London's Best Kept Secret

by Anabelle Bryant

  No matter the mental debate, her decision didn’t sit well, and she huddled into Jeremy’s protection, closer to his warmth for the rest of the ride home.

  * * *

  Dearing strode into White’s with a singular focus. Damn anyone who interrupted his passage or attempted inane conversation. He’d deposited Charlotte at home, called for a mount and left before the dust settled in the drive. Whatever Mallory had instigated, Lindsey would be aware. The earl had an ear to relevant conversation, invited or not.

  The club was crowded, the halls humming with conversation, yet as expected, Dearing found his friend surrounded by a small group of neck-or-nothings, none of them Mallory and all easily dispersed with a sharp glare and a jerk of the chin.

  “It’s about time you’ve shown your face here.” Lindsey motioned toward two chairs in the back corner.

  “Make up your mind, Lindsey. You tell me to get on with it and then complain I’m not here often enough.”

  “This has nothing to do with my personal preferences and more to do with tongue wags and empty pockets.”

  “Explain yourself and employ brevity. I’m in no mood for your mocking amusement.”

  “Indeed.”

  They settled in the corner and Lindsey took too long to begin. Dearing drummed his fingers against the arm of his chair, the polished cherrywood cool beneath his touch, unlike his temper.

  “Shall I address the marriage or the cuckold?” Lindsey questioned in a serious tone.

  “Who’s marriage and what poor bastard’s the cuckold?”

  Lindsey’s half smile escaped despite Dearing’s earlier warning.

  “Yours and yours.”

  It took an extra beat for the words to register. Apparently, Mallory hadn’t wasted time with his slander. To what end? He’d likely stolen the stock certificate, so if he needed funds he had collateral. At least for the time being. Information like this was why he’d come to White’s. He focused on Lindsey. “Explain.”

  “Your unexpected and suspect proposal to a woman you didn’t know, the coincidental acquisition of the majority stock in Middleton Railway and your lack of attendance with your lovely wife at society’s events has colored your marriage poorly. Additionally, the gabs are saying your wife was seen in a place where she shouldn’t have been. You can’t expect the Ton to turn a blind eye, Dearing. They are mostly weak-minded.”

  “You aren’t and you, of all people, know the truth. Why are we even having this conversation? Are you helping or hindering?”

  “I’m insulted you posed that question.” Lindsey gave a fleeting glance around the room. “Haven’t I supported your plan since the beginning? Haven’t I offered generous advice?”

  “The worth of that remains to be seen.” Dearing looked about for a footman, one preferably with a tray full of bourbon. “Besides, I’m not so foolish to disregard that you have a wager on the betting book to motivate your purpose. I only wonder if the stakes have changed since you’ve realized I’m serious. You had your doubts, though, didn’t you? The roads are filled with flat squirrels, Lindsey. Choose a side.”

  “Aren’t you the clever one?” Lindsey motioned to an approaching footman. “I remain in your favor, of course, and to that end I rejected and objected to the rumors bandied about these walls, but the speculation has benefitted nonetheless, and there goes the betting book. Neither are concerned with fact as much as opportunity.”

  “To hell with the betting book.” Dearing accepted a brandy inclined on a footman’s salver and watched Lindsey do the same as he assessed his friend for the slightest twitch of telling emotion. “What outrageous sum did you risk on my success?”

  This snagged the earl’s attention at last.

  “I wouldn’t.”

  “You did.” Dearing managed a slight smile after a long swallow of liquor. The burn was exactly what he needed to smooth the edges of his temper. “I suppose you’ll explain it away as sport, although Mallory is in the thick of it, isn’t he?”

  “You were always too smart to enjoy a bit of reckless tomfoolery.” Lindsey ran his fingertip along the rim of his glass. “Life is more or less a game.”

  “Go to hell, my friend. This is my marriage.” Dearing chuckled wryly. “You know the extent I went to in order to marry Charlotte.”

  “It wasn’t the woman so much as that stock certificate.”

