To Love a Wicked Lord

by Edith Layton

  “I wouldn’t marry you if you’d spent the past year in a pirate’s cave hunting for treasure and came to me with your pockets full of jewels. I wouldn’t marry you if…” she paused. “I wouldn’t marry you for anything. And to think I was fool enough to believe you were dead or in distress,” she marveled, “and so went tearing after you to find out what happened, ruining what was left of my reputation in the process. You behaved like a cad, Noel. But I was a plain fool. Now, go away.”

  “I shouldn’t ever have let you go,” her grandfather said sadly.

  “What?” she asked. “And have me stay home, pacing and worrying and dwindling in my soul? Never. I went looking and though I didn’t find Noel, I do think I found myself. Don’t have regrets, Grandfather, for I don’t.” Her eyes narrowed as she looked at Noel again. “But why has he got such an escort? Is he under arrest? Is he a spy?”

  “Perhaps,” Maxwell said smoothly. “That’s possible too. But more to the point, he’s a bigamist.”

  Pippa blinked. Noel shrank.

  “He was going to marry you, Miss Phillipa,” Maxwell said formally. “But first he had to be sure his other wife was unaware. She lives in a village outside of London, and is known as Mrs. Nelson, as he is Mr. Nelson when he’s there.”

  Phillipa goggled at Noel, who seemed to be shrinking in size before her eyes.

  “And then,” Maxwell said, “he had to make certain things were stable with his wife Elise, in France, and his wife Francesca in Spain, and the former widow Mrs. Sabatini, now Mrs. Noel Norwood, in Italy. He has four wives, though it’s hard to credit that.”

  “But it was you I loved, Phillipa!” Noel cried.

  “And all of them wealthy,” Maxwell continued blandly. “He also loves money and we suspect he was also a courier when it was asked of him, but not for us.”

  “One thing’s certain,” one of the other gentlemen said, “Mr. Nicholson won’t trouble you again, Miss Phillipa. If we don’t deal with him promptly, his wives certainly will. Some of them, along with their papas and brothers, are already en route, on their way to meet with him here.”

  Noel’s eyes widened.

  “Please escort the gentleman back to the carriage, and then to London,” Maxwell told the two men holding up the now-collapsed Noel. “That is, if neither Lord Carstairs or his granddaughter have anything more to say to him.”

  “Not I,” Lord Carstairs said with a dismissive wave of his hand.

  “I do,” Phillipa said.

  The men in the room waited breathlessly.

  “Good riddance!” she shouted at Noel, and then stormed from the room.

  Maxwell found her walking in the gardens an hour later. Her head was bowed; she was obviously deep in thought. She didn’t look up when she heard him coming, although the pebbles on the path under their feet announced him long before he caught up with her.

  “Who would have thought it?” she asked in wonder after he’d paced by her side awhile. “A bigamist! He’s not that handsome, or rich. He’s not a seducer. How does he do it?”

  “You gave him your hand,” Maxwell said. “How did he get you to do that?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t know. Except that he seemed to know my loneliness as well as all the right things to say. I feel like a fool.”

  “Don’t,” he said simply. “Just consider yourself lucky. How is your grandmother?” he asked as they walked farther into the gardens.

  “Better,” Pippa said. “Not exactly herself again, actually, that may or may not come to pass. Grandfather blames himself for neglecting her in favor of his studies for so long, as well he should. Now they pass every evening together. He reads to her or talks to her and it appears to help them both. But you must have known that, you were with my grandfather awhile before you came out here, weren’t you?”

  “I was,” he said simply. “I didn’t know what else to say to you then. I still don’t. You seem to be angry with me. But I couldn’t write lest it was traced back to me. I’m much in demand by the French now, you see, and was traveling across the Continent and then trying to hurry home again. It’s getting more difficult to do as Napoleon tightens his grip. Are you angry with me?” he asked, gazing at her downturned head.

