My Scandalous Viscount (14 page)

Then he returned the favor, pleasuring her. She was quickly rendered breathless; fevered; aching with desire; undulating with his every skillful stroke while he nuzzled her cheekbone, kissed the edge of her eyebrow, and flicked the corner of her lips with the tip of his tongue.

Dying for him, she turned her face to capture his mouth full on, winding her arms around him. He filled her mouth with his tongue, kissing her with equal desperation; with a smooth motion, he eased atop her. His eyes glittering with need, he guided himself to the dewy threshold of her passage.

She stroked his golden hair and bit her lip with needy impatience, closing her eyes, longing for his taking. She could have wept with relief as he penetrated her. With a soft groan, she took him in her arms and wrapped her legs around him. “Yes . . . please.”

“Is this what you need?” he taunted in a whisper, pressing into her more deeply.

“You know it is.” She raked her fingers down his smooth, strong back. She whimpered with searing pleasure as he began to rock her. God, she was putty in his hands.

“That’s right,” he whispered, “give it all to me. I love feeling you melt beneath me, just like this.” He gripped her hair and tugged her head back, kissing her throat, pumping harder, faster, more insistently.

She was sure she had died and gone to some lewd heaven. She dropped her arms to the pillow above her head and simply let him ravish her.

Aye, with a dreamy smile, she welcomed it.

Beau linked his fingers through hers and brought her to climax, joining her in a shattering explosion of blissful abandon. The world had disappeared beyond their marriage bed, but as he held her in the spent, panting silence afterward, she felt closer to him than ever, despite the secrets between them.

Indeed, there was no going back now. She looked into the eyes of her wonderful husband and let out a weak, exhausted laugh, half a purr of pleasure.

Slightly sweaty, he gave her a kiss on the cheek.

Her heart was still pounding as she hugged him, but in her heart, she realized that, having started down this path of deception, she was going to have to be careful not to veer off it inadvertently in the future.

She’d have to make sure to keep her story straight because there was no way, she vowed, that she could ever bear to lose him now. She kissed his square chin and glowed as he petted her hair, gazing into her eyes.

“I think I’m falling for you, wife,” he whispered.

“And I you, husband,” she breathed. Another little lie, for the fact was, she was over the moon for the scoundrel.
God, I’ve never had a chance like this before, that somebody might really love me.
Please never let him learn the truth that could take him away from me.

In for a penny, in for a pound.

Chapter 14

T
hey returned to London to find that their hasty marriage had become the talk of the town.

Fortunately, the worldly Aunt Jo was back and ready for the gossips. The glamorous comtesse had arrived while they had been out in the country. With her own peculiar magic, she had in the blink of an eye arranged their reception despite having been away from England for a year.

By some additional miracle, Carissa had even succeeded in coaxing her father-in-law to come to Town for the party, and now the grand night of the soiree had arrived.

All throughout Aunt Jo’s elegant house near Hyde Park, the candles glittered. The chandeliers cast a dancing light over the jeweled guests, who continued arriving in waves.

Carissa was sure they had come more to see the long-absent Comtesse d’Arras than to celebrate the union of the new Lord and Lady Beauchamp. But, determined to be seen as a credit to her new husband, she presented herself as the future Countess of Lockwood with every ounce of beauty and refinement that she and her aunt’s savvy French lady’s maid could conjure in her appearance.

Beau, of course, was effortlessly gorgeous, but Carissa’s intricate coiffeur alone had taken over an hour to create. She wore a rich, apricot-colored gown that flattered her complexion. A topaz necklace set in gold glittered round her neck.

The ton’s arbiters of fashion, who had never really noticed her before, looked her over with their haughty glances and nodded in approval.

Meanwhile, the house resounded with the music of the chamber players, the clinking of wineglasses and fine china as an array of delicacies were served.

Most of all, the rooms buzzed with conversation. For once, Carissa didn’t have the heart to eavesdrop on what the gossips had to say. Aunt Jo had firmly insisted that all the worst scandalmongers must be invited and treated with especial honor. Otherwise, there was no telling what unpleasant twists the tale of her marriage would take when they shared it with the ton.

While she kept a serene smile on her face and struggled not to fidget under the inspection of several Almack’s Patronesses, her glamorous aunt was a force to be reckoned with.

Knowing that Carissa desperately preferred the role of observer to being scrutinized as the center of attention, Aunt Jo distracted her guests, entertaining all with amusing anecdotes about her life in Paris.

With her vibrant red hair, sparkling blue eyes, and carefully tended complexion, the comtesse enchanted them with her beauty and a lilting monologue about her travels on the Continent.

Elsewhere in the party, Beau also saw the need to lay to rest any idle talk about the cause of their hasty marriage. He unleashed the full force of his charm on the crowd of guests, radiating his own, particular golden glow, like a veritable sun god leaning nonchalantly in the doorway of the drawing room, where he could talk to everyone at once.

