Daniel’s familiar frown reappeared. “Well, it’s curious more than anything,” he said as he carried a crystal-stemmed glass to his wife. “It’s from the Norwick solicitor in Sussex.”
Clarinda took the glass and sipped the bubbly fluid. She hadn’t had champagne since the last ball she had attended at the end of the Season. “I’ve missed this,” she murmured, her attention still on her husband. She was about to ask him about the solicitor when she saw him suddenly pale. “Daniel? What is it?”
The earl folded the missive and closed his eyes a moment. “Who is more the thing. Constance Fitzwilliam. My late uncle’s only daughter. Seems she paid a visit to our solicitor expecting to be given her inheritance.”
Taking another sip of champagne, Clarinda wondered at Daniel’s tone of voice. “You make it sound as if she isn’t entitled to it.”
Daniel shrugged. “Well, if she’s reached her majority and hasn’t married, then she is,” he said, his attention back on the missive. “Dammit.”
Clare’s eyes widened. “Language!” she said in a hoarse whisper.
Pulled from his reverie, Daniel straightened and allowed a guilty expression. “Forgive me. I ... I had no idea Connie was already five-and-twenty. Truth be told, I hadn’t given her much thought in a long time.”
Curious as to why news of his cousin seemed to have upset Daniel, Clarinda allowed him another minute before she asked, “Is there an inheritance for her claim?” she asked carefully.
Daniel took a deep breath and nodded. “Oh, I’m sure Uncle Edward saw to it before he died. I just ... I realize from this note that the solicitor is unaware of it, is all,” he stammered. “I’ll be sure to send him a letter with the details.” He nodded as he made the comment, his attention still on the folded note he held.
“Is she not very ... agreeable?” Clarinda asked before finishing off her champagne, closing her eyes a moment so she could enjoy the sensation of the bubbles as they bounced about on her tongue.
“Agreeable?” Daniel repeated.
Clarinda nodded. “In order for her to claim her inheritance, she couldn’t be married. Which I suppose means the money would have been her dowry. But is she really unbiddable?”
Daniel seemed to struggle for words. “I don’t know. It’s been ... years since I last saw Connie,” he replied, obviously bothered by the conversation.
Frowning at Daniel’s odd behavior, Clarinda straightened on the settee. “Why do you suppose she has never married?”
The simple question had Daniel shaking his head. “Last I knew, she was still living at Fair Downs near Boxgrove. Other than a monastery, there’s really not much there, and I rather doubt any Benedictine monks are looking to marry,” he said lightly. He sobered again, though. “I’ll see to it she’s suitably ... settled,” he stammered.
“Daniel!” Clare’s hoarse whisper had the earl’s attention back on her.
“What?”
“You’re hiding something,” she accused. “I don’t believe I have ever seen you so ... discombobulated,” she added with a shake of her head. The babe on her shoulder gave a slight cry before settling down again.
Daniel reached down to pick up Dahlia. “It’s nothing. I just ... I just lost track of time. I invested her funds along with most of David’s way back when. I’ll see to making sure she gets it,” he promised before joining her on the settee, Dahlia propped against one of his shoulders. “When we’re back at the house,” he added with a nod.
Clarinda nodded and allowed a wan smile, thinking it would be some time before she would be able to walk.
The champagne had gone straight to her knees.
Chapter 12
A Marquess Reconsiders a Lady
Nine-thirty in the morning of September 15
Randall watched the barouche pull away, wondering about the skittish woman he had escorted to the equipage. Throughout their entire stroll, a walk that lasted no longer than fifteen minutes, the marquess had hoped to put the woman at ease. He couldn’t help but think she was more frightened of him now than when she had first come upon him whilst he sat on the bench. Perhaps I was scowling, he thought, wondering if his appearance was to blame or if Miss Fitzwilliam was simply uncomfortable in the company of a man.
About to turn around to make his way back to his townhouse, he was rather startled to see not Miss Fitzwilliam, but rather the maid turn around to regard him from where she sat in the back of the open carriage. Despite her earlier manner— she seemed most displeased when she and her mistress had come upon him in the park—the expression on her face now suggested she might have changed her opinion of him.
Randall acknowledged her gaze with a tip of his top hat, rather pleased she didn’t turn around quickly, as if she were embarrassed at having been discovered glancing back in his direction. Instead, she continued to watch him until the barouche passed beneath a tree and around a bend in the road, lost to his sight as it made its way back to South Carriage Drive.
Now that was rather odd, Randall thought as he continued to puzzle over Miss Fitzwilliam. Well, if she were one of Norwick’s relatives, it would be easy enough to discover more about her. He would simply pay a call on Norwick House and ask to speak with the earl.
The thought of the Earl of Norwick reminded him that the older twin, David, had died earlier that year—a traffic accident in Oxford Street, if he remembered right—which meant the younger twin was now in charge. He puzzled over the man’s name, thinking it was fortuitous for the man to have inherited since David hadn’t sired an heir before his death.
What was the younger twin’s name?
Dweezle? Dunbarton? Dwayne? Daniel?
Daniel!
