Pleasures of a Notorious Gentleman

by Lorraine Heath

  “We can discuss them on the way in to dinner and during dinner.” To Mercy’s startlement, the duchess wrapped her arm around Mercy’s like a clinging vine. “Westcliffe and his family shall attend, of course. I believe you’ll enjoy Claire’s company. And their son is quite a delight. But I shall show no favoritism amongst my grandchildren. I made that mistake with my sons. We shall also invite Lynnford and his family. The earl served as guardian to my boys after my husband, the duke, passed. One or two others perhaps, but I see no reason for a big elaborate affair unless it’s what you wish.”

  “No, I prefer small.” The smaller the better. Tiny even. Simply her and Stephen. She glanced back at him over her shoulder and was rewarded with an apologetic smile.

  The duchess had apparently decided she was on a mission and was not about to be deterred. During dinner she spoke of little besides the upcoming nuptials—they would send for her London seamstress posthaste to attend to the gown that Mercy would wear. Flowers could prove a problem this time of year, but if Mercy had no objection to orchids, the duchess knew someone who cultivated them. The wedding breakfast was discussed.

  By the time dinner ended, the magnitude to what Mercy had agreed overwhelmed her. She was dizzy with the thoughts of it all, how her life would change.

  Later that night, she sat in her bed, her legs drawn up, her arms wrapped tightly around them. “We should elope,” Stephen had whispered in her ear as he’d pulled out her chair following dinner.

  The thought didn’t half appeal, but there was something sordid about an elopement and the time for taking so drastic a measure to protect her reputation was long past. Certainly, if they were to marry, she didn’t want to delay it too much longer. Stephen might very well change his mind. Until they were joined by the law, she would not rest easy.

  Events were moving at an amazing clip.

  The nightmares increased in frequency and intensity. No matter how valiantly Mercy fought to sleep lightly, to not slip into the realm where dreams resided, the horrific images came. After two nights of having his sleep disturbed, Stephen began to join her in bed. He did little more than hold her. But it was enough. With his arms around her, she could sleep without fears. The weariness that had been a constant companion since her days in Scutari began to ebb. The heaviness that had shadowed her movements was no longer there. Her step regained its lightness. She began to put on some weight, so her clothing was fitting her as it had in the days before she’d left England.

  But her worries over her wedding night did not abate. It didn’t help matters at all that the duchess had given her a white gossamer nightdress that scandalously revealed the shadows of her body.

  “I hope you won’t be offended,” the duchess had said as she’d watched Mercy unwrap her gift. “I’ve never been one to be demure when it comes to what passes between a man and a woman—or elsewhere. Depending upon one’s adventuresome spirit and daring, it can be a glorious thing.”

  Mercy had little doubt, based upon what Stephen had shared so far.

  In three days, she would marry. It was difficult to believe how quickly everything had come to pass. As she rocked John in her bedchamber, he was busy blowing bubbles between his lips. The depth with which she loved him astounded her sometimes. It was almost painful. It terrified her and brought her joy. It was satisfying. All that mattered was that he was happy and well cared for. And that Mercy had the privilege of being his mother.

  The knock sounded on her door. She knew it wasn’t Stephen. She recognized the rap of his knuckles. She bid entry and discovered it was one of the young maids.

  She bobbed a curtsy. “Sorry to disturb you, m’um, but Her Grace sent me to fetch you. Lord and Lady Westcliffe have arrived. They be in the front parlor, waiting to make your acquaintance.”

  “Thank you. Tell them I’ll be there as soon as I’ve tidied up.” Her and John. She wanted to make a good impression. She knew she hadn’t quite won Ainsley over yet, and she wanted to have more luck with Westcliffe.

  When she stepped into the hallway, she came up short at the sight of Stephen. As always, her spirits lifted at the sight of him, but her arms reflexively closed more securely around John, as though her heart and mind were in conflict. One part of her recognizing the immense feelings she harbored for this man, the other understanding that he had the power to take her son from her if he ever learned the truth, that she had not given birth to his son.

