Debbie Raleigh - Some Like It Brazen.doc

by Some Like It Brazen (lit)

  Seemingly unaware of her fascinated gaze, he allowed a smile to touch his lips.

  “I have been awaiting your arrival.”

  She was forced to clear her throat. “Where is Lord Bidwell?”

  “He is returning to London.”

  Bianca blinked in surprise. “At this hour?”

  “You need not concern yourself with Biddles. He is never quite so happy as when he is sneaking through the darkness. He will come to no harm.”

  Bianca smiled with dry amusement. She did not fear for the nobleman’s life. There was no doubt that Lord Bidwell could best the worst sort of scoundrel with nothing more than his sharp tongue.

  Still, it seemed an odd hour to begin such a long journey.

  “Yes, but is the neighborhood safe?” she demanded.

  “Now, that I cannot promise.” He gave a low chuckle that ended in a rasping moan.

  Instantly concerned, Bianca moved to perch upon the edge of the bed. Whatever the doctor’s assurances that Edward would have a full recovery, she would not be satisfied until he was up and out of the bed.

  “Are you in pain?” she demanded. “Is there anything you need?”

  His expression became brooding as he studied her delicate features.

  “Yes, to both of your questions,” he at last retorted. “I am in desperate pain.”

  Her stomach clenched in fear. “Dear God, I will call for the doctor—”

  Before she could lift herself from the bed, his hand shot out to grasp her arm.

  “Bianca, all I need is you by my side and your assurance you will never do anything thing so utterly stupid again.”

  The fear receded to be replaced by a shaft of pure annoyance. Did he think that she wished to be consumed with the terror he was about to die? Or to plunge into a burning cottage because she could not bear to be without him? Or to feel utterly helpless when she realized she did not possess the strength to pull him clear of the flames?

  By God. She would take a horsewhip to him should he ever put her through such an ordeal again.

  Leaning forward, she stabbed him with a narrow-eyed glare. “I would not have done anything so stupid if you had not done so first.”

  “But I have always been a thick-skulled ox who is expected to blunder into disaster,” he countered. “You, muirnin, are a dazzling butterfly who must take the greatest care of herself. I could not bear to live if anything happened to you.”

  She gave a lift of her brows. “And why should I feel any differently?”

  “Bianca.” His fingers trailed down her arm until he encountered the bandages upon her hand. She sensed him suddenly stiffen, a flare of regret tightening his features. “God, your poor hands.”

  Her heart once again melted. Damn him. He was far too skilled in turning aside her ready temper.

  “They will heal,” she assured him in soft tones.

  “We must send to London for a doctor. There must be one who is proficient in treating such burns.”

  She could not halt her smile at his fierce tone. There were times when he could be terribly protective.

  Something that she did not seem to mind nearly so much as she once had.

  Not as long as it was Edward.

  “I have already been treated by the local doctor, and in truth it was Mrs. Chester’s salve that has proven to be the best cure.”

  With gentle care he raised her hand to his lips. “Remind me to give her a rise in salary.”

  A delicious heat spread through her. A heat that had nothing at all to do with the burns on her hands.

  “Actually, I shall be the one to give her a rise,” she murmured, deliberately settling closer to his hard thigh.

  His eyes darkened as the air began to shimmer with a familiar tension.

  “Indeed?”

  “Oh yes, I shall demand complete authority over the household accounts.”

  His lips continued to stroke lightly over her fingers, taking great care not to press upon her bandages.

  “Complete authority?”

  “Complete.”

  “And what other demands might I expect from my lovely shrew?”

  She found it increasingly more difficult to concentrate upon his words as his tongue touched the tip of her finger. Blast it all. This man was supposed to be recuperating, not stirring her passions to a fever pitch.

  With an effort, she attempted to keep her mind upon the matters at hand.

  Not an easy task when she need only bend forward to place her lips against that gloriously bare chest.

  “A generous allowance, of course,” she managed to rasp.

  His lips twitched as if he were perfectly aware of her unruly desire.

  “Of course.”

  She sternly steadied herself. The dratted man would not always be able to distract her with his potent appeal.

  “And a townhouse where I may entertain those gentlemen in position to lend support to your reforms. I shall dazzle them with my charm and wit.”

  “And perhaps bully them into supporting me?”

  She shrugged. Being the daughter of a duke did have a few benefits.

  “If necessary.”

  He regarded her with something that might have been tender pride even as his smile widened.

  “Anything else?”

  “Not at the moment. However, I do not doubt several more requirements will occur to me once we are wed.”

  “No doubt.” His lips closed over the tip of her finger as he gave it a gentle nip. “Now may we discuss a few of my own requirements, muirnin?”

  She did not need to be a clairvoyant to know precisely what requirements he intended to discuss.

  Perhaps more than discuss, she acknowledged as his features softened with a desire that made her heart pound.

  “Edward, I am quite certain the doctor would not approve. He was very adamant that you should rest,” she forced herself to protest.

  They had an eternity to indulge their passions. For now all that mattered was that he recovered from his very nasty blow to the head.

