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

“What are you doing here?” he asked in return. “I didn’t think you were spending the night until tomorrow.”

  Bianca set aside the portable writing desk on her lap and rose from the sofa, where a variety of papers were strewn. “I needed a quiet place to work,” she said with a smile, skipping across the room to slip into his arms. “Natalia has her friends over for tea and Lord Malcolm has been in a snit all day after receiving a letter from his horrid nephew, Gerald.” She lifted to her toes to kiss him.

  Jack melted at once, dropping his coat and cap and folding her in his arms. She was exactly the kind of soft, safe place he needed right then. She was sweet and warm and eager, and he couldn’t help but respond to her.

  She broke their kiss far sooner than he wanted, leaning back and staring at him with a puzzled frown. “Why are you all hot and sweaty? And why do you smell of cigars and beer?”

  A grin spread across his face even as deep affection filled his heart. “Leave it to you to know the scent of cigars and beer.”

  She arched one brow, clearly not as distracted as he was. “You’re not a drinker,” she told him. “And you don’t smoke.”

  “I was at a pub,” he confessed, letting her go and crossing into the tiny kitchen. He headed straight for the pot of tea simmering on the stove and poured himself a cup. “Following a lead.”

  “Is this about Lord O’Shea’s attack?” Bianca followed him into the tiny room, lighting up.

  He spooned sugar into his tea, added cream, then took a long, desperately needed drink before turning to her. “I thought it was,” he said, dropping into a frown.

  Bianca blinked, crossing her arms. “You thought it was?”

  Some unaccountable force urged him to tell her everything. “Brickman was there to meet with Denbigh,” he said. “But they didn’t say a word about Lord O’Shea or the Irish, or anybody else, for that matter.” Except the nebulous concept of traitors, but that was a different problem.

  “Then what were they talking about?” Bianca seemed genuinely interested.

  “Explosives,” Jack said, a dire note in his voice, giving voice to the conclusions he’d come to. “Denbigh appears to have purchased a large number of explosives.”

  Bianca’s eyes went wide. “Why? Whatever for?”

  “That’s what I have to figure out,” Jack said, carrying his tea past her into the main room. He sipped and paced before going on with, “Obviously he wants to blow something up.”

  “Lord Charles Denbigh wants to blow something up?” Bianca kept up with him as he paced and as he thought. “I know he dislikes the Irish, but I didn’t think he was that vicious.”

  Jack let out a wry laugh. “You’d be surprised at how vicious men can be.”

  She chewed her lip for a moment in thought before saying, “He didn’t say what he was planning to blow up, did he?”

  “No.” Jack shook his head. He reviewed what he’d heard in his mind, then spoke it aloud. “Brickman has his hands on what I’m assuming is a large number of fireworks that have just come in from China. He’s storing them at a warehouse, but he said they would need to be moved to the big house.”

  “Which big house?” Bianca asked, her brow furrowed in thought. “One Denbigh owns? His family has an estate in Derbyshire. And they own at least two townhouses in London. I heard he was considering a third house somewhere on the outskirts of the city as well. He does like houses.”

  “I doubt even Denbigh would bring explosives into his own house,” Jack said. He ran through everything else Brickman had said. “Brickman said Guy Fawkes would be proud.”

  Bianca stopped dead in her tracks. “Good Lord,” she exclaimed, turning wide eyes to Jack. “The Houses of Parliament. Those are the biggest houses in London, so to speak. And Guy Fawkes tried to blow them up.”

  Alarm raced through Jack. “He wouldn’t,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “It would be madness to attempt to blow up the Houses of Parliament. Guy Fawkes didn’t succeed, and the police protect the place much more stringently now. Not to mention that it’s an entirely different building from Fawkes’s days without the same sort of cellars to pack with explosives.”

  “Yes, but Guy Fawkes would be proud if someone succeeded where he failed,” Bianca pointed out.

  Jack shook his head, crossing to sit on the sofa in the space Bianca had vacated. “Not even Denbigh would be that bold or that stupid.”

