A Proper Scandal (Ravensdale Family Book 2) Read online

  “Our family has never been one to bow to English conventions. The Ravensdales are wild things, Minnie. We go after the forbidden because it’s the natural order for us.”

  Her uncle had never been one to mince words. Still, it made her pause before she answered. “I brought shame to everyone. And Grace. I must have hurt her chances for her coming out. It was selfish of me not to consider the consequences I created for everyone else to live as well because of my own.”

  His hand rested on her shoulder. There was nothing small about her uncle, the tattooed diplomat. She remembered him most for his unparalleled cursing and the time he left her at Burton Hall with his nasty aunt and Clara, years ago now. She had only been five. Her life was a little better once he returned from wherever he disappeared to. He never spoke of it much, but she as she grew, she puzzled together that her cousin, Rhys, was born out of wedlock and that in itself was a scandal. He abandoned Clara, pregnant, leaving her alone with his family in England. He wasn’t the pillar of propriety, either.

  “There are plenty of things I wish I could have done differently,” he said somberly, meeting her stare. “In the end, I still found happiness. If society wants to criticize, then let them. But I’ll tell you one thing, you had the courage to go after what you wanted, and I’m proud of you for that. I wish I would have listened and found a way for you to follow your dreams differently than how it happened. But I mean my praise.”

  She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him as if she was still that small girl. “I’m sorry for everything,” she said. “For running as I did. For causing worry and scandal for the rest of you to deal with.”

  “No, not for everything. You wouldn’t be an actress now if you didn’t run away. And I have it on someone’s good authority that you’re quite talented. What a waste that would have been.”

  “The carriage has arrived, Bly,” Clara said, popping into the room. Minnie stepped back and wiped away the remnants of her tears.

  He scratched at his jaw and looked as if he was about to say something, then nodded instead and followed Clara.

  Minnie sank down onto the sofa for a time, staring at the untouched glass of brandy she had poured after dinner. She was afraid to get up for fear of another surprise around the corner. Eventually, she had to face Alex.

  She didn’t knock. She didn’t think she owed it to him after what he had done this evening. He was at his desk as usual, his feet crossed over the desktop, his hands full of papers, shuffling madly.

  Minnie leaned against the closed door, her hands folded behind her. She wasn’t certain if she wanted to rush up and hug the man or strangle him. When he didn’t say anything, she leaned toward strangulation. But when he turned in his chair, his face a controlled mask, she softened and pushed off across the room.

  “I hate you,” she said.

  Alex stopped thumbing through the thick stack of papers, his fingers smudged with ink. She admired the way he could look so refined and polished as he had during dinner almost passing as a gentleman, then become so beautifully undone afterward with his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his dark past present for her to bear witness to.

  He rested the stack of papers against his lips, hiding behind them as he contemplated her over as though she were that troubling calculation in his precious club ledger.

  “Why?” she asked. Her voice shook at his continued silence.

  He tossed the papers onto the desk and swung his feet down, his hand scratching at his earlobe. “You have a family who loves you. I could not let you throw that away.”

  She squeezed her hands behind her back, forcing her voice to remain calm. “But that wasn’t for you to decide. They are not your family.”

  “At least you have a family,” he answered frankly.

  Clever as always, pointed words aimed straight for her heart. “Yes.”

  “You ran away because you wanted a life they would not allow. You achieved that. Superbly, I may add.” He waggled his brows for affect.

  She couldn’t help but smile. Sometimes he was impossible to hate.

  “But you aren’t a child anymore, and you’ve made an excellent life for yourself. Your family wants you, scandals and all. I don’t want you to regret pushing them aside when it comes to be too late.”

  “I hate when you manage me.” He gestured for her to continue, so she obliged, the damn handsome scoundrel. “I hate when you look at me and I cannot read your thoughts.”

  He sat up and threw his hand over the back of the chair. Again with an easy casualness that got under her skin. “I’m sure you have a list of my wrongs. Go on.”

