Pain of The Marquess: (The Valiant Love Regency Romance) (A Historical Romance Book)

by Deborah Wilson

  They did avoid his name, he realized.

  He sat back and looked at her. “Inside your memories may be the key to finding the book.”

  She straightened, her neck elongating. “Is that the only reason you care for my feelings?”

  “Not the only reason.” He wrapped a hand around her ankle and slid his hand up her leg through the sheets.

  She shivered and then smacked his hand away before she grinned.

  He adored her smile, especially after he’d made love to her. There were few things more tempting than her lazy gaze. He also liked her hair, especially when unbound.

  “Did you know my brother?” she asked.

  He stood and removed his jacket. “Not really. Why do you ask?” He flung it on a chair in the corner.

  Irene’s eyes tracked it. “Maybe he knew where the book was. I don’t know. My father should have left it with someone before he died. If not Mr. Crow…”

  “Your cousin?” Clive asked. “Do you think Lord Cassius has it?” Clive had it confirmed that the man had left England after funeral and that he truly didn’t enjoy England.

  She shrugged. “I only saw him at the vigil and when Mr. Perez read the final wishes from my father and gave us each a stack of papers.”

  “Mr. Perez?” Clive asked.

  She looked at him. “My father’s lawyer.”

  Clive stiffened. “Mr. Crow didn’t handle your father’s will?”

  Irene frowned. “No. Mr. Crow was his man of business. He already had enough to do as it was. My father’s will was overseen by Mr. William Perez and if you think he has the book, you’re wrong. I inquired. He doesn’t know about a book. Besides, my father barely trusted him with the will. In his old age, Mr. Perez has become forgetful. His assistant handles most things now. They were friends of old, but my father would have never left him or his assistant such a priceless object.”

  He removed his breeches. “Well, if you don’t mind, I wish to ask the man myself.”

  “I’ll have a meeting arranged for tomorrow,” Irene said. “Mr. Perez always liked me… when he could remember who I was.”

  ∫ ∫ ∫

  3 0

  * * *

  The moment Irene heard the noise of the maid moving around in the room, she sat up in bed. She lifted the sheets, but at the same time, Clive rolled. His arm came out, wrapped around her hips, and pulled her close. His head settled on her lap and after a squeeze, he relaxed. His weighted bulk anchored her to the bed.

  She waited for him to say something or to move again, but instead, she felt him settle deeper and sigh. He was back to sleep before the maid finished opening the blinds. Irene stroked Clive’s golden hair back and then gently covered his ear to speak to the maid. “I’ll have a tray brought up.”

  The maid nodded and left, but not before Irene could see the small smile on her face.

  Irene turned back to the man on her lap. He faced her. His gentle breaths brushed her belly, heating her. He was never more at peace than when in sleep or more vulnerable. Irene had always been a protective person. Her father had called her a shield. She wasn’t afraid to address anyone she thought to be doing something that brought harm to another. She’d even stood up for her brother a time or two even though she’d been sure Gregory barely liked her. He’d definitely never thanked her for taking his side in public matters. There were moments when she’d been certain he wished she’d go away and never return.

  And even still, she’d been mindful of his needs. Their mother had died years ago and Irene’s grandmother, before she died, had always told her just how important women were to the world. Caretakers. Mothers. Wives. Something within their souls made them that way.

  Some women were forced to ignore that calling to kindness. A hard life could make them cold, but for Irene, it was though she could feel everyone’s need around her and she just wanted to make it right.

  But never had she cared for someone more than Clive. It was dangerous. It had no limits or depths. Irene feared the things she would do to protect him, to make sure he understood that they belonged together.

  Before he’d started his version of courting her and before he’d married her, it had been different. She’d love him, but she’d have let him go if he’d found happiness with someone else.

  Yet he hadn’t. He’d chosen her just as much as she’d chosen him. He was an object that had no monetary value, but she was certain that not even King Solomon could have afforded to take him from her.