  “He does plan to blow up something, though.” Bianca joined him, sitting on his lap with a smile.

  That smile made it impossible to continue thinking about Denbigh and Brickman, plots and explosives. He settled her between his legs, brushing a hand up her side to cradle her breast and drawing her close for a kiss. It was perfect and cozy, like coming home after a trying day of work. His cock stiffened in response and he sighed audibly when Bianca combed her fingers through his hair as she kissed him back.

  “Of course, he might not be planning to blow something up himself,” she said, suddenly breaking their kiss and sitting straight. “What if he plans to frame someone else, one of his enemies, for an attack? I wouldn’t put it past him to make something look like the Irish were involved.”

  “That is an entirely plausible theory and one I will put effort into investigating,” he said, meaning it genuinely, even if he didn’t sound like it at the moment. “Right after I put effort into investigating what kind of knickers you’re wearing,” he added with a grin.

  “I can answer that question for you,” she said, wriggling and squirming as she shifted positions to straddle his thighs. She repositioned her skirts as she did, leaving very little between the two of them. Then she leaned closer and whispered in his ear, “I’m not wearing any.”

  Lust pulsed through Jack, pushing the excitement of his day so far clear out of his mind. A whole different sort of excitement took its place. “Are you sure?” he asked, burrowing under her skirts to slide his hands up her thighs.

  “You tell me,” she said, catching her breath as he circled his hands around her bare backside.

  Jack made a noise of carnal appreciation and surged up to capture her mouth. She was brilliant and sensual, everything he could have asked for in a woman. She’d come up with an idea he might not have stumbled on right away where Denbigh was concerned and she’d initiated the position they were now in. If this was what it would be like to come home to Bianca every day as his wife, then he would have to kidnap her from her mother’s home and marry her as soon as he could, however he could.

  “I want you in me,” she whispered, nibbling his lip and working on the buttons of his jacket and waistcoat. “I want you deep in me right now.”

  He answered by fumbling for the fastenings of his trousers under the pile of her skirts.

  It didn’t take long for him to unbutton his trousers and free his swiftly growing erection. She fiddled with the buttons of her blouse as he did, unhooking her corset as well. It was crude and quick, but by the time she’d tugged her chemise down low enough to expose her pink-tipped breasts, he was already guiding himself home.

  “Oh, my,” she sighed as she bore down on him, taking his full length inside the tight shaft of her cunny. “Oh, yes.”

  She was going to make a complete mess of him someday, if she hadn’t already. Inexperienced though she was, she rode him with a deliberateness that brought him rushing straight to the edge in no time. He pushed her bodice off her shoulders and dragged her chemise even lower so he could knead her breasts and tease her nipples as she used him to pleasure herself. It was beautiful madness that made him feel like the king of the world. Pure pleasure consumed him, and he grew tighter and tighter with the need to spend himself in her.

  “Oh, God,” she gasped, gripping the back of the sofa on either side of him. Her eyes went hazy and her face contorted just as her body squeezed and throbbed around him.

  The sight of her coming so hard and so fast tipped him over the edge, and he jerked into her as he climaxed. He cried out as hot, demanding pl
easure shot through him, from the base of his spine, his cock, and into her. It was so good and so pure that he wanted it to go on forever, and as the blast subsided, it left him limp and spent and happier than he’d ever felt. He panted, circling his arms around her and enjoying the feeling of growing softer inside of her as she sagged against him.

  After several deeply satisfying moments of sitting together like that, Bianca lifted her head and panted, “Any sign of Mama?”

  Jack tilted his head back to stare at her, then laughed.

  “She would choose a moment like this to pop in unexpectedly,” Bianca went on, laughing herself but making no effort to move off of him.

  “I wouldn’t put anything past her,” Jack agreed. He moved his hands to cradle her face and kissed her, long and lazily. “I love you, you know,” he added, feeling it so potently that it was almost unmanly.

  “Of course you do,” she said with a smile. “Because I love you, and nothing will change that.”

