Invitation to Scandal (14 page)

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Authors: Bronwen Evans

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

BOOK: Invitation to Scandal
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Rheda’s heart ached in her chest. God he was ruthless in his pursuit of the truth. And skillful. Her body still hummed. She tidied herself up, determined to remember that she could not let his seduction weaken her resolve.
“I lied, my lord,” she whispered hoarsely under her breath. “And no matter how much you make my body sing, I’ll never tell you the truth. But I’ll play your game. I’ll let you seduce me until I’m sated with pleasure.” His seduction of her should keep him off balance and out of their business.
Chapter 11
 
I
t had been an exhausting day. As he’d thought, there was no way Rheda could have rolled the barrel up the slope at Fraser’s Landing. Unless she had help. Rheda was either lying about where she found the barrel, or lying about being on her own.
Why did he not simply use his strength and power to overwhelm her? The growing desire to spank the truth from her had seen him send her home alone.
He’d spent the rest of the afternoon working with White Lily and Caesar. Near the end of the day Daniel arrived home and suggested a swim. He’d readily agreed. The scent of Rheda on his skin had driven him mad all afternoon.
Daniel invited him to stay for dinner, and the men had drunk into the early hours. Rufus took the opportunity of seeing if a little alcohol would loosen the baron’s tongue. It had loosened but not about Dark Shadow, only his angelic sister. Daniel was taking the opportunity to push a match. If only he knew the truth. Rufus wanted only one thing from his sister—all right, two—her knowledge
and
her body.
Now, close to dawn, he rode into Hastingleigh and stabled Caesar himself. He’d enjoyed his dinner at Tumsbury Cliff Manor. Daniel was exuberant in his youth. It was fun to remember what he’d been like at Daniel’s age. The only drawback was his body had been hard almost the entire evening. His awareness of Rheda annoyed him. He was old enough and experienced enough with women to be able to ignore her appeal.
His body stirred once more. Tonight Miss Kerrich had obviously decided to play a very dangerous game with him. How like her to throw down a challenge. No doubt having Daniel in residence made her brave enough to flaunt her abundant charms.
Her attempts at seduction were successful; he was hard and hungry for more than food. Her dress had obviously been altered to show more of her stunning cleavage than was acceptable. Daniel, so caught up in his own excitement of having another male dinner guest, didn’t seem to notice how she leaned over the table at every opportunity, her ripe breasts almost bursting free of the scanty material covering them.
Halfway through dinner it had been he who was praying. Praying he could hold fast to his determination not to throw her on the table and ravish her before the main course.
He needed a woman. Any woman would do. Any woman except a golden-haired goddess who, if she knew how much he craved a taste, would likely use it against him. Perhaps a quick trip into Deal was needed. A dalliance with young Lucy would see to his needs. He sighed out loud. He knew he didn’t want any other woman. He wanted Rheda. He growled deep in his throat. Why did he desire the one woman he could not have?
He’d sworn that after Marguerite he would not get involved with any woman when on a mission. He could seduce when required but never lower his guard enough to enjoy or engage any feelings other than lust. Rheda made him feel too much—exactly like Marguerite. What was wrong with him?
Upon entering his bedchamber he crossed directly to the table to pour himself a large whiskey. He was too tired to ride into town anyway. Controlling his frisky stallion that afternoon had taken a lot of strength, and his patrol along the coast on his way back, hoping to catch a glimpse of smuggling, had meant it was now almost morning.
He knew searching on his ride home would be a waste of time. Smugglers rarely operated on a cloudless, star-filled night. About a mile from Hastingleigh his warm bed had beckoned.
He took yet another sip of dulling alcohol and let it slide down his throat. Sinking into the chair by the dying fire, he closed his eyes. Immediately, Rheda’s image flashed in his head. Her bare breasts, her nipples puckered and hard in his mouth. Her scent, her soft moans as he’d pleasured her. His groin throbbed. God, he was going to have to take matters into his own hand before he burst.
With his free hand he popped the buttons of his breeches. His erection sprang free. He wrapped his fist around his throbbing shaft, imagining Rheda down on her knees, her mouth hot and warm, sucking him dry. He groaned.