  “I hate that you’re always so sure of yourself.”

  He flashed a grin.

  “I hate that you pretend to know me.” She stepped closer, her breath short as her heart began to race in her chest.

  “Make no mistake, I don’t pretend.” Alex stood and scratched the corner of his mouth. The sound of a late day’s scruff echoed between them. Minnie’s fingers burned to touch it for herself.

  “I hate,” she started, stopping right before him, “when you’re right.”

  “Is that so?” he whispered, drawing her against him. His grip was hard around her waist as he spun her backward against the desk.

  “Yes.” But it was no use. Her hatred toward him, however misdirected, melted away. “And I hate—”

  His lips came down on hers and possessed her to her very core. He made no apologies with his kiss. It was hot and searching, demanding and greedy. It was everything Alex never was and that toppled the last of Minnie’s resolve. When he released her mouth, she struggled to breathe and uttered, “I hate that I love you,” on a rushed exhale.

  Her confession was out before she could take it back, but it didn’t matter. There was no dwelling on what she had said because Alex started kissing her again, trailing his tongue down her neck and nipping at her skin until she mewed. She pulled at his shirt as he tugged at her dress. It ripped as he pawed at the fabric as if he were desperate for her, as if he hadn’t just seen her for dinner, but had been apart from her for years. It was maddening, and she was easily swept up in it. She needed him in that moment as much as he needed her.

  He shrugged off his shirt, letting it fall to the ground by his feet, as he pulled the laces of her corset and ripped it off her body, the bodice of her gown hanging, ripped around her waist. She fumbled at the buttons on his trousers, finally losing patience and pulling the fabric until the buttons popped off.

  “Say it again,” he said, lifting her to sit up on the desk. He pushed back her skirts with one hand and pulled down the chemise over her breasts with the other.

  “I love you.”

  His ink-stained hands pulled at the fabric to expose her other breast, marking her as he did so, which was fitting as they were branding each other. She felt it. She knew it when his lips lowered to her breast and tugged at her nipple, causing a ripple of pain and pleasure to course through her body. Minnie clawed at him and pulled his hair, kissed his skin until she felt it growing tender under her lips, and dug her fingers into his flesh as he continued his assault on her body. He slipped a hand under her skirts and slipped a finger inside of her and when she moaned, he stuck in another, pushing and pulling until she was wet with need.

  “Please,” she managed, pulling at his earlobe as if she were a savage. He leaned down and licked the underside of her breast. He plunged into her and she yelled out, clutching him tight as her body grew to a wild pitch inside. He didn’t slow. He was rough and animalistic and when he finally came inside her, she snapped forward and clung onto him, sweaty, and with his inked handprint over her heart.

  “Do you hate me still?” he asked, brushing back the hair sticking to her face. She listened to the steady drumming of his heart, a full summer thunderstorm knocking at the caverns of his chest. His heart struck and rippled like thunder against her body.

  “That is what I hate most about you,” she said, trying to breath. “I can ne
ver hate you.” She kissed the skin above his heart. “Not truly.”

  Alex moved his lips softly from her forehead to the tip of her nose. “I love you, too.” He gave her the softest of kisses on her swollen lips. “Even when I didn’t understand it, I’ve loved you.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  “Won’t you make an honest man of me?”

  Minnie rolled her eyes beneath her long lashes, but said nothing.

  “Did you hear me?” Alex asked, tracing his finger down her aristocratic nose. He dropped a kiss on the end of it and watched the line of her mouth soften into intimate tenderness. It took years to discern her playfulness from a carefully guarded heart.

  Minnie lay facing him, propped up on one elbow, the sheets pooled around her waist, her body bare. The silky strawberry blond tresses flowed around her like a wild river, fragrant with the alluring tuberose she wore on her flawless skin.