  Chapter 8

  As blissful as the last six weeks with Jack had been for Bianca—and bliss was exactly the right word, along with exciting, sensual, and satisfying—few other things were going her way.

  “Lady Davenport, how lovely to see you,” she said with the politest smile she could manage as she approached the matron at the May Flowers tea party. Lady Davenport owned the house where the party was taking place, although according to whispers it had been on the market for some time and had just sold. The May Flowers tea was to be the last event held there before the whole thing was packed up and handed over to the new owner. “I’ve been so eager to speak with you about the rights of the working man and how this coming election could—”

  Before Bianca could finish her sentence, Lady Davenport turned up her nose and walked away. She joined a group of women closer to her age that was being addressed by Lady Diana.

  Bianca snapped her mouth shut, clenched her jaw, and huffed out a breath through her nose. Lady Davenport was the third distinguished, older woman who had refused to speak to her at the important event. It was vital that the May Flowers shared their cause with as many wives of influential voters as possible, seeing as the election was only weeks away, but whereas the other May Flowers had enjoyed tremendous success speaking to the high and mighty so far, nearly everyone of any importance had kept their distance from Bianca.

  And it rankled. Bianca marched away from Lady Davenport’s group and over to the refreshment table, where Henrietta was directing her staff to refresh the tea and cakes that had been laid out.

  Henrietta spotted her coming and turned away from the table. “No luck?” she asked, sympathy clear in her expression.

  Every fiber of Bianca’s body wanted to scream and rail, stomp and carry on. Indeed, nothing had felt right from the moment she arrived at the Kensington house for the event. Nothing had felt right for days and days. But she forced herself to take a deep breath and answer, “I cannot help but think those scandalous articles in the society pages of The Times have done their damage.”

  Henrietta’s pitying expression deepened, and she rested a hand on Bianca’s arm. “It’s a shame that people love gossip as much as they do and that they read more into silly articles than is truly there.”

  The look in Henrietta’s eyes shifted from pity to questioning.

  Heat flooded Bianca, kissing her cheeks and making her squirm on her spot. “Such salacious rumors,” she tutted, not quite able to meet Henrietta’s eyes. “I will never understand why society makes such a fuss about a woman befriending a man.”

  Henrietta fixed her with a pointed look. “You’re not a fool, Bianca,” she said with enough authority to made Bianca feel as though she would sink into the floor.

  “I know,” Bianca sighed. “It’s just so blasted high-handed of these people. It is no greater sin for me to be friends with Jack Craig than it would be for me to be friends with…with….” She scanned the room, looking for someone to make the comparison. Henrietta’s sister, Lord Herrington, one of the few men in attendance, stood near the doorway, greeting late-arriving guests. “With Freddy,” she ended, throwing out her arm to gesture to him.

  Henrietta glanced to her brother, then back at Bianca, a thoughtful look in her eyes. “Do you know, all things considered and situations being what they are, you and Freddy might make a perfect match.”

  “What?” Bianca balked, her temper rising unaccountably. “How can you say that?”

  “You each have unacceptable interests elsewhere,” Henrietta said, seeming to choose her words carefully. “If you married each other, society would be pleased as punch. And no one would care a bit if your hearts and activities lay with others outside of the marriage.”

  Bianca snorted in a horrifically unladylike fashion, but as far as she was concerned, Henrietta’s comment deserved the snort. “There is only one man I intend to marry.”

  She waited for Henrietta to challenge her statement, but all she got was the same, sad, pitying look Henrietta seemed to give her every time the topic of marriage and love arose.

  “I truly hope everything works in your favor, my dear,” Henrietta said with a bit too much sympathy. She turned back to the table. “Here. Cook just sent up a fresh batch of lemon tarts. Sample them and let me know if they’re up to snuff.”

  She took a small tart from the stand where they and other treats were on display and presented it to Bianca. Bianca started to reach for it, but all at once, the unsettled feeling that had been in her gut all day lurched into full nausea.

