Baron of Bad: Lords of Scandal Book 5 Read online

  He sat back in his chair, as he stared at her. Well those were both bloody good points and he’d successfully managed to push her away again. He ought to congratulate himself, but sick dread filled his insides instead.

  Chapter Four

  Grace stepped into the small room and assessed the tiny bed. She’d been glad he was going to be so close. Today, the Baron of Baderness was a boon, a lifeline in a world gone topsy-turvy.

  But the man she was about to share this miniscule space with was…large. She consoled herself that at least he’d be close.

  “I’ll leave you to undress?” he asked as he closed the door behind them. He nearly bumped into her back as she stood next to the bed.

  “No,” she quickly answered, turning around and looking up into his face. The tight space made her feel off balance and she reached for his shoulder. When had she gotten so comfortable touching him? “I’ll sleep in my clothes.”

  He quirked a brow. “You’re dressed for shopping. That can’t be comfortable.”

  She shook her head, looking down at her pale blue muslin gown. It now had streaks of dirt running down the lovely fabric. “I don’t see any other way.”

  He lifted his hands and, for a moment, she thought he was going to pull her into another embrace but then he began working on the delicate buttons running down her back. She gasped and tried to step back but bumped into the bed. He held her still to keep her from falling. “Grace. I just thought we’d remove your outer dress and corset so you might sleep more comfortably.”

  “Oh…yes. Of course.” But her skin heated at the idea of him, of all people, removing her clothes. His hands were big. Not beefy or thick, in fact he had long tapered fingers. But they were just as large as the rest of him. Grace couldn’t imagine how they so easily undid tiny little buttons but in mere seconds, her dress was gaping off her front. And though no more of her skin was exposed, she felt open and raw, undressing like this in front of him.

  But he paid her embarrassment no mind as he tugged the sleeves from her arms and then, shimmied the fabric over her hips. When he stood up, he reached for her corset strings.

  Her heart, which was racing in her chest, stopped at the thought of him removing such a delicate garment. “I can do it myself.” She held a hand to his chest to stop his movements but her fingers came into contact with rippling muscle. Somehow that might have been even worse.

  “Very well.” He took a step back to give her room and pressed his back to the door. Somehow that was even worse. He was near enough to touch her and could watch her every movement as though she were undressing for him.

  She huffed a little breath, attempting to cover her reaction. Yes, she was out of sorts, but Grace was also warming in several places. “Close your eyes.”

  He quirked a brow and then dutifully covered his face with his hands.

  Quickly, she undid the strings and dropped the garment on top of the dress. She did her best to pick up the clothes and drape them on the end of the bed before she dove under the blankets. “You can open your eyes again.”

  She snapped hers closed so that she didn’t have to see whatever he was about to do. But her ears were perked to attention and she listened as he shrugged off his coat.

  One eye peeked open and she watched as the muscles in his shoulders rippled as he worked the knot in his cravat. Finally coming undone, he added the garment to her pile of clothes and then undid the top of his shirt.

  He crossed over to stand by the window. “Go ahead and sleep Grace, I’ll get some rest later.”

  “Later?” she asked, partially sitting up. “When? Where?” She looked about the room. There was very little space to sleep.

  He gave her a glance over his shoulder. “On the floor.”

  “The floor?” She sat up gripping the covers to her chest. That was the most ridiculous thing she’d ever heard. “We’ll switch in the middle of the night so that you can have the bed. You can’t sleep on the floor.”

  He turned back to her. “I’ve slept in far worse places.” Then he hesitated. “But thank you for your concern. It’s a most unexpected treat.”

  She dropped the blankets and narrowed her gaze. Never had a thank you sounded more like an insult and her skin bristled with irritation. “Unexpected? Basic human kindness is unexpected from me?”

  “Grace, I didn’t mean it like that.” He held up his hands. “You’re not exactly known for thinking—”

  “I’m not known for thinking?” Her voice hitched higher with every word. Did he know how insulting that was? “One of us isn’t thinking right now, only that person is not me.” She’d scrambled to her knees on the bed, her hands on her hips.

