“Yes.”
“No regrets?”
Something flickered in his eyes, something vulnerable and uncertain, and Bunty wanted to chase it away. She reached her hand up to stroke his face, still unable to believe this gorgeous man was really hers.
“Not one,” she said.
Chapter 5
“Wherein the real world intrudes.”
13th December 1820. London.
“There’s no choice, Ludo. If you will be so ridiculously stubborn about using my money, then we must not waste yours. Your landlady charges a fortune for those meals she cooks. We must either go out to eat, or get some shopping so I may attempt to cook for us, though I warn you now I am more than a little doubtful as to my skills.”
“I won’t have you skivvying and cooking!”
Bunty rolled her eyes as their discussion went around in a complete circle for the second time. “Then employ a maid and let us get some dinner.”
Ludo was sitting up in bed, looking mutinous. His arms were folded across his chest and Bunty tried not to get distracted by the way it made his muscles bulge. She wanted to lick him. He was so delicious, and….
No.
Then he’d have his way, and they could not carry on like this. No matter how delightful it was.
They had not left his rooms in the five days since they’d married. Astonishingly, no one had called. Astonishing that was, until she realised her father had not posted notice of their marriage. He was ashamed of it. Of them. The knowledge burned, especially when she was so happy, but… well, that was her parents’ problem. They only knew Ludo by reputation. They would come around when they realised the man he really was. The one she was coming to know.
“But I don’t want to go out,” he grumbled. “Come back to bed.”
He gave the mattress an inviting pat.
Bunty wavered before firming her resolve. “No. And it’s only for a while. Honestly, anyone would think you were ashamed of….”
She let those word hang in the air as she actually thought about them, and all her old insecurities came crashing down on her.
“Oh, no!” he said, and she looked up, startled by his impatient tone.
He leapt out of bed and crossed the room. She had been standing by the window in her dressing gown, staring at the street below. Now she was riveted to the sight of her husband striding towards her in all his naked glory. Her breath caught and held as he closed the distance between them and took her face in his hands, staring down at her.
“What maggoty idea has taken hold in that brain of yours, wife? For, if you think I could ever be ashamed of you… My God, that’s a laugh. I’ve never been prouder of anything in my entire life, and that’s a fact.”
Bunty’s gasped, a knot of emotion in her throat.
“Really, Ludo?” she asked, believing him but wanting to hear it again.
She had never known what it was to be so thoroughly approved of, to be with someone—anyone, let alone a man—who looked at her as though she was important, as if her opinion mattered. Yet it was better even than that, for Ludo looked at her as if she was the beginning and the end of his world. She had tentatively begun to believe he meant it.
“Of course, really,” he said, impatient now, and then his expression darkened, and his voice was filled with regret, “it’s you who will be ashamed, love.”
Bunty took a moment to look him over, feeling a now familiar surge of heat as desire pooled in her belly. She shook her head and smiled at him.
“Now who’s having maggoty ideas?”
He gave a huff of laughter, but it was bitter-edged, and she did not like the sound of it. He turned away from her.
“If we go outside that door, you will realise this is all I’m good for.”
Bunty watched as he waved a dismissive hand at the bed.
“Don’t be foolish, Ludo,” she said, thinking perhaps he was joking, but the way he was dragging on his small clothes and then his breeches with sharp, angry movements made her reconsider.
“Fine,” he muttered “You want to go out? We’ll go out. You’ll figure it out eventually, anyway.”
“Ludo,” she protested, wondering where this unhappy, angry man had come from when he’d been so content just moments earlier.
She ought not have pressed him, ought not have insisted but… but no, this was silly. They were only going out to eat. It wasn’t Almack’s, not that they’d have a hope of gaining entry there, she thought with amusement and a complete absence of regret. Goodness, she could just imagine the patronesses’ elegant noses turn up in horror if she turned up with….
Oh.
“Ludo.”
He did not answer, searching for a clean shirt before giving up and snatching the one he’d married her in off the floor. He’d not worn one since.
