To Tempt a Scandalous Lord by Liana De la Rosa

Chapter Eighteen

“My lord,” Mr. Torres intoned as he swept into the study at Campbell House. Without waiting for an invitation, the man pulled his hat from his head and plopped into one of the chairs before Niall’s desk.

Niall fought not to scowl at Torres’s informal behavior, but he was more curious about the man’s visit and not as interested in arguing over niceties. He tossed the report he’d been reading onto the desk and carded his fingers together over his stomach. “What do I owe the honor of your visit?”

“Darington mentioned that you’ve recovered with your recent illness—and I’m happy to see you hale—so I wagered you might be interested in the information I’ve gathered over the last month.”

Every inch of Niall’s skin suddenly hummed in attention. “Have you learned the author’s identity?”

Torres spread his palms. “I’ve learned much…but not that.”

“What have you learned then?” he groused.

“Your chapbook writer is a woman.” The Spaniard rolled his eyes while he waved a hand. “Or so it would seem, at least.”

Niall stared at the man for a long moment, his thoughts in disarray and his mouth slightly open. “Explain,” he finally demanded. Catching the other man’s narrowed eyes, he added, “Please.”

Propping his elbow on the seat back, Torres tilted his head to the side as he looked at him. “Do you remember the woman I passed on the walking path on Lower Brooks Street?”

“The Black woman?” At the other man’s nod, Niall said, “I do.”

“Well, I have been tracking her. Or trying to, at least. She is quite dodgy.” Torres snorted. “But I’ve managed to learn her name is Effia Assan.”

Niall sucked in a breath. He knew that name…but he couldn’t grasp from where.

“Miss Assan is employed by Charles Hughes. You recall I saw them together at the park?” At Niall’s grunt of assent, he continued, “From what I have been able to piece together, Miss Assan works with a group of writers, some of which write housekeeping columns, others parenting tips, and still another who pens short stories.”

“And one of these women pens the chapbooks?” Niall asked, trying hard to keep his impatience from souring his tone.

“I have not been able to ascertain that yet because a new tract has not released since before your illness.”

Right. Niall frowned, snatching up his pen to roll it through his fingers. How was it possible that a new tract had not released since he’d recovered? And more importantly, how had he not noticed?

“You’ve had a lot to deal with these last several weeks,” Torres said, arching his brow, “and thankfully the anonymous writer has given you a reprieve.”

“He has. Or I suppose I should say she.” How very interesting that Torres thought the writer who had been plaguing him for months was a woman. Niall would have to share that tidbit with his wife as she would no doubt have an interesting opinion to share. She always did. And he found he considered a topic a bit differently after she shared her thoughts on it, even if they still disagreed.

Halting his thoughts from traveling down that engrossing path, Niall cleared his throat. “So who are these women who write for Hughes?”

“Until I learn the identity of the chapbooks writer, I prefer not to say.”

Niall scowled. “Whyever not? You don’t owe them anonymity.”

“Don’t I?” Torres raised a palm. “If they’re not the culprit, there is no reason for their names to be bandied about.”

“You know I would not gossip about them,” Niall growled.

“I do know that,” the Spaniard said, crossing one leg over the other, a picture of relaxation. “But these women are risking a great deal simply by writing. Whether it’s sharing recipes or penning gothic stories, it’s possible their husbands and families are unaware of their pursuits, and I refuse to jeopardize their privacy if it is not necessary.”

It was a noble sentiment, but it vexed Niall like a burr in his breeches. Tossing his pen on the table, he leaned back and looked at the ceiling.

“Rest assured that I am surveilling Miss Assan and her group of writers.” Torres paused until Niall looked down and met his eyes. “As soon as a new tract is released, I will share what I know.”

Even hours later, Niall could not get Torres’s revelation from the forefront of his mind. It was a woman writing the political tracts that haunted him. It almost made sense that a woman’s skillfully crafted critiques had skewered his platform and caused him so much trouble since he knew another woman who had turned his life on its head.

“You are quite distracted this evening.”

Niall stiffened, his gaze darting to said woman. His wife.

With a glass of wine dangling from her fingertips and a whisper of a smile on her lips, Alicia regarded him. She was dressed in a lavender gown, the bodice unadorned with embellishments, but she did not need them for she was elegant and lovely.

