Once Upon a Scandal. Delilah Marvelle
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I had him tell me everything about you. And I do mean everything.”
“Everything?” she echoed.
“Everything.”
“You can’t know everything.”
“Oh, but I can. Ask me another question.”
“I will.” She rolled his ring against the palm of her hand and eyed the end of the wood banister beside them, trying to come up with a question. “Who is my favorite author?”
“Daniel Defoe. The History and Remarkable Life of the Truly Honourable Colonel Jacque is your favorite. And though you’ve tried numerous times to get Grayson to unearth a copy of The Fortunes and Misfortunes of the Famous Moll Flanders, Grayson knows you are far too young to be exposed to such devious content.”
Her eyes widened. Oh, she most certainly was going to gibbet Grayson for this. “What else did my cousin tell you about me?”
“Things you would probably deny. But things I cannot help but find extremely endearing.” His eyes flicked down toward her lips. He leaned in, hovering close. His breath heated the air between them, the scent of rain and allspice drifting all around her. “I want you to kiss me. I need you to kiss me. Because right now, destiny is telling me that if we do this, our lives will never be the same.”
She drew in a breath.
In her heart, she wanted to believe this romantic sop. She wanted to believe that if she kissed him and allowed herself to submit to whatever he was offering, her entire life would be transformed and all of her doubts about relationships, people, life and death would dissipate into a pile of rose petals she could toss into a fountain. Could a kiss change her entire life like the tip of a fairy wand changing one apple into a whole pie? There was only one way to find out.
“Don’t move,” she warned.
“I won’t,” he whispered.
Victoria eyed the quiet darkness of the foyer around them. Knowing she was probably going to regret it in one way or another, she raised herself onto the tips of her bare toes, hooked a hand behind his strong neck and yanked him down toward her. She pressed her lips against his surprisingly warm and soft mouth.
Lean, muscled arms slid around her and molded her closer against the length of his rain-soaked body. Everything swayed and spun. It was incredible.
Ever so slowly, their pressed lips parted in unison. After a moment of awkward hesitation, their tongues touched. Her pulse leapt. The faint taste of sweet, spiced cake made her realize Remington had in fact been in the kitchen eating Mrs. Davidson’s Banbury cakes.
His hot, wet tongue slid against her own as he deepened their kiss. All of her melted into a tingling disarray as she pressed herself against him, wanting and needing to be near him. Remington groaned against her mouth, his large hands drifting toward the back of her waist and skimming her entire backside through her wet nightdress.
She gasped, realizing she was allowing too much, and broke their kiss, pushing herself out of his arms. That was not what she had expected. It had only made her realize she was capable of feeling so much more than she’d ever imagined, and in turn, losing so much more. “There.” She tried to sound indifferent, even though her heart pounded and her throat tightened. “Is destiny well pleased?”
His hands dropped heavily to his sides, but his eyes remained closed. “Destiny wants you to do it again.”
She let out a nervous laugh and stepped back. “I think not. My father would send me away to Scotland if he caught us doing this. And then what? We would never see each other again.”
He opened his eyes and stared at her, his chest rising and falling heavily, emphasizing how wet his shirt was and how incredibly attractive both he and his chest were. “So you want to see me again? Why?”
Her cheeks burned. “Well … I … like you. I have always liked you. You know that.”
“Like?” His voice was gruff. “I like Banbury cakes, but I’m not going to take them to the altar and give them my name and my children. I want to know. What do you really feel for me, Victoria? Tell me. Aside from like? That kiss told me you are well beyond like.”
She blinked up at him, realizing she had placed herself in a very awkward situation. He was trying to extract promises. Mrs. Lambert was going to have a fit. “You cannot expect a lady to divulge what she feels.”
“If you and Mrs. Lambert think my intentions are villainous, then neither of you know a thing about me.” He searched her face in the shadows, the silence of the house interrupted by the steady rush of rain outside. “Are you going to place my mother’s ring on your finger? Or are you going to deny what it is I know you feel?”
Kissing him had been a horrid mistake, because now he seemed to think she was in love with him. Young though she was, she understood how attachments caused one’s fingers to slide off the ledge of reality. Her own father’s grip had slipped years ago. “I will keep your ring on my finger this one night, to assure you of my fondness, and will return it to you in the morning before you leave. But that is all I am willing to offer.”
“No. I am asking you to keep it on your finger until I return from Venice.”
“Keeping it would insinuate far too much and I am not in a position to be granting you or any man favors. Now, please. Don’t tell anyone about this. Not even Grayson.”
He raised a forefinger and tapped it gently against his lips. “I will tell no one. I am and will forever be your protector from this night forth.” He lowered his finger, never once breaking their gaze. It was as if he were silently announcing to her that she was now his. All his.
She swallowed. “If you really seek to pursue this, Remington—”
“I do. Believe me, I do. By God, I have been—”
“Then I suggest you prove your worth in seven months. Not a day sooner. Good night.” Feeling her damp skin tingle beneath the continued heat of his gaze, she quickly turned and scampered up the stairs.
Odd though it was, she couldn’t even remember how she got back to her room. With trembling hands, she bolted her bedchamber door, stripped off her damp clothing and put on a dry chemise and nightdress. Burying herself within the linens and coverlet of her bed, she turned on her side and fingered the ring in her hand.
She drew in a shaky breath and let it out, praying that if Flint was indeed outside, he had found shelter for the night. Heaven forbid that whilst she had been indulging in an incredible kiss with an incredible man, Flint had drowned.
Bringing the ring to her lips, she whispered against the polished ruby, “I beg of you to prove yourself by returning Flint to my side.”
She held her breath and blinked, expecting something to happen. When nothing did—and why would it?—she slid the ring onto her finger, wanting and needing to believe in real pixie magic. The way she used to before loss had destroyed whatever was left of her family, her happiness and her heart.
Late morning, the library
VICTORIA SAT, staring vacantly at her hand which lay across the unopened book resting upon her lap. Remington’s ruby ring shimmered as she tilted her hand back and forth. Although her father had abandoned the last of his remaining house guests to assist Remington in finding Flint out in the surrounding fields, they had been gone all morning. It did not bode well.
“You are supposed to be reading,” Mrs. Lambert ordered with artificial patience from where she sat in a cane chair opposite Victoria. “Regardless of Flint’s absence, you have responsibilities that cannot be swept aside. One must exude staid refinement even during the most trying of times.”
“Yes, Mrs. Lambert.” Exude staid refinement, indeed. There was far more to life than putting on superficial airs. Her dog was missing, possibly dead, and