A Marriage Most Scandalous (Scandalous Ballroom Encounters Book 2) (12 page)

She grinned. “There is a footman named Peter living at Perth House. I think it would be nice if he were relocated to Edenwhite. I do believe the dower house is understaffed. He would do nicely to round out the household.”

His eyes widened, and his mouth fell open. Then, he smiled, and chuckled.

“You, my love, are a wonder. Not just beautiful and passionate, but sharp as a nail. Have I told you lately how much I adore you?”

Reaching up to grasp her bodice, she jerked it down, exposing her breasts. Her nipples hardened at the sharp gasp that escaped his throat, caused by the sight of her bare tits. He ground his hips into hers, pressing his hard cock against her soft mound.

“Perhaps you should show me,” she murmured. “Right here, right now.”

Lifting her until she wrapped her legs around his waist, he strode toward the nearest couch.

Nine months later …

Sheridan Cranfield, Viscount of Perth, stepped from the confines of Brooks’ and into the dark, snowy night. Inhaling, he purged his nostrils of the stench of stale cigars and brandy, filling it with the fresh, clean scent of winter. His lungs burned from the cold, but he embraced it. Swinging his walking stick, he set off toward home, glad he’d decided against bringing a carriage.

The old Sheridan might have ridden in a carriage. He might have remained late into the night with his friends, who would have once made him feel obligated to stay. All in the name of amity.

Amiable. Selfless. Predictable.

Those attributes might have described Mr. Cranfield in the past, but the Viscount of Perth had become a new man. Gone was the voice of his father dictating his every decision. The weight bearing down upon him and reminding him of his past had been lifted, and with his father’s death had come a freedom unlike anything he’d ever known.

He almost felt tempted to skip along the path, kicking up snow in his wake.

The mask had been pulled away and the gentle chap who had always sought to present a false veneer to the world had been banished. In his place stood the man Sheridan had always wanted to be—self-assured, confident, and independent.

Spending the season at Edenwhite had proved a wise course of action. It had given them time and distance away from London, and his transition into the role of viscount had been a seamless one. His stepmother-in-law had been settled happily into the dower house. She hardly ever emerged from the little dwelling, but when she did, he’d noticed her improved appearance each time. Week by week, her complexion grew rosier, her figure fuller and healthier, her smile a bit wider. He supposed the hiring of a footman named Peter had gone a long way toward soothing her grief. Apparently, the death of his father had lifted more than just his own burdens.

Aside from giving him time to adjust to the title, their reprieve in the country had also meant more time spent with Cecily. Of course, he’d had to find time with her when their schedules permitted. His wife had taken to the role of viscountess with the aplomb he’d known she possessed. Her skill at organization and her charitable heart had turned her into the darling of Edenwhite and its people. They always seemed happy to see her when she went to visit them, inquiring of their needs and bringing necessary supplies. Every time she struck out on a journey over the estate, she returned with a basket laden with baked goods and hand-made gifts from their tenants. They adored her, almost as much as he did.

The passion that had been ignited in her during their time with Petra had persisted—not snuffing out, but growing like a roaring fire. Their nights, and many of their free afternoons, had been spent in ardent attempts at producing an heir. He had never felt anxious about the matter of children, knowing they would come when the time was right. In the meantime, they’d had a rollicking good time trying to sire one.

Finally, during their last weeks in the country, she’d confessed to having gone several weeks without her courses. She hadn’t wanted to be premature, but felt fairly certain that they would have a son or daughter by summer.

Christmas in London with his pregnant wife. He could think of nothing sweeter.

The
ton
, as predicted, had latched onto some new bit of scandal and forgotten all about Cecily’s supposed indiscretion. While a few of the more pious sorts still avoided her, the majority of their peers had welcomed their return, many visiting to offer their condolences for the death of his father.

  All was as if should have been, and he supposed he owed it all to the two women who had turned his life upside down. Smirking, he allowed his thoughts to wander to Petra as he wondered how she’d spent the season. He couldn’t deny that his thoughts strayed to her occasionally, especially since her time with them had ended so abruptly. If nothing else, he ought to visit her sometime, just to thank her for what she’d done for him and Cecily.

