Amanda Scott

by Madcap Marchioness

  “I love this place,” he said quietly. “I thought for a time that you hated it. If I seem overattached to it, blame my sense of duty and the fact that I learned at a tender age to fear what would happen if I left. But you can’t say you’ve never seen my passion,” he added more gently. “There have been many times—”

  “I don’t mean that sort,” she said, blushing. “I mean the sort of emotion I am accustomed to seeing in the people around me. My mother was an emotional person, and so, too, are my brother, my father, and even Miranda. They laugh when they are happy and they shout when they are angry. The only person here who is anything like them is your darling Aunt Hetta, and Lady Adelaide continually tells her that such behavior is unbecoming. I suppose that is why you are so restrained.”

  “No,” he said, “don’t blame Aunt Adelaide. If I seem restrained to you, it is only that I had to grow up quickly and put away childish things, and I suppose I equated displays of temper with childishness. That isn’t surprising, you know. Schoolboys are not encouraged to display emotions of any sort. One keeps a stiff upper lip, and all that.”

  “Of course one does. Alston is the same. You have only to look at how he behaves publicly. But he is altogether different in the privacy of his home. I expected you to be like that.”

  “I am four years younger than my sister, Lydia,” he said, “and only two years older than Ned. I became rather suddenly not only a marquess but the head of my family, the person who was supposed to take care of everyone else. My mother had been gone for some time before that, and after her death, there was no one to whom I felt I could properly display emotion. My father certainly never encouraged me to do so. His attitude toward me was much like Aunt Adelaide’s is toward Aunt Hetta. He loved me but put duty first. I was raised to be Marquess of Chalford, and since I controlled so many others, I felt it necessary to remain in control of myself, first of all.” He paused, regarding her solemnly. “Until you came into my life, I managed very well.”

  “Well,” she said, returning his look with a steady one of her own, “I did try for a long time to make you angry, but after my ‘success’ in Brighton, I certainly didn’t intend to do it again. I won’t try to excuse my behavior tonight, Joshua—”

  “You couldn’t do so.” He dropped his hands and looked sternly into her eyes. “We have strayed from the point, have we not? I don’t know what to do with you, Adriana, but by heaven you do deserve something for this night’s work, and that’s a fact. Not only did you put yourself at risk, but you risked Miranda’s life as well. What you can have been thinking of in agreeing to such a caper-witted expedition, and under the aegis of such a man as Braverstoke, I cannot imagine. …”

  He went on, maintaining that stern but even tone, albeit with obvious effort for once, and expressed himself with great clarity, describing the folly of her actions that evening, then going on, leaving no previously unspecified fault of hers unmentioned, no misbehavior uncondemned. He made each point plainly, firmly, and without leaving the slightest room for doubt as to his opinion of her behavior in every case.

  Adriana made no attempt to defend herself. Indeed, after that first moment, when his gaze held hers, she lowered her eyes to the middle button of his leather waistcoat and did not look up again until he had finished. By then, because she had heard every word and because some were painful to hear, her eyes were swimming, but she blinked back the tears, looked him straight in the eye, and said, “Joshua, do you love me?”

  “What?”

  “Do you really love me?” When he glared at her as much in exasperation as from any other emotion, she said, “I asked because although I have liked you amazingly well ever since I met you, I did not know I loved you until I thought that dreadful Mr. Braverstoke was going to blow the Sea Dragon out of the water tonight with you aboard. Then, even though I knew Miranda was on the Golden Fleece and was concerned about her because the Sea Dragon and the revenue cutter were returning fire, I was absolutely terrified about what might happen to you. I knew then. I thought maybe it was the same with you, that you didn’t know until you thought the smugglers had murdered me, and then, when you found out they hadn’t, you remembered what a bad wife I have been and you weren’t so certain anymore.”

  “I ought to put you straight across my knee.”

  “Very likely,” she agreed, watching him warily through her tears and trying to ignore the sudden singing in her heart. She hoped she could depend upon that even temper of his long enough to make him say what she wanted to hear. “Could you answer my question first, please?”

