A Scandal in Newport Read online

  “Which doesn’t change that you experienced a terrifying ordeal,” he pointed out.

  She shivered, despite the heat of the bath. “No, and I may have a nightmare or two, but I’ll be damned if I let them win! They didn’t get Sally, and they didn’t get a penny out of Papa, and they’ll be spending at least part of their spoiled, shiftless lives in prison! The only ones I’m sorry for are their families, because that disgrace is going to be hard to live down.”

  He exhaled, touched her wet cheek tenderly. “You are the bravest, most wonderful woman I have ever known, and I am honored that you’ve chosen me to be your husband.”

  She smiled at him, a little tremulously, noticing the lines of strain about his eyes and mouth; the last two days must have been hell on him as well. “I think you’re rather wonderful too. Especially when you come bursting through doors looking like an avenging angel! How did you find me so quickly?”

  His mouth crooked. “No honor among thieves—or kidnappers, as it turns out! Once Clementine literally sniffed out Van Horn as Geneva’s abductor, and I had him by the throat demanding to know what he’d done with you, he was quick enough to implicate Ogden and Schuyler as his confederates. The Vandermeres summoned the police, who arrested Van Horn and Ogden on the spot, and sent two officers with me to The Sands to apprehend Schuyler and recover you.”

  She linked her wet arms about his neck, drawing his head down for a kiss. “My hero! I owe it all to you—you and Geneva.”

  “Don’t forget Clementine.”

  “Never. I’ll have some butcher’s bones sent over tomorrow—and perhaps when Clemmie is old enough to be bred, Geneva will let us have one of her puppies!”

  “A pleasant prospect, though perhaps there’s something else you might like to have first.” Taking her left hand, he slid a familiar object onto her ring finger.

  She looked at the yellow diamond shining fiercely and felt her courage flare up again in response. “Back where it belongs.”

  His eyes blazed, almost feral in their intensity. “Just so. And you’re back where you belong, sweetheart. Right here with me.”

  They kissed again, the sweetness of it wrapping around them like a blanket.

  “Thomas?” she murmured against his lips.

  “Yes, sweet?”

  She tightened her arms about his neck. “Love me?”

  He stilled, absorbing every nuance of what she’d just asked of him. “Amelia…”

  “I need you to take it all away!” she broke in. “To make me forget about everything but you—and us. Not to let them win, not even for a second!”

  Thomas swallowed, emotion darkening his eyes to storm-tossed green. “I can deny you nothing tonight. Nor do I wish to. You win, my lady.”

  “We win,” she corrected him. “Now, help me out of this tub.”

  He wrapped a towel around her as she rose from the steaming water. “Some comment on The Birth of Venus might be apposite at this moment.”

  She smiled at him through lowered lashes. “Not very original, but thank you for the comparison.”

  “I save my originality for my greatest endeavors—such as making love to my future wife.” Thomas swept her up out of the bath and into his arms with an alacrity that drew a startled squeak from her.

  She held on to him as he bore her from the bathroom to the bedchamber, not even opening her arms when he tried to set her down upon the mattress. “You are not getting away this time, Mr. Sheridan!”

  His eyes glinted at her as he lowered himself onto the bed beside her. “How fortunate that I have no desire to escape!”

  Smiling, Amy began to unfurl the towel surrounding her. “This brings back memories,” she murmured, watching the barely banked smolder in his eyes.

  “How could I forget? My studio, a sheet, and you gloriously sky-clad underneath...”

  “My body isn’t new to you as it was then,” she reminded him.

  His eyes scanned her emerging form. “New enough, for what we intend tonight. And more beautiful, in the way that things we know and love become ever more beautiful to us.” He rested his hands on her bare shoulders, and she was astonished to feel the slight tremble in his usually confident touch. “Amelia, darling—are you sure about this?”

  “More sure than I’ve ever been in my life. Make love to me, Thomas. Let us make love together.” Her hands strayed to his shirt buttons. “After you get rid of all this, first!”

