Lady and the Rake (Lord Love a Lady Book 6)

by Annabelle Anders

  Best to stop her recollections there.

  He was inordinately handsome. She swallowed hard. And young. So very young.

  Margaret tilted her head. “Perhaps in London, My Lord?” she suggested in a lilting voice, drawing her hand away. His touch only affected her because she was nervous.

  Inside, a trembling threatened to take over, almost as though she was cold, or scared, but it was something different.

  “How was your journey, My Lord?” Penelope drew his attention.

  He rose to his full height and then bowed in Penelope’s direction. “Lady Danbury. It was long. But worth every mile, I’m sure. My abject apologies for my late arrival. ” He turned to Hugh. “Good to see you again, Danbury. White’s isn’t the same without you.”

  Hugh nodded.

  The younger man then turned to bow in the direction of the others sitting around the table. “Your Grace, Your Grace, Lady Sheffield, Mrs. Drake, Miss Drake.”

  “You must join us, my boy.” George indicated the last empty chair at the table.

  Utterly at ease, the marquess nodded, and then flipped the chair beside Margaret around and straddled it backward, his forearms resting on the back.

  Lady Sheffield’s eyebrows rose but rather than frown, her eyes twinkled indulgently. “Rockingham. You certainly have grown up.”

  “Never, My Lady.” His smile showed white teeth, even but for the bottom front two, which angled to the side. Ah, yes. It was him.

  “You have been missing out on all of the fun, My Lord.” Miss Drake drew his attention. “But there are many activities yet to enjoy. Tomorrow all of the younger guests intend to climb down the cliffs to the beach.”

  The young lady’s lashes fluttered with unmistakable flirtatious intent. She wore her golden hair in delightful ringlets that danced around smooth shoulders. Margaret would put her age around eight and ten. Last spring had been Miss Drake’s coming out. Although her father was a wealthy American, she’d been touted as something of a diamond of the first water, and it was rumored that she’d declined several suitors for lack of lofty titles.

  Mrs. Drake, her mother, beamed beside her.

  Margaret would guess that the American girl would accept nothing less than an earl. A future duke would be quite the catch, indeed.

  Lord Rockingham winked at the young woman. “Only if I can hike down before you. That way if you slip, you’ll have nowhere to land but in my arms.”

  Margaret expected Penelope to roll her eyes at such an obnoxiously absurd statement but even her cynical sister-in-law smiled at his charm.

  He brushed a wayward lock of hair from his eyes and turned his attention back toward Margaret and his uncle. “You’ll come along, won’t you, Uncle? And bring Lady Asherton as well?”

  George laughed and patted Margaret’s hand protectively. “We shall chaperon these young people, what do you say, my dear? And from the tops of the cliffs, I think, where we can keep our eyes on all of them.”

  “Danbury and I climb down often. As does Margaret,” Penelope offered.

  “Did you forget I grew up here, Mr. Kirkley?” It would be most unsatisfying to hike to the path and then not make the descent. Margaret did not exactly appreciate being lumped in with dowagers and chaperones. Although she supposed she was exactly that.

  “Ah, yes. You are such a quiet and dignified lady that I forget your age.”

  “Margaret is to have a birthday in three days’ time,” Hugh volunteered obnoxiously. “And then she shall be positively ancient! Thirty, Mags, can you imagine?” His eyes smiled in her direction as he teased her, and normally, it wouldn’t have bothered her at all.

  But this morning, she would appreciate him not discussing her age.

  Penelope sent a scathing glance in Hugh’s direction. As a woman, Penelope would understand that Margaret’s birthday was not something she wished to commemorate. She wondered if her sister-in-law also realized the other significance of the date. “It is not polite to discuss a lady’s age—as you very well know.”

  Which only made Margaret all the more uncomfortable.

  “Do you wish to hike down to the beach, dearest?” George smiled at her. He hadn’t meant to make her feel old. He’d done nothing wrong. “But of course, we will, if it’s what you wish.”