  He clung to her while he slept. During the last few nights, she’d felt the pressure of his hands everywhere. They slipped into her dreams and made everything more pleasant, but this was the first time he’d grabbed her before she could leave the bed.

  No more eating breakfast alone.

  Did he mean she could never have breakfast alone again or only until the assailant was caught?

  She hoped it was the former. She had a feeling it was. Clive hadn’t asked to be alone for a single moment since they’d wed. Maybe, he enjoyed her company just as much as she enjoyed his.

  She stroked his hair softly as she waited for her breakfast.

  She could count every individual strand if she wished. The shades of gold were memorizing, especially when paired with his beautiful skin and handsome bone structure.

  “I’ll love you forever,” she whispered.

  He gave no reaction.

  Breakfast came. She set the tray at her side and was careful not to spill anything on him. She smiled through the meal. When she was done, the maid took it away and gave her a paper and quill and the book she’d left in the corner of the room. She wrote a note to Mr. Perez about meeting later and then settled in to wait for Clive to wake.

  She became so engrossed in her book that she didn’t know her husband was awake until she felt something hot and moist against her knee. She put down the book and gasped to find the sheet pulled away and the night rail bunched by her hips.

  She’d felt him moving. In the back of her mind, she’d thought him only trying to get more comfortable. He was between her legs. One of her pale thighs was cupped in his hands.

  He was passionately kissing the skin by her knee.

  His eyes had been waiting for her, their hue the color of wicked fire. “You stayed.”

  “You told me to.”

  He grinned. “Very good.” No praise had ever meant more than that. “Now, I’m hungry.” He licked the edge of her thigh.

  She shot off the bed before she settled down. Already, her breathing was labored. “I can have a tray brought to you.”

  “No need. I have everything I want right here.” His voice had a deep burr that sent shivers down her spine. “Lay down.”

  She did and in the end, she’d never been gladder to be such an obedient wife.

  * * *

  They were leaving the townhouse when Kent arrived. Irene noticed the scowl on his face and prayed everything was all right with Lucy and the children George and Alvin.

  “Have either of you read the paper?” Kent asked in the foyer even as he handed Clive his own paper.

  Clive took it and opened it. “What am I supposed to be…”

  Irene went to stand beside him. Then her eyes widened. She looked over at Kent, who was pacing by the door. “George is…”

  “He’s a bastard.” Kent stopped and looked at her. “George is the son of Lord Maltsby.”

  “I never knew,” she said. “Lord Maltsby was an acquaintance of my father. Most of my money is in his old bank, though my father distanced himself from Maltsby when it was learned that Maltsby was behind the kidnapping of the Lost Lords.”

  Clive shifted and then closed the paper and sighed. “It was only a matter of time before they realized who George was. He was Lord Maltsby’s heir, even after the scandal.”

  “But it shouldn’t have been printed the way it was,” Kent said, pointing at the paper. “It should have been properly announced when he was older. Already, people have shown up at the bank to pull
out their funds. No one wishes to have a bastard in charge of their money, never mind that he doesn’t actually have a say on any of the daily operations.”

  George was only thirteen. He’d have likely not become an active part of his bank until he’d finished school. Thanks to the paper, he’d be ruined before he even had a chance to leave his own mark on the world.

  Lucy had told Irene that George was her nephew. She’d met the handsome young man at the wedding. Even so young, he stood close to her own height. He had Lucy’s fair coloring, but now when Irene thought of it, he did have Maltsby’s masculine features.

  Maltby hadn’t been extremely handsome, but he’d been very compelling. He’d built his fortune on clever words, that and the pockets of the Lost Lords. They’d been locked away only so Maltsby could fund a secret war overseas with their extensive wealth.

  He’d won the war and after it was settled in court, that money went where it belonged, to the purses of the men who’d funded it. The Lost Lords.