  “Most inconvenient,” he agreed, and more quickly than Amy could have imagined, he shed his clothes, dropping them in a heap on the floor, where they were speedily joined by her towel.

  “Both of us sky-clad now,” she observed, regarding him with satisfaction. How she loved his long, lean form! And his usually fair skin had tanned slightly, courtesy of his weeks in Newport. Warm bronze instead of cool marble…

  She luxuriated in his warmth as he lay beside her again, skin to skin. Every knot, every kink still left in her seemed to relax and smooth out when he touched her, kissing and caressing her all over until she felt warm and damp inside as well as out. Heavy-limbed and languorous, she returned kiss for kiss, stroke for stroke, quietly exulting when her attentions drew a gasp or murmur from him in response.

  Eventually, he paused, balancing his weight on his elbows on either side of her. “This part will be different,” he warned, his gaze serious. “I’d never willingly hurt you, sweetheart, but there may be some pain—”

  Amy shook her head, at once acknowledging the possibility and dismissing it as unimportant. “It’s right that it should be different. I want it to be different. Complete.”

  Thomas’s hand drifted down, his fingers trailing along the inside of her thigh. “Then… open to me, love.”

  She obeyed, spreading her legs apart as he positioned himself at her entrance. And first his fingers gently stroked and kneaded her sensitive folds, until she rubbed against them in mingled pleasure and frustration, wanting more. Then, just when she thought she could bear it no longer, he was there, fully aroused and erect against her.

  Between one breath and the next, he entered her, a gradual slide that smarted at first—he’d been right to warn her about it—but subsided into something almost comforting as her body adjusted to his presence inside of her. To be this close, this intimate, with the man she loved…

  “It will be better for you next time,” Thomas said, a little breathlessly. “I promise.”

  Catching her own breath, Amy laughed softly. “And I trust you to keep your promises! But I haven’t given up on this time yet!” She linked her hands behind his neck. “Show me the rest of it, Thomas—I know there’s plenty more!”

  His severely beautiful mouth curved. “Insatiable,” he murmured, and began to move within her until the slight discomfort built into a cresting wave of sensation.

  No—more like a swing, Amy thought dazedly as her breath shortened into gasping pants: raising you up to the trees and the sky one moment, dropping you down to earth in an exhilarating rush the next. Back and forth, faster and faster… until you believed you could let go at the moment of apogee and soar weightless among the clouds.

  She let go, with a shuddering, almost primal cry—and heard an answering cry as he followed her into bliss.

  Later, much later, they lay in each other’s arms, sated and satisfied. Eventually, Thomas broke the companionable silence, stroking the hair from her brow. “Well, sweetheart—did you happen to see the sun, the moon, and the stars?”

  Amy shook her head, smiling as she kissed his naked shoulder. “No, Mr. Sheridan—tonight I saw the entire universe.”

  Epilogue

  Conceitedly dress her, and be assign'd,

  By you fit place for every flower and jewel;

  Make her for love fit fuel,

  As gay as Flora and as rich as Ind;

  So may she, fair and rich in nothing lame,

  To-day put on perfection, and a woman's name.

  —John Donne, Epithalamion Made at Lincoln’s Inn
<
br />   * * *

  Mr. and Mrs. Adam Newbold request the honor of your presence at the marriage of their daughter, Amelia Louise, to Thomas Michael Edward Sheridan, on Wednesday, November the fourth, at eleven o’ clock, at Grace Church, Broadway.

  * * *

  New York, 4 November 1891

  * * *

  Amy pirouetted before the mirror, watching her wedding gown billow around her. White as a snowdrift, voluminous as a cloud: duchesse satin trimmed with Brussels lace and embroidered with seed pearls. Another masterpiece from Monsieur Worth, who had designed it nearly four months ago, after she’d first become engaged. Much to her relief, the gown did not overpower her, as she had initially feared it might during her earliest fittings. Rather, it enhanced, like the perfect frame for a portrait. She could hardly wait for Thomas to see her in it.

  Relia’s reflection appeared in the glass beside her. “You’ve never looked lovelier, Twin,” her sister declared, blinking misty eyes.

