It’s Only a Scandal if You’re Caught Read online

  “I seriously doubt that,” she said, flickering one eyebrow in challenge.

  “We’ll have to put it to the test, then,” he said flipping her fully to her back and wedging himself between her thighs once more. His already half-aroused cock rubbed against her hip and he cupped one breast while kissing her.

  “I thought you said you needed to rest,” she giggled, brushing her hands down to his backside and squeezing him.

  “I guess I don’t need as long as I thought I did,” he grinned before kissing her hard.

  Bianca gave herself over to his kiss, writhing against him, feeling as though she needed to make up for years in that one afternoon. Making love with Jack was everything she’d dreamed it would be and more. She didn’t think she would ever get enough of him.

  As they twined together once more, throwing caution to the wind in favor of pleasure, Bianca silently thanked her mother for being so unconventional and for being away. She fully intended to break every rule that had come with the flat to use it as her den of love, just as her mother had. Two days a week wasn’t nearly enough. Wicked though it might make her, she fully intended to have her way with Jack as much as possible, consequences be damned.

  Chapter 6

  Bianca had never awoken to a new day so thoroughly exhausted in her life. If her mother made good on her promise to pop in unexpectedly before the landlord’s daughter could come tidy up the apartment, Bianca would have a great deal of explaining to do.

  The bed was an absolute wreck. She and Jack lay tangled up together in the sheets, which had been pulled out from the mattress by their activity sometime in the night. Dishes and cups were scattered through the parlor from the midnight snack they’d attempted to fix for themselves while naked and unable to keep their hands off each other. The furniture in the parlor was out of place after being used in lieu of the bed when urgency kept them from traveling a dozen steps back to the bedroom. That had been a particularly adventurous portion of the evening in which Bianca had learned it was possible to make love while standing up, or bent forward over the arm of the sofa in her case. Pillows and linens were scattered into every corner of the bedroom, and one of the mirrors hanging on the wall had been knocked askew.

  Bianca had never been happier. She grinned from ear to ear as sleep left her, and twisted against Jack as he lay splayed on his back until she was snuggled against his side.

  “I can’t move,” she murmured, spreading her arm across his chest—a chest she had become deliciously familiar with in the past twelve hours. Along with other parts of him. She contemplated sweeping her hand down his abdomen to stroke his magnificent penis, but that would lead to more shenanigans, and she was truly knackered.

  “Neither can I,” Jack echoed in a hazy voice, though he shifted just enough to draw her on top of him and to rest his arms around her back. “I can’t remember the last time I’ve been so worn out,” he said, a satisfied purr in his voice.

  Bianca summoned enough energy to prop herself above him so she could smile down at him. “We had years to catch up on.”

  His answering grin stirred a wealth of emotions within her. “Are we caught up?” he asked with a rakish flicker of his eyebrow.

  Bianca laughed low in her throat. “Not even close.”

  His grin widened, and he rolled her to her back, covering her body with his. He dipped down for a kiss, but what started out with promise quickly turned into a laugh. “I can’t,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m too worn out. And I need my remaining shred of life to get up and get to work or Sir Edmund will have my hide.”

  “We can’t have that,” Bianca said, stroking his sides. “This hide is mine.”

  He made an appreciative sound of agreement, kissed her softly, then struggled to the side of the bed and rose with a groan. “This is going to be a long day,” he said, sounding happy about it.

  “It’s a shame you can’t go home and sleep for a while.” Bianca pulled herself to the side of the bed and rose as well. Shoots of dull pain in her sex left her wincing as she made it to her feet. “I don’t think I can walk,” she said, her face pinching as she tried.

  “Sorry.” Jack sent her a dazzlingly rakish look over his shoulder as he splashed water from the pitcher to the basin on the corner table to wash.

  “No, you’re not,” she giggled, bending over to fetch articles of their clothes from the day before that hadn’t already been draped over the room’s one chair.

