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Authors: Bronwen Evans

Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Historical, #General

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BOOK: Invitation to Scandal
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His offer was the slap she needed. The passion swirling around her, through her, all but vanished.
Reality hit home like a cold wind off the sea. A lock snapped open deep inside her chest, and her worst nightmare was revealed. There was no passion without love, not for her. She didn’t want passion, she wanted—love. She wanted to scream out a denial, but her heart betrayed her. It bled at the thought of letting a man who did not love her have sex with her. For that is what it would be, nothing more. It would not be making love, and that is what her heart wanted.
She closed her eyes lest he see her weakness. This meant nothing to him. She meant nothing to this man except a source of information and pleasure.
She could never give herself to a man who would not value the gift she bestowed.
Fury fed her strength, and she rose to push at his chest, knocking him backward, and he hit the floor at her feet.
“Your offer is insulting.”
His eyes glinted anger in the dim light. His jaw was tight and his fists clenched. “Insulting? You should be grateful for such an offer. The scandal-ridden sister to a penniless baron. A woman who gave herself to a Turkish prince for two horses.” He rose to stand on his feet, towering over her as she lay stunned on the throws from his vicious verbal attack. “Perhaps you think to know your own worth and expect me to pay more. Marriage? Is that what you are after?” He leaned down until his nose touched hers. “Never. Never to the likes of you. I wouldn’t taint the Strathmore name.”
She hid the pain his words sliced into her heart and hit back. “From what I have heard your father did a good job of that all by himself.”
A hiss escaped through his clenched teeth. “If you weren’t a—lady—I’d kill you for that remark.”
He stood and retrieved his shirt. “If you didn’t want me buried between your thighs, what was this scene all about?”
She couldn’t look him in the eye. She had wanted him. But he’d killed that desire with his callousness. She refused to be a man’s plaything. Her mother had suffered the agony of being in thrall to a man who did not love her, and Rheda knew her heart was becoming engaged. She vowed she would not let a man have that power over her—ever.
Thank goodness she’d learned in time that Rufus had no feelings for her. Real feelings. Lust was not love. If her mother hadn’t taught her this, Rufus’s actions surely had.
However, the night had not been a complete waste. She glanced at the clock. The boat should have made shore by now. Rufus caught her glance, and she watched a muscle in his jaw tighten.
“You were the distraction. Bravo, my dear. I’ve never enjoyed a distraction so much. You were truly magnificent.” He immediately pivoted for the door. Before he stepped through he threw a further insult over his shoulder. “Your brother must be so proud.”
Chapter 16
 
H
e did up his jacket on the way down the stairs. He’d left his waistcoat on the bedchamber floor and wouldn’t risk going back for it. Risk his temper exploding and him taking his anger out on her—in her.
Christ, he tugged a hand through his hair. The woman was going to drive him insane. How could he feel anything but loathing for such a woman? His stomach clenched and his blood froze—but he did.
The hunt for his father’s salvation was obviously clouding his judgment. There was just too much going on in his mind, too many questions requiring answers, too many restless doubts. And there was also something else that wouldn’t let him alone—something kicking and screaming in his chest with every breath he took. Perhaps that’s why he’d allowed himself the temporary luxury of just enjoying her seduction. Now that Rheda had opened the door to carnal delights, what reason was there to stop him from taking her—willing or not?
His honor—that’s what. He still had a smidgeon of honor left. Marguerite hadn’t destroyed it completely.
Strange, all Rheda needed to do was flash a smile and he was eager to have her. It was as if she reached deep into him and teased a part of him he tried to keep buried. He was helpless to resist her, eager to forget everything deadly she could unleash.
Betrayal, agony, hurt, and worse. She could drag the Strathmore name so far down in the mud nothing would ever clean it. But he still wanted her, desired her—Christ, he closed his eyes and admitted that he didn’t want to hurt her. Why should she suffer because of her brother’s lawlessness?
He of all people knew how unfair being tarred with another’s brush was. He finally admitted what he’d been trying to fight. He admired her. He admired her loyalty to her family and her ability to not give a damn about what people thought of her. Wasn’t she trying to protect her brother just as he was protecting his mother and sister? He’d shown that he was quite prepared to do practically anything to ensure their happiness.
His thoughts were interrupted by one of his men. “Lord Worthington requires your presence on the cliffs. The baron left the house over an hour ago.”
With grim determination forcing thoughts of Rheda from his head, Rufus grabbed his great overcoat and left the house.