  “And you look radiant,” Amy replied, smiling. “James must be elated.”

  “He is—when he’s not hovering like a broody hen!” Relia laughed, resting a hand lightly on the barely discernible curve of her abdomen, well hidden by her delphinium-blue gown.

  “Is he hoping for a boy or a girl?”

  “He swears he would be delighted with either, as long as it’s healthy. But I think he would like it, if our first child was a son.” Relia’s expression grew dreamily contemplative.

  Relia a mother… the thought was as disconcerting as it was delightful. So far, Amy’s private interludes with Thomas had not borne similar fruit. But then, her fiancé insisted on taking precautions until they were well and truly married. After that, well, anything might happen then! Even tonight…

  She did not doubt that their wedding night would be glorious—Thomas was still apt to sigh over how he’d meant to surprise her, but she assured him repeatedly that she wouldn’t have changed what had happened for anything in the world.

  Inevitably, perhaps, her thoughts returned to Newport, and those three days that had changed so much for so many. Amy counted herself fortunate to have come through her ordeal largely unscathed, but Thomas had refused to leave her side for the rest of the summer, which—fortunately—she had found to be sweet rather than smothering. And as predicted, he had several sketchbooks filled with drawings from his sojourn in New York. More than once, she’d found him studying some of them with a speculative gleam in his eye, though he hadn’t yet decided upon the subject of his next major work.

  Meanwhile, Geneva had regained most of her confidence, and Alice Carr had returned to New York in the early autumn, also much recovered from her ordeal. She made still further progress on learning that the kidnappers had been apprehended, though she was as shocked as the rest of Society by the revelation of their identities. Amy and Geneva had called on her soon after her return, and a friendship had sprung up between them, born of their shared ordeal.

  Best of all, Maisie had begun to improve—to the point where her family was hoping that she might be able to leave the sanatorium before Christmas. Geneva, Alice, and Amy had all written to her, and received replies back. Likewise, Sally Vandermere had rallied from the shock of discovering her suitors’ treachery, and was now keeping company with Mrs. Russell’s middle son—a most estimable young man. And Eileen Molloy had settled in well as second housemaid in the Newbolds’ Fifth Avenue residence. The most gratifying thing, Amy reflected, was knowing that Willie, Theo, and Tony hadn’t destroyed anyone’s lives… except their own.

  The Schuylers, Van Horns, and Ogdens had opted to forego the shame of a trial, insisting instead that their sons plead guilty to the charges against them and make financial restitution to the families they had wronged. In any case, it seemed likely that the culprits would spend some time in prison. Amy could feel no pity for them, though she was sorry for their parents.

  A burst of feminine laughter roused her from her thoughts and she and Relia glanced towards the other corner of the room, where two of Amy’s other attendants were gathered. Like Relia, they wore delphinium-blue, a shade that flattered Alice’s red hair and deepened the color of Geneva’s eyes. And Clemmie, who had been brushed until her brown-and-white coat shone, wore a matching ribbon around her neck, in addition to the slim leash on which Geneva would be leading her. The rector of Grace Church had been taken aback to hear that a dog would be a member of the wedding party, but Adam and Mr. Livingston had partly reconciled him to this admittedly unusual arrangement. Clemmie’s impeccable manners had done the rest.

  Mariette approached with Amy’s veil, which she placed carefully upon her mistress’s head. The misty expanse of tulle and lace seemed to sigh as it settled into place around her.

  Laura Newbold, in periwinkle blue, clasped her hands, her eyes shining with sentimental tears. “Oh, my dear, you look like a princess from a fairy-tale!”

  “A fairy-tale with a happy ending, I hope!” Amy laughed, turning to embrace her mother.

  “The very happiest,” Laura assured her, carefully returning the embrace.

  Relia handed Amy her bouquet of richly colored autumn roses, then took up her own flowers. “Ready now, Twin?”

  “More than ready,” Amy declared, turning from the mirror.