  “You’re not going to storm out of the room and get kidnapped again, are you?” he scoffed, clearly pointing out a time she hadn’t really thought her actions through. “Or demand that all of us go shopping when known criminals have been chasing us? You know that I’ve been shot. Jack was shot. Because you needed ribbon.”

  Shame and irritation burned down her throat. “I’m to blame for Countess Abernath and her lackeys targeting us?”

  “Well,” he paused. “No, I suppose not. But a shopping trip under the circumstances was ridiculous.”

  His chin rose in triumph and hers dropped in defeat. He had her there. She’d been trapped in the house for weeks and she’d just wanted a little trip out. And she’d wanted to be beautiful. Because a lord with a crooked nose was escorting her to balls and…. She nearly gasped. She’d wanted to impress him. She was supposed to be finding a suitable husband. Not a rakehell. “Sit down and take off your pants.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Even in the dim light of the single candle, Grace would swear that his face paled.

  “You heard me. Pants down. Sit.” And she pointed at the bed.

  * * *

  He wasn’t sure where this conversation had gone wrong, but from the moment it had started, he’d felt as though he was on a runaway carriage with no reins. In fact, he was fairly certain he’d rather face Crusher again then Grace.

  First, because he’d never had the right words when it came to highborn ladies. They wanted flowery declarations and he’d always been more of a doer, a fighter rather than a poet. Second, because he just couldn’t keep up with her. She knelt on the bed, the candle behind her making her chemise see-through so that he could see the curve of her hips, the spread of her legs, the ample shape of her bosom. He swallowed again. And after arguing, now she wanted him to take his pants off. It very nearly resembled a recurring fantasy he had, only he was relatively sure that the woman in his dreams wasn’t nearly as beautiful as the one before him. “Grace, I don’t think removing our clothing is a wise choice.”

  She huffed a breath that told him he’d said the wrong thing again. “I need to check your wound. I’ve been remiss by not looking at it sooner.” Then she pointed down to the bed. “Sit.”

  The wound was fine and furthermore, removing his pants was an awful idea, but he couldn’t disobey her. As though he were powerless to deny her demands he reached for the falls of his breeches and pulled down the garment a few inches to take the single step to the bed. He pulled the pants down to just below the wound and sat on the bed, trying to keep the color of his face from turning a bright shade of red. He wasn’t certain but he thought he failed.

  He’d lost count of how many women had seen him with his pants down but none of them were Lady Grace Chase. “I’ve had deeper scratches.”

  She frowned as she looked at his skin, then she reached out and touched his outer thigh, her gentle fingers testing the flesh.

  His eyes squeezed closed. Lord help him, but he wanted to tumble that woman into his arms and kiss her senseless.

  “We should get some whisky and at least treat the cut,” she said as she continued to examine his skin. Then she let go. “And I’ll tell you again that I’m sorry I dragged everyone shopping.”

  He heard the tremble in her voice. “Love,” he whispered. “I’m sorry I said t
hat. You’re right. It wasn’t your fault.” It took every muscle in his body to keep from reaching for her and pulling her close. She shouldn’t have forced the issue but she wasn’t responsible for what happened either.

  She sat back, her hands clasping in front of her and her head bent. Her tongue darted out to lick her lips, which made his already-aching muscles taut as a string on a bow. “I just thought that if I could marry like the rest of my sisters, I’d be safe and you’d be free of me. I know you don’t like spending time with me but clearly my efforts had the opposite of the intended effect.”

  He couldn’t hold back anymore and he reached out cupping her cheek in his hand. She was so close and wearing so little and he…well, his pants were down around his knees. “Do not rush into choosing a husband and Abernath is no longer a threat. Once I get you home, you won’t need to see me ever again.” Why did that idea make his chest ache? But he already knew. He liked touching her, looking at her, and increasingly, he liked being with her. Unfortunately, she didn’t feel the same.