Cursing under his breath, he struggled to make headway against the howling wind. Visibility was limited to the arc of his lantern, about three feet in front of him. He’d fallen at least three times, slipping in the wet muddy grass as he battled the windy conditions. He concentrated on keeping his footing on the slippery stones near the cliff top.
Stephen materialized out of the darkness on his right, soaking wet in his thick overcoat. “You’re late,” he yelled into the wind.
“Apologies. Something came up.” He did not want to elaborate on exactly what part of his anatomy had come up. His friend would be furious.
Stephen moved close and spoke in Rufus’s ear. “Damn, this storm. The men cannot see a thing. I’m sure they’ll not land a boat tonight in these conditions.”
Rufus flicked his dripping fringe out of his eyes and pulled his hair back, tying it at the back of his neck. He knew they would. Rheda’s seduction was all the proof he needed. Why else would she have offered herself to him?
“They’ll come.” He said. “This storm hit suddenly, too late for the French to turn back. They’ll anchor out to sea and row the cargo in.”
“Are you sure? It would be bloody dangerous with waves of this size; they might break up on the rocks.”
He glanced across at their men, huddled with their backs against the elements like a herd of cows sheltering from the rain. Turning back to Stephen he said, “I’m sure they’ve landed in these conditions before. It’s more trouble than it’s worth for the Revenuers to catch them in a storm.”
“Well, my men have been scouring the cliff tops since early evening and have not spotted anyone. Now it’s almost impossible to see anything in this weather. The smugglers have the advantage over us.”
Rufus pointed down the cliff. “We need to get the men on the beaches. They have to land the cargo somewhere.”
Stephen shrugged his shoulders. “It’s like finding a needle in a haystack, there are so many coves and caves in the cliffs around the coastline. Where do you want to position the few men we have?”
Rufus rubbed a hand across his forehead and tried to ignore the water streaming down his face. “South is too rocky in this weather. Take the men and split them into groups of three. Let’s search cove by cove. Start up north by Hallow Cove, the men can work in threes, two men down on the beach and one man on the cliff top to signal us if they find anything. We’ll work down the coast back to this point. Get the men to signal with their lanterns if they see anything suspicious.”
“What are you going to do?” Stephen eyed him worriedly.
“I am going to have a quick check south. They just might be stupid enough to try and land at Sholden Bay.”
“Be careful, Rufus, you’ll only have two shots; one from each pistol. The gunpowder is likely to be too wet to reload.”
He gave a grim smile. “I have my trusted sword.” He stepped back and offered Stephen his hand. “Good luck, my friend. Keep safe.”
“And you.” Then Stephen hurried over to the drenched men and barked out his orders.
Rufus swung around to stare at the southern coastline. It was savage in its beauty. The waves were white foam, crashing against black rock. Spray, falling like snowflakes, was drifting inland on the wind.
 
Two cold, wet, and miserable hours later, Rufus finally admitted to himself they’d missed their prey. He pulled his watch out of his pocket, fingers fumbling, numb from the cold; he struggled with the catch to lift the watch’s lid. Close to three in the morning. They would have unloaded and sailed back to France by now.
He closed his eyes, bitter in his defeat—and his head dropped back, the rain lashing at his face. Pulling himself together he straightened and stood, head held high once more, fists clenched. He would not give up, and he shook himself, trying to rid the stink of despair he could smell on his body. He strode slowly back toward the rendezvous point, knowing Stephen would’ve signaled him if the men had found anything. His face remained expressionless as he renewed his vow to catch Daniel, come what may.
Ahead of him loomed Jacob’s Point, a massive rock formation believed by some to be haunted by a young lad named Jacob who, having climbed the rock to avoid his drunken father’s beating, had fallen to his death in the sea fifty feet below. They said that on misty nights, the young ghost was often on the outcrop, his arms outstretched as if pleading with his father. The stories were more likely to be due to an excess of gin.
He came to an abrupt halt. About two hundred yards away two eerie figures seemed to hug the rocks, and the hairs on his neck rose. For a moment he thought he was looking at young Jacob and his father. Then his instincts roared into life. They were men, not ghosts. Men—very much alive.
Drawing his pistol he advanced on them. The wind made his approach soundless, and they hadn’t yet seen him. They were too engrossed in their conversation. He took one steady step after another, trying not to squelch in the mud. “Good evening, gentlemen. No sudden movements if you please.”
