Far Beyond Scandalous Page 22

  "Again, I did not mean anything by it. I was merely... I honestly did not mean..." Drake was shaking fully now, grasping for words. He was also aware that he was quickly losing any social standing and good name that he had left in society.

  Marcus took another step forward, and it was then that Gibson noticed that the other man's left eye did not focus properly. He still had some loss of vision, but, with the cane, he was apparently able to compensate and walk on his own. Or stalk across the room in this case. In the midst of everything, that cheered the doctor. Sending the gravely injured viscount to Bath had been a good idea after all.

  "But you meant to insult my friend and trusted physician, Dr. Blackwell? Is that what you are implying?" The color was high in Marcus' cheeks. Then he turned, and, in front of Drake, offered the doctor a formal bow, complete with leg. "Gibson. My old friend. It is good to see you are well, and that you have properly chaperoned my sister during my mother's illness as I requested. It has put my mind at ease these last many days to know she was in your capable care."

  "I have done exactly as you requested, my lord." Gibson returned Marcus' bow with a deep and formal one of his own. "She is well and unharmed." Then he looked at Drake again, his utter contempt and disgust for the man clear. "Until tonight, that is. My apologies, my lord, for not keeping the refuse away from her."

  Marcus sniffed indignantly, much like Amy did, and he looked at Drake once more. The man had now shrunk in on himself, trying to make himself appear as small as possible. "It is not your fault, my friend. Unfortunately, the less than desirable always manage to worm their way in to good company." He inclined his head, a smirking smile on his face. "We will speak again later. Once I have dealt with the refuse, of course."

  "As you wish, my lord." Behind Marcus, Gibson noted that the Duke of Radcliffe and his wife had appeared to lend their silent support as well. "May I suggest that Lady Amy depart this event, charming and entertaining as I am certain that it will be? It has been a trying evening for her, and, as a physician, I do not wish for her to become overset. I do not think she is in danger of apoplexy, but one can never be too careful in cases such as this."

  Gibson could tell Marcus was trying his best not to laugh and to still keep a menacing look on his face. "Excellent advice, Doctor Blackwell. Please, see her home. You have my complete approval."

  Then the viscount turned his attentions back to Drake, a sardonic and yet somehow still completely nasty grin on his face. "Now, what should I do about you, you ungrateful maggot?"

  Gibson didn't hear the rest as he offered Amy his arm. She took it with shaking hands and silently, he led her from the Devonmont household, the eyes of everyone in attendance following them as they departed. He would have liked to stay with Marcus and deal with Drake, but he also recognized that he had no right. As it was, he was now in deep debt to the viscount. With one well-timed scene, Marcus had saved both his sister and Gibson.

  Now, no one would ever know Amy's secret, at least not if they could locate the mysterious Mark Overton. Which, now that Marcus had returned, needed to be the next order of business.

  In any case, society would not believe any claims Drake made that Amy was no longer an innocent. Rather, his words would be viewed as the ranting of a spurned would-be lover. Marcus had also saved Gibson himself from being ostracized. The viscount's words backed up everything Gibson and Amy had been telling the ton for weeks - that Gibson was escorting Amy at her family's direction.

  The bow Marcus had given Gibson indicated that the viscount - and therefore his family, as well as the crown - did not hold the sins of Harrison Blackwell against his son.

  That single action had saved Gibson's reputation and his medical practice. However, he also realized that with everything that had been saved, he was also about to lose the woman he loved. His time with Amy was nearly over.

  He had wanted to tell her the truth earlier that day when she had confessed her darkest secrets to him. In turn, he had wanted to confess his love for her and beg her to at least consider loving him, even in some small way. He had wanted to plead with her to marry him and offer to whisk her away to Gretna Green if that was what she desired.

  Yet he had not, mostly because there was a part of him that believed Drake was essentially right. In his heart, Gibson felt that he did not deserve to mix in fine company. He was the son of a traitor. He had nothing. Amy, on the other hand, had everything. And he loved her too much to take all of that away from her.

  As he handed her into the carriage, he knew that tonight was one of the last nights he would ever be in her company. So even though he knew he should not, even though he knew he should bow and depart quickly so that he could find a hack to take him home, Gibson climbed into the Cheltenham carriage after her. Then he quickly drew the blinds closed to keep out prying eyes.

  "Oh, Gibson," Amy cried as soon as the carriage rolled away upon his signal. "Now what?"

  He had no answer for her, at least none that either of them would want to hear. Instead of tell her thus, however, he pulled her into his arms and cradled her closely to his chest. "I do not know, sweeting. I honestly do not know." Then, he brought his lips to hers and allowed himself to become lost in her kiss once more.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Two hours later, Amy was no closer to answering the question about what came next than she had been in the carriage. If anything, she was more frustrated than before.

  The kisses she had shared with Gibson in the marvelous seclusion of the carriage had been nothing short of magical. They had made her burn from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. In fact, she could still feel the press of his lips against hers, the rising hunger that had threatened to consume them both before he, at least, had remembered the proprieties and gently but reluctantly removed her from his lap and set her on the seat across from him.

