Beastly Lords Collection

by Baily, Sydney Jane

  “Drink up,” Ada told him handing him his glass, before she took a generous swallow, letting the tawny-colored liquid glide down the back of her throat. “Then you must go.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Michael had never been dismissed so quickly. True, he’d jumped up from any number of females’ beds as soon as he’d spent inside them, and he’d left while they were still basking in the aftermath. This was different.

  How he longed to embed himself deep inside her and finish off the yearning built up over the past weeks. He had a feeling he might have been able to do it, too, right when she was quivering with pleasure at his touch.

  Except he knew if he had, he would never be allowed to see her again. She was a skittish wild creature, as it turned out, and he must continue to take it slowly if he ever hoped to have her spread naked beneath him, her soft thighs wrapped around his waist while he pumped into her.

  She would enjoy it. He would make certain. For his part, he would be ecstatic.

  But, alas, not yet.

  Finishing his third glass of port, knowing it was his pent-up, unfulfilled desire keeping him stone sober, he took his leave.

  When at home, retired to his own bed, he had to stroke himself to climax, all the while thinking of Ada Kathryn. Her own release had come so quickly and intensely, no doubt due to the length of time since her husband’s death. It was obvious she hadn’t been with a man in a long time.

  All he could think of as he finished himself off was how her skin had tasted and how beautiful she looked, particularly at the moment of her fulfillment.

  He hoped to see it happen again. Soon.

  The next morning, he received a letter from Frederick Willis.

  The list of Ada Kathryns who had attended a ball at Almack’s was short indeed, namely one, Ada Kathryn Ellis, daughter of Baron and Lady Ellis.

  Staring at the paper, he felt a twinge of unease. Why was he searching out her past? What could he hope to accomplish?

  Yet, now he held a nugget more of information he hadn’t had before. Ellis. Nice enough name. It didn’t smack of anything unacceptable. Perhaps an old Welsh family.

  In any case, he could either surprise her by letting on he knew her name, which he already guessed she wouldn’t like as she seemed an extraordinarily private person, or he could dig deeper. To what end?

  Because she’d come to mean something to him, and the idea she would never let him be her paramour didn’t sit well with him. He wanted to dispense with the awkwardness, wrap his arms around her, and make passionate love to her.

  He had a suspicion she didn’t like him for some reason other than his exceedingly debauched past. Could her life prior to marrying Mr. St. Ange hold the key?

  First, unfortunately, he had to go to his family’s seat in Kent. His mother was clamoring for a visit, ever since he’d accepted the task of growing the family’s coffers. Moreover, he wanted to see his siblings.

  Thus, the very next day, he strode into the front hall of Oxonholt, their West Kent house, which he hadn’t set foot in for four years. Formerly a royal deer park, now simply a royal pain in the ass. Already too large for their modest family and dwindling accounts, nevertheless about seven years earlier, his father had commissioned the renowned French gothic revivalist architect, Anthony Salvin, to build the mansard dome and the chateau tower.

  What on God’s green earth did they need a tower for? Weren’t they a modern family for pity’s sake? Michael still rolled his eyes at the foolishness of it.

  In any case, the house looked the same as when he’d last seen it. Exactly the same. Outdated, rather ugly wallpaper, landscape paintings by some unknown artist, scuffed floor in need of a good polish, but with the hundreds of feet of wood in the home all in need of beeswax, that was understandable.

  His father had run out of money after the renovations, no doubt, and this was how it would remain until Michael infused the estate with new income.

  Even the butler, Mr. Tulsey, was the same. He welcomed the prodigal son home without even raising an eyebrow or creating the slightest crease of interest in his unflappable face.

  “Is Lady Alder somewhere about?” Michael asked him.

  “Yes, sir. In the parterre gardens. Amongst her roses, my lord. Shall I announce you?”

  “No, I can find my own way. But I would like a brandy when you get a minute. No, make it madeira. Don’t want to upset Mummy at this hour. A good-sized glass, mind you, Tulsey. I’m very thirsty.”

