Tempting the Marquess (The London Lords Book 3)

by Nicola Davidson

  “Not as bad as we were initially led to believe,” said Mrs. Kingsley, glancing sideways and nodding approvingly. “The bullets missed his heart and lungs, and his shoulder will suffer no permanent damage save a few scars.”

  “Thank God,” said Alexander. “Based on what my brother saw and the initial report we received from Whitehall, we held little hope Standish would survive, let alone recover enough to come home within a few weeks of the event.”

  “It was a distressing time for us all, your grace,” she replied briskly, but her hands were twisting and untwisting themselves in the folds of her apron as they made their way along the painting-lined hallway to the master bedchamber. “However, I don’t think his lordship wishes to dwell on France. In fact, I believe he has, ah, other matters on his mind.”

  Samantha frowned. For a strong and forthright woman, Mrs. Kingsley looked very nervous. “What kind of matters? Is something wrong?”

  “Your grace, Lady Samantha, I must apologize in advance for what I’ve done. His lordship does not know I sent you a note. Actually, his specific orders were that he didn’t want to see either of you. At all. I believe he has heard rumors—”

  “Excuse me?” said Alexander incredulously as Samantha’s jaw dropped in shock. What on earth was the housekeeper talking about?

  Mrs. Kingsley lifted her chin. “It is not for me to comment on gossip, your grace. But it is my firm belief that wounds must not be allowed to fester. If there is a confession to be made or a misunderstanding to be cleared up, it should be done sooner rather than later.”

  “For a plain-speaking woman, you are certainly spouting a great many riddles,” snapped Alexander is his coldest ducal voice.

  “Again, I ask your grace’s forgiveness,” Mrs. Kingsley replied stiffly, knocking perfunctorily on the door of the master bedchamber.

  At the muffled sound of William’s voice saying “come in”, Samantha nearly swooned. He had truly returned. Yet before she had time to compose herself, Alexander stepped around the housekeeper and into William’s room, dragging her behind him in a tight, painful grip.

  “Alexander,” she muttered, annoyed. “I am not a cart.”

  Then a glorious sight filled her vision, and she forgot all about her arm.

  William. In his bed, alive and well.

  A whimper escaped, followed by a sob as pure joy surged through her body. Dare she believe he was real? The only way to find out was to touch him, hold him, and she leaped forward to hurl herself onto the large bed, desperate to burrow against him and never, ever move again.

  Until she saw his expression was one of complete disgust.

  Halting, her hands twisting together as Mrs. Kingsley’s cryptic words repeated over and over in her head, Samantha stared back at William. Had he found out about her knife-throwing in Hyde Park? Or worse, about the baby she carried and wanted nothing to do with her?

  “William?” she whispered shakily, terror twisting her stomach into knots.

  “Ah. If it isn’t the Duke of Southby and his pregnant mistress,” he answered frigidly, his handsome face expressionless but his fingers gripping his blankets as though resisting the urge to knock them both into next week. “Or have you done the decent thing and proposed, your grace? Either way you are cluttering my bedchamber, and knowing how busy the two of you are together, I can only urge you to leave. Now.”

  It almost made William want to laugh, the utter shock on their faces. And the way Samantha had flinched at his words as though he’d slapped her. What the hell had they expected, brazenly marching into his chamber holding hands? Warm congratulations on their news and an invitation to tea?

  “You still haven’t departed,” he snarled. “Do you need to be escorted out?”

  Samantha paled and groaned, dashing across the room and falling onto her knees in front of an empty chamber pot.

  Tsking rather sympathetically, Mrs. Kingsley, the latest addition to his list of betrayers, bustled into the room, soaked a cloth in the washstand and then leaned down to hold it to her forehead. “Dear, dear. ’Tis a terrible thing, the nausea, is it not?”

  “Mrs. Kingsley, if Lady Samantha is unwell, it is Southby’s problem. Not yours.”