“Ludo,” she said again, as he tugged the shirt over his head.
She moved to him, standing right before him and clutching at the billowing fabric so he had to give her his attention. He stilled, his eyes wary, tension rolling off him in waves.
“What?” he asked, terse and irritated, but not, she thought, with her.
“Ludo, you know how you don’t understand how I have always felt so… so uncomfortable with… with the way I look?”
Ludo rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath, and Bunty smiled.
“Precisely,” she said, sliding her hands about his waist. “You do not understand it because, by some happy miracle, you do not see me like everyone else does.”
“Nonsense,” he snapped. “It’s only that you’ve let your mother dress you and hidden yourself away in corners, trying to make yourself shorter and skinnier, and something you’re not. You’re beautiful, inside and out, and everyone else would see it too, if you’d only believe it yourself.”
Bunty blinked away the emotion those words produced and reminded herself that she was reassuring him this time. It was only fair, after all, not to mention God’s honest truth.
“Well, perhaps,” she allowed, her voice quavering. “But the point is, Ludo, you’re wrong about what I think, about how I shall feel outside of these doors. I know your reputation. I followed your exploits, you know. I always searched the scandal sheets for your name to see what you’d been up to. I expect I know more about you than you do yourself, though I suspect much of it was fabrication, or at least the truth with fancy embroidery. I know all those things, and now I am coming to know you, and I’m proud of you. I’m proud of you, and not only because you’re so handsome you make my heart feel all strange and fluttery, but because you’re wonderful. You’re kind and funny and generous…. Oh, Ludo, don’t let other people’s opinions spoil everything, for I shan’t.”
She watched his throat work, saw the doubtful glint in his eyes and pressed on, determined to get her point across.
“You made me believe in myself, Ludo. You’ve made me feel beautiful these past days, and I shall continue to believe it no matter what others say, so long as you always think it. So believe in my words too… please?”
He pulled her into his arms and held her close, resting his head atop hers. He said nothing for the longest time and then looked down at her, one dark eyebrow quirking. “Strange and fluttery?”
Bunty laughed. “Oh, Ludo, that’s the bit of my heartfelt declaration that stuck in your head, was it?”
He gave her an odd look. “I’m a man, of course it was.”
She huffed and shook her head, giving in. “Yes, my beautiful man. Looking at you, thinking of you… it does peculiar things to my heart.”
“Not just your heart,” he said, waggling his eyebrows at her.
Bunty spluttered and buried her face in his shirt.
“Dreadful,” she said despairingly.
Ludo touched her chin with his fingers, raising her face to his and bending down, kissing her with such tenderness that tears pricked at her eyes.
“You make me believe I could be something,” he said quietly. “And I want
to be, for you. I want that very badly.”
Bunty swallowed and gave a decisive nod. “You already are, Ludo, but I believe you can be anything you want. I believe in you.”
***
Ludo took Bunty to Abingdon’s chop shop and watched his wife with the greatest of pleasure as she took in her surroundings. That she had never been to such a place in her life was evident, as her fascinated gaze swept over everything and everyone. At first he’d hesitated, uncertain he should take her inside, but… well, they had to eat, and she was right. If he was dead set against spending her money—which he knew was idiotic, but had stuck in his brain as a matter of principle—then it was either this or making her cook for them, and that he would not do. She had been raised a lady, raised with the expectation and ability to run a large and prosperous household. A woman who might have married an earl, or at least a viscount, not some disowned, disgraced youngest son with nothing but his tarnished name to claim as his own.
As he’d opened the door, he’d wished he was taking her somewhere fancy, that he could afford Claridge’s or Grillon’s, but now, watching her, he rather thought she preferred this. It was a bustling place with the rich scent of roasted meat heavy on the air. Ludo’s stomach growled as he realised how hungry he was. A harried waiter came up and took their orders, slapped a jug of ale on the table, and gave the scarred top a perfunctory wipe with a grubby cloth before hurrying away again.