He continued to pleasure himself. The dream of her so real he swore he could feel her. God, her mouth felt good. His glass of unfinished whiskey dropped to the floor. He could feel her small hands on his thighs, her silken tongue running up the length of him. Her mouth teasing the head of his cock, until she sucked hard and drew him all the way into her mouth. He didn’t want the dream to end. He was close to coming. His hips lifted in the chair. A woman’s whimper of pleasure filled his hearing. Her moans sent him over the edge. He surged up and emptied his seed, his eyes flashed open, and to his horror Lady Umbridge was on her knees, her mouth drinking him dry. The whiskey began to rise into his mouth. He hurriedly pushed her off him and rose to his feet, fumbling to right his trousers.
He swung around to face her, humiliation burning his face. With anger building he watched her lick her lips and give a satisfied smile. “I’ve been dying for a taste of you for so long, my lord. I was not disappointed.”
His voice matched how he was feeling, full of disgust, flat, and cold. “Get out.”
She rose to her feet and let her robe slide to the floor. She stood before him completely naked. Naked in more ways than one. There was not a hair on her mound. Rufus had never seen the likes of this before. He’d read about the Arabs’ preference for hairlessness, but he’d never known an English lady to indulge. He couldn’t help himself. His body stirred at the sight of her woman’s lips clearly visible to his eye.
She was a beautiful woman, and she knew it. He watched with revulsion rising as she made her way toward him. How could he feel such loathing for a woman and yet feel his body undoubtedly reacting to her exposed charms?
She stood before him, a smug smile masking her hard features. She took his hand and placed it on her mound. “Feel me. Have you ever seen or felt a woman who has been de-haired ?” The skin was smooth, and he could feel and see all of her. He felt himself hardening against his will.
“When I sit on your face you’ll feel like you’re pleasuring a young girl.”
He withdrew his hand as if she had leprosy. His desire withered, and he once again felt ill. He knew men who craved young girls and some even boys. The thought of tainting the innocence of one so young was abhorrent to him. “You disgust me. Get out of my room. In the future I shall have to remember to lock my door.”
Her face darkened with anger. “You didn’t seem to mind when I had my mouth wrapped around your cock. Your groans told me how much you enjoyed my attentions.”
“I did not know it was you.”
Her eyes narrowed. She spread her naked arms wide. “I don’t see anyone else here.”
He felt his face flush further.
“Ah, I see. You were dreaming of someone. Who?”
Rufus ignored her and moved to pick up her robe. “Put this on and get out.” He shoved the garment at her. “Before I summon Stephen.”
Lady Umbridge gave him a knowing gaze. “Lady Hale said you’d stayed at the baron’s for dinner. Your reputation with the ladies clearly indicates it is not the baron you were dreaming of, but he does have a sister.” She pulled the garment on and covered her nakedness. “How interesting.” At the door she hesitated. “You’d be unwise to make an enemy of me, Lord Strathmore. I could make your life very difficult”—she paused—“or very pleasurable. The choice is yours.”
He refused to answer, but simply held her gaze.
She shrugged her shoulders. “Tomorrow night I shall come to your room. If your door is locked I will know what path you have taken.” With that she slipped from his room.
Rufus moved and locked the door after her. He ran a hand through his hair and, appalled with himself, whispered, “It will be bolted.”
 
Their secret pleasure room, tucked away in the old ruins, was suffocating with heat. The fire roared, and the manly scent of sweat, sex, and alcohol filled the air.
“No more boys for a while, Master. Once the villagers of Deal realize another boy is missing, they will ask questions.”
Master—the name soothed his ego and filled his body with ungodly pride—how he craved the name. He watched his plaything bend and stoke the fire, the sight of open buttocks causing his sleeping manhood to stir. His sex slave had been with him for five years now, and must be getting on toward twenty. Perhaps it was time to replace him, but oh his mouth could do such wondrous things to one’s body, and his appetite for perversity rivaled his own.
“
Mon ami,
don’t worry your pretty head over such things.” His French accent was more pronounced in his opium-induced haze.
Although the room was already hot, the young man stoked the fire until they could’ve been sinners in the depths of hell. But to him it was heaven. For the added heat aided the body’s absorption of the opium contained in the oil sleeking their skin.
His sex slave turned to face him. “Master, you should not have brought the boy here. It was dangerous. What if he were found here? What if they caught you? I couldn’t bear to lose you ...”
