Page 12 of Scandal With A Viscount

“You don't seriously believe that.”

“I do. Because that is how these things work, Maddie. You and I managed it for years without complication.”

“And I just told you that I was hiding from what I actually wanted that entire time.” Her voice was quiet now, and that was unsettling. “I don't want you to do the same.”

“I'm not hiding from anything. There is nothing to hide from.” He held her gaze and willed himself to mean it. “I enjoy her. She enjoys me. Max never finds out, and then my life will continue on. That is all I want.”

Maddie studied him for a long moment. Then she shook her head and reached for her door. “Just keep lying to yourself, Louis.”

The door clicked shut.

Louis stood in the corridor and waited for the irritation to subside. Maddie meant well. She always did. But she was wrong about this. She'd found her great love with John, and now she saw romance everywhere she looked. That was Maddie's problem, not his.

He didn't do love. He did charm and wit and good company and excellent sex, and when it was over, he moved on without leaving a mark or carrying his own. That was the arrangement he'd made with himself long before Georgie Whitmore climbed into his lap. One house party wasn't going to change it.

He walked to his chamber and went inside. The fire had burned low. Max's letter sat on the desk in the same spot. Louis picked it up and read the words he'd memorized days ago.

I don’t want some libertine taking advantage of her.

He set it back down. He wasn't taking advantage. She'd come to him. She'd set the terms. She was a grown woman who knew what she wanted, and what she wanted was exactly what he was giving her—something physical, something temporary, something that didn't require either of them to crack themselves open and show the mess inside.

This was simple. He was going to keep it simple.

He changed out of his evening clothes, sat on the edge of his bed, and stared at the door. He should lock it. That would be the smart thing. After the near disaster in the alcove, he should turn the key and put an end to whatever madness had taken hold of him this week.

His hand didn't move toward the lock.

Because Georgie would come, and when she did, he would let her in. Not because he needed her—he didn't need anyone that way. What they were doing felt good—arguably the best he’d ever had—and he enjoyed her company. There was no reason to deny himself something enjoyable when she'd made it clear the terms suited her just fine.

That was all it was.

Chapter 5

Georgiana

Georgie’s bare feet made no sound on the carpet as she hurried down the hall and let herself into his chamber. She kept their dalliance to his chamber so that she could return to the solitude of her own room when she wanted.

He was sitting on the edge of the bed in his shirtsleeves and breeches, his cravat already discarded, his collar open. He looked up when she entered, and the expression on his face—half-relief, half-resignation—made her heart race in her chest.

Louis was off the bed before she'd finished turning the lock. He crossed the room in three strides, his hands on her face, his mouth on hers before she could get another word out, pushing her against his door. The kiss was hard and immediate and tasted of whisky, and his fingers threaded into her hair, tilting her head back so he could deepen it. She grabbed the front of his shirt to keep her balance, and he held her to the door, the full length of his body pinning hers.

“I thought you might have changed your mind about coming tonight,” he said against her mouth. “And I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t have been disappointed.”

She was already pulling his shirt free of his breeches. “We have to make the most of what little time we have left.”

Louis dragged his mouth down her throat, his teeth scraping along the sensitive skin, and her head fell back against the door. “I am going to miss the taste of you. Specifically the honey you keep hidden between your thighs.”

“How scandalous of you, my lord.” Her voice was steadier than she felt, which was a small victory, given that his hands had found the sash of her robe. He pulled and the silk fell open, and he shoved it off her shoulders without breaking his mouth from her neck. His palms slid up her sides over the thin night rail. His thumbs dragged across her nipples, and her hips bucked against him on instinct.

“Lift your arms in the air, Georgie.” He fisted the fabric at her hip. “Now.”

She fought for her breath. “Ask nicely.”

He pulled the night rail over her head and tossed it behind him. Then he stepped back and looked at her—naked against his door, her hair falling loose around her shoulders—and the raw want on his face made her pulse hammer. She'd been looked at by men before. Admired and desired. None of them had ever looked at her the way Louis did, with a hunger that bordered on the edge of desperation. It made her breath uneven.

“You're still dressed,” she pointed out, because she needed to say something or she was going to melt into a worthless puddle before him.

He stripped his shirt over his head, and she watched the firelight catch the muscles of his chest and stomach. The bite mark on his shoulder from two nights ago was still faintly visible. She reached for the fall of his breeches and worked the buttons open, shoving the fabric down his hips. His cock sprang free, hard and thick, and she wrapped her hand around him and stroked. His eyes closed and a sound tore out of him that went straight between her legs.