Scandalous Love (7 page)

Nicole shook her head.
"Yesterday I went back to Chapman Hall—he had invited me to return.
Somehow he had found out I was unwed, and everything changed. The bastard! He
was as cold as ice, apologizing for his mistake, and telling me I must never
come again. As if I would!"

"Oh, God!"
Martha said, causing Nicole to widen her eyes.

"He thought I was
some married trollop he would amuse himself with," Nicole whispered
urgently. "Oh, I hate him!"

"Oh, Nicole,"
Martha took her hand, squeezing it. He didn't—he only kissed you—didn't
he?"

Nicole flushed. She
remembered how his body had pressed hers into the grass, how he had unfastened
her jacket, how his hands had stroked up intimately along the length of her
inner thighs. Her body began to throb in response to her vivid mental
rampaging. "I'm still a virgin, if that's what you're asking."

"Then no harm is
done," Martha said, patting her hand and sighing in relief. "Oh, you
poor dear! Clayborough is a terrible rake, you know, and quite ruthless. No
woman holds his interest for very long, it's said, not even his mistresses. And
supposedly his mistresses are the most beautiful women in the realm."

"He has more than
one?" Nicole asked, feeling hurt all over again.

"No, he keeps one
at a time." Martha saw her expression and added, "But so do most
men."

"Robert doesn't,
does he?" Suddenly Nicole wished she had bitten off her tongue, for the
question was too intimate to ask, even of her best friend.

But Martha smiled, her
expression soft. "No, Robert doesn't, and I am very lucky."

Nicole knew how much
Martha loved her husband and how he adored her. "You are very lucky,"
she agreed.

Martha looked at her.
"I think Clayborough was taken with you, Nicole."

"He thought I was
married."

"I still think he
was taken with you. I see him from time to time in London, and he never shows
any interest in any lady; they are always throwing themselves at him. Except,
of course, for Lady Elizabeth Martindale."

"Lady Elizabeth
Martindale?"

"The Marquess of
Stafford's daughter." Martha made a face. "I do think he was taken
with you. Oh, it's too bad they are engaged!"

Nicole froze. "He
is engaged to her?"

"You didn't
know?"

"I know nothing
about him," Nicole said, the room suddenly very still around her.

"They have been
engaged a very long time, since she was two—and she is just eighteen,"
Martha said gently,
as if
to soften the blow. "Tis always been a fact that the Duke of Clayborough
is unavailable, much to every young lady's dismay. She is to have her season,
and they are to be wed this summer."

"I see,"
Nicole said stiffly, standing up. Her pulse began to roar, deafening her. A
betrothal made between two such powerful families, one that had been sustained
for sixteen years, was written in stone. He was as good as married.

Nicole saw red.

So he had not just
thought her married, he was betrothed to another, and in seven or eight months
he would be wed. He was more despicable than she had ever dreamed!

"Nicole,"
Martha stood, too, looking worried. "Sit down and drink some tea.
Please."

Nicole looked at her,
her eyes blazing. "I thought he wanted to marry me! Me!"

"Oh, Nicole!"

Nicole turned and strode
toward the door, rage in every single one of her long strides.

"Nicole, where are
you going?" Martha cried frantically. "Don't do something you shall
regret! Please, don't!"

If Nicole heard her, she
gave no sign. Moments later Martha saw her on her blood red thorougbred, riding
astride, her nose almost buried in the stallion's black mane, galloping from
the stables in the direction of Chapman Hall.

The Duke left the
stable, the sounds of hammers pounding on wood following him. He was replacing
the two back walls of the barn, which were sadly in need of repair. So far, he
was satisfied with the progress the laborers he had hired were making.

He headed for the house
with long strides, intending to take care of some correspondence before his
midday meal. He had only taken a few steps, however, when the sound of racing
hoofbeats made him pause, searching for its cause.

A magnificent blood bay
thoroughbred was emerging from the woods at the far side of the ill-tended
lawns, running all out. The stallion galloped across his lawn, his rider bent
low over his back, and seconds later the animal came to a plunging, rearing
halt beside him. The Duke was stunned at the sight of Nicole Shelton astride
him.

He had never seen a lady
astride a horse before, or any woman for that matter, and that was shocking
enough. The sight of her long legs, encased tightly in men's breeches,
powerfully gripping the horse, mesmerized him. Then he became aware of her
stark, savage beauty, her eyes blazing and silver, her hair loose and
windswept, flowing behind her. She was magnificent and he was frozen, both
shocked by her defiance of every dictum of convention that existed and gripped
in a barbarous desire.

Nicole leapt to the
ground and strode toward him, her long legs straining the fabric of her
breeches, leaving nothing of her form to his imagination. For another moment he
could not tear his gaze away from her limbs, and it occurred to him that any
woman who could ride a horse like that could certainly ride him equally well.
Distracted, he only saw her raise her crop at the last possible moment.

"Miserable
bastard," she hissed, swinging it furiously at his face.

Acting purely on reflex,
the Duke caught her wrist just as the braided end flicked his jaw, leaving a
stinging red welt. Anger quickly replaced his surprise. He took the crop from
her, snapping it abruptly in two, and tossed it aside. She screamed, the sound
one of pure rage, her hand flying up again, intent on striking him anew. He
caught her arm and whipped her around too quickly and her back slammed into the
barn. She dared to resist him, her other hand reaching for him, fingers curled,
nails poised like claws. He caught that one, too, and pinned her to the wall,
both of her wrists above her head, and in another scant moment he had closed
the last few inches between them, pressing his hard, aroused body against hers.

