Barons, Brides, and Spies: Regency Series Starter Collection Volume Two

by Mary Lancaster

  “It’s a tempting idea,” he agreed sleepily. “In an unworldly, romantic kind of a way.” He stretched his long body against her. “However, speaking practically, it’s too cold and too damp to be remotely comfortable for very long. By morning, you’d have a severe chill. Besides, you chose this way to be home faster.”

  Laughter bubbled up inside her. “That was somewhat optimistic.” But reality was intruding once more, and she sat up, straightening her chemise while Wickenden played lady’s maid so deftly that it spoke volumes for his past intimacy with women. He fastened his pantaloons, and discovered her pelisse and his coat, dangling haphazardly together from a tree branch, along with her bonnet.

  But even dressed and decorous once more, their new closeness remained. Tucked against his chest as his horse carried them through the wood and over the rough moor, whether at walking speed, cantering or flat-out gallop, she soaked up his nearness and his open conversation. They talked of many things on that journey, of family and childhood, of friends and politics, of music and of conventions and duties one railed against.

  The wicked baron, it turned out, had a very strong sense of duty. Although he’d never wanted the title or the lands that came with it, he cared deeply for the wellbeing of his people and the state of the land he would pass on to his heirs. He spent long periods of time there, rarely visiting other country houses. Only during the London season did he break out and become the wicked baron.

  “It was a character I fell into, at first as a wager, to see if I could make people follow some ridiculous fashion. But it was like a–a release. As if I took out all my frustrations with life in those few weeks in the year. But I confess it palls. Younger, more ambitious men pick fights with me and suddenly I’m as hemmed in by expectations–albeit different expectations–as I ever was.”

  “Is that why you came to the castle?”

  “Perhaps. Partly.” He laughed. “I think I had some notion of rekindling a liaison with my first love, to remind me, maybe, of who I used to be.”

  “And did you?” she asked, before she could help herself. He wouldn’t want to tell her, and she doubted she really wanted to know. Especially when Lady Crowmore’s intriguing and devastatingly beautiful face swam determinedly into her mind.

  However, he only smiled into her hair. “No. As soon as I met you, I couldn’t think of anyone else.”

  “Really?” she said, enchanted.

  He kissed her, as though to prove it.

  “And Mrs. Derwent?” she asked breathlessly.

  He shrugged. “When she heard I was coming up here, she asked me to seek you out and send you about your business. I was curious to meet you and felt no compunction about detaching her son from some scheming hussy. I suppose I’ve done that,” he added complacently.

  “Yes, you’re very clever,” she mocked. “Only why did she pick on you? Why not on Lord Braithwaite himself? Or if she only wished to buy me off, why not someone like Lady Crowmore?”

  “I hoped you wouldn’t ask me that. She presumed on old…friendship.”

  “Friendship,” Gillie repeated.

  He sighed. “It was a long time ago.”

  “Are there any women of the haute tonne who haven’t been your mistress at one time or another?” she asked severely.

  “It’s behind me,” he said simply. “Even before I came here that life was boring me.”

  “So you only wanted Lady Crowmore?”

  He hesitated, shifting uncomfortably behind her. “I thought I might. But it turned out I wanted something–and someone–entirely different.”

  “You’re very good at this,” she said admiringly. “I suppose it’s the practice.”

  “Minx. What do I have to do or say to convince you I will be a model husband?”

  And there it was again. Reality. “No, you won’t,” she said softly.

  “I will try,” he insisted. “And I will be faithful.”

  “My lord—”

  “My lord?” he repeated. “You cannot still be calling me that!”

  She smiled reluctantly. “Wickenden seems so impersonal. And too close to wicked.”

  “That has been my curse,” he murmured. “But I also have a name. I believe I told you on our first meeting.”

  “David,” she remembered, and he dropped a kiss on the top of her head.

  “Better. Now, I think you were about to impugn my fidelity.”