  “I don’t suppose you would believe me if I told you I’ve been mad about you since I first laid eyes upon you at Almack’s.”

  “Well, no,” she said, beginning to twinkle, “because the first time you laid eyes upon me was at Lady Sefton’s rout just after the opening sessions.”

  “Ah, but it was at Almack’s—” He broke off, glaring at her again. “Is this just a ploy, Adriana, to divert my thoughts? I warn you we have not finished with the business at hand.”

  “No, sir,” she said meekly, looking down at her fingertips. “I doubt such a ploy would be successful, because of course you’re simply stiff with that dutiful nature of yours and will very likely feel obliged to punish me no matter how hard I might try to avoid it.” She looked up at him from beneath her lashes. “For my own good, you know.”

  “And possibly,” he added on a sardonic note, “because I warned you about what would happen if you fired my temper again. You, my girl, seem to look upon a scolding as no more than a consequence to be endured after you have done as you damn please and before you do so again. I believe stronger punishment is merited tonight. Shall we attend to the matter here, or would you prefer that we adjourn to your bedchamber first?”

  Dismayed, eyes widening to their full extent, she raised her hands in an involuntary gesture of defense. “You wouldn’t!”

  He grimaced. “I thought you were up to your usual tricks, hoping to disarm me with this sudden meekness of yours.” He regarded her more sternly than ever. “Do you realize now that such tactics will no longer avail you with me?”

  She nodded, still watching him uncertainly.

  “Very well, then. Come here.”

  He held out his arms, and she walked straight into them, expelling a long sigh of relief when they closed around her.

  “I will try very hard to be the sort of wife you want me to be, Joshua,” she said a moment later.

  “Don’t make me any ridiculous promises,” he said, amused. “We will both try harder, but you are the sort of wife I want, sweetheart. I wouldn’t change a hair on your beautiful head.”

  “Not one?”

  “Well, there is one small thing you might try to change, if you wish to please me.”

  “What?”

  “I find that, try as I might, I cannot reconcile myself to your need to be constantly surrounded by doting admirers.”

  “But I like having my friends about me,” she replied.

  “Oh, I’ve no objection to your friends, sweetheart, just the doting dolts who mutter in your shell-like ear about your flowerlike complexion and fawn over your every word—in short, ’tis the Mr. Dawlishes I find I cannot tolerate. Do you think you could possibly hold them at arm’s length in future?”

  “Oh, well”—Adriana pretended to think the matter over carefully—“I suppose I could make do with your compliments, sir, if you could exert yourself occasionally to think of one or two.”

  “It shall be done.”

  “But, Joshua,” she reminded him gently, “you have not yet even been able to bring yourself to say that you love me.”

  The door opened behind them, startling them both. “Pardon me for disturbing you, my dears, but I saw the light under the door, and though I have tried to be patient, I was afraid I’d fall asleep on my feet if I did not take courage and interrupt you.” Lady Hetta stood upon the threshold, blinking at them, her hand clutching the folds of her gray dressing g
own across her meager breasts. “I simply could not go off to bed without knowing what will happen next.”

  Recovering quickly, Joshua said, “You must be freezing, Aunt Hetta. Come stand by the fire.” He strode to snatch the poker from its place on the hearth and stirred the coals to flames again, saying, “I collect you wish to know what happened on the beach and what will happen to Lord Braverstoke’s son. The gang members were nearly all captured, I’m pleased to say, and Randall Braverstoke himself is aboard the cutter, on his way to London. They’ll not risk sending him overland for fear of a rescue attempt. He was the master smuggler, I’m afraid—in it for the money, of course, for he’ll get naught from his father.”

  “Well, but Mr. Petticrow—”

  “Oh, he is in good trim—a hero, in fact. It was he who alerted the authorities, you know, once he began to suspect Braverstoke and once the rumors reached him that a particularly large run was going to be made. When the dragoons were unable to get here soon enough, he talked the local men into helping him, and they carried the day, so no one will even ask questions when it is discovered that the number of kegs confiscated by the authorities is rather low for the size of the run.”

