“But I don’t want to find you something new to wear. I’m only interested in getting you out of what you are wearing at present. You are in my bed, Livvy, you came to my room and put your hands on me. Some men might call that encouragement.”
“What do you call it?” she asked, and there was no doubting the breathless quality of her voice this time.
“Recklessness. Idiocy. An utter lack of regard for the consequences of your actions?”
Livvy blinked, a little startled by the anger in his voice.
“Is this how you usually go about seducing women?” she asked. “Aren’t you supposed to make me forget about all those things, not bring them to my attention?”
“For Christ’s sake, Livvy. Do you want me to ruin you?”
Livvy stared up at him, her heart thudding too fast in her chest.
“Holy God!” he exclaimed, throwing himself away from her and scrambling to his feet. “You’re not supposed to think about it!”
Livvy sat up on her elbows, staring at him in consternation. “Why did you ask me the question if you didn’t wish me to think about it?”
“It oughtn’t need thinking about, you wicked girl! The correct answer is an immediate no, followed by insults about the nature of my character and a good hard slap.”
“You’re awfully skittish for a libertine,” Livvy replied, provoked now. “Are you quite sure you are the Earl of Kingston and not some imposter?”
“Quite sure,” he replied acidly. “And if you really want to marry a man with more than ten shillings to his name, I suggest you leave. Now.”
“No.”
King threw up his hands and muttered a curse.
“There’s no point in being all dramatic. I’ve had quite enough of that nonsense for one day,” Livvy scolded. “You promised to help me find something to wear for this blasted ball and I am holding you to it.”
“Oh, fine. Why the devil not? You’ve all but given me leave to ruin you, I don’t see why I ought not rob your sister-in-law while I’m about it.”
“I did not give you leave to ruin me,” Livvy said, getting to her feet and putting her hands on her hips. Good Lord, but he was working himself up into a passion over nothing. “I was merely considering the possibility, and you are not robbing my sister-in-law. I am borrowing a few gowns which will be returned to her once I’m done with them. Really, King. I expect such tantrums and dramatics from George, but I believe you ought to have grown out of them.”
“Do you?” he replied, folding his arms and glaring at her. “I don’t have the faintest idea why. Surely you know I’m a spoiled and indulged aristo with nothing between his ears but fluff and an urge to despoil every maiden within arm’s reach.”
“I was in arm’s reach,” Livvy pointed out. “And there was very little despoiling going on that I noticed.”
“You needn’t sound so blasted disappointed about it!” he yelled.
Livvy blinked at him, quite at a loss.
“King,” she said gently, using the voice she employed for overtired toddlers. “You are becoming overwrought. I thought this morning that you were out of sorts, and now I’m certain of it. Why don’t you come and have a lie down and I’ll go and fetch a cold cloth for your head?”
“I don’t want a lie down!” he growled.
“There’s no need to get testy.”
“I will get testy if I dashed well want to,” he said through gritted teeth. “And I warn you now, if I get anywhere near that bed and you are still in the room, you’ll see just how quickly I can despoil you, and you’ll eat your words.”
Livvy struggled with the temptation to see if he really meant it, but good sense won out. She took a breath, opting to soothe the beast instead. “I’m sure that’s quite true, but you know you’re just saying that because you’re cross with me.”
“Yes, I am!”
“I know, King. I do understand that I try your patience and I am sorry for it.”
“No, you’re not,” he grumbled, stalking back and forth. “You’re not the least bit sorry, you come in here all blue eyes and… and… lips and… things and… and bother me, and I’m the one who’s in the wrong.”
“I never said you were in the wrong,” Livvy said, trying not to put too much store by his noticing her blue eyes and her lips and things. He had, after all, worked himself up to quite a pitch and was not the least bit rational. “And you are quite correct I did come and bother you when you were having a nice nap and that was a dreadful thing to do. I apologise. It was very bad of me.”
“Yes, it was.”
“Yes, I just said as much.”
“Hmph.” He folded his arms, scowling at her.
