Nearly Ruining Mr Russell (Rogues and Gentlemen Book 5)

by Emma V. Leech

  “There you are,” he murmured, smiling down at her.

  “Yes,” she replied, quite helpless to say anymore, but finding in the end, that it was all she needed. “Yes,” she repeated, pulling his head down to hers. “Yes.”

  He moved over her and she gasped, looking down in surprise as the hard length of his arousal pressed against the part of her that was still alive with sensation. As she saw, and for the first time, exactly what it was that a man looked like at such a moment, her eyes widened considerably.

  “Oh my,” she exclaimed, startled despite all of Celeste’s assurances. “Are you quite sure ...” she began only to look up and see a vision of helpless amusement in his eyes.

  “Quite sure, love,” he said, with such gravity and affection that she could only grin at him.

  “Sorry,” she murmured with little huff of laughter. “I’m being rather silly, aren’t I?”

  “No,” he replied, pressing a kiss to her lips. “You are being rather perfectly wonderful,” he whispered. But then talking seemed to be too much of an effort and he was all tension in her arms, his muscles taut and hard as iron as he moved between her legs, pushing against her, gently but inexorably towards what came next.

  Violette moved beneath him, accommodating the sensation and finding it less strange than she might have imagined. Looking up at him, she relaxed, seeing only the face of the person she loved most in the world in front her, and so the pain he warned her of, the pain he tried hard to save her from, never came.

  She simply gasped, hauling in a breath of surprise as he filled her, surprised not by the strangeness of it, but the completeness.

  With wonder, she explored the feel of him, the breadth of his shoulders, the astonishing softness of his skin, the strength of the body that held her with such care. All of it was a revelation, and she could see in his eyes that he felt the same. So when that same new and startling, glittering sensation began over again, she knew that this time they would share it together, and followed him with complete trust over the edge that he took her to.

  ***

  Aubrey lay against the ridiculous mattress that seemed intent on eating them both alive, and felt a wave of something that might have been panic. Violette was asleep in his arms, her soft hair a riot of curls tickling his chest, her breath a gentle flutter of warmth over his skin. He was a married man. He was a man with a wife to support, and not just any wife.

  He had never been in any doubt about his feelings for Violette. Though he would never have considered himself a great romantic or anything of the sort, he had been well aware of his own heart from the very beginning. But still, nothing had prepared him for last night.

  Though he was by no means inexperienced, he had been shocked at the difference it made, between lying with a woman you desired, and lying with one whom you loved with your whole heart. Everything, every woman, that had come before seemed suddenly meaningless. Not that he minded in the least. He had never had any intention of being anything but faithful, but the power of emotion that had swept over him ... well, that, he had not been prepared for. The thought of anything ever happening to her, this woman, this extraordinary creature who was now his to honour and protect ... it was terrifying.

  He let out a breath and she shifted in his arms, stirring awake and sighing, her hand running over his chest.

  “Hello there,” she murmured, blinking up at him.

  His heart did a strange little kick in his chest and his mouth quirked into a hopeless grin. “Hello yourself,” he murmured, turning her onto her back and deciding the world and its worries could wait. This happiness, the sense of peace and rightness, that was all that mattered. That was everything.

  ***

  “So, have you seen the newlyweds yet?” Alex asked, accepting a cup and saucer from his Aunt Seymour.

  The old lady snorted as she poured out another cup for herself. “Don’t be foolish, Falmouth. They’ve only been here two days. Somehow I doubt visiting his grandmother is high on Aubrey’s list of things to do.”

  Seymour’s sister, his maiden Aunt Dorothy, or Dotty as she was known in the family, giggled so hard her china cup rattled against its saucer and Seymour shot her a warning look of disapproval.

  Dotty put the cup down.

  “I assume you’re not expecting to see them?” Seymour demanded, looking up at Alex, her sharp grey eyes curious.

  “Well,” Alex replied, sounding apologetic. “I may need a word with Aubrey.”

  Seymour shifted her gaze to Celeste, who was reaching for another slice of cake. “‘Er brother ‘as ‘ad to claim that ‘e gave permission for the marriage to go ahead in order to avoid a scandal,” she said, and Seymour nodded.

