Duke of Dishonor: Lords of Scandal Page 11

  He stood leaning against the jam looking tired but…whole. “Are you all right?”

  “I am.” He reached for her then and pulled her into his arms. “I’m sorry I was gone so long, love. You must have been terribly worried.”

  “What happened?” she pulled him into the room, closing the door behind him.

  “Well.” He ran his hands through his hair. “I’ve got Maestro locked in the hull of the ship.”

  She gasped. “Maestro?”

  “He ran the operation in London.” Brandon grimaced as his eyes flicked to her. “Unfortunately, he isn’t the top of the chain. He alluded to a larger boss, though he won’t say who or where.”

  Emily covered her mouth with her hands. “Do you think he’ll come after us?”

  Brandon shook his head. “I don’t know. But I can tell you that Maestro’s greatest weapon was secrecy. Capturing him today was far easier than I thought.”

  She nodded. “It was easy?”

  He shrugged. “I knew far more about him than he knew about me. I’ve been tailing his operation for months and he hadn’t a clue. What was more, he still has no idea who Ewan is, though he must know there is a spy. But he’ll likely be dead before he can pass along such information.”

  “Dead?” Emily gasped. It reminded her just how serious the past day had been.

  “I’ll hand him over to the crown, but his execution will not take long, I am certain of that.”

  “I’m glad we’re going home.”

  He reached for her hand, lacing her fingers into his. “Me too.”

  She lay her head on his shoulder, sighing softly. “Will it be safe?”

  “We’ll make certain it is.” He pulled her onto his lap. “I would never allow anything to happen to you, Emily.”

  She held him tight. “I’ve always known that.” She drew in a deep breath. “Did I put us in danger by insisting that we return to London?”

  He kissed her again, his hand sliding down her body. “No. In fact, if we hadn’t turned, they might have sneak-attacked us in the night when we weren’t prepared.”

  She gasped, sitting up straighter in his lap. “So I helped?”

  “Of course you did.” He brushed back her hair and then gave her another kiss, his tongue dipping into her sweet mouth.

  He wanted to tell her so much more, but as their mouths met again and again, he stopped thinking. They were safe, they were returning to London and her family.

  She was everything he needed in this world and she was his.

  Epilogue

  One week later…

  * * *

  Emily lay in his large bed, blankets barely covering her as she propped her head on her hand, giving him a sassy smile.

  She stole his breath.

  “Well, Your Grace…” She gave him another teasing grin. “We did it. We got married. Again.”

  He chuckled, moving to the end of the bed and slowly parting the curtains on the end and climbing up the mattress and up her body. “We did.” He kissed her ankle, her knee, the inside of her thigh. “Was it as romantic as you’d imagined?”

  She slid onto her back. “It was lovely. But this…” She gave him a long look, a brow quirking. “This is my favorite part.”

  He growled out his assent, kissing her hip and then the spot just below her belly button. “Mine too.”

  She ran her hands through his hair as he kept kissing higher and higher. He stopped for just a moment to lift his head and look up at her. “After Abigail’s wedding, we can leave on a honeymoon if you like.”

  She shook her head just before his lips pressed to her. “No. We’ve already been on one trip, that was quite enough for me.”

  He chuckled at that. “We’ll honeymoon here, then. Spend days in bed.”

  She slipped her legs about his, the friction causing him to groan again. “Oh. I like that plan very much.”

  “I could teach you all the places to kiss a person that will make them moan in pleasure.”

  She laughed, pulling his hair a bit as she looked down at him. “And you can start teaching me the business.”

  He laughed at that. “I know you are in a hurry, but do you think we could wait a few days for that? My pride is smarting that you’re not swept away by my passion for you.”

  She tsked, pulling him up to kiss his mouth. “I have been swept away by you from the first moment I met you. And you…” She kissed him again. “Are helping me to be a stronger person in every way.”