He still could not clearly make out the men’s features. Then, just as he was about to advance closer, his knees buckled; his head felt like it had split in two. He landed face first in the mud, the fall broken by the softness of the soaking wet ground. Someone had hit him from behind.
He looked up from the mud, blinking furiously, trying to get the grit out of his eyes. The two startled men turned to flee; one of them glanced his way, and he thought he saw concern in the man’s eyes. He raised his pistol and managed to fire one shot at the fleeing men. With a satisfied smile he slumped back down, certain he’d hit one of them. He let a wave of nausea and black spots swamp him before succumbing to total darkness.
He awoke to firm hands turning him over in the mud.
“Are you shot, Rufus? Can you hear me?”
He winced. Stephen’s concerned voice sounded like a ship’s foghorn in his ear.
“I’m fine, stop fussing, I haven’t been shot.” He took Stephen’s outstretched hand and let himself be pulled to his feet. He stood gripping Stephen’s arm for a few seconds as he cleared his groggy head. He gingerly felt the back of his skull. No blood, good, the skin hadn’t been broken. All he could feel was a large bump.
“I take it you ran into trouble,” Stephen said. “The men have checked along the beach, but there is no one about. God damn it, we’ve missed them.”
“I came across two men. Then someone hit me over the head from behind. I did manage to get a shot away. I’m sure I hit one of them; I think it was Daniel.”
Stephen turned and called to his men. “You two, Gregory and Carter, organize the men to search the grounds. If he’s wounded he cannot have gone far.”
Rufus tried to clear his throbbing head; his skull felt as though it wanted to explode. He rested his head in his hands. Was it Daniel he’d seen, or did he desperately want it to be him just so he could use the baron as an excuse to despise Rheda? If Daniel was innocent then Rheda’s words would be true and he’d have to admit feelings for her that he had no right to indulge.
Rheda. He turned so quickly another bout of dizziness swamped him.
“Are you sure you are all right?” Stephen asked. “You have a nasty bump on the back of your head.”
“I am fine. I have to get back to the manor; if it was Daniel he’ll go to Rheda.”
“Are you sure?”
Rufus realized he wasn’t really. He shrugged his shoulders. “There’s no point standing here in the howling wind and rain. The men are searching the grounds; we should search the manor.”
Chapter 17
 
R
heda tensed at the sound of the purposeful footsteps approaching her room. Her stomach, already a twisted snare of knots, lurched, and she swallowed the bile rising into her mouth. There was no turning back. The scene she was enacting would probably seal her fate. But it was Daniel. Her brother. What else was she to do?
Luckily, Rufus’s shot had only winged her brother’s arm. Barely a scratch. She’d been able to quickly patch him up, and now Daniel was safely hidden in the caverns below the manor.
The blazing fire, and the warmth from her bath, couldn’t keep the chill from pervading her bones. She drew in a deep breath and slowly exhaled, willing her racing heart to calm down. He’d see right through this charade.
She knew Rufus would come for her. All games would be over. Time for the much needed reckoning had arrived.
Her door flew open with such force it almost came off its hinges. She flinched at the unrefined power and beauty of the man filling the doorway. Raw vitality emanated from his body, buffeting her senses. It was a very dangerous yet seductive combination.
His dark brown eyes disquietingly familiar did not even start at the sight of her lying naked in the copper bathtub. So much for the idea that her bodily charms might disarm him; after her actions earlier this evening, he was impervious to her nudity.
His broad shoulders filled the doorway, subtly reminding her there would be no escape. She allowed her gaze to travel up the hard lean length of him. His presence dominated her bedchamber. Her mouth went dry. She briefly closed her eyes and offered up a silent prayer. “Where is he?” Rufus’s voice was as cold and imposing as the rest of him. Although she knew what was coming, this Rufus frightened her.
Rheda steeled herself against his dark insolent beauty and snapped, “Lord Strathmore, what is the meaning of this intrusion? I am bathing. Kindly remove yourself, sir, or with one scream I’ll summon help and have you removed.”
Cold and arrogant, Viscount Strathmore raised a sardonic brow. “Not a very convincing performance, Miss Kerrich. The only help a scream will likely summon is my men, and I’m sure they’d love to witness Miss Rheda Kerrich in all her natural beauty.”
He moved farther into her bedchamber with surprising grace for a man thrumming with tension, then stood before the fireplace, surveying her with a cool, raking glance.
Rheda shivered under his slow, deliberate stare; he made her feel tarnished, unworthy, but she lifted her chin and studied him with the same cool insolence he was giving her.
