The Reddington Scandal (3 page)

Her innocence showed in her blush, but the tips of her nipples protruded from under her nightdress, making his breath catch. He retracted his hand from her hair, lest he be tempted to fondle what lay below and shifted his weight on the bed to alleviate the discomfort of his rapidly hardening cock.

She swallowed and parted her lips, but no answer came forth.

“If we don’t, we leave the possibility of annulling it later, if one of us wishes to do so.”

Her eyes met his for the first time, widening. “Do you wish it?”

He grinned. “Wish what? To lie with you or to annul the marriage?”

His jest eased some of her rigidity and her eyes narrowed. “Knowing your reputation, you probably wish for both.”

He threw back his head and laughed, delighted to see the return of the courage he’d glimpsed the night before.

She softened further at his laughter.

“I’m quite sure I would enjoy the first, though I have not defiled an innocent since I was a much younger man.”

“Indeed, everyone knows your preference is for married women.”

He grinned at her. “Yes, yet this is the first time I have been faced with a lady who is both.”

Flustered, she tried to stand up. He tightened his grasp around her waist and held her fast. “Where do you think you’re going, little dove? We are not finished talking. I will not force you into my bed, but you are my wife now, so you have to mind me. I have no compunction about turning a lady over my knee.” In fact, the idea of turning his pretty wife over his knee made his heart beat erratically for a moment.

She went rigid and stared at him as if to gauge whether he was serious. He allowed one corner of his mouth to turn up and she blew out her breath and smiled. Lifting her hand, she brushed a lock of hair from his eyes and for one moment he truly felt like a married man—glimpsing how it felt to receive simple wifely endearments like straightening his collar or brushing his hair from his face. The idea surprised him with a sense of longing for something he’d not known he’d been missing.

“What
do
you expect of me as your wife?” she asked softly.

“Your absolute love and devotion,” he said immediately, calling forth a low laugh from her lips. He stroked up her thigh and back, admiring the firm muscle of her elegant leg and ignoring the stiffening his touch incited. “Yes, let’s discuss my expectations. First of all, you must always look pleased to be with me, no matter what you may really feel. And I want you to always be dressed in the latest fashion, with the most expensive sort of shoes. You should be a suitable chaperone for Wynn, and I’ll expect you to find her a husband by the end of the season, and… let’s see… what else do wives do?”

She laughed.

He touched her cheek. “I’ll tell you what I expect of you, little dove. You must speak frankly with me if we’re to somehow make the best out of this rather…
unusual
… situation. As much as I adore your blushes and lowered eyes, I would very much prefer we were comfortable and honest with one another. I cannot make you happy if I don’t understand you, and I’d prefer not to make guesses that might be wrong. So my question to you now is: do you, or do you not, wish to consummate this marriage?”

Phoebe’s chest heaved, the tips of her nipples protruding even farther and heat dampening his trousers where she sat upon his leg.

But her knees snapped together and her buttocks tightened upon his knee. “I do not.”

Chapter Two

A narrow escape.

How on earth could she live with the charming Lord Fenton—
as his wife
—and not give in to his advances? The easy way he managed her—the way he held her captive on his knee, not releasing her until he wished—had been dominating, yet not controlling. So different from the way Reddington had repeatedly forced himself on her. She shuddered.

She climbed into her bed, still feeling the heat he’d incited in her core. What would it be like to lie with a man like him? With an irrational flare of jealousy, she thought of her sister and the noises she’d heard from her room. She’d certainly sounded like she’d enjoyed it. But she could not—even if she were willing to give her heart to a unscrupulous rake, she could not bring herself to… she shuddered. Not after Reddington.

The next two days were spent getting to know Wynn, with whom she found an instant rapport. She had spent the three years after her parents’ untimely carriage accident (which resulted in their death) in a finishing school financed by Reddington. Though she was nineteen, well past her ‘coming out,’ he had kept her from attending many social occasions where she might have the opportunity to meet a husband—most likely to keep her for his own sickening use. She’d had little social contact apart from Maud and her callers since she’d finished school and their talk had consisted entirely of gossip. With Wynn, she found a friend who could discuss her favorite topics—poetry and literature—as well as give her the particulars of London Society news.