  “You’re so pale, Mercy. Surely you didn’t think I’d allow you to walk into the lion’s den unescorted.”

  Stephen Lyons, lion’s den. She wondered if he’d meant the play on the name. She released a nervous laugh. “Should I be fearful of meeting your older brother?”

  He offered her his arm. “Not to worry. He only looks as though he bites.”

  He did at that. Dark hair and darker eyes. His expression fearsome, his features appeared to have been carved from hard rock. He was taller and broader than either of his brothers. A man she could see wielding a broadsword. She saw none of Stephen in him, none at all.

  “Condolences on being forced to wed my brother,” he said evenly.

  “Westcliffe!” The woman beside him had moon-shaded hair, a luster Mercy had always envied. Her eyes were a softer blue than Stephen’s, and gentler. “Pay him no heed. He’s teasing you, of course. Stephen is an excellent catch. I’m Claire.” She glided forward and hugged Mercy. “Welcome to the family.”

  She leaned back and studied the baby. “And this must be John.” With tears in her eyes, she looked up at Stephen. “He does favor you.”

  “I don’t see it.”

  “Because you’re a man.” She gave her attention back to Mercy. “They can be so troublesome sometimes. Would you care to meet Lord Waverly, our son?”

  Mercy liked Lady Westcliffe immediately. She was welcoming and kind, and she saw no censure in her eyes. “Yes, very much, Lady Westcliffe.”

  “You absolutely must call me Claire. We’ll be sisters after all.”

  She led the way to where the boy was sitting up on the duchess’s lap. He was a miniature of his father. Stephen had already told her that his courtesy title was that of viscount. One day he would inherit his father’s title and all he possessed.

  But what struck her the most was not the boy but his parents and the obvious love they held for each other, mirrored in their eyes whenever their gazes met. It hurt to know she’d never possess what they held dear.

  In spite of all of Stephen’s tender regard, he did not love her. He’d accepted her as his duty. For John, she would weather it.

  “So what exactly are your plans?” Westcliffe asked.

  Stephen and his brothers were in the library. The ladies had gone off to do whatever it was they did when they gave each other sly smiles. He wasn’t too concerned that Claire would make Mercy feel as though she were in the midst of an inquisition. Claire and he had been dear friends since childhood. It was that strong bond that had caused trouble when she married Westcliffe. But all was well between them now, and he knew that Claire would make Mercy feel welcomed in a way that few could. He wished he’d thought to have his mother send for her sooner.

  With his arm raised, his wrist pressed to the mantel, he studied the way the fire writhed and danced. With the thought of being shackled by bonds of matrimony, he felt his own need to writhe. “Be a good husband I suppose.”

  “How do you intend to provide for your family?”

  He pressed his thumb to his scar and slid it down the mottled skin. “I’m of little use to the military with no memory of all I learned while at war. I’d be no better than a fresh recruit. I’d make a deplorable clergyman. I suppose I could seek to get elected into Parliament.”

  “I’ve been giving your situation some thought,” Ainsley said.

  Stephen wasn’t surprised. There was very little that Ainsley didn’t put his mind to. When he was younger, Stephen resented that Ainsley always seemed in a position to effectively handle whatever challenge or crisis came h
is way. Now he appreciated it. He peered questioningly over at his younger brother.

  “I was thinking you might manage Roseglenn Manor for me.” It was one of his smaller estates in Hertfordshire. “I’ve been so busy managing other things that I fear I’ve neglected it somewhat.”

  “You don’t know how to neglect anything.”

  “True enough. But it would reduce my burdens if I had someone I trusted to look after it. To offer incentive, a portion of the yearly income would go to you. Increase the income, increase your portion.”

  Knowing he’d never inherit one unless Westcliffe died, Stephen had paid little enough attention to how one went about managing an estate. But his pride wouldn’t allow him to admit yet another shortcoming, even to his brothers. He wanted to do right by Mercy, provide well for her and John. God knew he owed her that much at least. “I accept your offer.”

