His cock twitched.
He wouldn’t be in this predicament if it had been the pretty little maid who climbed naked into his bed instead of a woman who’d mistaken him for his uncle, a man nearly thirty years Sebastian’s senior!
His body protested at the prospect of the maid, however. Damn, but he craved the woman whose scent remained on his hands. Surely, Uncle George was not overly attached to her?
* * *
“Did you sleep well in your upgraded accommodations?” Sebastian couldn’t help but ask. He’d only had a few minutes to speak with George the night before, but they’d agreed to meet early in the morning for a brisk ride.
George shrugged but stared straight ahead as he sat atop his mount overlooking the sea. “The mattress is a bit hard, but the sitting area is somewhat to my liking.”
Sebastian shook his head, at the same time appreciating the chill of the morning air. His uncle had always had quite expensive tastes.
“Not that I am not pleased to see my favorite nephew’s face,” George slid him a mocking sideways glance. “But shouldn’t you be in London, working on that newfangled ship of yours so you can sail around the world?”
Sebastian chose to ignore the slight; his parents viewed his intentions with equal disdain. Why would his uncle take them seriously? “Work proceeds without me.”
George let out a chortle, causing his horse to jump skittishly. He took a moment to calm him before speaking again. “Nonetheless, you needn’t have traveled such a great distance on my behalf. A dreadful distance, if I say so myself. Oftentimes, your mother takes more upon herself than necessary—to ask you to bring me something so sentimental and romantic was ridiculous. My intended, Lady Asherton, is not a frivolous woman. She would have been quite content to wait for the ring until we’ve returned to London. Although…” He rubbed his chin.
“Although?” Sebastian prompted.
“The ring is not only impressive but valuable. It may help smooth the way for me.”
“She is not eager to become Mrs. George Kirkley?” Were not all women in a hurry to get to the altar? Furthermore, as a widow would not Lady Asherton be even more so?
“She is, dear boy, but she is also… skittish.”
Danbury’s estate, aptly named Land’s End, was located on the most southwesterly coast of England. Rising at sunup to experience the dawn of a new day, not to mention the awe of the view from this cliff’s edge, filled a man’s imagination with endless possibilities. Noting the white of distant cresting waves, Sebastian’s mind skipped to the design of his current project. As was his habit, he pulled his journal along with a small pencil from inside his coat and made a note before tucking it away.
“Skittish? Eh?” he resumed the conversation with his uncle.
Sebastian stared at the man who’d inadvertently caused his sleepless night. He’d not seen his uncle for nearly a year, but although George was nearing fifty, his appearance never seemed to change. The older gentleman possessed a firm chin and kept himself arguably more fit and trim than men considerably younger. Others who were around George’s age, who had married, that was, appeared far older with their paunches and bald heads.
Sitting proudly atop his horse, the wind in his face, dear Uncle George was an encouraging reminder of the benefits of bachelorhood.
Sebastian dug into a different pocket and then handed the velvet pouch that held the ring across the distance between their horses.
Taking it, George removed the heirloom carefully and held it up to the light. “Once I slide this onto her finger, she’ll not wish to take it off.” But George didn’t appear completely confident. Perhaps he did love Lady Asherton, after all.
George returned the ring to its pouch and then pocketed it before turning once again to gaze out at the unbroken view. “I find myself inclined to curtail a few of my less than gentlemanly activities these days. Believe it or not, young man, satisfying a variety of women eventually becomes tiresome.” He slanted Sebastian a sideways glance. “And quite costly.”
“I’d venture it’s the sneaking around that becomes tiresome, more so than the end goal,” Sebastian offered. He had never had to pay for a woman. They sought Sebastian out. He bought them gifts, of course, but only as a token of his appreciation.
What pleasure could be found knowing the woman did not wish to be the object of his lovemaking? “Married life ought to come in handy then.”
His uncle frowned. “Perhaps.” But then he lifted his chin. “It behooves a man to preserve an unsullied reputation, Rockingham. One never knows when his circumstances might turn.”
