by Dawn Brower
There were a few rules, not written of course, but understood. Once a man married, for example, his invitation to the club was rescinded. At such a time, he could find a proper, public gentlemen’s club to drink his scotch. Luke ran a hand through his hair. But matrimony was an unfortunate state he planned never to find himself in. It was also the reason for his visit.
The building was located at 276 Bedford Place, on the outskirts of respectable London. It allowed for men of his guild to come here without fear of being seen in an unseemly place while still being close to other delights of London’s less upstanding variety.
He inserted his key into the lock and turned it with a resounding click. Each member had his own nondescript key for entrance any time, night or day. He entered the darkened foyer and closed the door, locking it behind him.
He knew this entrance like his own bedroom, and moved easily down the hall, despite the darkness.
As he turned the corner, a room opened to his left. It was well-lit and extravagantly decorated, not in the way a woman might prefer, but perfect for a man. It was Luke’s second home. Rich leather chairs abounded, as did decanters of the finest scotch, brandy, and whiskey, the best a man could hope to drink. Several waiters and a maître d’ stood at the ready to grant any whim he should seek.
Today he wished most to discuss a particularly vexing dilemma he had with two of his closest compatriots, Lord Grayson and Lord Harrington.
He found them seated in a quiet corner, perfect for private conversation. Though it was not yet ten in the morning, he stopped to pour himself a tall snifter of scotch. He’d already been to his boxing club this morning and could use the fortification for what he was about to say.
Normally, he boxed in the afternoons, his late-night activities making noon his normal rising time. But his father insisted Luke stay in last night, so he had risen early and left the house as soon as possible.
While he loved his parents, their visits were often fraught with tension, this one being the most difficult yet. The Marquess of Winston was a man who demanded his own way.
“So what brings you here at such an early hour?” Lord Grayson took a sip of tea, eyeing him over the rim.
“You know my mother and father are in town.” Luke grimaced at the words.
“Are they staying at Clearwater?” Lord Harrington asked.
“No. They chose to stay with me instead.”
“How...” Grayson paused. “Unfortunate.”
Luke ran his hand through his hair again. It was a gesture to which he was not normally prone. “You don’t know the half of it.”
“Enlighten us.” Harrington grinned.
It was better to just say the words and have it be out. “They want me to marry.” He grimaced, went to take a swig of his scotch, and found his stomach couldn’t tolerate it. Setting the glass down again, he ran his fingers through his hair again.
“Well, that is most distressing.” Grayson raised his cup to his lips again, but Luke had the distinct impression that he hid a smile with his teacup.
“It gets worse.” He took a breath, steadying himself. “They’ve made a match. Without my consent.”
Both men leaned forward then, cups set to the side, matching grins on their faces. “Who?” Grayson asked.
Damnation, they weren’t even trying to hide their glee. “Lady Tabitha Riley.” He spit the words. During the few balls his parents had forced him to attend, he had never seen the lady in question, though his father had assured him she was there. He had replied that if she were worth seeing, he would have, in fact, already met her.
“What’s to complain about there, old chap?” Harrington leaned over and slapped him on the back. “She’s quite pretty, well connected, very sweet. She’ll make an excellent wife.”
Grayson nodded in agreement but Luke slashed his hand through the air. “I don’t want a wife. And if I did, she’d be the last woman I picked.”
“Last...really? You’d marry Lady Millicent Dunphry first?” Grayson grinned.
Harrington, catching on to the game, laughed. “Or Lady Mildred Cleary?”
Luke stared at them unamused. “You’re supposed to be helping me. Not poking fun. She’s a first-rate wallflower. I bet she goes to bed by exactly eight every evening and rises with the sun. She most likely has excellent embroidery skills and talks endlessly about gossip. I will be dead by the age of forty, having perished from complete boredom.”
Grayson sighed and sat back in his chair. “If you married the type of woman you normally cavort with, you’d depart us at the ripe old age of thirty-five. My friend, you could stand with a little more stability.”
Luke made to protest but Grayson raised his hand.
“Besides, you are the one who is so fond of saying that the outside wrapping doesn’t reveal what is underneath. Perhaps you should meet Lady Tabitha first before you judge.”
Well, blast it all to hell...using his own words against him. Luke doubted any woman could convince him to marry. But, all the same, he supposed the man had a point.
CHAPTER ONE
ONE WEEK LATER
Lady Tabitha sat perched on the end of her chair in her father’s study and attempted to keep her mouth from hanging open. She was fairly certain her father had just told her that marriage contracts were being drawn up with the Earl of Sussex.
“You can’t be serious?” she mumbled before she could stop herself.
“I can assure you, I am as serious as the plague, young lady,” her father, The Duke of Waverly replied.
Barreling headlong into disaster, she let the words tumble from her lips. “But Papa, he is a known rake and debaucher, drinking and gambling and...”
“Stop, darling. A lady does not say such things.” Her mother lifted a kerchief to her mouth.