Yes, that was it. Randall wondered how he could have forgotten, for to be fair to Daniel Fitzwilliam, the younger twin was the real reason the Norwick earldom was rather flush despite its base in Sussex. David might have seen to it the earldom’s coffers were full with monies from his gaming hells and the lucrative brothel he owned prior to inheriting the Norwick earldom, but it was his younger brother who managed the earldom once David had the title.
The marquess suddenly frowned. Discover more about Miss Fitzwilliam? What was he thinking? The young lady was ... well, she certainly wasn’t marchioness material, he thought, realizing he had been considering her as a possible wife.
Faith! Thoughts of matrimony were certainly at the forefront of his brain these days.
Sighing, he turned and made his way back toward Park Lane, his thoughts not on Miss Fitzwilliam but rather on her comely maid and the expression on her face as she watched him from the carriage. Now there’s a chit I would welcome in my bed, he thought with a grin, his rakish thoughts certainly more comfortable than those centered on matrimony.
He imagined her arriving at his back door, like any other servant, and then making her way up the back stairs and to his bedchamber. Grinning, he thought of how she would let herself into the room and undress slowly, carefully placing her pelisse and gown over the back of a chair before slowly removing her silk stockings and petticoats. She would require help with removing her corset, of course, which meant he would have to be there to pull the bow and loosen the ties. To pull it up and over her head. To remove her translucent chemise and allow it to fall to the floor in a silken puddle. Then he would pull the pins from her simple bun and slide his fingers through the mass of dark, curly hair. Lift her to the bed. Watch her as his simple kisses and soft strokes readied her for when he spread her shapely legs and entered her slowly.
His mouth would cover one of her breasts as her torso would rise in response to his first thrust. Would move to the other breast and feast on it during his second thrust. His third thrust would have her legs wrapping around his thighs, her fingers clutching his sides. His fourth would leave him nearly breathless but remembering he needed to see to her pleasure before taking his own. Sliding his hand down the side of her breast, his thumb brushing the tender flesh, he would continue his exploration by lightly sliding
the pads of his fingers over her midriff, down to her belly and finally to her dark curlies. Then he would gently press against her wet, throbbing womanhood at the very place their bodies met. He would watch in wonder as her body succumbed to his erotic touch, thrill at her soft cries and murmured pleas, and allow his own moan of pleasure as the ecstasy took him under, leaving him breathless and broken and feeling ever so blessed.
Randall Roderick, Earl of Reading, stopped short on the path toward Park Lane. Good God! He had never bedded a maid before, and yet, just then, he had imagined a rather satisfying scenario with Miss Fitzwilliam’s maid!
What is happening to me? he wondered, for at that moment, he found he wanted to know far more about the maid than he did about Constance Fitzwilliam.
Remembering he was trying to reform his rakish ways, he quickly sobered and took his leave of Hyde Park.
Chapter 13
An Identity Revealed
Nine-thirty in the morning of September 15
Charles awoke slowly, his nose buried in hair that smelled of lemon. He allowed a smile at the woman who lay beneath him. Eleanor ... He closed his eyes in an attempt to remember the rest of her name. She had mentioned it when introducing herself the night before.
Merriweather.
Yes, that was it. Eleanor Merriweather.
He carefully rolled off her body, rather glad she was sleeping so soundly. Had she been awake, he would have been tempted to take her again. Zeus, she was beautiful! A bit on the young side, but older than most of the debutantes mothers took great pains to keep away from him at ton balls and soirées, she seemed at once naive and innocent and then suddenly more jaded and mature. He wondered how that could be.
Did she live in London?
No. She mentioned having come to town on the mail coach. That meant she was probably from the country, but her manner of speech suggested otherwise. A pile of puzzle pieces were suddenly stacked up in his brain.
Well, he would have a lifetime to put them into place. He would be marrying the chit at the first opportunity.
Daring a glance at the clock over the fireplace, he decided he had best get up. His brother, Arthur, had said he would stop by later this morning. Although the knight hadn’t given a reason in his message that arrived the day before, Charles hoped the man was coming to announce his engagement.
Arthur was younger than Charles, but the knight’s days as a bachelor needed to come to an end—Arthur was rumored to be a molly, and if he didn’t marry soon, Charles was afraid he would be arrested. The word circulating at White’s was that Arthur had been in the company of a man known to host parties of like-minded men in his public house. Charles winced when he realized the news had probably appeared in one of the scandal sheets.
The Tattler, no doubt.
He glanced again at the jumble of bed linens, verifying his guilt in having taken Eleanor’s maidenhead. Well, he would see to making everything right. He had promised her that. He would acquire a special license to marry her that very day, if he was allowed to do so. Perhaps the two of them could be married before this evening, and she could spend the night in his bed again! His arousal suddenly made itself evident.
First things first, he chided himself. He left the bed, pulling up the velvet counterpane to cover Eleanor. Retrieving his robe from the floor, he was about to use the bell pull to summon Chester when he remembered Eleanor was naked beneath the coverlet. He couldn’t exactly have his majordomo come to his bedchamber while she was still abed! Charles instead made his way to the bedchamber door.
Charles had barely pulled the door open when he realized Chester stood just beyond the threshold, a tray bearing a cup of chocolate and slices of toast held in his bony hands.
