In this society, the clothing you wear defines the soul you wear. Have a care for both.
—
How to Avoid a Scandal, Author Unknown
The Nightingale, 28 Regent Street
ROWS OF GLEAMING PLATE-GLASS WINDOWS revealed a stunning Paris-green salon decorated with potted palms, Venetian glass chandeliers, and mahogany counters topped with Italian white marble.
Justine stepped beneath the stone colonnade, away from the crush of horses and lacquered carriages loitering the cobblestone street behind her and Matilda.
Eyeing the well-dressed men and women who strolled leisurely, Justine tightened her hold on Matilda’s arm, and together, they wove through passing individuals and whisked into the arched entryway of the shop.
Matilda placed a hand on her belly and pulled them both to a halt. “They will stare, despite the veil covering my face and bonnet, and will ask questions.”
Justine squeezed her arm and pulled her onward. “Let them, Mrs. Porter. Our only hope is that there isn’t another poor Mrs. Porter in London whose name we are about to slander.”
Matilda laughed and glanced over at her. Leaning toward her, she whispered, “This really is so exciting and lovely of you. I’ve always wanted to shop at The Nightingale, but it was too expensive. Though Carlton would never admit to it, his funds were rather limited. A yard of material from this shop alone is well worth several pounds. And even Carlton, dolt that he is, knows it takes more than a yard to make a gown.”
Justine laughed in turn, and together they swept into the shop where various women in expensive bonnets, carriage shawls and morning gowns inspected rolled-out bolts of brocaded silks, muslin, crepe, and moiré.
A young dark-haired woman, who was new to the shop since Justine had last visited with Radcliff two weeks earlier, hurried out from behind the counter toward them. Thick, pinned sausage curls dangled from beneath the white silk flowers and embroidered yellow satin ribbons woven into her hair. The flowers and ribbons meticulously matched the shade of her full gown.
The young woman swept to a halt before them and smiled brightly, her left cheek dimpling. “Good afternoon. I am Miss Wyatt. How might I be of assistance?” She paused, her smile fading as she eyed Matilda’s face through the lace veil.
Justine quickly released Matilda’s arm and stepped toward the shop girl, leaning in unconventionally close so as to keep her words from spreading to the group of women choosing fabrics for their gowns. “Miss Wyatt. My dear friend, Mrs. Porter, has had an unfortunate experience at the hands of her husband for which I pray you will not judge her. I merely wish to gift her with a few gowns that would better suit her needs during her gentle state. I have no intention of sparing expense and it will benefit you to be as gracious toward her as possible.”
Miss Wyatt eyed Matilda, then turned to Justine. “Poor soul, to be sure, and gracious I always strive to be, but how will this be paid for?”
Justine pried her beaded reticule open and yanked out a calling card from the small stack Radcliff had recently ordered for her. She held out the ivory, gold-lettered card between kid-gloved fingers. “It may be billed to this address.”
Miss Wyatt slid the card from her hand, read the inscription and glanced up, smiling brightly. She quickly curtsied. “It would be an unprecedented honor to be of service to you, Your Grace. If it would at all please you, I can measure Mrs. Porter in her own fitting room to ensure both your privacy and hers.”
Justine grinned, rather pleased that a name could evoke such instant cooperation.
“I CANNOT WAIT TO behold my gowns!” Matilda gushed, adjusting the white lace veil back over her bonnet. “Thank you, Justine.”
“There is no need. His Grace is the one paying the bill.” Justine reached out and squeezed her hand. It had been so long since she had thought of nothing but genuinely enjoying herself. “Remain here with Miss Wyatt. There is no need to make you walk more than you should. I will see to it the carriage pulls up to the door.” Justine offered a nod toward the shop girl, Miss Wyatt. “Thank you, Miss Wyatt.”
“It was a pleasure, Your Grace. Mrs. Porter’s gowns will be delivered within the week. Any adjustments will be complimentary, as always.”
“Thank you.” Justine beamed and whisked toward the door of the shop. Closing it behind her, she turned to hurry toward the pavement, but stepped right smack into a broad, solid frame.
“Oh!” She desperately tried to snatch hold of the man’s dark satin coat to keep herself from teetering backward.
The man grabbed her corseted waist and yanked her scandalously toward his large, muscled body, steadying her with swift, strong hands. The curved brim of his black top hat shadowed his handsome but scarred face.
