go, you
pig.
”

His hapless body hardened against her enticing softness. “Not until you promise to behave.”

She went rigid at the feel of his arousal against her inner thigh. “As if you know the first thing about proper behavior, you lying scab.”

“I never lied to you.”

“Ha! Another lie.”

He did owe her an explanation, but with those fleshy orbs pressed into his chest and her femininity at his hip driving his body to bedlam, it was impossible to recall the cogent explanation he’d rehearsed. “That was never my intent—”

“Just what was your intent?” She struggled to wrench her hand away from his, the letter opener trembled in her grip. “Were you amusing yourself at my expense? Was it some kind of test to see if I could be seduced by a man who I did not know was my husband?”

Frowning, he tried to focus on her words and not the feminine heat snuggled against him. “No, of course not. I just wanted us to have a chance to become acquainted.”

“You weren’t spying on me to test my faithfulness?”

“Perhaps at first,” he said with great reluctance. “Just for a moment.”

Her eyes flared. “Why am I not surprised?” She jerked her knee, aiming for his vitals again.

He restrained her leg before she could unman him. “That changed almost immediately,” he said quickly, needing her to understand the truth of matters between them. “I realized that I wanted to truly know you, that I enjoyed being with you. I wanted to court you the way a lady of your elegance and spirit deserves.”

Her eyes watered and for a moment her expression softened. Then she blinked, recovering her anger. “Another lie. You are exactly the way I’ve always imagined you to be.”

He started to protest, but then inhaled her scent, startled to find her woman’s heat comingled with the essence of orange blossom. He frowned. “Why do you never wear the same perfume?”

Her face scrunched up. “What?”

“At our first encounter you smelled of jasmine, the second time like lavender, and now…is that citrus I detect?”

“Not that it is any of your concern, but I like to change my scent to suit my mood.”

That seemed like a disorderly way to manage one’s toilet. He himself performed the exact same ablutions each day. “The lavender doesn’t suit you.”

She relaxed her defensive posture a little. “Why is that?”

“Something richer, with a hint of spice, would suit you better.”

A thoughtful expression crossed her face, but then she seemed to remember that her open leg remained hiked up against him. If he adjusted his body slightly to the left, he could plunge headlong into her feminine sweetness. She went taut. “Release me.” The words melted on a shaky breath.

He struggled to hold still, to keep from rubbing his member against her. “So you can plunge that pointed tool into me?” He felt the fight leave her. She relaxed her grip on the letter opener, allowing him to relieve her of it. He gently released her leg, the delightful turn of her curves sliding through his fingers.

Turning away from him, she sighed with a weighty sadness. “First, my father and now you. I should have heeded Josette’s advice never to trust a man because he will always disappoint. Stan was a lovely dream while he lasted.”

He felt an absurd jealousy of Stan. “For God’s sake, I am Stan. Don’t you see? Nothing has changed.”

“You’re correct in that. Nothing has changed.” She regarded him with open derision. “You are exactly what I expected you to be. The rest of it—
Stan—
was the illusion.”

“Perhaps you should try living in the real world. You might find it suits you.”

She gave a weary snort. “I’ve been living in the real world since I was three-and-ten. You and my father saw to that.”

“No,” he said resolutely. “Today, you begin your real life, as my wife, by my side.”

Chapter Seven

His wife uttered not a word on the short ride from the duke’s residence. Staring straight ahead, she ignored him, her lips pressed together as the fire in her cheeks cooled.

His chest squeezed at the obvious turmoil raging inside her. What a mess he’d made of things. He’d meant to allow her some freedom, but ended up wounding his wife with his years-long absence. He’d compounded that idiocy by not claiming her the moment he’d realized who she was.

His wife. His to love. His to build a true family with.

He’d devote himself to reassuring her of his true intentions. And, one evening soon, he would make her his wife in truth. His man parts swelled at the thought, the usual tight control he maintained over his bodily responses nowhere to be found. He crossed his legs to hide the obvious sign of his desire for her.

The indecent gown wasn’t helping control his impulses. He’d understood immediately why she’d worn it. In defiance—likely to provoke both husband and father—to demonstrate she answered to no one. But that was before she knew his true identity. Once she understood the way of things, he doubted she would repeat today’s performance.

He shifted in his seat, trying to relieve the pressure in his groin. His vitals were clearly anxious to unleash years of pent-up desire. Looking at Bella, taking in her high, gently sloping cheekbones and the generosity of her sweet mouth, thinking of her vibrant personality and quick wit, he was glad he’d remained faithful to her. She was a woman well worth waiting for.

They arrived at their Park Street townhome to find the servants lined up on either side of the staircase leading up to the entrance. Alighting first, he turned to help her down, proud to present his wife to the anxious staff. He noted how she smoothly pulled her hand away as soon as her feet touched the ground. The butler, Davison, and the housekeeper, Mrs. Nagle, stepped forward to greet them.

