A Bachelor Still

by Rebecca Hagan Lee

  Twelve days of constant contact with the young woman he’d married. The young woman he needed to escape. The young woman who was driving him mad with her nearness and her touches and her courage and her vulnerability. Testing the very end of his limits. Making him forget his vow not to compromise her. Not to sully her reputation any further so that one day, she might choose her own husband, not have him chosen for her by her father or by her brother’s friend.

  But remembering his vow was becoming more difficult by the second.

  The teasing game he’d invented to help her become accustomed to sharing the master suite with him had become the most exquisite form of torture imaginable.

  Alex almost regretted teaching her how to play it. Almost.

  “Would you like to join me?” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. Alex groaned aloud. He was supposed to be getting away from her, not inviting her to go along. “Did your mother pack a riding habit for you?”

  Liana looked up at him. “No.”

  He seemed genuinely surprised. “Why not? She knew we were coming to the country.”

  “She couldn’t pack a riding habit for me because I don’t own one.”

  “I thought every young lady owned a habit.” He’d inadvertently embarrassed her—again. “There must be something you can wear until we can have a habit made up for you.”

  “I have no need for a riding habit because I don’t ride.”

  To a titled gentleman with a proud heritage of riding, her words were blasphemous. “At all?”

  “At all,” she confirmed.

  “I suppose that makes you my first,” he said.

  Liana leaned forward and began to worry with the top sheet, pleating it with her fingers. “First what?”

  “Young lady of noble birth who doesn’t ride.”

  “It’s nice to be first in something,” she retorted. “But I feel quite certain I’m not the only young lady of noble birth not to ride. If you think otherwise, your circle of young ladies must be small. Besides, I grew up in town.”

  “Colin grew up in town and he rides,” Alex pointed out.

  “Colin learned to ride at the Knightsguild School for Gentlemen.”

  “There are riding masters in London.”

  “Riding masters cost money,” Liana reminded him. “And keeping horses in town costs even more money.”

  “I see.” He pushed away from the door and stepped into the room.

  “Can you drive?”

  “No.”

  “How do you get around in the country?”

  “We don’t have a country house so we don’t generally remove to the country. When we do go to the country, it’s because we’ve been invited to someone else’s country house. I generally walk wherever I need to go.” She gave him a sweeter than sweet smile. “You might try it sometime.”

  Alex grinned. He liked her quick wit and her sassiness. “I might,” he agreed. “But I prefer riding and I have other things to do before I can do that.”

  “Such as?”

  “Shave.”

  “May I watch you?”

  “You always do.” Alex tested the temperature of the water in the basin, then dipped his shaving brush into it, shook off the excess water and began running the brush over the bar of scented shaving soap. Gazing at his reflection in the mirror, he lathered his face.

  “Mmm,” Liana sighed. “I love the way you smell.”

  “It’s the orange spice of the soap, but I’m gratified to hear it.” Naked from the waist up and with a length of toweling draped across his shoulder, Alex turned to look at her and felt his body respond. “The alternative might prove troublesome.”

  She smiled. “Other men wear orange spice soap, so it’s not the soap,” she told him. “It’s you.”

  He loved the way she smelled of oranges and vanilla, too. And the way she cuddled up against him or sprawled all over him as he slept. He loved the way she enjoyed watching him shave. And the way marriage to him seemed to have unbridled her tongue. Becoming his marchioness had given her the right to say what she thought, something no daughter of a penniless earl about to begin her third season could do. He loved her saucy wit and her not completely innocent flirtation. He loved the fact that she challenged him without fear. Loved knowing that she knew he could see through her chemise and had chosen not to cover up.

  She was tempting him. And he was keenly aware of it.

  Alex picked up his razor and strop and worked the blade against the leather in a practiced rhythm. He had gotten used to having Liana as an audience, but this morning her presence proved so distracting he nicked himself twice—once on the chin and once on the thin skin covering his Adam’s apple as he scraped the sharp blade of the razor across his whiskers.

  “Here,” his wife demanded, sliding off the bed and coming around to stand beside him. “Sit down.” She pushed the bedside chair close to him, patted the seat, and reached for the razor. “Let me do this.”

  Alex sank down on the chair, then slid down and leaned back as he relinquished his razor. “What about your wrist?”

  “My wrist had healed quite nicely, thank you.” She held it up. “See? No bandage.”

  He was stalling, delaying the inevitable. “Have you ever shaved a man before?”

  “No.” She took the razor from him and began carefully scraping it against his whiskers the way she’d watched him do it over the last few days. “And apparently neither have you.”

  “I’ve been shaving for quite a while now.”

  “You mean your valet has been shaving you,” she corrected.

  “I mean I have,” he retorted.

  She pinned him with a knowing look.

  “I do shave myself upon occasion,” he said.

