Scandal of the Year (29 page)

“You’re mine now,” he muttered. “
Mine
. Never forget that.”

Nothing in her life had prepared her for the sensation of him deeply embedded in her. They were truly one. An immense well of emotion overflowed in her, and she brushed her lips over his. “Oh, James. I love you so much.”

For an instant, he looked almost startled, then he bent his head to kiss her. He moved within her, commencing a deep and steady rhythm that thoroughly distracted her from any coherent thought. All the while, he stroked her breasts and caressed her elsewhere, murmuring sweet endearments.

Her head tipped back against the cushions of the chaise. She moaned, clutching at him as he quickened the pace. His body felt hot and slick with sweat, and she reveled in his strength. Her breath came in labored gasps until at last the tightly coiled tension in her broke in convulsive waves of pure bliss unlike anything she had ever known.

As she lay amazed and replete, James thrust ever more deeply into her. He uttered a harsh cry of rapture, and then the weight of his body settled on top of her, his breathing gradually slowing.

They lay for timeless moments entwined in idyllic exhaustion. As rational thought returned, Blythe realized with a pang that he had not returned her declaration of love. Had she chosen the wrong moment? No,
chosen
was the wrong word. The sentiment had poured from her heart without forethought. But perhaps James had been too caught up in physical enjoyment to voice his own feelings.

He raised himself slightly to gaze down at her. With a tender touch, he brushed back a strand of her hair and then ran his fingertip over her damp lips. “What a gift you’ve given me,” he said. “I’ve little to offer you in return.”

“The gift was mutually shared. I’ve no need for anything else.”

He picked up her hand and kissed her knuckles, while looking intently at her. “Will you allow me to give you the honor of my name? Will you marry me, Blythe, even though I’m merely a footman? Will you be my wife?”

She had not thought the evening could be any more wonderful. His proposal made the breath catch in her throat. She imagined being with him every night like this, sharing his life, bearing his children, growing old together.

Yet in the midst of her joy, something gave her pause.

Perhaps it was the way he was looking at her.

His gaze held that secretive darkness she’d sensed in him from time to time. There was a watchfulness about him, an elusive tension that now struck her as peculiar. She felt an odd certainty that she was missing something vital, that he wasn’t being completely honest with her.

Questions crept past the haze of her happiness. How much did she really know about James? Was it possible—just
possible
—that he had romanced her for a mercenary purpose? That he viewed her as his key to achieving the life of a gentleman?

She hesitated even to think it. But the possibility must be faced.

“Do you love me, James?”

He did not answer at once. A faint frown touched his brow, and he lowered his head to kiss her fingers—or perhaps to hide the truth in his eyes. “My affections belong only to you,” he murmured. “Surely you know that.”

His slight hesitation told Blythe everything. His reply was not the impassioned declaration she so desperately craved from him. Her questions grew into full-blown doubts that dealt a blow to her heart.

Denying the truth served no purpose. If James did not love her, then that could only mean he’d been wooing for his own hidden purpose.

For her money.

Blythe slipped out from under him, disengaging their bodies. Snatching up her dressing gown, she blinked back tears while thrusting her arms into the garment. How could she be so blissful one moment and so filled with suspicions the next?

Behind her, she heard him rise to his feet. His hands settled, warm and heavy, on her shoulders. “Blythe, what is it? What’s wrong?”

Temptation urged her to fling herself into his embrace. To forget this sudden onslaught of misgivings. But that would mean throwing away her whole life for a charming bounder.

A man who did not cherish her.

Pulling away, she swung to face him. “A marriage between us is impossible. It would cause a terrible scandal for my family.”

“I can provide for you, if that’s your concern. I’ve plans to make my fortune. With you at my side—”

“No.” She shook her head. “I must ask you to leave here. I-I need time to think.”

“Pray do not refuse me. Not after what we just shared.” He softened his voice, cajoling her. “Blythe, you might already be carrying my child.”

The notion caused a bittersweet lurch inside her. What would she do in such an instance? She desperately needed to be alone, to sort through her tangled emotions. “Please go, James.
Now
.”