“Hush, my sweet. The boy is dead and gone. Come here.”
His eyes greedily roamed over the young man standing naked before him, and his needs roared to life. His shaft hardened in an enticing offer. He loved watching the fragrant oil they rubbed all over their bodies glisten in the firelight. The young man before him looked like a Greek god: sleek, hairless, and more beautiful than any man he’d ever seen.
Except one. Rufus Knight, Viscount Strathmore.
Soon he would have the virile viscount at his mercy and when he did ... He closed his eyes and let his imagination run wild. He felt himself grow harder as he pictured Rufus on his knees at his feet, his cock in Rufus’s mouth.
His sex slave groaned.
He opened his eyes and watched the young man’s eyes light with animal lust at the sight of his master’s stirring member. God, he was lucky to find such a toy.
“
Veins m’aimer—
come love me, my boy—” He didn’t have time to finish his sentence before a groan was torn from his lips as his plaything’s clever tongue and mouth began servicing him with relish.
Chapter 12
 
R
ufus awoke very early, with a very sore head. He’d drunk himself into oblivion following Lady Umbridge’s distasteful visit. Taking a washcloth, he’d almost rubbed himself raw. His skin crawled remembering her mouth on him. Blast Stephen and his inability to keep his mistress under control. Perhaps he should tell him what occurred and let him deal with it. Why did he feel guilty when he’d done nothing to encourage the situation? He chose to remain silent. They didn’t need any distractions while on this mission. He’d tell Stephen afterward.
Not wishing to face his friend, Rufus dressed and decided to ride into Deal alone to see if the villagers’ tongues had loosened any since Stephen had thrown a large amount of coin around.
However, the gallop into Deal did little to shake the indecent thoughts of Miss Kerrich. The little devil sitting on his shoulder told him to take her—forget about seducing information—
claim her.
She was like a drug running rampant in his blood. If he did not have a taste and soon, the craving would race out of control.
She was becoming an obsession, like Marguerite. And
look how well that ended,
he growled to himself.
Marguerite had led him about like a bull with a ring through its nose, a dog on a leash, a stallion broken to saddle. She’d been his contact in Belgium. He’d fallen in love with her at first sight, the word
angel
instantly popping into his head. She’d been small and delicate, a fair-haired waif whose decorum signaled perfection.
All his protective instincts had roared to life. He’d hated the fact Marguerite put herself in danger in order to help him and to aid the British government.
Fool
. In Belgium the only person who’d been in danger was him. He’d been the one in need of protection. From her. From her treachery.
This time he’d not let Rheda get close. He’d not be fooled again. He’d take what he required from her, and he’d succeed in his mission regardless of the consequences to Rheda. She would have to face the penalties of her actions. He would not try to save her and risk his mission.
He set a fast pace, and Caesar rose to the challenge. All too soon, horse and rider rode into the main town square. There was little activity at the normally bustling port. Rufus could tell something was wrong. Decidedly wrong. The town felt even more morose than usual.
Deal was more like a den of iniquity than a thriving fishing port. The dock’s abundance of sailors and smuggling cutthroats made the port town look like a version of hell.
Rufus handed Caesar over to the Bosun’s Inn stable boy and, ducking his head, entered the somber enclave of the inn itself. Inside he found a mixture of sailors, local shopkeepers, and Revenuers—for once cohabitating without animosity.
They were all silent, with heads bowed, and no one seemed to notice his entrance. There was no sign of Lucy. He’d been half tempted to seek her out for some pleasurable relief. He refused to admit that only a golden-haired goddess with fire in her emerald eyes was the one he craved. It was business that stopped him dallying and nothing more.
His thoughts were interrupted when one of the men present began to speak. “I don’t know how I’m going to break the news to his mother. Her husband, Harry, has only been gone six months. Now her Davy’s been taken.”
An older man, clearly a fisherman, shook his head. “Something’s not right, I tell ya. I saw Davy come ashore last evening. He’d tied the boat up, and he was heading homeward with a very respectable snapper.” The man shook his head. “Davy wouldn’t have gone out again. Not in the dark. What for?” He shook his head again and repeated, “Something’s not right.”