Reaching for his own glass of wine, Niall fortified himself with a healthy mouthful. “I apologize if I’ve been an inattentive companion this night.”

“What’s captured your attention?” Alicia cocked her head. “Does it have anything to do with Señor Torres’s visit?”

He set down his wineglass with a frown. “I wasn’t aware you knew Torres.”

“Oh, I don’t.” She flicked her fingers. “But both Charlotte and the Duchess of Darington have mentioned him several times. So when Stewart said he had visited, I grew curious.”

Niall shot a brief look at the butler, who now wore flushed cheeks.

“Am I privy to know what his visit was about?” she asked.

He considered her for a pregnant pause. Hadn’t Alicia proven herself over the course of their short marriage, and most especially through his illness, that she was invested in seeing his bid for party leadership was successful? If it wasn’t for her clever thinking, his campaign would not be experiencing such positive accolades now.

Surely Alicia had earned his trust.

With a gesture of his chin, Stewart and the footmen departed. Spreading his hands down his lapels, Niall exhaled. “Torres has been trying to discover the identity of the tract writer.”

A tense heartbeat ticked by. Niall wasn’t certain of her response, but he hadn’t planned for Alicia to set down her wineglass with a clink and ask sharply, “Why?”

“Why wouldn’t he?” He scowled. “It would be useful information to have if the writer’s future articles do not prove as useful as the last one did.”

“Niall,” she whispered, rubbing a hand across her brow. Absently, he noticed it trembled. “That last essay proved wildly beneficial for the home, which means a great deal of people read it and acted on the information it shared. I bet the publisher went through several printings, which the author would know, don’t you think? I highly doubt this would be the last favorable piece that will be written.”

That made sense, as much as he hated to admit it.

“I believe we need to stay the course. This is the most efficient way to reach people. Although I know you don’t like to admit it, this author has quite a following and what better way to reach a large swath of the public than through his words?”

“Her words,” he corrected.

Her dark eyes went wide. “Her words?”

“Torres believes the writer is a woman.”

Alicia’s throat worked on a swallow. “How very peculiar.”

“Or how very devious,” Niall volleyed, picking up his glass for another sip.

His wife stared at him, her mien pale. “If you were to learn this supposed woman’s identity, would you truly track her down and threaten her? Surely she has much to lose.”

“I’m sure she does. But then perhaps she should have considered the possibility of being discovered before she put pen to paper.” He lifted a shoulder. “You must know how challenging her critiques have been for my campaign.”

Alicia nodded curtly. “Yet you’re not the kind of person to balk at a challenge.”

“It’s not a challenge to strike out against a man who cannot defend himself.”

“Oh yes, you’re so helpless.” She clicked her tongue. “You powerful, wealthy, handsome man. Of course you’re the true victim here.”

Niall reared back. “I don’t understand where this—this anger is coming from?”

Because Alicia was angry. Sparks flew from her dark eyes and the hand that held her delicate glass of wine gripped it so tightly her knuckles were white.

“Truly? How can you continue to hold this writer in contempt when she is laying the path for how you can do better?”

“So you believe the criticism?” Niall’s lips curled. Betrayal…shame cut him to the quick.

“Criticism does not mean contempt.” Alicia shook her head. “You could do more, Niall. And you know it. I’m aware you’re waiting for broader support, but you haven’t found a way to expand on the Factory Act. Not one proposal has come before your committee for a vote. Why not?”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “The right legislation has not been presented to us.”

“So write it.” Alicia planted her hands on the table and leaned toward him. “I didn’t know you a week before I considered you one of the most intelligent men of my acquaintance. If anyone is capable of drafting a comprehensive bill to target the dangerous and unfair way our nation’s employers exploit children, it’s you, Niall.”

Every muscle in his body quivered with repressed intensity. “You make it sound so easy,” he bit out. “As if I could wave a wand and all my political whims would suddenly be a reality. I assure you the process is much more complicated than that.”

“Of course it is,” she snapped. “Do you think because I’m a woman, because I cannot serve in Parliament, that I cannot possibly know the workings of government? Do not insult me by implying I don’t understand how complicated the process is.”

Niall canted his body toward her. “You are the cleverest woman of my acquaintance. But it’s easy to cast stones when you’re not in range of a return fire.”