What had just occurred
was beyond belief, yet she continued to struggle wildly against him, like an
animal caught in a trap, crazed. Her every movement fanned the fires in him,
and he pressed more heavily against her, his manhood pulsing eagerly against
her softness as he instinctively sought to subdue her. "Release me,"
she screamed. "Release me, you rotten cur, so I can give you what you
deserve!"

Terribly graphic, sexual
images danced in his mind. "And just what is it I deserve?" His
breath fanned her lips, she went still. He knew it was that exact moment that
she became aware of him and his virility.

"Ten lashes, not
one!" she snarled.

"I do not think
that is why you have come back."

"I came back to
draw your blood!"

He trembled, both in
response to her real savagery and to the idea of his drawing
her
blood.
"Does spilling my blood excite you, Nicole?" he asked, very, very
low.

"Yes! Yes!
Yes!" She bucked wildly against him again, then froze, panting, when her
gyrations only served to increase the intimacy between them.

"Beware," he
said smokily, "if there is any more blood to be spilled today, it shall
not be mine." He looked her in the eye, throbbing so strongly against her
she could not possibly escape his meaning. Her eyes widened, and he was pleased
that she understood.

"You would
not."

"Right now, I
would. Isn't that why you have come back?"

For a moment she was too
stunned by his answer to respond; then she shrieked, twisting wildly and crying
out at the pain she caused herself in his iron, immoveable grip. "Now you
threaten me with rape?!"

"Threaten, no.
Warn, perhaps. Rape—never."

"I will fight you
until my last dying breath," she cried.

He saw her fighting him,
then climaxing in his arms. His hold on her tightened, and he thought he might
lose the last of his control. "You will like dying in my arms,
Nicole," he promised softly. "I will make sure of it."

"Release me,"
she cried frantically. He knew she did not understand his meaning, but she
sensed the danger she was in. "Release me, now, damn you!"

He had to. If he did
not, he would cease to be responsible for his actions. His body was screaming
at him, begging for its own release, so he turned his head away from hers,
breathing deeply. "Do we have a truce?"

She laughed.
"Never!"

He whipped his gaze to
hers and saw the blaze of hatred in her eyes. "So you hate me, now, do
you?"

"Oh yes," she
spat. "For a moment I loved you, but now, how I hate you!"

He froze. That she had
loved him, even if foolishly and for a short time, stunned him. Many women had
fallen in love with him and he was well aware of it. But he had never really
paid attention, and certainly never cared what they felt. Now, something seemed
to prick him, and perhaps it was his conscience. "Love does not change to
hatred so fast, Nicole," he said softly. Their mouths were very close.
"Shall we test how much you hate me?" He did not know why it was so
important to him to prove her wrong.

"There is nothing
to test," she said, suddenly breathless. Her gaze moved to his mouth.
"Don't."

There was no way he
could prevent himself from kissing her, no matter how wrong it was, not now.
Not when their bodies were pressed together from breast to toe, not when he
strained against her femininity, not when she dared to declare her hatred of
him. "I think that you want me more than you hate me," he murmured.

She opened her mouth to
protest, but he covered her lips, not allowing any more words to escape.

She wrenched violently
against him, but he merely pressed her harder against the barn, merely
tightened his already painful hold on her wrists. She made enraged noises; he
hungrily claimed her mouth, wanting to claim much more and knowing if he let
this continue, he would claim all of her. She bucked against him and it was
heaven, yet it was also hell.

As he had thought, she
would fight him to the very end.

She spoke when his mouth
moved to her neck, where his kisses left red crescent marks. "What of your
precious Elizabeth!"

He became still.
"What of Elizabeth?"

"You do not even
pretend to be faithful to your betrothed!"

"So you have done
your homework," he said, lifting his head to look at her. He saw the
flaming anger in her eyes, and he wanted to change it to passion—for him.
"Is that what this is about?"

"You are no
different from a married man," she hissed. "Yet you are a despicable
rake. Let me go, now!"

She was right, and
because ultimately he had too much honor to ravish her, he released her. She
screamed and leapt at him, trying to hit him again.

He caught her, this time
around the waist, pinning her arms to her sides, stunned again at her savagery,
and even more aroused. She whirled in his arms before he tightened his hold,
trying to run from him. "Stop it," he snapped, shaking her once.

She was panting as if
she had fought a great battle, and now he was pressed against her backside,
which was no relief. Her breasts were full and heavy on his arms where he had
wrapped them around her torso. She stopped trying to free herself, gasping
great lungfuls of air, and he relaxed slightly, damning himself and his
uncontrollable libido once more.

"I won't hit you
again," she finally said harshly. "Just let me go."

"Why?" He
breathed against her neck. "I don't think I embarrass you, Nicole. Or do
I?"

She was very still, and
he knew she was feeling him throbbing against her buttocks. He wanted to see
her eyes, see her response. He felt her trembling in his arms. "You do not
embarrass me," she finally said. "You only embarrass yourself."

Because his behavior was
inexcusable, his tone was sardonic as he released her. "Touch
é
. But it takes two to
play this game, and if you had not come here, none of this would have
happened."

She whirled to face him,
backing up warily. He saw the glitter in her eyes for what it was, and while a
part of him was appalled with himself, another part of him was triumphant.

"You are the one
with no morals, you are the one who would stop at nothing to get what you
want."

Anger flared.
"Wrong. I warned you not to return here, and you did so at your own risk.
If you did not come back for what I can give you, then why did you
return?"

She gasped, crimson
color suffusing her cheeks. "How arrogant you are! I came back to tell you
what I think of you now that I know the truth!"