  She let out a loud sigh. “Not see you again? Don’t be ridiculous. Your friends are married to my sisters and cousins. Except for Vice and Ada of course.”

  Vice and Ada? He’d left them on the road alone together. Damn it all to hell. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell Grace what he’d done but she might well demand they go searching for them. Despite his assertion his leg was fine, it throbbed and he was bone-tired after chasing her all day. They’d leave in the morning and try to find the rest of their party. “I’ll go get the whisky.” He hauled himself off the bed and refastened his pants. “Lock the door behind me.”

  She nodded as he headed out the door. He heard the lock click behind him. After making his way downstairs, he penned a quick note to Vice. He should say more but he didn’t like leaving Grace alone. Folding the paper, Bad instructed the innkeeper to try every inn between here and London until he found a blond man travelling with a redhead who’d answer to the name Vice. He’d pay double the rate if it were delivered tonight.

  The innkeeper assured him the job would be done and Bad left, heading for the bar, where he purchased a bottle of whisky. Making his way back up the stairs, he found his chest tightening in anticipation. Bloody Christ, why was he so excited to see her? He’d only been apart from her for mere minutes.

  “Grace,” he called as he knocked on the door. “It’s me.”

  He heard the lock unclick as she opened the door. She’d undone her hair while he’d been gone and it hung down over one shoulder in silky blonde waves that left him stunned. He only realized he was staring when she blushed. “I was about to braid it. I’ll finish in just a minute.”

  He wished he were a poet in that moment. Wished he could tell her how lovely a shade the color was or how beautiful the texture. But all he could muster was a grunt of, “That’s all right.”

  She stepped back and he entered the room, closing the door and locking it behind him.

  “Sit on the sill,” she instructed. “May I use your cravat to catch any liquid that flows down your leg?”

  “Of course,” he answered and attempted to scoot by her while not touching her. He failed. His arm brushed the spun gold of her silky locks and, quite without meaning to, he lifted his fingers to brush the strands. Then, like a school boy, he nearly sighed with delight at their feel.

  If she noticed, she didn’t let on, and he continued moving until he was on the sill with his pants down once again.

  Even more alarming, with his clothing in her hand, she crouched down in front of him. His cock twitched and he gritted his teeth. She was most decidedly a virgin and not ready for his rutting lust. He closed his eyes and willed his body back under control. Fortunately, cold burning liquid scorched down his leg, making him forget his feeling of need. When he opened his eyes again, she’d stood, still holding the bottle. “There,” she said. “You’re done.”

  He drew in a deep breath. If she didn’t go to sleep soon, he might not survive the night. “Now, why don’t you take a drink? Just a small one. It’ll help you fall asleep.”

  She shook her head, staring at the liquid. “I couldn’t.”

  “Trust me,” he replied, standing. He reached for the bottle and wrapped his fingers about hers. “Just one small sip will help you sleep. No more than that.”

  She squinted her gaze. “I’ve heard that spirits lower your inhibitions.”

  “They can,” he said.

  “Is that why you want me to drink?” She squared her shoulders, looking up at him with large blue eyes. “Are you attempting to take advantage of me?”

  Chapter Five

  Irritation made her fingers tighten on the bottle. Why on earth had she just said that? They’d been alone in a room together for over an hour. He’d not done a single inappropriate gesture. The only one of them who was struggling seemed to be her.

  While pouring whisky on his bare skin, she’d longed to run her hands over the dark hair dusting his legs. Truth be told, she’d wanted to taste the whisky wetting his flesh. Her nipples had turned to pebbles and her body ached with need.

  Then, he’d gone and touched her, his hand wrapping about hers. If she didn’t push him away, she’d likely make a complete fool of herself. She might be an innocent but she knew enough about men to know they preferred to chase a woman and not the other way around.

  “You think I’d take advantage of you?” he said between closed teeth.

