Hunt wrapped an arm around Angelica’s shoulders and gave her a quick squeeze. Her eyes were on the floor, and he knew she felt overwhelmed.
“Miss Lovelace and I will discuss how best to proceed once we are married, Mother,” he said with emphasis.
The duchess’s eyes indicated she meant to make her plea again once they spoke their vows, but she placed a smile upon her lips to address Angelica’s brother.
“You have the look of your father,” she said in that no-nonsense manner Hunt had come to recognize as part of the duchess’s personality. “Malvern’s brother, Lord Harry, took his nephews fishing. Personally, I think it is a bit cold, but Logan and Lucas thought it a keen idea. Do you care to fish also?”
“Yes, Duchess.”
“Well then, if your father holds no objections, Malvern can assist you in finding a pole and whatever else you may require. Can you not, Hunt?”
“My nephews are a few years younger than you, but I suspect you will get on well together.”
The boy looked pleased with the idea of being a child again. Months had passed since Carson had enjoyed more than a brief romp in the park. “May I, Papa?”
Lovelace ruffled the boy’s hair. “Run along with you, but you are to mind Lord Harry.”
“This way, Carson.” Hunt squeezed Angel’s hand before he departed, his arm draped about her brother’s shoulder.
As they walked away, he heard his mother announce, “The Countess of Gunnimore has come to stay with us for Christmastide. I believe you will find her in the small drawing room, Mr. Lovelace. Meanwhile, I mean to whisk Angelica upstairs where a modiste awaits her measurements for her wedding gown. I hope you do not mind, Lovelace.
“The wedding is fast approaching, and the countess and her daughter Lady Jarvis were to be alone this year for the festive days as the countess’s sons took themselves off to Brighton.”
Out of earshot at last, Hunt leaned down to share confidences with the boy.
“You are in for a wonderful time. I assure you the Duchess of Devilfoard does not tolerate unhappy children under her roof.” The boy gave Hunt an odd look, but he kept abreast of Hunt’s long strides. “Lord Harry is nothing more than a kid in a man’s breeches. Just do not permit him to practice his tricks upon you. My younger brother is a great one for tricks. Later, I will share some of my favorite tactics to use against my brother. Would you like that?”
“That would be capital, sir. I mean if you do not mind.”
Angel had once remarked that she wished to be closer to her brother. Hunt meant to make it so by earning young Carson’s trust.
* * *
Hunt waited impatiently at the front of the church for her entrance.
“It is still a quarter hour until the ceremony,” Sir Alexander said with a chuckle.
“Too long,” he protested. Hunt’s eyes scanned the pews in the estate’s chapel, searching for one particular countenance.
“Lord Remmington will not attend,” the baronet whispered. “At his request, I have made arrangements for Rem to return to the Continent.”
Hunt wished his friend would have found forgiveness by now, but, evidently, the earl would continue his disapproval.
“It will disappoint Angelica to learn of the earl’s absence. She blames herself for Remmington’s wounded pride.”
“Remmington has known the death of his father and brother,” Sir Alexander reminded Hunt, “as well as Lady Delia’s choosing an Irish baron over him, the heartbreaking state of the title he inherited, and his relinquishing of a promising military career in order to claim the earldom.”
“And my snatching Miss Lovelace from his grasp,” Hunt admitted dejectedly.
“None of that on your wedding day,” the baronet warned. “I was never of the thought that Miss Lovelace would suit the earl. In her tender heart, the lady would have permitted Remmington his doldrums. He requires a woman who will shake a finger at his moodiness.” Sir Alexander good-naturedly slapped Hunt upon the back. “Where you, my friend, require a lady who will stir up a bit of the adventurous spirit you possessed as a youth. The one you placed aside after your imprisonment upon the Continent. Miss Lovelace is of the nature to act first and ask forgiveness second. You could use a bit more of her temerity in your life. You spent too much time second-guessing each of your decisions. Make your choices, Malvern, and then live with them. That is my philosophy.”