  “I saw his notice of the marriage in the papers,” she said. “It was well done. Not that he had any choice,” she added with a bark of laughter.

  “Oui, mais,” Celeste began and then quailed a little as Seymour sent her a reproving look for speaking French. “But ... he is very angry,” she carried on, pronouncing the words with care.

  Alex reached over and took his wife’s hand, smiling at her, and turned back to Seymour. “I just came to warn Aubrey that it might be better if they went onto Harrogate sooner rather than later.” He frowned and shook his head. “The man is spoiling for a fight, I’d say. Might be best to give him time to cool down.”

  Seymour shrugged. “I’d say Aubrey is well capable of looking after himself.”

  Alex admitted himself surprised that his grandmother should say it of him, but he didn’t in any way disagree. “Yes,” he replied, nodding. “I think he can too, but a pity if their honeymoon should be spoiled because of it.”

  “Oh dear, no,” Aunt Dotty cried, looking aghast. “We couldn’t have that.”

  Alex shrugged. “Well, Winterbourne must know the baron hails from these parts. If he doesn’t, he’ll discover it soon enough. I had hoped he’d be resigned to the matter once it was done, but I can see that that was a foolish idea now. I can’t help but think he’ll come here if he’s intent on hunting them down.”

  Seymour grimaced but nodded in agreement. “Yes, you’re right of course. Best warn him.”

  They looked up as his Aunt Seymour’s frosty-faced butler came into the room and announced in his sonorous voice. “The Earl of Stanthorpe, Lord Lancaster, and Mr Tatum to see you, my lady.”

  Alex got to his feet in surprise, fearing the worst as Aubrey’s friends hurried into the room.

  Once the polite greetings were done Alex got to the point.

  “What is it?” he demanded, wondering what could possibly have brought them all flying down here together.

  Lord Benjamin Lancaster gave the Earl a shove. “Spit it out, Tommy.”

  The young man stared up at Alex and put him rather in mind of a terrified cherub.

  “Alex, sit down,” Celeste demanded, glaring at him.

  He frowned at her, but obeyed as he was bid, and she leaned forward to whisper in his ear. “Stop looking like you’ll eat the poor boy before ‘e dies of fright.”

  He glanced back at Celeste with chagrin, unaware that he’d been doing any such thing.

  The gentlemen all sat at Alex’s bidding as he tried his best to rearrange his face into something more approachable.

  “W-well,” Tommy stammered, proving that he was failing miserably. “Thing is, I happened to meet Winterbourne last night and ... and felicitated him on his sister’s marriage. D-didn’t realise he wasn’t best pleased, you see,” the poor Earl carried on, looking rather queasy.

  “Damned fool,” Ben muttered, shaking his head in dismay. “Did you not think it odd we didn’t even know he was getting married? Had to be an elopement.”

  “Well, yes, did think it a trifle smoky,” Tommy admitted, looking sheepish. “But Aubrey’s such a decent chap, nothing rum or ... or underhand about him, so ...” he trailed off with a despondent shrug.

  “Am I to deduce by this that you have made Winterbourne aware of the fact Aubrey may well
be here?” Alex asked, trying to keep his tone even, though he was sorely tempted to give the fool a shake that would make his pretty curls dance so hard they’d turn white.

  “T-that’s about the gist of it, yes,” Tommy admitted, swallowing hard.

  “We came as soon as we realised,” chimed in the young man that Alex recognised as Owen Tatum. He was a sensible sort, Alex believed. Ben Lancaster was a rake and a libertine and everything that Aubrey had been so unfairly painted, and Lord Stanthorpe had more hair than wit, though he was usually harmless enough. To be fair, it was only stupidity that had made him throw Aubrey in the suds.

  “How did Winterbourne react when you informed him about Aubrey’s whereabouts?” Seymour demanded, her imperious grey gaze doing nothing to sooth the beleaguered Earl’s equilibrium

  “Oh, he said everything that was proper,” Tommy replied and then hesitated. “But ... but there was something about him. I didn’t believe he meant it.”