  “We’ve more than enough money to buy the paper and take control of the narrative,” Clive said.

  Kent grunted. “But you’re forgetting something. We’re all disgraced. We all stand on the edge of Society. We’re accepted because we are titled. People fear me more than anything else.”

  “My money is still there,” Irene said. “And my father’s reputation hasn’t been ruined yet and though I detest it, people are calling me a saint. Also, whomever you’ve placed in charge of the bank, he is very good. My profits have increased. Perhaps I could do something, persuade people from moving their money elsewhere.”

  Kent looked at her, surprised. “You’d do that? For George?”

  “Of course, I would. And for you and Lucy.” They were her husband’s friends. She wanted them to be her friends as well. She glanced up at Clive.

  Clive watched her silently. His expression was contemplative.

  Kent stared at her, looked over at Clive, and then at her again. “Just so you’re aware, I’ve been telling this man to marry you for most of the last year.”

  “Kent,” Clive warned.

  Kent grinned.

  Irene was astonished. “I thought you hated me.”

  His dark brow flickered. “Not one to bite your tongue, are you? You’ll fit right in with the lot of us.”

  Irene smiled. “We should hurry.”

  Kent started outside. “I’ll get Lucy and George and meet you at the bank.”

  ∫ ∫ ∫

  3 1

  * * *

  Clive looked up when Lucy came into the drawing room. She looked down at where Irene rested in his arms. They sat on the couch in Marley’s house. Irene’s head was on his chest. Her eyes were closed. Her breathing unhurried in sleep. There was a dark tint under her eyes. She’d exhausted herself.

  Lucy closed the door behind her and came over to settle on Clive’s other side. She smiled at Irene before looking at him. “She’s amazing,” she whispered.

  Clive nodded.

  Lucy looked at Irene again. “I don’t know how we’ve had gotten through today without her. I absolutely adore her.”

  Clive inclined his head again.

  “You’re fortunate to have her.”

  He smiled. He knew. Every day was yet more confirmation of what he’d always suspected life with Irene would be like. Completion. Not perfect but right. “How is George?” he asked in a low tone.

  Lucy pressed her lips tightly together. “It was only a matter of time. Kent and the bank manager are still dealing with lords who want answers. No one cared about who owned the bank until they knew who owned the bank. All that mattered was that their money was safe.”

  Clive had seen Kent and the bank manager Lord Hayes disappear behind a door earlier that day and never emerge. One lord or lady after another had wished to meet and be reassured that their money was still in good hands. “Lord Maltsby had been dead for two years. They didn’t worry then. They shouldn’t have now.” They’d even changed the name of the bank, which no one had complained about.

  Instead of the Gentlemen’s Society, it was now called London Society Bank.

  Lucy nodded. “Did you know Irene’s father was a large shareholder of the bank?”

  “Yes, but that portion of his business was given to his heir.”

  “If I’d been his father, I would have left Irene the money and given my heir the businesses,” she said. “Why expose his daughter to so much corruption? If he wanted to secure her future, why not give her the portion that is mostly clean? Or at least clear out the ugly so she’d never know the truth.”

  “I don’t know,” Clive said. “Perhaps, he died quicker than he’d been prepared for. Perhaps, Mr. Crow had something to do with it. We didn’t have time to meet with Lord Van Dero’s lawyer today.” The bank had taken all day. He’d had to force Irene away from the crowds twice just to eat. She’d have skipped meals if necessary. She had a terrible knack of caring for others before herself.

  Lucy stood. “Marley wanted me to tell you that he’s prepared a room for you and Irene. Nora is staying, James and Kim are staying as well. Kent will be joining me once he can pull himself from the bank.”

  Clive nodded. “We’ll take the room.” They should stay together. Today, they were attacked, and it could have only come from Crow. He’d warned them.

  You and your friends will regret this.