“The woman is quite unpredictable,” Hunt replied with a smile of admiration upon his lips.
“Then I will wish you happy, Malvern.” Sir Alexander stepped away to permit Harry to assume his position at Hunt’s side.
A shuffling of feet and the clearing of throats announced the entrance of the duke and duchess. Among those already seated were the Countess of Gunnimore, the Earl and Countess of Mannington, Lady Victoria’s sister Lady Sarah, with whom the Lovelaces had resided in London, as well as the Earl and Countess of Northerson, Lady Victoria’s elder brother and his wife. His and Angelica’s marriage brought a renewal of family for his betrothed, and that particular fact pleased Hunt immensely. His wife could look beyond him to claim her identity. He wanted his vivacious Angel to be something more than his chattel.
His eyes returned to the arched doorway to discover Angelica in all her glory. Her hand rested upon her father’s arm, but Hunt recognized the bit of mischief upon her lips. She had won the “battle” with the duchess over the proper wedding dress for a marchioness.
“You were always a duchess,” his sweet Angel had argued when the duchess had suggested that his betrothed wear a jewel-encrusted bodice gown for the ceremony. “Who is to say what you would have chosen to wear if Devilfoard had not already assumed his father’s title?”
Now, she stood before the small gathering in pure radiance. Her gown was the lightest blue and cascaded from the gathered bust line, which remained without corset—her curves evident be-neath the soft satin. Royal blue and white satin ribbons framed the square neck of the gown and under her breasts, as well as on the puffed sleeves. Upon her head, she wore a circle of blue cornflowers and dewdrops, and about her neck was a single strand of thumbnail-sized diamonds and sapphires. She was the perfect image of his private “angel.” Hunt’s breath caught in his throat. His future wife was a vision of female loveliness.
* * *
Lord Malvern’s eyes met hers, and Angel smiled. She recognized the effect she had upon the man. Their stolen kisses over the months since she had accepted the marquess’s proposal had become progressively more demanding.
Last evening, the desire was almost too strong to contain, but Lord Malvern had kept his promise not to take advantage of their previous intimacies.
“We will begin our life together by knowing only each other,” he whispered as he held her to him. She found his resolve touching, proving him the man of honor she always knew him to be.
He stood beside Lord Harry, but Angel saw only him. Her Lucifer. Her dreams brought to life. Heart-stoppingly handsome. The man she trusted with her heart from the first moment of their acquaintance. He wore a dovetail morning coat of deepest black, with a waistcoat of matching cloth, accented with threads of royal blue, which caught the candlelight. He drew his unfashionably long hair away from his face with a black ribbon.
His starched white shirt points framed an immaculately tied cravat, held in place by a sapphire stickpin, which sparkled as he turned toward her. His breeches tightly defined his muscular thighs and the highly polished top boots did the same for his calves. He was passion incarnate—a devil waiting for her before the church’s altar.
“I am prepared, Papa,” she whispered softly.
Horace Lovelace nodded sadly, but he set their steps in motion.
* * *
Hunt’s heart pounded hard against his chest as he watched her excitement grow. Each time he looked upon her it was as if he saw her for the first time. Yet, he had the feeling he had always known her. That the moment she stared boldly at him in the park—a recently r
eturned memory—Hunt recognized her as his one true love.
“Will you not tell me where we are going?” she asked with a pretty pout.
“It is a surprise, Lady Malvern,” he teased with a straight face.
She tutted her disapproval. “You of all people, my lord, should know I am too logical for a surprise to be pleasing.”
Hunt switched his seat to sit beside her on the carriage’s forward-facing bench. “However, you will tolerate my need to please you because this is our wedding day.”
He removed her stylish bonnet before using his fingers to lift her chin. Then he kissed her gently, teasing her lips with his tongue. Her body leaned into his. Soon, he told his rising desire. Soon she would be his physically. Soon he would fill her with his seed.
She sighed deeply and leaned against his shoulder. “Will we be much longer?”
Hunt’s arm snaked around her.
“Within the hour.”
