Page 19 of Scandalous: Family Ties and Spies

Lady Mary moved quickly, leading Amalie up to the third floor of the Abbey, Amalie tried to remember exactly what rooms Lady Mary and Daisy Carrington had been assigned. The young woman halted abruptly outside of one of the guest rooms, and looked over her shoulder at Amalie.

“I can’t thank you enough for helping with Daisy. She truly is quite upset, and I couldn’t think of anyone else to call upon for help.”

Amalie arched her eyebrows slightly with skepticism, but remained silent. The woman quietly opened the door and peeked into the room. Watching her, Amalie frowned at the woman’s manner. Were Lady Mary and Lady Daisy not sharing the same room? Perhaps Daisy’s roommate was asleep.

“She’s in the bathroom,” Lady Mary said softly as she gestured for Amalie to follow her.

Like all the bedrooms in the Abbey, there was a small fire burning in the hearth, and the only other light in the room was the moonlight streaming in through the window. It blazed a path across the room to the bathroom door, which Amalie saw was partially closed. Fully expecting to hear Daisy’s soft sobs of heartache coming from behind the door, Amalie moved deeper into the room. Puzzled by the stillness, she glanced over her shoulder to see Lady Mary pulling the door closed behind her with a spiteful smile on her face. The instant she heard the click of the latch falling into place, she frowned with anger.

“What the devil are you up to, Lady Mary?” Amalie muttered beneath her breath as she took a step toward the door.

“Who’s there?”

The stern, demanding question sent an icy finger scraping down her back, stopping her in her tracks. Dear God. Lady Mary had tricked her into entering Valeran’s bedchamber. Never in her life had Amalie experienced so many emotions in the same breath.

Horror, fear, outrage, and a feverish excitement she tried to suppress streaked through her all at once. Raw fury, however, was the most visceral. She intended to unleash the hounds of hell on Lady Mary. If the woman thought a private conversation made public had been humiliating, the woman had no comprehension of what true degradation was. Amalie would have the woman crawling into a hole, never wanting to emerge.

Rage in complete control of her actions, Amalie spun around and froze. Dumbstruck, she stared at the man in the bathroom doorway. Bathed in moonlight, the Earl of Sommerville was the Roman god Mars come to life. She’d always found Valeran devastating to look at. But now, the man was nothing short of breathtaking. Her fury evaporated in one blinding moment as lust throbbed its way through her veins with each beat of her heart. It made her want to cross the room and run her hands over him. Dear God, she was mad. She despised him. Laughter whispered out of the back of her mind, and she slammed the door shut on the sound.

If she’d not already been reminded of his height today on the cnoc beag, she would have been now. Standing in the bathroom doorway, his head almost touched the top of the frame. But it was his lean, muscular, naked form that captured her imagination. It was as if Michelangelo had carved Valeran out of a piece of marble, before an angel had breathed life into him. He was magnificent.

Mesmerized, Amalie’s gaze drifted downward across a solid chest and flat stomach to hard thighs between which was nestled the most beautiful male body part she’d ever seen in drawings or carved from marble. Everything about the man was glorious. She now understood why so many women had whispered about the man’s prowess.

For the first time in her life, Amalie found herself wishing she was svelte, beautiful, and alluring, if only to entice this man into introducing her to lovemaking. Heat rushed across her skin, and Amalie drew in a hiss of air between clenched teeth. This was the last man on earth she wanted to share a bed with. Cackling laughter pushed its way into her head once more.

The instant she inhaled a breath, Valeran took several steps deeper into the bedroom. Amalie gulped at the way his muscles rippled like sensuous silken cords of rope as he moved. God, he truly was a splendid male specimen, even if he was a bastard. Almost as if he’d heard her swallow, Valeran’s head jerked in her direction.

Sweet màthair of God. The day she’d fled Rules she’d thought it was her imagination that the man had heard her gasp. Now, she wasn’t sure. Amalie shuddered. She didn’t need an answer to the question. What she wanted was to escape before he knew it was her.

Sheer panic made her heart race out of control. The instinct of flight in the face of a dangerous predator sent a rush of adrenalin pulsing through her blood. Whirling around, Amalie bolted toward the door. Strong fingers caught her arm and pulled her to a halt before she could take more than two steps.

The speed and ease with which he stopped her was almost as terrifying as it was impressive. If not for this afternoon, she would have argued his blindness was a ruse. But today, at the top of the cnoc beag, he’d looked directly at her, but not seen her. Galvanized by desperation, she tried to pry his strong male fingers off her arm. It was a futile effort.

“Release me.”

Although fear tightened every one of her muscles, Amalie almost sagged with relief that her demand was devoid of any Scottish inflections. She’d always believed Valeran identified people by sound. Today had reinforced that belief. Now, she was grateful for her aunts’ constantly demanding she emphasize her words crisply and succinctly. It also hadn’t hurt that her sharp command consisted of only two words. There was still a chance she could escape without him recognizing her. A frown darkened his handsome features.

“What are you doing in my rooms?”

“It was a mistake. I thought—”

Amalie’s voice died in her throat as Valeran’s fingers touched her face. Horrified, she tried to free herself, but a sinewy arm curled around her waist and pulled her into warm, flexible steel. Fingers splayed against a hard, muscular chest, Amalie’s heart skidded out of control. The heat of his bare skin seared its way through her silk nightgown and sent her mind reeling.

Dear Lord, he was even more potent now than when he’d held her against him this afternoon. Frantically, she fought the need to explore his powerful, sinewy contours. Struggling to breathe, she dragged air into her lungs, trying to steady her nerves. She immediately regretted the action as his male scent made her head spin. He smelled of hot spice, warm bergamot, and the frosty outdoors. In a word, he smelled delicious. For a brief moment, the tension eased from her taut muscles until she realized she’d stopped fighting to escape.

“Let. Me. Go,” she enunciated crisply and pushed against his chest.

How she managed to sound undisturbed and in control of her faculties, Amalie had no idea. But she was certain she could have shouted her command, and it would have elicited the same response from the man. He had no intention of releasing her. Firm, sensual lips tilted slightly upward with amusement, he ignored her demand and continued tracing the curves and lines of her face. The intimacy of it alarmed Amalie, and she squirmed against his hold.

Hard fingers that had been gently exploring her face suddenly dug into one cheek of her buttocks. With a tug that accentuated his strength, he pulled her tight against solid, muscular thighs. Fire blazed its way across her skin, making her all too aware her silk nightgown was the only thing between them.

The warm scent of whiskey wafted beneath her nose and her heart crashed into her chest. Oh, Lord, was the man inebriated? If that were the case, it might be impossible to prevent him from bedding her. Horrified by the jubilant shout of excitement echoing through her head, she tried to free herself from his solid embrace.

“Hold still, Amalie. I prefer to know the faces of the women I bed.”

Stunned, she froze and stared into his sightless eyes. Dear God, he knew who she was.

“I…how…?”