Jerking her head back, Alicia glared at him. “Everything I, as a woman, do outside of the very narrow mold I’m expected to occupy puts me at risk of the firing squad. Everything. Which is why I’m concerned about your zeal to ruin that writer. I’d wager she had noble intentions, but that won’t matter in the end. Men are always given second chances, but women only have the one to make it count.”

“She could very well ruin my career,” he hissed, his fingers curving about the edge of the tabletop. “After all my hard work, it could be reduced to cinder and ash with just a negative word from her hand.”

“If your career in Parliament can be so easily incinerated, perhaps you didn’t deserve it in the first place.”

And with that salvo, Alicia rose to her feet, tossed her napkin on the table, and prowled from the room.

Niall watched her go, at a loss for words.

…

Alicia stormed into her chambers, so frustrated she was hardly sensible.

How she had managed to navigate the staircase, as well as the long halls that made up the family quarters in Campbell House, she did not know. But now she stared at the familiar watercolor framed on her wall and desperately tried to wrangle control of her anger.

They had been married for almost two months, with a rocky start that had started to smooth out after she had nursed him successfully through a bout of cholera. But it seemed Niall could still be an arrogant arse.

Alicia curled her hands into fists, frustrated that her ploy to utilize her essays to help her husband had not distracted him from his bitterness at her past criticisms. Worse yet, Niall now knew the writer was a woman, and the idea Torres could discover her identity at any moment left her nauseated and lightheaded.

She needed to tell Effia and urge her to be careful.

Swishing her skirts, Alicia prowled to the bed and forced herself to perch on the edge until her rapid pulse settled. While she counted in her head, her jaw clenched tightly, the sound of her dressing door opening made her flinch. A second later, Jane appeared, her expression darkening when she took in Alicia’s state.

“Whatever is the matter? When I dressed you for dinner, you were all smiles and nervous energy.” The maid tossed a hand up. “Now I’m surprised you have any teeth left in your mouth.”

“How very clever of you,” Alicia sniped, crossing her arms across her chest. Although the action made her appear petulant and childish, she couldn’t help herself. Anger dug into her skin like barbs. Niall knew just how to irritate her. No, he angered her, to the extent that she wished she could toss him directly into the sun.

But under all that anger lurked fear. Fear he would discover she was the writer whose words continued to haunt him. Fear he would no longer want her once he knew. Fear he would force her to give up the one pursuit that had ever brought her joy.

Alicia knew she needed to face that fear or her anger, her helplessness, would continue to fester.

“I can almost hear the nonsensical rants racing through your mind.” Jane sat on the bed, her tone conversational but her gaze intent. While she was her maid, Jane had known Alicia longer than anyone, and sometimes offered her a friendly ear, especially because for many years she was without a friend. “Now tell me what his lordship did to aggravate you so.”

“His lordship was rude and vindictive, and he is most apologetic,” a masculine voice interrupted.

The women turned in unison to see Niall enter through the door connecting their chambers. He was clad in the same clothing he’d been in when she’d abandoned the dining room, although his cravat now hung loose about his neck and his dark locks were free of their queue, an unruly mass about his sharp cheekbones and jaw. Damn him, did he have to look so handsome when her resolve was a precarious thing?

Rising to her feet, Alicia bit her lip, unsure of how to take his apology. “You insulted my intelligence. You addressed me as if I had no notion of how laws are made, or as if I’ve had no experience in the world.”

Niall leaned against her bed frame, his arms casually crossed across his broad chest, his stance one of easy elegance. “I did, and that was wrong of me. Anyone with an ounce of sense in their head would know you to be an intelligent woman.”

“Intelligent?” Alicia placed a hand over her stomach, which fluttered about. “You did not make me feel intelligent downstairs.”

Pushing off the bed post, Niall advanced on her, pausing only when he stood directly before her. She glanced to Jane, but her maid had disappeared. Without an ally, Alicia clasped her hands in her lap and glared up at him, determined he would not intimidate her.

He studied her, his gray eyes a storm of emotions she didn’t dare try to decipher. “Of all my sins, of which there are many, making you feel less than the extraordinary woman you are is one of my gravest. Please know that I await, eagerly, every shrewd word that falls from your tongue.”