She gasped as Radcliff’s obsidian gaze captured hers.
“Justine,” his voice broke with huskiness.
She froze against him, his tone laced with far more than she was willing to offer in that moment. Not without an apology from him. Her gloved hands, which appeared so small in comparison to the expanse of his solid chest, still shamelessly fisted both his morning coat and the front of his gold-threaded waistcoat.
Justine instantly released him and stepped back toward the door behind her. “Good afternoon, Your Grace,” she managed in a cool tone that implied she was anything but pleased with him.
He intently observed her and leaned in. “Assure me you haven’t been using Miss Thurlow’s real name in public.”
So much for him dashing across London to apologize and fawn over her. She glared up at him. “My head isn’t made of cork. I’ve been using the name Mrs. Porter.”
He shook his head. “You should have never left the house. Not with her.”
“And what was I to do? She needed clothes. None of my gowns fit her, and I wasn’t about to drape a set of curtains around her.”
“No matter. Where is she?” He wedged around her toward the door.
“In the shop. Why?” Justine stepped aside to give him space, but his hand reached out and curved around her corseted waist as they passed one another.
She sucked in a breath and stumbled away from his touch, back toward the crowded pavement. Aside from not wanting him to touch her after the drunken encounter he had yet to apologize for, her heart shamelessly pounded at the intimacy he was blatantly demonstrating in public. On Regent Street.
He opened the door and leaned in casually toward Matilda, who was still inside with Miss Wyatt. “I do beg your pardon, fair ladies. Mrs. Porter? Might you join me and my wife? It is rather important you do. Thank you.”
Justine eyed him as he pulled the door further open.
Matilda soon waddled through the open door, reached out and grabbed hold of Justine’s arm, bringing Justine close as she hurried them onto the pavement.
“Do not allow yourself to be persuaded by anything he says or does,” Matilda insisted quietly. “He is only looking to redeem himself. They always resort to this sort of behavior.”
Justine squeezed her arm, silently assuring her that she was not that gullible.
Radcliff strode toward them and rounded Justine’s side, now towering unnervingly close despite the bustling crowd around them.
His smoldering eyes met hers from below the rim of his top hat. “I hope you found my credit satisfactory.”
Justine narrowed her gaze in an effort to demonstrate that she was not about to shrivel up in his presence. “Why are you here?” she quietly demanded, trying not to bring too much attention to herself. They were, after all, on Regent Street. “I doubt you came all this way to ask about your credit.”
His dark brows rose. “You are putting far too much faith in London by parading yourself like this.”
She stared up at him, abashed. “As if I care what London thinks anymore.”
He leaned in closer. “You’d best have a care, Justine. You’d best. For if Carlton hears of this and shows up on our doorstep, what then? A veil isn’t going to hide who she is. Now, as I have no intention of making a scene on Regent Street, I ask that you follow me.” He quickly touched the front rim of his hat and strode past them.
His tall, broad-muscled frame strode toward a waiting carriage just a few feet away. Its black-lacquered door was dutifully held open by a young footman dressed in dark livery.
Though her pride wanted to throw a slipper at his head and knock off that hat knowing he still hadn’t apologized to her, she knew he was right. And grumble though she may, it was rather endearing he cared enough to come all this way to oversee their safety.
Justine tightened her hold on Matilda’s arm and gathered her skirts from around her slippered feet, eyeing those around them. “Come. We must go.”
Matilda leaned toward her. “I ought to take a separate carriage. I don’t wish to impose any more than I already have.”
“Nonsense,” Justine insisted, pulling her forward. “Radcliff is right. We mustn’t linger or put too much trust in those around us. Come.”
They hurried after him, trying to maneuver past men and women who seemed to suddenly take interest in them.
Radcliff halted before the open door of the carriage and turned, holding out a gloved hand to assist.
Justine guided Matilda toward him.
He, in turn, assisted Matilda into the carriage with the footman. Once Matilda was settled onto the cushioned seat inside, Radcliff turned toward Justine and held out his hand again, his eyes meeting hers.
She set her hand in his and gathered up her skirts. His large hand tightened around hers as she stepped up and into the carriage. She pinched her lips, lingering on his strength and warmth.
Justine released his hand and settled beside Matilda, letting out a breath. Though she wanted to talk to him about what had happened last night, she had a feeling it was going to be a very awkward ride home without discussions.