  Alex looked towards Ben Lancaster as he sat forward in a confiding manner. “Truth is, since he’s returned from the dead ...” He paused, eyeing the ladies and clearly trying to find a polite way of putting his words. “Well, he’s not the same fellow as when he went away last, from what I hear. In fact, I’d say he could start a fight in an empty room.”

  “Mad as a box of frogs,” added Tommy, with a mournful cast to his angelic face. “Should never have told him,” he said, putting his head in his hands so that his golden curls tumbled over his fingers.

  “No use bleating now, Tommy,” Owen said, though not unkindly. “But we need to make sure the fellow don’t run Aubrey through. If he really is unhinged ...”

  Everyone fell silent, appalled by the notion.

  “But ‘e saved Winterbourne’s life!” Celeste cried, putting down her empty plate with such a crash that Seymour winced.

  “Very true,” the old lady said, her voice tart. “But I see no reason why you should break my best Limoges porcelain because of it.”

  Celeste flushed, looking mortified, and Alex was moved to scowl at his Aunt and place a protective hand over his wife’s.

  Seymour sniffed. “Well, nonetheless, Celeste is quite correct. Winterbourne owes Aubrey a debt of honour, he can’t possibly call Aubrey out. He’s put the notice in the papers, after all, so he wants to avoid a scandal. No. He’ll come here to air his grievances perhaps, but I for one think Aubrey is more than capable of dealing with an angry brother.”

  Owen nodded but didn’t look quite so reassured. “So do I, Lady Russell, if he is merely angry, only ...” They looked at him expectantly and Owen’s face grew dark. “Only, it is rather more than just a rumour that the man is ... unstable.” He too glanced at the ladies, looking uncomfortable. Seymour rolled her eyes at him. “He was ejected from Whites for beating Glenmore to a pulp,” he admitted.

  Alex snorted. “Glenmore has been in need of a sound beating this past twelve months,” he said, his tone sour. “Someone had to do it. A regular Captain Sharp.”

  Aunt Dotty made an exclamation and Alex remembered his manners. “Forgive me, Aunt, that was not fit for your ears,” he said by way of apology, though to his mind, Dotty looked thoroughly entranced by all the goings on.

  Celeste pulled a face at him, obviously noting that his wife wasn’t included in the apology, but, then, Celeste was made of sterner stuff. He squeezed her hand, giving her a rueful smile.

  “Well then,” Alex continued, hoping Aubrey’s friends were making a mountain out of a molehill, though he himself had also been moved to warn Aubrey. “We are all here at least, so if Winterbourne really is as mad as you seem to think, we should be able to keep a lid on things between us.”

  There were general murmurs of agreement to this statement, and Alex cast a leery eye towards Lord Stanthorpe, who was looked as though he might cast up his accounts on his aunt’s Axminster. Well, some murmurs had perhaps been more encouraging than others. “The only question now,” Alex continued with a frown, “is who on earth is going to go and disturb Aubrey and tell him what’s what?”

  Six pairs of eyes turned expectantly to Alex.

  He sighed.

  Chapter 28

  “Wherein our happy honeymooners get a rude awakening.”

  Aubrey had been slumbering in that peaceful place, somewhere between sleeping and waking, aware that his wife was toying with the hair on his chest. It was a ticklish, faintly provocative sensation and the first stirrings of desire were beginning to make him feel rather more awake than asleep. The idea was rather startling, as they’d barely slept since arriving at the cottage. By rights he ought to be exhausted, but, somehow, sleeping when his delicious wife was so close seemed like a frightful waste of time.

  She moved her elegant fingers to trace a delicate circle around his nipple and everything south of his navel decided she had his undivided attention. As those elegant fingers next began to trace a slow and tortuous path down his chest and across his belly, he was moved to give a decadent sigh, and then started in shock as a sharp rap was to be heard on the front door.

  “What on earth!” he exclaimed in fury. He had given instructions that a maid was to come each morning to see to the fires downstairs and bring food, but, other than that, they were not to be disturbed for three full days unless there was a dire emergency. At that point, the carriage would come to take them on to Harrogate. Surely he hadn’t lost a day, he pondered, suddenly believing that it was entirely possible. The irritating knocking sound came again and he was on the point of yelling at whoever it was to go to the devil when he heard a familiar voice.