  Adam was waiting at the foot of the stairs. His eyes widened and he beamed outright as Amy drifted down to him. “There’s my girl! Both my girls,” he amended as Relia joined her sister. “And my lady.” He and Laura exchanged a very private smile. “It’s been years since I’ve seen so many beautiful women gathered together in one place,” he added gallantly as the rest of the bridal party emerged. “New York will be dazzled by the sight.”

  Amy took her father’s arm. “As long as Thomas is dazzled most.”

  “He will be,” Adam assured her.

  Twenty minutes later, they alighted from the carriage in front of Grace Church, where Amy’s parents had married almost twenty-five years ago. Soft autumn sunlight gilded the marble steeple and illuminated the French Gothic façade: a fairy-tale church in which to hold a fairy-tale wedding. Entering on her father’s arm, Amy observed that every pew appeared to be filled. An impressive number of Thomas’s relations had made the crossing—to see the family scapegrace safely wed, or so he’d claimed.

  The music began, a magnificent organ pealing forth compositions by Handel and Bach. One by one, the wedding party made its way down the nave—Amy heard a murmur of amused wonder as Geneva and Clemmie passed, but neither turned a hair. Then Relia, exchanging a last smile with her twin, before starting down the aisle in turn.

  Moments later, the organist began to play the “Bridal Chorus” from Wagner’s Lohengrin. Her cue at last. Proceeding down the nave to the stately melody, Amy saw Thomas standing at the altar with James, both men looking gravely handsome in morning dress. Catching sight of her, he smiled, his eyes glowing like twin emeralds.

  Like the sun, the moon, and the stars.

  Smiling radiantly into those eyes, Amy quickened her step to be with him all the sooner.

  Thank You

  Thank you for reading A Scandal in Newport! I hope you enjoyed it.

  Would you like to know when my next book is available? You can find out by signing up for my newsletter at my website at http://www.pamelasherwood.com. Or follow me on Twitter at https://twitter.com/pamela_sherwood or like my Facebook Page at https://www.facebook.com/PamelaSherwoodAuthor.

  Reviews help readers find books, so I hope you will consider leaving a review at your venue of choice. I appreciate all reviews, whether positive or negative.

  A Scandal in Newport is a novella in The Heiress Series, taking place after Waltz with a Stranger but preceding A Song at Twilight and A Wedding in Cornwall. Amy Newbold and Thomas Sheridan were first introduced in Waltz with a Stranger, the story of Aurelia Newbold and James Trelawney.

  Read on for an excerpt to see how it all began!

  Waltz with a Stranger: Excerpt

  Avai
lable from Sourcebooks Casablanca

  “May I have this dance?”

  Aurelia wasn’t hiding exactly. She just needed to get out of the crush of the ballroom—away from the people staring at her scar, pitying her limp. She was still quite enjoying the music from the conservatory. And then a complete stranger—dashing, debonair, kind—asked her to waltz. In the strength of his arms, she felt she could do anything. But both would be leaving London soon…

  When they meet again a year later, everything has changed. She’s no longer a timid mouse. And he’s now a titled gentleman—with a fiancée. Is the magic of one stolen moment, one undeniable connection enough to overcome a scandal that would set Society ablaze and tear their families apart?

  CHAPTER ONE

  * * *

  She was a Phantom of delight,

  When first she gleamed upon my sight…

  A dancing shape, an image gay

  To haunt, to startle, and waylay.

  --William Wordsworth, “She Was a Phantom of Delight”

  * * *

  London, May 1890

  * * *

  if social success was measured by the number of guests the hostess could cram into a limited amount of space, then Lady Talbot’s ball honoring her daughter’s betrothal to Viscount Maitland’s heir was an unqualified triumph. James Trelawney wished he could be properly appreciative of such an achievement, instead of counting the minutes until he could make his escape. Another half-hour or so before the break for supper--perhaps he could slip away then.

  “I see you made it, after all,” a familiar voice remarked at his shoulder.

  “Thomas.” Despite the crowd hemming them in, James managed to turn his head to smile at his closest friend. “Well, Jess is my cousin--and my aunt can be very persuasive.”