For the Love of the Baron (The Noble Hearts Series Book 3)

by Callie Hutton

  Instead, he ignored the warning voice in his head and leaned forward, wrapped his hand around Marigold’s neck and pulled her forward until their lips joined.

  A mistake. A very large mistake.

  He wouldn’t say bells went off, but his lower body parts certainly sang a sonata. Apparently, Marigold felt something too, because she all but crawled up his body as the kiss grew longer. She grasped his head and return his fervor.

  Their lips met, withdrew. They moved their heads into different positions and resumed kissing. He nudged her lips with his tongue and she opened to him. Heaven. Her mouth was sweet, warm, and moist. He played with her tongue, and she entangled hers with his. Someone moaned, possibly both of them.

  They had just gotten to the point where he’d shoved her pelisse from her shoulders and had unfastened the back of her gown when the carriage came to a halt. They both pulled back, horror growing in Marigold’s eyes. “Oh, my.”

  “Indeed.” Jonathan ran his fingers through his hair and backed up. Circling his finger in the air, he said, “Turn, and I will fasten your gown.”

  Not being a young, foolish, swooning miss, she did not ask how it had become unfastened. She had been an active participant, and had the carriage not arrived at her home when it had, he was afraid she would not have entered her home in the same virtuous state in which she’d left.

  Taking a deep breath to calm the riotous lust racing through him, he helped her down and said, “I shall walk you round to the back.”

  “That is not necessary. I will be fine.” Before he could respond, she pulled her pelisse tight against her body and hurried away. He watched until she’d made it to the door and then climbed back into his carriage.

  It had been quite a night.

  The following evening, Jonathan entered the Hayward ballroom where the event of the evening was taking place. He’d passed on an invitation to join several other bachelors on a trip to The Rose Room, the latest gambling hell to draw huge crowds each night. Owned by two brothers—although rumor had it a high-ranking peer was the financial backer—it had risen from a small, unknown club to the ‘place to be’ for gentlemen.

  As expected, the minute his foot hit the floor in the ballroom, his eyes found Marigold. He no longer thought of her with the ‘lady’ title. Certainly not after what they’d shared in the morgue, and then in the carriage on the way to her house.

  What he felt for her and where it might lead was something he did not wish to ponder. He still held out for a shy, biddable miss for a wife, quite unlike the outspoken, barely proper Marigold. However, with her being a gently reared daughter of an earl, an affair was out of the question.

  He broke into a smile and headed directly for her when she looked from where she was having a conversation with some young pup and smiled at him. There was a definite invitation in that look.

  “Good evening, Lady Marigold. May I say, you are looking quite lovely tonight.” He bowed over her hand, glancing briefly at the card swinging from her wrist.

  He turned to Lady Crampton, the only other woman in the group, and offered his greeting. Several men crowding around gave him surly looks. Looking back at Marigold, he said, “May I request a dance, my lady?”

  ***

  Marigold preferred to not have Jonathan know she had saved the supper waltz for him, but once she extended her card, his eyes lit up, and he quickly scribbled his name. She hated how her face heated up at his touch, and hoped none of the gentlemen surrounding her, and especially Lady Crampton had not witnessed her fluster.

  Instead of marching off, which is what she’d fully expected him to do, Jonathan—after their adventure to the morgue she could never again think of him as Lord Anything—continued to stay with the group. However, he only spoke to her or Lady Crampton. His dismissal of the other men was comical.

  “My lady, I believe this is my dance.” Lord Quimby bowed to her and extended his hand.

  “If you will excuse me.” She smiled at the men in the group and took Quimby’s hand. He properly placed her hand on his forearm. No tingles in her center. No fluttering in her stomach. Although that hadn’t surprised her since she had never felt the same thing with other gentlemen as she had with Jonathan. Even the men who had courted her and made her an offer of marriage.

  That was disturbing and exciting at the same time. She didn’t mind being attracted to Jonathan, but she certainly didn’t want to end up married to him. Although she’d learned his stiffness could soften at times, a lifetime with a man who still disapproved of her would be trying.