He was worth the attention. His hair that had flowed freely over his shoulders in the ballroom just hours earlier was now plastered to his head; water dripped onto his collar below. The threads of copper that ran through the rich, chocolate-colored hair glinted in the firelight, flashing danger.
“I won’t ask again.” The timbre of his voice, low and cultured, flowed like velvet but with an edge of steel. “Where is your brother?”
Rheda felt herself flush, but she kept her gaze steady, gesturing with one wet arm, around the room. “You can see my chamber is empty. I have no idea where he is.” She paused, raised an eyebrow, and continued, “Do you think he’s hiding in the bathwater?”
As soon as the rash words were out of her mouth she wished she could take them back, for he moved deliberately toward her until he stood towering over her at the tub’s edge. His scathing perusal swept the water, searching its dark depths before moving over her half-exposed breasts and up farther until their eyes met.
“You do not even seem surprised I am looking for him. Why is that, I wonder?” His questions held an edge of wryness.
Rheda dreaded having to respond. Whatever she said would only deepen the trap he was setting for her. Feigning indignation, she countered, “I am flustered, my lord. I have never before had a
gentleman
barge into my chamber while I was bathing.”
He dropped to a crouch next to the tub, his black breeches pulling tight across the powerful muscles of his thighs. With elbows resting on the tub, he leaned his chin on clasped hands. “Ah, but then my beautiful Rheda, earlier tonight you didn’t want me to be a gentleman.”
She swallowed, her traitorous body reacting to his husky murmur, the scent of sandalwood and masculinity surrounding him.
The wicked rogue slowly reached out and with one finger traced a droplet of water from her right shoulder diagonally across her exposed breasts until his finger rested on her now hardened left nipple hidden just below the waterline.
Her breath quickened. She desperately tried to ignore his touch, but her body grew hot with desire at the feel of his finger slowly circling her areola. His smile widened at her body’s obvious response.
His head turned and his seductive smile froze. Straightening, he moved to the corner of the room. A towel lay crumpled there, a scarlet stain visible on one small corner.
Rheda’s stomach knotted.
He swiveled to face her, no amusement or softness in his steely gaze. He stepped closer, grim anger scoring his mouth, but then he visibly repressed it. “Not seen him? Then where did this blood come from? I know I wounded him. If you are cut, show me. He has been here, hasn’t he? Where are you hiding him?”
“You misunderstand, my lord.” Rheda lowered her head, allowing her embarrassment to flame into her cheeks. “It’s my blood. My monthly courses have just started.”
Men, she knew, did not discuss such topics. She held her breath, hoping that would unsettle him. But his next statement made her choke on her own words.
“Stand up. We’ll see how truthful you are.”
Her head came up. “I beg your pardon?”
“I said stand up. If what you say is true it shouldn’t take long for the evidence to appear.”
Rheda’s fear was replaced with sparks of anger. Her teeth set and her voice changed. All pretense of softness and femininity gone. She snapped, “How dare you? Get out of my chambers,
now!
”
With arms folded across his chest, he commanded, “Either stand up or I will call my men to help you out of the tub. Your choice.”
Rheda closed her eyes, feeling a spell of dizziness. Lord Strathmore had her trapped by her own lies. She chewed her bottom lip, trying to decide what to do. She had to delay the excise men as long as possible. Long enough for Daniel to escape. Lifting her head, she squared her shoulders and, with great dignity, complied. She gracefully stood up, naked, proud and tall in the tub, water streaming down over her curves.
There was a bleak satisfaction at the reaction her emergence from the water provoked. Longing flared across the finely chiseled features.
He swore softly under his breath before flashing a mocking smile. “Rheda means goddess in ancient Anglo-Saxon—did you know that? You are aptly named, for you truly are a goddess among women.”
His gaze swept from her ankles, still hidden by the water, up her legs, halted at the thatch of fair curls at the apex of her thighs, continued over her stomach, and lingered again at her breasts, until finally resting on her face. Heat stole through her body and pooled in her loins. She noted his obvious arousal and the look of lust lighting his brown eyes. It was all she could do not to jump from the tub and flee.
Rheda kept her palms flat against her thighs, willing them not to try and cover her. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of knowing her embarrassment. Above all she did not want him to realize that he was the first man to ever see her naked.
But God help her, he did not stop there. He slowly circled the tub until she could no longer see him—he was somewhere behind her. She trembled in discomfort. It was unnerving not being able to see what he was looking at, or read the expression in his eyes. With her back to him, Rheda felt more exposed than ever, but she refused to turn around and face him.