  “Aubrey?” bellowed the voice from the front garden. “It’s Alex.”

  “Alex?” Aubrey repeated in outrage. If ever there was a man who ought to respect the sanctity of the marriage bed, it was Alex. What the bloody hell was the man playing at?

  “What is he doing here?” Violette asked, clutching at his arm and looking so worried that he leaned over and gave her nose a kiss.

  “Don’t worry, love, I’ll see to it ... whatever it is,” he added with a frustrated mutter of annoyance. Pulling the shirt that he had discarded two days earlier - it was two days, surely - over his head, he stalked to the window and threw back the curtains, feeling rather like a mole pushing through the earth as the bright light of a winter’s afternoon seared his eyes for the first time since they’d arrived.

  Throwing open the tiny lead lined window, he leaned out and glowered down at Alex.

  “Go to the devil!” he shouted down at his unwelcome cousin who was stamping his feet against the cold on the doorstep.

  Alex grinned up at him and shook his head. “Sorry, young Romeo, can’t do it. I need to talk to you.”

  “Now?” Aubrey demanded in outrage. “Devil a bit! I’m on my honeymoon,” he threw down with impatience.

  Alex gave a soft laugh and shook his head. “I know it, Aubrey, and I’m most desperately sorry, truly. But I must speak with you.”

  Aubrey uttered an oath towards his beloved cousin that he hoped was just loud enough to reach the fellow without sullying the ears of his wife. “Be down in a moment, blast you,” he added before slamming the window shut and pulling the curtains.

  “What on earth is going on?” Violette demanded, sitting up and looking very much like Botticelli’s Venus had just woken in his bed. Aubrey swallowed down the desire to leave Alex standing on the freezing doorstep with very bad grace, and stalked about the bedroom in search of his trousers.

  “My blasted cousin is going on,” he muttered, almost tripping himself over in his haste to pull on his trousers and get rid of Alex with as much speed as was possible.

  “But why?” Violette exclaimed, and then her face blanched. “Oh no. It must be my brother!” she exclaimed, scrambling over the mountainous edges of the mattress. “He knows where we are, oh, Aubrey!”

  “Hush, love,” Aubrey replied, moving to the bed and putting his hands on her shoulders to stop her getting out. “If that’s what it is, then
I will deal with it. We knew we must face him sooner or later, after all.”

  “Oh yes, but not now!” she cried, looking appalled. “Not when everything is so ... so ...”

  He grinned at her despite the circumstances and tenderly pushed an unruly curl from her forehead. “So perfectly, gloriously splendid?” he supplied for her, his voice soft before pressing a gentle kiss to her lips.

  “Yes,” she said on a sigh that he felt all the way to his toes. “Oh yes, all of that and more.”

  Aubrey sighed and then stood upright. “Don’t fret, love,” he advised with a smile, and then ran down the stairs with his shirt untucked and his feet bare. If Alex was unwise enough to disturb a man’s honeymoon, he couldn’t reasonably expect him to be turned out like the Beau.

  Cursing a little as his feet hit the cold stone floor of the cottage, Aubrey hurried to the front door, slid the bolt, and pulled back the latch, stepping back to allow Alex to duck under the low lintel.

  “I am sorry,” Alex said, his face looking uncharacteristically regretful as he closed the door, and the two men gravitated to the fire.

  “Never mind that,” Aubrey muttered, waving an impatient hand at him. “What’s got you all of a twitter?”

  Alex raised his eyebrows at the description and Aubrey snorted.

  “You’ve just disturbed my honeymoon, Alex, if I say you’re all of a twitter, you’ll damn well swallow it,” he said, sounding really rather terse. In some dim part of his brain, Aubrey wondered when he’d stopped finding the head of his family so damned terrifying.

  Obviously deciding that Aubrey should be allowed a little leeway in the circumstances, Alex ignored the remark with dignity. “Winterbourne is likely to be on the doorstep anytime soon,” he said, his tone grave as Aubrey cursed and stirred the fire back to life with a poker.