The Reddington Scandal (11 page)

She wriggled on the bed, her hands coming up to the area of her breasts, then shying away. “Hold your breasts,” he ordered, enjoying the tiny gasp that came from her lips. She tentatively placed her hands over her breasts, still captured by her corset. “Take them out.” His voice had deepened with desire.

She reached inside her stays and lifted her twin orbs out of her undergarment.

“That’s it,” he murmured appreciatively.

He pulled her drawers off. “Show me how you touch yourself between your legs, Phoebe.”

Her lips parted and her head fell back. Her hand crept slowly toward her sex, which he could see was already glistening with nectar. She touched the outer lips of her sex tentatively.

“Is that how you do it?” he murmured as he crawled up next to her on the bed, settling on his side with his head resting in his hand.

“No,” she whispered.

“How do you do it, Phoebe? Do you put your fingers inside?”

“No.” Her brow furrowed and he sensed he had tread on dangerous ground.

“Just show me how you do it.”

“Well,” she hesitated. “I lie on my stomach.”

He smothered a laugh. “Roll over, then, and show me what you do.”

She rolled over, her hand between her legs. She did not penetrate her sex with her fingers, but kept them all cupped together, undulating in a wavelike motion over her mons. Her hips began to grind, pressing her mound into her hand.

He unfastened her corset, taking care not to distract her. “Now that I shall be prohibited from frequenting the brothels, I’ll have to teach you to please me like a light-skirt. Do you think you could do so, Phoebe?”

She made a little whimper of protest, but her hips hurried their speed, belying her excitement. “Have you ever heard the term
cada orificio
?”

She made a negative sound. Her corset completely opened, he trailed his fingertip down her spine. “It comes from the Italian whores. It means every orifice. It means they take a man into all three of their largest orifices.”

She made another moan. His fingertip had reached the cleft of her buttocks and he slid it down to her thighs, then back up, this time deep within her cheeks.

“Did you know you can take a man here, Phoebe?” he asked, applying a small amount of pressure on her back hole.

She gasped and squeezed her cheeks together. He leaned close and made a tsking sound in her ear. “No, no, little dove. Remember, you cannot refuse me now. I’m your husband, and I’ll take you any way I please.” He licked his finger, applying ample saliva, and returned it to her rear entrance, pushing in with an insistence that brooked no opposition.

She mewled, tightening and then opening, her hand fluttering wildly between her legs.

“That’s it, Phoebe,” he whispered, pressing his finger in and out to the keening sound of her pleas. With a guttural cry, her legs scissored together and she arched, squeezing around his finger as a great shudder ran through her entire body.

Chapter Six

Never in her life had she experienced such pleasure and, like the previous night, she had not thought of Reddington once. She was spent, yet hungry for more, eager to have Teddy moving inside her, wanting his pleasure as much as she wanted more of her own. But she did not take charge, as she loved the bliss of surrender she’d found in his wresting all control.

To her delight, he pulled off her blindfold and flipped her onto her back. She could feel the bulge of his hardened length as he climbed over her and ravished her with his lips. His shirt flew off, followed quickly by his trousers and within seconds his shaft was between her legs, pressing insistently for entrance. She spread her legs wide and opened for him, grasping his shoulders with her fingers, pulling him into her.

“That’s it,” he rumbled, his voice thick and hoarse, his eyes glassy. She loved seeing the animal in him—it was so different from the polished charm he could so glibly put out. This was real—she had no doubt in her mind he was beyond all control, hungry for her, and not about to stop for anything.

“Yes, Teddy!” she urged, and he growled, pumping into her harder than she thought was possible, the pain only pleasure as he drove on and on until he erupted with a groan. As it had been the night before, his climax provided a second one for her, and she delighted in the sensation of her muscles squeezing his sex, milking it for seed.

“Oh, Teddy,” she gasped.

“Phoebe,” he laughed, panting. “I don’t think it will take long to train you.”

She slapped his arm and he chuckled, burying his face in her neck for a wet kiss.