  “No, I wasn’t. I believe you are faithful in your own way. I don’t mind that it isn’t a forsaking all others kind of a way.”

  He blinked. “It isn’t?”

  She smiled, just a little sadly and shook her head. “It’s for the best. Because I would rather die than force you into something as huge as marriage, something I know you don’t want, not with me.”

  She felt his stunned gaze on her face, but she wouldn’t look at him, not yet.

  “Force me?” he said unexpectedly. “You just tried to marry another man. I had to chase you across the country and fight a duel to reclaim you. Who is forcing whom?”

  She waved that away impatiently. “That is honor. I won’t be a sacrifice to honor.”

  A flickering glance showed her his half fascinated, half frustrated expression. “Then what will you have, my Gillyflower? What do you want of me?”

  She took a deep breath. “A carte blanche,” she blurted.

  “What?”

  She smiled, ridiculously grateful for his shock. He really would have married her. “I cannot love anyone else. If the events of tonight have taught me anything, it is that I long more than anything to be with you. But you need a wife of higher standing.”

  “For God’s sake, you are not the blacksmith’s daughter,” he retorted. “And I’m not sure I would care if you were.”

  “David, I’m not of your world,” she said desperately.

  “You mean I’m not of yours?”

  “It’s the same thing.”

  “And you’d dishonor your family rather than be my wife?”

  “You needn’t phrase it quite like that, and I hope in time, they’ll forgive me.”

  With one hand, he tipped her face up by the chin and searched it. “You’re serious,” he observed. “You would leave everything here just to be with me.”

  “I would,” she said huskily. “If you’ll have me.”

  “On any terms.”

  “On my terms.”

  His breath seemed to catch. “You think because I took you in the woods, I would not respect you as my wife? If there was any thought beyond love and blind lust, it was to make you my wife.”

  “I will be your mistress until you marry.”

  “And then, what? You’ll walk away? Share me?”

  It was getting harder to meet his fierce, yet increasingly unreadable gaze. “I don’t know.” She was afraid, suddenly, that she’d gone too far, that she’d lost him at the last.

  His breath caught in his throat. “You’re an unpredictable little thing, Gillie Muir. I can see you are going to lead me a shocking dance.”

  Relief flooded her, causing a huge smile to break out. He swooped, kissing her lips, and urged the horse into a gallop.

  When the sea and the town of Blackhaven finally came into view, Gillie couldn’t help feeling disappointed that her time with Lord Wickenden was about to end. When she’d left with such a heavy heart, only a few hours earlier, she’d never imagined she would return so happy, let alone with the wicked baron as her lover.

  “There’s something else,” he said suddenly. “The reason, in fact, you got as far as you did before I caught up with you. Colonel Fredericks has arrested the men who tried to abduct you, along with their contacts. Major Randolph was one of the names on Jack’s document, as was your stepmother’s cousin. If she is your stepmother.”

  In any other circumstances, she’d have been reeling from such information. Now she uttered a relatively mild, “Goodness!” She frowned. “I must ask Isabella how she met him, how she came to be in his company…
But Major Randolph? A French spy? Truly?”

  “I believe it is a recent turnaround, when he saw his chances of promotion fade. Fredericks said he recommended Randolph to take over as colonel of the 44th when he retired, but that he was passed over. Then again, he was chosen to stay behind while other officers went to Spain, with all the chances for field promotions. I believe he thought he’d do better with Bonaparte.”

  “Maybe he would,” Gillie said sadly.

  “Maybe. But if I was Bonaparte, I certainly wouldn’t ever have trusted him. A man who can betray his country will betray anyone for the right price.”

  “Do you know, he was the only one who would give me any information at all about your duel with Kit.”

  Wickenden curled his lip. “That does not surprise me.”

  “I liked him all the better for it,” Gillie said defiantly.

  “But then, you would rather be my mistress than my wife.”

  He took her by surprise, because she’d imagined that conversation was over. But when she turned to peer up at him, he only drew the hood up over her hair.

