Lord Margrave's Secret Desire

by Samantha Grace

  “Are you certain you are ready to marry?” he asked. “There is no need to rush into a decision.”

  “I am not rushing.” She sounded slightly breathless. “I have been donning my mother’s wedding gown and practicing my vows since I was nine. I am eager to find a love like my parents shared. Mama wrote about it in her diary. They adored one another and never spent a night apart.”

  “Your parents had a rare marriage, Sophia. I fear your expectations are too high, and you will be disappointed.”

  “How so?”

  “I know most of the bachelors in Town.” He scowled. “They are rascals, one and all. You cannot fall prey to their honeyed words.”

  His protest pleased her beyond measure. Could he be jealous? “Are there no respectable gentlemen left in England? That is disappointing. Perhaps I could tame one of these rascals and turn him into a good husband.”

  “Strike it from your mind, darling. They are unredeemable.”

  “I am afraid I am faced with a bit of a conundrum. I wish to marry, and the only available men are wicked rogues.”

  She caught her bottom lip between her teeth, pretending to mull over the situation. Crispin’s gaze dropped to her mouth, and her heart fluttered with excitement.

  “Perhaps I must lower my standards, my lord.”

  “Most unadvisable, I say.” He leaned toward her. The cramped space grew hotter—electrified. “You deserve better. You deserve someone who understands and appreciates you. Allow yourself time to find the perfect man for you.”

  She had found him already. Emboldened by his nearness, she slipped her hand into his pocket and withdrew the twig of mistletoe. His body heat filled the space between them.

  “It is not too late to claim your kiss.” She lifted the sprig of mistletoe above them. “This could be your last chance before I capture my rogue.”

  Her stomach churned with uncertainty; his intense hazel gaze held her frozen in place. She did not fear desire. She’d been taught passion was natural and beautiful when love was involved. Fear of rejection, however, made her hands shake.

  “Sophia.” Crispin’s voice had grown smoky, bordering on seductive. “You deserve better than me.”

  “I am willing to compromise this once,” she teased and nervously swept her tongue over her lips. He inhaled, his nostrils flaring slightly. “Time is running out, my lord.”

  Cupping her nape, Crispin eased her toward him, pausing to search her face as if she might change her mind. She lowered her hand to his chest, the mistletoe loosely clutched between her fingers.

  “Kiss me,” she whispered.

  “You are too irresistible by half, Sophia Darlington.”

  “I warned you.”

  When their lips touched, victory billowed beneath her breastbone, expanding in her chest. How long had she dreamed of this moment? He nestled his fingers into her hair, angling her head to leisurely take the kiss she had brazenly offered. She melted as his mouth teased hers—a nip of her lips, the tip of his tongue tracing the seam between them.

  She exhaled. Havers. Her fantasy suffered in comparison to a real kiss from him.

  Tentatively, she imitated his movements. A deep hum of pleasure sounded in his throat; her confidence blossomed. Parting her lips, she twined her arms around his neck to draw him closer. He dragged her against him and deepened the kiss; his tongue swept into her eager mouth.

  This was no longer a polite acceptance of her offer but a claiming. She joyfully surrendered, arching into him and grasping the front of his jacket. His wine-tinged kisses and searing heat swirled around her, through her, intoxicating and lovely.

  Her head filled with thoughts of their future. Of many more Christmases observing old traditions and creating new ones of their own. Of a lifetime of passionate kisses under the mistletoe after their children were tucked into bed. She would be his perfect companion, his helpmate, his eager lover, his Lady Margrave. I adore you, her heart whispered as it beat in a driving rhythm.

  When he suddenly broke the kiss and eased her away, she blinked—startled and confused. She reached for him, but he gently caught her shoulders.

  “Your sisters are calling for you,” he murmured and caressed his thumb over her cheek.

  “Oh.” She was breathless. Her heart pounded in her ears. Her sisters shouted her name in the distance. Neither she nor Crispin made a move to exit the carriage. His hazel gaze, more brown than green in the shadowed confines of the carriage, bore into her. His expression was inscrutable, unmovable, as if he were made of marble.