  “I am more than willing to escort Lady Asherton to the beach if you prefer to remain at the top, Uncle.” Lord Rockingham sent a dazzling grin in Margaret’s direction, causing that cold, shivery feeling to sweep through her again.

  Did he realize who she was? Oh, but if he knew George was courting her, how could he not have guessed? No other woman would have reason to climb into his uncle’s bed.

  Did he recognize her in the same way that she had recognized him? Margaret ran her tongue along her teeth and self-consciously touched the hair behind her ear.

  Perhaps she ought to have made some excuse to leave the party today—to leave Land’s End and return to London. Penelope would have helped her make a quick departure. But would not that have been rather drastic?

  “I am fine to hike down on my own, Mr. Kirkley, Lord Rockingham.” Margaret smiled at the table graciously, hoping to put an end to this conversation.

  “I am happy to see that my lady is safe from my nephew’s legendary charm,” George teased his nephew and then squeezed Margaret’s hand. “It is settled then.”

  But was it? Should she simply make an escape in hopes Lord Rockingham forgot the incident altogether? Out of sight, out of mind.

  If she were to return early to London, how would that affect her plans to marry? To begin a family? It was possible that George would either wish to make their engagement public sooner or call it off completely.

  “Ah, Uncle, but am I safe from hers?” Lord Rockingham countered, drawing a fit of giggles from Miss Drake and a hearty chuckle from George.

  Two servants arrived at that moment and placed pots of tea about the table. Penelope poured for the ladies beside her as well as herself and Hugh, and Margaret rose and gripped the second pot.

  She struggled to keep her hands from shaking as she poured the steaming brown liquid into a cup for Lord Rockingham, who remained seated backward on the chair beside hers and was immensely grateful that she hadn’t spilled any by the time she’d managed a cup for Lady Sheffield, George, and herself.

  “Sugar, My Lord?” She lifted the small bowl in the marquess’ direction. She already knew that neither George nor Lady Sheffield added anything to their tea.

  He took the bowl from her, brushing his hand across her fingers as he did so. “I have no discipline when it comes to sweets.” And then he winked.

  What had he said when she’d first climbed into his bed? “I haven’t the discipline to turn down one as sweet as you.”

  He knows!

  At the startling revelation, Margaret went numb. He had not secured the bowl yet, however, and when she jerked her hand away, the two of them managed to send the sugar flying into the air, sprinkling the sparkling confection all over both of them followed by the gentle bump as the dish landed on the grass.

  Lord Rockingham, of course, burst into laughter.

  George jolted away from her, brushing at his coat and trousers.

  “I’m so sorry! Do forgive me, Mr. Kirkley, Lord Rockingham.” Margaret burst out of her chair and proceeded to wipe the grains off her gown. Both her fiancé and the marquess rose beside her. As did her brother and Montford.

  She couldn’t bear any of this a moment longer. She needed to be away from him. She needed to compose herself somehow.

  “Please excuse me.” Margaret sent a pleading look in Penelope’s direction.

  “But of course, Margaret, you must change out of that immediately or you’ll have ants crawling up your legs.”

  Not exactly what Margaret had in mind, and she couldn’t help but catch the provocative glance Lord Rockingham slid her direction. He licked his lips, bringing to mind the memory of his mouth on her legs, on her…

  She backed
up before a manservant could assist her with her chair and would have knocked it over if Lord Rockingham hadn’t reached out to catch it.

  “I’m sorry,” she muttered again, this time sending an apologetic glance in George’s direction.

  “But of course. Allow me to escort you back to the house.”

  “No!” She needed to be alone. “No,” she said less emphatically. “I don’t wish to ruin your tea. Please, stay and enjoy the party. I will…” Margaret glanced down at her gown. “I will change out of this and rejoin you shortly.”

  And before she could bring about any additional calamities, she moved away from the table and weaved through the other guests’ chairs until she could step out from beneath the large tent.