They spent an entire week that way, though Teddy did return to Parliament. It was a honeymoon, and having Wynn away made it all the easier to pass their hours in bed, exploring one another’s bodies at leisure. She did not have any more trauma related to her memories of Reddington’s abuse, and Teddy had no trouble teaching her the many ways to give and receive pleasure.

Yet, as each day wore on in perfect harmony, a nagging voice in the back of her mind told her this ecstasy could not last forever—that she should not put her trust in Teddy, because nothing good ever came to her, or because she did not deserve it. So it was not altogether surprising when the letter came.

The butler had mistakenly handed it to her with the notes and invitations that had arrived for her. It was addressed to Teddy on fine paper and it smelled of perfume. She knew, the instant she saw it, what it must be: a love letter. She stared at it for a long time, debating whether she ought to open it. It was all she could think about the entire day, and she found her need to know what lay within that envelope was greater than any sense of compunction she might have about opening a letter not addressed to her. She took it upstairs to their room and slid her thumb under the waxy seal to pry the edges open.

Dearest Teddy,

I have been waiting for you in my bedroom for five nights hence. Where have you been? I cannot believe you are still busy with your new wife. Surely you have tired of her inexperience. Remember all the pleasure we’ve found together…

Yours forever,

Veronica

* * *

Veronica.
Her heart thudded in her chest. Who was Veronica? A mistress, clearly. The sensation of betrayal was like her organs being ripped from her body through her mouth. She could scarcely breathe or move or think as she sat holding the wretched letter. Hot tears spilled without her notice as her mind spun over the past week she’d spent with Teddy, realizing none of it meant anything to him. She’d been a fool to trust a rake.

This was what he did.

She was just one of hundreds of women he’d taken to bed.

The white-hot scorch of betrayal blazed through her and she snatched the covers from the bed, dragging them to the floor and stomping on them. Finding satisfaction in the act, she tore open his closet and threw his fine clothes on the floor, trouncing on them as well. She flung his books from the shelves, wiped the dressing table of all contents—his shaving accoutrement, cufflinks, and snuffbox flying all directions.

Curse. Him.

A thousand curses! She should have known better than to give her heart to a rake! Yanking her own clothes out of the closet, she hauled her dresses into the adjoining bedroom that had been hers until a week prior.

“Lady Fenton?” the timid voice of her maid grated on her nerves.

“What is it?” she snapped.

“Do… do you require some assistance?”

“Yes. Here, take these,” she said, foisting the heap of dresses into her arms. “I am moving back into my own bedroom.”

“Yes, of course, ma’am,” came her reply, muffled through the fabric of the dresses.

She strode back in his room, intent on finding something else to destroy. Spying the letter opener, she snatched it up and attacked his pillows with it, rending the fabric to release a plume of goose feathers into the air. Ah. She ripped another, shaking the pillow to release every last feather from its container, filling the entire room with white fluff. She laughed—a bitter sort of sound, metallic and empty.

She looked at her maid standing in the doorway, surveying the mess with wide eyes. “Do not allow anyone to clean this mess,” she commanded regally. “I’m going for a walk.”

“Do you wish me to attend you?”

“No. Thank you. Just fetch my shawl and I’ll be off.”

She walked quickly out onto the street, as if she had somewhere to be, when in reality, she did not even heed which direction she was headed. She walked until her feet ached and her mind had grown weary of her own thoughts.

She told herself she was really no worse off than she had been a week ago, except now Teddy knew her darkest secret. She loathed she had shared any intimacy with him at all, but aside from that, the rest was as expected—she had bargained for a loveless marriage.

She stopped and looked around, trying to get her bearings. After a moment more of walking, she realized she was on the Westerfields’ street. The thought of paying a call on Kitty Westerfield cheered her, and she quickened her pace to arrive at her door. She was shown in immediately and tea and pastries were brought out, which was a relief, as she realized she was famished.

“Are you lonely without Wynn or has Teddy done his duty to amuse you?”