Ludo poured them each a glass and watched with amusement as Bunty took a cautious sniff and then sipped. She screwed up her face and shuddered, then resolutely took another sip. By the fifth sip she seemed to have the hang of it, and Ludo reached his hand across the table, an odd sensation in his chest as he stared at her. She had always been a far-off dream, a bright hope he’d never dared want, for it was too implausible, too fantastic that she would ever look at someone like him, but here she was. His wife. Emotion filled his heart, pushed at his ribs, something new and fragile and optimistic, and he dared to let it flare to life instead of snuffing it out as he had with every other thing he’d ever wanted for himself. His hand was on the table, palm up. He felt silly, vulnerable, and went to withdraw it, except she noticed then that he had reached for her, and put her hand in his. She curled her fingers between his and held on tight, squeezing a little and smiling at him.
“I like it here,” she said, happiness shining in her eyes. “And it smells delicious.”
“Not as delicious as you, I’ll wager,” he said, just loud enough in the burble of noise surrounding them that she heard and blushed a lovely shade of pink.
The look in her eyes said wicked man, but the smile on her lips said that she liked him just fine. Ludo sighed and realised that he was happy. How strange life was, that one could be so low, so close to despairing, and then be lifted to such dizzying heights by another.
Their meal came—pork chops and boiled potatoes and good, thick gravy—and Ludo tucked in with gusto, polishing off his serving and ordering another before Bunty was half way through hers.
“Eat up,” he chided her. “You need to keep your strength up, my lady.”
Puzzled for a moment, she looked up at him.
“Why…?” she began, and then pursed her lips as he chuckled at her.
Once their meal was over, Ludo paid and escorted her outside once more.
“Oh, Ludo, it’s snowing,” she said in delight, holding out her gloved hand and watching as the tiny flakes settled for a moment before disappearing.
“So it is. I had better take you home and warm you up, then.”
She laughed, looking up at him with such an expression of happiness that the earth seemed to pitch beneath his feet and settle anew, as though rearranged and nothing would ever be the same again. The frail, blossoming flame of hope unfurled a little farther inside him, warming him. He stopped in his tracks and she opened her mouth, no doubt to ask why, but Ludo bent his head and kissed her, there in the street, in full view of everyone.
She gave a soft gasp, and for a moment he thought she was cross, but then her mouth tilted up at the edges, a smile for him alone.
“Bunty,” he said, his voice suddenly hoarse, trembling with uncertainty but wanting to tell her, to give her the truth of everything he felt. “Bunty, I—”
“Well, well, if it ain’t Ludo, and feeling up his light-o’-love in the middle of the street, no less.”
Ludo stiffened, his heart jolting in his chest, the familiar sense of panic washing over him at that voice, that vile, awful voice.
“That’s my wife you speak of, Bramwell,” he said, turning towards the face of his nightmares.
Stupid. He was a grown man, big enough to pick Bramwell up and shake him in one hand, yet somehow he was never a grown man with his big brother. Instead, Ludo found himself reduced to a snivelling child, pissing his pants with terror of what the beast would do next.
“Ah, yes. Heard you got yourself caught in a snare, big, dumb ox that you are. Thinking with your prick as ever, eh?” Bramwell turned those cold, green eyes to Bunty. “And you, you foolish chit, did you think he had his hands on the family money, my sweet? He ain’t and won’t ever have.”
Ludo felt the way she stiffened with indignation, and drew her in, close to his side. He would not let Bramwell hurt her. Surely he could manage that at least. Couldn’t he? He felt frozen, his guts churning.
“You heard wrong, my lord. It was a tryst, and one I was eager for, I assure you. Incidentally, I wouldn’t touch your money with a ten-foot pole, and neither would Ludo,” Bunty said, with all the poise of a queen speaking to a lowly pleb.
Ludo stared at her in awe.
“Ah, a feisty one, and toothsome too,” Bramwell said, leering at Bunty in a way that made Ludo long to knock his teeth down his throat.
