“Of course. Absolutely,” the duchess said. “We shall dine within the hour.”
“I’ll show you to your rooms,” Claire said. Once they were back in the entry hallway, she wrapped her arm affectionately around Stephen’s. “I’ve put you at the far end of the west wing. You shan’t be disturbed there.”
“I barely remember this place from my youth,” Stephen said, “but I recognize your influence now.”
“Westcliffe’s fault entirely, since he left me to wallow here while he gallivanted around London.”
“Which was my fault.” Stephen stopped, held her arms so she faced him directly, and he could study her eyes. “But you’re happy now, Claire, aren’t you?”
“Frightfully happy. It means the world to Westcliffe that you’re here. He always felt as though the family abandoned this place when your mother married Ainsley.”
“I daresay we did.”
Claire looked around Stephen to Mercy. “It is no secret that the duchess did not fancy her first husband. He was not a kind man.”
“She’s happy now though,” Mercy said.
“Remarkably so. Leo is good for her. Tomorrow he plans to begin a portrait of Lynnford and his family. They’re going to stay here until he’s finished it.” She moved until she stood between Mercy and Stephen. “We must have him do a portrait of your family.”
“I would like that very much,” Mercy said.
Claire led them down a long, broad hallway. A portrait gallery. Mercy slowed to study one portrait after another. “These are your ancestors,” she said quietly.
“Yes, I suppose they are. I’ve never seen portraits of them. Never really cared, quite honestly.”
“They’re all so dark.”
“I can see Westcliffe in them,” Claire said. “It’s uncanny really.”
“I must have taken from Mother’s side of the family,” Stephen said. “Never gave it much thought.”
Although Mercy wasn’t as sure. Even the duchess had dark hair and brown eyes.
Leaving the portraits behind, they ascended a wide sweep of stairs. At the end of the hallway, Claire escorted them into their suite of chambers. “We’ve assigned servants to see to your needs, so don’t hesitate to ring for them.” Leaning up, she kissed Stephen briefly on the cheek. “I’m so grateful you’re here.”
With that, she slipped out, closing the door behind her.
“You two are very close,” Mercy said.
“We grew up together; I was always tugging on her braids,” Stephen said as he walked over to the window and glanced out. “You’ve no cause to be jealous.”
“I’m not.” Strangely, she realized she wasn’t. “It’s obvious she adores Westcliffe and looks upon you as a brother. I’m going to take John to Jeanette.”
Merely nodding, he continued to gaze out. When she returned, he was still standing at the window. She crossed over to him and laid a hand on his back. “Are you all right?”
“Lynnford said something rather odd. Said my father would be proud of my accomplishments. Then he added, ‘I could not be more proud if you were my own son.’ ” Stephen shook his head. “I don’t remember my father. Couldn’t tell you if his portrait is in that gallery. I barely remember Ainsley’s father. But Lynnford … he’s been harping on me for as long as I can remember.”
“Your mother was a young widow—twice.”
A corner of his mouth curved up. “Very young. I didn’t make things easy for her.”
She eased around him, nestled against him until he was forced to turn from the window and place his arms around her. “That’s all in the past.” Easing up she nipped his chin, which caused him to give her his first genuine smile since they arrived. “We’re going to have a jolly lovely Christmas here.”
Dipping his head, he began to ravish her neck. “Perhaps we’ll be late to dinner.”
“It would be rude.”
“My family’s known me to be rude before.”
He nibbled on the sensitive spot below her ear. He could control her so easily.
“Not too late,” she murmured.
“Not too late.”
Laughing with triumph, he lifted her into his arms and carried her to the bed.
Drawing her cloak more closely around her, Tessa stepped out onto the terrace. “Lynnford, whatever are you doing out here? It’s freezing.”
He didn’t speak, just continued to stare at the winter gardens. Even in December, Claire managed to see that they retained some beauty.
