Read Online Leslie Lafoy by Her Scandalous Marriage - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Her Scandalous Marriage
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remember the moment with any sort of wistful sigh and then wonder what the chances were of it happening again. On purpose the next time. And perhaps with an actual slow, deliberate brush of the lips. It would feel so very good. It would be absolutely divine.
And absolutely, unforgivably scandalous.
Caroline fanned her cheeks with her hands, sat up and reached for her bar of sandalwood soap. French milled andexotically scented, it had cost a small fortune. It had been a luxury she’d regretted not ten feet from the merchant’s shop, but she hadn’t been willing to take it back to plead the belated common sense of poverty. Instead, she’d tucked it away for a special occasion. In the two years since, nothing had met her criteria of “special” until tonight.
If Drayton Mackenzie, the Duke of Ryland, was willing, she’d meet him halfway and declare a truce. She’d agree to do whatever it took to be considered the proper daughter of a peer. She’d do whatever was necessary to see that Simone and Fiona were brought up respectably and had everything that they would ever need or could possibly want. She would swallow her pride and put fulfilling her mother’s plans for her future on the shelf. She would, if required to do so, even agree to sincerely consider any offers of marriage that might come her way.
If that didn’t make the evening a special occasion, there was no such thing. Hopefully, Lord Ryland would appreciate just how much she was offering him and accept it all with some grace.
She rinsed and rose from the tub, wrapped herself in a bath sheet that smelled of sunshine and lavender, then laughingly called to Fiona, reminding her that it was her turn to have the honor of pulling the plug.
There was silence in response. Caroline’s heart went to her throat. She’d given them each a worn but clean chemise to wear after their baths, with the promise of fashioning something makeshift from her wardrobe for them to wear down to dinner once she’d had her bath. If they’d taken off on their own dressed as she’d left them . . .
Clutching the wet sheet around herself, she stepped to the door of their room. They were both still there. Thank God. Both on the same bed with the cheese and breadplate between them, just as she’d left them not fifteen minutes ago . . . But now the plate was empty and they were sprawled out, not just sound asleep, but snoring like little puppies.
They were both such beautiful girls, Caroline thought, her heart going from pounding to swollen with appreciation. So different from each other and yet so much alike in their ability to seize the wonder of their suddenly changed circumstances. Fiona still hadn’t uttered a single word, but she’d smiled as her hair had been washed, only winced once as it was combed out for the first time in heaven only knew how long, and then skipped around the room in the chemise as though she’d been dropped into a diamond- and pearl-studded evening gown.
And Simone . . . The girl who could swing a fist with bloody accuracy and make sailors blush with her frankness had taken up the game with her little sister, holding out the thin lawn of her borrowed chemise at the sides and dropping into exaggerated curtsies.
And there the two of them were now, fast asleep. Full and warm and clean. Bless Lord Ryland for having plucked them from the hells their lives had been. She’d make sure that he never once regretted it.
DRAYTON CHECKED HIS WATCH AND THEN RETURNED IT to its pocket with a sigh.
“More wine, your grace?”
“Is the bottle empty?” he asked, picking up his glass and looking at the firelight through the ruby red liquid.
“Yes, your grace.”
Well, either it had evaporated or he’d been waiting even longer than he thought. Odd that he didn’t feel the effects of a full bottle of wine, but then, the day had beenone of the oddest of his life so it wasn’t all that surprising. “Another one, then,” he said. “In the event
And absolutely, unforgivably scandalous.
Caroline fanned her cheeks with her hands, sat up and reached for her bar of sandalwood soap. French milled andexotically scented, it had cost a small fortune. It had been a luxury she’d regretted not ten feet from the merchant’s shop, but she hadn’t been willing to take it back to plead the belated common sense of poverty. Instead, she’d tucked it away for a special occasion. In the two years since, nothing had met her criteria of “special” until tonight.
If Drayton Mackenzie, the Duke of Ryland, was willing, she’d meet him halfway and declare a truce. She’d agree to do whatever it took to be considered the proper daughter of a peer. She’d do whatever was necessary to see that Simone and Fiona were brought up respectably and had everything that they would ever need or could possibly want. She would swallow her pride and put fulfilling her mother’s plans for her future on the shelf. She would, if required to do so, even agree to sincerely consider any offers of marriage that might come her way.
If that didn’t make the evening a special occasion, there was no such thing. Hopefully, Lord Ryland would appreciate just how much she was offering him and accept it all with some grace.
She rinsed and rose from the tub, wrapped herself in a bath sheet that smelled of sunshine and lavender, then laughingly called to Fiona, reminding her that it was her turn to have the honor of pulling the plug.
There was silence in response. Caroline’s heart went to her throat. She’d given them each a worn but clean chemise to wear after their baths, with the promise of fashioning something makeshift from her wardrobe for them to wear down to dinner once she’d had her bath. If they’d taken off on their own dressed as she’d left them . . .
Clutching the wet sheet around herself, she stepped to the door of their room. They were both still there. Thank God. Both on the same bed with the cheese and breadplate between them, just as she’d left them not fifteen minutes ago . . . But now the plate was empty and they were sprawled out, not just sound asleep, but snoring like little puppies.
They were both such beautiful girls, Caroline thought, her heart going from pounding to swollen with appreciation. So different from each other and yet so much alike in their ability to seize the wonder of their suddenly changed circumstances. Fiona still hadn’t uttered a single word, but she’d smiled as her hair had been washed, only winced once as it was combed out for the first time in heaven only knew how long, and then skipped around the room in the chemise as though she’d been dropped into a diamond- and pearl-studded evening gown.
And Simone . . . The girl who could swing a fist with bloody accuracy and make sailors blush with her frankness had taken up the game with her little sister, holding out the thin lawn of her borrowed chemise at the sides and dropping into exaggerated curtsies.
And there the two of them were now, fast asleep. Full and warm and clean. Bless Lord Ryland for having plucked them from the hells their lives had been. She’d make sure that he never once regretted it.
DRAYTON CHECKED HIS WATCH AND THEN RETURNED IT to its pocket with a sigh.
“More wine, your grace?”
“Is the bottle empty?” he asked, picking up his glass and looking at the firelight through the ruby red liquid.
“Yes, your grace.”
Well, either it had evaporated or he’d been waiting even longer than he thought. Odd that he didn’t feel the effects of a full bottle of wine, but then, the day had beenone of the oddest of his life so it wasn’t all that surprising. “Another one, then,” he said. “In the event
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