by Em Taylor
His mind went back to his sister’s letter and the words she had written about him doing his duty to the earldom.
He glanced back at the beautiful redhead staring into her teacup and she quietly twirled her teaspoon. His mind had been just straying to her and her bold nature when she turned up at his door. It seemed as if the fates were on his side. This might be the answer to both their problems. It was reckless and completely out of character. Perhaps he had lost his mind from being holed up in the country too long.
He stepped slightly away from the window so that the light was not directly behind him.
“Marry me and the orphans can come and live here.”
Chapter 4
She must have misheard him. A slightly hysterical laugh escaped her lips and she leaned forward to place her teacup on the tray before she dropped it. It landed with a clatter because her hand shook so much, so great was her distress.
“I apologise, My Lord. I misheard. What did you say?”
“I asked you to marry me and then the orphans could live here.”
“Ah! I thought that was what you said. But My Lord, I cannot marry you.”
“Why not?”
“I… I am the mere sister of a baron.”
“That is high-ranking enough for an earl.”
“I have not had a come-out.”
“My sister or my Great Aunt Gertrude can sponsor your curtsey to the Queen. Fear not.”
Oh dear he was making this very difficult.
“I cannot marry. I have made no plans to marry and do not wish to do so.”
“Plans change.”
“It is impossible.”
“Why?”
If only she could just blurt it out.
“It just is.”
“That is not a good enough answer. Do you want those orphans cared for or not?”
“Of course I do, but there has to be another way.”
“Not one that would satisfy me. Miss Butterworth, I find you exceedingly beautiful and, if I may say so, even in this situation, somewhat arousing. Your demeanour intrigues me. I like that you do not just accept what I say meekly but are willing to argue to make yourself heard. You might vex me on occasion, but I think that shall bring a little colour to our marriage. And if accepting a bunch of orphans and bye blows into my house is the price I must pay to get what I want and to save me another Season of making polite chit-chat with the mothers of debutantes in Mayfair ballrooms, then I am more than happy to pay the price.”
It all sounded so much like a business contract. Lucy wondered if this was how Robert usually dealt with people. Perhaps she could steer him in the right direction without telling him why she could not marry him.
“I am unsuitable to be your wife.”
“Are you a man?”
“Of course not.”
“Then you are suitable. As far as I know, you are not my sister, my mother or my daughter so we break no laws of incest. I assume you are not already married.”
She sighed.
“No.”
“You are not pregnant?”
He was very prying. Did the man have no manners. She mustered as much indignation as she could.
“Indeed I am not.”
“Well, I had to ask, since you are so determined you are unsuitable. Do you know yourself to be barren?”
“No.” Maybe she should have said yes to that. But then was there even a way to know if one was barren? She doubted it.
“Then I have a plan. Do you know of any young lady in the village who would be able to work as your companion for a month?”
She considered all the ladies of her acquaintance. “Miss Miller may be a good choice.”
“No, she is a gossip according to Emily. Pick someone else.”
Lord Whitsnow had the right of it. Miss Miller was a terrible gossip. “Miss Susan Davis. She is the younger daughter of the blacksmith. She is well spoken and can read and write.”
“Yes, she will be fine. Arrange for her, you and the children to come and live here for a month. During that time, I shall convince you to marry me.”
She stood and walked towards him. “My Lord, that is not proper.”
“It shall be proper enough with Miss Davis here as chaperone.”
“I am not sure that it shall be.”
“You never plan to marry so what does it matter?”
“I still have a reputation to uphold.”
“That is the deal, Miss Butterworth. Take it or leave it. At the end, I shall consider some donation to your cause either way.”
“It sounds like blackmail.”
“I shall double what your aunt left you if you come and stay. If you do not, you get nothing. If you marry me, the children will have the best – clothes, education, food. I shall even arrange a special tutor who knows about deafness for Eleanor.”
She had been standing in front of him, but she turned on her heel and walked to look out of the window, tears springing unbidden to her eyes. He moved behind her. Lord Whitsnow was so close she could smell his cologne. Her nipples hardened under her stays and she folded her arms across her chest.
“You are cruel and heartless. My Lord.”
“How so?”
“You must know I love those children and to ask me to choose between their needs and my own is cruel.”
“Your needs run parallel to theirs.” She shivered as his finger tickled her neck. “They need my money and protection and I can tell that you need me. Before you make up your mind, I have one warning to give you Lucy Butterworth. I want you. And I intend to have you.”
“You would force yourself on me?”
He chuckled. “Oh no. By the time your back hits my mattress, you shall have begged me to take you to my bed.”
Why did the mere idea of being naked on a bed with this man as he climbed on top of her make her moan? She pressed her fingers to her lips as she realised she had actually moaned aloud. Whitsnow merely chuckled.
“Come, we should go and find the children before cook makes them sick with all her sweet treats.”
