Ripe for Scandal by Isobel Carr Page A

them into the House of Commons.”
    “Where the son is expected to support whatever views his father and brother dictate.”
    “Precisely. If the eldest seems unlikely to produce an heir, then—and only then—would any of the younger sons be encouraged
     to marry. The fifth earl was just such a younger son, and he didn’t marry until his late fifties. I’ve no doubt that I’ll
     spend the rest of my life being reminded that everything I have is essentially food stolen from the mouths of my brother’s
     children.”
    “If any of your family ever dares to express such sentiments in my presence, he’ll rue the day,” Beau said, anger flushing
     though her.
    “Going to protect me, are you?” Sandison said with a chuckle.
    “If need be, yes. Lord knows you deserve it, having already done the same for me.”
    A slightly pained expression flashed across his face. No more than a pinch about the eyes and a tightening of the lips. Gone
     almost before Beau could recognize it.
    It could mean anything. Could be interpreted in multiple ways. She really didn’t know him well enough to be sure that she
     could plumb the depths of his soul, but that brief hint of unhappiness made it suddenly hard to breathe.
    Beau pulled Sandison to a stop at the base of the tower folly. He leaned back against the stone wall, stooping so they were
     eye to eye. His hands settled about her waist,fingers overlapped in the back, thumbs only scant inches apart.
    She felt almost delicate. It was an alarmingly feminine sensation. Sandison tugged her closer, hands holding her against him,
     arms encircling her.
    Not willing to wait for him to overcome whatever gentlemanly sensibilities might constrain him, Beau tugged him to her and
     kissed him.
    Sandison kissed her back, his mouth hot and urgent as it covered hers. His hands moved lazily down to her hips, fingers kneading
     her flesh through the layers of petticoats.
    “Come upstairs,” Beau said, catching one of those roving hands and pulling him after her. “The view from grandmother’s folly
     is enchanting.”
    “It certainly is,” Sandison said as he followed her up the winding stairs.
    Beau grinned over her shoulder, allowing the compliment to burn through her blood. Her heart was hammering, and not with exertion
     from the climb. Words and ideas from her little book swirled inside her head.
    The stairs ended at an artfully toppled battlement, with a sweeping view of a meadow and stream and the wooded section of
     Leo’s estate in the distance. Beau watched the sheep in the meadow, pretending that she hadn’t led Sandison up there with
     an ulterior motive thoroughly unbecoming of a daughter of the
ton
.
    Sandison stood just behind her, his body touching hers from shoulder to hip, feet braced on either side of hers. His mouth
     traced a line down her neck from her ear to the edge of her bodice. Beau sagged back against him, bracing herself with her
     hands on his thighs.
    “My brother might come looking for us.”
    Sandison chuckled, one hand slowly drawing up her petticoats, fingers inching it up bit by bit. “Leo is currently enjoying
     his own interview with your father. The duke sent a footman to fetch him when he was done eviscerating me.”
    The tips of his fingers found the bare flesh of her thigh, and Beau fought to stay upright as her knees turned watery. She
     put more of her weight onto her hands, letting him hold her up. The muscles in his thighs hardened under her grip.
    “Besides,” he said, lips at her ear, “isn’t this why you brought me up here, little libertine?”
    Beau’s
yes
caught in her throat as Sandison’s hand slipped between her thighs, the tip of his finger circling the peak hidden just inside.
     Clitoris. Seat of passion. Throne of desire. All the terms in her new book fluttered past the back of her eyelids.
    Sandison’s fingers pressed harder, stroking, grinding, and then he stopped. “What did you say?” His tone was almost shocked.
    Beau’s