“Of course, Mother. I apologize.” She took a breath. “I have no illusions of a love match, but I thought perchance, I might at least share some common interests with my future bridegroom.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, of course you have common interests. You’re both members of the peerage, from excellent families, with a common goal to populate the next generation of—” Her mother was now waving the kerchief, apparently populating the next generation had her more excited than Tabbie had seen her in quite some time.
“Yes, dear. Thank you. We need not discuss that part yet.” Her father turned back to her. “I hear he is quite handsome. You should meet him before you dismiss him.”
“We’ve already met.” Her lips thinned into a straight line. That was to say, she had been introduced to him on two separate occasions but always his eyes had barely grazed her before they were following some other woman about the room. No man had ever made her feel so invisible and she was a wallflower, or she would be if she weren’t the daughter of a duke.
“Excellent. They are arriving today for a visit. I expect you to have your afternoon tea together.”
“I beg your pardon?” She stood, forgetting her manners completely. “Today?”
“Sit down.” Her father’s stern voice reverberated through the room.
She had no choice but to do as she was told. But her eyes narrowed. Her father must have known they were coming for some time. He’d intentionally kept this information from her. Most likely so that she didn’t have time to scheme her way out of it.
“You’ll be on your best behavior. You’ll be polite and agreeable. You will keep quiet or, if you speak, you will keep your tongue sweet.”
“What is that supposed to mean?” Her own anger was rising.
“Tabbie, darling, you have a tendency to make men feel lesser when you verbally...” Her mother paused but her father filled in.
“Assault them.” He gave a nod to emphasize his point.
“That is ridiculous. I don’t—”
“Oh darling, you’re one of the kindest people I know. But you do have a bit of a temper. And the words that you speak when in those fits...” Her mother covered her mouth with her hand.
>
“To smart for your own good,” her father mumbled.
“Find someone else.” Tabbie stood again.
“There’s no one else. Your decision to stay next to the wall for every soiree we attend has made it difficult to find a suitor.” Her father stood too. “Be polite.”
“Fine,” she murmured. Tabbie lifted her skirts and exited the office with as much dignity as she could muster. She still had several hours before they were to meet. Surely she could come up with a plan before then.
THREE HOURS LATER, she sat in the parlor awaiting the Earl of Sussex. The blasted man was late. He was supposed to have arrived at half past two but it was now three and he was nowhere to be seen. In want of something to do, she picked up a book sitting artfully on the table. History of Ducal England graced the spine and she tried not to roll her eyes.
“Interesting reading,” a baritone voice rumbled from the door. It was melodious in a way that struck a chord deep within her. But she ignored the feeling, preferring to focus on the issue at hand.
Appeal was not something he lacked, unlike herself. The few balls they both attended, she couldn’t help but see him. Dark wavy hair, longer than fashionable, was swept back to show strong cheekbones and piercing green eyes. Broad shouldered, he stood a head taller than near every other man she’d met. But she couldn’t let good looks distract her now. “Do you like it, my lord? I thought some light reading might temper my boredom. So kind of you to keep me waiting.”
The distinct clink of her chaperone’s embroidery needles knocking together filled the room then stopped completely. Her father would hear of her comment, no doubt. A second later, the needles resumed their tempo of work and a small chuckle fell from the earl’s lips.
“A pleasure, I’m sure, my lady,” he murmured.
The dolt wasn’t going to take the bait. Well, two could play at that game. “Charmed, I’m sure.” Without waiting for his response, she set down the book and got up, moving to the window, her back to him.
Drat it all, but she was keenly aware of his presence as he walked up behind her. “So,” his voice floated over her skin, causing her to shiver. “We’re to be married.”
“So it would seem.” She kept her eyes trained on the garden but his hand came to rest on the glass just next to her, obstructing her view and his body leaned in so close she could feel his heat. If she hadn’t been certain he was a rake before, she knew it now. No gentleman would take such liberties.
“Seem? You don’t think we’ll marry?” There was a laugh in his voice. “Well, this is an interesting twist.”
“Do you want to marry me?” They were getting to the heart of things rather quickly. Tabbie took a deep breath. It was important to make herself clear.
“Please don’t take it personally. I don’t want to marry anyone.” His breath tickled her ear. It would truly help if he backed up.
“I understand entirely,” she replied, and she did. A rake was as unappealing to her as a wallflower likely was to him. Though she appreciated him not coming out and saying it.
“But an earl would make a good catch for you, so I am puzzling out your resistance.” His hand brushed the small of her back in a gesture that was entirely inappropriate and ruining her concentration.
Picking her next words carefully, she took a deep breath. “I make no assumption that I shall find love, but I would prefer a husband that wanted my company.”
“Lady Tabitha, turn around,” he commanded. She hesitated for a second and then it was as though her feet had a mind of their own as she turned to finally look at him. Catching her breath, her eyes devoured his face. He was even more handsome this close with strong cheekbones and full lips that tilted in the slightest smile. They looked soft and enticing and she reached her gloved hand up as though to touch her fingers to them.
She was a woman who always had her wits about her. But in this moment, she couldn’t put a single thought together as he too assessed her.
“Now we are having an actual conversation.” One of his eyebrows arched up.