“I say, Cranfield … is that you?”

He paused in his steps, head drawn up sharply by the familiar voice. A deep baritone with just a hint of arrogance behind it. A voice that had once caused him revulsion.

However, as he glanced up into the gaze of Camden Rycroft, His Grace the Duke of Avonleah, he felt none of the bitterness he might have expected to feel when coming face to face with the man who’d stolen a woman right out from under him. He felt no resounding ache he ought to have felt, seeing him with Margaret on his arm, or noticing the rather large belly pressed against the front of her redingote.

“Ah, but it is Perth now, darling,” Margaret reminded him.

“Yes, quite right. Forgive me, Perth.”

His smile felt genuine as he bowed to the duke, then curtsied to his duchess.

“Avonleah, Duchess,” he said, inclining his head. “How lovely to see you. Out for an evening stroll?”

“Margaret’s grown a bit restless trapped inside the house,” Camden replied, giving her an affectionate look.

He might have thought the man a pretentious snob at one time, but no man could deny that he was smitten with his wife.

“You would be, too, if you were married to an overbearing duke who didn’t allow you to step beyond your front door,” she quipped back.

“Now, now, my dear,” he crooned. “No upsets. It isn’t good for the babe.”

Sheridan cleared his throat. “Congratulations, by the way. Your first child—that is splendid news.”

Margaret smiled. “Oh, but we have just heard that the viscountess is expecting, as well.”

“Yes, though she’s much earlier in her confinement than you.”

She rolled her eyes and scoffed. “Confinement, bah! As if carrying a child is cause for locking a woman away for nine miserable months.”

“It is,” Avonleah said. “At any rate, we shan’t hold you up, Perth. I am certain you’re anxious to get home to your wife.”

That he was.

He bowed again. “Enjoy your evening.”

As he walked past them, Margaret reached out and gently touched his arm. He paused, gazing down at the woman he’d once thought himself in love with.

There was no denying her beauty. Apricot skin, sable locks, and velvety brown eyes. Becoming a wife and mother had changed her, making her more womanly than the girlish thing she’d been just last year. Yet, he could conjure no feelings for her beyond those of amiable friendship. Odd, that. He’d once thought he’d never recover from the pain of losing her to someone else.

Perhaps, then, he’d never loved her as much as he’d supposed. After all, he’d thought her the epitome of what his viscountess should be—innocent, sweet, with a spotless reputation. The sort of woman his father would have wanted for him. Which wasn’t to say that, perhaps, he couldn’t have found passion with her. Yet, when he thought of nights spent in bed with the woman he loved, the only face he saw was Cecily’s.

“You seem so different, Sheridan,” she murmured. Then she smiled. “You seem happier. Yes, that’s it. Are you happy?”

He smiled down at her, remembering the day she’d turned down his proposal and accepted Avonleah’s, instead. She’d fixed that wide stare on him then and asked him to try to find happiness.

Patting her hand, he nodded. “Happier than I ever thought I could be. I suppose I have you to thank for that.”

Avonleah cleared his throat. “Hello? Rakish, fiancée-stealing duke standing right here. Don’t I get any credit?”

Sheridan laughed. “Very well. Thank you.”

“You’re quite welcome,” she replied, giving his arm another squeeze, then letting go. “Merry Christmas, Sherry.”

“Merry Christmas to you both,” he replied before continuing on his way.

Lowering his head against the cold, he quickened his pace.

He arrived home to find that the house had gone quiet for the night. It had grown rather late, and while he might usually find Cecily reading in the library, waiting up for him, he knew her delicate condition often tired her. She had taken to going to bed earlier and sleeping later.

Taking the stairs two at a time, mind filled with thoughts of awakening her by crawling beneath the sheets and placing his head between her legs, he quickly found his way to their suite of rooms. Dismissing James, he made quick work of undressing for bed.

Wearing nothing beneath his robe, he crossed through his dressing room and hers, hoping his wife would be up for a bit of bed play. He did not wish to tire her, but since she’d announced her pregnancy, she’d become even more irresistible to him.

His breath caught in his throat and his mouth went dry as he paused on the threshold, greeted by the sight he’d least expected.