  Ainsley’s green eyes widened. “I’d not expected you to capitulate so easily. I had a whole host of arguments lined up to deliver.”

  Now that he’d regained most of his strength, he was beginning to feel the walls of his family closing in on him. As the wedding date neared, so, too, was he beginning to doubt himself. He wasn’t certain he was cut out to be a husband or a father. What did he have to offer other than passion? It had occurred to him to simply leave Mercy and John here after the ceremony, to go his own way. Marriage wouldn’t restore her reputation, but it would make her status not quite so ruined. And surely, with the public outcry of support for the military, all would understand how a man and woman in love might use poor judgment on the eve of battle.

  She could twist the tale and make herself out to be a heroine.

  But he recognized that any sort of deception was not her way. Besides, while he had little to offer her, broken as he was, he recognized that she had much to offer him. So, be an attentive husband to her he would.

  As a young girl Mercy had dreamed often of the day she would marry. While she knew that in most cases people did not marry for love, she’d not wanted it to be the case when it came to her marriage. She’d fully intended to be madly in love with the man and for him to absolutely adore her. As it was, her love for him and his son propelled her toward the altar, where he waited because of obligation.

  It was bittersweet knowledge to reflect upon as they repeated vows. And she made silent ones to make certain he never regretted taking her to wife.

  She wore a simple beige gown. She thought she would forever remember how handsome Stephen appeared standing there, in his dark blue jacket and black trousers. When he removed her glove and the simple gold band he placed on her finger fit perfectly, she wanted to believe that fate approved, that destiny had somehow brought them together.

  Following the ceremony, they retired to the residence, where a late breakfast awaited them. Mercy had never seen so much food in her life as had been set on the sideboard. Succulent aromas wafted through the residence. Her mouth watered. Guiltily, she thought of how little food had been available for the men in the hospital, and it seemed wrong to have such abundance here.

  “Is something amiss?”

  She looked up at Stephen. Until that moment, she hadn’t truly understood exactly what his loss of memory meant. He didn’t remember being hungry or cold. She’d been so focused on the fact that he didn’t remember her that she hadn’t considered that without his memories a great deal of what they had in common was gone as well. Like smoke blown away in the dark.

  “Not at all. It’s just so overwhelming that it’s difficult to believe it’s really happened.” She touched the ring. “I don’t know why it surprised me that you had a ring.”

  “It’s rather plain, but it was my grandmother’s.”

  “I don’t require anything fancy, and it has great sentimental value. Thank you for entrusting it to me.”

  He lifted her hand and pressed a kiss on her knuckles, just below the ring. “I entrusted my son to you. What is a bit of jewelry?”

  He held her gaze as she’d imagined a hundred times that he would, the blue of his eyes darkening like a storm on the horizon. She shivered with the realization that while it was only late morning, he was already contemplating the evening. When she’d truly become his wife.

  “Come along, you two, you’ll want to eat before you begin your journey,” Claire said, touching Stephen’s cheek with a familiarity that caused a sharp pang in Mercy’s chest. She wondered if they’d once been intimate. Surely not.

  It didn’t help the spark of jealousy to realize that Claire knew something that Mercy didn’t. “What journey?”

  Stephen gave her a crooked grin. “It was to be my surprise. Ainsley has some property he’s been neglecting. He’s offered to let us live there, as long as we’ll care for it. Roseglenn Manor. I think you’ll like it.”

  “I’m sure I will.” Because he would be there.

  Chapter 12

  They arrived at Roseglenn Manor when it was too dark to get a good look at anything. Still, Mercy squinted, attempting to see what she could of things. This would be her new home, the beginning of a new life.

  The journey had been long and wearisome, and to her consternation, incredibly silent. Stephen sat across from her, while Jeanette sat beside her. For the most part, Mercy held John, knowing he would be relegated to Jeanette’s care for the night once they arrived at the manor. They stopped when John required a feeding, so Stephen could leap out of the carriage and give them all privacy.

