9781618859594HerDeviantLordPimentel

by Layna Pimentel

  “Cordelia, are you ready?”

  “Quite so. Get me out of this…this…suss pool of criminals.”

  A guard behind her chuckled. “I guess this means I owe you no further debts, Wycliffe.”

  “Indeed. Come along, my love.”

  Cordelia followed him. Thoughts of Richard’s admission made her skin crawl. Thank goodness it is over.

  * * * *

  Bastian drew the silent and mournful woman closer to him. He had watched her shiver for a quarter hour now, and he did not know what to make of her silence. What did Richard say to her, to have her left in such a state? He wrapped his arms around her as she buried her head into his chest, sniffling and trembling. “My love, what is the matter? Surely, your visit could not have gone so awry?”

  She pulled away and gazed up at him. Those dark pools flooded with tears, which now fell mercilessly. “He returned my dowry and the deed to my family’s estate.”

  “How is that so bad, dear? I do not understand the cause for your anguish.”

  “He could not bring himself to use it, once he realized how ‘cold and unfeeling’ I was. I cannot believe he actually admitted it to me, but his actions over the years could not have been be any clearer regarding his displeasure in marrying me.”

  She hugged him and then sighed. “Am I so terrible a person that he did not see fit to use what was part of our marriage agreement? Tell me, Bastian? I cannot understand what I ever did to deserve this treatment. After all I did, endured, and in the end, it is not he that is the cuckold. It is I, because I survived and have now returned.”

  “You, my love, did nothing. The man, right from the beginning, was off. There has always been something off regarding his demeanor and conduct. Even the chaps at White’s whispered a time or two about his misgivings. And to be matter of fact, you are not the cuckold, my love. It is he. Now that he is gone, you will have a chance to repair any ill thought of your involvement in his actions.”

  “I do not see your meaning, Bastian. The ton is not interested in hearing from a woman whose title was stripped along with her husbands.”

  “No. But you are still, by all means, Lady Cordelia Wycliffe. That is to say that you will be, once you marry me. I have always wanted you. And this is an opportunity I do not want to see passed up. Tell me you will marry me, Cordelia. I do want the three of us to be one happy family. I care not for the gossip, nor do I care where we end up living. As long as we are together, that is all that matters.”

  Cordelia turned away, wiping a runaway tear and returning her attention to him. She slid closer to him, and placed her tiny hand on his cheek, closing her eyes for a moment. “Nothing would give me a greater pleasure than to become your wife, but Richard has only just passed.”

  “Think nothing of it, dear. Allow me to handle the rest. The man was in prison, and I cannot see a village parson giving us much grief over this marriage.” She blinked at him. “What is it, love?”

  “A village parson? Do you mean to be married in the country?”

  “Quite so. I would rather not have too much attention drawn to the Earl of Wendelhem’s wedding. No, I think I should like a private ceremony.”

  With all their chatting, Bastian did not realize the carriage had stopped outside his house. A footman opened the door, and the dampness of rain wafted into the carriage. He stepped out first, and while it had rained earlier in the evening, puddles still riddled the street.

  Bastian lifted his soon to be bride and settled her on the doorstep. “Run along and see how Matthew is doing. I will join you shortly. I have some things to discuss with Cedric.” She nodded and headed on upstairs. “Cedric, follow me, if you would. I would like a report of the day.”

  “Sir, about that, there is something you should know.”

  Bastian stopped at his desk in the library and turned to face the frowning butler.

  “My Lord, we received several visitors while you were out. All were looking to speak with her grace.”

  Bastian felt as if the wind had been knocked out of him. There was no way they could put this off any longer. Cordelia needed to make an appearance, and she needed to do it the using the proper channels.

  He could not allow his household to be disrupted with curious visitors. Bastian walked around the desk and sat down. Picking up a quill and blank parchment, he penned a note before passing it to the aging man. “See that the Marquess of Stoughton receives this first thing in the morning.”

  “Yes, sir.” The butler left him to his thoughts.