  She began to squirm under his unwavering gaze. “Aunt Beatrice has asked me to play the pianoforte after dinner. Do you have a favorite piece? If I have the sheet music, I could perform it for you—unless it is a piece I have played. I can recall the notes if I’ve played the piece.” She babbled when she was nervous. It was a deplorable habit.

  He half smiled, half grimaced. “I am sorry, Sophia. My presence is required in Town this evening, and I am unable to stay.”

  Her insides flinched. “But Aunt Beatrice said you would be our guest for several days.”

  “Yes, that was my original intent when I wrote to your aunt, but a matter of importance forces me to return to London tonight.”

  A lump formed in her throat. Perhaps her inexperience had been off-putting, or worse. He considered her another conquest in a long line of ladies who had been all too eager to be conquered by him. Unaware Sophia held a tender regard for him, Regina had found it amusing to share rumors of his escapades over breakfast last Season. Sophia had been sick with jealousy one moment, and hopeful the gossips were wrong the next.

  He captured her chin between his thumb and forefinger and urged her to look at him. “My man of business fell ill yesterday. He is a loyal man, and I feel duty-bound to insure he is receiving the best care.”

  “Oh, dear! I am sorry.” She laid her head against his shoulder to hide her pleased smile, lest he think her heartless. She genuinely wished his man well, but knowing Crispin wasn’t leaving to enjoy the company of another woman was a relief. “Will you visit again before Parliament is in session?”

  “It is unlikely.” He placed a kiss on her hair before easing her from his arms. “I meant what I said about you deserving better than me. It is hard to accept Little Sophia is grown and old enough to marry, and I might have unjustly judged the other men. You will find the right husband for you, and when you do, he will be the luckiest man in England.”

  She scowled. Was he teasing? Did he truly believe she would be happy with another man when it was obvious they belonged together? She chose to ignore his ridiculous suggestion that he was not good enough for her.

  “Uncle Charles plans to meet us in London after Easter. I will look forward to receiving you at Wedmore House.”

  His smile seemed pleasantly detached. “I am certain Charles will have many tales of his latest adventures. You may rely on me calling at Wedmore House to hear them. Your nose is pink from the cold. We should return to the house.”

  He chucked her on the chin, his unromantic gesture infuriating after the kiss they had shared. She glowered at his back as he removed the carriage window, reached for the outside handle, and opened the door. He climbed from the carriage and offered his hand as he held the sailcloth out of the way. She refused his assistance when it was her turn to disembark and stood toe-to-toe with him outside, refusing to be dismissed.

  “I am aware of your reputation, Lord Margrave. Tell me, am I another one of your conquests?”

  His jaw fell. “Gads, Sophia. Is that what you think?”

  Her eyes stung, warning her of impending tears. She blinked to keep them at bay. “I do not know what to think. This is all new to me.”

  His face lost its hard edges, and his eyes lit with a soft glow. “I would never see you as a conquest. You must know you hold a special place in my heart, but that does not make me the right man for you. Promise you will never settle for anyone who cannot make you happy.”

  His
answer soothed her hurt. There was no doubt in her mind Crispin could make her very happy, but he needed time to realize it. “I will wait for as long as it takes.”

  She thought her promise would placate him, but his sour frown said otherwise. Better not to allow him to dwell on it. “My sisters have stopped calling for me. I should return to the house before Aunt Beatrice sends a search party. Will I see you inside?”

  He nodded.

  “Splendid.” She started toward the house and tossed over her shoulder, “Merry Christmas, Lord Margrave.”

  One

  On the coach ride back to London, Crispin could still feel Sophia’s lush mouth against his and the warmth of her cheek through his glove. Faint notes of her perfume clung to his cravat. He closed his eyes, savoring the alluring scent of camellias.

  Try as he might, he couldn’t break the spell she had cast over him when she’d reached into his pocket for the sprig of mistletoe, her nose and cheeks pink from the cold and her topaz blue eyes twinkling with anticipation. Her subtle desire for him had been charming, her innocence endearing.

