Pleasures of a Notorious Gentleman

by Lorraine Heath

  “What the deuce?” Stephen stepped back and the merry cackle abruptly subsided. “You can laugh. For some reason, I’d not expected that. What did you think was so funny? Certainly not me.”

  He leaned toward the reflection and the boy chortled again. Stephen couldn’t help himself. He laughed right alongside his son.

  When he retreated, silence again swept in. He swayed toward the mirror … a series of guffaws that once again had him joining in. Stepping back, he tossed his son up and peals of delight echoed around him. He’d never given much notice to children, but damned if they couldn’t be jolly good fun.

  Or at least his son was.

  He turned back toward the mirror and that was when he saw they had an audience. Mercy was captured in the reflection, her smile so bright as to compete with the sun.

  He spun around. “Did you hear him?”

  Laughing lightly, she nodded. “I did indeed.”

  “My son is going to be quite the ladies’ man, I have no doubt.”

  With a small gasp, she pressed her hand to her lips as tears filled her eyes.

  Holding the child close, he stepped toward her. “Mercy, what the devil is wrong?”

  “You’ve never called him that before. Your son.” Lifting up on her toes, she pressed a hard kiss to his cheek as she wrapped her arms around them both. “It makes it all worth it. Every moment of doubt and despair.”

  He wound his arm around her and pulled her in even closer. Bending his head, he whispered, “Thank you, Mercy. Thank you for the gift of my son.”

  She wept even harder, and John, not to be outdone, joined in. When Jeanette finally arrived with effusive apologies for slipping away for a solitary morning cup of tea, Stephen was more than relieved to turn John over to her and carry Mercy back to bed, where he could thank her properly.

  Chapter 15

  Sheep. Smelly creatures,” Stephen muttered.

  “My nose is so cold that I can’t smell anything,” Mercy said with a laugh.

  Reaching over, Stephen squeezed her gloved hand where it rested on the pommel. “Forgive me. I shouldn’t have brought you out in this weather.”

  “Nonsense. I wanted to see the estate.”

  The weather was bracing, not ideal for riding, but when Stephen had suggested an outing, she’d not been able to resist. She wanted to do everything with him, explore their new home.

  “I think it’ll be lovely come spring,” she added.

  Placing his hand behind her head, he held her steady while he leaned in and kissed her. “You’re lovely now.”

  She felt the warmth suffuse her face. His remarks, delivered with such ease, always made her heart flutter madly. She wished she could return them, could tell him that he was remarkably handsome, because he was, but the words, which when spoken to her brought such joy, somehow seemed silly when said to a man.

  Straightening, he looked out over the rolling land.

  “If you don’t like the sheep,” she began, “perhaps you can convince your brother to allow you to raise something else.”

  “The sheep belong to the tenants, who lease the land from him. Besides, it irks to ask my brother to allow me to do something.”

  She felt a spark of guilt. He’d been forced into this because of his marriage to her.

  “If you could do anything at all, what would it be?” she asked.

  Shifting in his saddle, calming his horse as it sidestepped, he glanced around, studying the land, and she could see that he was giving a good deal of thought to her words.

  “I would spend all day in bed with my wife—every day.”

  She laughed. “Is that all?”

  “And feed her strawberries.”

  She shook her head at his silliness. “That’s not very ambitious.”

  “It’s not, is it?” He gazed into the distance. “I gave my future so little thought. Until you came into it, I was content to take each day as it came. I made no plans. I was a gentleman, my brother gave me an allowance, and I was content. I can hardly fathom now that I settled for so little, so easily.”

  “You were a very young man.” He still was. “And then you joined a regiment and that was not so little or so easy.”

  “Yes, the military life. Of which I remember so very little.” He narrowed his eyes, clenched his jaw. “Horses, I think.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Horses. I’d like to raise horses.”

  “For racing?”

  “For the regiments.”

  “Why don’t you then?”