  “That isn’t true.” Dearing set down his glass too hard, all humor lost.

  “I see that now.”

  For a long moment, neither spoke, the spill of rowdy conversation an intrusive backdrop to their silence.

  “In any case, Mallory’s hot to have it. He’s against the wall with his pockets to let.”

  Dearing drained the last swallow from his glass. “And now he does, stolen from my study less than two days ago.”

  Lindsey muttered a string of black oaths. “I knew the bastard would cheat when backed into a corner.”

  “What corner?” Dearing grimaced with disapproval. “You make it sound as if Mallory is desperate.”

  “I suppose he believes he can sell it to the highest bidder.”

  “Might it be noted that a single stock is worthless without the lion’s share.”

  “You’re far too honest to understand Mallory’s thinking.” Lindsey rested his head against the chair back as if preparing for a long tale. “Let me explain.”

  Dearing waited.

  “Some time last summer, Mallory bottomed out financially. It was right about the time you completed that brilliant merger with the Spode family in Stoke-on-Trent. He’d considered investing in the porcelain factory, but you outbid him, and with coffers lean, he was unable to counter. While I know you for an astute negotiator, he believed himself wronged. There was nothing to his complaint aside from bitterness and unjust accusation, but Mallory vowed retribution nonetheless. So much as to say he kept a close watch on your interests, thinking he could glean a tidbit of overheard conversation to rebuild his flagging accounts.”

  Lindsey paused, and Dearing did nothing but nod for him to continue.

  “When you showed an interest in Lady Charlotte, Mallory saw only manipulation and malice. A bit of digging exposed the fodder he needed and his belief you’d stop at nothing for that share of controlling stock. He assumed your marriage was no more than a charade for you to gain what you wanted. We argued the point, but I also knew I’d ignite his curiosity and he’d pursue his rabid preoccupation with your business acquisitions if I took too firm a stand. We entered into a wager I never thought would cause harm. The opposite, in fact. I hoped it would extinguish his misplaced anger.

  “But things didn’t proceed as either of us anticipated. His goal was financial recovery, while I sought nothing more than to best him and mayhap teach him a lesson. Anyway, if he does have the Middleton share, he likely plans to sell it back to you or the highest bidder, our wager be damned. He has a more profitable opportunity now.”

  “The bloody bastard.” Dearing shook his head with disbelief. “He’s a fool. My secretary has detailed records of every transaction, investment and deposit ever made through my accounts. The stock certificates are signed, numbered and registered. What could Mallory seek to achieve?”

  “Blackmail.”

  The word sat between them.

  “Then we’ll turn the tables. I know what you want. I have what I want. I say we give Mallory what he deserves.” Dearing stood, his mind spinning and his heart anxious to return to Charlotte in his bed. “It will take some arranging to devise exactly what type of retribution serves my purpose, but I’m up to the task.”

  “Excellent plan.” Lindsey also stood and collected his cane. “Might I add that you hurry. I have a large sum riding on your success.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Dearing moved quietly up the stairs. He was exhausted, yet at the same time his heart sped within his chest. He’d asked Charlotte to wait for him, not knowing how long he’d be at White’s or whether she was fatigued from their bro
ken sleep the night before and their travel through the day. Understandable on both counts, and yet he couldn’t help but hope she was waiting within the sheets in nothing but her lacy pantalets.

  He turned the knob to his rooms and eased the door just wide enough to pass through. If she slept, he had no wish to awaken her, though a shadow of contrary disappointment muddied that consideration.

  He’d dismissed the servants and now, alone by the fireplace, he removed his boots, coat and waistcoat, untied his cravat and pulled his shirt from his breeches. In this state of disheveled comfort, he moved across the floorboards, his footsteps silent, until he nearly jumped out of his skin when Cricket crossed his path. The unrepentant feline slinked below a camelback chair, no more than a whisper in the darkness.

  With only fractured candlelight from a lantern left burning on the mantel, he walked to his bedchambers. His eyes adjusted to the dim interior and then his breath caught, the thud of his heart a resounding reminder he lived in the moment and not within a dream.

