Page 97 of Scandalous

Sarah felt as if her corset had been drawn too tight; but she wasn’t wearing a corset. The words “other,” “women,” “skillful,” and “pleasure” whirled in her head. He had been with other women? Women who had tried to pleasure him with their skillful bodies? Her mind exploded.

“Let me go this instant!” She put her hands against his chest and pushed, but it was like trying to shove a block of stone. A warm, infuriating block of stone. She shoved harder. “Let. Go. Of. Me.”

“Eh?” Dazed golden eyes looked back at her.

His obliviousness enraged her. “How dare you handle me so in public?” She ignored the nagging voice inside her that said she’d been perfectly happy to grope him in public before he’d mentioned other women. “What if somebody saw us?”

His shoulders rubbed against her as he shrugged. “So what if they did? You care so much for the opinions of others?” His eyes, which had been dark with desire, narrowed, and his expression shifted from amorous to . . . annoyed? Hurt? Angry?

Good!

“How could I not care? I have a family—people who will be harmed by my actions. What would they think if they heard about us? What would any decent person think if he or she learned I was behaving no better than a common whore?”

* * *

The words “common” and “whore” were like a sharp stick to his groin. Martín shoved her off his lap, and she landed with a soft thump on the seat beside him. The expression of fury and horror in her eyes was a damning judgment of everything he was—everything he’d done. He must have been mad to think he could ever tell her the truth!

He met her furious stare and laughed unpleasantly. “How could such a lowly one as me ever hope to understand what goes on in the minds of decent people? Decent like Graaf, I suppose, or perhaps d’Armand, eh? He has been sniffing about you, too, has he not? A slave trader and a slave owner—what elevated suitors you have.” He raked her with a nasty look. “I humbly beg your forgiveness for touching your person and heaping shame on both your family and the great banking house of Fisher. I can only hope your decent family and friends never learn of this disgusting tussle. I, for one, wish I could forget the entire episode.” He snapped the reins, and the curricle bolted forward. “I will take you back to where you belong. To Graaf, eh? You are two of a kind—two decent people. I wish you a happy life—you deserve each other.”

She hit him in the shoulder. Hard. He wasn’t prepared and the reins slipped, causing the curricle to jerk wildly and the skittish horses to bolt across the narrow carriage path.

“Are you mad?” he roared. It took all his strength to pull the horses up in time to avoid running down a man on horseback. Martín tipped his head apologetically at the man’s raised fist.

“Don’t ever raise your voice to me,” she yelled back.

“You almost got us both killed.” The curricle shot between the massive pillars, scattering pedestrians and generating a hail of furious looks and angry voices. Martín ignored them all and aimed the horses toward the Fisher mansion. He glanced at Sarah. She’d drawn herself up so close to the end of the bench, she was in danger of falling off.

She met his look with a sneer. “You are an insensitive pig who treats women like objects. Graaf is worth a dozen of you. At least he behaves like a gentleman and considers the effect of his actions on those around him.”

Martín let out a string of curse words harsh enough to strip barnacles off a ship’s hull. Had the woman forgotten how she’d met the Dutchman and what he’d been doing?

“If you esteem him so much, perhaps you should marry him.”

“Perhaps I will accept him the next time he asks,” she flung back.

Martín gripped the reins so tightly, the horses danced nervously to the side. The curricle swerved in front of an oncoming phaeton, causing the other driver’s mouth to form a terrified O. Martín twitched the reins, and the skittish grays darted out of the way at the last minute. Even so, the wheels of both vehicles brushed against each other with a high-pitched squeal.

“He has asked you to marry him?”

Her eyes narrowed to vicious slits, and he barely recognized her.

“Twice. Unlike you, he does not treat all women as though they are common tarts. Have you ever, for even one second, thought of anyone but yourself? Have you ever given any thought at all to how your actions—your carousing in brothels—might hurt those around you?”

“My actions?” he shouted, too stunned to think of anything more articulate.

“How dare you raise your voice to me?”

Her yell caused the horses to shy and jump, and Martín adjusted the reins and bit down on his tongue. Hard. They traveled in hostile silence as he struggled to gain control of his behavior, if not his emotions. The streets passed in a blur. It wasn’t until he neared the turn to her uncles’ house that he felt calm enough to resume the argument.

“My actions? What about your actions? You didn’t object to me when you came to my cabin and begged me to take you.” Martín pulled up sharply in front of her uncles’ house. “Nor did you complain back there when you had my cock in your hand.”

“You swine!” She launched herself at him in front of two stunned footmen.

Martín grabbed her flailing hands as she beat them against his chest, holding them easily while he looked down at the two gaping servants.

“There is nothing to be alarmed about. Miss Fisher is not herself. Perhaps if one of—”

“Unhand me,” Sarah snarled, yanking her arms from his grasp and flinging herself from the curricle. Her skirt caught in some part of the carriage mechanism and yanked her back when she tried to storm up the stairs. The two footmen hastened to assist her, but she slapped away their hands and then, enraged beyond bearing, pulled on the garment so viciously a loud ripping noise split the air.