“Really? I preferred when I faced the window,” she mumbled, lowering her hand. She blinked and looked away, trying to call her wayward body back to heel.
“And why is that?” His voice was so close. His lips enticing as they twitched with amusement.
“Must every woman in England tell you?” She turned away again.
SURPRISE RIPPLED THROUGH Luke for at least the third time since he had entered the room. Lady Tabitha was a known wallflower, that was a fact, but how could she be that blasted pretty and not be noticed? Granted her features erred on the side of sweet rather than seductive, luminous blue eyes, thick wavy auburn hair that looked barely contained by pins. He wondered what it might look like spread across a crisp white pillow.
Her nose was tiny and adorable with a little sprinkling of freckles. He had the distinct urge to kiss each one as he counted them. As she stood facing the window, he assessed the curve of her backside, which he declared delightfully perfect.
While she wasn’t tall, as was currently in fashion with the ton, she looked just the right size to fit against him, her curves softening his hard edges in all the best ways.
He tried to decide what he might ask her first. What should every woman in England tell him? He already knew Lady Tabitha was referring to his looks. But what had she meant before about him not liking her? “Why would you think I wouldn’t want your company?”
She turned back to him then, surprise written on her adorable features. “I would have thought it obvious.”
“To you perhaps, but I would enjoy being enlightened.” His hand drifted to her hip. It was less than appropriate but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. Despite being a known rake and a member of the Wicked Earls’ Club, he had boundaries. He kept his attention to women who understood what it meant for a man to be a rake. Widows, light skirts, and the like. Generally, he stayed far away from young ladies of marriageable age. And when forced into their company, he kept his hands firmly to himself. The last thing he needed was to encourage a marriage-minded mama.
He asked himself why Lady Tabitha was different. Perhaps because he thought they would marry after all? But no, that wasn’t it. It seemed to be that he wanted to touch her. He couldn’t remember the last time he desired to touch a woman this much.
“Well, I am a wallflower to begin. Everyone knows it.”
“You chose to be so. Leaving balls as early as possible, declining dances until men stopped asking. Flaying the few men who persist with your tongue.”
“That was only Lord Carrington. He was rather rude.” Her chin tilted up to a jaunty angle and he had to grin.
She had real spirit. Luke couldn’t help but admire it. He wondered if she would be this feisty in bed. Delicious heat curled in his loins at the thought.
“Good for you. Now continue, why wouldn’t I want your company?”
“Well, I spend my time feeding the homeless and helping at orphanages.” She raised her eyebrows, as though that meant something. Her hand came to her other hip. Even with his large hand encircling her waist, she had spirit. He found that he liked it immensely.
“Yes?” His voice rumbled and he saw color rise in her cheeks. What was she thinking?
“What do you spend your days doing, my lord?”
Surprise again flitted across his features. The little chit was judging him. What was more, she had found him to be lacking. It was he who was supposed to reject her. “Why you little...”
“Tut tut.” She raised her finger between them and he had the absurd urge to kiss it, lick it. Mayhap give it a little nibble. “You don’t want to marry me either, remember.”
“With a tongue like that—” he started but he saw the hurt cross her face. Her luscious lips turned down at the corners, her eyes crinkled and her shoulders dropped. Then she straightened back up. He admired her tenacity and a little guilt wiggled through him that he had made her feel such. Truly he didn’t mind a little banter; in fact, he q
uite enjoyed it. A woman with no spark would be dull indeed and he shouldn’t have said it.
“But you’re right about neither of us wanting to marry. What do you propose?”
Her frown turned to a glowing smile in a second and he basked in its radiance. It lit her face, making him smile in return. “I’m so glad you agree. I can’t ruin our relationship. I’ll never socially recover. But you, you’re a known rake. You could be caught tupping a maid or—”
His body clenched and damn it all to hell if his cock didn’t swell at the word tupping coming from her full sweet lips. If only he could tup her. The swell of her hips begged for his other hand. “Did you just suggest I tup a maid?”
“Yes, but you must be caught.” She gave him an eager nod.
“This is your plan?” His eyebrows lifted as he assessed her.
One of her fingers rested on her bottom lip as she considered him. He wanted to replace that finger with his mouth. But she seemed unaware of how she was affecting him as she spoke. “My parents only told me of your visit this morning. I am sure they didn’t want me to have much time for planning.”
His eyebrows rose higher. “Do you scheme often?”
“Only when necessary.” Her tone implied that should be obvious. He tried to hide his grin. Damned if she wasn’t interesting.
“You are a lady, how do you even know what tupping is?”
“You’d be amazed what you hear when by the wall.” She gave him a grin. Her eyes danced with a merriment that was infectious.
“You do realize whatever maid I was caught with would be sacked.” He crossed his arms then but immediately regretted it. He missed her heat under his hand, the feel of her body.
But he had to stop thinking this way. While this entire conversation had been far more entertaining than he’d ever dreamed possible, it would probably be best to put it to an end.
“Drat.” Her little slippered foot stomped on the plush carpet. He’d like to see that foot, and the calf attached to it. Perhaps he’d slide her skirt higher up her thigh until he...