Snuggled into his warmth, within minutes, she fell asleep in his embrace, and so she did not note their destination until he shook her awake.
“Come along, my angel.” His sweet wife stretched and opened her eyes to smile at him. “We have arrived, lass.”
“Oh. I did not realize Mr. Etch had stopped the coach.” She leaned forward to peek out the window. “Oh, Hunt,” she gasped. “We are at the Wendts’ farmhouse.”
As his footman opened the door and set down the steps, he explained, “The Wendts are not within. They are spending Christmastide with their daughter Alice and their new granddaughter.” He reached a hand for her. “The farmhouse is ours to enjoy. I thought we should finish what we began here.”
Happily, she launched herself into his arms.
“This is a heavenly idea. You are so thoughtful.”
He enjoyed her kiss and felt his manhood swell. “I do not wish to embarrass Mr. Etch. Perhaps we should go inside,” he whispered huskily.
His wife blushed prettily, but Angelica did not back away from his embrace, and Hunt marveled at his good fortune in finding such a woman.
“I am starved, Lord Malvern. I pray you thought to have the cottage stocked.”
“The duchess and Devilfoard made all the arrangements while we were still aboard ship, but knowing my mother’s attention to the most insignificant detail, I have no doubt we will survive.” He bent at the knees to lift her into his arms. “According to Wendt—” He kissed the tip of her nose. “—you assisted him in carrying me into the house the first time we entered this abode. I think it only appropriate I deliver you inside this time.”
She kissed the line of his jaw. “A symbolic kidnapping, my lord?” she teased. “Are you of Plutarch’s mind? ‘It continues also a custom at this very day for the bride not of herself to pass her husband’s threshold, but to be lifted over, in memory that the Sabine virgins were carried in by violence, and did not go in of their will.’”
Hunt nuzzled her ear. “No violence, lass. And I pray you are willing.”
His beautiful wife stared loving into his eyes, and Hunt felt his chest swell with pride.
“Aye, my lord.”
“The bags are within, sir.” Etch cleared his throat and waited in bemused silence. “Will you require anything else, my lord?”
Hunt shook his head. “Leave Alibi in the barn with some hay and water, and then you may leave. We will await your return in three days.”
“Yes, sir. I will be at the White Horse Inn in Crockett if ye have a need of me services before then.”
Hunt glanced at his wife. “I doubt that will be necessary.” He grinned wolfishly at her. “Come along, Lady Malvern.”
Crossing the threshold, he sat Angelica upon her feet.
She wrapped her arms about his waist and rested her head against his chest. “Why only three days, my lord?”
Hunt laced his hands behind her back to keep her in his embrace.
“Because my father annually welcomes the new year with fireworks. People from the village come to the estate to drive away the evil spirits with the light. I thought the event the perfect time to introduce the new Marchioness of Malvern to the world.”
She tilted her chin upward and pulled his head down to her. “If I have but three days—”
Hunt required no more invitation. He kicked the door closed with his foot. Catching her to him, he kissed her, a full, rich kiss, meant to claim her.
“Angelica,” he whispered as he ran a line of kisses from her temple to the corner of her mouth. His manhood strained at his breeches. “Are you prepared to know me as your husband?” A silence followed, and Hunt watched a gamut of emotions crossing her countenance. Without her saying so, he knew she was frightened. “I will be gentle, lass.”
“I trust you, Huntington.” She stepped closer to rise on tiptoes to reach his mouth with hers. He kissed her with all the passion he had felt for her since first touching her in this very house. Thankfully, Angelica returned his desire, clinging to him with want.
Hunt lifted her to him again—this time carrying her into the small bedroom they had shared previously. Setting her upon her feet, he removed the few pins that held her hair in a sophisticated chignon. As the strands fell away from the knot, Hunt caressed the silken locks. He threaded his fingers through the waves, knotting the silver white strands about his fist.
“Our children will be absolutely striking,” he declared.
“Conceit, my lord?” she asked on a breathy exhale.
