by Ava Sinclair
She was in the nursery with Miss Steadwell. When Garrett walked in, he found Amelia sitting on a little chair, a wrap circling her body. Her hair was piled on her head, with damp tendrils hanging around her delicate, heart-shaped face. Her skin was flushed from a recent bath. She looked fresh. Dewy. Sweet. The governess stood beside her holding a petticoat. It was the scene he’d always dreamt of—an innocent, childlike woman starting her day in the care of a minder who would prepare her for whatever he had in store.
The governess frowned at his intrusion. This was to be expected; she was a woman of decorum. What was not expected was Amelia’s smile. Despite her immodest state, she did not shrink away, but fixed him with a look that was almost affectionate.
“Sir, your little one is not yet dressed.” Miss Steadwell said primly.
“I can see that, and I beg your pardon for my intrusion,” he said. “But I’m away to the hunt and didn’t want to leave without speaking to my dear little Amelia.”
He noted her pretty flush at his words.
“You’ll watch me from the window, no?”
“Yes,” she said. “And perhaps this evening, after it’s over, you’ll come see me again?”
Hers was the hopeful tone of a child, and Garrett was so charmed that the answer he found himself giving was not the one he’d anticipated.
“Why wait?” he asked with a smile, and turned to Miss Steadwell. “Please dress Amelia in something simple and presentable. I’d like her to attend me at the luncheon today.”
“The luncheon? The one for adults?” The governess arched a brow.
“Yes,” he said. “We are to be married and while she will live as my ward privately, it seems selfish to hide her away completely.” He winked at Amelia then, and she smiled.
It made it easier, knowing he would see her at the noon luncheon on the lawn of Darmley Hall. And Garrett hoped she would see the gesture for what it was—proof that he’d been not just speaking idly when he’d called her a good girl. Her reaction to his words had reinforced his suspicion that her parents had frequently found fault with her spirit rather than taking the appropriate measures to mold it as he intended to do. Her ecstatic smile at the news was all it took to send him off to the hunt with a better mood.
In the courtyard, he waded through a milling group of baying foxhounds to where a groom was holding Blue, his hunter. Garrett was a large man, and only a large horse would do. At seventeen hands, the gunmetal grey gelding was large enough for his rider but agile enough to navigate the hilly terrain in pursuit of one of the many red foxes that roamed the estate.
Around the first of November, the gamekeepers made the rounds to block up all the known fox dens, ensuring that the crafty and usually well-hidden canines would have no choice but to give the hunting party a merry chase. The gathering beforehand was part of the tradition, as was the serving of port.
“Darmley!” An older man with a paunch and beaklike nose steered his horse next to Garrett’s.
“Lord Taverny!” Garrett clapped his old family friend and longtime master of the hunt on the back. “Ready to lead our chase for the fox?”
The older man turned to bark to another rider to control the hounds, which were baying so loud now as to nearly impede the conversation. When the dogs had moved away, he turned back to Garrett.
“We couldn’t have ordered better weather for the day,” he said. “Let’s hope the foxes are invigorated for the chase.” He looked around then. “Where’s the servant with that damn port?”
Garrett turned, scanning the courtyard until he spotted Dobbs navigating through the hounds in their direction.
“Dobbs! Lord Taverny wants port! Hop to it, man!”
“Yes, yes!” Taverny called, and then barked a laugh. “Your servant is slow, Darmley. Is the man just lame or stupid?”
“Port?” If Dobbs heard the slight, he seemed to be graciously ignoring it as he removed one glass and held the tray up to Garrett. As Garrett took his glass, the valet walked around to hand the glass he was holding to Lord Taverny, who reached down from the back of his chestnut mare and took the drink without offering a thank you.
“Yes, yes, fine weather for the sport, Garrett,” Taverny observed again after downing the port and handing the glass back down to the valet without looking at him. “Will your father ride with us today?”
“Yes, and my mother, too.” He nodded behind him to where the couple was riding through the courtyard. As usual, admirers whispered as they passed. It was unusual for a woman to ride, and Aster would be only one of three on this hunt. But she was as competitive as any man, and seemed to revel in excelling in a pursuit where gender was no barrier.