“I…I,” she swallowed convulsively, “I’m sorry for being rude. I may feel strongly about certain subjects, but that doesn’t excuse how harshly I speak to you.”

Niall reached out his hand, brushing gentle fingertips along her cheek. “I deserved your harshness.”

Her throat was uncomfortably parched. “I thought you were annoyed with me.”

“I am annoyed with you. I’m annoyed all the time. But in this moment, I’m annoyed I have not yet had you in my bed.”

She braced a hand on the bed as heat curled low in her belly, making her limbs languid, even while her heartbeat kicked into a sprint. Still, Alicia was not about to give in to temptation that easily.

“And whose fault is that? I seem to recall spending the night of our wedding alone, no bridegroom in sight.” She poked him in the chest with a finger. “And what of all the nights since you’ve recovered? Our chambers are connected by a door I don’t lock. You could have prevailed yourself upon your new bride at any point, but you kept your distance instead. It’s me that should be annoyed with you!”

Snatching her scolding finger, Niall brought her hand to his lips and nibbled on the heel of her palm. “I do so enjoy when you’re annoyed. Did you know the most becoming blush covers your cheeks, trails down your neck, and disappears beneath your bodice? I desire to vex you more so I can trace your silky-looking skin and discover where your blush ends.”

“Oh, you are insufferable,” Alicia declared, yanking her hand from his grip. But in truth, this teasing, flirtatious Niall left her mesmerized. And decidedly eager for more of his attentions.

She needed space to think. To consider if she was ready to bring such physical intimacies into their marriage of convenience with so many secrets between them. Until Niall had fallen ill, he had mostly ignored her. Had she truly won his regard by nursing him back to health? Had the time they’d spent together as he regained his strength won him over? Or was he simply eager to bed her because she was available?

Did his motivations even matter at that moment when she desired him so?

Alicia attempted to wiggle back on the bed, but he grasped her hand and hauled her up, looping an arm around her waist. His citrus balsam scent enveloped her, lulling her senses.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he murmured, pressing his cheek against her temple. “I have been a terrible wretch since the wedding—”

“Well, you’ve been ever so lovely since you retired here to recuperate,” she interjected.

“Still, I should have called upon you as soon as my strength returned.” His lips lowered into a considering frown. “I allowed my drive, my ambitions, to interfere with what could, perhaps, be a very happy union. I apologize with all my heart.”

When they had married, Alicia had hoped for a peaceful accord. Much had changed since then. Alicia closed her eyes as his words ran over her like a refreshing waterfall. His apology, his contriteness, was a balm.

Opening her eyes, she glanced up at him. “I believe we still have time to make our union right.”

“Do you truly think so?” Niall rubbed a thumb over her bottom lip, his gaze heated but his expression thoughtful. “Or have I mucked it all up before it even began?”

“Well, I don’t know,” Alicia said, her tone severe. “But perhaps you should kiss me to find out.”

“Kiss you?” His voice dropped a timbre, sending flickers of arousal down her spine. “How will a kiss acquit me?”

“Because Jane once told me a man’s true feelings are in his kiss.” She grabbed him by his loosened cravat and pulled him close. “And perhaps I have been waiting for you to kiss me since I first met you at that soiree.”

His chuckle could have melted butter. “In that case,” he began, before his lips claimed hers.

Niall’s firm mouth moved over hers with a mastery that made her knees weak, and when she sagged against him, he hitched her closer with a firm arm about her waist. He savored her, nipped at her, inhaled her as if she were his last meal on this earth and he were eager to relish every bite.

Why had they waited so damn long to experience such bliss?

A soft pinging noise sounded in her ear, and it took Alicia a moment to understand it was the sound of her hairpins hitting the carpet as Niall ran his fingers through her tidy coiffure and mussed it thoroughly. In an instant, her own hands crawled up his neck to grip his luscious black strands, finding them just as silky as she’d imagined.

After nibbling on her bottom lip, Niall pulled back, an unholy light twinkling in his eyes. His hair was disheveled and his sinful lips swollen from the force of their kisses. Even in her aroused and distracted state, Alicia was gratified to see the great Marquess of Inverray, known for his prodigious aplomb, undone by the passion that burned between them.

