Happily Bedded Bliss: The Rakes of Cavendish Square Read online

  She studied him for a moment, then relaxed, apparently satisfied with whatever it was she had seen on his face. “Do you have any pets, Lord Northcote?”

  “Gabriel,” he reminded her. “No, I do not.”

  “Oh, I cannot imagine not having pets. They bring so much joy and comfort. Have you never had any animals, not even as a child?”

  His scowl grew more pronounced. “I had a dog once, when I was a boy.”

  He didn’t like to think about Scrapper, a small misbegotten-looking brown terrier, who’d once followed him everywhere and had slept each night at the foot of his bed. Then his parents died and they’d both been left to his uncle’s less than tender care.

  Scrapper had tried to defend him once during one of his uncle’s more vicious whippings. For his loyalty, the little dog had paid the ultimate price. Even after all these years, he could still hear his uncle’s enraged voice.

  Bite me, will you, you miserable cur? I’ll teach you how to show proper respect.

  Amid Gabriel’s own pleading shouts to stop and Scrapper’s furious barks of pain and terror, his uncle had repeatedly brought the cane he’d been using on Gabriel down on the small animal. Gabriel had reached for his uncle’s arm and been hurled brutally aside. Scrapper had seemed to go crazy then, growling and snapping wildly despite his injuries, trying still to protect his master. Before Gabriel’s horrified eyes, his uncle had grabbed the little dog around the neck and flung him hard across the room. He’d hit the wall with a sickening thud, where he’d lain still, everything unnaturally silent.

  Scrapper had never moved again.

  Gabriel had been confined to his room for a week for his disobedience; he hadn’t even been allowed to bury his dead pet. He’d learned later that Scrapper’s body had been tossed into the rubbish pit and burned along with the kitchen waste.

  He’d never spoken of him again.

  “You only had the one dog, then? You’ve had no pets since?” Esme asked softly.

  He looked down, startled to realize that he’d temporarily forgotten her. “No. Never.”

  For cruel though it might seem, his uncle had taught him a valuable lesson that day—that life was easier when you didn’t let yourself love anything too deeply; that way it didn’t hurt so much when it went away.

  “Well, we shall have to remedy that,” Esme said. “I have four dogs, so you can make up for your lack of pets by enjoying mine.”

  She eased out of his hold and started toward the house again.

  “Four?” He caught up to her quickly, her shorter strides no match for his own.

  “Yes, and six cats. I had a hedgehog at one time but the cats kept trying to get at her despite her protective quills. Poor dear, much as I did my best to protect her, she was constantly terrified. In the end, I gave her to a friend, who simply adores her. She’s happy and healthy and has an excellent garden plot where she likes to dig for grubs—the hedgehog, not my friend, of course,” Esme added with a grin.

  Somewhat bemused, he smiled back.

  Ten pet animals? To say nothing of any other creatures she might have secreted away in the stables and on the Braebourne grounds.

  Good Christ, maybe he was the one who ought to be asking for the annulment.

  “Have you had breakfast yet, Lord Northcote?”

  “No, not yet, Lady Northcote.” Catching hold of her wrist, he drew her gently to a halt. “And once again, it is Gabriel. You are to use my given name from now on; is that understood?”

  She met his gaze. “If you insist.”

  “I do, Esme.”

  Taking hold of her other wrist, he pulled her arms behind her back and stepped near, angling his body so that she was pressed to him. He looked down, enjoying the way her small round breasts thrust against the fabric of her faded gray dress and the hint of sweet, supple flesh concealed within. He realized now why she was wearing such a worn-out, ugly old frock—she did it so she could tend to her rescued creatures without sullying her prettier gowns.

  It reminded him of the first time they’d met. How he’d thought she was a servant and how he’d planned to talk his way underneath her skirts at his earliest opportunity.

  Curious to realize that she was his wife now, and curiouser still that he, one of England’s most infamous rakehells, hadn’t yet managed to get under those skirts, not even after taking vows.

  That was a lapse he needed to remedy soon. Very soon.

  Bending his head, he took her mouth. He smiled inwardly when she gave a tiny gasp that was half surprise, half pleasure. Her fingers curled into small fists as her body instinctively arched closer to his.

  “Open up,” he murmured, nipping and teasing her mouth with the promise of further delights. His patience was rewarded moments later as she obediently parted her lips and invited him inside.

  Without loosening his hold on her wrists, he indulged in a lazy, languid exploration, pressing unhurried kisses against her lips before indulging in far deeper play with his teeth and tongue that showed her all the intimate things he really wanted to do.

  She shivered and shyly kissed him back, following his lead. Spreading his thighs, he drew her more fully into the lee of his body, his touch growing more intense, even though he knew he dared go only so far, given their present location this close to the house.

  Forcing himself to maintain control, he savored all her responses, her breathy sighs and unpracticed kisses, which only made him want to teach her more.

  Toying and teasing, he used his tongue with a skill designed to tempt and enthrall. He smiled again as she trembled and kissed him harder. And for an instant, he let himself go, savoring the honey-sweet taste of her mouth and the heady fragrance of her skin, which set his blood afire.