The quiet seemed to stretch on, the only sound being the water dripping off her nude body into the tub. Each passing minute increased her body’s tremors. Soon she’d be unable to hide her distress.
Rheda closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
He spoke again, harshly and with ragged breath. “I see you lied.”
She started, almost falling forward out of the tub. She hadn’t heard his silent approach. He was close enough for his soft breath to caress her damp skin.
“This isn’t a game. A game where you think I’ll see your heavenly charms and forget what I am after. I want the whereabouts of your brother, and I don’t care how I get it.”
Regaining her composure and taking several large gulps of air, while still not looking at him, Rheda replied, “I’ll not let you hurt my brother.”
His only response was a touch. A seductive slide of his warm finger down her spine. Rheda tensed, waiting for the molten pressure from his finger to continue its downward path. But his finger stopped its seductive trail once it reached the end of her spine, leaving a sudden chill in its place.
“Does your brother know the lengths you go to protect him? Earlier this evening you seduced me so that he could carry on his smuggling business immune from capture. Your scheme did not work.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“I grow tired of your lies. I can leave you standing here in all your glory as long as it takes. I’m finding the more I know you the more I grow immune to your abundant charms.”
His very stillness sent a shiver through her. “Your desire was not faked.”
Rufus gave a harsh bark. “Neither was yours.”
“That’s true. I do desire you. But tonight I learned something about myself. I want more, and we come from different worlds. You’d never understand mine, and I certainly wouldn’t want to live in yours. It would be far too restricting.”
Rufus moved to stand in front of her. Time stretched between them as his gaze bored into her. Her nerves pulled taut. What would he do with her?
One perfect eyebrow rose. “Desire me? Truly? Are you lying, sweetheart? If, once again, I were to offer you a position as my mistress in exchange for saving Daniel, would you take it?”
“You’re the one who’ll pay.” The anger infusing his face told her she’d said the wrong thing. He thought she was agreeing to his offer.
“You’d trade your body to save your worthless brother. Perhaps I should indulge in sampling your delights before I decide whether to save Daniel or let him rot.”
Rheda hugged herself. He sounded so defeated. So tired. As though this situation pained him as much as it pained her.
She’d driven him to this.
She’d not meant to, but she’d used the only weapons she had—her looks. The weapon had backfired. She’d pushed too far. If he followed this path, Daniel and Lady Hale would likely require him to do the honorable thing. Marriage to her would hurt him and his family even more. “No. Stop. That is not—”
He moved before she had time to finish her sentence, cutting her words with a kiss. He swept her up in his arms and walked with her to the bed, dropping her down on the soft bedding before slowly following her down and covering her body. The feel of his soaking-wet clothes wasn’t the only thing sending a chill through her. There was no softness in his touch this time. No gentleness.
Rheda struggled in earnest. Anger hummed around them. He was a man simply going through the motions of sex. This was no longer about pleasure; it was about teaching her a lesson. If he wanted to hurt her he couldn’t have found a better way. This was not how she’d imagined her first time would be—certainly not her first time with him.
His mouth took hers in a bruising kiss. His tongue probed her tight lips, forcing his way in. Invading. Punishing.
Rheda knew she deserved to be chastised. She’d teased this man. Pushed him to do something she knew he’d never forgive himself for. Or her.
If Rufus discovered he’d raped an innocent, it would destroy him. He had no idea who she really was. No idea that the rumors about her and the prince were false. She had never professed her innocence. Now he was going to pay the price for her pride.
She had to help him. Perhaps if he understood she truly wanted him, he’d not feel so guilty over what he was about to do. She might even be able to hide her virginity from him if she made it plain she welcomed his ravishment.
She stopped fighting him and kissed him back. She let loose her passion and took control. She pushed her tongue into his mouth and moaned low in her throat. She bent her legs to hug his hips and let him sink between her thighs. She could feel his rampant erection through his clothing.
On a groan his kiss softened. His hands gentled, and he let go of her wrists so he could stroke her body.
Would he stop if she asked? Could she reason with him now, or would he think it still a game?
For some reason she could not get the words out.
She watched with willing fascination as he shrugged rapidly out of his clothes.
He was fully aroused, and the magnificence of his nude body took her breath away. The muscles of his chest and torso rippled and flexed, and her fingers longed to trail every inch like the shadows from the fire dancing over his naked skin.
BOOK: Invitation to Scandal
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