RADCLIFF FIXED HIS GAZE on the passing buildings and bustling crowds outside the glass window. It was best not to say anything throughout the remainder of the ride. It wasn’t as if his damn words were in any way wanted or needed.
Matilda and Justine giggled and prattled on to each other about the shop, about the various fabrics chosen, about the cuts, about the courtesy shown by everyone there. Yes. About everything a man had no need to listen to.
Every now and then Matilda affectionately squeezed Justine’s gloved hand and patted her knee. And Justine, in turn, affectionately did the same.
He swallowed and achingly watched as Justine’s full lips curved into a smile as she beamed at Matilda, her cheeks rounding. It was obvious his own wife seemed to be enjoying Matilda’s company far more than she had ever enjoyed his. He only had himself to blame.
When they finally arrived, Radcliff silently helped both women out of the carriage. He watched them disappear into the house, arm in arm, still gaily chatting until their voices faded into the distance.
He stood there for a quiet moment.
The footman eyed him—as if politely refraining from pointing out that he’d been abandoned by all—then folded up the stairs and slammed the door shut.
Radcliff sighed. He supposed he should let Justine enjoy her time with her newfound friend, without him hovering over her and burdening her with his presence.
He turned to his driver and called up, “Take me to Brooks’s. I feel like having a meal and playing cards.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
The footman quickly reopened the door and unfolded the stairs.
Radcliff nodded to the man and stepped back into the carriage. He should have been used to being alone. Yet his heart and soul ached in a way it had never ached in all his three and thirty years. And he knew Justine had everything to do with it.
Love always arrives in the most unexpected forms. Once you are able to comprehend that, it will allow you to better understand that love is far from being perfect. It is what it is.
—
How to Avoid a Scandal, Author Unknown
That evening
JUSTINE REPEATEDLY GLANCED toward the empty seat at the dining table and couldn’t help but worry as to why Radcliff hadn’t joined her and Matilda for supper. In truth, she hadn’t seen him since he had returned them to the house that afternoon.
“Justine?”
She snapped her gaze to Matilda, who quietly sat across the table. “Yes?”
Matilda sighed, set down her fork and knife beside her plate, and lowered her chin in a genteel form of reprimand. “You don’t actually miss him, do you? He didn’t even offer an apology for what he did to you last night.”
Justine looked away and shrugged. “I know. I…worry about him, is all. After last night, I realized he really has no one to look after him.”
Matilda sighed again, threw down her napkin and rose from her chair. She rounded the table as deftly as she could in her state and paused beside Justine. Taking up her hand, she insisted, “You have me now. You know that, don’t you?”
Justine smiled at the hand that firmly grasped hers. She squeezed it and rose from her seat to join Matilda who still hovered at her side. “Yes. I do.”
Matilda released her hand and observed her with sad, blue eyes. “Do you love him?”
Justine swallowed, and even though she did, with all of her heart, she was afraid to admit it aloud. Because it would only make her feel more vulnerable than she already did.
“Do not love him.” Matilda’s hands slipped up the length of her arms and drew her closer. “He is not worthy of your love. No man is. There are other things that can bring a woman happiness.”
“Such as?” she muttered.
“Such as this.” Matilda leaned toward her and brushed her lips against hers. She pushed Justine’s mouth open with a hot tongue and circled the inside of her mouth as her hands roamed into her hair and loosened the pins holding her curls in place.
Justine froze as her mind tilted off its axis to understand what was happening to her.
Matilda’s mouth pressed harder against hers, as hair now tumbled down around her shoulders.
Justine blindly grabbed Matilda’s hands from her hair and stumbled back, gasping. “What are you—”
The rush of cool air pulsed against her lips. For a few passing moments, Justine couldn’t even bring herself to look at Matilda. Yet alone move.
Matilda had kissed her.
With the urgency of a man!
“Forgive me,” Matilda finally admitted in a low, raspy voice. “I…I’ve always wanted to do that. From the moment I met you. And given your father’s observations, I knew you would understand. I tolerate men, you see, and have tried to tolerate them all these years because that is what society expects me to do. But I don’t want to tolerate it anymore. I can’t. I am disgusted with myself for pretending to be something I never was. And this is what I am. This.”
Justine swallowed and scrambled back, glancing toward the male servants who quietly stood in the corners of the room. Despite all the flushed shaven faces, they continued to stand there stoically, eyes set straight ahead, as was their duty.