She winced inwardly, thinking of Teddy’s amusements. “I grew lonely today,” she answered honestly. “Kitty?” she croaked, her voice sounding hoarse to her ears. “Do you think Teddy pretends to love all his ladies?”

Kitty looked startled and she instantly regretted her question, but her new friend looked thoughtful. “No, I don’t believe he pretends to love any of them. I think he’s quite honest about his own character, don’t you?”

Her emotions were too tangled to be able to answer. “What do you suppose makes a man like Teddy?” she blurted, not expecting Kitty to have an answer.

“His father was the same way, and it made his mother miserable. Lord Fenton was rarely home, always off gallivanting with his mistresses. It fell on Teddy to cheer his mother, or so he felt. He’d already developed that charm when we were just children, and he doted on his mother and Wynn, as if he felt he must make up for the lack of attention they received from his father.”

She allowed that information to sink in, thinking it explained a great deal about his relationship to them. “But if he disliked his father’s behavior, why would he emulate it?”

Kitty gave a delicate shrug of her shoulders. “Why, indeed? I don’t know, I think his charm made him seem so much like his father, and everyone told him so, over and over again. And I think he did inherit his father’s…
admiration
for the female sex. But even so, there’s been an emptiness to the life he leads, and I believe he knows it.”

“Do you—” She trailed off, not sure if she could bring herself to ask the question. “You don’t believe he could ever be faithful to a wife, do you?”

Kitty’s face grew shrewd. “Is that why you requested a marriage in name only?”

The tip of her nose tingled and she lifted her teacup to her lips to hide the quiver in her chin. When she’d swallowed, she nodded. “I have no desire to live as his mother did,” she admitted.

* * *

“My lord,” his butler, Standish, greeted him at the door with a pinched face.

“Yes?”

“Lady Fenton is in her room—she is not feeling well.”

He frowned. “Thank you, Standish.”

Standish looked as though he wanted to say more, but when Teddy lifted his eyebrows, his butler gave a tiny shake of his head, as if to say, “Never mind.”

Concerned, he went immediately upstairs, where he found his bedroom door ajar and the room in shambles. The maids were already hovering nearby, as if knowing he would call for them.

“Her ladyship ordered us not to clean it, my lord,” the maid said with a small curtsy. “But I will begin now, if you wish.”

He stared at the room, aghast. The pillows had been slashed open, feathers everywhere, and his belongings were knocked from every surface. His first thought was she’d been attacked—by Lord Reddington or a ruffian, but that didn’t track with the way the servants were acting. “Did she do this?” he asked, his mouth dry and a thrum in his temples tightening his scalp.

“Yes, my lord.” Another curtsy. Several other servants hovered in the corridor, as if to watch his reaction. The house seemed an unearthly quiet.

He kept his face impassive.

“Where is my lady?” he asked softly.

“She moved her things to her bedroom, my lord.”

“I see.”

“Shall I begin to clean it now?”

“Not just yet, thank you,” he said, entering the room and closing the door after himself. He stood perfectly still, assessing the damage, his mind spinning. Not seeing any clues, he sighed, and opened the door to Phoebe’s room.

She sat by the window, reading or pretending to read, her face drawn and tight. She put a marker in her book and turned to face him. “My lord,” she said, standing up. “I no longer wish to have marital relations with you.” Her voice was formal, and had the sound of a rehearsed speech. “I have moved my things into this bedroom, and we shall return to our original arrangement.”

“What happened?” he croaked.

Her lips tightened in a thin line. “Nothing I wish to discuss with you. I have made my decision, and this time it will be final.”

“Did someone come here? A woman? What happened to upset you? Tell me, Phoebe.”

She flinched at his use of her first name, as if he no longer deserved the familiarity of it. “I said I do not wish to discuss the matter. It is not worth our time.”

He strode forward and reached for her arm, but she drew back as if he were a snake that might bite. He sucked in a breath to calm himself. “What happened, Phoebe?” he asked through clenched teeth.

She turned her back on him.

“I have not been unfaithful to you. Is that what you think? I have not. If you’ll just tell me what has you so riled—”