Sebastian made the introductions. “Davison, this is your mistress, Lady Mirabella.”

The butler bowed low, showing his respect for the duchess she’d one day become. “My lady. It is my sincere pleasure to serve you. I shall endeavor to meet your every expectation.”

“Thank you, Davison. I’m certain you will exceed them.” She answered with the poise and grace befitting her station.

The housekeeper fell into a deep curtsy. “And this is Mrs. Nagle, our housekeeper,” Sebastian said.

“Welcome home, my lady. We are pleased to have our mistress in residence.”

“My thanks, Mrs. Nagle. I shall rely on your expertise when acquainting myself with the household.”

From there, Davison proceeded to introduce her to each member of the male staff. Then Mrs. Nagle did the same with the female servants. Bella repeated each name as it was told to her and took the time to exchange a few words with each one.

Sebastian was well pleased by Bella’s graceful manner with the staff. She behaved every inch the duchess she would one day be and, if their mistress’s scandalous gown shocked them, the servants were too well trained to show it.

Once the introductions were complete, Bella turned to Mrs. Nagle. “Perhaps you would be so kind as to show me to my chambers.”

Sebastian stepped forward and offered his arm before Mrs. Nagle could respond. “Allow me, my dear, it would be my pleasure.”

She looked at him with cool civility, her demeanor so unlike the vibrant, open woman he’d come to know. “I would not want to trouble you.”

“Not at all, you would be doing me a kindness.”

He noted a subtle tightening of her features, but she blinked it away.

“How can I refuse?”

…

Bella couldn’t help appreciating the luxurious bedchamber in its muted shades of yellow and ivory. A large four-poster, canopied bed dominated the room and a bank of windows to the east looked out over a small but lovely, well-kept garden.

“It’s quite nice,” she murmured, conscious that the housekeeper hovered nearby directing the footmen where to leave the bags Bella had packed that morning in anticipation of taking up residence with her husband.

Sebastian, blast his eyes, seemed pleased with her reaction. “My cousin, Willa, the Duchess of Hartwell helped with the changes. I wanted to make certain this chamber was fit for a duchess.”

She smoothed a hand over the cool silk of the counterpane and willed herself to maintain her composure. She swallowed the grief in her throat, trying to brush away a sweeping sense of loss. Stan had never been real, yet she mourned as if someone dear to her had perished.

The housekeeper approached with a petite, young woman by her side. Curly, dark hair escaped her cap, framing the girl’s narrow, friendly face and large brown eyes. “My lady, this is Louisa,” said Mrs. Nagle. “She will be pleased to serve as your ladies’ maid, unless you already have someone in service.”

With a nervous smile, Louisa dipped into a deep curtsy. “My lady.”

“I would be grateful for your help,” she said warmly to the girl, hoping to put her at ease. “Perhaps you could begin with unpacking my things.”

The girl flushed with pleasure. “Oh, yes, my lady. Straight away.”

“In a little while, Louisa,” Sebastian said from across the room. “Please leave us for now.” He turned to the footmen and gestured for them to do the same.

Bella’s heart pounded. She busied herself arranging her toilet items, moving her brush, tooth powder, and perfumes around on her dressing table. She pretended to ignore Sebastian, who leaned against a bedpost, watching her with his arms crossed over his chest.

“You will have to speak to me eventually.” He finally broke the silence. “Surely you have something to say.”

She turned to face him, locking her eyes with his. “What would you have me say?” Her chest swelled with feeling. “That you made a fool of me? That I cannot bear to be in your company?”

“That would be a start.”

His complete command of himself infuriated her. Did he never lose control? “Perhaps you should inform me how you intend to go on in this marriage. You clearly have no use for me now that you have access to my funds.”

His green eyes regarded her with a calm confidence that unnerved her. “I think we shall get on quite well once the shock of this has passed.”

She forced a harsh laugh and returned to unpacking her things. “If that is really what you believe, then you do not know me very well,” she said. “But then again, we already know that.”

He walked to her. “I am sorry for hurting you.”

“It is of no consequence. All we have is a marriage of convenience.”

He reached out and tucked a loose tendril behind her ear. She stiffened, acutely aware of his body standing too close to hers and of the way the scent of musk shaving soap and male heat tended to sneak over her and steal her senses.

“We have this,” he said softly, his eyes intent on her face. “It is more than most married couples have.”

Moving away from him, she said, “I don’t know what you mean.”

He closed the distance between them, the relentless hunter closing in on his skittish quarry. “I think you do.” He reached out and smoothed the back of his hand down the column of her throat.

Her pulse scattered in all directions. “You are mistaken.”

“Am I? The signs are all there. Your smooth skin is warm.”

“Because I am angry.”

His warm strong hand moved lower, to the top of her exposed chest, just inches from the top swells of her breasts. “Yet your heart races under my touch.”