  “I will assist whomever I—”

  Alexander folded his arms and glared. “What the hell is going on, William? Never thought I’d hear that sort of filth from you, but if you don’t apologize at once, I’ll put a bullet in your other shoulder so you have a matching pair.”

  Incredulous, William looked at his former best friend, his face remaining expressionless only by sheer force of will. Rage boiled again, the urge to leap out of bed and commit unspeakable violence overwhelming. “It would have been so much neater if I’d actually died in France, wouldn’t it? But I survived to come home to the pleasure of your news. So many people told me about the two of you, the secret visits at all hours of the day and night, but I didn’t believe them. It wasn’t until I...” William halted, even more furious at what he’d nearly blurted out. He hadn’t seen or heard anything at the Westleigh ball. Only David Underwood had.

  “Until you what?” Alexander replied icily.

  “Until...I saw you today. Holding hands, and witnessing your beloved’s newly delicate constitution. For once the gossip was true. I never thought two people could stoop so low, especially the man supposedly my oldest friend and the woman I...well, obviously I was utterly wrong about both of you.”

  “William—”

  “Let me finish, Southby. Just for fun, I’ll guess the reason that brought you together. Hmmm. Some relative left a fortune for Lady Samantha if she married no lower than a duke? Or perhaps you are dying of some terrible disease, and she selflessly offered herself as a loving companion for your few remaining days?”

  “William—”

  “Don’t say another word, your grace. The pair of you are revolting. So I say for the third time, get the hell out of my house and don’t ever return, or I will be the one doing the shooting.”

  Alexander blinked, his frigid rage easing. “I cannot believe my ears. You truly think Samantha and I...together...” he spluttered, then to compound his multitude of crimes, the bastard actually started to laugh. Indeed, Alexander Langley, the man who rarely even thawed enough to smile, was laughing.

  “What the hell is so amusing?” William bit out.

  “The thought of such a thing being true. No offence, William, or to you, Samantha,” Alexander said over his shoulder to where she was still huddled beside the chamber pot. “But I like my women...milder. Significantly sweeter of temperament. Less inclined to partake in acts of violence.”

  “Did I say go bathe in the Thames before, Alexander?” snapped Samantha, dabbing her mouth with the cool cloth as she slowly got to her feet. “I meant drown.”

  “See what I mean, William? But my main prerequisite for a wife is that they care for me rather than someone else. Hell, I’m famished. Mrs. Kingsley, do you think there might be something in the kitchens for a late lunch?”

  His housekeeper had the gall to curtsy and nod, and the two of them quickly departed, leaving him and Samantha alone in the chamber.

  William leaned back against his pillows, his mind whirling. Alexander had sounded so bloody sincere; even their spat had appeared more brother and sister than lovers. But he’d seen them, damn it, embracing in the garden. And the assassin had said. White had said. Claremont had said. Everyone bloody knew.

  Finally, he glanced over at Samantha. She glared defiantly back at him, her hands on her hips.

  “Well,” he said, just to break the silence, without a clue where to begin.

  “Well,” she replied, marching to his side of the bed until he could see the flashing fury in her brown eyes.

  “You’re angry?”

  “Do you have any idea what it’s been like here, waiting for news, hearing the worst thing possible, and not knowing if you were alive or dead? Then discovering I was going to have a baby sans husband? And finally, you calling me A
lexander’s mistress?”

  “So, you think to deny—” William began, his own anger returning in a rush. The widening of her eyes was his only warning before her hand connected sharply with his cheek, snapping his head back on the pillow and leaving it stinging.

  “How dare you be mad at me,” she cried.

  “What do you mean how dare I? It’s a perfectly reasonable way to feel in the circumstances.”

  “Reasonable? Reasonable! How could you possibly think I was intimate with another man—no, not just another man, but your best friend while you were away in France risking your life?”

  “Because you were seen in the garden at Forsyth House, Samantha. Embracing Alexander, telling him you were with child. And him saying he was so happy!”

  “Seen by who?” she demanded.

  “David Underwood! Although because of his...loyalty...to me, being an old family friend, he didn’t stay long. I don’t think he could stomach anymore of what he saw.”