  Shifting his gaze over to her, he smiled. “You don’t see anything as impossible, do you?”

  “Not if you truly want it. How badly do you want it?”

  “I’m not sure I gave it much thought until recently. But smelling these sheep, I’ll want it more with each passing day. I’ll be selling my commission. That’ll bring in some funds. I have the salary the regiment paid me. I hardly spent any of it.” He shrugged. “It could be a start.”

  “I think you should give it a go.”

  She could see the wonder in his eyes. “I don’t know if I’ve ever had anyone have such faith in me before.”

  “How can I not? I know you. I know your courage and your determination. You have a strong heart. I regret that in losing your memories you lost sight of the remarkable man you are, but I have no doubt you can accomplish anything you set your mind to. Anything.”

  “You humble me, Mercy. Damn, but you do.” He pulled on the reins, turning his horse about. “Come along, let’s get home so I can warm you.”

  He warmed her in the bed, then he warmed her in the bathtub, the heated water lapping at her skin. She was nestled between his legs, her back to his chest, his hands gliding languorously over her.

  “Do you think we shall ever grow tired of each other?” she asked.

  “God, I hope not.”

  She felt pleasure that had nothing to do with physical sensations spiral through her. “I fear you will grow bored with me.”

  He trailed his finger along her neck, across her shoulder, down her arm. “I won’t.”

  His words were spoken with conviction today, but what of tomorrow? Would he speak them as assuredly tomorrow? Or next week? Or next month? He’d been kind to her in Scutari but taken another to his bed. Had he told that woman that he’d never grow bored with her?

  “What is the longest you’ve ever been faithful to a woman?” she asked.

  “Do you really want to talk about all my conquests?”

  She twisted around, the water splashing over the side of the tub. “Yes. Were there many?”

  “Too many to count.”

  “What was the longest—”

  He touched his finger to her lips. “I’ve told you. I was a cad. There was never one woman who held my attention to the exclusion of all others.”

  “You saw more than one woman at a time?”

  He shrugged. “I made certain they understood … I had no desire to be limited to one woman.”

  Her stomach dipped. She couldn’t bear the thought of him wandering. What sort of woman would want him desperately enough to take him on any terms? Oh, God, a woman such as she, who would lie to have him. “Then you must be frightfully bored with me already.”

  He tucked her damp hair behind her ear. “On the contrary, I’ve never been quite so … enthralled. Each moment with you is a discovery. And this is truly odd … something I can’t quite fathom.”

  His brow was deeply furrowed, his eyes so incredibly serious as almost to frighten her. “What? What is so odd?”

  “I enjoy talking with you, just being with you almost as much as I enjoy making love to you.”

  Releasing a light laugh, she buried her face against his neck.

  “You find it humorous?” he asked.

  “I find it remarkable.” She cradled his jaw, rubbed her finger over the abrasive stubble that he would no doubt shave before coming to bed for the night. It was darker than his hair, gave him a rugged, dangerous
air. “I want a marriage like Claire and Westcliffe have. You’ve given me hope that we might eventually achieve that.”

  “Claire and Westcliffe? You do not want a marriage such as theirs.”

  “But I do. When they look at each other—it is so obvious they adore each other.”

  “He married her for her dowry.”

  “And you married me because of your son.” She shook her head briskly. “You’re correct. I should not have taken the conversation down this path.”

  She settled back against him. He pressed his lips to the nape of her neck. “We’re to visit them at Christmas,” he said quietly. “Unless you’d rather stay here.”

  She would. She was content here, safe. She never wanted to leave. But they could not hide away forever.

  “We should be with your family. It’ll be nice to have a proper Christmas.”

  He folded his arms around her, hugged her tightly. “Ah, Mercy, forgive me. I forget. I suppose we were both in the Crimea last Christmas.”

  Nodding, she ran her hand along his thigh, feeling the scar beneath her palm, grateful that she could touch it now and it caused him no pain.

  “What was it like?” he asked quietly.