Rufus’s eyes gradually became accustomed to the dim light of the tavern. He focused on a bundle of white sodden rags on the table in the corner. A body. The body of a young child by the looks of it. He made to take a step closer when a hand landed on his shoulder. “It is not a pretty sight, Rufus. The rocks have cut the lad up pretty bad.”
“Alex. What the hell are you doing in Deal? Not that I‘m unhappy to see you.”
Alexander Smythe, the Earl of Montford, was a close friend. Had been since they started their first year of school together. The boy with the face of a cherub turned out to hide the naughtiest temperament when it came to schoolboy pranks, and Rufus found himself being caned alongside Alex numerous times.
Upon adulthood, Alex’s fair-haired air of innocence, coupled with chiseled aristocratic good looks, ensured they all—Rufus, Anthony, Richard, and Alex—were always surrounded with beautiful willing wenches.
“When we left London, you’d decided to escape to your hunting lodge with two perky actresses. I didn’t expect you to emerge from your lair for at least a sennight. Alex, don’t tell me you’re so jaded that after only a few days you gave up your sweet treats.”
“Don’t be a bore. I did offer to share if I recall, but God and country came first. This atoning for the sins of your father is becoming tiresome. You’re turning down all the fun and leaving a man with absolutely no competition when it comes to seducing willing wenches. The female battlefield is far too easy with you forever leaving town to chase after villains.”
Rufus’s friend, although angelic of face, was anything but. Alexander was the most notorious rake in all of England, well—since their friend Lord Wickham’s, Anthony Craven’s, marriage.
“That’s easy for you to say. Your father was a paragon of virtue. He must be turning in his grave at your exploits.”
Alex mocked him. “Like you, there is no dishonor in my seductions.” He paused and gave his trademark innocent smile that had many Society mothers fooled. “None that have come to light, that is. As it happens I am on a mission of my own. A damsel in distress.”
Rufus couldn’t help letting his lips curl into a smile, his tone equally mocking. “If you’re in Southern England I assume it must be Miss Vanessa Thornton. We all know what she wants. You leg-shackled, married—to her. Be careful or it will be you who needs rescuing.”
Alex ignored his jibe, his mouth firming into a hard line. “Don’t start. I hadn’t even had time to sample any of my guests’ feminine delights before I was summoned. I had to dash back to London and set sail. Women! This is why a man shouldn’t form any sort of attachments. But then you learned that lesson the hard way. Your last attachment almost damn well killed you.”
Rufus pressed his hand to his side. “I’m lucky. I carry the constant reminder.”
“I remember having to stitch you up. Sorry I didn’t do such a bang-up job, but I’ll wager the ladies smother you with sympathy when they see it.”
Rufus swung away from his probing gaze and stared at the dead boy. “What are you doing here, Alex? Other than annoying me.”
“Come,” Alex said, and led Rufus to the back of the tavern. “It was my ship that pulled the body from the water. I have to leave immediately for Portsmouth.” Before Rufus could tease him further, Alex added, “The message from Vanessa was dire, and you know I promised her father I’d ensure her well-being while he is away. I owe him.” Alex’s mouth twisted, and he pointed to the body. “However, I can’t leave without knowing someone will look into this death. I believe there is more to this than a simple drowning. The marks on the boy’s body didn’t just come from the rocks. He was found naked; even though the lad was pounded against the rocks, I would have expected some remnants of clothing.”
“Was he beaten first?”
“I’m not sure, but there were bruises on his arms as if someone had held him in a vicelike grip.” Alex choked on his words. “And there were teeth marks around his groin.”
Rufus hit the wall with his fist. “Someone sexually used him? Is that what you think?” His anger now had a target.
“I don’t know. It just doesn’t look right. I’ve asked the locals. Too many
young
boys have gone missing over the last eighteen months for it to be coincidence. Boys no one would bother about. I can’t stay to investigate, but you can.” Alex leveled his gaze, and Rufus saw the anger churning within. “If you have time, can you look into this situation? Do it as a favor to me.”
Rufus nodded his head. “No need to ask. I’ll do all I can to help.” When Alex was a young man of twenty, he was held captive by a Turkish sultan. Rufus did not know the details of his incarceration; Alex refused to talk about it and kept the worst of it from his friends. Suffering in silence.