  Charlotte lay nestled in his bed, the soft linen sheets at her waist like unfurled rose petals. He dared not move, unwilling to disturb her slumber and destroy the scene before him. He’d come to believe he would never see her like this. His wife. In his bed. A vision of everything he’d imagined and so much more yet to come.

  Emotion gripped his heart and squeezed so tightly he stuttered for breath. Yes, they’d repaired the damage that had driven them apart. Yes, they’d at last consummated their vows and found pleasure in each other’s embrace, but this . . . this was much more. This was an image of his future. Charlotte in his bed, in his life, in his heart.

  Perhaps she heard the thunderous force of his pulse thrumming with exhilaration or sensed the heat of his desire despite the silent room, because she stirred, her creamy skin against the white linen pillow a tempting proposition to his senses.

  She wore a lacy gown, something made of silk and fantasies; still, he couldn’t see very well from where he stood and took another step.

  This was all he’d ever wanted.

  This was his now, his future, his forever.

  They would share the rest of their days. Grow a family. Laugh together. Cry together. Celebrate their love.

  He cherished the precious moment as a delightful suspension between lucidity and reality, when everything exists in the realm of possibility. He sighed with the peaceful completeness of that thought.

  And then her eyes fluttered open.

  “You’re here.”

  “As I always will be.” He moved closer to the bed, a stronger awareness taking hold now.

  “Is everything all right?”

  “No.” He paused to remove his shirt.

  “No?” She pushed up against the pillows, her brows lowered in concern.

  “I’m not beside you where I belong.”

  She smiled, a slow curve of her lips that caused his blood to heat. And then she folded down the covers, an invitation for him to waste no more time with conversation.

  He shed his trousers and smalls, quick to climb beneath the sheets and counterpane to pull closer the silky warmth of his wife. She laughed against his chest, a light, bashful sound, and he pressed a kiss to the top of her hair, anxious to taste her, inhale her fragrance, coast his fingertips over every inch of her skin.

  “Jeremy, I—”

  “Look at me, Charlotte.” His voice came out in a husky command.

  She met his eyes without pause. “I tried to stay awake, but I suppose I fell asleep. I hope you don’t mind that I waited in your bed.”

  “Mind?” He almost chuckled. “I’m not a foolish man. In fact, I’m the luckiest man to draw breath.”

  She smiled, her expression one of disbelief.

  * * *

  How could this be? How could her torment and heartache have led her to this place? Wrapped in warm sheets and strong arms, safe in Jeremy’s bed. His velvety voice said her name as if every sound was meant to be savored like a kiss from his lips. He looked at her as if he saw beyond her pounding heart and deep into her soul. She would remember the deliciously wonderful moment always. Not just for the intimacy but for the complete union of their hearts. No longer did hers beat to its own metronome, one strike at a time, but now with his in absolute symmetry.

  She brushed her fingers through the hair on his chest, delighting in the texture, the skin beneath heated, the bands of muscle across his stomach smooth and hard. His gaze turned dark, his eyes as well, and she continued her exploration, coasting her palms over the broad expanse of his shoulders, the flex of his biceps under her touch. His hands tightened at her waist and she wrapped her arms around his neck and lowered his mouth to her own. They fell to the pillows, his kiss, hot with desire, delved deeper with every stroke of his velvet-rough tongue.

  Sometime long ago she’d offered him her heart only to discover he wouldn’t accept her gift, but now their entire world had altered and shifted into the perfect arrangement.

  A sense of contentment and unexpected relief drenched her, and she allowed all logic and reason to slip away with her next breath.

  Jeremy deepened their kiss as his tongue rubbed against hers with erotic invitation. They both knew what lie ahead. They chased the same pleasure. Without effort, he removed her night rail, the cool silk discarded to the floorboards. He skimmed his fingertips down her spine, tracing the arch and settling near her hips, where his thumb stroked the curve of her bottom. It must have pleased him as much as she because he growled, low and intimate, unlike anything she’d heard from him before. Her body responded, her nipples ruched tight, and below, between her thighs, she grew wet and sensitive. In a bold response, she copied his caress and found the firm muscles of his buttocks. He adjusted their position and aligned their bodies, hers beneath his, their kiss unbroken, their bodies pressed together with heat and desire.