The excited baying of the hounds signaled that the hunt was about to begin. The huntsman and whipper-in, responsible for directing the hounds, moved out ahead to draw the first brushy covert in hopes of finding a fox. Garrett and the rest of the field pushed their horses to a trot behind Taverny’s horse, the mounts’ excitement rivaling the hounds. Garrett smiled as Blue’s ears pricked forward. He knew the animal was listening for the same thing he was. And when they both heard it—the baying of hounds that have found the scent of a fox—a tap with his heel was all it took to push the big horse to a canter.
Lord Taverny was right; the weather was tailor-made for a hunt, the sun’s slanting rays illuminating the splashes of red and gold at the edges of the field. From his peripheral vision, Garrett could see his mother’s horse, Hastings, galloping past Blue and heading for the first hedge that had just been cleared by Taverny’s mount. Garrett could feel Blue gathering for more speed, but held the horse in check; tradition dictated that no one in the field could pass the master of the hunt. But by the fourth fence, it became harder and harder to hold Blue back, as the field closed in. At first, Garrett had thought the slower pace had been his imagination. But now he realized that Lord Taverny appeared to be pulling back on his mare as the animal tossed her head in agitation.
Taverny’s fall came as a shock to those riding behind him; despite his age, he was a master horseman. But at the fourth fence, a stone wall, he slumped over his mount’s neck just as the animal leapt, and rolled off onto the obstacle with an audible thud.
It was all Garrett could do to pull Blue to a stop. He leapt off along with several other riders who’d also seen the master of the hunt go down.
“Oh, God! Is he dead?” Garrett could hear his mother’s voice over the cries of the other hunters arrived at the scene. His heart was in his throat as he knelt down to turn Lord Taverny on his back.
He wasn’t dead, but a doctor attending the hunt confirmed what Garrett already knew; Lord Taverny was seriously injured. Later it would be determined that he’d likely lost consciousness before falling from the horse. The master of the hunt would never fully recover to lead another day of his beloved sport.
* * *
“Seems such a pity,” Dobbs said later as Garrett stood so he could brush the dirt away from his coat. “But isn’t that the way, sir? One moment you’re on top of the world and the next fate pulls the rug out from under your feet.”
Garrett started to respond but instead remained silent. He wasn’t in the mood to wax philosophical, especially not with a valet eager to ingratiate himself through small talk. What he did want to do was see Amelia. Taverny’s fall had shaken Garrett more than he’d ever admit, and he felt the need to hold her, to have her by his side at the luncheon.
He hurried to the nursery to find that Miss Steadwell had dressed her to perfection. The gown was of an adult style, but of a pale pink with a darker pink ribbon for the sash. Amelia’s hair was styled in a loose bun, and the impression she gave was of a girl possibly playing at grownup fashion. Garrett found it charming.
Even more charming was her sweet concern. “I heard that someone fell and was hurt,” she said earnestly when he came to the door. She looked him over. “It wasn’t you, was it?”
“Would you be terribly upset?” he asked.
She n
odded. “Yes, terribly,” she said.
He longed to kiss that candid mouth, but restrained himself. On the way down the stairs, he explained to Amelia about the accident, sparing too much detail so as not to worry her.
“I’ve met Lord Taverny,” she said. “It was years ago. My mother said he had a… reputation.”
Garrett smiled at this. “When younger, he was known as the randy lord, but that’s not something I hope to hear you repeat, not unless you want a sound thrashing.”
“No, my lord,” she replied.
Garrett felt his cock harden at her obedient answer. He was eager to have her alone again, but first he knew he had to endure the somber luncheon.
Some of the riders had already gone home, worry for their injured friend souring their mood, but most remained for the meal. His mother had changed out of her habit and into a blue silk dress. She was standing to the side talking to an elderly matron when she spotted Garrett. She smiled, but then the smile disappeared when she saw Amelia.