  Not that it was impossible to tell what they had been doing in the carriage anyway. Amy's gown, the one she had looked so radiant in earlier, was crushed and half of the ruby-studded hair pins had fallen out of her hair, scattering on the floor of the carriage and leaving her hair mussed beyond repair. She didn't care. No one would see her but Towson, and he was a faithful and loyal butler, not one to spread rumor and innuendo.

  And if he did? So much the better to her way of thinking. It would have forced Gibson's hand into acknowledging his feelings for her. He had made it very evident that evening that he intended to let her go. He would not fight for her. From the moment they had pulled up in front of her home, Gibson had helped her down from the carriage, escorted her properly to the door and then kissed her hand like a proper gentleman. Then he had instructed the driver to take the carriage behind the house to the mews before starting to walk down the street and back towards the center of town towards Cheapside.

  Amy had wanted to call out to him, but to what end? He had been very clear that he felt their time was over. He might not have said the words but he did not need to. His eyes betrayed his heart, and it was as if she could read his very thoughts.

  He believed that he did not deserve her, and the incident at the Devonmont's had only driven that foolish notion home. However, Gibson had not heard the approving whispers that she had when he had gone to fetch their wraps. Those softly stated comments that commended Gibson on his deportment and gentlemanly ways and indicated a new level of acceptance for him. There was even one man who had gone so far as to wonder if the viscountcy would be reinstated once it was brought to Prinny's attention how "moral and worthy" Gibson truly was.

  She had also overheard several people state that Gibson was clearly not his father. That indeed, he was a far better man than Harrison Blackwell had ever been

  Except that Gibson had been so busy defending her and then trying to escort her away from the fray that he hadn't heard any of it. He probably would have ignored it even if he had.

  All of that left her precisely in the same place she had been before her mother had fallen ill - an aging debutante who was rapidl
y approaching spinster status while being in love with a man she could not have. And she was tired of it. The night of the Fairhill ball, had she not spoken to her mother about defying convention and doing something because it was right? Had she not longed to simply cast off the role society had assigned her and be who she truly was?

  If she did not do any of those things tonight, Amy was afraid that she might not do them at all. All of her hopes and dreams would be gone. The trappings of her childhood fantasies were long gone. There was no magic wand one could wave to make things right. She could not charm and flirt and use her feminine wiles to claim Gibson's heart.

  He would either give it willingly or he would not. She could not seduce him into loving her. She could, however, seduce him into bed, and there, she could lay herself bare for him - both body and soul. He would either accept her or not, but at the very least, he would know how she felt. She would be honest with him. She would give him a choice, something he had never known in his adult life. Before now, all of his choices had been made for him.

  It was time for her to reveal the depths of her heart and allow Gibson to decide if he was willing to risk everything to be with her. To love her.

  And if he did not, she would let him go. This time, she would keep to her promise.

  Marcus' return, while joyous, would change things. It already had in some small ways. Amy knew that. There was no getting around it, either. He had been gone for so long, and she knew from speaking to Gibson that he was not quite the same man that he had been before. A part of him had hardened, fearful of more pain, not that she could blame him. It was unlikely that he would permit her the same freedoms that she now enjoyed. He might even make her marry if he himself was not inclined to do so in order to secure the earldom, though she doubted it. He would not push her that far. Still, she could not risk it.

  No, if she was to finally possess what she wanted, Amy had to be bold. She had to do so tonight. There could be no more waiting.

  Gibson paced his study, a glass of scotch in his hands. He wasn't much for spirits normally, but at the moment, he was seriously rethinking his position. He needed something to dull the throbbing ache inside of him, and at the moment, spirits seemed like a decent option. It was either that or seek out a lightskirt, and he did not want to risk disease for one night of release.

  However he wasn't certain that one night would even be enough, for given how he longed to hold Amy in his arms one last time, he imagined that this particular torment might last forever.

  He had not explicitly informed her that this was the end of their time together, of course, but then, he hadn't needed to. He saw from the look on her beautiful face that she understood that things could not go on as they had now that the viscount had returned. Gibson's duties to the Cheltenham family were almost at an end. Lady Evanston would need some additional care, of course, but that could be done early in the morning before the rest of the household arose. And it went without saying that Amy certainly would not need to be present.

  There would be no more walks in the park or attending balls by her side. There would certainly be no more kisses, or anything else for that matter, for they would never be alone together again.

  Once more, Gibson felt the rage well up in him, and he longed to smash the bottle against the wall, something to help relieve the anger that threatened to consume him. Damn his lying, worthless scoundrel of a father who could not keep his cock in his pants or his body away from the gaming tables. Damn the French for using his father's weaknesses against him. And damn his father a second time for being so weak that he would betray his own country and cost his family everything.

  About to head to bed, Gibson paused when he heard a soft knock at his door. It wasn't unusual for someone to call at this hour of the night since he was a physician, but it was unusual for the knock to be so timid. Typically, the people seeking his help were in a much greater hurry. That was a woman's knock, he realized, and few men that he knew would allow a woman to be out alone at such an hour.