Chapter 26

The following afternoon, Blythe descended the grand staircase. A summons had been delivered to her bedchamber a short time ago by one of the maids. The Duke of Savoy had arrived and Mama had requested Blythe’s presence in the green drawing room.

Her every step felt leaden. She did not want to face this interview. Only a fortnight ago, she would have been thrilled to know that His Grace had come to ask for her hand in marriage. She would have rejoiced in the golden future that lay before her.

But that had been before she had fallen in love with James.

The mere thought of him threatened to open the floodgates of her emotions. She hadn’t seen him since that glorious interlude in the middle of the night and their ensuing quarrel. After he had gone, she had crawled into bed and hugged Minx for comfort, eventually falling into a troubled slumber.

By the time she’d awakened, it had been late morning. The patter of raindrops on the window explained the darkness of the room. Minx had vanished, presumably taken out by the maid.

In a state of numbness, Blythe had prepared herself for this audience. She had bathed, then donned the garments Mama had chosen for her. She had sat quietly while the maid did her hair. All the while, thoughts of James had preoccupied her. She had teetered between misgivings about his mercenary purpose and memories of the joy she had found in his arms.

You’re mine now
, he had said as he’d joined their bodies.
Mine. Never forget that.

She wouldn’t—couldn’t—forget. He had been so tender and loving that it was difficult to believe he might harbor an ulterior motive. Perhaps her instincts had been wrong, and James wasn’t a cold-hearted scoundrel. Perhaps she had simply expected more from him than he was able to express. What he felt for her might not be love, but surely it wasn’t villainy, either.

Was it so terrible, anyway, that he would seek to use her family connections to better himself? Hadn’t she herself intended to do the same with the duke?

Besides, James was more than intelligent enough to know that Papa would never sign over her dowry to a footman. It was very likely she would be cut off without a penny, so there would be no monetary gain for James. She would lose all standing in society, too. She would be a pariah, an outcast, scorned by the nobility who now invited her to their parties.

Would she also be shunned by her parents?

Pausing outside the drawing room, Blythe drew a shaky breath. Papa would be devastated to learn of her fall from grace. By marrying James, she would be giving up everything for a man who had not even professed to love her. If she married the duke, at least she would always have the esteem of her family.

Dear God, what should she
do
?

The final decision still eluded her. Yet the course of the rest of her life depended upon the choice she would make this afternoon.

She forced herself to walk through the arched doorway and into the long chamber. At the tall windows, swags of gold cord held back the green brocaded draperies. Chairs and chaises in asymmetrical groupings filled the immense space.

Her mother sat alone beside the marble fireplace. She was pulling a needle and thread through the embroidery hoop in her hand.

Relief poured through Blythe. The duke wasn’t here, after all. The reprieve made her so giddy, she caught hold of the back of a gilt chair to steady herself.

Smiling, Mrs. Crompton laid aside her sewing. “There you are, my dear. I was about to come in search of you.” She hurried over to Blythe and eyed her critically. “The lemon yellow is an excellent color for you, although your cheeks are a bit rosy. Are you feeling ill?”

While making love, James had pressed his face to hers. She had relished the whiskered roughness against her tender skin.

“Perhaps from the sun on the drive in Hyde Park yesterday,” Blythe murmured. How long ago that seemed. She had felt carefree and happy while flirting with James. In the guise of Prince Nicolai, he had rescued Minx for her.…

“Well, do hurry and sit down.” Mrs. Crompton glanced out into the empty vestibule. “His Grace may arrive at any moment.”

A knell struck Blythe. “Is he … still in Papa’s study, then?”

“Of course. They are no doubt working out the particulars of the dowry arrangements. With so large a portion as yours, these things take time.” Mrs. Crompton motioned Blythe to a chair by the hearth and handed her an embroidery hoop. “Now, concentrate on your sewing.”

Blythe obediently sat. The knot inside her tightened as she noticed how happy her mother looked. Mama often seemed dissatisfied, always ambitious to improve their social standing. But now, she must be reflecting on the grand alliance Blythe was about to make.