  Perhaps an affair? Just the thought of it, as Lord Quimby clasped hands with her and swung her in a circle in time to the music, brought very strong flutters and tingles to her insides. Soon she would no longer be considered suitable for marriage, anyway, so why not have an affair? She had read enough on anatomy to know there were ways to prevent becoming with child. Did she have enough nerve to act on her attraction?

  The thoughts of her and Jonathan continuing with what they’d started in the carriage, and how far it would go, kept her entertained the entire time she danced several sets with other gentlemen.

  Finally, the man that had held her thoughts prisoner all evening approached her for their waltz. The look in his eyes as he placed his hand on her lower back and took her other hand in his, heated her so, she felt the need to whip out her fan and blow some cool air her way.

  “Are you enjoying the ball, my dear?”

  “Yes.” Oh, for goodness sake, was that her voice? She sounded like one of those squeaky, squealing, giggling young misses. She cleared her throat. “Are you enjoying yourself, my lord?”

  “I am now.” He turned them in a circle, his skill on the dance floor remarkable. “Can we be finished with the ‘my lady’ and ‘my lord?’ It seems to me after all we’ve shared we can use our Christian names.”

  She nodded. “Yes, I find that acceptable. Do you prefer Stanley or Jonathan?”

  He bent low and practically whispered. “I’d love to hear Jonathan on your lips. Especially…” He stopped and grinned, his brown eyes smoldering. Had he not been holding her so securely, she would surely have mis-stepped and sent them both tumbling to the floor.

  Despite what he did to her body with his voice and eyes, she had to keep reminding herself that she really didn’t like the man. He was condescending, disapproving, and arrogant.

  There. That should keep her body in control.

  “Have you recovered from our adventure?”

  Marigold shivered. “Yes. I must admit the one trip to the morgue was enough to satisfy my curiosity and allow me to move on with the study of anatomy without yearning to see another dead body.”

  “I think it is time for us to seriously discuss the situation. I think the viewing of St. Clair’s body has convinced us he was murdered. I am also certain, especially now that we have ruled out an accidental death, that the journal is somehow connected.”

  “Yes. I believe I do have to agree with you on that. Had the man’s death actually been accidental, then I wouldn’t necessarily agree, but the journal turning up missing right after St. Clair is murdered definitely looks suspicious.”

  “We must find a place to be together to gather facts and devise a plan where we will not be overhead.”

  She mentally drew a check mark in Jonathan’s favor for not dismissing her from the investigation. Maybe he wasn’t so very condescending, arrogant, and disapproving as she had thought.

  “You do understand we are solving a murder, as well as finding the journal?” Jonathan said.

  “Yes.” She raised her chin in the air. “And what do I get out of this, Jonathan? You get your journal back, but what do I get for my trouble?”

  He grinned long enough to make her squirm. Whatever was going on in his devious mind?

  “All right. When—and I will not say if—we retrieve the journal, I will allow you to look at it.”

  “Just look at it? Pshaw, that’s no big reward. I want to be able to ke
ep it for a while.”

  “Keep it?” His eyes almost bugged out of his head.

  “Yes. I believe once this is over you will concede that we both own the journal.”

  He snorted “That I paid for.”

  “I will reimburse you half.” She narrowed her eyes. “Since you were unable to hold onto it for even a whole day, I think I should be the primary owner, and you can borrow it from me.”

  Jonathan swept them right out the French doors, down the steps and into the dark garden.

  Chapter Eight

  Once they were in the garden, Jonathan wrapped his arm around Marigold’s waist and hustled her to the nearest bench. When she was seated, he placed both hands on the bench alongside her hips and leaned in close. “What was it you just said to me, Lady Marigold?”

  “I merely pointed out that your record for keeping the journal safe is not remarkable.” She fussed with her skirts, not looking him in the eyes. “I think I should be the one to keep the journal and you can borrow it whenever you wish.” She looked up at him, defiance in every feature, her lips so close he was almost distracted.