Tessa stepped nearer to the earl. She had been a young girl when she’d fallen in love with Lynnford. He’d brought joy into an otherwise miserable life. “I’ve never liked this estate, but I come here because it’s important to Westcliffe. It’s his inheritance. Claire has somehow managed to erase the coldness of it.”
“My memories are a bit fonder. It was here that I met you. I’d come for a fox hunting weekend with my father. He and your husband were friends.”
“That was so long ago.”
“I was a fool, Tess. How could I have not seen the resemblance all those years? Stephen favors me a great deal.”
“You had no reason to look closely. What do you think of … our grandson? He’s remarkable, isn’t he?”
“I can hardly fathom it. It took everything within me not to ask to hold him.”
“You should have. No one would have thought anything of it.”
He shook his head. “Will you ever tell him?”
“Stephen?”
He nodded.
“I don’t know. I don’t know what good would come of it. And there is your family to think of.”
He nodded again, and finally his gaze came to land on her. She remembered a time when she had lived for the moments when he would look at her.
“Your young painter is in love with you,” Lynnford said softly.
“Yes, I know. But it is not a love that will last. He will meet someone younger, prettier, and I will be relegated to pleasant memories.”
“I would not be so sure if I were you. When a young man falls in love with you, it is very difficult for him to fall out of love with you.”
“It has been many years since you’ve spoken to me of love.”
“I do not do so now, Tessa. I speak to you only of young men, of which I am no longer one.”
“Oh, yes, you are so terribly old.”
“A grandfather. Christ.”
“Do you want Stephen to know?”
“I don’t know. I have not yet wrapped my head around all the implications. I have no desire to cause hurt to my family, especially to Angela.”
“Then our secret it shall remain.”
“Is that fair to you?”
“My dear Lynnford, I have long had the strength to weather unfairness. We shall be dining soon. Don’t stay out too long.”
She stepped into the house and came up short at the sight of Leo lounging against the wall. “How long have you been standing there?” she demanded.
“Long enough to know he still doesn’t put you first.”
“Don’t start, Leo.”
Reaching out, he took her hand and tugged her into his embrace. “Let’s forego dinner. My appetite leans more toward carnal delicacies.”
“I shall satisfy that appetite after dinner.”
“Then I shall dine quickly.”
She laughed as he led her from the room. She wasn’t certain how she would survive when he did grow bored with her. But surely, he would.
Stephen and Mercy were indeed late to dinner, but as he’d anticipated, it hardly mattered. It was an extremely informal affair. Several conversations were going on at once, and no one was being particularly quiet or discreet. It was as though they were all caught up in the festivities and thought their voices should compete with the church bells that would be ringing on the morrow.
Stephen became acutely aware of Mercy growing anxious as she sat beside him, hardly touching the food on her plate. As for himself, he was downing the wi
ne as though it were the main course. He didn’t know why he was feeling tense. He usually enjoyed the camaraderie and was as loud as the rest of them. Leaning over, he asked Mercy, “Are you all right?”
She nodded, but he could see in her eyes that she wasn’t. When had he come to read her so well? In the Crimea? Was there a part of him that while he didn’t remember her, still knew her?
Or was it simply the closeness that had developed over the past few weeks?
He knew the nights when bad dreams stirred within her, and he calmed them by holding her near and whispering reassurances in her ear before she ever awakened. He knew how much she ate when she was happy, and how little when she was distracted with worries.
He suddenly felt as though he had nothing in common with these people. He didn’t know the people about whom they spoke. Emily would have her first Season come summer and she was rattling off the names of the girls who would be joining her on the marriage market. He’d never heard of any of them. Or if he had, he didn’t remember them. When the deuce had the girl grown up?
He’d not seen Lynnford’s family since his return, and he’d been so distracted watching for Mercy’s reaction upon their arrival that he’d paid little attention to the other guests. But now he could see that they were all considerably older. Two years, he supposed. What a difference it could make. Once again he was hit with all he’d somehow lost.