Chapter 5
Miss Lucy Butterworth ran her tongue from his balls, up his shaft and covered the head of his prick with her mouth. The image of her sweet lips was enough. The tingle at the base of his spine was all the warning he had before his seed sprayed over his stomach and chest. He grunted in satisfaction as he blinked his eyes open and frowned into the early morning light peeping through the curtains. He glanced down at the angry red crown and sighed. He’d look angry too at the abuse he’d heaped on the poor damned thing in the days since his first meeting in the village with Miss Butterworth.
It had only been three days, but he could not get the damned chit out of his mind. He had never had this reaction to a woman, even as a callow youth. He had written to her yesterday, which was a full day after his proposal, but had been sent no reply.
What the Devil was she playing at?
He got up, cleaned up the mess on his torso and rang the bell for his valet. Slipping into a pair of buckskin breeches he considered himself in the small looking glass. When Maxwell walked in, he glowered at the fellow.
“Am I ugly, Maxwell?”
Maxwell stopped, his eyes wide open and his mouth agape. “I uh…”
“It is fine. You can tell me the truth.”
“I can’t well say, My Lord. I am not a molly, so I cannot pass judgement.”
Robert roared with laughter. “I am not suggesting you are, Maxwell. Good God, man. You have eyes. You can tell if a chap is ugly or good looking without wanting to… you know.”
“You mean like how Mr Horsburgh is an ugly bugger, begging your pardon, My Lord.”
“Ah yes, Mr Horsburgh is most definitely ugly. But I am trying to ascertain if it is my looks that may make a young lady think twice about marrying me.”
“But you’re very rich, My Lord. I thought that was what all the ladies wanted.”
“You would think but I believe with the fashion for lov
e-matches they are looking for handsome men who sweep them off their feet. Ones who speak fancy words, like bloody Byron.”
“Who is Byron, My Lord?”
“He’s a poet, the sixth Baron Byron. I hear he lives in Italy. Best place for him, if you ask me. But he and his ilk have put these fanciful notions in the heads of all the ladies, that we gentlemen should be able to write sonnets and poetry and be delightful company, rather than just… well… be ourselves.” He could hardly tell his valet his best talent was making a woman scream as she had an orgasm. But he liked to think that the women he bedded had as much pleasure as he did. The man shrugged and set about his duties.
Maxwell shaved him and helped him dress. He had just pulled on his second boot when there was a ruckus outside.
“What the Devil is all that noise?”
Maxwell beat him to the window. “It’s a pony and trap with two ladies and a load of children, My Lord. They have quite a few valises and boxes with them.”
Robert hurried to the window, pulling on his waistcoat and his mouth dropped as he watched the pert derriere of Miss Lucy Butterworth descending from her trap as one of his stable hands held the pony steady. He could tell it was her from the red knot tied neatly at the nape of her neck. God, he wanted that hair loose and running through his fingers.
Of course, he still had no idea what had prompted him to propose marriage to her, but he was oddly serene about the whole thing and was happy to allow the cards to fall as they would. He had a feeling that his nocturnal and early morning fantasies may soon become reality.
“Help me put my coat on, Maxwell. It appears we have visitors.”
“Aye, My Lord. And going back to what we were talking about… the maids seem to think you very handsome indeed, if their opinion counts for anything.”
“The maids.”
“Oh aye. They all think you a handsome devil.”
Robert felt quite pleased about that. He had always wondered if women only wanted him for his money, but the maids knew they could never marry an earl, so their opinion actually did count—probably more than the opinion of a lady who may one day be a match for him.
“Thank you, Maxwell. That is very interesting.”
“Oh no. I haven’t got them in trouble. Have I?”
“Who?”
“The maids.”
Robert chuckled and waved his hand dismissively. “Of course not. Their jobs are all safe.”
“They worry about you.”
“How so.”
“Well, some have worked for other lords and the other lords… took turns with the maids.”
Robert raised an eyebrow. “They are worried I do not tumble them?”
Maxwell now looked unsure of himself and looked down at his feet kicking at the fringe of the rug to straighten it. “Something like that.”
“I am not tumbling the stable hand if that is what they are implying.”
Maxwell looked up with big, worried eyes. “Oh no, My Lord. We would never suggest that. That’s illegal.”
“Mayhap but I know of men who do, and I would never tell. They’re adults. They should do as they damned well please. But no, the maids can rest assured that I do not need to tumble them. I can wait until I return to London. I do not tumble the staff. It is… it is not the done thing. They are not possessions for one’s own amusement.”
“I understand.”
“Will they?”
“I think they will. Some may be disappointed. You are more handsome than some of the other lords they have worked for.”
“Well, they shall just have to live with their disappointment. Mine may just have arrived on a pony and trap. Come, I have a visitor to meet.”
Chapter 6
Lang, the butler, ushered Lucy and Susan into the drawing room along with the children. They all stood in a line, with Eleanor between the ladies and the boys standing in order of age, Ben, holding Jonathan’s hand since, at the age of just four, he was incapable of standing still for any length of time.