  “Very good, my lord.”

  And Tulsey disappeared with the perfect speed ensuring he didn’t look hurried yet imparting confidence in Michael he would have his drink shortly.

  Precisely as the butler had said, his mother was in her rose garden, pruning the bushes.

  “Mummy,” he called out to her.

  She shrieked unnecessarily, dropped the snips she held in one hand and the basket from the other. Instead of running toward him, she covered her face with her hands and began to sob.

  Michael couldn’t help rolling his eyes at her histrionics. True, it had been a number of years, but he hadn’t come back from the dead. It was, in truth, merely a quick jaunt from London.

  Making his way toward her, he wasn’t sure what to do once he was standing before her. In the end, he patted her shoulder, and she lowered her hands. In the next instant, she gave him a smack across the cheek.

  Good God! Where was Tulsey with that drink?

  She looked aghast, perhaps due to her own erratic actions, then she reached out and hugged him, pressing her face against his chest.

  “My son! My son!”

  Again, he patted her back, somewhat gingerly. This was the woman who had ruined his happiness, after all. Though now he knew the reason, fear of financial ruin, he supposed he almost understood his parents duplicitous and underhanded scheming.

  Hearing footfalls behind him, he stopped patting, hoping she would take her cue and release him. She didn’t, not until he tried to turn, and then she looked past him.

  “What is that, Tulsey?”

  “His lordship’s madeira, my lady.”

  At last, she took a step back, and Michael could breathe again. He could also turn and take the glass from the tray.

  “Do you want anything, Mummy?” he asked, taking a sip. Ah, refreshing!

  Frowning at him, she shook her head. “That will be all,” she told the butler, who disappeared at once.

  “Don’t you think tea or coffee is more appropriate at this hour?”

  He stared down at her. “Don’t you think not stealing a man’s fiancée out from under him is most appropriate at any hour?”

  She sighed and tossed her hands up. “Really! It’s been nearly four years, hasn’t it?”

  Stooping, he picked up her snips, tossed them in the basket, and then handed it to her, all the while careful not to spill his wine.

  “I hear you wanted to see me. Was it simply to smack my cheek with motherly affection?”

  She paled slightly. “I cannot believe you stayed away so long. Do you know how much I missed you?”

  “You had Gabriel and Camille.” And he’d had his gin and his wenches. It seemed like a fair trade.

  His mother pursed her lips. “One child doesn’t replace another one. That’s nonsense.”

  “I see.” He supposed she was correct. “Where are they anyway?”

  She tilted her head, staring at him. “Did you truly come here simply to see us?”

  He stopped scanning the property for signs of his siblings and looked at her.

  “Why yes, of course. Why else?”

  She pursed her lips for a second, then blurted, “Not to ask for money.”

  He barked out a laugh.

  “No, indeed not. Apparently, in this family, I’m the only one who not only has some but can make more.”

  “Your father mentioned something about your going to the market. Is that paying off, then?”

  “Mummy, I am not ‘going to the market.’ I’m i
nvesting in it. But never mind. Explaining trading and stocks and the exchange is not my strong suit, either. All you need to know is it’s going well. I hope we shall continue to have an earldom for many years to come.”

  “That’s good, dear.” She appeared entirely unconcerned. Perhaps his father hadn’t explained the dire circumstances in which they were in danger of falling.

  “Michael,” came a soft voice.

  Whirling, he caught sight of Camille hurrying toward him.

  “There’s my girl,” he said, feeling utterly fond of his sister, who looked, at that moment, rather wild. So much so, he handed his mother the wine glass, knowing what was coming.

  Brown hair flying loose and her hands fisted in her skirts to hold them up, Camille was tearing across the back terrace toward them. Down the stone steps in a flash, and she was in his arms.

  “You’re here” she said, at last. “Mummy, Michael is here. In Kent!”

  “Yes, dear. He was born and raised here and was bound to return at some point.”