  The rage drained from her expressive face, to be replaced by an aching sadness. Then she absently cupped and patted her belly, as though reassuring the child growing within.

  “He heard wrong,” she said quietly. “And if he had stayed a little longer, he would have heard Alexander putting himself forward to be godfather.”

  A boulder caught in his throat, making it hard to breathe. “The baby can’t be mine. We used a sponge.”

  “Yes. We did. But it seems they aren’t so reliable after all. They can move. Dislodge. Leave some, ah, seed behind when removed. If you recall, William, you filled me with a great deal that night. Repeatedly.”

  Christ.

  Could it be true? He was going to be a father?

  Fierce emotion poured through him, making his eyes sting and his limbs unsteady. Very, very tentatively, he reached out and rested a hand on her belly.

  “Mine?” he said roughly.

  “Of course it is yours,” she said in a dull, flat voice.

  His gut clenched. “But so many people said...is it true you visited Alexander at all times of the day and night?”

  “Yes. After Lord Robert returned and told us what happened, I collapsed. I wouldn’t leave my chamber and I couldn’t eat or sleep. The only notes I read were the ones from Alexander, when he would send news from Whitehall. Sometimes, I think I just needed to talk to someone who was as frantic with worry as me. No one else truly understood except Aunt Jane and Stephen, really. Then I started getting sick each morning, but thought I’d just picked up some horrid illness. Pregnancy didn’t even cross my mind until Aunt Jane came in one day when I was bent over a chamber pot and started asking questions.”

  “She knows?”

  “Yes. As does Caroline, so probably Stephen too. They have…expectations as to how this will finish.”

  Of course they would. Marriage, at once. And if they were a few months in the future when Samantha turned twenty-one, he would be sprinting to the archbishop for a special license so fast his boots would make sparks on the ground. But right now she was twenty, and English law said she had to have her father’s permission or the marriage would be invalid. In that Claremont was a traitor who wanted to kill him…

  William briefly closed his eyes, self-loathing almost paralyzing him. If he’d left Samantha alone, like an operative with any sense, exercised actual judgement and control…

  “Samantha, I’m sorry,” he began.

  She held up a hand. “Don’t bother, your face just told a thousand tales. And I understand perfectly. Why would a Hastings wed a Buchanan? I’m just like my mother, after all. The lowest of the low.”

  “That is not it at all—”

  “Besides,” she continued relentlessly, every word stabbing him like the dagger she’d thrown so accurately in Hyde Park, “it doesn’t matter. My being with child will barely rate on the list of family scandals. I’ll just go somewhere, pretend I am a widow. Maybe one day I’ll meet a man who wants to share his life with me and my baby, and we’ll marry.”

  “You will do no such thing!” he bit out, wincing as a jolt of agony raced from his shoulder to his toes, the wound beginning to throb in time with a shocking headache.

  But Samantha’s fresh, beautiful face aged and hardened before his eyes. “Farewell, William.”

  And she was gone.

  Chapter 17

  “Come on, darling, you need to eat something. Just a little bite of creamed potatoes?”

  Lips twitching at her aunt’s coaxing tone, Samantha picked up her fork and scooped up a mouthful of food. Truth be told, she did feel like a toddler in the nursery on a rainy day, trapped, irritable, and ready to have a sobbing tantrum at a moment’s notice.

  Two days had passed since William’s rejection of her and the baby. He hadn’t sent for her or even penned a note, and his deafening silence made life utterly grim. With her mother gone to a house party, and Papa called away to some serious business meeting, she had fallen on the invitation to dinner and an overnight stay from Aunt Jane like it was a lifeline for a drowning person. Which it might well be.

  With time and distance, some of the things she’d said to William made her cringe. Looking at the situation through his eyes, it would have been easy to come to the conclusions he had, even if they were completely incorrect. He cared. He must care to have been so angry at the supposed betrayal, but instead of digging her toes in and making him understand, she had lost her temper. As if she would ever marry anyone else with him alive and well.