Lord have mercy
. She clenched her teeth to keep from sighing out loud at the delicious trail of sensation his fingers drew on her skin. “A sign of my distress at your betrayal.”

His hand moved lower, to the top curve of her breasts. “You are trembling.”

“With anger. Because I cannot bear your touch.”

“You have the most beautiful skin.”

She almost fainted with pleasure when his audacious hands slipped even lower, inside her bodice, where his fingers brushed against the peak of her breast. Bella closed her eyes, unable to make herself stop him.

“Allow me to treasure you as you deserve. I burn for you.”

She shook her head, helpless under his touch, her breasts swollen and eager. “I burn, too. With anger.”

He chuckled, bringing his lips to her throat, showering it with small, tantalizing kisses. His fingers moved to cup her breast more fully. “We can bring each other great pleasure.”

His mouth moved to hers, gentle and sure. He feathered light kisses over her lips. His tongue outlined her lips, sending her flying on a carpet of warm air. A gentle nip on her lower lip brought her back to earth; she gasped and his wily tongue took the opportunity to slip inside. He stroked in and out of her mouth, rubbing her tongue, going in deeper each time, taking more of her.

Sensation flowed, encompassing her. She tasted him back, a surprising sweet tanginess spiced with his unique taste. His hands tugged at her bodice. Her harlot’s gown allowed him easy access. Damnation. She hadn’t thought of that.

The shock of cool air bathed her bared breasts. He cupped her, his thumbs tantalizing the sensitive tips. “Beautiful,” he murmured.

His lips left hers, moving down her throat, laying tender kisses across the top swells of her breasts as he worked downward, finally taking an engorged tip into his mouth. She cried out when the hot moist silk of his tongue stroked over her. She clutched his arms to steady herself. He wrapped them around her waist, drawing her into an embrace against his powerful form as he moved to the other breast and continued to feast on her. She pressed herself against his prodigious arousal and her entire body throbbed.

“That’s it, my love,” he said in a low, thick voice. “It is still I, Stan.”

Stan was a lie
,
a fantasy that did not exist. The real man in his place had betrayed her and played her for a fool. How could she let him move her this way? She shoved him away with the force of that maelstrom of conflicting emotions. The reverse force of it propelled her onto the bed, landing on her back with her upper body propped on her elbows.

“There is no Stan.” Feeling and fury choked her throat. “He doesn’t exist. He was kind, strong, and true. You possess none of those qualities. You lied to me and abandoned me.”

Against his dark complexion and tousled hair, the green in his eyes deepened with touches of blues and grays, the colors of furious waves in a storm. “What is happening between us is very real,” he said, his full lips moist from the intimate kisses. “I know you feel it as well, only you’re a coward to acknowledge the truth.”

“You would like that, wouldn’t you? For me to give in?”

“We are married. We should make the best of it.” His wild gaze ran over her and she realized how she must appear with her skirt hiked up well above her ankles and her bodice pulled down. She shot up to a sitting position, jerking her bodice up to cover herself. “I’m afraid that’s impossible. You see, I’ve fallen in love with another man. I can’t be unfaithful to my darling
Stan.
”

He groaned in frustration. “I never told you my name was Stan. My friend, Pen, is the only person who refers to me by that rather abominable name.” He pulled at his breeches to adjust them, drawing Bella’s eyes to the sizeable bulge at his groin. It made her go warm, deepening the hungry need still throbbing inside her. She still wanted him, even after everything he’d put her through. Dragging the back of her hand across her lips, she tried to wipe his mesmerizing taste away. She thought back to when she’d first heard the name at Lady Claymont’s rout, when Sebastian’s flame-haired friend had found them together in the library. “Be that as it may, you lied by omission. There is very little difference.”

Hands on his hips, he took a deep inhale as though he, too, needed to calm his body. “It was not a deliberate attempt to deceive you.”

She experienced a small surge of triumph to know she had penetrated his usually unwavering self-control. “Then why didn’t you make yourself known at the opera?”

“I didn’t know who you were then. I swear it.”

“When did you realize?”

“Not until Vauxhall.”

“Vauxhall.” She uttered a silent laugh of incredulity. “You took me down one of the secluded pathways, no doubt hoping to see if I could be seduced like a dockside tart.”

“No, it wasn’t like that.”

“It must have proved an amusing gam, to see if your wife would unknowingly whore for you. Perhaps you and your friends wagered on it.”

Temper flared in his eyes. “Of course we didn’t.”

“You almost won. Who knows what would have occurred in the lending library had Lady Hervey not appeared when she did.”

“Mirabella.”

Good. She wanted to push him to the edge of his blasted composure. “You were almost there. A few more minutes, and you could have had my skirts tossed up for the entire world to see.”

He surged forward, leaning over her with a menacing glare. She fell back in a reflexive movement to avoid the collision of their bodies, landing with her upper body propped back on her elbows again. He planted one large hand on each side of her prone body. “Perhaps I should just toss up your skirts right now.”