  Clive didn’t reject saving a single child from that shipyard, but he did wonder how else Crow could hurt them. Something told him Crow didn’t have the book. The man would have been aware of George and his connection to Lord Maltsby and the bank just from being Van Dero’s man of business. What else was he aware of?

  “I’ll send someone for your things,” Lucy said, acting as the lady of the house in Kim’s stead.

  “Where’s Garrick?” he asked Lucy.

  “Speaking to the paper publisher,” she said.

  More like threatening the publisher, Clive clarified in his own head. Garrick was the one of his friends who had committed murder. Repeatedly. He’d killed all their enemies except for Van Dero, who’d died on his own after his son’s death.

  Hopefully, the publisher could lead them to Crow. Glad Irene was safe in his arms, Clive tried to think if there was anyone else he should worry about. His mother, but Lord Edmund was home and in spite of his faults, could more than manage to protect his home. Also, they had a number of footmen who seemed more than used to a fight if Irene’s recollection of what had taken place in her room was accurate.

  That raised other questions, but for now, he was certain that everyone was safe.

  He carried Irene to the room a maid showed them. She didn’t stir as he removed her clothes and tucked her into bed. Once he was undressed, he laid down beside her and wrapped her in his arms.

  In the quiet, he thought of how valiant his wife was and, not for the first time, he wondered if he were being honest about his reasons for marrying her.

  He wanted to protect her, but he could admit that a deeper, restless part of him felt protected by her.

  He thought of his mother and her inability to protect him from Lord Edmund. He didn’t have to ask if Irene would protect her children, even from her own husband. She would.

  His old resentment rose within him, but he cooled with the reminder that he had his own reasons for allowing Lord Edmund to keep them apart. He deserved to be punished, because at the age of seven, he’d betrayed his mother. With Lord Edmund’s encouragement, he’d stolen her ring— her last link to her own father and her past— and given it to Lord Edmund, who claimed he’d sold it so that the family could eat.

  His mother had wept for months after the ring was gone, even to the point of becoming severely ill. After that, things had changed. Lord Edmund had found the means to keep his mother away from him and it hadn’t stopped there.

  Clive hadn’t only stolen from strangers but from his own home. If anyone received a gift, it had been his job to take it and give the money to Lord
Edmund. Eventually, when he was older, he’d also been charged with selling it and simply giving Edmund the profits.

  He’d been controlled until the day he left for school.

  How would Irene respond if she learned Clive had helped take her brother away from her? She didn’t speak about him nearly as much as she spoke about her father, but he was certain Irene had loved her brother.

  He shouldn’t have married her. She belonged to someone sweeter. More innocent.

  He tightened his arms around her.

  It was too late. She was his, and he’d likely steal her soul before it was all over.

  He must have squeezed her too hard, because she finally stirred. “Clive?” her voice was mostly a moan.

  His blood heated, but he told himself to calm down. She needed to sleep. “Rest. I’m here. Sorry I disturbed you.”

  “Are you all right?” She turned to him and placed a hand on his chest.

  The room was dark. He could see nothing, but he felt her touch and her little puffs of air against his chin.

  “I’m fine. Go back to sleep.”

  “When did we get home?”

  “We’re not home. We’re at Marley and Selena’s.”

  “Why?”

  “We were attacked today. We’re staying here until morning.” Even though he couldn’t see her, he felt the change in her before she spoke.

  “Does my presence here endanger anyone?” she said.

  “No, and even if it did, it wouldn’t matter. Everyone would still want to help you. That is how this works. You are no longer on your own. You no longer get to act on your own. You no longer get to place yourself in harm’s way because you think it will help the greater good. Do you understand?”

  “You’re angry.”

  Was he? He sighed. “I’m just remembering how you were in that tiny apartment without a footman or a maid, all but making yourself a sacrificial lamb and for what gain?” His gut burned at the memory.

  “The assailant is the one who led me to the shipyard. He was helping me clear out the worst of my father’s businesses. I thought he wanted to help people, but I was wrong.”