It was more than obvious Matilda didn’t care about what she was revealing before them. Had Justine in any way misled Matilda to think she could do this?
Matilda continued to stare her down with fiery blue eyes. “It doesn’t matter to me that you are married and must share his bed. We can enjoy each other as we are. He doesn’t need to know.”
“I…oh, God…Matilda—” Justine shook her head. And simply kept on shaking it, unable to find the words to even answer. For her heart, her mind and soul belonged to Radcliff, would always belong to Radcliff, and she could never betray him. Not for a woman. Not for a man. Not for anyone.
Matilda half nodded, as if privy to Justine’s thoughts, and slowly stepped back. “I did not mean to burden you with my own desires. It is loathsome to desire a woman. I know. But is it any more loathsome that I denied myself happiness because of society? I… Forgive me, Justine. I didn’t mean to kiss you. I—” She turned, gathered up her skirts and bustled out of sight.
Justine lifted a trembling hand and covered her swollen mouth, which still burned from the heat of Matilda’s lips. What was she going to do? She couldn’t tell Radcliff. He’d be livid. He’d toss Matilda out. And then what would happen to her and her child?
Oh, God. She needed to find Radcliff. She didn’t want to be left alone in this state of confusion as to what she should or shouldn’t do. She needed him. So desperately. For in that moment she realized something. She realized that if nothing existed between them, not love, not even friendship, anything and anyone could come between them. And she couldn’t have that. She couldn’t. Because she loved her husband far too much.
Two hours later
RADCLIFF DIDN’T KNOW why he still sat in the darkness of his carriage outside his home or why he continued to stare at the empty, upholstered seat across from him.
He closed his eyes, challenging himself to go straight into the house and tell Justine that he was going to be the man she deserved. Even if he had to crawl every inch of the way to do it.
The clicking of heels against the pavement echoed in the distance, and suddenly, the carriage door swung open so vigorously, it shook the vehicle.
His eyes popped open.
“Radcliff!” Justine stumbled up and into the carriage, dragged in the rest of her skirts and slammed the side door behind herself, falling into the upholstered seat opposite him. “I am so happy you’re finally home.”
“You are?” he echoed.
“Yes.”
He blinked as Justine shifted into the seat, noting that she had his evening coat draped over the top of her head and shoulders like a shawl.
Radcliff chuckled. “Perhaps you should have bought yourself a shawl whilst you were out this afternoon.”
She shook her head. “It isn’t that,” she whispered. “I needed something of yours to comfort me whilst I waited for you to return. I waited by the window all this time. Where were you?”
The glow from the carriage lamp shone in barely enough to light the side of her face. For some reason, her chestnut hair had escaped its pins and lay in a lovely mass of disheveled curls past her shoulders and waist.
He veered his gaze back to her face. “I was at the club. What is it? What happened? Why is your hair—”
“All that matters is that you are here.” She yanked the curtains shut on each side of the windows, then scrambled toward him and onto his lap, the evening coat sliding down from her shoulders and falling onto the carriage floor.
He sucked in a harsh breath as she grabbed his shaven face in the darkness with chilled hands and kissed his cheeks, repeatedly.
He choked, trying not to touch her, and blew out a breath to keep his body under control. “Justine, you shouldn’t—”
“Yes. I should. We ought to demonstrate to one another how much we care. Because we do. Do we not? Tell me how much you care about me. Tell me. I need to hear you say it.”
“Of course I care. Justine—”
“Do you?” she insisted. “Do you really care?”
“Yes, of course. Justine, what—”
She knocked off his hat, causing it to tumble onto the seat, and kept on kissing his forehead and raking her fingers through his hair. “Touch me, Radcliff. Show me how much you care for me.”
Christ. May he never awake from this bliss.
His fingers and palms gently brushed the sides of her soft, muslin gown, hesitating at first. “Perhaps we ought to take this inside.”
“No. I want you to myself. Alone. Here. Now. Tell the footmen and the driver to leave us as we are. Tell them.”
He swallowed and slid his gloved hands toward her corseted waist, convincing himself that he’d be a fool not to. He inhaled the faint, playful fragrance of powder and citrus clinging to her skin as feathery soft locks of her long hair fell heavily onto his hands, arms and shoulders. He focused solely on breathing through his mouth to prevent himself from losing too much control too soon, even though his cock was already painfully rigid.
