It's Beginning to Look a lot Like Scandal

She eased down on the marble bench sheltered from the snowflakes by the cascading branches of the tall elm tree. Now that she was away from the bustle of preparation for the ball, doubt raked at her. Maxwell and Marcellus wanted to share her. How could they feel so? Surely such a desire was unnatural.

They were handsome and daring, honorable and sensual. Emily blanched as her sex heated at the thought of both of them touching and loving her. She bit her lips nervously. They made her ache and want. Either separately or together, it made no difference. Her body hungered for them both. Even now she pulsed between her thighs. She was slick and wet. She waited in tense silence for the heavens to rip apart and the bolt of lightning to spear her for her wanton thoughts. When nothing happened, she glanced tentatively into the sky. It was as if the clear blue sky on a winter morning mocked her dismal thoughts.

She needed time to come to grips with herself and her desires. They were explicit, tormenting her with images of Maxwell and Marcellus loving her together. She should have felt shame, but somehow everything felt right. But she understood how precious life was, how easily one could be laughing, dancing with a beau, and the next nursing a wound infected from flying shrapnel, listening to frightened men and boys beg and plead with doctors to save them.

Maxwell said they hungered for her, both loved her, and God, she feared she felt the same for both of them.

Did she have the capacity to love two men? A harsh breath puffed from her lips. Emily knew she already did, but it was so unseemly. Lover to two brothers? She doubted she could, but then that would mean she needed to choose. Confusion rose in her. What did it mean if she stood firm and chose Maxwell? Every time they came together, Marcellus would feel it. She could not believe such a thing was possible.

Everything in her clamored to flee for a few days to escape their intensity. She had not gone down to dinner the night before and had taken breakfast in her room. She had spent hours analyzing her feelings and not shying away from them. She was trying desperately not to run. Two years ago, that was what she had done. She had fled from Marcellus’s intensity. Maxwell had pursued and charmed her, and she had fallen in love with him.

Ever since Maxwell went to fight in the war and the duchess had contrived to have her stay with her, she had avoided Marcellus’s overtures. She had fled from him hard and long, and she had hardly been aware when he broke down her barriers. She had always run from him. Now she was so much different. Life was too fleeting, everything was too fleeting, and she couldn’t leave without seeing him. Before she made a choice between them, she had to understand. It shook her that it wasn’t Maxwell’s arms she currently yearned to be around her and that it wasn’t his words or explanation she wanted to hear. She would have never imagined that the arms she wanted to be wrapped in would have been Marcellus’s.

Marcellus pushed back the doubt that tried to cripple him. A smile edged his lips as he watched Emmeline trudge painfully through the snow. The lush ripeness of her lips was flattened in determined lines, and from the way she marched toward the manor, he knew she’d decided to fight. The relief he felt almost felled him. He had ruthlessly prevented himself from going to her after Maxwell communicated what had happened.

Marcellus had been slowly examining thoughts of giving her up. Allowing her to marry Max, and Marcellus would stay as far away from her as possible. If she refused him, he would hardly have any other choice. It would be hell, but he’d conceded it was a hell he was willing to accept.

The days she had been with Max had been the sweetest torture Marcellus had ever felt. He then realized the closer he was to Max, the more he felt through their connection. The first day when she had fainted, and Max swept her away, after explaining everything to his frantic mother, Marcellus had driven along the countryside. For hours he had only felt mere caresses, sometimes so fleeting he had wondered if the bond was working properly.

He had learned differently that night. The closer he was, the more amplified were the feelings. He’d almost drowned under the pleasure he felt. Emmeline had not given him that satisfaction as yet, so he had almost lost it when he felt her hot, moist mouth closing over Max’s cock. Pleasure had streaked through Marcellus’s veins and owned him as he felt every kiss of her lips, every scrape of her teeth, and every wet glide of her tongue. The feelings had been too intense even though it had been an echo of what Max felt, enveloped by her sensual lips. Marcellus had felt the softness of her skin when Max touched her reverently. She was exquisitely curvy, with high, full breasts and rounded hips that he caressed through Max’s touch. Marcellus had become painfully aware that if he had to give her up, he could not reside in the same county.

He waited as the clock ticked the minutes away, taunting him. He controlled his smile when the door burst open, and she swept in, shaking the snowflakes from her hair. She pulled off her gloves, and coat, brows furrowing while she looked at him. Her green eyes were worried, her expression somber. She closed the door gently and leaned against it while her emotions chased across her face—anger, frustration, and desire. He shielded his thoughts, waiting for her to reveal her intentions. When she did, it felt like an iron fist to his gut.

“If I only want one lover, can you live with that? Maxwell makes it seem as if it is impossible.”

Marcellus struggled not to show the feelings that ravaged him and considered the emotions that roiled in her eyes.

“I love you, Emmeline. If Max is the only one that you truly love, I will step aside. It will be painful, but I will.”

Her eyes flared at his declaration, and she gripped her gloves.

Exhaling, she sauntered toward him. She tilted her head, searching his face, her expression guarded. “I profess I do not understand fully, but I am not sure if I want you to step aside.”

It was not a declaration of love, but it was good enough for him. He pulled her against his body, unable to wait another moment to touch her. She shifted in his arms, snaking her hands to clasp his shoulders, her soft belly pressed against his cock. He pressed his lips to hers with untamed hunger. She strained toward him, lifting on the tips of her toes to deepen the kiss. Marcellus groaned into her mouth and feasted on her lips.

She was lithe, beautiful, generous, and spirited, and he wanted her to love him so bad he almost wept from the hunger of it. A fever burned inside him, and he hoisted her, spinning with her to the oak desk. He sat her on it and nudged her legs open, stepping between them. She drew her lips from his, her forehead dropping to his chest

.

“Marcellus?” There were fear and desire in her voice, and he tried to restrain the lust that savaged him.

He cupped her breast, she cried out, and the sound went straight to his cock. She wrenched from him, leaning away, and that fear he hated shone from her eyes.

“Why do you fear me, Emmeline? I would never hurt you.”

He grasped her face and tilted it to him. She closed her eyes tightly, and he waited with patience until they fluttered open. “I have never feared you, Marcellus. I am frightened of the things you make me feel. You make me burn in ways that Maxwell doesn’t, and that scares me.”

He scraped his thumb against her full lips, and he smiled when she gently nipped it. “It relieves me.”

She frowned. “Relieves you?”

“If you had felt the same way for Max and I, you wouldn’t need both of us, Emmeline. I doubt Max feels the same cravings I have for you. Yes, we both love you. We will both cherish you all our days. Max wants to take you riding. I want to dance the tango with you. Max will prefer when the rains fall to cuddle with you while you read to our children by the fire. I would want to be on the lake, rowing, feeling the rain on our skin while I make love to you. Yes, we will share you and share moments with you, but we will also need you in separate ways. Know that we will love you always, treasure you, and never hurt you,” he swore fervently.

She clasped his hands.

“God, Marcellus, you speak so easily of sharing me. What does that mean? Who would I marry? What if one of you fell in love with someone else?”

“That will never happen. You are our heart.”