Wynn’s best friend, Lady Westerfield, came to call on the second afternoon and she found herself nervous, remembering talk of the ‘Westerfield affair’ which seemed to have involved Lord Fenton. Had they been lovers? What would the lady think of her?

“I sent her a note inviting her to come and meet the new Lady Fenton, but that’s all, so she’ll be eager to hear the details,” Wynn said as they walked to the sitting room.

Her heart sank into her belly, and she felt as if Wynn were throwing her to the lions. Did she expect her to air her scandal to Lady Westerfield?

“Hello, dear Kitty!” Wynn exclaimed when they entered, kissing her pretty friend on the cheek. “May I introduce the new Lady Fenton!” She extended her hand toward Phoebe, her eyes dancing with mischief.

Lady Westerfield was lovely, appearing to be around the same age as she and Wynn. Her belly protruded with pregnancy—Phoebe guessed she must be four or five months along. She curtsied, feeling nervous. “Phoebe,” she said.

“Call me Kitty.” Kitty looked from Wynn to her with an expectant look. “Well,” she prompted. “Are you going to tell me how this came about?”

“Come, do sit down,” Wynn said, gesturing toward the settee and chairs.

“Well, I married Lord Fenton on Thursday,” Phoebe found herself saying inanely.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry for you!” Kitty said. When she only blinked in reply, Kitty went on, “Forgive me, I’m only teasing. We are childhood friends and we still behave like squabbling siblings at times.”

Like siblings.
Some part of her rejoiced to hear those words.

“So, was it for love or by some other arrangement?” Kitty asked, her directness startling Phoebe. But the lady’s smile was so warm and engaging that she could not take offense.

“Some other arrangement,” she admitted.

“Oh, do tell her—Kitty can be trusted completely,” Wynn said. “If you will not tell her, I will.”

“Yes, perhaps you should,” she mumbled.

“Very well,” Wynn began and launched into the tale. Phoebe enjoyed hearing it from Wynn’s perspective, finding her story recast as one of bravery and heroism, rather than one rash lie followed by an opportunistic seizing upon the chance to get out of her brother-in-law’s keeping. Wynn ended by declaring Phoebe had already informed Teddy it was to be a marriage in name only.

Kitty regarded her with an intelligent gaze. “And that effectively solves the problem of Teddy’s questionable capacity for fidelity.”

“Yes,” Wynn said.

To have her marriage and its issues spoken of so frankly was like having her chest cavity opened wide to bare her organs. Worse still was having the women closest to Fenton confirm he could not hold sacred a marriage vow. She realized, somewhere in the back of her mind, she’d held a small hope that perhaps someday a real marriage might develop between the two of them.

When Fenton arrived home from Parliament, Lady Westerfield was still there, the ladies having spent the entire afternoon chatting and taking tea.

“Ah, my three favorite ladies,” Fenton exclaimed. “I hope you have not been regaling my new bride with stories of my reproachable behavior.”

He said it lightly, but something must have shown in her face, because he added, “I see you have.” He crossed the room and sat in the armchair near the hearth, his legs sprawling casually, looking as debonair as ever. “It’s probably all true, little dove, and I’m sorry.”

Oddly, he did look genuinely regretful, as if his behavior was a plague he could not help.

“We told her nothing,” Lady Westerfield countered. “But you’d best treat her well, as the poor lady has to spend the rest of her life enduring your company.”

He grinned his devastating lopsided smile, but something about his eyes looked remote. “I’m sure we’ll come to some arrangement that suits her,” he said, turning his gaze on her and lingering speculatively until she felt her skin prickle with warmth.

* * *

“How is it I never met you before?” he asked Phoebe over dinner.

“We did meet, once,” she said, looking suddenly shy. “At Lord Reddington’s—a Christmas ball. I came upon the two of you in the corridor.”

“Oh!” Wynn exclaimed, covering her mouth, and he remembered the moment. It had been two years prior, Wynn’s first London season, and no one had asked her to dance. Seeing she was upset, he’d led her into the corridor where she burst into tears. He had comforted her, offering his shoulder and then a handkerchief, and finally teased and cajoled her into smiles. He’d forgotten until this moment that a pretty young lady had passed them and asked if she could help. It must have been Phoebe.

