After last night, she no longer cared that he was a valet, or whether her parents disowned her if she refused to marry Westbrook. If Freddie would have her, she fully intended to run away with him to Gretna Green, or anywhere else they chose to go, just as long as they were together, even if she had to remain as Miss Faith Albright for the rest of time.
After a childhood of being prepped and molded into the perfect wife of a lord, she realized now that the past few days had been the most enjoyable in her entire existence, and she couldn’t imagine saying goodbye to Freddie when their time at Brighton came to a close.
Mercy noticed that he had been particularly quiet when he’d arrived to escort her to the fair that afternoon, but she imagined maybe he was contemplating their future the same as she was. She just hoped his thoughts aligned similarly.
However, when he stopped to buy her an ice, handing it to her with a smoldering glance that should have melted the treat, she knew that he had moved past whatever melancholy had struck him.
“Are you and Lady Beth attending the festivities at the Mansion this evening?”
“You mean the scavenger hunt?” she asked coyly. “Yes, I believe we are.” She paused. “Are you?”
He bent forward and licked a path of her ice while holding her gaze. Instantly, her stomach quivered with raw need. “Wherever thou goest…”
She clutched the hem of her gown until her knuckles turned white. Her breathing turned shallow, and her blood began to run hot in her veins. “Take me. Now.”
His dark eyes sparked with an answering heat as he captured her hand and led her more purposefully through the crowd. He found a dark, shadowed alley between two buildings and led her down it until a tall fence blocked the rest of their retreat. She was in his arms in seconds, fumbling with the buttons on his trousers while he lifted her skirts and impaled her against the brick exterior of one of the buildings.
Mercy bit her lip and tried to remain quiet, and yet she still cried out when the orgasm washed over her. When he groaned and spilled himself inside of her, she kissed him fervently, and then a bit more softly. “Is it always like this?” she whispered. “This urgent need to be with someone?”
He slowly shook his head. “No. Never.”
That was when she knew she’d made a grave error, for he stepped back from her and put himself to rights while she shook her skirts into place. However, when he turned his focus back on her, he was smiling, although she noted that it didn’t fully reach his eyes.
Mercy’s passions were still simmering beneath the surface as they meandered about the rest of the fair. It wasn’t until he dropped her off so that she could prepare for the entertainment at the Mansion that she made herself stop and contemplate his sudden reticence, along with piecing together everything that she knew about him.
As the puzzle of the valet started to click into place, Mercy suddenly wondered if Freddie was being completely honest with her. Too many things just seemed out of character for a manservant, and moreover he didn’t appear to attend to Lord Devon very much at all. Combined with the fact he said he’d been to Brighton many times before, she was actually starting to wonder if he was a valet at all, but someone else entirely.
Her heart thudded with alarm, for what if she was having an affair with someone’s husband? She certainly didn’t want to be known as the mistress who destroyed a marriage
So that night when Freddie reappeared to escort her to the Mansion, for Devon and Crawford had already made plans to whisk Beth away, she asked rather bluntly, “Are you married?”
His eyebrows nearly shot to his forehead, “What?”
She waved a hand. “I’m sorry. That came out rather crude.” She paused and tried to find a way to phrase her concerns without actually asking him if he was lying about who he really was. “I suppose what I’m trying to say is that you don’t really look like a ‘Freddie.’” Yes, that’s a good start.
He cleared his throat. “Indeed. And what do you suppose I ‘look’ like?”
She studied him for a moment and then said, “I don’t know. Maybe a Michael?” At his snort, she dared to add, “And, of course, the fact you were rather fashionable attire for a valet.”
Mercy carefully watched his face for a reaction, and when he stopped and stiffened slightly, holding himself away from her, she knew she’d crossed a line. “What are you trying to say, Miss Albright? That I am not who I claim to be?”
She bit her lower lip, contemplating whether or not to admit to her misgivings. “Yes.” She released a heavy breath and then spun away from him to pace in front of the Mansion. She hugged herself and said, “I was thinking about how you seldom spend any time with Lord Devon, and when you are together, it doesn’t seem like the sort of relationship a master would have with his servant. He treats you as if you’re his… equal.”
He crossed his arms over his broad chest. “Perhaps he’s just generous.”
“Yes, I had considered that,” she countered. “But then that doesn’t explain your clothes or your mount, which is rather fine horseflesh, and—”
“What would you say if I told you that I’m not a valet?”
Mercy ceased her pacing and looked at him with wide eyes. “Is that what you’re doing?”
“While confession has never been my strong suit, I will admit that I am not who I claim to be. But does it really matter?” He walked toward her and put his hands on her shoulders. “We both knew that this was a brief affair, that we had to return to our own responsibilities in London. As far as I know that hasn’t changed.”
Mercy thought of Westbrook and how, at that very moment, he might very well be escorting her ladies’ maid through the ballrooms of London’s most social elite, believing Faith to be her. And then she reminded herself that, if Freddie had been lying to her, he wasn’t the only one who needed to confess to deceit.
She drew herself up. “You’re right, of course, and anonymity is the best way to handle such a torrid acquaintance.”
