Scandal of the Year (31 page)

Amora chirped sleepily in the brass cage by the window. It was enough to snap James out of his untimely fantasy.

He carried the tray to the table, where another tea tray already sat untouched. Setting down the pot, he turned to face Blythe. She stood watching him, her back to the closed door, her arms crossed.

The guarded look in her eyes was not encouraging.

A host of charming compliments stuck in his throat. But she appeared in no humor to suffer platitudes from him. It would be cowardly to hide behind such shallowness, anyway.

“I was worried about you,” he said. “They were talking below stairs that you’d had a terrible row with your parents.”

She nodded. “Mama and Papa weren’t very happy that I’d turned down two such brilliant offers. Of course, I couldn’t tell them that one was not quite so exceptional as they believed.”

“Prince Nicolai.”

“Mm-hmm. By the by, how did you talk my sisters into letting you borrow the clothing again?”

“I took Minx on a walk to Pallister House. I told Lady Mansfield about the duke’s visit, and that Prince Nicolai would find some way to thwart him.”

Blythe’s spine remained glued to the door. “Lindsey and Portia will be anxious to know everything. I wonder if they’ll come to call.”

“I told them afterward that you’d rebuffed the duke, and they seemed quite satisfied to hear that.” He softened his voice to a husky murmur. “Of course I didn’t mention Prince Nicolai’s proposal—or your refusal of it.”

She dipped her chin and gazed at him through the screen of her lashes. “Why did you do it, James? Why did you say what you said?”

He knew exactly what she meant. She was referring not to his offer of marriage, but to his declaration of love.

The dusk had grown so thick that he couldn’t read the look in her eyes. But he had the keen sense that whatever he said next would determine his future. Although he didn’t dare reveal his secret purpose, he at least could admit the truth about what she meant to him.

James took a step toward her. “I couldn’t let you marry any other man, Blythe. Ever since we met, you’ve occupied all of my thoughts, all of my dreams. I’m obsessed with you, with the way you move, the way you speak, the way you smile.” He spread his hands out wide. “I don’t know if that’s love. I’ve never been in love before. But … you mean more to me than anyone else in the world. Last night was the single most incredible experience of my life—”

He broke off. She had darted forward to lay her head on his shoulder and to slide her arms around his waist. “Yes, I’ll marry you,” she said breathily. “
Yes
.”

Awash in amazement, he clasped her close. He could scarcely believe she had just agreed to become his wife.
His wife.
He closed his eyes to hold back the unmanly prickle of tears. He concentrated on savoring the faint flowery scent of her hair and the womanly curves of her body. He didn’t ever want to let go of her. “But you refused me last night. And then again this afternoon when I said I loved you.”

“I didn’t want to accept the prince. I wanted to accept
you
, James. Only you.”

Tilting her face up, Blythe stood on tiptoe to brush her lips over his. A vast tenderness filled him, a feeling that was far richer than mere physical lust. James joined their mouths in a deep kiss, threading his fingers into her hair to hold her in place for fear she might change her mind. It was humbling to realize that Blythe would give up everything … her family, her status, her wealth. For
him
, a man she believed to be a mere footman.

What had he done in his misbegotten life to deserve such love?

The question faded beneath the intoxicating taste of her, the feel of that shapely form pressed against him. She was everything he had ever dreamed of in a woman—and so much more. In the past, he had given only negligible thought to marriage. So long as there were experienced women who were willing to slake his needs, what was the point?

But now he understood. With Blythe in his arms, he felt … complete. She belonged to him, as he belonged to her. No other man could ever touch her. He wanted to spend the remainder of his life making her happy.

If
she didn’t hate him when she found out the truth.

Drawing back slightly, he gazed deeply into her eyes and spoke in the voice of Prince Nicolai. “Such a kiss will be immortalized by the bards for a thousand years to come.”

She laughed. “But it wasn’t our
first
kiss.”

“It was love’s first kiss. Can you forgive me for being such a fool?”

In the candlelight, Blythe had stars in her eyes. “Oh, James, of course I can.” She looked sweetly naïve, at least until her fingers ventured below his waist. “Can we—? Dare we—?”