  Their mother, over the shock of seeing him, went back to cutting her roses.

  “Let me look at you.” He held Camille away from him. “Are you excited for the upcoming Season? Father told me you are coming out.”

  “I am!” She jumped up and down, more like a child than a young lady hoping to marry. “I cannot wait for my first London ball.”

  “Ah, yes.” He thought of the many he had attended and of what often happened in the larger homes with many dark rooms and in the gardens. “Hopefully, I can be your chaperone, along with Mummy, of course.”

  Camille merely shrugged. “I cannot wait to start ordering gowns and move into a townhouse. Will we stay with you?”

  He flinched. The large Alder townhouse had been sold years ago. Michael had been a small boy at the time. Probably the family had needed money then, too. His father stayed at his club when he went to London, and his mother never went.

  Luckily, Michael had been deeded his own small place from his grandfather, who’d kept it for his mistress! He could not imagine his mother and sister living there with him, but it might be the only option.

  Unless he continued to make money at the exchange.

  “Where’s Gabriel?” he asked.

  “Where he always is,” their mother piped up.

  Camille offered a fond smile. “Let’s go find him.” She grabbed his arm.

  “You’ll stay for dinner,” his mother called after them.

  And it was as if he’d never left the bosom of the family.

  When alone with his sister, her sweet face resting against his shoulder, Michael relaxed. The first meeting with his mother hadn’t been terrible at all, apart from her sobbing and smacking his cheek. He’d seen Camille and Gabriel at least once every six months, since their home was under two hours from London, making sure they understood two things: one, he loved being their brother and would always look out for them, and two, they shouldn’t trust their parents.

  They had to learn it sometime, and better from him than being blindsided by parental craftiness.

  “When you are displayed upon the marriage mart,” he told his sister, “you must take precautions.”

  Camille giggled. “Oh, I know. Never be alone with a man. Never let him kiss me. Never dance more than twice with the same one unless I want us to be linked.”

  Michael laughed. How many times had he caused a young lady to break all those rules, and then some?

  “Yes, that’s all good advice,” he admitted, hoping his sister had better luck than the ladies he’d compromised, “but I meant precautions against our parents. I now know exactly what they are like, and they will try to pawn you off, even sell you, to the wealthiest eligible man. Whether you like the fellow or not.”

  Camille’s footsteps faltered, and her expression went from delighted to devastated in a heartbeat.

  Dammit! He’d spoken too plainly.

  “Don’t worry, dear sis, I won’t let you be married off to someone you don’t like.”

  “Promise?”

  “As long as you don’t put yourself in a situation where marriage is the only alternative.”

  She laughed. “You never let that stop you!”

  He halted in his tracks, right as they reached the stables courtyard. What had she heard?

  “What do you mean?” he asked.

  Offering him a knowing grin, Camille said, “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, dear brother, but the doings of Lord Vile have even reached us here in the country.”

  He shook his head. “How did you know it was I with that godawful moniker the ton slapped upon me?”

  “Easy. Every time Mummy came across anything in the papers about you, she circled it for Father to see. It was always about ‘Lord A, also known as Lord Vile, until it simply became Lord V.’ It doesn’t take an Oxford intellectual to know who’s who.”

  They entered the stables, which to Michael, had always been a place of refuge. He’d told Ada about grooming a horse. He hadn’t told her how he’d broken a series of them in his youth, creating damn fine riding mounts from practically wild beasts.

  Following him around when he was old enough was always his younger brother, Gabriel. However, though Gabe was an excellent hand with equines, canines were his passion. Thus, it was no surprise when they entered the ancient building, nodding to the first stable hand they saw, to find Gabe surrounded by a pack of hounds. Not merely surrounded, either. He was seated on the floor, legs crossed, and a quick headcount told Michael there were eight dogs in continuous movement around him.

  “You’re like their sun,” Michael called out over the din of the barking animals.

  Gabriel caught sight of him and shot him a smile that looked so like Camille’s. Strangely, also reminding him of little Harry’s.