He held out his arm with a grin. “Then let’s go have some fun and enjoy the moment while it lasts.”
Chapter Nine
The past few days had passed in a blur for Malcolm. He knew the moment of reckoning was at hand, that his time with Miss Albright was coming to a close. Only a few more days remained of this sensual paradise that they’d enjoyed in Brighton.
But, dammit, what he wouldn’t give for just one more day with her — a day that would turn into a week, a month, a year, until she was never parted from his side. He knew now that he couldn’t marry Lady Mercy Granville, no matter what his father had promised to the Marquess of Newthyme.
He slid a glance at the woman at his side and wondered if he confessed all to Miss Albright if she would run away with him and elope to Gretna Green. Yes, it would cause a scandal, but he was willing to weather the storm if she would just agree to be his.
With that thought in mind he decided that he would convince her of his devotion at the right time and then run away with her over the border, if she would have him.
His lips curved upward in a secretive smile as they entered the halls of the Mansion for the torrid scavenger hunt.
The evening passed with Madeira flowing like a waterfall as all the guests laughed and snuck off to corners to partake of their own personal exploration.
At one time, Malcolm had enjoyed such debauchery, but now he found that such antics were no longer as enjoyable. He was, however, content as long as he had Miss Albright by his side, and the way her eyes lit up when they found a particular item on the host’s scavenger hunt list proved that even further. He was continually struck by her beauty, and this evening, seeing her enthusiasm for the game, watching her every movement in the simple, emerald green gown she wore, he realized that the way she made him feel was anything but simple. His emotions were complex, but he knew without a doubt that he loved her.
After they found the last thing on the list, she turned to him and squealed with joy. “We did it! We completed the q
uest!” As if this foolish diversion was as important as King Arthur when it came to ripping the sword from the stone.
But since her excitement flowed over to him, he touched a stray curl near her ear and said, “Indeed. Shall you go claim your prize, milady?” he teased.
Her grin slowly faded and her eyes sparked with a familiar heat that resonated within him as well. Would he never tire of this woman?
She wound her arms around his neck. “I claim you as my forfeit.”
A smile tugged at his lips. “Then shall we depart?”
Her eyes sparkled. “Most definitely.”
Malcolm tried to keep his pace steady as they walked back to the Crescent, but it was all he could do not to throw her over his shoulder and run. Never in his life had he ever felt so alive or… carefree. As a viscount in London, the weight of the world always pressed down on his shoulders, but as a simple valet in Brighton he had finally been able to be the one thing he never could be — himself.
Before they entered the front door of her terrace house, he stopped and reached out to cup her cheek. “Miss Albright, there’s something I want to say to you.”
She looked at him expectantly. “Yes?”
He hesitated, finding that the confession he’d planned suddenly wanted to stick in his throat.
She noticed his difficulty and put her hand comfortingly over his heart. “It’s all right. Whatever you have to tell me—”
“Marry me.” He hadn’t meant to blurt it out quite so boldly, but now that the words were out in the open, he merely smiled and added, “These past few days in Brighton have been the most enjoyable of my entire life, and I never want our time together to end.” He grasped her shoulders almost urgently. “Please say you’ll be my wife.”
For a moment, she wasn’t sure what to say, and then she whispered, “But what about your responsibilities? And mine? Do you think it’s a good idea to turn our backs on our duties?”
“Do you want to live your life for yourself, or for other people?” he pointed out. “I love you, Faith, and nothing is going to change that.”
Her eyes filled with glorious tears. “I love you too, and nothing would make me happier than being your wife, but first there’s something you have to know—”
The door to the terrace house opened and Lady Franson stood silhouetted in the frame. “Miss… Albright.” She sounded relieved, and Malcolm’s instincts instantly went on alert. “Dearest, you must come inside. There’s… someone here who wishes to speak with you.”
“Auntie, couldn’t it wait—”
“It’s your parents.”
***
The blood instantly left Mercy’s face as she reluctantly stepped away from the man she loved. “I’ll be there in a moment,” she said quietly. The lady merely inclined her head and shut the door while she turned her gaze back on him. “I’ll come see you when I’ve had a chance to talk to them.”
He glanced at the closed door. “Maybe I should come with you—”
She shook her head adamantly. “No. I need to speak with them first.” When he didn’t appear convinced, she added, “Trust me.”
He sighed heavily. “Very well.”
Mercy watched him walk next door, and, after one last look back at her, he disappeared into the house. She blew out a heavy breath and then squared her shoulders and headed inside.
She walked into the front parlor where Lady Franson was sitting on the settee with a grim expression on her face, while Mercy’s father, the Marquess of Newthyme, was standing by the window and her mother was pacing the floor, clearly agitated.
Mercy was about to announce her presence when her mother looked up and spied her. “Mercy! Whatever has gotten into you?” She advanced on her with a furious expression. “We come back from the continent early, hoping to surprise you and your betrothed, only to learn that you are attending some illicit house party that could easily ruin your reputation, while sending your ladies’ maid in your place to entertain Lord Westbrook!” She put a hand to her head as though she was about to have a case of the vapors.