  “No, I’m not,” he echoed, clearly proud of his handiwork. He washed quickly with the sponge on the washstand, then handed it to her when she made her way over to join him in cleaning up. “When do you have the flat again?” he asked, mischief and lust in his eyes.

  “Not until Thursday,” she sighed as she began her ablutions. She brightened as she said, “We could always meet at your flat.”

  Jack’s lazy grin vanished and he shook his head. “No. Clerkenwell is far too dangerous for you.”

  Indignation instantly flared in Bianca’s gut. “It is not,” she protested. “I’m not afraid to go anywhere.”

  “I know, which is why it’s too dangerous,” Jack said as he rubbed himself dry with the towel. “You don’t know what you’d be up against in my neighborhood.”

  “Whether I know or not, I would hold my own,” she insisted.

  Jack pressed his lips together and stared heavily at her. “It’s the things we don’t know that hurt us the most, love. Trust me on this and stay out of Clerkenwell.”

  Stubbornness warred with affection for him deep in Bianca’s heart. She knew she was capable of handling any situation she found herself in, but nothing melted her faster than Jack asking her to trust him.

  “All right,” she said with a sigh, turning her attention back to bathing. “I won’t try to sneak into your flat and your bed to make you sigh and groan the way you did last night. You won’t ever come home after a long, challenging day to find me naked and ready in any number of fascinating positions.” She sent him a coy, sidelong glance.

  He grinned with renewed fire. “Minx,” he said, snapping the towel at her backside.

  Bianca yelped and giggled, grabbing the towel and engaging in a short tug-o-war with him. The whole thing ended in kisses and petting that would have landed them right back in bed if the clock in the parlor hadn’t struck eight.

  “Bugger,” Jack huffed, taking a deliberate step back from her. “I truly do have to get to work. Are you certain the flat doesn’t have shaving soap and a razor?”

  Their playful antics ended as Bianca searched through her mother’s old things for a razor, which she wasn’t surprised to actually find. She went to collect her clothes from the parlor, walking gingerly as she did, as Jack shaved and dressed. The sadness that filled her heart as they prepared to leave and as she nipped downstairs to have a word with Jill about cleaning was balanced by the expectation of the next time she and Jack would meet, which was already brewing inside her.

  “Take this,” she said as they crossed the parlor to leave. She skipped ahead to fetch the flat’s key from the mantel, where it sat beside the considerable sum of money she was leaving for Jill. She brought the key back to Jack, presenting it like a prize. “This way, you can use the flat whenever you’d like.”

  Jack arched a brow as he took the key. “Are you certain?” he asked. “How will you get in if I have the key?”

  “Mama has two keys,” Bianca said with a shrug. “I’ll tell her I lost this one. I misplace things enough as it is, so she’ll believe me.”

  Jack glanced from the key to Bianca, broke into a sly grin, then pocketed the key. “You are a wicked piece of work, Lady Bianca Marlowe,” he said, hooking her around the waist and drawing her close for another kiss.

  It was heavenly. After all the ways they’d explored and been intimate with each other in the last twelve hours, that simple kiss sent her heart fluttering. Bianca intended to move heaven and earth to be with Jack every day for the rest of her life.

  They pa
rted ways just outside of the flat after Jack hailed a cab to take her back to Mayfair. She hadn’t stopped to think how he had gotten to the rally the day before, but he didn’t seem concerned about finding his way back to Clerkenwell or to Scotland Yard or wherever he would go next. She blew him a kiss as her cab rolled off, then settled back against her seat, already dreaming of the next time she would be in his arms.

  That warm glow lasted all the way home and almost carried her up the stairs to her bedroom, where she intended to nap for the rest of the morning. It was cut short when her mother stepped out of the morning parlor and snapped, “Bianca.”

  It was as though someone had dumped ice water down her back. She turned, suddenly even more aware of the stinging between her legs and the wrinkles in her dress from the day before. She put on a smile all the same and answered with a cheery, “Yes, Mama?”