But then he glanced over at Mercy and realized all that he’d gained. He’d known her such a short while, but he couldn’t envision his life without her smiles and laughter. Without her conversations.
Still, he was grateful that the meal was fairly brief. The ladies went off to finish preparing the boxes of clothing they would deliver to the poor the day after Christmas. Stephen found himself joining the men in the billiards room for a spot of brandy. He didn’t know why he was surprised that Lynnford’s sons joined them. Two years. The boys were men now.
“I’m thinking of joining a regiment,” Charles suddenly blurted, his gaze falling on Stephen as though he were seeking praise or perhaps confirmation that it was a wise move.
Standing by the fireplace, his arm on the mantel, Stephen didn’t glance around the room, but he could feel other eyes come to bear on him—Lynnford’s especially. As well as Ainsley’s. “You might want to wait until this bit in the Crimea is over,” he finally said quietly.
“Austria has stepped in to help negotiate a peace,” Mallard said. “They expect it to all be resolved by spring.”
“There will no doubt be another battle to be fought somewhere,” Lynnford said laconically to his son.
“You’re not in favor of his joining up?” Ainsley asked Lynnford.
“I think his mother needs him near right now.”
Charles sat back with a grumble, and Stephen nearly laughed. It seemed he wasn’t the only one who took issue with Lynnford’s controlling ways. He swirled the brandy in his snifter, wondering if he would ever again feel as though he belonged with these people. He had a strong urge to find Mercy. It seemed as though it had been hours since dinner, since he’d had her at his side, but when he glanced at the clock, he saw that it had not been even half an hour.
Ainsley ambled over. “Would you care to join me in a game of billiards?”
“I need to speak with you about Roseglenn.”
He seemed taken aback. “Did you find something amiss?”
“No. Which is my point. You didn’t neglect it.”
“I believe I said I hardly have time for it. Only you would complain because it is in working order.”
“I want to feel useful, Ainsley.”
“You are. It takes a weight off my shoulders to know it is in your hands.”
Stephen scoffed. “It practically manages itself.”
“Then spend the time you’re not looking after it with your wife.”
Speaking of his wife—the ladies chose that moment to rejoin them. Mercy appeared more relaxed. No doubt doing something that would help others had appealed to her giving nature. Stephen downed his brandy, set the snifter aside, and walked over to his wife, taking her hand, feeling a calmness settle over him as her fingers intertwined with his.
“You enjoyed your visit with the ladies.”
She smiled up at him. “I did. I like Claire a good deal.”
“She has always managed to charm.”
They soon found themselves in the grand salon, where Charlotte entertained them on the pianoforte. Stephen sat on the arm of a chair, his arm around Mercy’s shoulders. For the occasion she’d donned a dark green gown that brought out her best features, her eyes, her hair, the tilt of her nose. Even her freckles seemed to have emerged for the holidays, although he suspected she’d not be pleased to hear that. He had a strong urge to remove the pins and the pearl clasp that held the strands of her hair in place.
Then Charlotte began to sing Silent Night, and he saw the sorrow sweep over Mercy’s features. He tucked his finger beneath her chin and turned her toward him. Without words, with merely a nod of his head toward the doorway, he indicated they should quit the room. Quietly, she followed him out. He waited until they reached another gallery. The walls were home to paintings by the masters. No family portraits here. He wasn’t certain why, but he preferred this gallery.
“They predict the war will be over come spring,” he said quietly.
Her fingers flinched where they rested on his arm. “I indeed hope so.”
“Is it difficult for you to be here?”
She peered up at him. “I simply have little in common with these people.”
“I feel the same way—which is odd since I can’t remember what makes me so different.”
“I thought returning here might … cause you to remember.”