“Shall we get you out of this lovely, but accursed dress?” he murmured, spinning her about to work at the buttons running down her back.

Alicia held her breath while he unfastened her dress. The job could have been accomplished faster had Niall not taken every opportunity to press lingering kisses to her neck and shoulders. And she wiggled with impatience for him to complete the task.

When he finally pulled the bodice down her arms, pushing the skirt down to pool at her feet, Alicia’s body quivered with the force of her arousal. Grabbing one of her shaking hands, Niall brought it to his mouth and pressed a scorching kiss to her palm. “Will you play valet for me?”

Unable to speak, she nodded.

Reaching up, she tore at what remained of his cravat and tossed it on the floor, ignoring his chuckle of amusement. Alicia somehow managed to unbutton and discard his waistcoat, but when she attempted to pull his shirt over his head, she was not tall enough to complete the job.

Once he aided her, Niall stood before her clad only in his breeches.

Alicia’s mouth fell open for a moment, overwhelmed with the powerful feelings his bare physique stirred in her. Her first husband had been an older man when they had married, so she had not known the wonder of a fit, powerful man in his prime. A man like Niall.

Taking a step forward, she lightly skimmed her fingertips over the ridges of his stomach and through the crisp dark hair that grew over his expansive chest. He made a choked sound at her touch, and her gaze flew to his. His gray eyes were narrowed as he stared down at her, his jaw clenched so tightly, a muscle appeared to tick there.

Alicia withdrew. “Did I do something wrong?”

“Your touch is everything right.” Niall grasped her hand and pressed it flat against his chest, right over his heart. “Do you feel that? Do you feel how fast it races? It does that because of your touch. Because I crave your hands on my skin. All over my body.”

Oh.

Heat simmered to a boiling point between her legs, and she fought the urge to rub against him like an affectionate feline. Instead, Alicia swallowed down her fears and snagged his gaze while she reached for his falls. Niall groaned in the back of his throat, and she took that as encouragement to continue. When she had freed every button, she pushed aside the material and boldly reached for him, enclosing him in her firm grip.

Niall hissed through his teeth. “Yes. Feel what you do to me. Your touch is like fire, and my entire body burns for you.”

Alicia shuddered at his words, even as her grip grew more insistent. She stroked him, first up then down, her hold tight. When Niall tossed his head back, pleasure coloring the planes of his face, Alicia felt a thrill of satisfaction.

Suddenly, he yanked her chemise over her head with one quick motion. Placing his large, warm hand between her breasts, he pushed her back onto the bed and came to hover over her. Niall gently stroked hair back from her face, before his eyes fixed on the path his fingertips took over her body.

“You’re not frightened?” he asked gently.

“Of course not. It’s you,” she whispered.

“It is. And I’m finally going to pleasure you in all the ways I’ve imagined since I first knew you’d be my bride.”

His eyes locked with hers, Niall grasped her foot by the heel, and kissed her instep. While his hand traced up the back of her leg, his fingers stroking and caressing, his sinful mouth bestowed kisses to her skin. When he reached her thigh, a wicked smile curved his lips.

“Let’s see if you’re as pretty here as I have imagined you are.”

Alicia panted as Niall’s hands ran up the inside of her thighs, his thumbs pressing them apart before he could settle his shoulders between them. When he boldly leaned forward to taste her, she keened while her hips arched off the bed.

“Now I can’t have you doing that.” He tsked, placing his arms across her hips to hold her in place. “I would never be satisfied with just one taste.”

His naughty words erased her embarrassment, and Alicia moaned, spreading her thighs wide to allow him greater access. Reaching her arms above her head, she gripped the bedsheets and murmured, “Then do your worst.”

Never had Alicia thought such pleasure was possible, but Niall’s tongue proved her wrong one long lick at a time. When she finally flirted with completion, gritting against the sensations bombarding her, he nudged her over. And when he sucked hard on her flesh, sparks detonated behind her eyelids before bolts of pleasure raced under her skin.

Climbing up her body, Niall gathered her against his chest. He chuckled as he pressed a kiss to her hair. “I trust I have acquitted myself.”

“Goodness, yes,” she breathed, kissing the skin lying under her cheek. “But I trust that’s not all.”

Niall pulled his head back, a scowl on his face. “Of course not. We’re just getting started.”