  Her mother stared up at Bianca from at least ten feet below while still managing to appear as though she towered over her. “In the parlor, if you please.” She turned and marched back into the room she’d come out of.

  Bianca gulped and pressed a hand to her stomach. There was no way her mother could possibly know what she and Jack had been up to. She could only just have returned from Cornwall. Bianca walked slowly back down the stairs, clenching her jaw to keep from wincing and putting every shred of acting skill she possessed into not walking like, well, like she’d had Jack vigorously inside her untrained body for most of the night.

  “Is there something you wanted to see me about, Mama?” she asked as she swept into the parlor with what she hoped was a spritely smile and a jaunty step.

  Her mother said nothing. She picked up a folded bit of newspaper from the table, which held a tea service, and walked it over to her. “Explain yourself,” she demanded, her handsome, angular features making her look more like a judge than anything else.

  Bianca took the paper from her and scanned it to find whatever had upset her mother. She was surprised to find that her mother was reading the society pages. That surprise sank like a rock in her stomach when she came to the article about the May Flowers rally.

  “Once again, Lady Bianca Marlowe was seen in the company of a particular man far below her station. What is more, the gentleman—if he can be called that—in question was heard to address her by her given name and to touch her person in a decidedly intimate way. Worst of all, the two were seen leaving Regent’s Park together for destinations unknown.”

  Anger and guilt struck Bianca together, leaving her at a loss for how to feel about the salacious article. She read it a second time to give herself time to formulate an answer.

  “Well?” her mother asked, crossing her arms and glaring at Bianca. “Have I made a terrible error in putting my trust in you?”

  Trust. The word hit Bianca like an arrow in the heart for the second time in a day. She shook her head and handed the newspaper back to her mother.

  “Whoever wrote this made it sound much more reprehensible than it really was,” she said, opting to tell as much of the truth as she could…until it was necessary to lie through her teeth. “Mr. Craig was at the rally. He did call me by my given name, but, you will be pleased to know, he did so as a means of scolding me and bringing me to heel when I was on the verge of tearing Lady Claudia Denbigh limb from limb.”

  Her mother’s brow shot up. “What did Lady Claudia do to provoke you?”

  The truth wasn’t going to serve Bianca well, so she said with conviction, “She insulted my defense of the Irish and the working class in the speech I gave. She has the most antiquated views of the role of women as well, Mama. You would have slapped her yourself if you’d heard the things she said.”

  Her mother hummed in consideration, studying Bianca with sharp eyes. “And where did you and Mr. Craig go when you left the park?” she asked, clearly not entirely fooled.

  “He hailed a cab for me,” Bianca lied. It wasn’t entirely a lie. Jack had hired a cab for her. That morning. “Really, Mama,” she said with a dramatic sigh, shaking her head. “I am through with being treated like a disobedient child who cannot be trusted. And I want to live in the St. John’s Wood flat completely. I’m twenty-three. Most men my age have their own flat or rooms, and some have their own estates. Why should I be denied a home entirely of my own simply because of my sex?” With any luck, her mother would approve of her attempt at independence and greater equality with men.

  Her mother remained silent, studying Bianca and making her feel even more like she was destined for the gallows. Bianca’s stomach churned—or possibly growled. She was ravenous after so much activity the night before. Her sex ached tremendously, and she had the irrational fear that her mother could see it. Details usually didn’t slip past Lady Katya Campbell, and as a woman who had known more than her fair share of lovers, she knew all the signs to look for.

  At last, after what seemed like interminable scrutiny, her mother said, “If you can prove to me in the next month that you are responsible and that you are abiding by my rules, then I will allow you to live at the flat four days a week instead of two. Consecutive days at that.”

  Bianca blew out a breath, but she had no idea if it was motivated by frustration or gratitude.

  Her mother wasn’t finished, though. “And I want you dancing with a greater variety of men at social events this fall and through the holidays, and walking out with those that invite you.”