“I remember because it was my first ball, and I’d felt like crying too,” she confessed, giving Wynn a sympathetic look. “And I wished I’d had an older brother to tell me all the men were beef-witted.”

The two ladies laughed and he saw a tinge of pink color Phoebe’s cheeks. Had she found him attractive? The way she stole a look at him from under her lashes said she had. And though blushes and fluttering lashes were so common in his presence he found them insipid, in this case, his blood warmed. She was full of contradictions—one moment self-possessed, intelligent, and mature; in the next, utterly innocent. He felt protective of her innocence, yet at the same time, wanted to unleash the woman he glimpsed underneath it.

“And why have we not seen you since?” he asked.

The eyes looked past him at the wall behind his head, as if she were remembering something unpleasant. “Tell us the truth, little dove,” he prodded. “Did Maud keep you in?”

Her focus snapped to him in surprise. “What makes you say that?”

“It was Wynn’s assessment, really, but we thought she might not like you outshining her.”

Phoebe let out one giggle and then another.

“It’s true, isn’t it?” Wynn demanded.

Phoebe clutched at her waist, her corset too constricting for her laughter. “I don’t know—perhaps!” she exclaimed, wiping tears from her eyes. “I think perhaps you’re right.” She struggled to regain her composure. “Forgive me, I don’t know what’s come over me. It was just such a surprise to hear your perspective on the matter.”

Teddy’s plate had been cleared by the servants and he rested his chin on his hand, enjoying Phoebe’s mirth.

“And what about Lord Reddington?”

Phoebe’s smile faded and she looked almost sick. “L-lord Reddington?”

“Did he treat you ill?”

She seemed to struggle to swallow, her face growing pale. “You know,” she said, standing up abruptly, which caused Teddy to scramble to his feet. “I think I’d like a bath before bed. Do you think it would trouble the servants too much?”

“Certainly not,” he said, reverting to formality with a slight bow. “I will send them at once.”

She curtsied. “Thank you, my lord,” she said and swept out of the room.

He raised one eyebrow at Wynn, who allowed her eyes to grow wide as she nodded, the siblings not requiring words to acknowledge what they’d just seen.

He retired to his own room, trying to imagine just how life had been for Phoebe with Lord Reddington. He’d paid for her to attend finishing school for several years, so she had not been completely deprived. Yet she had not been allowed out in society much, either, which was odd for a young lady beyond marrying age.

His valet helped him shrug out of his jacket and waistcoat and was just beginning to remove his cravat when an ear-splitting scream pierced the air, followed by a second, shorter burst of shrieking from a different voice. It was coming from Phoebe’s room.

Dashing across the room, he threw open the door to find his wife stark naked in the middle of the room, dripping wet from the bath, her hands fluttering about her head, eyes rolling toward the ceiling. Her maid stamped her feet, running to and fro like a lunatic. When the maid took in his arrival, she opened the door to the corridor and rushed out, slamming the door behind her.

He crossed to Phoebe’s side and observing something moving in her hair, and he pulled her wet body against his as he helped the creature free itself.

It was a bat.

He laughed as he wrapped his arms around his little bride. “It’s all right,” he said, unable to stop laughing and enjoying the unexpected opportunity to hold his wife’s disrobed body against his own. “We’ll chase it out. Don’t worry. It’s out of your hair now,” he soothed, trying to contain his mirth.

“It’s not amusing!”

“No, it’s not amusing at all, is it?” he asked, but could not keep the laughter from bubbling into his voice. “It is not amusing in the slightest—I’m sorry for laughing.” He clamped his lips closed, his belly shaking with suppressed laughter against her soft, damp form.

“Stop it, you despicable swine,” she demanded, starting to laugh herself. She pressed herself more closely against him, probably realizing his body was the only covering she had. He looked down the length of her back, enjoying the tantalizing view of her buttocks, his favorite part of the female anatomy.

“I’m stark naked.” she squeaked.

“Yes, little dove, I had noticed,” he drawled, goading her further by stroking his hand up and down the supple skin of her back. “I’ve been determining how to pry you off so I can take a leisurely look.”