Lust threatened to swamp his common sense. “Absolutely not. There are people about. And I’m supposed to be on duty outside, guarding the door.”

Blythe ran her fingertips over his erection. “We could be swift. Without completely undressing, perhaps?”

His willpower crumbled and he made haste across the room to turn the key in the lock. When he returned, Blythe sat on the edge of the bed with her skirt drawn to her waist. She gave him a sinful smile. Lord! She was every man’s dream. While they kissed open-mouthed, James opened his breeches and then caressed her between her legs, finding her damp and ready.

He slid his hands beneath her bottom and lifted her a bit for his entry. As he pressed into her heat, she moaned, lying back slightly while braced on her elbows. Her fingers clutched at the coverlet while he moved rhythmically. He glanced down at the place they were joined, and saw her watching, too, her eyes heavy-lidded with desire.

Her breath coming faster, she closed her eyes. Gritting his teeth against an early release, he quickened his pace, working her with swift, urgent strokes. With stunning swiftness, she shuddered and cried out, her inner muscles clenching around him. One final plunge sent him over the edge into white-hot rapture.

He collapsed on top of her, his labored breathing gradually slowing. As coherent thought returned, he nuzzled her hair and basked in perfect contentment. Never had he known a woman quite like Blythe, so sweet and yet so sensual. Although he felt utterly sated, James was sorry the act was over. He could hold her like this forever.

He opened his eyes to find her gazing softly at him. They kissed and caressed for some minutes, a tender and gentle interlude that he relished as much as the wild passion they had just shared. The closeness he felt with her far surpassed anything he had ever known.

She took his face in her hands. “My parents will never give us their blessing.”

The reminder hung over him like a dark cloud. “Indeed,” he murmured. “And they’ll cut you off without a penny. I only pray to God you can forgive me for separating you from them.”

James held her tightly, not wanting her to see the guilt in his face. But she pulled back, saying, “We
are
going to run away together, aren’t we? We’ll go to Gretna Green. I am ready to leave right now.”

He chuckled. “It will take a little time for me to make the arrangements. And there’s the small matter of smuggling you out of the house.”

“Tonight, James,
please
. I don’t think I can bear to stay here a moment longer. I want to be with you, always.”

His chest tightened. Everything in him balked at the prospect of causing her pain. What if he abandoned the whole scheme? What if he whisked her away to some corner of the world where no one would ever find them?

The thought held the allure of temptation. But then he would always be hiding a secret from Blythe, the truth about his identity. Their life together would be a lie.

He also would never learn what had happened to his cousin. The crimes against the real George and Edith would go unpunished. James felt the crushing weight of obligation to seek justice for them. His own wants and desires must not deter that.

A scratching sounded at the door.

Blythe gasped. She sat up and gazed at him in shock, hastily rearranging her skirt. “Is it Mama?” she whispered.

James shook his head. “I believe I know who.”

He buttoned his breeches, then went to turn the key and open the door. Just as he’d suspected, Minx bounded into the bedchamber.

After a swift glance to see that the corridor was empty, James shut the door again. “I must not have securely latched the staircase door,” he said. “Minx is becoming quite adept at pushing open doors.”

Blythe crouched down to pet the dog. “What a clever girl! You found my room all by yourself.”

Wagging her tail, Minx lapped Blythe’s hand.

Blythe cuddled the dog close and gave James a pleading look. “Can we take her along with us when we go? Please?”

“I’m sure there will be space for one little mutt. But I do draw the line at bringing the bird.”

“Kasi will watch over Princess Amora,” Blythe said. “Now, you’ll need to hire a post-chaise and horses. I’ll fetch you some coins.”

She vanished into the adjoining dressing room, Minx at her heels. James set his jaw. It stung his pride to take her money. He wanted to be the one providing for her. But in his role of penniless footman, there was no other way. He could hardly produce his own funds without stirring her suspicions.

What a tangled web of deception he had woven! And it was far from over. Little did Blythe realize, he was a cad of the worst ilk.