  “Cold, miserable. We were working in the hospital twelve to fifteen hours a day. I was so exhausted. It was late. I was changing a bandage when I realized it was Christmas, and I began to sing Silent Night. Then everyone in the ward was singing it. I could not hold back the tears.”

  “Was I gone by then?”

  “Yes, you’d returned to your regiment. I thought of you, though. Wished you well.” She scoffed. “As I recall, I think I wished us both home by the next Christmas. I suppose I should be a bit more careful in what I wish for.”

  “What would you like for this Christmas?”

  Twisting around, she straddled his hips. “One to remember.”

  “Knowing my family, that should not be difficult to grant you.”

  It was a two-day journey by carriage to Lyons Place. Stephen had planned the journey so they would arrive in the late afternoon of Christmas Eve.

  “So this was your father’s estate,” Mercy said, occasionally peering out the window, anxious for her first glimpse.

  “I barely remember it,” Stephen said. “I had occasion to visit two years ago. I had tea with Claire on the terrace there.”

  It was where his memories had stopped. Her stomach tightened. She wondered if returning would cause his memories to return. If he would look at something there and the intervening two years would flutter through his mind like the pages of a book riffled through in order to more quickly find a particular passage.

  He sat across from her and Jeanette. John was sleeping on the bench beside his father, Stephen’s hand resting on his back, holding him in place. How John slept was beyond Mercy, but sleep he did for a good bit of the journey.

  “I consider Ainsley’s estate more my home than this place,” he continued.

  “Do you remember your father at all?”

  “No.” He rubbed his jaw. “Seems to be a habit of mine, not to remember things.”

  The statement was innocent enough that Mercy knew Jeanette didn’t understand the message beneath the words. From time to time, he would ask her a question about the Crimea—he would just toss it out as though it was truly insignificant, but she knew he was hoping to spark some memory. While she continually stressed that what he didn’t remember didn’t matter, he still seemed to search for the memories that eluded him.

  “I suppose Ainsley will be here,” she said, to turn the topic from memories.

  “No doubt. Mother. Leo. Possibly Lynnford and his family. Ainsley sent a message that they’d returned from the South of France.”

  “I look forward to meeting him. He no doubt helped to shape you. Was he a good guardian?”

  “We seldom got along. I don’t think I could have disappointed him more if I were his own son.”

  “Surely, whatever disappointments he might have experienced are overshadowed by your heroics in the Crimea.”

  “I wasn’t a hero, Mercy.”

  “But you were.”

  He gave her a hard glare. “Were you on the battlefield?”

  “No, but I heard your name mentioned among many of the men we treated.” She issued a soft curse beneath her breath. “I keep vowing not to speak of war, and yet I do.”

  “It is hard to overlook it. However, regarding Lynnford, you’ll no doubt find him very charming. His entire family is very charming.”

  The carriage turned off the main road, and her stomach knotted. “We’re almost there, are we?”

  “Almost.”

  Leaning across, she squeezed his hand. “I’m glad we’re going to spend Christmas with your family.”

  “And what of yours?”

  She sat back. “It’s only Father, and he made his choice to be done with me.”

  “His loss.”

  She smiled. “I like to think so. Oh, look!” She pointed. “There it is. I didn’t expect it to look so … dark.”

  “Foreboding, no doubt.” He glanced out the window. “It suits Westcliffe’s temperament.”

  But inside could not have been more warm or welcoming. Candles were flickering amidst greenery. The spicy fragrance of the outdoors and the warm scent of cinnamon wafted on the air.

  “You’ve arrived at last!” Claire exclaimed as she swept into the room, leading the others into the entry hallway, and took Mercy in her arms. “It’s such a dreadfully long journey. I was beginning to despair that you’d met trouble on the way.”

  “Only a hungry lad who needs to be fed far too often,” Stephen said, but Mercy heard the pride in his voice, and it touched a special place in her heart.