  He truly did not know whether to laugh or throttle her. Since he was a gentleman, he elected to kiss her instead. In one quick motion, he swooped in, and pulled her to him, crushing her body to his, his mouth plundering hers. Ah, the sweetness he remembered. How could such a sweet mouth spew such nonsense?

  She didn’t even fight him, but again became a very enthusiastic participant. Just as he’d suspected from the very beginning, there was a lot of fire in this woman. And he wanted to be the one to unleash it. Preferably on a nice comfortable bed.

  The sound of voices not too far from where they stood—ravishing each other like their ship was sinking—brought him back to time and place. Unless he wanted to be saddled with Marigold for the rest of his life, he’d best get her back to the ballroom before they created a scandal that could only end in marriage.

  Not that the idea of marriage to her held as much distaste as it had at one time. The woman was certainly intelligent enough to give him a lifetime of lively debates. And her passion was very, very interesting, indeed. If only she didn’t flirt disaster as much as she did.

  Studying anatomy, insisting on accompanying him to the morgue, ordering magazines meant only for men. He wouldn’t be surprised to learn she smoked cigars and drank brandy in her bedchamber at night.

  But she did heat up his blood. He drew away from her kiss-swollen lips. Yes, she was a dangerous woman. “Someone is coming.”

  “Oh.” She patted her hair, that was never tidy, anyway, and smoothed her gown. “It is best if we return to the ballroom. It is time for supper.”

  “Yes.” He held out his arm and they walked the path to the French doors as if they had done no more than discuss the unusually pleasant weather.

  “We did not discuss our next move.” He spoke to her from the side of his mouth. “I shall collect you tomorrow around two o’clock for a ride in the park.”

  “Lady Crampton will have to accompany me.”

  He sighed, forgetting the annoyance of having a chaperone always breathing down their necks. As much as he liked Lady Crampton, he preferred Marigold all to himself. Which was precisely why she required a chaperone. “I will bring my phaeton. With it only seating two and it being an open carriage, there will be no need for a chaperone.”

  “I believe that will work.” Marigold caught Lady Crampton’s eye, who shook her head, letting Marigold know, he assumed, that she would not be joining them for supper, but would take her repast with one of her many friends. Once they arrived in the room where the food had been set out, Marigold took the seat Jonathan drew out for her.

  “I shall return with some fare for us. Is there anything you particularly dislike?”

  She scrunched her nose in the most adorable way. “Pickled herring.”

  “Hm. I don’t imagine that will be one of the offerings, but that is good to know.” He strolled off just as Lady Haskell took the seat next to Marigold. With Lord Haskell striding toward the table laden with numerous types of food, it appeared his opportunity to speak to Marigold by herself will have to wait for the next afternoon since their party of two just became a party of four.

  He set two plates full of small sandwiches and sweets before him and took the seat across from Marigold. Placing his serviette on his lap, he turned to Lady Haskell. “Good evening, Lady Haskell. You are doing well?”

  “Good evening to you as well, Lord Stanley. Yes, I am well.”

  Just then Lord Haskell joined the group, and the conversation continued, centered around events coming up, the latest play on Drury Lane, and the constant complaining about the weather. For a time, Marigold and Lady Haskell compared notes on fashion while Jonathan and Lord Haskell spoke of bills in parliament.

  Once the meal had been consumed, the guests began to wander back to the ballroom, or card room, depending on their preferences. “Would you care to return to the ball, my lady?”

  “Actually, I believe I am feeling fatigued. I will find Lady Crampton and make it an early night.”

  “Wait here, and I will find her for you, and request your carriage be brought around.” He set off to find Marigold’s chaperone, feeling quite cheerful at having spent time with Marigold, and taking it upon himself to make certain he was able to alert Lady Crampton that her charge wished to return home early.

  He found Lady Crampton just returning to the ballroom with several of the women she seemed to gather with at each event. “My lady, Lady Marigold has expressed a desire to return home.”