Cecily did not sleep—she waited for him, draped across the bed wearing a thin wisp of red material. He supposed it might have been called a nightgown if it weren’t so indecent. Her breasts—made even fuller by pregnancy—spilled from the front, and thin, almost non-existent straps held the thing up over her shoulders. A slit in the gown’s skirt bared one creamy thigh.

A vixen wearing a similar getup in black lay beside her. Long, lithe limbs and taut, high breasts were as tantalizing as his wife’s display of creamy flesh. Dusky skin and dark hair made a startling contrast against Cecily’s blonde hair and fair skin.

His wife sat up and crawled to the edge of the bed. “Welcome home, my love.”

With a grin, he came farther into the room, watching as his wife unfolded her long, shapely legs and stood.

“Welcome home, indeed,” he chuckled. “To what do I owe this pleasant surprise?”

“Think of it as an early Christmas gift,” she replied. “Are you pleased?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Two beautiful women waiting for me in my bed? Pleased doesn’t quite seem to fit the moment.”

She smiled, extending one hand to Petra and helping her from the bed. The dark-haired beauty reached up, inching her fingers beneath the straps of her gown. She pulled and they snapped, falling away. The gown slithered down to her waist, hanging from her hips and baring her breasts and belly.

Cecily circled behind her, pressing her body against the other woman’s from behind. Her hand slipped around Petra’s waist and down into the confines of the gown hanging from her hips. Sheridan’s cock leapt to attention at the sight of Cecily’s hand disappearing between her legs, concealed by the fabric.

She turned to place a kiss along Petra’s jaw, working her way down to her shoulder, her opposite hand coming up to cup one firm breast. Petra moaned, allowing her head to fall back against Cecily’s shoulder as Cecily teased her nipple and cunt simultaneously.

Sheridan reached for the belt of his dressing gown, loosened it, and allowed it to fall to the floor. Primal satisfaction filled him as both women fixed their gaze on him, and two pairs of eyes began tracing the bulges and sinews of his nude body.

“As a reward for completing your sessions with me,” Petra said as Cecily continued to fondle and tease her, “this final session will become about you and your desires. Cecily and I are at your disposal, my lord. Do what you will with us. Fulfill your fantasies.”

He fought to urge to pinch himself. This was no dream. Once again, he would get to make love to two beautiful women … only, this time, he would not miss the chance he had foregone many times before. This last time they had her, he would take Petra in the ways he’d been fantasizing about since the moment he’d met her.

Coming toward them, he reached out and grasped the nape of Petra’s neck. Lowering his head, he kissed her, sweeping the inside of her mouth with his tongue. Pressing his body to hers, he felt Cecily’s hand between them, working Petra’s cunt.

Tearing his lips away from hers, he lowered them to her breasts. Teasing each nipple with his open mouth, he flicked his tongue over the peaks, then took them both between his teeth one at a time with playful nips. She moaned, arching her back and leaning more heavily on Cecily, who continued nibbling on her neck and fingering her beneath the nightgown.

Reaching down, he grasped her hips and lifted her, wrapping her legs around his waist. She held onto his neck and gazed down at him through eyes gone dark and limpid from desire. Her gown had come up to her waist, giving him access to her wet cunt. Cecily’s ministrations had her dripping with desire and ready for him. But there remained so much more he wanted to do to her first—to them both.

Moving his hips, he brushed the head of his cock against the opening of her core, but held back from entering her. Her juices drenched him, and they both emitted low moans at the contact. Grasping the cheeks of her buttocks, he ground her against him, rubbing his thick shaft between her lower lips and caressing her swollen clitoris.

Walking over to the bed, he deposited her on top of the counterpane. Turning, he found Cecily waiting for him. He pulled her against him, molding her body against his. She was so different from the woman awaiting them on the bed—fuller, plumper, buxom. Reaching up to the neckline of her gown, he gripped the lace and pulled, tearing it down the middle. He chuckled at her sharp gasp.

“That was expensive!” she exclaimed.

He shrugged, peeling the fabric away and letting it pool at her feet. “I’ll buy a hundred more of the blasted things, so long as I get to be the one to rip them off.”