  She stopped beside a fountain where a marble nymph was coyly bathing. Pippa finally looked up at him. Her eyes were clear, her expression calm. “No,” she said. “I’m certainly not angry with you. It’s just that I don’t trust my judgment anymore. Don’t let it bother you. You have better things to do.”

  “And you?”

  She shrugged. “I live my life. And it’s not that dreary, after all. I help my grandparents. I read and dabble with paints; I ride and garden. And I have peace. The neighbors don’t have much to do with me, but that’s all my own doing. I cut a scandalous figure, didn’t I? A jilted, vengeful female traipsing across England and France in the company of a strange man, saying she was searching for the fiancé who had thrown her over? I wouldn’t have had any respect for me if I’d been here, hearing about my scandalous exploits. And now it turns out he was a bigamist and maybe a spy? Ha! I doubt even the sheep will talk to me in future. But it will pass. I certainly don’t want to go to London again. I’m not entirely alone. I can visit with grandfather’s scholarly friends.”

  She grinned at last, and looked up at him. “He makes sure that they’re married and over fifty before they can meet with me. This is my home. I like it here, my lord, so for heaven’s sake, don’t pity me.”

  “You didn’t miss me?” he asked, his dark eyes searching her face.

  She lowered her gaze. “And if I did? You told me your plans for the future, and they don’t involve me.” She looked him full in the face again. “I’m no longer the daring young woman I was in France. I thank you for not taking advantage of me then.”

  “You don’t want me anymore?”

  She stamped her foot. “Now what’s the point of asking that?” she demanded.

  “Only that I asked your grandfather if I could marry you and he said I could if you agreed. But he said that first he’d send the notice of your broken engagement to the newspapers so you wouldn’t be considered a kind of bigamist too. Then,” he said, “if you agreed, we could post our banns and get it over with. I think he’s hurrying because he worries that I may turn out to be some sort of scoundrel too. But I’m not, so will you?”

  She studied him. He was even more devastating to her senses now, but she was far more cautious than she’d ever been. “And as for your plans?” she asked. “Your distrust of marriage? Your hatred of virgins?”

  He laughed and touched her chin with one finger. “I don’t hate them. I’m just wary of them. I was, that is to say. I don’t care if you were a nun or a tart, the truth is I missed you, Pippa,” he said sincerely, taking her by her slender shoulders and looking down into her face. “Almost from the moment I left you on the shore. I liked you, Pippa. And I wanted you. But when you were gone, I realized it was far more than that. I needed you. I do love you. I never said that to any woman. Be damned to my father’s bad luck! I’m not my father. I’ll chance anything in order to be with you for the rest of my life. I’ll be faithful and honest and a dead bore, if you want. Will you have me?”

  She didn’t answer right away, though her eyes filled with tears.

  “You grandfather will,” he added hopefully.

  She laughed and threw herself into his arms, holding her face up to his.

  “Oh no,” he said as his hands went to cup her face so she could look at nothing but him. “You have to say it.”

  “I will,” she said, “I do. I do love you. You showed me what love is. Oh please, kiss me.”

  “Of course,” he whispered against her lips.

  They kissed and both sighed with relief and pleasure. But he quickly drew away as though her lips were really fire instead of just feeling like it against his own.

  “Now let’s not shock your grandfather, or my brother,” he said breathlessly. “They’re b
oth watching from the window. I don’t want his invitation withdrawn. He’s offered me and Duncan houseroom here until the wedding. Does that please you? Or do you think distance lends enchantment?”

  “Oh, wonderful,” she said, “I am already enchanted.”

  He tucked her arm in his and they began strolling back to the house. “Of course, we’ll have my family here before the wedding. I wish everyone could come to my father’s house, but it appears that the thought of any travel distresses your grandmother now. That may pass. I thought we’d post the banns and marry here, if you like. Or at my father’s home if you prefer. Which do you want?”

  “You,” she said, smiling. “You.”