  Looking at her now, it was difficult to imagine the beautiful creature was once the starving girl who longed for pretty things. They both fought for so long, and they had finally arrived to the destination of their childish daydreams. Funny, that now he achieved everything he desired, he still felt the integral piece missing.

  “Marry me, Minnie Ravensdale,” he whispered. His heart was beating like a drummer boy marching into battle. He felt just as overcome with nerves, too.

  Her pulse quickened under his touch, but she didn’t flinch or smile. Instead, under the flutter of lashes, she looked at him briefly before staring back down at the mattress. “No.”

  His heart sputtered in protest before it knocked against his chest in one final, painful thud. “I’m not playing,” he said, making clear his warning. He would not chase after her any longer. If she didn’t want to be his, than he would walk away and clean his hands of her. They could no longer afford to play children’s games with each other’s hearts. She had had his at ransom for much too long already.

  Her fingers played with the bottom sheet in avoidance. His hand crashed down to hers, perhaps a little too roughly to convey his tenderness. He was making a mess of this marriage proposal. He hadn’t been shot yet, so it was fairly better than his first.

  “I cannot marry you, Alex.” Her hand became still under his.

  “Why not? Be mine.”

  “Because of those very words—be mine. I cannot be anyone’s except my own.”

  Alex withdrew his hand and ruffled his hair, sitting up to better digest her dismissal. “How progressive,” he sneered, taken over by jealousy. “How very bohemian of you, darling.” He hated himself, spewing his hurt for her to laugh at.

  With a sigh, she collected the sheets and covered her body. She was forsaking him already. He never knew their connection was so fragile as to be thrown away so easily. “Perhaps I should clarify. I’ll not marry you because by doing so I give myself to you for you to do and treat as you wish. By marrying you, I no longer exist. I become your wife. Everything that I fought for, everything that I suffered, everything I’ve gained, would have been for naught the day I walk down the aisle to you.”

  He scoffed at her words, feeling the knife twist some more into his heart. “Your faith in me is remarkable. You think I would take away everything you have worked so hard to achieve for the sake of a name?”

  Of everyone, Alex understood how important it was to have a name, and he wanted to share his with her. But he would never expect her to change by doing so.

  “You have.”

  Alex’s anger was seething, but he collected himself enough to arch an inquiring eyebrow. He didn’t trust himself to speak.

  “You collected me from Paris,” she continued.

  “I didn’t like the idea of you being anyone’s whore.” That much was true. But there was more. Not that she would believe him.

  She waved her hand into the space between them. “I’m in your bed. I’m your whore now, Alex. Does that make you feel better?”

  “You asked to stay for a night and you haven’t left. How is that my fault?” Hell, he hadn’t wanted her to leave, but he didn’t appreciate her finding fault with an arrangement he had little say in. “I don’t want you to be my whore,” Alex said so ominously, he feared he would snap and collect her to his chest and never let her go. “I’m not asking for anything to change, except to have the privilege to call you my wife. That’s all I ask—be my wife. I don’t want your reputation sullied further because we live in sin.”

  She crossed her arms around herself and remained quiet as he rolled toward her.

  “I’m already a ruined woman.” She shook her head for a moment, her hair swinging softly across her shoulders. “I’m demimondaine. I’ve tarnished my family’s reputation, nearly had your theater shut down. I’m not even welcomed at the woman’s shelter by the other society women. I have a narrow piece of this world claimed for myself now, and those edges can’t be blurred. My reputation is that of a courtesan, of an actress.”

  Alex wanted to sweep her hair away so he could land a kiss on the curve of her shoulder.

  “No one marries their mistress. I made my decisions and I’ll live the life those decisions acquired. I’m my own woman, Alex. I’ll never be anyone’s wife.”

  “You have been my wife for some years now,” he said in spite of himself.

  She turned to him, her face etched in a deep sadness that he didn’t understand.

  “You agreed twice. It shouldn’t be hard to do so again.”

  “I’m not who I was then.”