“Am I forgiven?” she asked gently.
He glowered a bit more.
“I am sorry. I quite understand if you prefer to continue your nap.”
“I’m not three years old,” he grumbled.
Livvy bit her lip, deciding it was not politic to point out the obvious. “I know. Forgive me. In that case, I should be most grateful if you’d help me choose what is best from Ceci’s wardrobe.”
King groused a bit more but turned to the door and opened it, glancing outside before gesturing for Livvy to go before him.
“Lead on, Macduff,” he said with a somewhat sarcastic tone she chose to ignore.
“It’s ‘Lay on, Macduff,’” actually,” she corrected him, even though she was poking the angry bear with a stick. “Macbeth is inviting Macduff to attack him, not to politely go through the door ahead of him.”
“Don’t tempt me,” he gritted out, closing the door behind them.
Livvy led him to Ceci and Charlie’s room, feeling all the while as if she was being stalked by a large, angry cat. She could not help but feel his mood did not spring from irritation at being rudely awoken, and he was clearly annoyed with her for not defending her maidenhead with more vigour. It occurred to her that, for a man of his reputation, King had a highly developed sense of honour. It was pointless to pretend that she wasn’t tempted to… if not let him have his way with her, then let him have some of his way with her. Possibly rather more of his way than was required for the job she had asked him to help her with. It was his own dratted fault, though. If he would go around being sweet to the children and making her laugh when she wanted to cry, it was the least he could expect. Really, she was only human.
“Here we are,” she said, pushing open the door to the master chambers.
She stilled as she went in. The last time she had been in here, she’d been so cross she’d sworn to never set foot in it again. Now she remembered exactly why that was, though in truth it was even worse than the last time.
“Good God!”
Livvy sighed. “Yes. I know.”
“It’s like a gateway to fairyland.”
“It is,” Livvy agreed, battering down the swell of resentment that rose on seeing all the lavish accoutrements that filled the room. The bed was swathed in rich fabrics, silk and velvet and satin in various shades of peach, and the room decorated with extravagant damask wall hangings. There were gilt mirrors and paintings. and a lovely tapestry fire screen. The pretty dressing table was crammed with bottles of perfume and expensive creams, and the floor layered with thick rugs. Everywhere there were clothes and shoes, carelessly abandoned, and the heavy curtains framing the windows puddled in an excess of frivolity upon the floor.
“You mean to say Lady Boscawen lives like… like this, while Harry hasn’t a decent cravat to his name, and everyone’s living on bloody cabbage, and you… and they treat you… like… like a damned skivvy?”
“Oh, it’s… it’s not that bad,” Livvy said at once, some sense of loyalty stirring to life and making her defend Ceci and her brother, though it really was much as he described it. “I mean, Ceci doesn’t mean to be extravagant, she’s just—”
“Witless, thoughtless, and selfish?” King finished for her.
“Well… yes,” Livvy said, folding her arms about herse
lf. “But Charlie loves her to distraction, and he can’t bear to say no to her. She could have married a duke, you see, but she chose him instead, and so….”
“And so he’ll drag you all in penury before admitting he can’t afford her.”
Livvy shrugged.
King cursed a bit more before taking a deep breath. “We’d best see the gowns, then.”
Livvy led him through to the dressing room and even she paused, wide-eyed, on the threshold. There was no point in saying anything further, though. She knew Ceci was an extravagant ninny and no amount of explaining their desperate situation seemed to change that.
Apparently, King understood the point too and held his tongue, though his expression was stony. “How many days is this party likely to go on for?”
“Three, at least, perhaps five, though I’d best not take anything too new, or she’ll notice. So this corner here seems to be the most recent. I recognise that yellow as one she wore home a few weeks back.”
King nodded, moved towards the far end of the dressing room, and set to work.
By the time they’d finished, Livvy had a collection of evening and ball gowns that weren’t too badly out of style, morning attire, half dresses, a carriage dress and a riding habit, plus all the attendant gloves, hats and shoes. Luckily, Ceci’s feet were the same size and most of the gowns only needed a little alteration. King had remained silent as they worked, either giving a nod or a tut of disapproval as they sifted through the selection on offer.
