Page 21 of Scandalous: Family Ties and Spies

A moment later, she did the one thing he'd promised he could make her do. She whimpered. It became a softly whispered plea for more of the sensations he was arousing inside her. Sanity fled her completely. All she wanted was to be consumed by the firestorm. She didn’t want him to stop.

Firm lips nibbled at her neck, and she barely noticed her nightgown sliding off her shoulders. The silk whispered its way downward, only to halt where their bodies were pressed tightly together. God, she wanted it to slide to the floor until they were skin to skin. She wanted him to tease her, tempt her, and do wicked things to her body.

The instant his teeth abraded one of her nipples, a quiet moan escaped her. Arms encircling his neck, she arched away from him to give him complete access to both breasts.

“Please, I…I need…”

It was an almost incoherent plea for him to ease her suffering as she trembled wildly in his arms. A dangerously wicked sound rumbled in his chest as his teeth scraped over the stiff peak of her breast once more. In the next instant, he jerked away from her.

The sudden deprivation of his touch made her utter a wordless cry of protest as she swayed on her feet. Eyes fluttering open, it was then she heard the hard knocking on the door. In an instant, the heat engulfing her body became a coat of ice that made her shiver with dread.

“Open up, Sommerville.” The harsh command was quiet through the door, but Amalie recognized her father’s rough Scottish accent. She heard other voices speaking in hushed tones.

“Oh, dear God.”

She jumped as Valeran roughly pulled her nightgown back into place, then strode toward the door. Amalie spun around and watched in horror as he reached for the doorknob.

“Stop,” she choked out hoarsely. “Ye are nae…put a robe on, for God’s sake.”

Valeran recoiled from the door as if he’d been burnt. Heart pounding with trepidation, she watched him brush past her to retrieve a heavy-looking silk robe off the edge of the bed. He had just finished shoving his arms through the sleeves, when Amalie heard the latch click and the door swung open. The sight of Julian MacTavish, Laird of Crianlarich filling the doorway made her heart sink. He was livid. Her mother pushed past him and hurried across the room to her side.

“Are you all right?” Patience MacTavish’s voice was calm as she clasped Amalie’s hand in hers.

“Aye, I was—”

“What do ye have tae say for yourself, Sommerville?” The fury and outrage in the question was as if her father had cracked a whip at Valeran.

“What would you like me to say?” There was almost a sneer in Valeran’s voice as he tugged the sash of his robe into a tight knot.

“I want tae know why my daughter is in your room with both of ye wearing little more than a stitch of clothing.”

Valeran didn’t answer, and Amalie stared at him in appalled silence. Why wasn’t the man explaining she’d entered his room uninvited? Amalie turned toward her father and blanched as she saw her Uncle Sebastian appear in the doorway.

“Answer me, mon.” The demand was a loud roar in the room, and her mother hurried to her husband’s side and ordered him to stop shouting.

“This is nae what it looks like, Father,” she said fervently as she hurried to the Crianlarich’s side to clutch at his arm. “I entered Lord Sommerville’s room by mistake. I thought this was Lady Daisy’s room, and I came tae—”

“Good heavens.”

The high-pitched squeak of amazement made Amalie look toward the open doorway where Lady Daisy stood peering into Valeran’s room. Two other members of the house party suddenly appeared behind the woman, followed by a third. There was something oddly familiar about the entire scene in front of her.

In a split-second, the air left her lungs as she remembered the indistinguishable faces the an dara sealladh had shown her this afternoon. The memory of what else she’d seen made Amalie’s heart sink to the pit of her stomach.

She looked up at her father and flinched. Never in the fifteen years she’d been in his care had she ever seen him this furious. The murderous rage hardening the Crianlarich’s rugged features made Amalie tremble with fear as her father’s gaze remained fixated on Valeran.

“What the hell is going on here?” Jamie exclaimed quietly as her cousin pushed his way through the small crowd gathered in the hallway and entered Valeran’s room. “Val?”

“It would appear your cousin has been compromised.”

The earl’s nonchalant tone made Amalie jerk her head toward the man standing less than four feet away from her. Valeran showed no sign of remorse or anger. If anything, he was almost cavalier in his reaction to what was transpiring. No, that wasn’t true. He was far from blasé. The twitch in his right cheek indicated his jaw was clenched.

The man was angry. Amalie watched him clasp his hands behind his back. It was a casual, languid motion, but his fists were clenched so tightly his knuckles were white. No, he wasn’t angry. Enraged. He was as furious as her father. Immediately, she realized Valeran blamed her. Amalie inhaled a sharp breath of stunned disbelief. Valeran’s head immediately jerked toward her.

Condemnation flashed so quickly across his handsome features that she would have missed it if she’d not been studying him so intently. Appalled by his silent judgement, she stared at him for a moment before anger blazed through her. She’d tried to leave his room, but he’d refused to let her go. Worse, he’d touched her intimately and with a passion that had made her body go up in flames from the pleasure of his caresses. The memory made her mouth go dry at the way she’d responded to him.

Whispers of shock and surprise rang loudly in her ears from the small crowd outside Valeran’s door. Raw fury made her chest tighten as she caught sight of Lady Mary on the fringes. The triumphant gaze meeting hers said all of this was revenge for the humiliation Amalie’s private conversation had caused the woman. But this retaliation was far worse than anything Amalie had unwittingly done to the woman. She hadn’t destroyed the woman’s reputation.

Lady Mary’s gleeful smile faded as Amalie narrowed her eyes at her. Determined to make the woman confess to staging this scene, she stepped forward only to have a steely grip latch onto her arm. Amalie jerked her gaze down to the fingers digging painfully into her muscles, then upward to meet her mother’s gaze. She frowned in protest at the restraint, but the Mistress of Crianlarich’s features remained unyielding. Dear God, did her mother think she’d deliberately entered Valeran’s rooms?