  “Actually I find that I am feeling considerably improved. In fact—”

  Before he could complete his wicked suggestion there was the lightest rap upon the door and Bianca was hurriedly jumping to her feet. She heard Edward mutter a string of frustrated curses as he tugged the blankets to his chin and sent her a smoldering glare.

  “We are traveling to a remote cottage in the Highlands for our honeymoon. It seems the only place where we will not be interrupted.”

  Bianca merely shrugged. Regaining his composure with an effort, he called for the intruder to enter.

  With obvious unease, a young tenant stepped into the room and offered an awkward bow toward the bed. Thankfully, he did not seem overly offended by the sight of Bianca in the bedchamber. In fact, he sent her a smile that added an unexpected charm to his round countenance.

  “Pardon the interruption, my lord, but there are a few of us wanting to pay our respects.”

  Edward blinked in bewilderment. “Whatever are you about, Joseph?”

  The tenant clenched his hat in his battered hands. “We all seen how you rushed into the cottage to save old man Foster and how your young lady risked herself to pull you out.”

  A surprising flush touched Edward’s cheeks. He clearly was uncomfortable in the role of hero. Bianca, however, felt nothing but a surge of pride.

  There were few noblemen who could claim to have the love and respect that Edward inspired among all those he encountered.

  He was a rare gentleman indeed.

  “Good God, I did nothing that any other man would not do,” he gruffly protested. “Although I will admit that my fiancée proved to be a courageous savior.”

  It was Bianca’s turn to blush, but before she could deny the absurd claim, the young man was turning to regard her with a happy grin.

  “Congratulations, my lady. You have chosen a fine man.”

  “Yes, I know,” she agreed softly.

  His gr
in widened. “And Lord Harrington has proven he is not quite so stupid as we had feared. He has done well.”

  She was taken aback by the familiar manner in which Joseph spoke of his master, but Edward merely laughed. The two were clearly friends.

  “Enough, you forward pup.”

  “May I tell the others they may offer their gratitude?” Joseph demanded.

  “It is not at all necessary.”

  The smile upon the round face slowly faded. “It is to them, my lord. They have waited all afternoon to see you.”

  There was a long moment before Edward heaved a sigh of resignation. No doubt he worried the tenants might wait in the foyer the entire night for the opportunity to see for themselves that he was alive and well.

  “Very well.”

  With a pleased nod, the man turned to leave the room and Bianca prepared to return to her own room. It was bad enough that the entire neighborhood must now know she was staying beneath Edward’s roof. She would not add insult to injury by being seen in his bedchamber.

  Unfortunately, she had not taken into consideration Edward’s stubborn nature. Before she could move, his hand had reached out to grasp her wrist in a firm grip.

  “Do not leave,” he commanded softly.

  She frowned although she did not pull free. She could not risk jarring him unduly.

  “Edward, I cannot be seen here. Your tenants will never accept me as your wife if they think me your mistress.”

  He slowly smiled, his male beauty breathtaking in the flickering shadows.

  “Trust me, muirnin. My tenants are not like those of society. They do not judge others upon silly gossip or the cut of their gown. They judge a person by the contents of their heart. You have already earned their respect.”

  It was a lovely notion, but Bianca was not so easily convinced. She had lived far too long among others who took positive delight in ripping reputations to shreds.

  “Edward, I really think it best if I return to my chambers.”

  His grip refused to loosen.

  “Trust me,” he whispered.

  She heaved out a frustrated sigh. Truly he was the most stubborn of men.

  Wishing herself far away, Bianca was forced to remain standing beside the bed as the first of the visitors shuffled into the room. Somehow she even conjured a stiff smile.

  It was a smile that became quite genuine as one by one a seemingly endless flood of guests came to pay their respects.

  And not only to Edward.

  With a somber sense of tradition, they came toward the bed and offered what gifts they could afford. Flowers, pots of honey, freshly made jam, fine linen, lace, and delicately carved pieces of wood. Soon the gifts threatened to overwhelm the entire room.

  And each in turn spoke words of thanks, first to Edward and then to Bianca.

  Not one regarded her with disapproval or even curiosity.

  In their minds she had rescued their beloved lord.

  That was enough for them.

  At the end of the long line came Mrs. Foster, her round face damp with tears as she pressed her lips to Edward’s hand and gently touched Bianca’s cheek before leaving the room.

  More than a bit stunned by the overwhelming display, Bianca slowly sank upon the edge of the bed.

  She felt…welcomed.

  As if she had been accepted into a far-flung family that had just invited her into their lives.

  Sensing Edward’s steady regard, she slowly lifted her lashes to meet his searching gaze. A smile of wonder touched her lips.

  “What is it, muirnin?” he demanded.

  “I feel as if I have just come home.”

  The tender expression that would always melt her heart touched his features. Then, with great care, he tugged her to lie closely nestled at his side.

  “You are home, Lady Bianca,” he assured her, his lips touching the top of her curls.

  “Our home,” she murmured against his chest.

  His arms tightened about her. “Yes…our home.”

  Please turn the page for an exciting sneak peek of

  Deborah Raleigh’s

  next historical romance,

  coming soon from Zebra Books!