  The sun felt hot, and her breaths were coming in short little bursts.

  When she felt relatively certain that no one was watching, she paused and raised a hand to her chest. She was going to have to speak to him, explain somehow, and beg him not to tell his uncle.

  Of course, he knew.

  Of course.

  5

  A Young Rake

  It seemed that the woman Sebastian had craved for the remainder of the night was George’s widow after all.

  With nothing better to do after riding and then cleaning up, he had ventured outdoors to discover his host overseeing the setting up of the rather large canvas tent, and rather than sit about and do nothing, Sebastian had set right to work assisting Danbury and the manservants employed to the task.

  Once it had been raised, Sebastian had located the necessary equipment required to play a game of paille-maille and designed a rather challenging course for any of Danbury’s guests who might be so inclined.

  By the time he’d completed setting up the game and finished sending the yellow ball flying through all of the circles, several of Danbury’s guests had made their way outside. It went without saying that most of the unmarried females drifted casually in his direction. As did several married ones.

  Sebastian would hazard to guess he’d conversed with damn well every lady under the age of sixty and half the ones over it and still not identified the woman who had fled from him the night before.

  Until Margaret Coates, the Countess of Asherton, had arrived. From a distance, even before he’d known her name or heard her voice, he’d known.

  She’d managed to hide most of her long silken hair beneath her bonnet, strands he’d threaded through his fingers, and yes, she wore a less-than-notable gown…

  But it was her.

  He had simply known.

  And when he’d sat down beside her, he realized that if his eyes hadn’t recognized her, his body would have. The world stood still, and he could almost imagine himself being filled with an overpowering sense of completion.

  As he’d stared at the delicate skin of her wrists, just above her gloves, he could not help but think that marriage between her and Uncle George must be some sort of a joke. But why?

  She was not destitute. As Danbury’s sister, she would never want for anything. And if not for security and position, why would a woman such as she engage herself to his uncle?

  She was obviously a beauty. The dress could not hide her gentle feminine curves nor was her bonnet able to conceal all of the long ebony strands beneath it. When she glanced up from behind thick lashes, he became momentarily mesmerized by eyes the color of scotch one moment and the deepest green the next. Hazel eyes. How absolutely delightful.

  A beauty, by God.

  The undeniable attraction he experienced when he took her hand and then kissed the back of her glove was incomparable. Her subtle and sexy perfume, combined with the essence of the lady herself, both excited and stirred him.

  It was the same hand that had grasped the sides of his head, the same fingers that had tugged at his hair and urged him to taste all of her.

  As she’d pulled her hand away from his hold, she’d trembled.

  She, too, had known it was him. Of course, though; he’d told her George was his uncle. By God, she had fled from his chamber as though the hounds of hell chased after her.

  And after throwing the bowl of sugar into the air, she’d run away again, although with considerably less prowess.

  “Dashed nuisance,” his uncle complained to nobody in particular, brushing his jacket the moment Lady Asherton was no longer in earshot.

  “I’ll send for a towel and hot water,” Lady Danbury offered helpfully, frowning in the direction in which her sister-in-law disappeared.

  Sebastian remained standing although the other gentlemen all returned to their seats.

  “Let me help you, My Lord.” Miss Drake rose to brush at Sebastian’s coat with a lacey white handkerchief. As she did so, he caught a whiff of lilac-scented perfume—too strong. It overpowered the subtle scents worn by the lady who had just taken flight.

  He stepped away from Miss Drake. The shiver that ran through Lady Asherton had been either attraction of fear. On the basis of last night’s encounter, he’d wager it was more likely attraction. Then again, maintaining the reputation of a proper lady, she might also be concerned that he intended to expose her rather unladylike nocturnal activities.

  Or simply tell George. Her fiancé, a gentleman who adhered to the strictest proprieties as a rule—in public, that was.

  “If you’ll excuse me.” He supposed he ought to put the widow out of her misery and assure her that he had no intention of revealing their encounter to her future husband or anyone else.

