All's Fair in Love and Scandal Read online

  Liam shot out of his chair. “How the hell—?”

  “I don’t know.” She pressed one hand to her temple. “So you may believe me when I tell you I’m trying to turn him away.”

  He went down on one knee beside her. “Madeline. I can have someone warn him off. I told you to let me deal with this.” She lowered her hand. He took a look at her expression and his shoulders sagged. “Tell me you’re not in love with him.”

  She summoned a bittersweet laugh. Of course Liam would notice. “I’m trying to fight it off.”

  He hung his head and sighed. “And failing miserably, I gather. Well.” He laid his hand over hers. “I should have him tied up and thrown into the Thames.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” She got to her feet and smoothed down her pelisse. “I don’t know if he would expose me, but it means I must tread carefully. Perhaps it’s best if that’s the last piece for a while.” She nodded at the sealed packet on the table.

  “Yes.” He too rose, and tucked the report into his pocket. “My mother will be desolated if I lose you permanently.”

  “It seems to me she hears plenty of gossip on her own,” she replied tartly.

  Liam winked. “It’s never enough. For my sake, persuade Bennet not to spoil things.”

  She didn’t deign to reply to that. Liam’s opinion was important to her, but the Intelligencer consumed him. Of course he would prefer that she remain as she was, aloof and remote and free to spend her time gathering gossip for his newspaper. That didn’t mean his advice was wrong, but she found herself discounting it as she walked home. Liam was her friend, not her father, and how did he know what she really wanted? Not even she knew that.

  The note waiting at home from her mother only reinforced her discontent. Mama consoled her on the melancholy she must be feeling but assured her it would lead to greater happiness. “Only when you know his true desires can you be sure of your own path,” Mama wrote. Madeline sighed as she read that. How easy for Mama to say that, with steady, reliable Canton devoted to her. She must have known he would come back to her no matter how many times she sent him away. If only Madeline could know the same about Douglas . . .

  That was when she admitted defeat. She wanted him to come back. What if, when he lost—and she was absolutely sure he would—he went away, as she asked . . . and then had no interest in returning? She had outsmarted herself, devising a plan to rid herself of a man who had stolen her heart.

  If only she had realized it in time.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Douglas eyed the pub grimly. It was one of his favorites, where the girls were friendly and the ale was strong, and tonight it looked like the gatehouse to hell.

  It seemed days had passed instead of hours since he’d made that wretched wager with Madeline. He’d spent most of those hours trying to think of a way around it. If he never went back to a tavern he could simply say it was still an open question, that no one had lost and no one had won. He could continue seeing her . . . and wondering all the while why she’d wanted to win his absence. Was she only tolerating him? Had he so completely lost his touch with women that he’d misread every sigh and smile and even that kiss, the kiss that promised to torment him for the rest of his life? Finally, in some despair, he decided to get it over with.

  As usual, he barely found a chair before he had company. Amy, a jolly girl with dark red hair, hurried over when she saw him. “Mr. Bennet! You’ve not been here in ages! Haven’t you missed me?”

  “I’m missing you right this moment, Ames,” called a fellow seated at the next table over. “Come over and make me feel welcome, won’t you?”

  She made a face and turned her shoulder to the man as his companions bellowed with laughter. “Never mind them,” she said to Douglas, sliding onto his knee. “A pack of scoundrels.”

  His stomach clenched. Scoundrels are dishonest at heart. Was he any better? “Amy.”

  She settled comfortably in his lap, her arm around his neck. “Aye, love? Shall we go upstairs and have a more private conversation?”

  He turned his head aside when she tugged playfully at his hair, and dodged her attempt to kiss him. “Perhaps in a moment. What is it to you, when we go upstairs?”

  “A bloody good time!” She giggled. Her hand was inside his waistcoat, easing down his belly.