  CHAPTER ONE

  The townhouse tucked in Lombard Street was a perfectly respectable brick structure, with a perfectly respectable garden, in a perfectly respectable neighborhood.

  It was remarkable only for the fact that it managed to meld so easily into its surroundings as to be nearly invisible.

  The owner, Mr. Dunnington, was equally successful in blending into his surroundings.

  Even his most intimate acquaintances would admit they knew little of the gentleman. Nothing beyond the fact that he had once been a tutor who had come into a small inheritance and after buying the townhouse had converted it into an exclusive school for boys of superior, if not precisely legal birth.

  Bastards, some would call them, but with enough money from their fathers to ensure that they received a proper education and the ability to establish decent careers.

  Beyond his obvious skill at teaching, Mr. Dunnington, however, remained an intriguing mystery.

  Of course, there was no one who could have suspected just how mysterious he would prove to be. Certainly not the three gentlemen currently seated in the library of the townhouse.

  At a glance the gentlemen held little in common. Well, nothing beyond the fact that all three were the sort to cause a riot among the most fastidious of women.

  Raoul Charlebois leaned negligently against the mahogany desk and was perhaps the most captivating of the three.

  It was more than his pale, golden beauty or the perfection of his lean body. There was simply something in the grace of his movements and the compelling emotions that played over his classic features with a mesmerizing ease. There was no surprise that he was currently London’s most celebrated actor.

  Ian Breckford in contrast was a dark, smoldering gentleman who managed to succeed in everything he attempted. He was the best swordsman, he held the fastest record of traveling from Dover to London on horseback, he had made a fortune at the gambling tables, and women throughout London referred to him as Casanova.

  He was a genuine hedonist who was admired and envied by every gentleman in London.

  Fredrick Smith was neither as fair as Raoul, nor as dark as Ian. His hair was a pale honey with an annoying tendency to curl over his ears and at the nape of his neck. His features were delicately carved and had been the bane of his existence when he had been a lad. What boy wanted to look like a cherubic angel? Thankfully, age had managed to add a layer of unmistakable masculinity to the wide brow, the angular cheekbones, and the thin line of nose. Nothing, however, could alter the eyes that were an odd grey that could shift from silver to the deepest charcoal depending upon his mood.

  His body was also thinner, although he spent enough time in his workshops to develop the sort of hard muscles that were nicely displayed by the current fashion of skintight breeches and tailored jackets.

  Not that he entirely approved of all the latest styles, he wryly acknowledged. There was nothing pleasant about the black slippers that he had hastily purchased for the funeral. They not only pinched his toes, but he feared the laces were beginning to cut off the bloodstream to his feet. Had he known that this appointment was going to take the better part of the day he would have worn his comfortable boots.

  It had been nearly an hour since the small, annoyingly fussy solicitor had excused himself from the room, but the shocked silence remained as thick as the moment the will had been read.

  Seated near the crackling fire that battled the late January chill, Fredrick sipped on the fine brandy that he had possessed the foresight to bring.

  He had expected the day to be difficult. Mr. Dunnington had been more than a teacher to him and his two companions. He had been a father, a mentor, and the cornerstone of their lives. Even after they had left this townhouse to seek their fortunes in the world, they had never lost conta
ct with the man who had given them something none of them had ever expected to discover.

  A family.

  A rare and precious commodity for a bastard.

  To know that he had gone from this world forever left a gaping wound in Fredrick’s heart that would not soon heal.

  There was a loud pop from the fireplace as one of the logs shifted. It was enough to jerk the three gentlemen from their broodings and with a muffled oath, Raoul rose to his feet and paced toward the bow window.

  “I’ll be damned,” he muttered.

  “That seems to sum it up nicely,” Fredrick said dryly.

  Ian made a sound deep in his throat. “The old man was always a bit batty and we all thought he must harbor some mystery in his past, but this…” He gave a shake of his head, the handsome features for once devoid of its wicked smile. “Bloody hell.”

  Raoul leaned against the frame of the window and folded his arms over his chest. His movements were not the smooth, almost profound movements he usually employed. Raoul Charlebois was an actor who considered the whole world his stage. It was only when he was with Fredrick and Ian that he allowed himself to lower his guard.

  “It does all seem highly unlikely.”

  “Unlikely? It is a great deal more than that.” Ian surged to his feet, a restless energy crackling around his lean body. “It is one thing to possess a hidden lover or even an addiction to the gaming hells. Good God, even an occasional trip to the opium dens would have been less shocking. Who the devil could have suspected he was a brilliant extortionist?”

  Fredrick remained seated, his mind methodically working through the stunning revelations that had shaken all of them. When they had been requested to attend the meeting with Dunnington’s solicitor, they had all presumed that the old man had left them some small memento, a reminder of the past they had shared. Certainly none of them expected to be told that they were each to receive a legacy of twenty thousand pounds. Or that the money they were each to receive had been bilked from their respective fathers over the course of near twenty years.

  Absently, he reached beneath his jacket and pulled out a small notebook and nub of pencil he always kept handy. He was a man who understood that any problem could be solved once it was sorted into manageable details. No doubt it was the result of his career as an engineer.