It seemed like they were to be kept waiting and Ben started to speak. “Mith Buttawuth, when a we…?”
The door clicked open and Ben shrank back behind Jonathan. Lucy could not blame him. If Susan had been taller than her, she may have done the same thing herself.
“Miss Butterworth, Miss Davis, boys, Eleanor, it is a pleasure to have you come and stay with me. I assume you are taking me up on the offer of a month to consider the options I laid before you, Miss Butterworth?”
Lucy curtseyed as did Susan.
“We have, My Lord. If that is still acceptable.”
“Of course it is. Lang, show Miss Davis and the children to their rooms. I wish to speak to Miss Butterworth in the library.”
“Yes milord.”
The butler ushered everyone else out, with Miss Davis casting a wary look over her shoulder. Lucy was not concerned. It was broad daylight and she would insist the door was left open. He ushered her across the massive foyer to an austere but large library.
“Please take a seat.” She noted that he had not even attempted to close the door. That made Lucy feel a little better. “Have you thought more about my proposal?”
“My answer was no two days ago and will remain no.”
He sat back in his chair and considered her as he twirled a letter opener between the fingers of both hands. “You liked my touch.”
She caught his gaze. “I do not know what you mean.”
“The other day in the drawing room. One touch of your neck and you moaned. It means you want me.”
“You surprised me.”
He chuckled. “Come now Miss Butterworth. Or may I be so bold as to ask your permission to call you Lucy when we are alone?”
“My Lord…”
“Robert…please.”
“That is far too familiar.”
“Not familiar enough for my liking.”
“You are impossible.”
“Impossible to resist, Lucy. I do beg you. Miss Butterworth is such a cumbersome name and Lucy is such… a pretty name. It matches your beauty.”
Lucy wanted to roll her eyes. That was pathetic. “Really, My Lord, what was that?”
“What was what?”
“Was that an attempt to be romantic?”
“I thought young ladies liked romance. You all go on about Byron and his ilk.”
“Byron? Do you mean the poet?”
“Of course. The ladies all love him and lament his defection to Italy.”
“I have never met the man and do not wish to do so.”
“So, you are not a fan of the poets?”
“I did not say that, My Lord. I prefer Mrs Mary Robinson to Lord Byron, personally.”
His eyebrows rose, and she felt a sense of real satisfaction that she had shocked him somewhat.
“She was a rather scandalous creature in her time, was she not?”
“Only because men fear strong women.”
“And you think she was a strong woman? She was an actress.”
“She had a voice and she used it and men abhor that. She is an inspiration.”
“You know what they say about actresses and lightskirts, do you not?”
“That they are one and the same? They also say that aristocrats are wife-beaters, cruel and use their valets to father their children. Lucky for you we do not all listen to idle gossip.”
“You have a sharp tongue, young lady.”
“No sharper than yours, My Lord.”
“Then we would be well-matched in marriage.”
“Either that or one of us would be dead within a month.”
“An excellent way to go though, is it not?”
Lucy had to prevent a smile from forming on her lips. “I think not, My Lord.”
“Then you are still refusing my proposal?”
“Indeed I am. Though I am holding out for a better settlement for the children.”
“And how do you hope that I shall be convinced to give the children a better s
ettlement.”
“I do not believe you have a heart completely composed of stone, My Lord. I hope that the children shall burrow inside and perhaps find your conscience.”
“I have no conscience, My Lady. I can assure you.”
“If you had no conscience, you would not have housed Lady Rutherford and the baby Lord Rutherford over the winter when that vile man wanted to hurt them.”
“How do you know about that?”
“The newspaper scandal sheets. I used to read them to my great aunt. Tell me, what did you think of the new Duke of Hartsmere. Now that was a romantic story.”
“I am not becoming a servant just so you can save me, my dear.” He stood and straightened his breeches before extending his hand to her. “Now, since you are not going to do me the honour of accepting my proposal now, then I cannot insinuate myself upon your person and demand a kiss yet—which is a dashed shame. Instead, I shall show you to your bedchamber.”
Her stomach lurched at the very thought.
“My Lord that is…”
“I shall escort you as far as the door—not inside the bedchamber itself. I have not lost every shred of decency, though, I must admit, I am losing a certain amount of my sense around you. You are somewhat beguiling, Lucy.”
“My Lord, I did not give you leave to use my given name.”
“A closed carriage.”
“A what?”
“I shall give you a closed carriage and two horses to convey the children in if you allow me to use your given name.”
“That is blackmail.”
“That is how one does business, Lucy or Miss Butterworth.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Fine, you may call me by my given name.”
His grin was almost boyish. “How much for a kiss?”
“Your entire estate.”
“I believe I can haggle you down to a lower price, Lucy. Soon, you shall want to pay me for a kiss.”
“I would not wager your estate on it, My Lord. It may belong to me and the children soon.”
He cupped her chin and leaned close. So close she thought he was going to kiss her. Her body tingled with excitement and fear.