  Douglas barely felt it, which was odd. Usually he liked a bold wench, and Amy was as bold as they came. Anything he suggested, she was keen to try. He’d had some remarkable evenings with her. And yet . . . Madeline’s words festered in his mind. What a stupid wager this was. He couldn’t bear to lose, and he didn’t want to win. He shifted in his seat, trapping Amy’s hand inside his waistcoat. “You’re fond of me, aren’t you?”

  She stared at him, then smiled—coyly, damn it. “You know I am! A big brawny fellow like you, and so handsome, too.” She ran her fingers through his hair.

  “How fond?” he persisted, beginning to feel like an idiot. At this very moment he could see three other barmaids, all flirting openly with other patrons. Of course they must be thinking of what those men might bestow upon them after a night of pleasure. Douglas was always generous, too, but he told himself that was due to the rare sort of contentment that filled a man after making love. So Madeline was partly right. He still thought women were glad to see him aside from his money.

  “Mmm, have you got something especially naughty in mind tonight?” She wriggled her hand free of his waistcoat and plucked at his cravat. “What is it?”

  “It . . .” His voice died. He didn’t want to take Amy upstairs at all. Not when all he could think about was Madeline’s brown eyes, teasing him, scorning him, glowing golden in delight with him. “It’s just that I haven’t got any more funds.”

  Amy’s fingers paused in their wandering. “None at all?”

  “No,” he said. “My father cut me off. I won’t have a farthing for months, so I can’t give you anything as I did before.” Amy stared at him, her blue eyes shadowed. “Will you still go upstairs with me?”

  She bit her lip and glanced over her shoulder. “Well . . .”

  “Does that mean no?”

  She looked torn. “You’re awfully sweet, Mr. Bennet, truly you are. More than most men! But it’s late, and if I go upstairs with you . . .”

  “You’d be wasting your time because I haven’t got money?” he finished when she fell silent.

  “Not wasting,” she said quickly. “Only . . . I got duties here! I’ll lose my place if I don’t serve and clean.”

  That had never bothered her before, when she’d gone upstairs without a backward glance at the taproom. Douglas let her slide off his lap. “I understand.”

  Relief brightened her face. “I knew you would! But if your fortunes change . . . you know where to find me.” She grabbed an empty mug from the next table and headed toward the bar, her russet curls bobbing in her haste.

  Douglas exhaled slowly. Thank God. He felt no dismay, no regret over the loss of Amy’s company, not even a tingle of indignation that he’d been utterly, spectacularly wrong. For a moment all he felt was an overpowering sense of relief that his offer to take her upstairs hadn’t been accepted.

  But his reward would be the permanent loss of Madeline’s company. What a colossal mistake. The only good thing was that Madeline wouldn’t be obliged to ruin herself. He wasn’t sure she was being truthful about her stories; he noticed she’d said she would claim authorship, not confess that she was the author. But now she wouldn’t have to do that, because she’d won.

  He pushed back his chair and rose, feeling a little numb. The cool night air hit him in the face as he shoved open the pub’s door. For several minutes he walked, not seeing where he went. He’d lost, and honor demanded he acknowledge it and pay his forfeit. He kicked a loose cobble in frustration. Why had he ever mentioned wagering to her?

  Because he was an idio
t to risk what he couldn’t bear to lose. If only he’d realized it in time.

  He turned into Gower Street, not knowing what he would do when he got to her house. The half-mile walk was over in a blink and he found himself on her step, looking up at her windows. A light shone in the upstairs one. He imagined it was her bedroom. He pictured her in a lacy night rail, her unbound hair falling like silk around her shoulders, her eyes soft with welcome at his arrival . . .

  And now it would never happen. His stupid penchant for wagers had finally ruined him.

  “Bloody hell,” he muttered, squeezing his eyes shut. Grimly he straightened his shoulders and rapped the knocker. It was late and the sound echoed up and down the street. It was several minutes before he heard the bolt being drawn back, and the door opened.

  “Douglas . . .” She held up a lamp, shedding a golden glow over her face. He stared in longing. Her night rail wasn’t silk and lace, but sturdy cotton buttoned all the way up—and somehow it was the most seductive thing he’d ever seen. Her hair did fall over her shoulders, as dark as honey in the light of her lamp.