  “I guess I’m not very hungry, Aunt Jane,” she replied, putting the fork back down when the rich scent of butter and cheese and cream threatened to turn her stomach inside out for about the five hundredth time.

  “Eat something, Sam,” said Stephen, from the head of the long, heavy oak table. “Otherwise Mama will start feeding you like she did when you were a baby. She might even have your spoon still tucked away somewhere. Now, how did the horse tune go, Mama?”

  “Mock all you like, my angel,” Aunt Jane said, grinning. “But you insisted on the pony song at every meal for the best part of a year when you were small.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I have no recollection of that.”

  Caroline sat forward in her chair. “I insist on hearing the pony song. I have a feeling it may come in very handy with Olivia and Serena in the future.”

  “No doubt,” said Aunt Jane. “As it’s firmly etched in my mind, allow me. My boys and Samantha kept fed because clip clop, clip clop, the happy little pony goes innnnnnnntooooo the stable.”

  Samantha laughed. “I must remember that. Just in case mine is a fussy eater.”

  An awkward silence settled over the table and she immediately regretted her foolish words. Naturally Aunt Jane, Caroline, and Stephen wanted to be reminded of an impending scandal more than anything in the world. What better topic for a family meal.

  She stared at them. Despite their teasing, despite their smiles and good cheer, the strain of her situation was evident in their eyes, and a wave of guilt hit. How awful for them to be stuck in the middle of her and William’s fight, loving both parties as they did.

  Stephen cleared his throat. “I have to call him out, Sam.”

  “No!” she shouted, horrified.

  “William’s behavior is nothing short of appalling. That is undisputed.”

  Caroline glared at her husband. “You were shot. Lord Standish has two bullet wounds right now. Your brother died. That isn’t more than enough pistols for one lifetime?”

  Stephen threw his fork down onto the table. “Damn it, what would you have me do? Sam won’t be able to hide her belly forever. God, to think I used to hold William up as the most honorable, least rakish man I knew. Never thought he would be the one to ruin a lady and leave her stranded. Especially not a member of our family, after everything we’ve done for him.”

  “That is quite enough,” snapped Aunt Jane. “You don’t know, there might be a perfectly good explanation.”

  “Oh please, Mama. Do not defen
d the indefensible. What he’s done makes him a bastard of the highest order, and you know it.”

  “Stephen!”

  “Stop it, all of you!” Samantha said near-hysterically, unable to bear the friction between three people who were so close. Especially when it was because of her. “I greatly appreciate your care and concern, but this is my situation to deal with. And I still have time to...to make plans should William’s decision be permanent.”

  “By God, it won’t be!” Stephen exploded. “He’ll do right by you if I have to drag him to the chapel myself!”

  “No! There will be no dragging. Or dueling. I don’t want to be married to someone who doesn’t at least care for me a little bit,” Samantha said, although even saying the words felt like a rusty dagger to the heart. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I am feeling quite tired. I think I’ll go to bed.”

  “Of course, poppet,” said Caroline anxiously, obviously equally eager to make peace. “How about a nice warm bath? It’s no trouble.”

  “Actually, I’d love that.”

  “I’ll have one sent up at once.”

  A short time later, Samantha sat ensconced in a copper tub so large she could nearly swim in the blissfully steaming water. Tilting her head back on the side, she let her limbs float as the bath worked its magic. It was uncanny, but things never seemed quite so bad during a long soak.

  Eventually, reluctantly, she took a bar of rose-infused soap, and leaned forward to lather her legs, then her arms and shoulders.

  Oh. Had her skin always been this sensitive?

  Glancing down at her taut nipples, she blushed guiltily but allowed the hard pink square to drift downward across her collarbone and the tops of her breasts. Soon that wasn’t nearly enough and she dragged the soap lower until it rubbed back and forth and around the rock-hard peaks.

  “Ooooh,” she moaned, as sensation shot straight to her quim, making it throb and ache. Did she dare go further?

  Most definitely. It wasn’t like she had an audience.