He led her over to the window. “There is the terrace where I had tea with Claire. I remember the taste of the tea: Earl Grey. I remember the fragrance of the fall blooms.” It was visible because torches lined the garden path, as though someone might wish to stroll about in the brisk night air. “She was already married to Westcliffe. She’d had a … mishap. We thought she was going to die. He thought she wanted me, but she loved him. I remember telling her that I would be leaving England. But I don’t remember leaving here. I still find it all remarkably strange, that my mind refuses to cooperate. I was quite shocked to see that Lynnford’s brood had aged. His daughter will have a Season come spring. Did you have a Season?”
“No, my father is not so well off as that.”
“Do you miss him?”
A sadness touched her eyes. She moved in closer to him. “I don’t think about it. Just as I try not to think about those who are in the Crimea. Do you truly believe there will be peace soon?”
“I hope so.”
“As do I.”
Chapter 16
Mercy awoke from an uneasy sleep. As much as she was glad to be visiting with Stephen’s family, appreciated how they welcomed her, she missed Roseglenn. She’d begun to think of it as her residence, her home.
Although her back was to Stephen’s chest, and her bottom was nestled in the curve of his hips, she knew he was awake because he was feathering his fingers lightly over her arm—as though he thought that faint action wouldn’t disturb her. She loved waking up to find herself cradled by his body.
“Mmm,” she murmured. “What time will they be expecting us?”
“Mother said something about opening gifts after breakfast, but I thought”—he slid an oblong package wrapped in white up her pillow in front of her nose—“before we eat.”
Releasing a small squeal, she snatched it and sat up. Leaning down, she kissed him.
“You don’t know what it is yet. It might not be worthy of a kiss.”
“Doesn’t matter. You’re worthy of a kiss.” She gave him another one, this time lingering, as his hand slid up her calf, up her thigh. Then he was pulling her beneath him. “No, wait!” She laughed. “I want to see what it is.”
Scooting back, she lea
ned against the pillow and slowly removed the paper, savoring the moment. Looking past the gift, she saw Stephen raised on an elbow, smiling as she’d never seen him, a warmth in his eyes. Joyous. She didn’t know if she’d ever seen him look quite so relaxed and happy. At that moment, she didn’t know if she’d ever been happier.
The paper fell away to reveal a finely grained leather box. Cautiously she opened it to reveal a strand of pearls. “Oh, my goodness. They’re beautiful. You shouldn’t have. They must have cost a fortune.”
Chuckling low, he slipped his hand beneath the pearls and removed them from the box. “Lean forward, so I can put them on you.”
Twisting around, she lifted her hair, wishing it was once again to her waist, for him. She would never cut it again. She heard the clasp snick into place and quickly scooted off the bed.
“Hold on there, where are you going?” he demanded.
“I want to see.” She rushed around the bed to the vanity and peered into the mirror. Enough light was coming around the edges of the draperies that she could see. She touched the pearls gently. “They’re perfect.”
“Not quite.”
She jerked around. He was lying against the pillows, his hands tucked behind his head, satisfaction in every line of his lithe body. Even with the scars he was magnificent.
“What is lacking?” she asked.
“More skin.” He nodded toward her. “Remove your nightdress.”
“You’re insatiable.” They’d made love before they went to sleep last night.
“Where you’re concerned, yes.”
She eased the nightdress off her shoulders, felt it slithering down her body as she began walking toward the bed. She stepped out of it in a fluid motion as it hit the floor, saw the heat immediately fill his eyes, and his body’s swift reaction which only served to warm her further.
“Come here,” he ordered, holding out his hand. “I want to make love to you wearing nothing but the pearls.”
“You want to wear the pearls?”
“You vixen,” he snarled, grabbing her, and pulling her onto the bed.
Because it took Mercy longer to get ready for the day than it did Stephen, he’d left her and gone on to breakfast. When she was finally ready, in an emerald green gown for the holidays, she slipped down the stairs quietly. It had taken her so long, she wondered if he was in the parlor. He’d told her that he’d meet her there if he finished with breakfast before she joined him.
Pleasures of a Notorious Gentleman Page 21