  Westcliffe took his brother’s hand and clapped him on the shoulder. “I don’t think you’ve been here for Christmas since you were a lad.”

  “It wasn’t Mother’s favorite place, as I recall,” Stephen said.

  “But that has changed,” the duchess said, taking John from Jeanette. “Oh, look at you, my darling boy,” she crooned. “You have grown, haven’t you? Leo, don’t you think he’s doubled in size?”

  “Not quite, my love,” he said, his voice warm with affection.

  “Lynnford, come meet my newest grandson.” She turned to a tall, blond man.

  Mercy couldn’t help but stare as he bent over the blond-haired child. Lynnford was Stephen’s guardian, but surely he was related in some manner as well. Although no one had mentioned a relationship, she could see an uncanny resemblance between him and Stephen. Surely, it was that side of the family that Stephen had inherited his light features from when everyone else was so incredibly dark.

  “He’s quite the charmer,” Lynnford said, an odd expression on his face as though he were holding back his true emotions. He looked up at Stephen, and Mercy realized his eyes were a remarkable blue. “Takes after his father in that regard. It’s good to have you home, lad.”

  “Thank you, m’lord.” Stephen’s tone contained a stiltedness, and she remembered that he’d mentioned the difficulty he’d had in pleasing Lynnford. “Allow me the honor of introducing you to my wife, Mercy.”

  Lynnford bowed, then as though deciding it was not enough, he moved forward, took her hand, and placed a kiss against her knuckles. “Mercy, it is an honor to make your acquaintance. I never thought to see this one settled.”

  “I consider myself most fortunate. He was quite remarkable in the Crimea.”

  “So I’ve heard.”

  “Come,” the duchess said. “You must meet Lynnford’s family. They’re waiting in the parlor.”

  The duchess grabbed her arm and was steering her toward another room before she had a chance to object. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw Lynnford approach Stephen, say something to him. Based on Stephen’s expression, she could only deduce that he was very touched by the words.

  In the parlor, a tree sat on a table. Lit candles adorned the branches. Small gifts reste
d at the base of the tree. Garland was draped over the mantel. This Christmas was going to be celebrated a bit differently from what Mercy was accustomed to. She’d seen an etching in the Illustrated London News showing the royal family with their Christmas tree. She’d assumed Stephen’s family would embrace the new tradition. Thank goodness she and Stephen brought presents to put under it.

  Two young men who very much favored Lynnford approached. The duchess introduced them as Lynnford’s eldest son, Viscount Mallard, and his other son, Charles. Mercy then met his daughters: Emily, Joan, and Charlotte. The girls favored their mother, Lady Lynnford. She was a small woman with brown hair. Mercy recognized right away by the pallor of her skin that she was not well.

  “A malignancy of the bone,” the duchess said quietly, before Mercy could ask, as though she recognized that Mercy’s training would alert her to the woman’s health. “I shall miss her. She is a dear, dear friend.”

  Mercy squeezed her hand. “I’m so very sorry.”

  “My dear girl, it is life. We must not let it dim the festivities. Angela would never forgive us.”

  “May I hold your son?” the countess asked.

  “Of course.” Mercy bent down and placed John in the woman’s arms. He stared up at her with his large, blinking eyes.

  “Oh, what a lovely lad. I can see the family resemblance. He looks so much like his father.”

  “Yes, he does, doesn’t he?” the duchess asked.

  “Tessa, you must be beside yourself with two grandsons already.”

  “They are an absolute joy.” John began to fuss. “And when they cry, they can go back to their mother or the nursemaid.”

  “I would so like to have grandchildren,” the countess lamented.

  “You will, darling,” the duchess said.

  John released a wail that startled the countess and had Mercy reaching for him, taking him, and quieting him in one smooth movement. “I think he’s simply hungry after the long journey.”

  Mercy felt a familiar hand come to rest on the small of her back. “If you’ll excuse us,” Stephen said, “we’re going to retire to our chambers and freshen up before dinner.”