  “Keep your face hidden,” he advised, as they rode into town. He turned the horse immediately off the main road and took quiet back streets, avoiding the few people still abroad. Even the most dissipated of revelers should have been asleep by now, but even so, Wickenden dismounted and tethered his horse to a lamp post in case it was recognized closer to Gillie’s house.

  After that, the fun came back to the evening, as they dodged the Watch and a couple of weaving drunks, hiding behind trees, diving through back lanes, and even climbing over Mrs. Percy’s garden wall before coming at last to the lane behind Cliff Crescent. Wickenden approached the house with great wariness. Even though the spies were imprisoned, he didn’t trust those members of the Watch not in Colonel Fredericks’s confidence not to come back in search of Smuggler Jack.

  But they made the back garden without incident.

  “What if Danny did bolt the back door?” Gillie whispered.

  “He’s more likely to be waiting behind it.”

  “To hit you?” she teased.

  For answer he took her in his arms. “For now,” he said, “you must keep our business between us. You only decided you did not wish to elope with Grantham. If you mention my name, just say I helped you to get home.”

  “I suppose they’ve had enough shocks for one day,” Gillie allowed, although she couldn’t help a twinge of anxiety at his words. Was he having second thoughts?

  “Exactly.” He kissed her in such a way as to remove any doubt and make her remember instead exactly what they’d done in the woods.

  When she heard the bolts being flung back on the door behind her, she jumped. With a breath of laughter, Wickenden released her and she turned to face the pale, wide-eyed figure of Danny.

  “Thank God,” he uttered and opened the door wide. Behind him stood her aunt and Bernard, reaching out for her, and she fell into their arms with incoherent apologies.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Although Gillie slept almost until midday, preparations for the regular card party were well in hand when she finally rose. Bernard and Aunt Margaret had also slept late, but it seemed the servants could manage perfectly well without them. Mattie and Charles had been shopping, Cook was already preparing the supper dishes, and Danny, who seemed to function on practically no sleep, had set up all the tables and chairs in the salons and was in the process of bringing wine and brandy up from the cellar.

  Aunt Margaret joined Gillie in the salon doorway, and for a few moments they stood in silence, examining the changes to what had once been their main reception room. Although she was about to commit a much larger breach of etiquette in becoming Wickenden’s mistress, Gillie had begun to see many things, especially the card parties, as they must have appeared to him. And to Lady Braithwaite, Isabella, and the other ladies of Blackhaven. Perhaps she and Bernard had done nothing wrong, but the parties could easily get out of hand.

  Gillie said, “It isn’t quite the thing, is it?”

  “No,” Aunt Margaret agreed. “Not quite. I suppose needs must when the Devil drives.”

  She needed a better plan to care for herself and her family. Even as his mistress, she could not take money from Wickenden. In fact, on a practical or even a moral level, it was a step down from this. She needed to think of something else.

  She needed, she realized, to speak to Wickenden himself. She could think of no one she’d rather consult with on any issue, now that they trusted each other. Now that he was her lover.

  Heat rose from her toes, suffusing her body with pleasure. She could accomplish anything now and she couldn’t wait to see him again.

  During the afternoon, she went to Isabella’s room and found her dressed and laying the baby down in his cradle.

  “You’re feeling stronger,” Gillie said warmly. “Excellent! Are you going to join us for dinner?”

  “If Arthur allows!”

  “Arthur will allow,” Gillie said firmly. “One way or another. Come and sit in the parlor.”

  Aunt Margaret had gone to visit friends, so they had the parlor to themselves for the time being.

  “Tell me,” Gillie said, as they sat at opposite sides of the fire place, “how did you meet your cousin, Monsieur de Garnache?”

  Isabella frowned, “I have heard nothing from him, you know, since he went to London…He called to pay his respect after your father died.”

  “Then you didn’t grow up knowing him?”