“I despise needlework,” Blythe objected. “You know I do.”

“Never mind, just pretend to sew. It’s important that everything look ordinary. We must act as if we don’t know why His Grace is here.”

Blythe jabbed the needle into the fabric. It was one of her father’s white handkerchiefs. She stared down at his half-completed initials in blue thread and blinked back tears. Dear God, Papa would furious—and terribly disappointed—if he knew she had given away her virginity.

And to a footman, no less!

Rain tapped on the window, underscoring her despair. And what of the duke? Even if she agreed to marry him, it would be wrong of her to wait until their wedding night to reveal the truth. She would have to tell him today. What would he say when he found out? Would he withdraw his offer?

Perhaps not. He needed to pay off his gaming debts. The size of her dowry might be a powerful incentive for him to overlook her indiscretion, though he likely would insist upon waiting a few weeks to be certain she was not with child.

At the notion of carrying James’s baby, Blythe felt the softness of yearning. Every child was a gift, no matter what the circumstances. It seemed only right and good that the marvelous joining of their bodies could result in the miracle of a son or a daughter.

She’d had no inkling that a woman could feel such complete abandonment in a man’s arms. Or that his touch could transport her to perfect pleasure. Even now, fraught with doubts about her future, Blythe felt a deep pulse of longing. She wanted to experience it again.

With James. As his wife.

But her parents would never allow the marriage. They would be devastated—and they would do everything in their power to stop her.

It wasn’t penury she feared, but the loss of her family. They would suffer the consequences of the scandal every day. Her sisters cared little for society, but Mama enjoyed all the visits and dinners and balls.

How could Blythe heap disgrace on her parents in exchange for life with a man who didn’t truly love her? That was the crux of the matter. If only she had time in which to assure herself of James’s affection.

“Mama, what if … what if I
don’t
wish to marry the duke? What if I’ve changed my mind?”

Astonishment on her face, Mrs. Crompton let the sewing fall to her lap. “I beg your pardon?”

“I’ve very disturbed to find out that he’s a gambler. I had no idea he had so weak a character.”

“Shh. Do keep your voice down.” Lips taut, her mother glanced at the empty doorway. “All men have their foibles. It is nothing to fret about.”

“But it’s been such a shock. I-I need time to consider the matter.”

Mrs. Crompton gave her a keen stare. “Does this have to do with Prince Nicolai? Have you set your sights on him instead?”

Blythe felt the rise of a blush. She glanced down at the sewing that lay abandoned in her lap. Her mother had no idea that the prince was Blythe’s own creation. Or that Blythe had fallen in love with the footman who had played the role. “No, I…”

“You have, haven’t you? Well! I cannot pretend it wouldn’t be wonderful to see my daughter become a princess. And Prince Nicolai
is
quite the dashing rake.” Mrs. Crompton made another dainty stitch in her embroidery. “However, you must put all thought of the prince from your mind. Your father prefers that you remain in England, rather than go off to some faraway land. It is your duty to obey him.”

But I’ve been ruined.

Blythe couldn’t bring herself to voice that confession. Anyway, she didn’t
feel
ruined. Making love with James had been a private joy, and she didn’t want to sully the memory with horrified recriminations from her mother. “Am I to have no choice in the matter, then?”

Mrs. Crompton gave her a fond smile. “Oh, darling, it’s perfectly normal to harbor doubts. Just keep in mind what you’ve always wanted. To become a duchess. To be the grandest lady in society.” She pulled her needle through the fabric. “This alliance will make your father and me so happy and proud.”

With every word spoken by her mother, Blythe felt as if a weight were crushing her. The burden of obligation. She owed her parents the honor of making a good marriage. She had always been the dutiful daughter. It wasn’t their fault that she had changed.

The sound of measured footsteps came from the doorway. A footman—not James—entered the drawing room and bowed.

“His Grace, the Duke of Savoy.”

Panic flashed through Blythe. There had to be a way to escape this ordeal. Could she pretend illness? It would not be a lie, for her stomach churned with tension.