  She would watch as he paced along the side of the road. His limp was barely noticeable. His leg had recovered well. She wondered if his mind might. She knew it bothered him greatly not to have those memories. But if he regained them, how might things for her change?

  She shoved the doubts aside. She would be a loving and exemplary wife. He would come to care for her deeply, and then none of the falsehoods that had brought them to this moment would matter.

  Flickering torches appeared and just beyond was the manor.

  “It’s not as large as Grantwood,” Stephen said, and she flinched. It was the first time he’d spoken in hours. She’d seldom felt his gaze leave her. She wondered what he’d been thinking during this entire journey. No doubt his mind had been on tonight.

  “It’s perfect,” she said softly.

  “You haven’t seen it clearly yet.”

  “Doesn’t matter. We’ll be a family. That’s far more important.”

  “Were you this easy to please in Scutari?”

  “Witnessing all that I did gave me a different perspective on things, I suppose.”

  His gaze darted to Jeanette, and he merely nodded. She suspected had Jeanette not been in the carriage he’d have said that his perspective might be different as well if he remembered anything. The experiences that had brought them together, that they’d shared, now served to keep a distance between them. How did she convince him that it didn’t matter?

  It was over, it was done, it was time to live in the present.

  The carriage rolled to a stop. He was the first to disembark, opening the door himself, as though he couldn’t stand the confinement any longer. Then he was reaching back for her. Holding John close in one arm, she placed her other hand in Stephen’s, felt the strength in his fingers as they closed around hers and he lifted her down.

  For a heartbeat they simply stood there, gazing at each other, their breaths visible in the cold night air. The momentousness of this moment was not lost on her. They were connected, the three of them, in different ways. Love and blood. Desire and obligation. Truth and deception.

  “Welcome to Roseglenn, Mrs. Lyons,” he said finally, his voice rough, as though he’d had difficulty forcing out the words but had been determined to do so for her benefit.

  Mrs. Lyons.

  Lord, she thought her knees might buckle. Those two words delivered from his lips hit her with a force she’d not anticipated. The world reeled around her. The momentousness of exactly what had transpired today, the irrevocableness of it, slammed into h
er with the intensity of cannon fodder.

  What the hell had she done?

  Oddly, her worries increased as they entered the residence. It was gorgeous. Paintings and decorations artfully arranged. Everything was clean and tidy. The wooden floor was polished to such a sheen that she could almost see her reflection. It was fully staffed; all of the servants were gathered in the entry hallway to greet the new lord and lady of the manor, even if they weren’t a true lord and lady.

  The butler stepped forward and bowed. “Major. Madam. I’m Spencer. The duke sent word that you would be taking up residence here. The servants shall gladly see to all your needs. A light repast has been prepared and will be served in the small dining room unless you would prefer it served elsewhere.”

  “The small dining room will suffice,” Stephen said. “Then I’d like baths prepared for my wife and myself.”

  “I shall see to it immediately.”

  “Very good.” Stephen turned to her. “Is that satisfactory for you?”

  “Yes, of course.” They seemed more awkward strangers now than ever and she realized the consummation of their marriage loomed over them both. “I’d like to settle John into the nursery.”

  One of the younger serving girls escorted them upstairs to the room that would serve as the nursery. It had everything that was needed: a small crib, a rocking chair, even a rocking horse. One area was prepared for the nurse, with a bed, dresser, and chair.

  “I see my brother has not lost his flair for attending to details.”

  She glanced over at Stephen, who was leaning against the wall, his arms folded over his chest. By his stance, she could see he was favoring his injured leg, and she realized the journey had been hard on it. “You think this room was prepared especially for our arrival?”

  “As he has no children of his own, I cannot believe otherwise.”

  “Perhaps he is simply anticipating their arrival.”

  “I think what he anticipated was that I’d accept his offer. He probably began planning this the moment you arrived at Grantwood.”