  “I don’t think so,” she said in a suddenly weak voice. “Lemon tarts are not to my taste. If you will excuse me.”

  She dashed away from Henrietta and the refreshment table before her sudden fit of nausea could turn into a disaster. Fresh air. That was what she needed. She crossed through the room to the French doors that let out into a small, terraced garden. It was too cold to leave the doors open, but she was able to discreetly crack one in order to breathe.

  The nausea subsided, though it didn’t entirely go away. Bianca was too miserable for it to leave her completely. She stood watching the happy, chattering assembly of May Flowers and guests, feeling like an outsider. Lady Diana was, of course, the star of the show. With her sweet manners and kindly smile, she was swiftly taking the place as a leader within the May Flowers that Cece had vacated when she married Rupert. It was the place Bianca had wanted to take. Lady Beatrice had a ring of older women around her, all listening intently to whatever she had to say. She was as beautiful as a painting with her strawberry blonde hair and milky complexion and wore the latest Paris styles like a fashion plate.

  Bianca tugged at the side of her bodice, wriggling with self-consciousness. Bea looked like a fashion plate and here she couldn’t seem to find a bodice that fit comfortably anymore. On top of that, she was convinced Natalia had snuck into her room and tightened all the laces on her corsets to make her feel fat, or at least far more buxom than she was. Even her sister had turned against her.

  “This is not the occasion for a sour expression, my dear,” her mother said, coming to stand by Bianca’s side.

  In spite of the burst of irritation at her mother’s scolding comment, and contrary to the way Bianca wanted to react to it, she instantly put on the pleasantest smile she could manage. That only seemed to make her stomach roil more, though.

  “You’re not fooling me,” her mother went on with a wry grin. “I’ve been watching the way some of these hypocrites have cut you and I would be just as frustrated as you are.”

  Bianca’s shoulders sagged. She hadn’t expected her mother to take her side. “I’ve done everything I can to smile and flirt and play nicely with them,” she said, her smile firmly in place, “but they’re all a bunch of self-righteous windbags who think their excrement is made of gold.”

  Her mother laughed before she could stop herself, then cleared her throat and put on a more serene expression. “Welcome to the British aristocracy, my dear.”

  Instead of
being appeased by her mother’s statement, Bianca scowled. “If you find your own class so dreadful, then why do you object so vehemently to my affection for Jack?”

  Her mother dropped all pretense of smiling at the guests and turned to Bianca. “Because it is unwise,” she said, her expression hardening. “I don’t deny that Jack Craig is a fine specimen of masculinity, but—”

  “No, Mama,” Bianca held up a hand, turning away from her mother. “I’m too cross and too exhausted to hear the same argument again. I love Jack and you know it.”

  Her mother looked annoyed at being cut off, but she didn’t continue with her argument. She merely studied Bianca with an imperious look, as if she knew Bianca were no longer a child but she was tempted to treat her as such all the same.

  After a long silence, Bianca’s mother said, “Lady Tavistock presented me with an interesting idea just now.”

  “Oh?” Bianca glanced sideways at her mother, uncomfortable with what she might say.

  Her mother nodded across the room to Lord Herrington. “She suggested you and Freddy Herrington marry. That way you could continue your relationship with Mr. Craig behind closed doors and Freddy could pursue his own interests.”

  Bianca turned fully to her mother, narrowing her eyes. “Are you suggesting that I disregard the sanctity of marriage and simultaneously offend the man I love by treating him as little more than a paramour?”

  Her mother leaned closer. “I’m suggesting that life is never perfect but that there is still a way for you to have what you want.”

  Bianca made a sound of disgust. “And why would Lord Herrington stand for any of this? Why wouldn’t he want to find a woman whom he might actually love?”

  Her mother didn’t answer, though her expression said she knew what the answer was.

  “You may have been forced to resort to immorality in your day, Mama,” Bianca went on, clenching her fists at her sides, “but I am not so jaded or so crass. The modern world is different from the one you were unfortunate enough to grow up in, and I—”