  “Oh, Selina, please don’t say you must leave just yet. We were about to invite you to make our fourth at whist.” One of Lady Crampton’s companions looked askance at her.

  “Lady Crampton, if I may.” Jonathan said. “I will be more than happy to escort Lady Marigold home.”

  “That is not appropriate. I need to see to her welfare.”

  He bowed in her direction, regretting not having the opportunity to spend more time with Marigold. Alone. “As you wish, my lady. I will ask for your carriage to be brought around. I believe Lady Marigold awaits you in the supper room.”

  “Such a nice young man.” One of her companions said as he walked off.

  Yes. A nice young man feeling thwarted at not having a young unmarried miss all to himself in a dark carriage. He sighed and continued to the entrance hall to request her carriage.

  ***

  Marigold double-checked her appearance in the looking glass behind her dressing table. The pale-yellow gown with small pink rosebuds embroidered around the neckline and hem brought out the gold in her hazel eyes. She pinched her cheeks and bit her lips, then laughed at herself. She was only going riding with Jonathan.

  As she fussed with her ever trying hair, she thought about the two kisses they’d shared. It had been next to impossible to get him out of her mind. His strong arms as he’d held her, the citrusy scent that always surrounded him, and most of all his warm lips and lovely kisses. She sighed. Having an affair was not far from her mind these days. She knew various ways to prevent pregnancy, as she was sure Jonathan did as well.

  She would probably never marry and have the need to explain her missing virginity to an outraged husband. She loved her sisters’ children and doted on them as a loving aunt should. That would fulfill her need for children. The only thing standing between her and Jonathan enjoying intimate relations was his status as a gentleman.

  All children of the aristocracy learned from the nursery a gentleman did not dally with a gently bred young lady. One dallied with opera dancers, willing widows, and courtesans as freely as one wished, but one married the well-bred ladies. There had been a few men who had crossed that line, and in addition to the young lady being disgraced, the men were not accepted as true gentlemen, and were, in some cases, actually shunned. Most men had sisters and did not like the idea that a man might do that to one of the ladies under their care and protection.

  Marr
iage to Jonathan might not be as terrible as it would with another man who would most likely disparage her intelligence and try to push her into a role as his wife that she did not want to play. Jonathan seemed to respect her acumen and had even sought her opinion on things. That was, indeed, a rarity among men, whose general opinion was women were weak, unintelligent, swooning bundles of fluff.

  A slight scratch on her door drew her attention from her meanderings to the young maid who stepped into the room. “Milady, Lord Stanley has arrived for your ride.”

  “Thank you, Jenny.” Marigold picked up her shawl, bonnet, and gloves and left the room. She quickly made her way down the stairs to where Jonathan waited for her.

  He looked remarkably well as he stood conversing with Macon. His hair had been slicked back, although a few strands were already staging a revolution and inched toward his broad forehead. A deep blue wool jacket outlined his shoulders and led one’s eyes to the snug-fitting buff pantaloons and knee-high hessian boots. His blue and white print waistcoat set his outfit off quite nicely.

  She grinned. Together they made a handsome couple.

  “Good afternoon, Lord Stanley, I believe? Pomeroy, here.” Papa popped out of nowhere—something he was apt to do—and extended his hand to Jonathan.

  “Yes, my lord. It is a pleasure to meet you.” Jonathan took his hand and they shook, both men eyeing each other.

  Marigold rolled her eyes as she pulled on her gloves. Hopefully Papa would not invite Jonathan into his library as he’d done with her sisters’ beaux when they’d first met. The thought panicked her that Papa might think Jonathan was a beau, since she rarely, if ever, took rides in the park with gentlemen. She had begun begging off on such trips once she realized all the men who had shown her interest would never suit with their narrow-mindedness.

  Before he could drag Jonathan away, Marigold stepped up and took his arm. “Let us be on our way.”

  “Is Lady Crampton accompanying you?” Papa regarded them over the top of his spectacles.