“Dear,” she said when she walked over, her eyes flitting to her son’s companion. “You didn’t tell me Lady Chesterfield would be joining us.”
Garrett squeezed Amelia’s hand. “No,” he said. “I didn’t. But I desire her company.”
“Do you?” She raised an eyebrow.
“Well, I think it’s a fine idea.” The earl had joined them and smiled down at Amelia. “How are you today, dear?”
“Quite well, thank you,” she said, dropping to a curtsey.
“Would you kindly let me escort you around?” The earl offered his arm to Amelia, who looked at Garrett for approval. When he nodded, she accepted and strolled off. Garrett watched them go, noticing the eyes that strayed toward his beautiful betrothed. He could not help but note his mother watching as well, and frowning when she saw Dobbs openly staring as well.
“I thought she was to be confined to the nursery,” she said.
“She’s to be my wife, mother. Even if we have an unusual arrangement, I hardly plan to keep her locked away.”
“Of course not, dear,” she said. “But do you think it’s wise… I mean, her background.”
“We are the only ones who know what happened, and it’s all been covered up,” Garrett said. He paused. “Do you not like her?”
His mother looked up at him and forced a smile. “Dear? Why ever would you say such a thing? She seems sweet enough. I was simply wondering if her appearance here meant you were having second thoughts about how you planned to keep her.”
“No,” he said firmly. “I am committed to cherishing and protecting her as my wife and ward. If truth be known, I already feel quite fond of her. There’s a sweetness there, mother, a gentleness of spirit mixed with fire. She suits me…”
Lady Aster Darmley laughed. “Don’t tell me you’re falling in love.”
But her son wasn’t laughing. “Don’t tell me you’d object.”
She grew serious. “No, Garrett. Of course not. She is, as I’ve told her, quite lucky to have found a man who not only rescued her from her station, but seeks to give her the kind of nurturing and oversight you promise.”
“I take it very seriously,” he said. “I will see her happy and flourishing.”
“You’re sure?” she pressed. “Because if you were to change your mind, it could all so easily be undone.”
Garrett scowled, feeling irritated. “I do not intend to change my mind, mother. I am eager to wed this woman, and look forward to your standing in support.” He looked toward Amelia, who was laughing at something his father was saying, before turning back to his mother. “I feel that her upbringing was not all it could have been. She lacked the openness and love she needed. I never want her to feel anything but acceptance. Anything less, I fear, and I could lose her to her own insecurities.” His tone became adamant. “I’ll not have that, mother. And I’ll tolerate nothing less than her feeling completely welcome at Darmley Hall.”
If the words sounded like a veiled threat, that was just as he’d intended them. One day, he would be heir, and his strong-willed mother would answer to him. He knew she realized this, and wanted her to know that it was in her long-term best interest to accept his wife without causing complications. What Garrett didn’t realize was that as she watched her future daughter-in-law, hidden resentment was already roiling under Lady Darmley’s cool exterior.
Chapter Eight: The Cunning Valet
“So it’s to simply be lady and servant tonight, is it?” Henry Dobbs loosened the tie beneath his impeccably starched collar as he looked toward the dressing table, where Lady Darmley sat staring into the mirror.
Once the last of the guests had departed, she’d summoned him, but not in the traditional fashion. Usually he got a note indicating what role he’d be expected to play in the sexual game of her choosing. The last had read:
I hear one of the maids is pilfering her ladyship’s jewels. Please see that she pays dearly.
Tonight’s note was simply two words:
Eight o’clock.
Aster Darmley was in a foul mood, and Dobbs suspected the reason was tucked away in the upstairs nursery.
“So what do you think of her?” She was watching his image reflected behind her, and punctuated the query with a draw on her long cigarette.
“You mean the girl?” Dobbs kept his voice casual, knowing he was venturing into a tangled forest of emotions ruled by the monster of Aster’s jealousy. He shrugged as he pulled his tie off. “She’s fair enough, but did you expect Garrett to choose someone who wasn’t? And she appeals to him, obviously, even if she’s not my taste.”