  When her pink tongue had darted over her lips in preparation for his kiss, it had nearly undone him. A heady desire to take her to his bed and love her to completion had coursed through his body as he’d grappled for control. Even now, his muscles quivered as he imagined eliciting cries of pleasure from her sweet lips. Her pleas for him to do it all over again would be granted until she was sated, languorous, and gave up any dreams of belonging to another man.

  He shook off the ridiculous notion. It wasn’t like him to be fanciful, nor did he intend to take a wife, which would be the only way he would ever have Sophia in his bed. She was special, one of Charles Wedmore’s precious angels, and Wedmore would have Crispin flogged if he disgraced her.

  Hell. Crispin would save his godfather the trouble and kick his own arse. Sophia belonged on a pedestal to be cherished, adored, and protected from men like him. Fortunately, he had come to his senses and done nothing more damning than satisfy her curiosity. He expected she would forget about him soon and enter the marriage mart this spring.

  “Damnation,” he muttered. That is a depressing thought.

  A chuckle interrupted his introspection. Crispin glowered at his valet sitting on the opposite bench, which did nothing to stifle Kane’s mirth.

  In a voice formed of steel and ice, Crispin said, “What do you find humorous?”

  A shrewd smile was plastered to the younger man’s face. “Do I have leave to speak frankly?”

  “Have you ever practiced restraint?”

  “Rarely, my lord.”

  “At least I can always count on you for an honest answer.”

  “I blame you,” Kane said with a shrug. “You never taught me to tell a proper lie.”

  Crispin’s rigid spine began to soften. Kane’s cheerful disposition had a way of spreading to others in his vicinity, which was likely the reason Crispin didn’t mind his presence on the long ride back to London.

  “Kane, even when it would serve you well to hold your peace, you have a tendency to speak out of turn.”

  “It is in my nature, I think.”

  “I believe it is, and as I recall, this quality almost resulted in you being tossed in gaol when I found you.”

  Kane lowered his head and grinned sheepishly. “It was rather fortuitous you came along when you did. I do not know how you got on all those years without me.”

  “It is a mystery,” Crispin said with droll sarcasm.

  His first encounter with his valet was on Bond Street eight years ago. Upon exiting the haberdashery, Crispin literally bumped into him. Kane had been knee-deep in a row with a baron over a scrawny boy who was curled into a ball on the ground. Tears had forged muddy tracks down the lad’s cheeks, and he was whimpering. It was a most pathetic sight, one so young reduced to picking pockets for scraps of food.

  When it appeared Lord Nevitt intended to crack both of their skulls with his walking stick, Crispin had intervened and taken the boys into his service—a wise decision in the end. Ernest was the most loyal first footman under Crispin’s employ, and Kane was… Well, he was the worst valet in England, but he made an excellent spy and partner. Crispin felt duty bound to overlook Kane’s lack of fashion sense for the good of their country.

  “I thought you were made of sturdier stuff,” Kane blurted, “and here you are fleeing from a slip of a girl.”

  If glares had the ability to deliver a physical blow, Crispin’s valet would be severed in half. “I am running from no one. My presence is required in London.”

  “Is it?” Kane cocked his head to the side. “I saw no messengers arrive during our short stay, and I had an excellent view of the stables from the servants’ quarters.”

  Crispin’s stomach churned uneasily. “You saw me with Sophia Darlington earlier?”

  “If you are the one posing the question, the answer is yes. As far as anyone else is concerned, I was polishing your boots all afternoon and saw nothing.”

  Crispin lifted his foot to inspect his less than pristine boot. “You are a terrible liar.”

  “Then you are fortunate Charles Wedmore is not in the country to interrogate me. Otherwise, you would be a husband and father by next Christmas.”

  His valet’s reminder of Crispin’s careless disregard for Sophia’s reputation was sobering. He thought he’d checked every direction for onlookers before assisting her from the broken carriage. He hadn’t looked up—an amateur mistake that would earn his protégé a lecture if he had made it.