  “Hark,” he called out, and there was blissful silence except for the whinnying of a horse in one of the stalls.

  “That’s a good bit of magic,” Michael said now that he could be heard.

  Getting to his feet, his brother with the darkest brown hair in the family said, “Here’s another bit. Sit.”

  Every last canine bottom hit the cobbled floor.

  “What do you think?” Gabe asked, stepping through the devoted dogs to reach his brother.

  “I think that’s bloody amazing,” Michael admitted.

  Gabe grinned. “I may make my living train hunting dogs since I don’t have the burden of lounging around as the heir apparent.”

  “Why you!” Then, as always happened, they had to scuffle around and mess up each other’s hair before he let his brother declare it a mutual victory, even though Michael could wipe the floor with him. What’s more, Gabriel knew it.

  “Anyway, I think it’s a fine idea,” Michael said. “People will always need well-trained dogs.” Then he thought of Ada and Harry.

  “What about a family pet? Any of these mutts good for that purpose? Sitting by the fire, letting a lady rest her feet upon him, or playing tug-of-war with a young boy and going for a stroll on a leash through the park?”

  As he stopped talking, he realized his brother and sister were staring at him.

  “Now what have I said?”

  Camille spoke first. “You sound as if you’re a married man with a family. That’s all.”

  Michael felt his face get hot. He had, hadn’t he?

  “Are you?” she pressed. “Are you marrying that woman?”

  “Which woman?” Did his entire family already know he was trying to woo and bed Mrs. St. Ange?

  “‘Lady P’ is how she’s referred to in the papers. Mummy says it’s Lady Pepperton.”

  He pressed his lips together. He wouldn’t discuss his personal life with his siblings and especially not his parents.

  “Well?” Camille prompted, all the while with Gabriel looking on interestedly.

  “No. And that’s all I will say.”

  His siblings glanced at one another.

  “Anyway,” Gabe s
aid, “they’re not mutts. They’re foxhounds, every one. They’d be fine as pets, very sociable, too, except they can be loud. Listen to this.” He turned to the pack. “Sing!”

  They began to bay. The hair on the back of Michael’s neck stood up.

  “If it’s a town pet,” Gabe continued as if he wasn’t being accompanied by the loud canine sounds directly behind him, “you might not want him singing next door to your neighbor.”

  “Make them stop,” Camille protested.

  “Hark,” he said just as before, and they fell silent, all of them with their eyes fixed on the youngest Alder, awaiting his next command.

  “Also,” Gabe continued, “if they lose their training, they may start following a scent and wander for miles.”

  “The baying alone is enough to put me off,” Michael said. Maybe Ada and her son simply needed a rabbit or a parrot.

  “I trained a pack of spaniels a couple months back.” Gabe was clearly warming to the topic. “For flushing out pheasants, you know. If you confess this dog is really for a nice lady and her son, I’ll show you something you’ll like.”

  “Very well,” Michael agreed, enjoying the light in his brother’s eyes. “Yes, I have a lady friend, and she has a two-year-old boy. Now, show me what you’ve got.”

  “Come on.” Gabe turned and led them out the other side of the stables into the paddock. “Where are they?”

  With his two siblings, Michael stood and surveyed the grassy field. In the far corner, three dogs were running around.

  “They probably have a rabbit at their mercy,” Gabe muttered. “Come,” he called out and, instantly, the three dogs came at a run.

  “Why do they stay in the paddock?” Michael asked his brother, since the fencing was meant to contain the horses only.

  “Because I tell them to,” Gabe said, pride in his voice. The three newcomers jumping excitedly around them.

  “The red setter there is Rufus, the retriever is Myrtle, and this fellow,” he bent to pick up the smallest of the three, a black and white spaniel, “is Dash.”

  “Dash?” Michael repeated.

  “He’s lovely,” Camille said, leaning toward her brother to pet its head. “Mummy’s cats probably wouldn’t like him in the house, though.”