A Scot in the Dark (Scandal & Scoundrel #2)(113)

She did, proud and fearless, eager for his gaze. For his touch.

For him.

“You are glorious.”

She smiled, heat coming high on her cheeks. “I’ve something for you.”

He raised a brow. “I see that.”

The smile became a grin. “Something else.” She took his hand then, leading him to the entrance to the duchess’s bedchamber, which served as a wardrobe and private office rather than sleeping quarters, which was best, as the bed was currently occupied by dogs.

Two massive grey tails thumped at their appearance, and Alec went to greet the hounds as Lily crossed to the little desk in the corner of the room.

She lit a candle, revealing the box she had left for just this moment. Lifting the parcel and turning back to face her husband, she said, “I had a conversation earlier this week with Bernard.”

“Love, I have to say, your invoking the name of our solicitor standing in the nude, candlelight flickering across your stunning skin, is not precisely how I wished the evening to proceed.”

“It turns out, husband, that tomorrow is your birthday.”

He quickly calculated the date. “It is, as a matter of fact.”

“And we shall have a serious conversation about you keeping such information from me, I assure you. As I intend to do with your sister. I shouldn’t need a solicitor to apprise me of such a thing. But thank goodness for Bernard.”

“Yes. I’ve always found him a great asset.” She laughed at the dry words, and he came closer, pointing to the box. “Is that my present?”

“It is, as a matter of fact.”

“May I have it?”

“Do you deserve it?” she teased. He did, of course. She’d never known a man so deserving.

His gaze darkened. “Only tell me what I might do to earn it, my love, and I shall do it with pleasure.”

The words sent a thrum of desire through her as she imagined all the things he might do for her. To her. The things she might do in return. Her breath quickened, and he drew nearer still, his fingers coming to the box, removing it from her hands as he said, soft and low and liquid, “I do not require a present. I only require you.”

She shook her head to clear it of her own desire. “No,” she said. “Open it.”

He did, sliding the top from the small, square parcel and peered inside. Lily was riveted to his handsome face, made even more beautiful in the flickering golden candlelight, his perfect, tempting lips already curving in anticipation.

And then anticipation was gone, replaced with confusion.

And then surprise.

And then joy, as he reached into the box and extracted the pair of little white boots, complete with red leather soles.

Joy turned to adoration when he looked at her. “Your boots.”

Lily smiled. “No longer mine.”

Alec was on his knees, then, pulling her to him, pressing kisses across the soft, bare skin of her stomach, whispering in Gaelic to the child who grew within. “You have given me so much,” he said, finally, to Lily. “And now . . .”

Lily’s hands came to his head, reveling in her proud, strong Scot—the man who had given her everything she had ever dreamed. Holding him. Loving him.

They stayed like that for a long time, until the Duke of Warnick stood, lifted his duchess into his arms, carried her to their very sturdy bed, and loved her, quite thoroughly, in return.





Author’s Note



The inspiration for this and all Scandal & Scoundrel books is modern celebrity gossip, something that readers who—like me—have a secret love for US Weekly, TMZ, and Tatler will notice right away. While Scandal & Scoundrel is my creation, scandal sheets are not new. Nude paintings seem innocuous enough now, but one need only think of hacked cell phones and secret tapes from recent years to see that the more the world changes, the more it stays the same. I am indebted to the inspiring women who have stood tall in the face of reveals like Lily’s in recent years.

The Scandal & Scoundrel series could not be written without the vast, fascinating collections of the New York Public Library and the British Library—the gossip columns of newspapers long defunct remain in their archives. For this book, I am also grateful for the archives of the Royal Academy of Arts, now in its 248th year—which continues to exhibit contemporary British art to the public at large during its annual summer exhibition. It should be said that, while Exhibition-related people and paintings in the book are historically correct, the idea of a final, touring piece to be revealed on the last day of the exhibition is all mine.

As with all my books, this one would be a pale version of itself without Carrie Feron (who is always right), Nicole Fischer, Leora Bernstein, and the outstanding team at Avon Books, including Liate Stehlik, Shawn Nicholls, Pam Jaffee, Caroline Perny, Tobly McSmith, Carla Parker, Brian Grogan, Frank Albanese, Eileen DeWald, and Eleanor Mikucki. Special shout-out to Lucia Macro for wonderful conversations about all the best bits of romance. And, of course, many thanks to the remarkable Steve Axelrod.

Thanks to Lily Everett for extensive celebrity “research,” to Carrie Ryan and Sophie Jordan for always answering the phone, to my sister Chiara for an early read, and to Ally Carter for a late one.

To Eric, thank you for being the best of men. To V, may you always face scandal with strength, and be better for it. And to my amazing readers, thank you for always taking the journey with me—nothing without you.