  He looked down in the liquid warmth of her gaze. “And you make me a more compassionate one. Thank you, Emily, for allowing me to be your husband. I love you so much, more than I could ever say.”

  “I love you too,” she said, and they joined together, making love sweetly and passionately until they were both spent.

  When they finally lay in each other’s arms, Brandon stroked her cheek. “I’ll show you the books tomorrow.”

  “Really?” She tried to lift her head but ended up allowing it to fall back on the pillow.

  “Really. I want whatever is best for you. Always.”

  She touched her nose to his. “I know. You are best for me.” Then she closed her eyes. “And perhaps we can wait one more day for those lessons to begin.”

  He didn’t answer as she snuggled down into his side, but he knew the moment she fell asleep.

  Curling her into his body, he closed his eyes too. He was home. He never wished to be anywhere else.

  Untitled

  Baron of Blasphemy

  Lords of Scandal

  Tammy Andresen

  Baron of Blasphemy

  Lords of Scandal

  “Congratulations,” The Duke of Devonhall looked down at his charge and gave her a thin smile as he leaned on the corner of his massive oak desk. His smile was the sort a man only gave when he tried to pretend he was delivering good news instead of bad. “I’ve made a match for you.”

  Abigail Carrington sucked in her breath as she rose from the chair she’d been directed to sit in. She was aware he’d been standing over her, likely a form of intimidation, meant to make her feel small so that she’d have to concede to his wishes. Unlikely… “I beg your pardon?”

  “A match,” Devonhall said, his brittle smile spreading even wider, looking as though it might split his face in half. “Isn’t that exciting news?”

  Words clogged her throat and she cleared it, as she stared at her brother-in-law. Abigail lowered her hands to her hips. She’d been told she made a habit of the gesture by her three sisters. When she was angry, or irritated, or uncertain her hands landed just below her waist. Currently all three emotions warred for top position. “Exciting?” She drew in a deep breath, narrowing her gaze at her brother-in-law. “Executions are exciting too. That doesn’t mean I want to participate in one.”

  The smile cracked then. Broken by his small but definite wince. “Abby.”

  “Abigail,” she corrected holding up a single finger. Her father had nicknamed her Abby when she was a child, and her sisters would use the term of endearment when they meant to point out she was immature. She didn’t need the reminder now that she was the youngest, the baby who should be told what to do. Her sister often accused her father of giving Abigail her way because she was the youngest, not because she had any real grit.

  “Abigail.” He held up his hands in front of him. “It’s for the best.”

  Never mind that she didn’t even know this mystery suitor’s identity who she’d been foisted on, she didn’t care. “Whose best?” she fired back. “Certainly not my best. My guess is you’re the one benefiting. You’re tired of taking care of your wife’s younger sister so you’re going to pass me off on some knave, or layabout, or rake.” She swept her hand through the air, as though pushing back a curtain. Really, she meant to brush aside the complete dung falling from his mouth. “Which is he? Is he a fool, or without funds, or does he just have a deplorable reputation so that he’s willing to match with a merchant’s daughter sight unse
en? Does he wish to wed so that he might collect my fat purse?” Her voice was rising with every word. She knew she’d just made several leaps in judgment but there had to be something wrong with the man. Why else would he wish for this match?

  “Hmm…” a voice rumbled behind her. It was low and deep, tinged with a bit of a darkness that was…well…exciting. “A knave? Many would say so. Financially challenged? Certainly. A rake? Most definitely.”

  Her breath caught in her throat as his words, echoing her words, bounced off the walls and pummeled her ears. She was embarrassed, of course. A lady was not supposed to speak with such brazen opinions. Especially in the company of the very person she was insulting.

  At least, she assumed the man behind her had repeated the words because he was her intended. Still, she kept her eyes forward rather than turn around and look at him for several reasons.