  Good God! Surely, she didn’t intend to actually marry his uncle!

  But why the engagement then?

  “You haven’t finished your tea, My Lord!” the pretty American chit implored with a pout.

  “I’ll return shortly.” Sebastian extricated himself from her hands, having no desire to sit around drinking tea.

  Perhaps Lady Asherton wanted him to follow her—expected it even.

  Taking a moment to ascertain that the lady was no longer outside, Sebastian sauntered across the lawn toward the manor. Likely, she had retreated to her private chamber.

  Which oughtn’t prove to be too difficult of an obstacle.

  Danbury’s ancient retainer met him with a quick bow the moment Sebastian entered through the front door. “Is there anything I can do for you, My Lord?” The gentleman had been exceedingly helpful even though Sebastian had arrived at such a late hour the night before.

  “You do sleep, don’t you, Milton? You were up and about when I arrived and again before my ride this morning, and this afternoon, you appear as alert and commanding as Wellington himself.”

  The butler straightened his back and lifted his chin. “Thank you, My Lord, and yes. I manage to capture a few winks when I can. Although I’ve never required more than four or five hours a day.”

  Sebastian shook his head in admiration. “Amazing. Have you always operated on so little sleep? Imagine what could be accomplished in Parliament with someone like you at work.”

  At this suggestion, Milton’s eyes widened. “I’m quite certain I don’t know, My Lord.”

  “Well, you’re a better man than I. Say, Milton, did Lady Asherton come through here?”

  “She did, My Lord.”

  Sebastian smiled conspiratorially. “I wished to speak with her a moment in private but have no idea where she took off to.”

  “I believe she was headed for Lord Danbury’s private library. Second floor, sixth door on the left.”

  Sebastian pounded a fist to his chest. “You’re irreplaceable, Milton.” Backing away, he strolled along the foyer and then took the stairs two and three at a time. When he turned the corner, serendipity stepped in, bringing him face to face with Lady Asherton herself.

  In fact, he nearly ran her over and was forced to grasp her by the arms so that she would not bounce off him and end up on the floor.

  She had removed her bonnet and soft hair tickled his chin before she could steady herself enough to step backward. A few of the hairs stuck to her forehead an
d she glowed with a warm flush. When he inhaled, ah yes, he recognized the scent.

  Lavender. She wore lavender.

  “Pardon me, My Lord,” she gasped, her mouth parting so that he could just make out the white of her teeth.

  “It seems you are destined to fall into my arms at this house party.” He slid his gaze down the length of her, smiling, as he said the words, By the stern look she sent in his direction, however, he doubted she found any humor in their situation.

  And then her eyes, appearing more brown than green in the softer light indoors, shifted to the left and then the right. Anxiety rolled off her in waves. “If you’ll excuse me.”

  Ah, she was going to pretend it hadn’t happened.

  “You are just as lovely in the daylight, but not as… accommodating.” The temptation to tease her was too great to ignore.

  Danbury’s housekeeper entered the foyer from a nearby room and Lady Asherton jumped and then hastily shushed Sebastian’s laughter. Catching sight of the two of them, the servant stared in their direction curiously. “Is there anything I can do for you, My Lord, My Lady?”

  “We’re fine. Thank you,” Margaret rushed to answer.

  “A dram of spirits would be most appreciated.” Sebastian winked at the woman.

  “His Lordship is only joking. The last thing he needs right now is a dram of anything.”

  “Ah, yes, Lady Asherton knows me better than I know myself.” Sebastian would have laughed again at the scowl she sent in his direction if he didn’t think she might give him a facer for doing so.

  “If you say so.” The housekeeper glanced between the two of them. “Very well, My Lady.” She turned and went along her way hesitantly.

  Once she’d disappeared down the corridor, Sebastian crossed both arms in front of him and leaned casually against the wall.

  “You left me last night without saying goodbye.”

  She winced at his joke. “Oh, please.”