When Scandal Came to Town (Scandalous Sons 3)

“I am still the daughter of an earl. Does that count for nothing?”

“Madame, I must think of my reputation.”

“Well, at least we understand one another.”

She half expected Benedict to chastise the woman for her hypocrisy, but he simply said, “Thank you, madame, for your tact and honesty. Good day.” And then he clasped Cassandra’s elbow and guided her out onto New Bond Street.

The hustle and bustle of the busy street proved suffocating. There were so many people. People staring. People pointing. People thinking vile thoughts.

“Take me home, Benedict. I’ve had enough for today.” The thought of walking back to Jermyn Street through the disapproving crowds filled her with dread.

“Certainly. I instructed Foston to follow in the carriage. He is waiting a little further along the road. After a busy hour spent shopping, I thought you might prefer to drive home than suffer the long walk.”

The need to throw her arms around Benedict’s neck and kiss him took hold. “I should have listened to you. You’re the intelligent one. I’m the fool who makes countless mistakes.”

“You’ve lived in a world where everyone wears masks. I’m one of the lucky few who have seen what really lies behind their fake smiles and forced manners.” Benedict motioned to Foston, who sat atop the carriage parked outside the milliner’s shop, and she resisted the urge to grip her husband’s hand and race towards the vehicle. “Blame those with the power to change society’s attitude, not those whose livelihoods depend upon recommendations.”

Admiration warmed her chest. Wisdom and strength radiated from every aspect of his being. After hearing the salacious rumours, she expected to find him much changed. Arrogant. Bitter. Cynical. But he bore the same air of calm confidence, coupled with a supreme understanding of life.

“I cannot be angry at the modiste,” she said as Benedict assisted her into the carriage and muttered an instruction to his coachman. “She declined my custom to protect her reputation. I declined the prospect of marrying you to save mine. I am more of a hypocrite than she could ever be.”

Her father had been so persuasive. Benedict had been so hurt. She was the villain. The undutiful daughter. The disloyal love. She wore the names like labels sewn to her chest. Now she could add more to the list. Immoral harlot. Disgraced fool.

Benedict dropped into the seat opposite as the carriage lurched forward. He remained silent—lost in thoughtful contemplation. Undoubtedly her comment about not marrying him to save her reputation had caused his sudden change in mood.

“My father spent years convincing me you weren’t good enough,” she said. The constant barrage had worn her down, weakened her already feeble resolve. “If these last few days have taught me anything, it’s that I am the one who is inferior.”

He raised his head and their gazes collided. She saw her own pain reflected back, but how did one even begin to repair the damage?

“Tell me something nice, something you remember about me before my father sought to separate us for good.” Her voice cracked, and her vision became blurry. Crying did little to ease the pain of regret. “Something that might restore my self-worth.”

His gaze softened, and a slow, sensual smile formed. The smile that wrung knots in her stomach and made her giddy. “You used to believe that majestic things grew from small beginnings.” He crossed the carriage to sit beside her. “You used to believe in the power of love. I felt the strength of your conviction every time we kissed.”

She swallowed deeply as the memory of his hot mouth on hers sent her pulse racing. Oh, she would give anything to go back in time, to feel the depth of his love again. “And now I am dead inside.”

“You’re not dead inside, Cassandra.” He cupped her cheek, and it took immense effort not to grab his hand and hug it to her breast. “You’re lost and need to find yourself again.”

He made her problems sound simple to resolve.

“But whe

re do I start?” She didn’t belong anywhere. The demimonde would consider her too prim to join their fold. Society had closed its doors and barred the hatches.

“You start with an acorn. You nurture it and watch it grow.”

“Then I need to go back to the younger woman, the woman I’ve not known for five years.” The woman who had kissed him under the willow tree before she ripped out her heart and handed it to her father to discard with his other useless trophies. “Would you do something for me?” It was selfish to ask. He had already done so much.

His frown revealed a certain hesitance, but he said, “I’m your husband. It’s my duty to make you happy.”

She gulped past her nerves. “Help me to remember. Kiss me like you used to all those years ago, before all the hatred and bitterness. Help me build a solid foundation, a place to start.”

A brief silence ensued, broken only by the strained sound of his breathing. “You ask for something I cannot give.”

Rejection caused a searing pain in her heart. “I understand. You cannot forget all the terrible things I’ve said and done.” And who could blame him?

“It’s not that,” he said, shuffling closer. “You ask for the tender, loving kiss of a young man. All I can promise is the lustful kiss of a scoundrel.”

The sudden pulsing between her thighs urged her to take whatever he had to give. “You said I should start with small beginnings. I haven’t the first notion what it’s like to be kissed by a lustful scoundrel.”