Sebastian stared across the sea. It was only slightly less blue than the sky. Was his uncle suggesting that Sebastian ought to keep his own activities less public? As the heir to a duke, Sebastian’s entitlement was unimaginable to most mortals—even to his uncle. The world would have to be turned upside down for that to change. He glanced at his uncle’s profile. Discretion was one thing, hypocrisy quite another. But for now, he would forgo arguing the point.
“Your Lady Asherton, she is a very… proper lady, then?” The woman from last night could not be her.
“Indeed. She’ll make for a biddable wife. In addition to that, she is lovely, dignified, childless.” Ah, no baggage to cause George any inconvenient demands. “She accepted my offer two days ago, unofficially. I am anxious to make an announcement.”
If his uncle didn’t love the woman, then why? “You are wanting to set up your nursery then?” Perhaps his uncle wanted an heir—a son who would carry his name into the future. Although technically not a lord, George’s inherited estate was not insignificant.
The older man shrugged. “It isn’t necessary. Her first husband passed without issue. I’m not overly concerned with such. As I said, I’ll be satisfied to have her… companionship.”
“And to warm your bed on cold winter nights, eh?” Sebastian made one more attempt to satisfy his curiosity piqued by the woman the night before.
“Foolishness.” He sent Sebastian a stern look. “A refined gentleman doesn’t marry for such purposes. He marries a woman who’ll uphold his good name in society. You’ll do good to remember that when you marry again.”
Sebastian clenched his jaw. This was the one matter he would thwart his family on.
He had no intention of marrying anytime soon or even long into the future.
* * *
An onslaught of sunlight filtered through Margaret’s consciousness, bringing her wide awake. When she opened her eyes, she found herself staring directly into her sister-in-law’s apologetic green ones.
“You!” Margaret accused without bothering with any niceties.
Penelope winced. “If it makes any difference to you at all, I’ve brought your chocolate myself. And fresh biscuits.”
Margaret rubbed the sleep from her eyes and then pushed herself up to sit against the pillows. Hours had passed before sleep came the night before. “You sent me to the wrong room!” she accused. The memory sent heat flooding up her neck.
“Tell me you discovered this before…”
“Of course, I did,” Margaret claimed emphatically. “I’m not stupid enough to climb into bed with a man who was not my intended.” Oh, but she had been that stupid!
“It was his nephew. I didn’t even know he was coming until Mrs. Maples informed me this morning of his arrival late last night. Apparently, Mr. Kirkley preferred the room set aside for his lordship, and the young marquess gave it up and took his uncle’s instead.”
An honest mistake. Penelope could not help it if her guests played fast and loose with the rooms assigned them.
“His Lordship?” A marquess? But of course, George’s sister was married to the Duke of Standish.
Margaret squeezed her eyes together in an attempt to wash her memory of the previous night. It would be even better if she could turn back time. Margaret should not have allowed Penelope to encourage her thusly.
George’s nephew!
“When I
sent the invitation, I never contemplated he’d actually attend. Every unmarried lady beneath this roof, not to mention their mothers, will be in raptures when they discover that the heir to the Duke of Standish is a guest. It’ll make for some interesting antics, for sure.”
Such antics couldn’t get much more interesting than they had been last night.
“He’s unattached, then?” Margaret cringed at what she’d done… at what she’d nearly done. George must never know!
Penelope nodded. “I caught sight of him as he left the for the stables. A handsome pup, if I say so myself. But of course, he’s a notorious rake—and young. I imagine he’s barely past his majority.”
One and twenty! Margaret’s vision swam for a moment.
She’d nearly seduced a boy! A mere child!
Although he certainly hadn’t had the body of a child—or made love like one. Margaret suppressed the urge to bury her face in the bed and give into a fit of moaning yet again.
