The Earl's New Bride (Entangled Scandalous) by Frances Fowlkes

thoughts had veered toward further suspicion when he identified the plant as the same one in the book: licorice. An herb with healing properties, yet toxic if administered in high doses.
    With Lady Georgiana’s sudden illness and Lady Isabella’s following, he had immediately assumed the worst. Anne had been capable of such plotting and animosity.
    Lady Henrietta, however, was not. The anger flaring in her eyes at his accusation vindicated her.
    “Forgive me,” he uttered, forcing the words. He didn’t want her forgiveness. He wanted her small hands on his body, clutching his flesh as she writhed with pleasure from his lovemaking.
    Damn .
    She nodded, her gaze falling to the path. She looked so lost, so confused, he ached to hold her in his arms.
    But he was not what she wanted.
    “I acted the fool,” he continued. “I did not—”
    “Please.” Her cheeks flushed crimson. “Do not make it worse.”
    Worse? Dear God . Was it possible she thought him inept? Lacking in skill? Or was she so horrified a man with only one eye had sought her affections?
“I-I-I must ready for dinner. The hour grows late.”
    “Lady Henrietta, please, allow me—”
    “You have done enough, my lord.” She held up her palm to halt his advance.
    He did not infringe on her space, however desperately he wished to exonerate himself.
    “Why?” she whispered.
    Simon frowned. He had expected her to turn and leave, eager to be rid of his presence. But she held her position, standing in front of him, her forehead creasing. “Why what?” he asked.
    “Why did you kiss me?”
    Never had a woman questioned his advances. He was momentarily flummoxed with her unexpected inquiry. “Because I desired to do so,” he said truthfully.
    The creases on her forehead deepened. “Y-y-y—” She huffed and wet her lips, nearly undoing him with the quick flick of her tongue. “Oh, bother.” Lady Henrietta threw down his handkerchief and stepped forward. Tilting her head upward, she stood on her toes, and placed her lips over his.
    Shock disabled his ability to move, let alone breathe. Flutter-light against his mouth, her lips touched his, as though a butterfly danced across them. She tasted like honey, sweet and familiar. He was intoxicated, drunk on her inexperience, and enflamed by her boldness. His immobility was gone as quickly as it came, his arms wrapping around her and pulling her close.
    Her lips lifted, pausing as he ran his hands up her back and the curve of her neck. No doubt he frightened her with his intensity, his unsated hunger.
    Then she nipped at his lip and pressed harder, seeming eager to meet the passion he wished her to reciprocate.
    Blood thrummed in his ears, deafening him to all but the seductive little moans escaping from Lady Henrietta’s lips.
    Jesus .
    He pressed his palms against her cheeks, thrusting his fingers through the rich fall of her hair, deepening the kiss. His breath was ragged, his cock hard, and his mind void of everything but the pleasure wrought by the pressure of Lady Henrietta pressed against him, warm and supple in his arms.
    She broke the kiss and peered up at him, her eyes dark and hooded. “I-I-I—”
    Simon pressed his forehead to hers. “I fear I have kept you from readying for dinner, Lady Henrietta.”
    He pulled back, releasing her from his hold and leaving her before his body willed his mind to do what he really wished—take her right there in the gardens.

Chapter Eight
    Lord, forgive her.
    She was a horrible person. A horrible, driven and desperate person. But a horrible person, nonetheless.
    And one lacking a father’s direction.
    For, had he been alive, he would have surely advised Henrietta not to go against all her inhibitions and kiss a man, especially one tainted with scandal and in possession of a reputation so dark, even the devil cringed at his name.
    But had her father been alive, she would not be in her present circumstance, desperate to keep his memories alive through