Aster leaned back in her chair. As she ground out the cigarette, she smiled slowly.
“You should have been born a nobleman,” she said. “For you are in possession of all the diplomatic skills necessary to navigate our particular brand of discourse.” She didn’t seem to notice how he stiffened at her statement.
“You think I’m diminishing her for your benefit?” he asked tightly.
Of course, that was just what Dobbs was doing; the girl was beautiful and he couldn’t get her off his mind. But he wasn’t planning to let Lady Darmley know that. He was, however, planning to derail her from the dangerous path she was leading him down.
“If you don’t know what I like by now, then I think a lesson is due.” The handsome valet shrugged off his coat and carefully hung it a nearby chair. Under his starched white shirt, his shoulders were broad. He could see her continuing to watch his reflection as he approached the dressing table. His expression was hard as he undid the buttons of his shirt to reveal his muscular chest. Aster suddenly looked uneasy, her visibly racing pulse a noticeable indication of what they both knew: she’d pushed her lover too far.
Good, he thought. That little hint of fear was just what he’d been waiting for.
Reaching down, Dobbs fisted a handful of Lady Darmley’s thick hair as he pulled her to standing.
“Oh,” she said in a small voice as he pulled her against him and with one swift motion ripped the neckline of her expensive dress to the waist, revealing her corset. The milky curve of her breasts swelled over the top.
“I refuse to believe you’re jealous of a silly girl,” he said, clutching her chin and forcing her head back until she had no choice but to look into his dark eyes. “Unless, of course, you’re jealous of what you know is in store for her. Is that it?”
She turned her head, and a rare tear slid from the corner of her eye. Finally, the truth. And not just the truth, but the truth he had been hoping for. “That is it, isn’t it? You aren’t envious of her beauty, but the life she’s going to have as a cherished plaything living by the constant leave of the man who controls her. Is that what you secretly long for, Aster—the life she will have here? A return to the very seat of helplessness? A return to the nursery?”
The tear slipped down Lady Darmley’s face now. But Henry Dobbs did not allow his expression to display the satisfaction he felt at reading her so well. No, this was
no time to gloat. It was time to put her more under the spell he’d been weaving for the last few months—a spell that was all part of his plan to exert power over the powerful.
She pushed him away, and for a moment he thought all was lost and that she would dismiss him. But when she turned back, her expression was vulnerable.
“Yes,” she said. “But we both know I can’t have that. Oh, I can have it for an hour or two. With you. But when the sun comes up, the spell is broken and I must go back to living as the grand lady that I am.” She began to pace. “It’s not fair, you know, that she will have this. The little chit. I can hardly tell my son how I feel about his betrothed—a girl who is only here because her dalliance with a gardener that made her unfit suddenly made her perfect for my son? Do you know how hard it is to hide your distaste for your son’s wife for fear of losing his love? I did everything right, preserving my virginity for a man I hoped would cherish and guide me, and what did I end up with? A husband who prefers the company of other men. My son is the dominant man his father never was, and while I am happy that he has found love, I don’t know if I can bear seeing her enjoying a life I will never know.”
The wedge is there. Drive it deeper.
“You’re right,” Dobbs said sympathetically. “She is a little slattern, and wholly undeserving. If anyone deserves to be a little one, it’s you.”
“Well, it’s not to be,” she said.
“Oh, no?” Dobbs knew what he was about to do was risky. But he knew his entire plan now hinged on triggering the need she’d just expressed. Pulling her roughly against him, he restrained Lady Aster against his rock-hard chest. When he next spoke, his mouth was against her cheek.
“And why not?” he asked. He ran his hand down her side and pulled up the hem of her dress. He smiled to himself to find the richest woman in the region was completely bare underneath, just as he’d dictated. When his fingers slid between her ivory thighs, he found her pussy slick with need. “I alone have discovered your deep capacity for submission; you’ve told me that yourself. Do you doubt my ability to take it further, to make you my little one?” he asked huskily. “Silly thing. You’re halfway there already. You just don’t realize it.”