“A man knows no conceit when he speaks the truth, lass.” He kissed the point where her pulse throbbed with desire for him. The passion between them rose quickly. It was hot and all encompassing. She arched against him, silently asking for completion, and Hunt meant to provide it. In many ways, he knew gratitude at possessing no memory of his time with Alexandra Dandridge or any of the other half dozen women his friends spoke of as his former lovers. He wanted all his intimate memories to begin with this moment. He wanted to know this woman as the mate of his life.
“You must instruct me in the way of this,” she whispered against his neck, as his hands slid down her back and across the fall of her hips. “I know of the act, but not—”
Instinctively, Hunt lifted her against him, grinding his erection against her soft mound. Words lost, her breathing turned shallow, and her eyes drifted closed.
“All you must do, lass, is not to be frightened. If you are bold, nature will instruct you in the ways of men and women.” He slid his hand between their bodies to capture her breast, teasing the nipple to a hard bud. “You must tell me if anything I do displeases you. I will not have you simply tolerate my touch. I wish you to desire me as much as I desire you.” He kissed her again. Harder and more demanding—telling her with his actions his complete devotion to her. “I must have you, lass,” he whispered on a breathy exhale.
She clung to him, swaying in place. “A life together, my lord.”
“Aye, lass. The devil’s cub will claim his angel.”
* * *
Angelica watched him as he slept, and although she already knew his overpowering passion twice, she virtuously avoided a lingering look at his exposed thighs. Her husband was a magnificent specimen of maleness, and he was definitely a distracting figure. Whenever Malvern looked upon her with that wicked smile of his, she melted. He was unquestionably more attractive than the man by which she had judged all others. Her Lucifer could not hold a candle to Huntington McLaughlin.
“Do you like what you see, Lady Malvern?” he asked in that lazy drawl she adored. When he relaxed, his Scottish burr became more prominent.
“What is there not to like?” Angel settled into his arms. She kissed his chest and heard a quick intake of air as her lips skimmed his nipple. She knew by the tension in his muscles her husband hungered for her. His fingers flitted across the skin of her back. The movement was so light that it aroused her immediately. Angel tilted her chin upward to taste the warmth of his mouth. She could not resist a tiny wisp of a smile when he released her chin with
a heavy sigh of satisfaction.
“In case I did not speak my devotion previously, I love you, Angelica McLaughlin.” He drew light circles upon her abdomen. “I wish to spend the remainder of my days making you happy.”
Angelica ran her tongue along his collarbone before sucking upon the pulse point at the base of his neck.
“If you love me as you say, my lord—” She slid her hand about his waist and across his hip. The rough texture of his skin thrilled her. “—you will claim me as the mother of your future children, then you will feed me for we have not eaten since the wedding breakfast, and finally we will speak of our future.”
Her husband’s eyebrow rose in a characteristic challenge. “Is our future not clear, lass?”
Angel afforded him one of her all-knowing smiles. “Most certainly our immediate future knows no doubt, my lord.”
His lips traced a line across her cheek to nibble at the corner of her mouth. “Is there something amiss, lass? Something you wish to say?”
Angelica drew back far enough to stare into his eyes. “I wish only the best for you, my lord.”
“I hold no doubt.”
Her husband sounded suspicious, but he smiled with affection, and so Angel mustered her resolve. “Although I knew our roles prior to speaking our vows, the last few days at the Keep emphasized how the future of the dukedom rests upon our shoulders, and as much as I admire the duke and duchess, I cannot simply follow in their footsteps. Neither do I wish to watch my husband be something that will not make him happy. In that portrait of your family in the gallery, I observed a boy struggling to be his father. That is not a lesson I wish our son to learn.”
“What would you have me do?”
Angelica caressed his cheek. “I wish you to learn the business of the dukedom from your father. It is important for you to understand what went before, but please promise me we will find a means not to live in the duke’s pocket. You and I must have time to discover our strengths. As you noted previously, the prospect of my role as duchess frightens me, but I believe we can create something wonderful if left to our own devices.”
Daring Lords and Ladies Page 73