  Hurrying to the door, he opened it to find a cloaked and hooded figure standing there with her head bowed. For the shape was clearly female. When the woman said nothing, he opened the door wider to allow her entry. He wondered if she might be mute and if he needed to rouse his houseboy, the only one at the residence who "spoke" the odd language of the hands that some deaf people in town used to communicate.

  He turned to retreat back to the kitchen to fetch the boy when he heard a rustle of fabric and then a soft voice whisper the same words that had been burned into his mind for nearly a year now. "Please disrobe and keep me warm. I know that would be best for both of us. Medically speaking, of course." She paused and then sighed as if she carried the weight of the world with her. "I am so very, very tired of living my life and wondering what could be, if only things were different."

  Gibson whirled around so fast that he nearly knocked the single candle off the table and quickly reached out to steady it with shaking hands. "My God. Amy. What are you doing here this time of night? Alone! You should be abed!" At Cheltenham House. Alone. Under the protection of her brother. He did not think it necessary to say any of those things. They should have been understood.

  "I could not sleep." She shrugged off the cape to reveal the wrinkled garnet gown he so adored, obviously donned in a great hurry. Even in the dim light, it still twinkled and glittered, drawing his eyes to her luscious breasts. "I fear that I am completely overset."

  "There are cures for that," he said quietly, conscious of the fact that she was slowly walking across the carpeted floor to where he remained rooted to the spot. He was afraid that if he moved, she would vanish as if she had never been there at all. He was also partly afraid that she wouldn't.

  Amy tossed the cape aside and smiled seductively, her wicked side, the one he had only glimpsed before, coming out to play. Gone was The Paragon the ton so admired. In her place was a seductress, sure and sensual. This was the woman from the summerhouse, the one who knew no inhibitions. "So I have been told. Yet I have never had the pleasure." A tremor in her hands belied her words and showed the fear lurking beneath her bravado. To him, she was all the more endearing for it.

  Gibson gave her a long, steady look. He would sell his very soul to the Devil himself to have her, but he held himself back. It was not right. He could not condemn her to a life with him, not when Marcus had finally returned to set the family to rights again. "And you wish to experience it with me." He steadied himself on the back of a chair and expelled a deep breath. "You know that I cannot. It would be wrong."

  "It didn't feel wrong those other times, and you well know it." She moved closer still, and he swore that she must somehow be bewitching him. Otherwise, he would not even be considering laying her down on the floor and plunging into her sweet body. "In fact, with you, it has only ever felt right."

  Now, Amy was close enough to touch him, and she did just that, laying her ungloved hand on his bare forearm. His skin burned at the touch, and he wondered if he might be branded by her forever. "A fortnight, Gibbs. We have been in each other's pockets for a fortnight, and never did we truly speak of what happened that day at Seldon Park."

  "We did once, in our own way," he corrected gently, trying to keep a tight reign on his desire. "And we agreed not to do so again."

  She tossed her head, feigning a confidence she did not truly feel. "I have changed my mind. I wish to speak of it now." Reaching up, she cupped Gibson's face in her hands, her fingers gently caressing his cheek. "I know that I gave you my body that day, but I do not think you know how much you gave me in return."

  "Perhaps, but it doesn't matter. I did not take you. I could not. Not the way you wanted me to. I cannot do so now, either. Please, sweeting, you know why." Gibson clenched his hands at his sides, willing himself not to touch her. Yet the pull of her was so strong that he didn't know how much longer he could resist her or if he even wanted to do so. She was so close and she smelled so sweet, like lemons with a hint of lavend
er. Odd. Unique. Like her.

  "No, you didn't," she agreed quietly, "but in denying me, you gave me a greater gift than if we would have made love that day. Only I didn't recognize it at the time for the gift that it was. You see, you gave me a choice. No one had ever done that for me before." She smiled at him, softer now but still every bit the seductress. "You could have simply taken what I offered. I did ask you to, after all."

  He placed his hands over hers, clutching her fingers tightly. "It would have been wrong." He was certain of that much at least. Even if at the moment, he was certain of nothing else, not even his name.

  "You told me to wait, begged me really, but said that if I wanted, I could have a taste of pleasure." Amy shrugged and allowed her gaze to roam his handsome face, lingering for a moment on his gorgeous eyes. "I could have pushed you. I am not that unskilled in the art of seduction, you know."

  When he raised that damnable eyebrow again, she shrugged, conceding the point. So perhaps she wasn't quite that good. Still, she meant every word that she said. "Gibson, you have to know that, had I truly wanted more from you, I would have had you inside of me bringing me the pleasure I longed for."

  Amy slid her other hand seductively around his waist. "However, a part of you knew that I was not ready, even if you were not conscious of it. That same part inside of me recognized the gift you were offering, and I agreed to your proposal even though it was not what I yearned for. It was not what my heart wanted, but a part of my head recognized that having a taste was for the best. You helped me choose."