  Crispin scrubbed his hands down his face and cursed his foolishness. “Wedmore will mount my head above the mantle, and you will dance on my grave.”

  “Balderdash!” Kane grinned. “I will be too busy raiding your wine cellar to visit your grave.”

  “Your loyalty is overwhelming.”

  Kane laughed. “Do not pretend you are unhappy with your predicament. You’ve always been fond of Miss Sophia, and clearly, your feelings have grown along with her. Now you can court her properly when she comes to London for the Season.”

  “Wedmore will not allow it. He has done his best to shelter his nieces from his work. He expects them to marry ordinary fellows and settle into an ordinary life.”

  “Egads,” Kane said with a groan, “what a dull and dismal prospect. How can he expect his nieces to appreciate the charms of a conventional existence when all they have known is the eccentric?”

  “It isn’t my place to question my superiors.”

  Crispin turned to stare out the window, effectively ending the conversation. Kane had a point, but Crispin doubted his godfather could be swayed. When he’d learned of Crispin’s choice to join the Regent’s Consul, his position had been unambiguous.

  Espionage is a dangerous game, young man. I forbid you to follow in my footsteps. Tell Farrin you have changed your mind.

  When demands had no effect, Wedmore tried to appeal to Crispin’s sense of reason.

  It is not too late for you, son. Do not make this decision carelessly. You cannot know where your path will lead in five years, or ten, or twenty. You only need to look at me to know I speak the truth. I had nothing to lose when I embarked on this life. Now I am guardian to three amazing little girls who deserve a certain future. I cannot guarantee I will be here for them, and they have lost too much already.

  Charles Wedmore, a founding member of the Regent’s Consul, had lost his stomach for the work. At age eighteen, Crispin had viewed it as a weakness in his godfather, one he would never suffer. Everyone he loved was gone, and everything he had believed about his life was a lie. He’d had nothing to lose either when he joined.

  He and Kane traveled in silence for the remainder of the journey. The young man presumably slept beneath the hat he’s pulled low over his eyes while Crispin relived his last moments with Sophia. They arrived in London after dark.

  “I have a matter to tend to before home,” Crispin said.

  Kane remained slumped on the
bench. “Aye, my lord.”

  When the coach rolled to a stop outside Ben Hillary’s Governor Square town house, Kane sat up and adjusted his hat. By the curious crane of his neck, Crispin could tell he wanted to ask why they had stopped to see an old school chum on Christmas, but his valet held his tongue.

  Ben must have been watching for his arrival, because he exited the house before Crispin alighted from the carriage. His friend climbed inside and sat beside Kane. He sidled a glance at the servant.

  “You may speak in his presence,” Crispin said. “I see you received my message. Were you able to make the arrangements on my behalf?”

  Ben inclined his head. “He is waiting at the coffeehouse across from the Esterdell Hotel.”

  It must seem odd for Crispin’s younger brother to take lodgings rather than stay at the family town house, but if Alexander had arrived at Arden-Hill unannounced expecting accommodations, it would have been an awkward reunion.

  “I will accompany you to make introductions,” Ben said.

  “Thank you for the offer, but no.” Crispin smirked. “Your wife has only of late grown tolerant of my company. I’ll not have her despise me for dragging you from bed.”

  Ben chuckled. “You dined at our table three times last week. Eve likes you well enough, Margrave. I would even venture she looks forward to your verbal sparring.”

  “Alas, we have something in common. I relish her sharp-tongue. It reminds me to watch my manners.”

  When Ben and Eve were newly wed, Crispin had overstepped his bounds in an attempt to protect her from a danger she hadn’t known existed. Understandably, the lady hadn’t appreciated Crispin’s meddling and put him in his place, earning his respect.

  To this day, Eve and Ben remained ignorant her life had been in jeopardy, but Crispin was obligated to keep the secret since it involved a fellow spy. Fortunately, Eve was safe now, and the couple was too enamored with their infant son to fret over bygones.

  Crispin wished his own past were as easily forgotten. “Thank you for making arrangements on my behalf. There was no time before I was expected at Lord Wedmore’s home in Kent.”