Chocolate? He dared a glance at Eleanor and realized what the butler intended.
“Rather considerate of you,” he whispered as he took the tray and set it on the table next to the bed. He took his leave of the room and motioned for Chester to join him in the next room. “Especially since she is to be my wife,” he added as he made his way to the dressing room and bathing chamber that connected two bedchambers. A tub of steaming water sat in the center of the room, and he gingerly stepped into it.
The majordomo’s eyes widened considerably. “Very good, my lord,” he replied, obviously stunned by his master’s words. “May I remind my lord that Sir Arthur is due here later this morning?” he added, as if the news of Lord Wakefield’s impending nuptials was secondary.
“I remembered,” Charles said as he took a seat in the tub, hissing as he lowered himself into the hot water. “Otherwise I wouldn’t have bothered to get up before Miss Merriweather,” he added as he settled his back against one end of the copper tub.
Chester immediately moved to seat himself behind the tub so he could shave the earl. “Should I contact an agency about procuring a lady’s maid for Miss Merriweather?” he asked in his baritone voice.
Charles arched an eyebrow and nodded, thinking his majordomo seemed rather pleased with the idea of his taking a wife. “That is an excellent idea. With any luck, we’ll be married later today,” he claimed, rather satisfied with his plan. “Tomorrow at the latest.” He gave a passing thought to just how odd it was that he was suddenly planning a wedding when only last night whilst at White’s, he had assured Lord Reading he had no intention of taking a wife for ten years or more!
My, how just a few hours can change a man!
Chester paused before slathering shaving soap over Charles’ face. “A trip to Doctor’s Commons is planned for after your brother’s visit then?” the majordomo replied, his voice rather neutral despite the news his master had dropped on him.
“Indeed. But before my brother arrives, I believe I need to make a trip to Mrs. Gibbons’ establishment. It seems she holds my intended’s valise as collateral for her return,” he explained with a roll of his eyes. “I was going to send you after it, but since Miss Merriweather was a birthday gift to me—and I have no intention of returning her—I have decided to inform Lucy in person.” At his butler’s sudden pause in shaving him, he added, “Lucy needs to learn she cannot lure innocents to her brothel and expect them to become harlots.”
Chester pondered this tidbit of information as he continued to shave Charles, not offering a response. The two sat in silence for several moments as Chester continued to shave Charles’ face. “You’re rather quiet. Do I sense disapproval?” Charles asked when Chester finally pulled the straight edge away from his neck.
The majordomo regarded the earl for a moment. “Is the young lady aware of your plans to marry her?” he finally asked, wiping the shaving soap from the razor with a linen.
Charles blinked. “I made it clear I would ... make it right,” he replied with a nod. In a lower voice, he said, “You could have been a bit more ... emphatic with your objection last night. I could have arranged to have her sent ...” He paused, realizing he didn’t know where he could have sent her. To whom did she belong? Who was supposed to provide protection for her?
Chester pulled a bath linen from a nearby shelf and held it for Charles. “It wasn’t my place to interfere with your plans, my lord,” he replied as Charles stood up and allowed the water to sluice off his body before yanking the linen from Chester’s hands.
“What do you know of her?” Charles asked suddenly, thinking the majordomo knew more than he was admitting.
Chester sighed. “It’s possible Miss Merriweather is Lord Middleton’s daughter,” he suggested in a whisper. “She is of the same age and should have had her come-out last Season.”
Charles stared at his butler for a long moment before shaking his head. Middleton’s daughter? Was it possible the girl who slept in his bed was another earl’s daughter? Lord Middleton’s daughter?
Well, this certainly changed things.
Or did it?
He had ruined the chit. It didn’t matter if she was a princess or a pauper or an earl’s daughter. He promised her he would make it right.
He
would marry the chit.
He found he wanted to marry the chit, if for no other reason than to have her in his bed every night.
His earlier thoughts of variety came back to haunt him at that moment. Randall Roderick’s comments from the night before had him remembering his own beliefs about fidelity. Could he be true to just one woman? Would he be satisfied if he bedded the same woman twice a week, every week, for the rest of his life?
To hell with twice a week! Perhaps he could bed her every night!
The thought of Eleanor’s body beneath him had his own reacting rather strangely. Desire mingled with anticipation and lust had him suddenly aroused once again. Despite having bedded her twice in the past eight hours, he found he wanted her again. And again.
This was new! He had never before wanted the same woman again.
He decided he could forgo any of the best Lucy Gibbons could offer from her brothel if he knew Eleanor Merriweather would be sharing his bed. His days of being a rake would be over, of course, but was that such a bad thing? According to the Marquess of Reading, it was about time he became respectable. About time he was regarded as something other than a ne’er do well in Parliament. He would be married before the next session began, in fact. By then, he would have appeared at several balls with his new wife, perhaps attended a soirée or two and the opera with Eleanor on his arm.
My countess, he thought with a sense of growing satisfaction.
The Countess of Wakefield.
Charles sighed and allowed a slight grin as he dressed for the day.
Chapter 14
A Woman Contemplates a Man
The Love of a Rake Page 8