“How did you discover that it wasn’t Mr. Kirkley in the bed? The room would have been very dark when you entered, those drapes are heavy. What a scandal that would have been! Did you wake him when you entered?”
Penelope could never know what she’d done—what she’d nearly done. “Er… The drapes were drawn. Moonlight. Er… illuminated the bed. I knew it wasn’t him immediately. Once I returned to my room, I took it as a sign that I must go about all of this another way. I will ask Mr. Kirkley directly. I’ll speak to him privately soon.”
“Can you imagine if those drapes had been pulled shut?” Penelope grinned wickedly. “I could tell if it was Hugh easily; a woman knows such things. But you have never been with Mr. Kirkley. The two gentlemen are not very different in appearance, superficially, of course.” She scrunched her nose thoughtfully. “I suppose the marquess is slimmer. Your Mr. Kirkley cannot be expected to have the physique of such a young man.”
Margaret had realized all of this after climbing back into her own bed. His skin had been silky smooth, the hair on his body soft. Yes, a woman knew such things.
I should have known!
“You could always try again tonight. Now that I can direct you to the proper chamber—”
Margaret held up her hand. “Absolutely not. We will not speak of it again.” Penelope needed to know when to leave something be.
“But—“
“Absolutely not, Penelope.”
4
A Proper Introduction
“Good afternoon, My Lady.” Margaret’s intended removed his hat, took hold of her hand, and then bowed over it. Staring down at the top of his head, Margaret couldn’t help but be aware that his lips barely brushed the back of her gloves. Which was proper, of course. Proper behavior had never bothered her before. In fact, she’d always appreciated such an admirable trait where gentlemen were concerned.
She also noticed Mr. Kirkley’s hair. Although thick and black, it was interspersed with silver strands that appeared more wiry than soft. Oh, but she ought to have paid attention to such details before! Although by that point, she still would have found herself naked, in bed with a man who was not her betrothed.
“Mr. Kirkley.” Margaret curtseyed. He’d given her permission to call him George, when they were in private. But around others, even though most guests had shed some of the more dignified airs at the country house party, he wished for the two of them to maintain formalities.
The sun had already peaked and was sliding into the west. Even knowing she couldn’t remain hidden forever, Margaret had kept to her room as late into the day as possible.
She couldn’t help but search the faces of the guests already mingling outside
Would he recognize her? Would she recognize him?
“May I escort you to a table for refreshments?” Mr. Kirkley offered his arm with a kind smile. She accepted it with a vague nod.
Penelope’s plans for an outdoor tea included a large tent set up on the lawn along with several ornamental tables and chairs. In the absence of spring flowers, servants had arranged red, orange, and gold leaves in glass vases atop the white linen tablecloths. Delicate plates filled with tiny sandwiches and pastries had been placed at each setting.
Normally, Margaret would have taken great pleasure in such a festive occasion. Today, however, her nerves were decidedly on edge. She was fairly certain that he’d not gotten a look at her face. It had been dark. He would have possibly seen the color of her hair when she’d fled out the door. He might be able to discern her height.
But she had yet another, more worrisome concern.
Who else but George’s intended would be climbing into his uncle’s bed?
Ice chased through her veins at the thought.
Margaret had insisted upon having her long black hair pinned into a tight chignon at the back of her neck against her most excellent lady’s maid’s subtle protests. Esther had wanted to affect a more attractive style, a loose chignon with several braided strands entwined just as she’d been doing for the past several months, but Margaret needed to keep as low of a profile as possible. On this day, more than almost any other, she’d prefer to go unnoticed.
Rather than wear an ornamental feathered hat in the fair autumn weather, she’d covered her head with a large bonnet. She chose a simple, muslin gown with a modest neckline and long sleeves that came all the way to her fingertips.
It wasn’t quite as plain as something a companion might wear but neither did it live up to the wardrobe she’d worn in London.
She would be as close to invisible as possible.