  But her eyes were wide with surprise, not soft with welcome, and she held the door open only a few inches, as if afraid he would leap on her. He took a deep breath. “I came to say you’ve won our wager.”

  She blinked.

  “You were entirely right that my charms spring chiefly from my purse,” he went on, like a penitent scourging himself. “If I were a lamplighter, I daresay I’d not know what it was like to kiss a woman, let alone bed one. You have torn the veil of delusion from my eyes, and I humbly acknowledge your victory.” His jaw clenched against the next words, but he forced himself onward. “I suppose then this is also our farewell, since I wagered my eternal absence from your life. I cannot swear we’ll never cross paths at some ton party, but you have my word I won’t approach you or speak to you.” He hesitated, hoping, but she just stared at him in openmouthed astonishment. Douglas bowed stiffly. “Good-bye, Madeline. I wish you a very happy life.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Madeline thought she must have whacked herself on the head and not realized it. Her first reaction had been a blinding surge of happiness; he had come to tell her the wager was immaterial because he loved her. Instead . . . he was conceding. And leaving. “What did you do?”

  “What you told me to do. I sat a wench on my knee and asked if she would tumble me even if there wasn’t a ha’penny in it for her.”

  Fool girl. The thought slipped through her mind before she could stop it. “I’m sorry it cost you an evening’s pleasure.”

  His dark gaze dropped to her mouth. He was subdued tonight, all his charm and good humor banished. “It didn’t.”

  She flushed. Of course not. “Imagine my relief.”

  “You were right about all of it. I didn’t even want to tumble her. I realized it as soon as she sat on my knee and put her arms around my neck, and all I could do was wish she was someone else.” He put out his hands in a gesture of surrender. “But that person will never put her arms around my neck, because she doesn’t want to see me ever again.” Without another word he turned and walked away, every strike of his boot heel making her flinch as he disappeared from her life.

  She clutched her lamp. She didn’t want him to go. That stupid wager. Yes, she’d meant it when she threw out the challenge, and at the time it had seemed like the ultimate escape. If he no longer called on her or sought her out, she wouldn’t have to think about her growing feelings for him. She wouldn’t have to admit how much she thought of him. How much he made her laugh. How tempted she was to throw herself at him and let him make love to her every night for the rest of her life.

  His steps slowed. In the circle of light from a streetlamp, he stopped. Madeline’s heart leapt. Wordlessly she gripped the doorknob as he turned around and met her gaze. For a long moment they both stood there, and then he started back toward her.

  “I can feel you watching me,” he said.

  She wet her lips. “Don’t be ridiculous. No one can feel that.”

  “Right. You know exactly what I feel and what I think and what I know.” He reached the few steps to her door.

  “I never said that.”

  He stopped in front of her and pushed the door open all the way. “Then don’t think it, either, at least for the next few minutes.” And with that, he tipped up her chin and kissed her.

  His kiss was soft and gentle, seductive. His lips were warm, and when he teased the corner of her mouth with his tongue, she gave in with a gasp of pent-up joy. His kiss was hungry and thorough, as if he thought he’d only have this taste and meant to savor every moment of it.

  She had sent him away once, but wouldn’t make the same mistake again. She slid her arm around his neck and pressed herself against him, barely keeping a grip on the lamp she still held.

  He broke the kiss. His arms tightened around her waist and held her to him, dragged up on her toes. He rested his forehead against hers. His shoulders heaved with every ragged breath.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his words warm against her lips. “I’m sorry I was an ass when we first met. I’m sorry I upset you so much that you made that wager to get rid of me. And I’m desperately sorry this is all I’ll have to remember you by, because I think I’ve lost my heart to you, Madeline.” His mouth met hers before she could say a word, another long, mesmerizing kiss that made her knees go soft and her skin grow hot.