  Should we marry before the month is out, or should we consider a quick and private ceremony? With visitors already descending upon his estate, the sooner they took care of those details, the better off they were.

  Bastian climbed the stairs at a leisurely pace, contemplating how to break the news to his lovely fiancée. Would she scold him for how fast he desired to be married, or would she reject him altogether?

  He happened upon Cordelia in their son’s nursery as she sat in a chair cradling the sleeping babe, her eyes closed as well. The poor woman had had a trying day, and tonight had exhausted her. Perhaps he would allow her one night of rest.

  He lifted the child from her arms and carried him to his crib, tucking him gently under his blanket. Satisfied that he would not wake, Bastian strode toward his beloved and lifted her from the seat. There was nothing warmer than holding Cordelia and carrying her to their bed. If there was anything more beautiful and consoling, it was being reunited with her after all this time.

  Bastian laid her on the bed, taking care to remove her slippers, and covered her with the sheet. In the soft light, he disrobed and joined her in bed, holding her again. Only this time when his eyes closed, thoughts of finally marrying her fluttered about.

  * * * *

  “What in the world is all the commotion about, Cedric?”

  “I am not quite sure, ma’am. If you will allow me a moment, I shall see what the ruckus at the door is about.”

  “Certainly, Cedric.” Cordelia bounced the happy baby on her knee in the morning room, only to be interrupted by Isabel, Cecily, and Emily barrelling through the parlor door.

  “Look how beautiful he is,” Emily exclaimed. “I can see why you have been keeping him all to yourself.”

  The ladies sat in dais, waiting and appearing as if ready to burst.

  I wonder what is amiss. “Are you ladies going to share what is going on, or are you going to just sit there as if all you have swallowed canaries?”

  Cecily stifled a giggle. “Isabel and I might have swallowed a canary, but poor Emily looks as if it was an ostrich.”

  Emily’s eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets. She swatted Cecily with her fan, and all the girls broke into a fit of laughter. “Well, if it is an ostrich I swallowed, I do not look forward to pushing out such an oversized egg. Good heavens, there are days when this child means to drive me mad with all its movement.”

  Cordelia shook her head. Why did I not introduce myself before to these ladies? They were all gently bred and looked past her misgivings. The thought made her want to weep. All the years wasted on trying to impress others had left her alone and without the companionship of female company. Company that did not want to compete or impress. Fate had given her a second chance, not only with Bastian, but with life.

  “Truly, ladies, what engagement do you have planned? Are we to go out? If so, I must find Beatrice, Matthew’s nursemaid.”

  “Yes, we are headed into town for some shopping. I have made an appointment with a modiste, specifically for you. It is my understanding that we need some items before the week is out, and she has some already made, which might suit for the occasion.”

  Good grief! Did Bastian already commence making plans for our wedding without so much as consulting me? The thought made her angry, and she felt betrayed. Why did he not ask my opinion first? Why the hurry? “While I do appreciate the gesture, my lady…”

  “Pshaw! How many times must I tell you to just call m
e ‘Isabel?’ I am glad that you appreciate the gesture, but we are wasting time now. Gertrude has closed the shop specifically for us, as I have asked for absolute discretion. Now run along, find the child’s maid, and let us begin our day. We still have so much to do, including meal planning.” Isabel winked and rose from her seat.

  Cordelia lifted the babe in her lap, propping him against her shoulder and walking upstairs. Finding the maid, she passed Matthew over. “I hope not to be gone for too, too long, but in the event his lordship returns before I, please let him know that I am with the Marchioness of Stoughton, the Countess of Avonlea, and Miss Turner.”

  “Certainly ma’am.”

  She peered into a looking glass, pinched her cheeks, and fixed some loose strands of hair. She had not been dress shopping for what seemed like an eternity. Lord, do I ever look terrible.