With an embroidered pelisse draped around her shoulders and a new pair of leather half-boots, the ensemble was quite acceptable for a country garden party. In fact, she assured herself, it was not all that different from many of the other ladies, and for that, Margaret couldn’t help but feel grateful.
Perhaps the marquess would not even attend. Perhaps such a gathering was too stodgy, too bland for the young rake. She breathed in deeply in an attempt to slow her racing heart.
Mr. Kirkley led them beneath the large canvas tent and indicated a table where Penelope and Danbury sat, along with Lady Sheffield, the Duke of Montfort, his duchess, Lady Sheffield, a young American debutante named Miss Drake, and her mother. Margaret lowered herself to a chair in relief.
“Everything looks wonderful, Penelope,” Margaret commented. Perhaps she had nothing to worry about after all. She would drink some tea, participate in some vapid conversation…
“Isn’t it?” agreed the duchess, who happened to be Penelope’s cousin. The petite woman closed her brown eyes and inhaled deeply. “The air is so very fragrant here.”
Monfort smiled fondly at his wife and covered her hand with his. “It’s good to be away from London. The pollution has become intolerable.”
“Parliament ought to be able to do something about it. It’s bad enough in the springtime, unbearable in the summer,” Penelope added.
“What would you suggest, Lady Danbury?” Monfort asked. “Do we require certain populations to go without heat? Disallow traffic? Expel a percentage of the citizens to keep the population down?”
“I certainly have an opinion as to which populations ought to be culled,” George commented as he placed his napkin on his lap.
Margaret frowned. He meant the poor. She was certain of that. But culled? Such a comment ought not to be made even in jest.
“The smog is far worse outside of Mayfair.” Margaret’s brother steered the conversation in a different direction. Hugh was good at that. A garden party was no place to discuss politics.
“Indeed,” Penelope agreed. Although Margaret did not miss the scowl her sister-in-law sent in George’s direction. “I was thinking more along the lines of infrastructure. What with the chamber pots—”
“These pastries are divine, Penelope,” the duchess interrupted her cousin, for which, Margaret surmised, the others at the table were likely grateful. Margaret hated to think what they would be discussing if Penelope had bee
n allowed to complete her sentence.
Those who knew Penelope were never surprised by some of what she would say in public, but George was not all that well-acquainted with her. Before Margaret could agree with the duchess and redirect the conversation, George’s eyes lit on something behind her and his expression transformed from annoyance to delight.
“Sebastian, my boy! Won’t you join us!”
Margaret jerked her gaze over her shoulder, across the lawn to where George had been looking.
It was him.
She almost forgot to breathe.
He did not wear a hat as most of the other men did and so the sun reflected off his shiny black hair. His breeches fit snugly, and he wore his shirt, waistcoat, and jacket with comfortable ease. Upon hearing his name, the marquess glanced up from the lady he’d been speaking to. He waved and then leaned down again, kissed the girl’s hand, and then turned to saunter across the lawn with a confident swagger. He met Margaret’s eyes for a moment, smiling, but quickly dismissed her in favor of others around her.
It was him.
She’d never gotten so much as a single look at his face and yet she knew with unmatched certainty that he was the man she’d nearly had relations with the night before. She lowered her lashes to her empty teacup and willed her heart to slow.
“My dear Lady Asherton, I’m honored to present to you my nephew, Sebastian Wright, Marquess of Rockingham. Sebastian, my boy, this is my—er, Lady Margaret Coats, the Countess of Asherton.”
Margaret forced her eyes to meet his. She was certain that he had not been able to see her face. The room had been completely dark. There was no way he could know she was the woman who’d climbed into his bed.
She steadied herself and offered her hand. When he took it, he touched his lips to the back, paused without releasing it, and then peered up at her. “Have we met before, My Lady?”
Familiar gray eyes smiled into hers. Familiar in that they were similar to his uncle’s. She’d not seen his eyes before, not even once. But she knew his taste. She’d kissed his smiling mouth. She’d…
Lady and the Rake Page 3