  The house was quiet, the night deep and soft. September had come, but it still bore August on its scented breath. Maxwell couldn’t sleep. His window was open so that moonlight bleached the room and the draperies puffed out with every breeze. That wasn’t what was keeping him up. He liked the cool night air. But he slept less and less as the days and nights went on.

  It was almost painful for him to be so near to Pippa, to see her every day and night, to remember more intimate moments and how her body had felt pressed against his; to laugh with her and walk with her, play cards and read with her, and when he could, kiss her. He wanted her more and with so much urgency it embarrassed him and denied him sleep. At least, he thought, turning in his wide bed again, it was only a month until they wed. If, he thought glumly, he lived that long.

  He was thinking that no one died of desire anymore than they did of a broken heart, when he heard a slight sound in the velvet night. He sat up. His chamber door was opening. Duncan, he thought, unable to sleep and here to talk with him. Only Duncan usually slept like a rock cast in the sea. He hoped nothing was the matter.

  He sat up straighter when he saw who slipped through the door and closed it softly behind her. She wore filmy nightclothes and seemed to float toward him. But fairy apparitions didn’t have such high jutting breasts that swayed as they moved. He stared, unable to speak.

  “Move over,” she said in a hushed voice as she came to his bedside. She giggled as she hopped from foot to foot. “Move, I said, it’s chilly in here, selfish one.”

  He reached over and pulled her up into bed with him. She was all suppleness and softness in his arms. He buried his face in her neck. He was actually trembling, trying to keep himself under control.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked in a hoarse voice.

  “Well—” she began to say as she threw the coverlet back and crawled under it. She stopped. “Oh,” she said, “you’re not wearing anything!”

  “It was warm in here,” he managed to say.

  “Good,” she said. She swallowed hard and steadied herself, so that he wouldn’t guess how worried she was, or how much courage it had taken to get her here. “The thing is, Maxwell,” she said, “that we’re to be married in a matter of weeks, and I remembered something.”

  “What?” he asked, staying as absolutely still as his unruly body allowed while she curled closer.

  “I realized there was an impediment,” she said as she hid her heated face by kissing his neck.

  He grew hot and cold. “What the devil are you doing?” he demanded.

  “Hush,” she said. “The walls are thick but I’m not deaf. Don’t ruin the mood. What I realized,” she said as she placed a kiss on his cheek, and then one lightly against his lips, “is that you wanted to marry an experienced woman. So I’m here for the experience before we marry. Can you help me?”

  It seemed an eternity to her before he answered. And then he laughed and drew her to himself, settling her on his hard chest. “Oh yes,” he said. He wanted to say many more witty things, but couldn’t. She kissed him and he was lost to her.

  She stopped being afraid once she was in his arms. She was warm and pliant, and moved with him like a true apparition in some rare, erotic dream. She followed his lead and he led her as far as he could and still keep his control. When he was certain her naked body was as slick and heated as his was, he rolled her back to the feather tick, and paused on his elbows above her.

  He’d touched her and kissed her and set her to tingling and aching, and made her shudder with new releases, but wonderful as it was, it wasn’t enough for her. She knew there was more. Overwhelmed by her own desire, she no longer knew what to do except to have him even closer.

  She relaxed, opened herself to him body and soul and looked into his eyes. “Please,” she said.

  He sighed and moved to her, and after one moment of difficulty, was within her. She arched her back and clung to him. He tried to be slow, he tried to be gentle, but it was over quickly. The storm of his desire ended their moment too soon for his liking.

  “I’m sorry,” he said when he was able, as he lay breathing hard at her side. “Did it hurt?”

  “A bit,” she said, raising herself on one elbow. “Is that what you’re sorry about?”

  “That, and the fact that I was too hasty. I didn’t give you time to share everything I felt.” He pulled her close again. “You made me lose control, just as I feared.”

  “There’s nothing to fear anymore,” she said seriously.