Instead of honoring her love, he would repay her with betrayal.

Chapter 28

In the soft light of late afternoon, Blythe leaned against James on the seat of the well-sprung carriage. Minx lay curled up asleep on the blanket in her lap. The sway of the vehicle had a lulling effect on Blythe, although she felt too full of life to slumber. She wanted to treasure every moment of this marvelous day.

The narrow gold band on her finger glinted in the sunlight. She was Mrs. Ryding now. Mrs. James Ryding.

The joy of being his wife made the rigors of the long journey all worthwhile.

It was hard to believe that only three days ago, she had been in London, worried about her future and wracked with uncertainty about James. Then he had come to her bedchamber and declared his love and she had never looked back. They’d left at midnight and driven through the dark, while she’d dozed against him. How James had managed to stay awake, she still didn’t know. Then, the following two nights, they had stopped for a few hours at posting inns, posing as husband and wife.

Now they were truly married by Scottish law. At mid-morning, they had arrived at Gretna Green, a village right over the border. The wedding ceremony had been a hurried affair performed by the blacksmith and witnessed by his stout wife and a serving maid. Afterward, James had not wished to tarry because Blythe’s father would have sent men in pursuit of them. So immediately they had headed south again, avoiding the main road this time.

Blythe felt a little pang at the thought of her parents. James had left them a sealed note, and he’d told her what was in it—a testament to his love for their daughter and his firm commitment to take excellent care of her. That would have to satisfy them for now.

For most of the day, they had been driving through the Lake District. Around every bend lay a breathtaking new sight, a crystal blue lake nestled between rugged mountains, a waterfall coursing down a sheer cliff, herds of sheep grazing on verdant hills.

“I had no idea England had such gorgeous scenery,” she marveled. “Cumbria reminds me a little of the foothills of the Himalayas. We traveled there sometimes to escape the heat of the summer.”

“Someday, I’ll show you Lake Windermere and the area around Grasmere. Although, by the way, we’re in Lancashire now. We entered it at the last village.”

“Lancashire!” She looked out at the rolling landscape and the cluster of cottages in the distance. “My parents are from somewhere around here. And this is where you grew up, too, isn’t it?”

James nodded, his eyes on the winding road. “I haven’t been back in many years. I left shortly after my father’s death.”

He had been sixteen, she recalled, all alone in the world. “Where did you go, then?”

“I worked here and there, including a good deal of time in the West Indies.” He laid his hand over hers, looking away from the road for a moment to search her eyes. “I
am
sorry we’ve had to travel so far and so fast, Blythe. You must be weary of being jostled about for days on end.”

She laced her fingers with his. “I don’t mind, so long as we’re together.”

He gave her that crooked smile, the one that always stirred heat inside her. Then he returned his attention to the horses. “There’s a place I’d like to show you not far from here,” he said. “But don’t ask me to elaborate, it shall be a surprise.”

He refused to tell her, no matter how much she begged, instead pointing out landmarks and other sights: a badger waddling through the bushes and a hawk wheeling against the cloudless blue sky.

The sun was sinking on the horizon as James drove the carriage between a pair of stone pillars and down a wide avenue that meandered through a stand of ancient oak trees. He deftly guided the horses around the potholes in the graveled road. On either side stretched more of the drystone fencing that seemed ubiquitous to the area.

“There,” he said, pointing ahead. “That’s what I wanted to show you.”

In the pink and gold of sunset, an ivy-covered mansion sat on a gentle knoll against a thicket of trees. Mullioned windows marched across the stone front and many chimneys dotted the roof. Sheep grazed the undulating green lawn that stretched up to the house. The place had a warm, homey feel to it that instantly appealed to Blythe.

“How very lovely!” she exclaimed. “Do you know who lives here?”

“The owners are no longer in residence.” James gave her a strange, tight smile. “This is Crompton Abbey, the house where your parents once lived.”

She gasped in surprise, immediately scrutinizing the place again with a sharper eye. “But … Mama said it was a tumbledown ruin. I wonder why we’ve never come here in the summer. It would have been far more pleasant than staying in London.”