  “No, but I always knew we were related to the Grenaches in France. My mother kept in touch with them after the revolution, though of course we lost touch in recent years. Why do you ask?”

  “It seems,” Gillie said carefully, “that M. de Garnache was involved in a Bonapartist plot against Great Britain. I think he needed you as an excuse, a means, if you will, to get into the country and arrange a network of spies with Major Randolph of the 44th.”

  Isabella’s eyes widened and then unexpectedly hardened. “You think I am part of this, too. I have been cursed, cursed since your father died.”

  “Of course I don’t think that,” Gillie scoffed, adding in the interest of truth. “Though it’s true I might have a week ago. I can see that your only interest is in your baby.”

  Isabella gave her another long look, almost bewildered. “Not my only interest,” she said at last. “I would like to see you and your brother settled and happy. And Margaret also.”

  Gillie almost blurted out her plans to be just that, although she remembered her promise to Lord Wickenden just in time. “You are kind,” she said instead.

  Isabella’s smile was slightly lopsided. “Not always. I was not kind when I first met you. I can see now there is no badness in you, or in what you do here, but I cannot like it.”

  “To own the truth, I don’t really like it myself. But we must live.”

  Isabella waved that aside. “You would be happy to live here with me? Or to let me and Arthur live here with you!”

  “We would,” Gillie said warmly. “Although I might like to travel a little now…” She broke off, clearing her throat. “But if we stop the parties, it will not be so easy to make ends meet. Perhaps we need to put our heads together and think of a better way to earn a living.”

  “We will,” Isabella agreed. Her expression said that for now she was content just to have gained the admission from Gillie that the card parties should end.

  *

  Although Gillie found herself glancing frequently out of the front windows and straining her ears for sounds of visitors, Lord Wickenden did not call that afternoon. In fact, no one did. Gillie almost sent for Kit to find out if he forgave her, and how Miss Smallwood fared with his mother. Poorly, she could only imagine. Kit was probably conducting the poor little thing back to her parents after his mother had insulted her horribly.

  As she changed into the amber gown for the evening, Gillie wrinkled her nose, aware that she’d have to wear the same gown t
o the Assembly ball tomorrow night. How maddening that the new green gown had got so torn the night of the castle ball.

  On impulse, she dug out what was left of it. Some of the lace trim was torn, but not all it. Gillie went back to her wardrobe and brought out the old white muslin she’d worn to her first grown up party. The dark green trim provided a striking contrast, and with a little judicious stitching, it would look a lot less like a debutantes gown. Maybe.

  On impulse, she took both to Dulcie in Isabella’s room and asked if it might work.

  “It might. But I can’t see well enough to do this kind of work now,” the old nurse replied.

  “I can do it,” Isabella said unexpectedly.

  “Will you come to the ball?” Gillie asked eagerly.

  “Oh no, I couldn’t leave Arthur, not yet. But I will help make you even more beautiful!”

  *

  That evening, waiting for Lord Wickenden – David – to arrive seemed more nerve-wracking than anything else that had happened to her in the last two weeks. She hadn’t even known him a fortnight, and yet he’d turned her entire world upside down.

  If this had been the first party they’d held, she was sure it would have been a flop, for neither Aunt Margaret nor Bernard seemed to have their minds anywhere but on her. She kept finding their anxious eyes gazing in her direction–while her own attention kept straying toward the door, waiting for a man who never came.

  Sheer familiarity got her through the evening. She smiled and said all the right things, made sure everyone was welcome and the atmosphere convivial. But increasingly, despite the company and despite her efforts to laugh at herself, she felt alone and abandoned.

  He didn’t come. The words repeated themselves over and over in her mind as she wearily climbed the stairs to bed. She knew her disappointment was out of all proportion, but the knowledge didn’t help. She worried that he was ill, that Lord Braithwaite had taken a turn for the worse, that he was having second thoughts about having anything to do with her. That Lady Crowmore had come back, or some other guest of the countess’s had caught his roving eye.