  “He told me you convinced the local men to help,” Adriana said gently, smiling at him.

  “Oh, I suppose I had a hand in it.”

  “You did it all, for Jeremiah told me it was their loyalty to you that turned the trick, but that is not what I meant,” Lady Hetta said, flushing to her eyebrows.

  “Please, Joshua, Adelaide said you’d never agree to such a thing in a million years, that I should be throwing myself away, and indeed, she said it all when she was thinking Lord Braverstoke would make me an offer. But I am five-and-forty years old, and I have never cared in the least for anyone … Oh, well, perhaps for that young man Papa was so set against, but he was a younger son with not a penny to his name, and Mr. Petticrow at least was not born without a shirt. His father left him fairly well to pass, and he does make something at his job, of course, though he says he will give up being a riding officer if you don’t like it. But if I do not care, I cannot think why Adelaide, who has been married and widowed, and … and everything, should have a word to say about it.”

  Joshua gave a choke of laughter. “Aunt Hetta, are you saying you wish to marry Mr. Petticrow?”

  She nodded. “Yes, please, if you do not object.”

  “Lord, no, why should I? I think it’s a famous notion.”

  “But Adelaide—”

  “Tell her it is none of her affair,” he recommended.

  Lady Hetta’s jaw dropped. “Tell her …”

  Seeing that she couldn’t even finish the sentence, Adriana intervened. “Ignore him, ma’am, he is jesting with you. He must know you would never say anything so uncivil to Lady Adelaide. Moreover, I conjecture that she will be so relieved to learn that you have not conceived a tendresse for Lord Braverstoke that she may even be pleased—well, not that, maybe, but resigned to it, at least. Do you love Mr. Petticrow?”

  Lady Hetta nodded her head fervently. “Yes, and it is the oddest thing, but he says he loves me, too.”

  “Then don’t you worry about anything else,” said Adriana firmly, casting her husband a militant look. “A man who can actually put that feeling into words deserves to be rewarded. You leave Lady Adelaide to Joshua. He will see that she welcomes your Mr. Petticrow with open arms. Will you not, sir?”

  Joshua grinned at her. “I think a suitable punishment for an erring wife would be to make you deal with Aunt Adelaide, my pet.”

  “Not on your life, sir.”

  “Not if I tell the world I love you?” When she hesitated, he said, “Aunt Hetta, I appeal to you. Did my wife not just say that a man who can put love into words deserves to be rewarded?”

  Lady Hetta looked bewildered and a little concerned. “She did say that, but truly, Joshua, I think Adelaide will pay more heed to you than to Adriana.”

  Joshua chuckled. “Very well, ma’am, it shall be as you wish, but then I must think of another punishment for my naughty wife, and another reward for me as well.”

  “You will think of something, my lord,” Adriana said in a provocative tone, lowering her eyes.

  When Joshua chuckled, Lady Hetta regarded them both fondly. “It will be dawn soon,” she said. “We ought to get some sleep.”

  “Again your wish is my command,” said Joshua, grinning at his wife, then adding wickedly, “Though I can’t promise to sleep, Aunt Hetta, I’m certainly ready for bed.”

  About the Author

  A fourth-generation Californian of Scottish descent, Amanda Scott is the author of more than fifty romantic novels, many of which appeared on the USA Today bestseller list. Her Scottish heritage and love of history (she received undergraduate and graduate degrees in history at Mills College and California State University, San Jose, respectively) inspired her to write historical fiction. Credited by Library Journal with starting the Scottish romance subgenre, Scott has also won acclaim for her sparkling Regency romances. She is the recipient of the Romance Writers of America’s RITA Award (for Lord Abberley’s Nemesis, 1986) and the RT Book Reviews Career Achievement Award. She lives in central California with her husband.

  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 ebook onscreen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, 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 the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 1989 by Lynne Scott-Drennan

  Cover design by Mimi Bark

  978-1-4804-1523-2

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