  “Neither am I.” When she still didn’t answer, his tone lightened. “We’ve both changed, but we’ve grown together, too. We’re as much alike as we are different. Do you understand?”

  Her lips stretched into a smile, the one where her cheeks framed it for the world to marvel at its magnificence. But her eyes gave away her secret. Minnie was smiling solely for his sake.

  He kissed her with enough craving and ache that he hoped to change her mind. For one blissful moment, she met his wish and melted under his lips, matching his desperate moves, hungry and frightened. But Minnie cooled, her lips stilling before she tensed and tried to pull away. When Alex didn’t relent, she bit his lip.

  “My answer is still no,” she whispered, the weak words sounding so certain.

  The room spun at her answer. Alex glanced to Minnie, then back down to the blood on his fingers. He jumped out of bed and made a swipe for his dressing robe from the chair’s back.

  “Where are you going?”

  “These marks I live with—” he said, waving a hand at his arm, “—remind me of the wrongs I have committed even if I’m an honest man. And these scars—” he pointed to the dark marks around his wrists, “—remind me that I’m not whole, but that I have survived.” He paced at the foot of the bed, struggling to find a way to tell her the rest. He held out his hands, his palms opened to her. “But I have nothing if I do not have you here. In my arms.”

  “Don’t be upset, Alex. Come back to bed.”

  “I have nothing left to give you and you have everything you want.” He shrugged into his robe. “I’m not going to make a fool of myself any longer, following you around like one of your many admirers. I’ve risked everything for your happiness and you still deny me mine. I can’t do it anymore, Min. You can do as you wish, but you won’t do it with me any longer.”

  He pulled the sash tightly, feeling it cut into his middle, his hands shaking. “I trust you remember where your house is. You can stay there from now on. You’re no longer welcome here.”

  “Wait. Don’t—”

  “I don’t want you in my office either. You can report to the stage director. I have no business with the theater any longer. It’s simply a building I own. And as for you. Well, I don’t care any longer.” Alex slammed the door behind him, cutting off her protests.

  “Alex?”

  For some years now, Alex had always turned and answered. He had always run to her side. He rescued her, even if she could not admit when she needed help.
And she never could.

  He took another step, and then another, distancing himself from her pleas, distancing himself from the only person who mattered in his life, because that was all that was left to do. He left his heart there bleeding in his bed, but he would need to find a way to continue on without it.

  *

  Minnie acted onstage now in London, as well as off. In the weeks after leaving Alex’s, she buried herself in work and accepted every social invitation. Her nights were long, her days filled with charity work. She did everything she could manage to avoid thinking of Alex, but even with the little sleep she secured for herself, she still dreamt of him, still craved the touch of him.

  “Grace,” Minnie greeted her sister, walking into the front hall of her Mayfair townhouse. “Come in. I’m glad Clara let you visit. I’m going absolutely mad here by myself.”

  “Of course.” She was the picture of a proper English Rose. That had always been the difference between them. But of what she remembered, her sister was always refined. Far more than any other Ravensdale.

  “It’s only that I thought they would keep you away since I’m such a corrupting force,” Minnie continued, leading the way to the morning parlor. She laughed, though there was nothing funny about the truth. She wasn’t sure why she was forcing a cheery tone.

  “You’re my sister, Minnie. Besides, everyone in London loves you. You’re all the papers are talking about right now.”

  That was the truth. She was having a difficult time leaving the house without being asked for her autograph. “Yes, well,” Minnie said, sighing a little as they walked through the parlor door. It was a fine room, dressed in satins and velvets, pink of course, with an elegant crystal chandelier from Murano. The ceiling was plastered with a frame of roses and the carpet was a lush oriental, costing a small fortune. It was the only room in the house she had sufficiently dressed for company. “Please, have a seat. I’ll ring for tea.”

  Her sister sat on the edge of the velvet sofa, sitting perfectly erect, as Clara had always demanded.