  “No, and there never again will be, you wonderful, brave, and brazen creature,” he said, his hand warm on her back.

  “At last,” she said, and rested her head against his heart. But then she raised her head. “You make it all sound so final. There’s not going to be more of this for us?” she asked with a quizzical smile, gently brushing his hair back from his forehead.

  “Oh, for a certainty there will be,” he said. “Give me a moment.”

  “And you? Were you pleased with me?” she asked.

  “Too much, as I said,” he answered ruefully.

  “How can I learn to please you less?” she asked, smiling.

  “That is not our aim,” he said, his lips curling in a smile too.

  “Ah!” she said softly. “But what can you possibly want then?”

  He laughed.

  She sighed. “Obviously,” she said, brushing a kiss across his lips, “I’ll need a great deal more experience then, won’t I?”

  Chapter 23

  It was a perfect morning for a wedding, and so said all.

  The families took their seats at either side of the old Norman chapel. All were radiantly dressed, as might be expected. Both families were wealthy, after all. And both sides had military gentlemen in attendance, as well as some persons with names of note in London and across the known world. There were others with names of note that weren’t so well known and neither were they supposed to be, except at the highest levels of the government.

  A renowned scholar’s granddaughter was marrying into an ancient dukedom.

  Everyone present felt privileged, though they showed it in different fashions.

  The scholar’s family sat to the left of the aisle with long-lost relatives and students of all ages from many places. The thin and bent old gentleman who was recognized as the bride’s grandfather was clearly pleased. His wife, an improbably yellow-haired squab of a lady, was quiet. But she smiled a great deal.

  The duke’s family sat to the right. The tall, icy-eyed duke was unbent just enough to be seen as both proud and satisfied. The groom’s brother Duncan was beaming. His stepmother, a pinch-faced female who looked like an illustration of bad temper in a medical text, turned her thin lips up in an attempt at a smile. The duke’s youngest child looked as though she’d been dragged through a hedge backward, as some whispered. She’d originally been carefully dressed in white with a wreath of flowers in her hair. Now she looked as though she’d been savaged by the shrubbery outside the church. But young Lady Theodosia seemed pleased and proud as well.

  The bride and groom at the altar noticed none of this. They had eyes only for each other.

  “At last,” the groom whispered to his lady.

  The bride grinned. She had no words for her happiness.

  When at last man a
nd wife, they embraced.

  And for the first time in the history of the ancient chapel, the wedding guests spontaneously applauded.

  Acknowledgments

  To all my kind and gentle readers, thank you.

  About the Author

  EDITH LAYTON loved to write. She wrote articles and opinion pieces for the New York Times and Newsday, as well as for local papers, and freelanced writing publicity before she began writing novels. Publishers Weekly called her “one of romance’s most gifted authors.” She received many awards, including a Lifetime Achievement Award from the Romantic Times, and excellent reviews and commendations from Library Journal, Romance Readers Anonymous, and Romance Writers of America. She also wrote historical novels under the name Edith Felber. Mother of three grown children, she lived on Long Island with her devoted dog, Miss Daisy; her half feral parakeet, Little Richard; and various nameless pond fish in the fishness protection program.

  Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.

  Romances by Edith Layton

  TO LOVE A WICKED LORD

  A BRIDE FOR HIS CONVENIENCE

  HIS DARK AND DANGEROUS WAYS

  BRIDE ENCHANTED

  FOR THE LOVE OF A PIRATE

  HOW TO SEDUCE A BRIDE

  GYPSY LOVER

  ALAS, MY LOVE

  THE RETURN OF THE EARL

  TO TEMPT A BRIDE

  TO WED A STRANGER

  THE DEVIL’S BARGAIN

  THE CONQUEST

  THE CHANCE

  THE CHALLENGE

  THE CHOICE

  THE CAD

  Copyright

  This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  TO LOVE A WICKED LORD. Copyright © 2009 by Edith Felber. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.