  “Mama.” It was all Bianca could do not to roll her eyes. “I am not suddenly going to fall out of love with Jack simply because you order me to.”

  “Then you’re going to remain unmarried your entire life,” her mother shot back.

  “I’m not—” Bianca stopped herself from arguing. There was no point in going around and around on the same point over and over. She wouldn’t convince her mother or anyone else that Jack was marriage material until they saw him as more than a social-climbing interloper. Soon enough, they would see Jack as the hero he was. All he had to do was catch the masterminds behind Lord O’Shea’s attack and bring them to justice.

  “Is that all, Mama?” Bianca asked, imitating her mother’s imperious posture. “Diana, Beatrice, and I stayed up far too late last night at the flat gossiping, and I would very much like to take a short nap before going over to Cece and Rupert’s house for tea.”

  It was a bold lie, but if her mother believed it, she might just be home free.

  Her mother didn’t look convinced. The way she stared at Bianca seemed designed to break her and to see through the cracks in her story. But Bianca had been raised by the woman. She was her daughter, and she knew a thing or two about how to appear implacable.

  Finally, just as Bianca was convinced she would have to turn to stone to shake her mother’s suspicions, her mother let out a breath and shook her head.

  “Fine,” she said, not exactly convinced, but perhaps too aggravated to continue. “Go take your nap.”

  “Thank you, Mama.” Bianca skipped forward and kissed her mother’s cheek for good measure.

  She started out of the room, but her mother stopped her with, “If you let me down, there will be hell to pay.”

  The only thing that stopped Jack from moaning in misery or falling asleep on his desk as he pushed his way through a mind-numbing day of bureaucracy and boredom was the feeling of immense, sexual satisfaction that pervaded every inch of his body after the afternoon and evening he’d spent with Bianca. She’d been everything he’d known she would be—eager, open, and insatiable. The initial sense of caution he’d felt at inducting her into all things sensual had been tossed aside in short order, giving way to his need to have her in every way he could imagine to make up for lost time.

  He leaned back in his chair, propping his feet on his desk over the pile of court reports Poole had fetched for him in the last few days, and indulged in a tired sigh. Bianca’s body was beautiful in every way. Her curves were luscious and her skin was petal-soft and pink. It was entirely unfair of him to compare her to the dozens
of working women he’d known in his life, but there was no denying the gratification of knowing he was the only one who had ever touched her or been one with her. She was his, and in spite of the way he’d conducted himself in the past, he had every intention of being hers and hers alone for the rest of his life.

  That thought led into contemplation of buying her a ring. He closed his eyes, leaning back even farther and resting his hands on the back of his head and his head against the wall. A heavy feeling of impending sleep swooped over him as he balanced there, wondering if he had the balls to buy a ring and elope with Bianca before her family moved in to slit his throat. As much as he wanted to believe her plan to have him catch Denbigh and earn accolades and a promotion in order to make himself acceptable to the likes of Lord Malcolm and Lady Katya Campbell, he knew something more drastic would have to happen to make any chance of marriage possible.

  And he did want to marry her. He wanted to set up house with her and fill her with babies. He could practically hear the sound of the little scamps running around, laughing, getting into trouble, but not too much trouble. He would be a good father to them. He would be there for them. They would know his name, know that they were his and that he loved them, which was a damned sight more than he or any of the women he’d been raised with could say. He would—

  “Sir.”

  Smiley’s sudden greeting and the sound of him clearing his throat shook Jack awake so suddenly that his chair slipped and he nearly spilled to the ground. The only thing that prevented the disaster was Poole catching the arm of the chair from the side and setting it upright. Jack blinked. When had Poole returned from whatever errand he’d gone on?

  “Wakey, wakey,” Poole teased him with a broad grin. “You’ve got a visitor.”

  Jack shook his bleariness off and turned to the door. Smiley stood there with Nanette at his side. The impressionable young man gaped at Nanette as though she were made of treacle and offering him a spoon.