He knocked on the carriage roof with a gloved hand and yelled out toward the window, “Secure the horses and retire! All of you! And you’d best not bloody linger!”
“Yes, Your Grace!” two shouts responded.
The carriage bobbed to the movements of the footman and the driver jumping off. Soon their hurried, booted steps echoed into the distance and disappeared.
Using his teeth, Radcliff stripped his gloves from his hands and whipped them aside. Firmly pressing his bare hands to the sides of her warm, silken face, he drew in a breath and whispered, “If you do not want this, Justine, then you’d best leave this carriage.”
He couldn’t breathe as he awaited her reply. He was afraid that one breath would push her and this unearthly fantasy away.
“I want more than this, Radcliff. I want you.”
The heat from her body and those tender words from her lips melted away each and every barrier that had ever been set between them. He pulled her mouth down to his before she could even think of taking back her words. He forced her mouth open, urgently searching for that hot, satin tongue.
His body turned into a blazing, tingling mess such as he’d never known. Loosening the arm that he had wrapped tightly around her shoulders, he traced her back, traveling down, down the coolness of the gown that draped her body.
He shoved up her skirts until they were both buried in them to their chins and pushed her exposed open thighs hard against his cock. A growl escaped him as he continued to devour her mouth and his tongue probed hers.
He wanted this. Her. Always.
A shiver escaped her as his fingertips grazed the thin chemise interrupting the sensual journey he intended to make toward her quim. He shoved the garment up and out of the way, exposing her lower half fully.
Her fingers dug into his hair, gripping it so tightly it stung his scalp in an intoxicating way.
His cock throbbed as he lowered his mouth to her throat. Using the tip of his tongue, he followed the graceful curve from her earlobe to her bust line. Her chest rose and fell against his tongue from the sharp intake of quivering breaths.
To have her in his carriage, and at his will, was maddening. He never wanted this moment to end.
She wrapped her arms around him, tighter, kissing his chin, his scar, his brow.
His hands trailed down and then back up her smooth silk-stockinged legs, splayed on each side of him. “Why are you allowing this? I thought—”
“If there is nothing between us, Radcliff, nothing at all, not even these tender moments between us, anything and anyone can come between us. And I refuse to allow that to happen.”
He untied the satin bows holding her silk stockings in place and let them slip into the darkness at his booted feet. He rolled her stockings down to her ankles, sliding his hands against the bare, soft skin of her legs beneath. “Nothing will come between us,” he whispered. “I have never, nor will I ever, share myself with anyone the way I am sharing myself with you.”
“Tell me what it is between us, Radcliff. Please. I need to know.”
“Above all, it is devotion. Unlike anything I have ever known for any woman.” His skin burned and his arm muscles tightened as he reached to unbutton the flap on his trousers. He dug out his thick cock, pulling it free from his undergarments.
“Will your devotion ever lead to more?”
“Words mean nothing, Justine. Let me show you how I feel.” He held on to her corseted waist with one hand and guided his length into the opening of her wet warmth with the other. He buried himself deep into her with a shuddering gasp that almost caused every ounce of his seed to spill.
She moaned and gripped his shoulders, her sweet, tight wetness slowly riding him.
“Justine.” He threw back his head onto the upholstered seat and gave in to every moment of having her, pulling her down onto him again and again. Harder and harder. Trying to show her how much his body, his mind and his soul were completely and utterly devoted to her and her alone.
“Radcliff,” she gasped, dragging her nails from his shoulders up to his hair. She shifted against him and gasped again, gathering his hair into tight fistfuls, tugging harder.
He gripped her thighs tighter and yanked her down again, harder and faster onto his full length, trying to heighten her climax.
He felt her core tightening as her warm wetness slathered his rigid cock. He winced from the unbearable pressure as his body demanded release. No. He couldn’t. Not until she—
She cried out, her voice drifting into the darkness around them. Her body shook as she arched and writhed in his arms. He slammed into her faster, wanting her to feel her pleasure all the more. When her hips bucked against him and then stilled with a soft sigh, he knew she was done.
Between heavy, almost painful breaths, his mind blanked and there was nothing more he could do but give in to the pleasure he’d been so desperately needing. He held her savagely in place against the length of his cock as his body shook with an explosive rush.