  He pulled away and whispered her name on a broken sigh. When he shifted the slightest his erection pressed against her core, hot and insistent. She trembled with anticipation, wanting to give more than receive, yet at odds, anxious to surrender to the pleasure promised by his kisses.

  “Jeremy.”

  “Hush.” He kissed her again. This time he trailed nips across her mouth and jaw, down the slope of her neck and shoulder to find his way to her breasts, the brush of his whiskers a sensual enticement.

  She clenched her thighs, a ripple of urgent tension settling in her sex as he took her nipple into his mouth and suckled, the determined press of his tongue against the tip almost too much to bear. Inside, sensation swirled and built, each tremor and vibration more powerful than the last. It was as though she no longer had control of feeling and emotion. Like pinpricks of sensation, instinct and desire coursed through her with delicious force. Her thighs went slack, her legs boneless, and with that she parted beneath him, the tip of his erection against her wet heat divine. Still, he didn’t enter her.

  With unexpected grace, he rolled to the side and took her with him, bringing her leg high on his hip as his fingers found her sex parted and wet. She shuddered, undone by sensation, her head bowed against the muscles of his chest, her eyes closed to every nuance of their lovemaking. He smelled musky and strong. She felt cherished and loved. And when he at last stroked over her core, she called out from the sheer relief his touch offered. Yet how she ached for him and wanted more. Time ceased to exist. Sensation claimed every part of her being. He slid his fingers against her flesh in a rhythm both strong and nimble. Ripples of pleasure claimed her, beckoned her toward climax, yet he worked her still, and the tension within built toward release, as flawless as the musical pieces she practiced, as beautiful as the melodies she produced. Every caress against her folds, every touch to that bud of sensitivity, provoked another tremor of pleasure so powerful she could think of nothing else.

  He slid a finger inside her, her muscles quick to tighten and quake, desperate to keep him there, but he tortured her instead. She moved closer and then back, restless with ache, a
nd pressed her face against his heart, wanting him to somehow relieve the impatient pressure alive within her. He stroked and fondled, rubbing her, pressing in and out each perfect stroke until she could no longer bear it. She gasped, the indrawn breath fast and hard as she shuddered with release, filled with the vibrant power of climax, unable to think, only to feel.

  He held her and captured her mouth for a long, lingering kiss that amplified the tremors of subsiding passion while her body remained lost in sensation, every cell alive and alert. At last, they parted on a sigh. She withdrew the slightest and found he watched her carefully.

  “Jeremy.” He would let her speak now. She’d have it no other way.

  “Yes, sweet Charlotte.”

  She smiled at the endearment. “I’ve dreamed of your bed . . . of lying with you like this.”

  “As have I.” The right corner of his mouth curled.

  “I’ve imagined so many things, all of them pleasurable, some extravagant and some as commonplace as—”

  “Finishing each other’s sentences?”

  He chuckled soft and quiet, and the sound reverberated in her chest.

  “Yes.” She smiled. “But I never realized how they would all feel. How you would feel . . .” She swept her palm over his chest and rested it against his heartbeat. His muscles twitched below her hand.

  “How we would feel together.”

  He lifted her by the waist and deposited her atop him, straddled around his waist where she sat in protest, only to realize his hardness rested against the curve of her bottom. What outrageous idea did her husband have in mind now?

  * * *

  This was what he’d always wanted and damn anyone who thought to take it from him. He refused to think about anything beyond this moment.

  Good Lord, she felt glorious.

  He’d happily enlighten her chaste sensibilities with a bit of sexual knowledge. A sense of possessive pride followed that conclusion, and he gripped her hips and raised her above him before he settled her atop his aching erection.