And The Widow Wore Scarlet (Scandalous Sons 1)

“I imagine his offer stands, though he wouldn’t dare say so to me.” He stared deeply into her eyes. “We have yet to determine the nature of our growing relationship.”

The need to reveal everything in her heart burned brightly. But after a life filled with deception and betrayal, she had one final test. Besides, Wycliff needed to have an honest conversation with his father before his heart was free to commit. And his love and commitment were the only things she wanted now.

“Slip out of your coat and lie with me for a while.”

Wycliff moistened his lips. “I thought we agreed that would not be a good idea.”

“I didn’t say strip naked. But I would like for you to hold me as you did that night in the lodging-house.” She wanted nothing more than to make love to him, but the man was as stubborn as a mule, and she had to say something to get him to join her in bed.

After some reflection, he stood and removed his coat.

As he draped the garment on the chair, she said, “Perhaps you ought not crease your breeches. You know the marquis hates those in shabby attire.”

Wycliff glanced back over his shoulder, his eyes alight with mischief. “He’s rather particular about rumpled shirts and cravats, too.”

“Indeed, you wouldn’t want him to throw you out. Not when you’re eager to ask the questions you’ve held back for so long.”

He turned to face her and set about undressing. “No, I wouldn’t want that. And I’m sure Dr Redman would support my reasoning.”

“Dr Redman is a logical man.”

Scarlett watched him in silence as he stripped down to nothing but his breeches. She imagined those hard, rippling muscles soaked in sweat, those pert buttocks clenched as he thrust long and deep. The pulsing between her legs replaced the pulsing in her temple.

Judging by the length of his arousal springing free as he slipped out of his breeches, he was just as excited to join her in bed. He prowled towards her with a sleek, predatory grace.

Scarlett drew her chemise over her head and dropped it on the floor before peeling back the sheets in welcome invitation.

His body was warm, his skin carrying the earthy masculine smell that made her want to lick every inch. They settled onto their sides, huddled together in the tender way that spoke to her soul.

“While I recall being hard for you that night, I do not recall being quite so solid.” He brushed her hair off her forehead, brushed his erection against her abdomen.

“And while I recall placing my hands on your chest, I do not recall draping my thigh so brazenly over your hip.”

He clutched her thigh, opening her legs wide as he breached her entrance and pushed deep inside.

“Damian!”

“Had we indulged our desires that night, I imagine it would have been a slow, sensual coupling.”

“Nothing vigorous. You were recovering from an injury.” Scarlett welcomed him into her body with a pleasurable sigh. “But it would have felt as divine as it does now.”

He kept his gaze fixed on hers as they made love, his dark eyes flashing hot with each delicious slide. Every profoundly tender moment pleasured her heart and soul as well as her body. She could remain like this for a lifetime, a lifetime to soothe his pain, to bear his children, to create the happy home they were both denied.

As a sweet moan fell from her lips, she imagined him reading her letter, opening the gift which should convince him how much she cared. And as her body thrummed with rapturous ecstasy, one thought filled her head.

I love you, and I pray you love me, too.

Chapter Twenty-One

“Forgive a man for being mildly curious,” the marquis said with his usual aplomb, “but having refused every invitation to spend time in my company, I find you in my study for the third time this week.”

“It is not entirely out of choice.”

Having kept Damian waiting for twenty minutes, the marquis sauntered into the room and dropped into the sofa opposite. Damian need not have bothered appearing presentable. Today, the marquis greeted him wearing a burgundy silk robe thrown over an open shirt and beige breeches. He reeked of wine and perfume. Clearly, Damian was not the only one who had enjoyed making love to a woman this afternoon.

But there was a difference.

Damian loved Scarlett—with his heart and soul. The feeling had crept up on him like a thief in the night. There had been no warning, no sign to arouse his suspicions. With surprising clarity, he knew he could not live without her. The question was—after surviving one disastrous marriage—would she risk her heart for a reckless rogue?