  One. His voice had done funny things to her insides. They were twisting and dancing and the hair on her arms had stood up in the strangest way. But also because she’d already jumped to several conclusions, though they seemed to be proving correct, still, she had the feeling she ought to slow down a bit and figure this entire thing out.

  She drew in a deep breath, forcing her mind to slow. “In other words, you are everything I feared you might be. You are the man who has agreed to a match with a woman you’ve never met.”

  He chuckled and clenched her fists to hide the jump in her pulse at the sound. “We’ve met, Princess. I can assure you, we’ve met.”

  That made her gasp and she spun around, his words shocking her enough that she forgot to be slow, forgot to be thoughtful. The moment her eyes met his pale blue gaze, she took a half step back, and covered her heart with her hands.

  She knew who he was…

  Knew that all the assumptions she’d made were completely true.

  The Baron of Blasphemy.

  His real name was the Baron of Blackwater, but he rarely went by his title. Which was to say, he didn’t participate in polite society at all.

  He remained in the shadows, a dark lord ill-suited to parties or balls or tea or…

  She stopped.

  His face hardened, a muscle ticking in his jaw. His very square masculine jaw softened only by the overly long dark blond hair that skimmed to near his shoulders. She realized several seconds had passed and she’d not said a word.

  Abigail forced her hands to relax, and gently pressed down the folds of her dress. Then she straightened her shoulders and her spine. “My lord.”

  “Princess,” he answered, his chest swelling as he drew in a deep breath. Abigail begrudgingly noted that it was a fantastic chest as far as male torsos went. Lean but strong, it tapered down to narrow hips and he had the air of effortless male swagger.

  “It’s Miss Carrington to you and to everyone else.” She looked back at her brother-in-law, her brows rising as she gave him a pointed stare as if to say…you actually expect me to wed this heathen?

  “Whatever you say, Princess,” he replied, his tone full of the sort of bored annoyance that let her know he didn’t quite approve of her either.

  Her mouth pressed into a firm line. She knew why Bash, the Duke of Devonhall had made the match. With her parents gone, he’d taken over her and her sisters’ care when he’d married her sister. He’d also taken over the family business that had been plagued by a ring of thieves that increasingly threatened their safety and their future in business.

  And recently, her latest brother-in-law, another duke no less, had sussed out the thieves. But in his attempts to capture them, he’d brought them all heaps more trouble, and Abigail the worst trouble of all. The sort a lady couldn’t escape.

  But surely it hadn’t gotten so terrible that she needed to marry this…

  Bash had the decency to wince. “Blasphemy,” he grumbled. “You’re not—”

  Abigail was certain Bash had been about to say helping. But she cut him off before he could finish. “Suitable. My answer to your proposed match with the Baron of Blackwater is no. Emphatically, completely, most definitely, without a doubt, no.”

  Chadwick Blackwater ground his teeth together as he stared at the complete imp before him.

  Yes, she was gorgeous. Rich brown hair and matching eyes with classic features set off by full pale pink lips and pure ivory skin. The sort of color that looked angelic. The kind men dreamed of when they built a fantasy woman in their most private thoughts.

  But there was nothing saintly about Abigail Carrington. What looked picture perfect on the outside was an outspoken, holier than thou, hissing sort of female on the inside. One who could kill any desire a man might have for her with a single word from her perfect lips.

  He knew he should never have agreed to this plan.

  It was bad.

  Worse.

  It was downright dangerous.

  And that was part of the reason he’d accepted Bash’s proposed plan. Danger was his favorite pastime. Closely followed by womanizing, rudeness, and gambling.

  Which made it convenient that he ran a gaming hell with Bash and a few other lords. And while the funds from that endeavor had greatly aided the reduction of the debt his brother and father had bequeathed him, they had by no means eliminated it.

  And his mother continued to live as though they had bundles of money and the creditors weren’t knocking on her door. It was his they’d come to call upon.

  He sighed. A marriage with Abigail would remove all his financial deficits.