  She could already imagine what the gossip columns would write up regarding her pending nuptials to Bastian. His name would be dragged through the mud yet again, only this time, they would comment on their lack of regard by marrying so soon. Though that would only be the tip of the iceberg. The question that remained—would they rehash Richards past crimes, or would they reopen his case and try to find a way to incriminate her in some way?

  All were dreadful ideas, and she desperately hoped they were nothing but fodder.

  “Come on, Cordelia! We are already late…”

  Cordelia raced down the stairs, meeting the ladies at the door. “My apologies, I had to leave some instructions with Beatrice.” Before she could say anything to the butler, Isabel pulled her along. Why do I get the impression that today is going to be a long one?

  She climbed into the carriage last and sat eagerly with anticipation. What color had the ladies decided upon for a gown? Considering she was a widow, and was not waiting the proper time for mourning, surely the girls would not make her wear something as silly as white, or pink, or blue. Imagine the horror of it all. There would be painted caricatures in the gossip column, along with the ill-timed news.

  Chapter Nine

  “Your grace—err…I mean my lady, that is, I know not why you would worry over the color. I will have you know that all my fashions are the latest from France, and widows marry in every color. Though I really do think the maroon gown with the gold trim is a most excellent choice. What do you think?”

  The dress fit her newfound curves, and strangely enough, the only thought occupying her mind was how creatively Bastian would get it off. Hmm… She could see him now. His hands gliding up her legs. Seeking her wet heat, teasing her until she begged for mercy. He would then tie her to the bed post, with her back turned him.

  Then, he would unlace her gown slowly, sliding it inch by inch off her shoulders. Nipping his way done, until his lips reached her bottom. The man had a penchant for spanking. The question was would he spank her with his hands, paddle, or riding crop. Once he tortured her enough, he would lean her over and take her from behind. Thrusting hard and fast then slow and steady.

  Good grief. All these wicked thoughts in the middle of the dressmakers shop was making her damp and dizzy with desire. Her need for Bastian coursed through her veins.

  “Ma’am…your grace? What do you think of the gown?”

  Her companions laughed, probably knowing where her thoughts wandered off.

  “The dress is perfect, Mrs. Hedley.”

  “Right then, perhaps we shall move onto something special for the evening. I have the perfect garment. If you will bear with me a moment. I have it kept in the storage room,” the tall, middle-aged woman said while cheerfully bouncing away.

  A moment later, she reappeared, and the girls gasped in shock.

  “Oh, my! That is quite…hmm…shall we say…risqué,” Emily whispered grinning the whole while.

  “Jesu. Risqué indeed. Mrs. Hedley, where on earth…how on earth did you fashion such a sinful piece?”

  “That, my dear, is a secret. And allow me to assure you, while everyone knows you and his lordship are not new at this arrangement, I am confident he shall never want to leave your side that night. But I suspect it might end up torn within minutes.”

  There is a thought. Bastian would indeed tear it off. ’Twould be a waste of something so beautiful and delicate. But Lord, to see his face when he saw the black silk and lace chemise. Her bust would surely be on display for him to torment. Nevertheless, she would enjoy every dashing moment. “I suppose I shall take that as well. I cannot imagine the garment will remain on for very long, but it is a stunning piece, Mrs. Hedley.”

  The girls now moved about the store, picking up fabrics and holding them against their feminine curves. Clearly, they needed time to shop around.

  “Mrs. Hedley, I will indeed take all the recommended items. If you could let the girls know that I will be just outside? I have need for air.”

  “Certainly, my lady.”

  Cordelia opened the door, and once she felt the breeze hit her face, she exhaled. The trip had been lovely, yet she could not help but feel trapped. All the attention, the trying on of countless gowns, was overwhelming.

  In her time away from London, she had learned to do without and appreciate the humility of being reduced to a peasant. Her life had been simple, almost easier, and she had a finer admiration for those who worked back-breaking chores. Peddling their wares for survival. The lack of frivolity in such an environment made her humble.