  He broke off abruptly and buried his lips against her neck, kissing her there as he released her wrists so he could wrap her in his arms. “We should go up to the house.”

  “Oh yes . . . I suppose so.”

  He kissed her mouth again, then moved to the other side of her throat to scatter kisses along her nape.

  She quivered, eyes closed, a dreamy look on her face.

  He caught her earlobe between his teeth, then gave it a little suckle. She jumped slightly, clearly startled.

  With a chuckle, he resumed his ministrations to the tender skin of her throat. “Perhaps we should skip breakfast and go to your bedchamber instead.”

  He slid his hand up the length of her spine, then down again, deliberately slow.

  Her eyes popped open. “My bedchamber?”

  “Hmm-hmm.”

  “But it’s morning.”

  “So it is—the best time of day for coupling. I prefer to see my lover rather than groping in the dark. No candles required.”

  He snuck a look up from under his lashes and chuckled again at her wide-eyed expression.

  “We can’t,” she whispered.

  He pressed an openmouthed kiss to the base of her throat, just above her collarbone, gratified when he felt her answering response. “I assure you, my dear, we most certainly can. Let us away.” Straightening, he met her gaze.

  “But my maid will be waiting for me,” she said.

  “Then we’ll send her about her business.”

  She shook her head. “You don’t know Mrs. Grumblethorpe. She won’t approve.”

  “I hardly need the permission of your maid. Since we happen to be married, Mrs. Grumblethorpe can jolly well bugger off.”

  “Gabriel!”

  “Come now,” he scoffed. “You must have heard far worse language than that from your horde of brothers over the years.”

  “Perhaps,” she admitted, “but I’m not supposed to know what any of it means.”

  He arched an eyebrow, suddenly curious. “Do you know what ‘bugger off’ means?”

  “Of course. It means to shoo away ins
ects. Something particularly nasty, like bedbugs or wasps, I presume.”

  A laugh burst from his chest, deep and unfettered, with an honest amusement he rarely experienced.

  “What is so funny?”

  “Nothing, my dear,” he lied, as he worked to rein in his good humor. “Nothing at all.” Catching hold of her hand, he turned her toward the house. “Come, let us go.”

  “All right, but not to . . . you know. Everyone must be awake by now and at breakfast. They will wonder what has become of us if we do not put in an appearance.”

  “I rather imagine they’ll know precisely what we’re up to if we do not put in an appearance. We are newlyweds, after all, even if we haven’t actually consummated anything yet.”

  “Oh,” she groaned, cheeks growing pink, “that only makes it worse.”

  “How have you managed to face them these past two weeks considering the reason we were forced to marry? You did do a naked drawing of me, remember? Most of them likely think I’ve been tumbling you for weeks now.”

  Her chin came up. “They do not! And that sketch is hardly the same thing as fornicating while my entire family has breakfast just down the hall. That sketch is art.”

  “Art, is it? Some might say it was an act of lascivious interest on the part of an overly indulged young woman with too much personal freedom.”

  She shook off his hold. “Too much—are you implying that I am spoiled?”

  “No more than most dukes’ sisters, I daresay. And at least you aren’t cruel and conniving like so many of the Ton girls I’ve met. You’ve just been given your way in far too many respects and need a firmer hand to rein you in.”

  Her eyes flashed with blue fire. “Rein me in? I am not a horse, Lord Northcote.”

  “No, you most definitely are not.” He raked his gaze over her body. “I have no interest in fucking a horse. Just my wife, who, so far, does nothing but refuse me.”

  Her cheeks burst with hot color; clearly she knew the meaning of that particular bad word.

  He realized instantly that he ought to apologize; he hadn’t meant to say anything quite so crude or insensitive. But he’d be damned if he was going to say he was sorry to some nineteen-year-old slip of a girl, even if she did happen to be his new bride.

  Her hands opened and closed at her sides, and he wondered for a moment if she was thinking about slapping him—assuming she could reach that high.

  Instead she backed away. “I should have listened to my instincts and refused to marry you, regardless of the cost to my reputation. How dare you speak to me like that?” She blinked, her eyes growing moist.

  “Esme.” He stretched a hand toward her.

  She moved farther away, shaking her head. “I was going to let you come to me tonight despite my qualms, but now I have changed my mind.”

  “Esme,” he said, her name a growl this time.

  “From now on, you are to stay away. Tonight and every night. If you do not, I shall scream for all of my brothers to come and toss you out.”

  “You forget. You are my wife. I have every right to you and your body.”

  “I am not your wife yet, as you keep reminding me. I have changed my mind. I am going to Edward and tell him I want an annulment.”

  He covered the distance between them so quickly, she gasped in surprise. And again when he caught hold of her wrist. “You will do no such thing, madam. Rescind your threat or I shall take you into the woods right now and see to it that you are as married as you can possibly be. I presume you take my meaning?”

  The color drained from her face and she nodded.

  “Say the words. Take it back.”

  Her jaw tightened as if she still wanted to refuse. Abruptly, she gave a jerky nod. “I will not ask for an annulment.”

