Scandal And The Duchess Read Online Free PDF

darling?”
    Rose’s eyes widened at the endearment, but she checked her surprise. Her voice when she answered was breathless, just as it would be when they were in bed, when they’d finished . . .
    Stop
. Hard-ons in the lobby of the Langham were frowned upon. Must be.
    “Yes, of course,” Rose said. “Where shall I direct them to send my luggage?”
    Steven forced the lump to leave his throat so he could answer smoothly. “The manager has it well in hand.” The obsequious man, indeed, had glided across the floor to give more orders to the footmen. “Shall we go up?”
    Rose nodded and took Steven’s offered arm, her body warm at his side. Steven led her through the staring crowd toward the staircase. They could have taken the lift, which rested between the sweeping flight of stairs, but Steven wanted everyone to see, to notice, to report.
    On the first landing, as though oblivious of the men and women around them, Steven twined his arm around Rose’s waist. He looked at her, only her, ignoring the rest of the world.
    Easy to do, gazing into those beautiful green eyes, her face pink with excitement and a bit of guilt. Steven pulled Rose a little closer and brushed his lips across hers.
    The tiniest kiss, that of a man unable to stop himself touching his beloved, but Steven’s body nearly exploded. Heat rushed from Rose’s soft mouth to burn through every nerve of him. Steven’s heart constricted again, and if there
was
a rule against full-blown hard-ons on the hotel’s main staircase, he was in trouble.
    Rose’s breath was warm, her body a soft bit of heaven. Her lips parted as Steven lifted away from her, her eyes half-closed with the stirrings of desire.
    No wonder Rose was followed about, no wonder her every move filled the scandal sheets. Every man in London must be falling over his feet to have her, their pursuit giving the scribblers plenty to write about. Now they’d write about Steven as well, and his privilege of kissing this beautiful woman.
    Rose blinked a little, no doubt wanting to tell him to go to the devil, but she kept up the pretense and gave him a little smile instead. No one passing would believe anything but that Rose was happily engaged to Steven. He tightened his arm around Rose and led her on up the stairs.
    Steven’s lips burned from the brief contact, firing him from the inside out. If he got out of this little charade alive, it would be a bloody miracle.
    ***
    “A tricky problem,” the solicitor said.
    Steven and Rose sat in comfortable chairs in the parlor of Rose’s suite at the hotel that afternoon, the solicitor, Mr. Collins, facing them. Mr. Collins was surprisingly young—Rose surmised he couldn’t have been more than his early thirties. But he came highly recommended by both the Duke of Kilmorgan and Steven’s barrister brother, Sinclair McBride. Mr. Collins had a shock of bright red hair, a tastefully trimmed moustache, and a neat black suit. Everything correct.
    Steven had changed out of his regimentals and had donned a McBride plaid kilt, plain white shirt and waistcoat, and a black frock coat. He wore thick wool socks that emphasized his strong calves, and low leather shoes. Rose could not help surreptitiously running her gaze over him, more than once. More than twice. He made a delectable picture.
    The suite he’d procured for her was one of the most elegant in the hotel. The parlor had a cluster of velvet-cushioned sofas and chairs drawn near a marble fireplace, with a heavily carved dining table and matching chairs on the other side of the room. A gas chandelier above them stretched out gilded arms ending in etched globes to soften the harsh light. Tall, draped windows graced the other side of the room, the lace curtains letting in patterns of sunshine.
    The bedroom was still more elegant, with a large carved bed heaped generously with pillows, the dressing table more vast than the one she’d had in her dressing room at Sittford House, the Duke of