  As she was deep in thought, dozens of people walked past her, ignoring who she was. Others whispered, but she cared not what they dared to talk about. Yes, I am the widow of the former duke—the one who had an affair, got pregnant, and then was exiled into the country to have the child. Only to have a terrible accident, and be assumed dead.

  How could no one have thought to look further? They had simply given up. Even Bastian had never explained why he did not come in search for her. Her anger began to return when high-pitched screeching captured her attention.

  She turned to see a familiar woman running toward her. Mary Elizabeth. The scorned trollop was armed with potatoes and other wares from the market. She began hurling obscenities and objects at Cordelia. A potato hit her in the head.

  Horrified and stunned, Cordelia ran off, not paying attention to the direction she was headed. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She needed help, yet no one stopped the angry woman, who now fully chased her into a steady stream of carriages.

  Tripping in a puddle, Cordelia landed face first into the street. Hoping to die an instantaneous death. This could not be more embarrassing. Shaking violently, she attempted to get up, but every time she did, water from another puddle sprayed into her face.

  Where is Bastian? I need my son.

  A carriage finally stopped and thick, but gentle hands helped her up. Cordelia sobbed into the strangers arms. Slightly pushing her back, he tipped her chin up. Relief washed over to recognize the friendly face of the Marquess of Stoughton.

  “There, there, my dear. Let me help you in, and we shall retrieve the ladies. Once we return to Stoughton Hall, I shall have my servants collect your son. I think you shall be safer with us, until Bastian finds a way to deal with that woman.”

  “Thank you, my lord. I cannot thank you enough.”

  “Do not give it another thought. We are all here to help you.”

  Help, a novel concept.

  * * * *

  “I hardly have words to express my anger at this moment, Nathaniel.”

  “I can understand, however, do not digress here. That woman needs to be dealt with. She is not right in the head. She needs to be imprisoned, and that is final. I cannot express enough that your soon to be wife and son will not be safe if Mary Elizabeth continues to walk the streets. I implore you…”

  Ridden with guilt, Bastian could not help but wonder what would have happened if Nathaniel had not found her in time. To what extent would Mary Elizabeth go, to prove that they should be together? The woman was clearly mad, and if he could get her into an asylum he would.
But how? One cannot drop a person off without reasoning, and at this point, she is a jilted lover, nothing more.

  He paced the floor with his glass of port in hand. The fire brightly burning in the library reduced him into a puddle of sweat. All this anger beginning to emerge did nothing for his nerves. He wanted a fight, but he could not hit a woman.

  “Calm yourself, Bastian. By now, Cordelia will have had enough time to relax. I would prefer that you kept her and the baby here until you two are married. Perhaps by then, this situation will have been rectified.”

  The thought had merit, though he would much rather protect her himself. But removing Cordelia from the townhouse might be the solution, until he could find the opportunity to catch Mary Elizabeth in the act of something socially unacceptable. “An excellent thought, Nathaniel. Do you suppose that we could hold the private ceremony here instead of the parsonage? That is to say, if it would not be a terrible imposition.”

  “I was going to suggest the same thing. And to clarify, it would be no imposition at all. By keeping the ceremony private, and under the roof of a protected home, there is less risk of your vows being interrupted unnecessarily.”

  Perfect. Now all he had to do was relay the change of plans to Cordelia, and hopefully she would not be to cross with him. ’Twas bad enough that she had expressed her displeasure in his commencing the plans of the wedding without consulting her first. He did not wish to add further fuel to the fire.

  Bastian downed the contents of his drink. “I do not want to be rude, Nathaniel, but I would like to spend some time with Cordelia.”

  The marquess lifted his glass. “Go on. Enjoy the rest of the evening. We have all had a trying day, and I could use the company of my lovely wife too.”

  He nodded, and Bastian turned to leave the library. Soon, they would move out of the townhouse and take up residence in her family’s estate. Though, he had not had a chance to examine its condition yet. Her ancestral home should have been passed along to her elder brother, but her parents had wanted to lure the duke in with a proposition that would sweeten the deal.