“Mama—” Mercy attempted to offer some sort of explanation, but her father cut her off.
“Luckily for you, there is a chance to atone for your mistakes and return to London posthaste.” He walked forward, his hands behind his back and his tone solemn, but firm. “We leave within the hour.”
A chill shot up Mercy’s spine. “That’s not possible.”
The marquess frowned. “You dare to defy me?”
“Papa, please.” She stepped forward. “I met someone and I—”
Her mother sank down in a chair with a decided wail, but her father’s expression didn’t even change other than a slick tick in his jaw. “Were you compromised?”
Mercy had never been able to lie to her sire, so she settled for evasion. “What if I said I was? Would you allow us to marry?”
He lifted a brow. “Has he made you an offer?”
“He has.”
He actually pondered this and for a moment, hope rose within her. “What sort of lands does he have? What is his title?”
She cleared her throat, for this is where it would get tricky. “Actually, he claimed to be a valet, but—”
That was all she had to say before her mother gave another moan of impending doom, and her father stated in no uncertain terms, “You would overthrow the chance to wed a viscount with unlimited prospects to keep you properly throughout your days as befitting your station as a lady, to run off with a common valet?”
Mercy flinched as he nearly roared the last. Tears stung her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She would find a way to be with Freddie, no matter if her father approved or not. “You don’t understand! He’s not—”
He slashed a hand through the air. “I’ve heard quite enough.”
At this, Lady Franson attempted to come to her aid. “Lord Newthyme,” she said quietly. “Perhaps if you would only hear Mercy out—”
He turned all of his righteous anger on her. “You would do well to stay out of this. The Duke of Pinefield will no doubt be just as furious when he learns of where his daughter has been and will no doubt disown you for allowing this debacle to commence when Lady Beth is, herself, to be married in a few weeks’ time. I understand he has never agreed with certain aspects of your proclivities, and this might very well cause him to put an end to your freedoms.”
Lady Franson’s face blanched, and she wisely clamped her lips together.
Mercy, on the other hand, could not remain silent. “Papa! How could you threaten her like that? She has been nothing but kind to me.”
He turned his blistering gaze back on her. “Then I suggest, if you wish for me to keep still on the matter, that you return to London with your mother and I and take your place by the viscount’s side. That is, if he will have you after this ridiculous venture.”
Mercy’s chin trembled, but she knew she had no other choice if she wanted to spare Lady Franson any ill treatment from her brother, the duke. And maybe, if she couldn’t get her father to see sense, then she could find a way to prevail to the viscount. “I’ll go pack my things.”
***
Malcolm was having a drink in the library, waiting for Mercy to arrive and debating whether or not he should intervene in the next residence, when there was a knock at the front door. He immediately set down his brandy and tore through the foyer and yanked open the heavy oak. His grip instantly tightened on the knob when it wasn’t the woman he’d been expecting, but Lady Westbrook — his mother — standing on the other side.
“Are you going to let me inside, Westbrook, or must we have this conversation on the front step for all of Brighton to hear?”
Malcolm reluctantly opened the door wider for her to enter. His mother had always been a formidable figure, and he wasn’t immune to her firm commands.
As he shut the door behind them, he turned to ask if she wanted to take this discussion to the parlor, but he didn’t get the chance, for she immediately s
tarted her tirade. “What on earth possessed you to send your valet, Freddie Bartholomew, to court your intended?”
He crossed his arms and faced off against her. “I thought that would be a simple enough answer. I wasn’t ready to marry the chit.”
“And now?” she prodded.
“I rather have someone else in mind.”
She snorted. “I can’t say I’m surprised. I knew it would be near to impossible for the gel to drag you to the altar, knowing how you like your certain delights. It is, after all, why you embarked on that venture down the street with Lord Devon and Lord Crawford, is it not?”
As usual, it fell to his mother to turn something rather impressive into a failing. “The Mansion is more than just a ‘venture,’” he drawled. “It has been very popular with the fashionable set and the fact that they don’t know the host merely adds to the mystery. The Regent himself has been a faithful contributor to our efforts.”
“I’m sure he has, the inflated toad,” his mother said disdainfully. “I don’t know how the monarchy is able to survive with his unsavory habits.”
“Careful, Mother. If anyone heard you talk like that, they might consider it to be treason.”
She waved a hand as if she wasn’t concerned. “That’s the least of your current troubles at the moment. For one, if you insist on not honoring your father’s wishes and intend to break off your engagement from Lady Mercy, then you should do so immediately and convince her to cry off, so her reputation isn’t ruined beyond repair, and then figure out what you plan to do with the rest of your life.”
“I know what I want to do. I shall marry Lady Beth’s companion.”
From her speechless stare through widened eyes, he noted that he had finally surprised his mother by his announcement.
“I see. And who is she?”
A corner of his mouth lifted mockingly. “No one you would know, but it’s not as if you care, as long as I’m properly settled and do my duty.” He paused to study her. “Is it not?”
She pursed her lips together. “Just make sure you don’t disgrace the Grant name any more than you already have,” she snapped.
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