  It wouldn’t please his mother, of course, but that idea held a certain appeal. A large one…frankly. She’d want some social climbing lady to be his wife, not that he’d ever manage to land one of those.

  But money wasn’t the only reason he’d enjoy the match, at least for a time. Abigail was lovely and, if she wasn’t frightened of him in the bedroom, bedding her would prove interesting. At least until he made an heir.

  Then his duties to the title, his mother, and England in general would be met.

  Win. Win.

  “Abigail,” Bash rumbled, his voice growing louder. “You have to wed. Your sister Emily was nearly stolen away by these hooligans who’ve been plaguing the business. We must protect you from them.”

  “And who…” she didn’t look back at him but did point her finger in his general direction. “Will protect me from that hooligan.”

  He had to confess, the woman had a point. “If you’re going to use a word to describe me, hooligan isn’t the one I would choose. It’s so…boring. Perhaps a name like ass—”

  “Blasphemy,” Bash bit out, pulling up the corners of his lips in what Chad thought might be a smile. Then again, perhaps it wasn’t a smile but more like an angry grimace. Bash looked more like a man about to go into a knife fight than one negotiating an engagement.

  “Fine,” he returned, taking a step closer to Abigail. His friend wanted him to play nice. He could do that. It was just that Abigail wasn’t being all that nice either. Not that he minded. She presented a challenge and that had its own merit.

  He’d be lying if he didn’t confess, at least to himself, that he’d noticed her from the first. She was uncommonly beautiful, and she had this voice…low and sultry. Just the sort a man liked whispering in his ear. Or moaning. That would work too.

  But once he’d gotten past the sound, he’d listened to the words. Abigail was…spoiled. There was no other term for it. Youngest of the pack, she was the least useful and the most vocal and—

  She spun about narrowing her gaze again as though she could hear his thoughts. “I shan’t marry him.”

  “Abby,” Bash said as he held out his hands. “You don’t have a choice. Your safety depends on a match and with your reputation in tatters, this is the best I can do.”

  Chad winced but not before he watched her face crumble.

  He understood the situation. Her older sister Emily had been kidnapped and dragged through the streets of London. She’d been saved but not before she’d been seen. Only the wag
ging tongues of the ton had mistaken the two sisters. They thought it was Abigail who’d been out alone with a man.

  Shame. Even he could understand that. Your sibling leaving a bundle of problems at your door. “I’m your best option, Princess.”

  Her shoulders slumped and her chin melted down toward her chest.

  He watched her eyes close and stay that way as she hugged herself. A niggle of sympathy slid down his back. “So that’s it then? I’m to be the Baroness of Blasphemy? Does that mean I can commence cursing?”

  “No,” both men said at the same time.

  Chad frowned, his brows drawing together. The title Baroness of Blasphemy irritated him, for a reason he couldn’t seem to name. It was too crass for a such a lovely woman even if she did go about loudly spouting her opinion all the time.

  Abigail’s chin snapped back up and her eyes met his. But she didn’t express her dissatisfaction with words. Instead, she stared at him with a challenge glittering in her rich chocolate colored eyes.

  He loved a challenge. And he had to confess, he respected that she’d pulled herself back together.

  “What are you thinking?” he softly murmured as he took another step closer. He was close enough to touch her and her scent, like a fresh spring on a crisp autumn day wrapped about him.

  One perfect brow arched up. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” Her words weren’t loud like he’d expected.

  In fact, her voice had dropped into a sultry whisper that actually made him shiver. He recognized the sensation…anticipation. “I would. That’s why I asked.”

  Her tongue darted out and she licked her lips looking up at the ceiling as though she were choosing her next words very carefully. He didn’t think she was intentionally teasing him with her tongue but the tip, as pretty in its pink as her lips, made everything in his body harden.

  Her eyes drifted down meeting his again. “I may not have a choice in our nuptials, but I will have choices in our marriage. And I guarantee that if you force me into this, you’re not going to like them.”