She did not think he was angry with her any longer, but she was uncertain of his mood and did not like to tempt him back into another display of ill humour. He made no protest when she asked if he might help her bring the travelling trunk down from the attics, and they installed it in one of the rooms that had been closed off, where no one would come across it. Livvy carefully folded each gown and packed it away, meaning to work on one at a time in her room of an evening. She closed the lid of the trunk and got to her feet, brushing dust from her gown as she straightened.
“Thank you, King. I know I’ve been a terrible nuisance, but I am grateful, I assure you.”
“You’re welcome,” he said, though his eyes remained troubled.
She did not know how to ask him what was wrong, and he simply turned and walked away.
Chapter Eleven
12th December 1818.
Handsome farmers, secret assignations, and an episode of violent dusting.
Ross Moyle was a dreadfully handsome man. He was all wavy black hair, suntanned skin, and powerful shoulders. Livvy smiled to herself as she watched him work. There were worse ways of spending a morning than shovelling manure when one had such a pretty companion to look at. She pushed the hair from her eyes before setting to once more.
“There’s no need for you to shovel muck with me, Livvy,” Ross protested, the same as he had protested every time they’d done this for years now.
“Yes, there is,” she said briskly. “We shall share the profits and that’s only fair if we share the labour.”
“Ah, but it’s not right for a lady to be shovelling sh… this stuff... and ’twas your idea, and you what learned how it needed doin.’ I would never have thought of it.”
Livvy snorted. “And that may have been for the best. For all we know, it is a colossal waste of time and effort.”
“Nah, reckon it’s gonna work just as you said it would.”
Livvy felt the fluttering of hope in her chest as she always did, but did not dare let it run away with her. Maybe… maybe by the summertime they would know. “Did you get hold of more oak bark? I’m certain ours needs replacing.”
“Aye. It’s a blasted nuisance not being able to fetch it from the tanner’s in Bude, but I’ll take the cart over to Holsworthy this afternoon.”
“I’m sorry, Ross. I know it’s time you can ill afford, but I daren’t let anyone figure out what we’re doing. If Boscawen were to hear of it….”
“Don’t fret yourself to death, Liv,” Ross said with an easy smile. “I weren’t complaining to make ye feel bad. A fella likes to grumble about the state of affairs when he’s workin,’ ’tis all.”
Livvy laughed. “And I don’t blame you in the least.”
They worked on in silence for a bit longer, the sun warm on their backs.
“There,” Ross said with obvious satisfaction. “Give us a hand to lift the lids back in place and that should keep ’em warm and cosy. I’ll replace the bark in the morning. If this sunshine keeps up and the frosts stay away, we’ll have an easier time of it, an’ that’s for sure.”
“I brought some of our oldest sheets and blankets to cover them over at night, like you said, though I’m sorry to give you another job to do.”
“’Tis no bother, Liv. I’m happy to do it.”
Livvy helped put everything back as it ought to be and watched Ross stash the tools away, out of sight.
“How’s Sarah?” she asked as he walked with her back towards the garden.
“Fine and dandy and fat as a pig,” he said, grinning at her, his blue eyes shining.
Livvy laughed. “I shall tell her you said that, you wicked man.”
“Ah, she knows I love her, fat or thin. ’Sides, what kind of cheel would she be growing if she was all skin and bone?”
“How does Kensa feel about having a brother or sister?”
Ross chuckled and Livvy noticed the way his cheeks dimpled, and the flash of strong white teeth.
“Not best pleased, you ask me. Teasy she is, always clinging to her ma’s skirts, but she’ll get over it. Still the apple of my eye, anyway.”
“I never doubted it. Well, you’d best get back or they’ll wonder where you’ve got to.”
“Aye, well. I’ll tuck ’em in their blankets tonight and be here tomorrow, don’t you fret. Best part of my day, it is. Look forward to it, you know. I feel like… like we’re kind of growing a dream. Does that sound daft?”