  Her nose wrinkled, and she nibbled on her lip. This was exactly why he didn’t like her. She was an idiot. “I…no, of course not, it’s just…” What did she say? His breeches were still about his knees, her hair was down, and together they clutched a bottle of whisky. If the ton could see her now.

  “It’s just what?” he asked, leaning closer.

  Not sure what to say, the truth was the only thing that came to mind, and that was a ridiculously bad idea, she tipped the bottle to her lips, his hand still wrapped over hers, and took a generous swallow. Which was likely a mistake. It burned down her throat and she instantly began coughing, spraying him all over his chest with the amber liquid.

  In response, he used his other hand to pound on her back, as she coughed and spluttered. “It tastes like fire,” she finally managed to gasp between choking breaths.

  He chuckled as he stopped beating her back to wipe his shirt. “I said a small sip, love. No more.”

  “I’ll never touch the stuff again,” she said. She wanted to say more. She’d like to begin by asking him to kiss her. What was it like? Would his kiss feel different from another man’s?

  “You should get some sleep,” he said softly. “Tomorrow will be a long journey back to London.”

  She nodded as she let go of the bottle, then sat on the bed to braid her hair. Her fingers worked the strands. She looked up to realize that Bad hadn’t moved. He stood exactly where she’d left him, still holding the bottle. “Is something wrong?”

  “Your hair,” he mumbled, bringing the bottle to his lips and taking a long swig. Unlike her, he did not spit the liquid out.

  “What about it?” she asked, watching his throat work. Why was that so appealing? She cocked her head as his Adam’s apple came back to the spot in the center of his neck. It was just so…masculine. “I know it isn’t proper to have it down. So much of this is…”

  “It’s not that,” he said as he took another swig. “It’s the most beautiful hair I’ve ever seen.”

  “Oh,” warmth spread through her from the compliment. Or perhaps that was the whisky. “Thank you.” She sat up straighter. She had several questions she wished to ask but she wasn’t certain how to begin. “Do men marry women because they like their hair or is the person more important?”

  She didn’t want to tell him that she was asking because she wanted him but she wasn’t certain he felt the same in return. In any regard, she’d marry someone, likely very soon. This was a good opportunity to do a bit of research.

  He took another long drink. “Man
y men have married a beautiful woman they didn’t really like simply because she was attractive.”

  She nodded her head, wanting to ask more. Was he one of those men? Then her own questions began to filter in. Did she want to marry him? Was that why she’d asked? She knew she wanted to touch him. That was for certain.

  And he made her feel safe, protected. He was titled, and so attractive she ached from need. And…he kept her on her toes. She found she quite liked that. So many men were a bore. “Thank you for answering.” Then she snuggled down into the covers closing her eyes. He was right. The whisky’s giddy warmth was settling like a blanket over her limbs.

  “Why did you ask?” his weight settled next to hers on the bed as he sat by her feet.

  She didn’t open her eyes as she let out a yawn. She couldn’t tell him all that she’d just thought. He’d likely run from the room screaming. Not only was he a confirmed bachelor but he didn’t like her. Though apparently, that wasn’t much of a determining factor for men. “Well, despite your assertion that I take my time, when I return to London, I’m going to have to find a husband very quickly after this little adventure or risk having no one at all,” she said. “Do you know of any lords who are looking? Could you tell them about my hair?”

  * * *

  Sharp, hot jealousy coursed through him, far stronger than the whisky he’d guzzled down.

  He’d like to rage that no other man would ever touch her. He wanted to slide his body along hers and curl her up in the hollow of his, where she’d be safe and secure against the hard ridges of his muscles.

  She’d asked if a man would marry a woman he didn’t like. He wanted to ask if a woman like her would marry a man who was beneath her if he made her feel safe enough. There was always the possibility that a match between them would be forced. They’d spent the night together. But he didn’t mention that either. He was more adept at drinking so he held his tongue.