The hand that wasn’t holding Bunty plastered to his side closed into a fist, but he couldn’t breathe. Something cold and panicky held him immobile. Years of being locked in cupboards and small spaces, of pranks that had seen him tumbling down stairs or tripped on his face, of myriad little everyday cruelties and bigger ones too made him freeze with terror. Dangling him by his ankles from an upper storey window had been one of Bramwell’s favourites until Ludo had become too big to hold. Bramwell hadn’t realised his limitations before he’d almost dropped Ludo on his head, mind you.
“No, not in the least feisty, just honest,” Bunty said with a thin smile. “You see, I recognise a bully when I see one.”
“Ha!” Bramwell seemed genuinely amused by that. “One need not be a bully when a fellow’s such a weakling. Don’t let all that brawn fool you, my flower. He’s a pathetic worm. No, you come see me if it’s a man you’re wanting, I’ll see you right….”
Bramwell raised his hand, as if he would touch Bunty. He reached for her, cruelty in every bone, down to his marrow, and something inside Ludo fractured. Bunty was everything good in his life, a golden gossamer thread, a bright glimmer of hope, of truth and kindness and trust, and he loved… loved her. Yet Bramwell reached out as if he had the right to lay his filthy hand on her lovely skin. Ludo reacted. He didn’t know what he’d done at first, what exactly had happened, but the next moment Bramwell lay sprawled on the floor, ungainly and ridiculous, his hat having tumbled away into the gutter. Bramwell was gasping, fishlike, his glassy eyes dazed, and he was bleeding like a stuck pig. There had been the crunch of bone, Ludo thought. Bramwell’s nose, perhaps? He looked at his fist, a little stunned. He’d done it. After so many years of wishing he had the courage, he’d done it. He had fought so many bigger men—far more dangerous men—and yet Bramwell had always effortlessly reduced him to that terrified child.
No longer.
Ludo turned to look at Bunty, who was beaming at him. She threw her arms about his neck and kissed him.
“Well done!”
He fought the urge to preen, aware he’d not acted as a gentleman, but too relieved to have acted at all to give a damn. He looked back to see Mr Middleton, the family’s man of b
usiness, helping Bramwell up. He’d not even noticed him before now. That was Middleton all over, though: never noticed, always in the background, quietly smoothing over the difficulties Ludo’s loud-mouthed brothers and his devil of a father created. No. Not his father. Ludo was none of his, thank God.
Bramwell looked shaken, and older than Ludo remembered. Well, he was older, fifteen years older. He’d been the nightmare that had terrorised Ludo once his mother had died. Bramwell and his brother George had been partners in crime, devising ways to torture Ludo with their father’s blessing until he was afraid of his own shadow.
“Stay away from my wife,” Ludo managed, clutching Bunty’s hand.
He drew strength from her, strength enough to look into the eyes that had always made him afraid, but without flinching. Never again would he flinch. He’d fight dragons for Bunty. He could deal with this… this obnoxious, overweight fool. Ludo allowed himself to really look at Bramwell, and saw the paunch, the double chin and bloodshot eyes. He was getting old, old and weak, years of dissipation and cruelty shown plainly on a face that did not understand kindness, tenderness, or compassion. Ludo pitied him.
“I don’t want to see you again, Bramwell, and you may tell George to expect the same treatment. Stay away from us. I want none of you, and we certainly have no interest in your money.”
He looked at Bunty, saw her eyes shining with admiration, and with belief in him.
“We don’t need it,” he added.
She smiled at him and squeezed his hand.
Bramwell sent him a look of pure loathing, one hand clutching a handkerchief to his nose, which was bleeding profusely. Middleton, efficient as ever, had hailed a hackney and helped Bramwell inside. He hesitated before moving back to Ludo.
“Come and see me, my lord. As soon as you may. It’s important.”
Ludo opened his mouth to say he wouldn’t go anywhere near anyone associated with his family, but Middleton put a hand out, holding Ludo’s arm for a moment. From neat, balding, precise Middleton, this was so extraordinary that Ludo could only stare.
The Christmas Rose: A Rogues & Gentlemen Novella Page 6