Livvy shook her head.
“No. Not daft at all. I feel just the same way.” Impulsively, she leaned in and kissed his cheek. “Thank you for… for being here for me, for trusting me with this foolishness.”
He laughed at that. “Ah, I loved you when we was tiddlers, Liv. You know that, and I’d never let ye down.”
“I know, Ross. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“I’ll be there.”
King stalked the garden. It was a glorious morning, the sun warm despite the chill breeze blowing in, and yet he was still out of sorts. He’d kept away from Livvy since they’d gone to her sister-in-law’s room, though he wasn’t entirely certain why. Last night had been bad, the worst since he’d stopped seeing goblins and devils. He’d barely slept, anxious for no real reason other than that he needed a drink. Walsh had got up and made him tea, and sat up talking nonsense, which had irritated the hell out of him, even though he was grateful. They both knew Walsh was making sure he didn’t go off searching for a drink. Livvy might be certain there was none in the house, but a thirsty man had a way of sniffing out liquor if he were desperate.
I am not drinking. I am not drinking. I. Am. Not. Drinking.
He drew in a deep breath, the cold air filling his lungs, cleansing him from the inside out. Eventually, this desperate need would dissipate, it would fade, he assured himself. He was not a feeble-minded creature. He would fight this. He was the Earl of Kingston, by God, and a bloody bottle would not rule him. Besides, he couldn’t let Livvy down….
He stilled, closing his eyes as the thought settled in his chest.
I’m proud of you.
She’d said that, meant it too. He knew she’d meant it. The desire to seek her out, to pull her into his arms and kiss her and… and just the need to see her, to talk to her, was almost overwhelming, as bad as the need for a drink. It was worse, really, for he knew he’d stop thinking about finding a bottle the moment he was with her. God, but he wanted her company, and what manner of madness was that? Yes, he wanted her in his bed, badly, but he wante
d to tease her, and hear her scold him and tease him in return. Impossible. She needed to marry money, someone who could support her and the children before that imbecile Boscawen and his feckless wife landed them all in the gutter.
What a bloody ridiculous situation. He ought to be one of the most eligible men of the ton, but when his father had cut him off and set out to ruin him as punishment for not marrying that poor silly child, he’d done a thorough job of it. Yes, if the man turned up his toes, King would be in clover, but as Walsh had pointed out, his father was as healthy as a horse and everyone bloody well knew it. He’d been only eighteen when he’d done his duty, got married and sired King, so he was hardly in his dotage. There had been three other children, two stillborn, both boys, and a sister who’d died before she reached her first year. Sadly for the old man, King’s mother might now be infertile but was otherwise in good health or he’d have no doubt married again and kept trying. So King was the only heir and didn’t that make his dear papa furious? The old bastard would likely live to be a hundred just to spite him.
Why was he considering that anyway? He didn’t need prospects for marriage, he just needed enough money to live on. Even if he’d had the finances to do so, he wouldn’t wish to marry. Would he? No, of course not. Why on earth would he do such a rash thing? He had a sudden vision of Livvy at his home, of showing her around the grounds and telling her stories about his childhood, and waking up with her beside him, and…. Good God, what the devil was wrong with him?
King paused, feeling hot and panicky.
“Pack it in, old man,” he muttered under his breath. “No one is marrying anyone. She wouldn’t have you even if you offered.”
The truth of that was undeniable and yet still hit him in the chest with enough force to make his breath catch. He shook his head. No. No, no, no.
She didn’t want him, and he didn’t want her. Well, all right, he wanted her, but just for the usual reason a man wanted to dally with a pretty girl, not because he needed her, not because he….
Voices drifted towards him on the breeze from the other side of the hedge he’d been walking beside, and he let out a breath, grateful for the reprieve and the distraction from his own increasingly frantic thoughts. The voices grew closer, a man speaking now, his words indistinct.
The Girl is Not For Christmas: A Christmas Regency Romance Novel Page 13