  “Good. Now, as for tonight, I shall give you another reprieve since I don’t want you screaming for your brothers, as you put it. Instead, I’m going to make sure we are thoroughly alone, where there will be no interruptions, before we consummate our union.”

  He released her wrist, watching as his words sank in.

  “Then, you mean—,” she began.

  “That we shall be departing Braebourne shortly, yes.”

  “To stay at Clay House?”

  “No, my dear, nothing within an easy distance of this estate. I have sent word to have my house in Cornwall made ready for our arrival. We will depart tomorrow morning.”

  Her mouth opened. “Tomorrow! But that’s impossible. I cannot just pick up and leave.”

  “Of course you can.”

  “No, I cannot. For one, it will not allow me time to make arrangements for my animals.”

  “You must have left them here at Braebourne in the past when you went to London for the Season. A smart girl like you, I’m certain you will figure something out. Besides, your family is in residence, not to mention the veritable army of servants who see to the estate. I feel certain none of them will let your beloved pets starve.”

  “No, of course they won’t, but—”

  “Good, that dilemma is solved. The rest should be easy.”

  “Easy? What will everyone think when we announce that we are leaving in such haste?”

  “That we are a newly wedded couple who are desirous of privacy.”

  She shook her head. “My siblings will never believe I want to depart so quickly.”

  “Of course they will, because you are going to make them. Or do you want everyone to know that our marriage is a disaster before it has even begun? Do you seek yet another dreadful scandal to add to the already extensive list you’re collecting of late?”

  She stilled, then looked away, her lashes sweeping down. “No.”

  “Exactly. So put a smile on your face and let us go into the house for breakfast, where we can start convincing everyone of our perfect marital accord.”

  “I couldn’t possibly eat.”

  “You can and you will. Believe me, my dear—I’ve been playacting at all manner of things for years. It’s a talent one develops rather quickly in times of necessity. You will too.”

  He offered his arm and waited.

  She stared at it, an expression of undisguised dislike on her face.

  Without another word, she laid her hand on his sleeve and together they walked the rest of the way to the house.

  Chapter 14

  “Are you certain you cannot remain at Braebourne for a few days more?” Mallory asked Esme the next morning as they stood together in the entry hall. “Everyone will only be here for another week or two; then we’ll all be off to our own estates. It will be Christmastide before we are together again.”

  Footmen moved past, hands and arms laden with Esme and Northcote’s luggage, which was being secured inside the heavy traveling coach.

  Other family members were gathered as well; Leo and Lawrence stood in conversation with Northcote, grinning at something he’d said, while Mama and Claire were busy overseeing the packing to make certain nothing essential would be forgotten.

  If only I could feel so carefree and confident.

  But rather than bolt for her room as Esme longed to do, she pinned a bright smile on her face and tried to sound enthusiastic about the upcoming trip. “I wish we could remain, but Gabriel is most eager to show me his house in Cornwall. He’s calling it our honeymoon house. I hear the view is splendid, right on the sea. I have spent so little time near the ocean; I am quite excited by the prospect of listening to the waves and smelling the salt air.”

  She had no idea if his house—Highhaven, he’d called it—had a sea view or not, but she had to come up with some convincing reason for her supposed eagerness to leave. As for Northcote, he could scarcely wait. At his behest, Mrs. Grumblethorpe had appeared in her bedchamber at six o’clock that morning with instructions to make haste so they could be on the road.

&nbs
p; To her consternation, Northcote’s prediction about her family’s reaction to their news had proven disgustingly accurate. Even Edward and Mallory had appeared convinced that she and Northcote were getting along splendidly and were hurrying off so they could enjoy a bit of time alone as a newly married couple.

  All that had been required were a few smiles and some laughs, and everyone had bought their story like a school of fish caught in a net.

  Of course, it hadn’t hurt that Northcote had openly taken care to touch her. Holding her hand. Idly stroking her hair or the curve of her shoulder. Resting his palm along her hip or waist while in conversation with one of her relations.

  And kissing her.

  He’d taken delight in that most of all.

  The devil had a real knack for catching her unawares too, timing their little “moments of affection” so that they appeared spontaneous and genuine—and were always done within view of witnesses. How he managed to arrange things, she would never know, but somehow he always succeeded, selecting just the right place and time so it seemed as if they’d snuck off for a stolen moment together only to be found out.

  The whole charade infuriated her. She could have called him out on it in front of her family but found herself playing along instead, smiling and acting as if she were thrilled with her new husband and their marriage. According to their story, luck had shone a radiant light upon them and granted them a grand love match, much to their mutual surprise. And for those who’d heard via the servants’ grapevine that she and Northcote had yet to share a bed, it was being attributed to his restraint and consideration of her tender feelings while they got to know each other better.

  Mallory and Thalia in particular had looked skeptical at first—probably because they’d been firsthand witnesses to her premarital cold feet. But soon even they had seemed convinced, happy looks in the two women’s eyes as they fell for the lie.

  After that, she’d had even more reason to keep up the charade, loath to wipe the looks of pleasure and relief from her family’s faces. They wanted to believe the faerie tale. Who was she to ruin it with the truth?