  She didn’t want to get rid of him. She needed him. He infuriated her and challenged her and made her laugh at the worst moments. She wanted to burrow into his arms and make him wild for her, so wild he forgot every other woman he’d ever held—that would only be fair, since she doubted any other man could ever dominate her thoughts and feelings the way he did.

  Her mother’s advice had been perfect. She’d sent him away, and he had admitted he was wrong, admitted he had lost, and made his farewell. He had behaved honorably. “Don’t,” she breathed when he lifted his head again. Don’t stop. Don’t go. Don’t leave me.

  “Don’t what?”

  She touched his lip. “Don’t leave.”

  He was motionless for a moment. “If I stay, it won’t be merely for tonight. I want to come back tomorrow. I want to dance with you at every ball in London, and I want to bring you home afterward and take you to bed for the rest of the night. Don’t ask me to stay if you don’t want all that, too.”

  Madeline nodded. It was all she could manage. His words sparked such a craving within her, she could barely breathe. Without another word, he took the lamp from her paralyzed fingers and set it aside. He lifted her off her toes and carried her back inside the house. He never let go of her as he closed the door and shot the bolt.

  “Which way?” He caught her around the knees and swung her effortlessly into his arms.

  “The door on the left at the top of the stairs.” She put her arms around his neck, thrilling at the feel of his muscles flexing as he carried her. She pressed her lips against his jaw, and was rewarded with a low growl of approval. With one flick of her hand, she sent his hat tumbling down the stairs so she could comb her fingers through his hair.

  He walked through her house as if he’d been there a hundred times, shouldering open her sitting room door and shoving it closed with one foot. He turned his head to kiss her again as he let her feet back down to the floor. Between hungry kisses, they worked at stripping Douglas. Layer by layer his clothing fell to the floor until he yanked his shirt over his head, baring his very splendid chest to her view. Madeline gasped, and he gave her a little push away.

  “Take it off,” he commanded in a silky whisper.

  Her face heated, but not with embarrassment. Without a word she unbuttoned her night rail and let it fall. The rush of air on her skin was cool, but she felt feverishly hot. Douglas’s hands fisted; his stomach flexed. His eyes seemed to burn as his gaze moved over he
r.

  “Do you need me to be gentle?” His voice had become rough. “Should I try to go slowly?”

  “Please don’t,” she managed to say before he caught her to him and sealed his mouth to hers in a kiss that made the room spin. She plowed her hands into his hair, shamelessly pressing against his body. His hands slipped around her bottom and he lifted her until she curled her legs around his waist. He moaned and flexed his spine, and Madeline’s lungs seized. His unfastened trousers hung around his hips but she could feel him, hard and big, and if not for the trousers, he would be inside her already. No, she did not need him to be gentle or slow.

  “Thank God. I’m all out of patience at the moment.” He carried her the few steps across the room to the chaise and laid her on her back before him. He kicked off his trousers and went down on his knee between her legs. “You’ve driven me half mad today.”

  She laughed, feeling a little mad herself. Her back arched as his hands moved over her. His fingernails scraped down her ribs and she twisted; he cupped her breast and she almost stopped breathing. He loomed over her and caught her nipple between his teeth, bringing her to the brink of climax. When he bent his head and began tracing his way down her belly with his tongue, she plowed her fingers into his hair and yanked.

  “Just one taste,” he muttered, catching her hands and holding them away.

  “Douglas,” she moaned in longing, and then his mouth settled between her thighs. She writhed, but his grip on her hands was like iron, his shoulders pinned her legs, and she was utterly defenseless against the overwhelming pleasure he lavished on her.

  He lurched upright. “Sweeter than cherries,” he rasped. “And so ready . . .”

  “Yes.” Madeline was almost weeping. “Yes.”

  His grin flashed, strained and victorious. “As you command, love.” And he thrust deep.

  Madeline gave a little cry. Douglas shuddered, his fingers digging into her hips. Both were too frenzied for tenderness. It was a rough, primal coupling that shook the chaise and ended in a few moments, leaving both of them spent and breathing raggedly.