Of course, some of the ladies looked daggers at Carissa, but Aunt Jo had said they must be invited. Then they would see with their own eyes that their former rakehell playmate was in love and legally attached.

Their pouts only grew when they heard about all the lavish gifts the romantic bridegroom had showered upon his chosen lady at their small, private wedding.

They had jolly well better get it into their heads that any future dalliance with her husband was naught but a pipe dream, Carissa thought. In truth, she did not like seeing ladies he had shared a bed with here tonight, but since she would not be able to avoid running into them in Society in the future, she supposed she might as well offer the olive branch first, as Aunt Jo had wisely counseled.

She greeted them with dignity in the receiving line, offering her hand and accepting their felicitations while Beau stood by her side.

Across the room, meanwhile, Lord and Lady Lockwood coolly acknowledged each other and attempted to engage in conversation.

“Rather reminds me of the Congress of Vienna,” Beau whispered in her ear, watching their tense negotiations over the quality of recent weather.

Real progress was reached when both parties agreed they had seen fine, clear skies for the past week.

Beau and Carissa exchanged a glance; likewise, his parents watched the newlyweds, in turn, and looked wistfully at each other.

Aunt Jo and Uncle Denbury had also resolved their quarrel now that their ruined niece had by some miracle been safely married off, indeed, had made a brilliant catch. At last, with the party under way and everything running smoothly, Carissa took a few minutes alone with their hostess of the evening.

“This was so thoughtful of you, my dear Aunt. They all seem to be enjoying themselves,” she ventured, glancing around the drawing room.

“Of course, darling! I told you, just leave everything to me.” She put her arm around her with a soft, merry laugh.

“We both appreciate it.”

“Not at all. I only wish I’d been here for the wedding.”

Carissa offered her a regretful smile.

“As for your new husband, he is just the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen! I can see why some of these ladies look so sad. Their fun is over. You’ll have to watch him,” she added in blithe cynicism. “Walk with me, darling,” her aunt murmured. “I’m afraid there’s something I have to tell you.”

She frowned and joined her aunt out on the terrace.

“What is it? Is something wrong?” Carissa asked in concern.

When they had cleared all the guests, Aunt Jo turned to her, standing at the railing. She glanced around, then answered in a low tone. “I spotted Roger Benton in Paris. I did not speak to him, but he looked even more dissipated than before. Apparently, the poet’s finding inspiration these days in the opium dens.”

“Oh,” Carissa murmured, shocked by the unexpected subject.

“I’m sorry to bring it up like this, but I’m worried.”

“Why?” she whispered.

“From what I hear, he’s out of money.” Aunt Jo searched her eyes grimly. “If word reaches him that you’ve married a wealthy future earl, I would not put it past him to try to come back to the trough for another payment.”

Carissa drew in her breath, her heart pounding. She lifted her hand to her lips, her stomach suddenly churning.

“You haven’t told Beauchamp, have you?”

“No,” she whispered.

“Good. It is not worth jeopardizing the happiness you’ve found with him. He obviously adores you.”

“Do you really think Mr. Benton would come back for another round of extortion?”

“He’s done it once, and with opium addling his wits, making him even more desperate, what does he have to lose?”

“But Uncle told him never to come back to England!” she whispered.

“I know. But that was always the danger of keeping this secret, darling.” Aunt Jo shook her head with worry. “It puts us in constant danger of blackmail. But you’re not in this alone. You’ve finally got a real chance at happiness in this world, and after all you’ve been through, my sweet girl—” She cupped Carissa’s cheek with a gloved hand, “I’m not going to let him or anyone else ruin this for you.”

She hugged her aunt all of a sudden. “What shall I do?” she breathed in terror.

“Now, darling, there, there.” Aunt Jo held her in a motherly embrace for a moment, then took her by her shoulders and gave her a firm look. “It’s very simple. If Mr. Benton attempts to contact you again, I want you to get in touch with me immediately. I will help you.”

“How?” she asked anxiously.

Aunt Jo shrugged. “We’ll simply pay him off again.”

“Maybe I should just tell my husband.”

“And risk his hating you? You can’t trust the male ego, darling. Do you think just because he’s had other lovers in the past that he’ll see it that way for you? Of course not. Men are complete hypocrites, my darling. They hold themselves to one standard, but for females, it’s another set of rules entirely. It’s easier just to play the game and spare yourself the heartache. There is a good chance he will never forgive you. If you want my advice, a smart woman knows when to keep her mouth shut.

“But h-he’s different. He’s not like that.”

“You said that about Roger Benton once.”

Carissa dropped her gaze, shaken by the news, but after a moment’s consideration, she knew that her aunt was right. There was no point in risking the relationship after she had already got away with her deception.