There was no doubt that the anger Alex felt for this boy’s death was real.
It also made Rufus feel sick to his stomach. He knew how important it was for Alex to fight for those who couldn’t defend themselves. Rufus remembered several tales of young men, men of great beauty, men like Alex, being used as sex slaves by the perverted Turks. Turks thought nothing of men with men, men with boys. Sodomy was rife throughout the Ottoman Empire. Perhaps that is why Alex thought he recognized it here.
It was no wonder his friend indulged in all manner of pleasure. Haunted by disturbing memories, Alex sought gratification in order to forget. Rufus did not blame him. It was an escape he used himself—frequently.
Rufus pledged his support. “I shall take care of this matter for you. I’ll get some of my men to investigate. If anyone is preying on young boys I will find him. I give you my word.” He hesitated to ask but he had to. “In return, could you do something for me?”
Alex remained silent but tilted his head slightly in assent.
“Some of your men must know people in the village. Your ships trade through Deal frequently. It was your tip that alerted me to Dark Shadow. Can you see if they know anything more about the smuggler—who he is? What cove he uses? Time is running out, and the good villagers of Deal appear to be stonewalling me.”
“Is the infamous Strathmore charm failing you? Don’t tell me you’ve been unable to seduce a local lass into giving you some information. You
are
slipping. Remind me when I get back to provide you with a demonstration in first-rate seduction.”
Rufus frowned, not wanting to admit he’d found only one woman he wanted to seduce—information notwithstanding—but he couldn’t. His churning feelings for Rheda were too similar to what he’d felt for Marguerite, and therein lay the danger.
Alex’s smile died. “Good heavens. You
have
found a woman to seduce but”—his eyebrows furrowed—“let me guess, it’s like Marguerite all over again.” Alex shook his head. “Will you never learn? Remember what that evil bitch did to you. Her treachery got Andrew killed, and I thought I’d be giving you a burial at sea when I rescued you.” He threw his hands up. “Christ, you stupid sap, you can’t trust women—period. You can’t let beauty and soft curves cloud your judgment. Marguerite’s weapons. Look how skillfully she wielded them. Women are not the weaker sex. They may not be as physically strong as men, but they have weapons that weaken a man’s resolve—”
Rufus hissed. “Don’t lecture me. I know damn well how deadly a pretty face and lustful figure can be. I’m guilty of the worst foolishness ever.”
Alex’s face grew serious. “It wasn’t the knife wound that nearly killed you, it was the guilt. It ate you up from the inside until I thought there’d be nothing left.”
“Don’t—”
His friend did not spare him. “It was not your fault. You were not the hangman. Marguerite deserved her end—”
Rufus raised his hand and pointed his finger. He couldn’t stop it from shaking. “No one deserves that end. It is barbaric. I’ll never let another woman be hanged. Christ, Alex. You were not there. It took her almost an hour to die. If I’d had my pistol with me I’d have shot her to put her out of her misery.”
“She was a murderer and a traitor—”
“Yes she was, but for almost six months she was my—everything. I loved her. I’d never loved any woman the way I loved her, yet I stood back and watched”—he swallowed the rising bile—“I had to watch her suffer like no human being should be made to suffer.” His voice betrayed his raw state. “I’ll kill a woman myself before I’d let her hang.”
Alex raised an eyebrow. “I know you, perhaps better than you know yourself. I’m not sure you’d be capable of such an act.”
“After what I’ve been through I’m not sure you’d know what I am capable of. Marguerite killed my friend. I was too blinded by her beauty to see the real her. It cost someone’s life—how can I ever forget that?” His voice edged with steel, he added, “I won’t let any woman come between me and my mission ever again—ever!”
“Is that why you won’t seduce this woman who obviously can help you?” The two men stood glaring at each other. “Who is she?” Alex finally asked.
“I don’t know what you mean ...”
Alex’s steady gaze indicated he did not believe him.
Rufus looked at the floor. “Miss Rheda Kerrich, Baron de Winter’s older sister. She was in possession of an unstamped brandy barrel when I first met her. She knows something about Dark Shadow; I can feel it. She’s hiding something. She’s not as skilled as Marguerite.” At Alex’s smirk, Rufus scoffed. “At lying. I haven’t bedded her.”

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