If Roger Benton came back for more money, why, she’d take one of her husband’s pistols and shoot him, claim some stranger had tried to break into the house.

To be sure, that would be one way to get rid of the looming black cloud of extortion that threatened to follow her around for the rest of her life.

Well, she conceded after a moment, maybe that was naught but a fantasy of revenge, but still, she resolved to handle the problem herself, with Aunt Jo’s help.

There was no need to burden Beau with this when he already had so many other important things to worry about.

“Are you going to be all right?” Aunt Jo murmured.

Carissa took a deep breath and nodded, squaring her shoulders. “So be it.”

Aunt Jo gave her a bolstering look, hooked a hand through her arm, and together they walked back into the party.

“Ah, there she is! I was just looking for my bride.” Beau came striding toward them.

Carissa managed a relatively guileless smile. “I was just having a private chat with my favorite aunt.”

They exchanged a glance.

“How sweet!” he said warmly. Then he stopped himself. “Are you through—should I go away?”

“No, it’s fine. We’re done talking,” she assured him while Aunt Jo chuckled.

“What did you need, Lord Beauchamp?”

“I think your guests want us to start the dancing now. If the bride is game?” He cocked his head at her with a jaunty look and offered her his white-gloved hand.

Carissa took it and let him lead her to the drawing room that had been cleared for dancing.

Walking by his side through the watching crowd, she felt like she was floating. How had an ordinary girl like her ever managed to snare the likes of him? She couldn’t stop staring at him, wretchedly in love. Perhaps guilt was sharpening her emotions, but wound up as tightly as a top, she felt even more enthralled than usual by his every smile, the twinkling of his blue eyes, the glow of the candlelight on his golden hair.

Her prince.

Please don’t let me lose him.

Maybe Aunt Jo was right. Nothing was worth risking what they had found. She adored him.
Yes.

Whatever she had to do.

T
he honeymoon was over.

Beau could not escape this fact, for when the next day came, he found himself in front of the Select Committee once again. But knowing his little bride was waiting for him at home gave him newfound patience as he sat answering their questions.

The intensity of his feelings for Carissa had exploded exponentially over the past few days. As a result, with the bureaucrats pummeling him with their pointed questions, he was beginning to wonder in the back of his mind if he had done her wrong, dragging her into this life.

He hadn’t much choice about the timing of their marriage, but maybe he should’ve waited until all of this unpleasant business was over. He feared he’d been a little cavalier with her future.

What if Ezra Green succeeded in his witch hunt? Somehow managed to paint the Order as a collection of villains? He did not expect that little lizard man, as Carissa had put it, to best him, but it occurred to him now, rather belatedly, that if all this somehow went to Hell, he’d be taking her down with him. The thought turned his blood to ice.

All the more reason to succeed in his mission and find a way to outmaneuver the insufferable Mr. Green.

In the first hour, Beau addressed the politicians’ tedious concerns about various past missions. In the second, he talked about how the Order structured its financials.

After a break, they sat down for the third hour of questioning, and it was then things got more uncomfortable.

With the pressure mounting, having evaded the topic for weeks, he saw that he could no longer dodge Green’s questions about where Max and his team had gone.

Beau sat there coolly while the panel was practically screaming at him. If he held out much longer, they might drag him out and lynch him on a lamppost.

“You are duty-bound to tell this chamber where they’ve gone!”

“It is a sensitive mission. I don’t see why you need to know,” he said.

“We are not asking you, Lord Beauchamp! If you continue in this vein, there will be consequences!”

“Such as?”

Green swept to his feet. “It is not your place to ask us questions, Lord Beauchamp. Your duty is to answer those which we put to you. Now, tell us where they’ve gone and why!”

“I don’t know!” he retorted.

“You are lying, sir!” Green thundered, his voice echoing in the stark, stone chamber. “We both know that you’re holding information!”

Beau stood up as well, fully rising to the challenge. “You’re calling me a liar?”

“That is your trade, is it not? Your expertise. You claim you don’t know where Lord Rotherstone’s team has gone. God’s teeth, you can’t even tell us where your own men have disappeared to. What good are you? Why are we talking to you in the first place? Did the Elders purposely assign an incompetent as our liaison? Because you, sir, have done nothing but waste our time! Perhaps you’d fancy a sojourn in the Tower until you remember exactly whom you serve!”

Beau leaned forward, his fingertips resting on the table. “Don’t. Threaten. Me.”

“Then cooperate. As I was told you would.”

He narrowed his eyes, weighing the odds of their actually throwing him in the Tower.

It was rare these days, but it would make a hell of a statement.

Not that the threat really surprised him.

It was where England had traditionally put traitors, after all, and that was the point the panel was trying to make. That the Order had grown too powerful over the centuries—and that power corrupts.

That was the foregone conclusion the self-righteous lead investigator had already made. Now Green was just grasping for any facts that could remotely prove his theory.