  “You should stop,” she told him. “You’re very bad at it. Look at these cuts marring your handsome face.” She laid the razor aside, then dipped the end of the towel draped over his shoulder into the basin of hot water and dabbed against his chin and neck. “You’re bleeding.”

  “Have you gone weak at the knees at the sight of blood, my lady?” He managed a sarcastic laugh, then sucked air through his teeth as she pressed the towel against the cuts, blotting the blood away.

  “I’m a woman,” she informed him. “I’m accustomed to the sight of blood. I see it every month.” Realizing what she’d just said in the presence of a man—any man—including her husband, Liana blushed bright red, brought the towel to her face and covered her mouth.

  “It’s all right, sweetheart,” he soothed. “No need for embarrassment. You haven’t given away a big secret. I know women bleed every month.”

  “You do?” Liana laid the towel aside and picked up his razor.

  “Of course, I do. I’ve—” He broke off abruptly, realizing what he had narrowly avoided revealing.

  “You’ve what?”

  “I’ve been with women while they were bleeding.” He told the truth. He hadn’t had intimate relations with any of them while they were bleeding, but he had definitely allowed them to pleasure him.

  “Eeww.” She wrinkled her nose.

  “It wasn’t as bad as you might think,” he said, recalling the experience. “There are ways for a man and a woman to give and receive pleasure while the woman is inconvenienced.”

  Liana shuddered.

  Alex chuckled. “Well, everyone has their limits of what’s acceptable in the privacy of the bedchamber and what isn’t. I think we’ve just discovered one of yours.”

  “Suffice it to say, I don’t swoon at the sight of blood.” The prim tone was back in her voice.

  “I know,” he agreed. “You, my dear marchioness, only swoon at weddings. Usually your own.”

  “Careful,” she warned. “I’m holding your razor.”

  “You be careful,” he replied. “I’m partial to my throat. I’d like to keep it intact.”

  “In that case, you ought not to wield a sharp razor over it,” Liana retorted as she carefully maneuvered his r
azor over his chin, the line of his jaw, and his neck, mindful not to draw any more blood from him as she shaved the whiskers from his face. “Be still while I do the tricky part.”

  Alex leaned back against the chair, closed his eyes to block out the sight of her slim arms and the nearly naked underside of her rosy-tipped breasts. He inhaled, then exhaled, before clamping his jaw shut so Liana could scrape it clean.

  “That’s better,” she said as she finished shaving him. “You can breathe now.” Liana rinsed the razor in the basin before she began carefully wiping the specks of lather and droplets of blood off his chin and neck and earlobes. “I’m all done.”

  Opening his eyes, Alex discovered his bride gazing down at him. He rubbed his hands over his face, admiring the smoothness of it. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” She smiled at him. “I’m afraid you’ve ruined your neck linen once again,” she told him, adjusting the shaving mirror so he could see the drops of blood staining it.

  Gazing at the evidence in the mirror, Alex exhaled. He’d been so enthralled by the sight of his bride, he’d come close to cutting his own throat.

  Liana reached for his shirt and handed it to him. “If you’re going riding, you’ll need this.”

  Alex accepted the shirt. “I suppose I do.” He looked over at her. “What will you do while I’m away?”

  “Wait at the window and pine until you return.”

  He laughed. “I won’t be gone long.”

  “No need to rush home on my account,” she said. “Go. Enjoy your ride. I’ve letters to write.”

  “When I get back, we’ll have breakfast and do something together.”

  Liana looked up at him from beneath her eyelashes. “I’d like that.”

  Alex felt the impact of that look like a punch to the stomach as he pulled on his shirt and began fastening the buttons, leaving it open at the neck. “We’ll do whatever you want to do.”

  Liana walked up to him. “And if I decide I want to go into the village and shop?”

  “We’ll buy orange spice soap and have you fitted for a riding habit. And I’ll enjoy the show.”

  “Oh.”

  Leaning down, Alex tangled his fingers in her hair and pulled her close to him, kissing her open mouth without warning. He meant it to be a light, flirtatious kiss, but the moment his lips touched hers, he ignited. There was nothing light or flirtatious about the way he kissed her. Alex swallowed the soft sigh that escaped her lips along with his name as he took her in his arms and deepened the kiss, encouraging her to follow his lead and allow him further liberties as he swept his tongue past her teeth and into the deep recesses of her mouth, exploring, searching, satisfying… Tasting her with his mouth while his hands roamed at will.

  She shivered with delight and anticipation and melted against him.

  Alex molded her to his body as she plastered herself against him. He kissed her senseless and just as he was about to sweep her into his arms and lay her on the bed, Alex remembered what he was supposed to be about and came to his senses.

  Liana protested when he broke the kiss.

  “Write your letters, sweetheart.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “And when you write to your mother, give her my best and say something nice about me.”

  Liana smiled.

  Dear Maman, He kisses like a dream…

  Chapter Twenty-six

  “The truest wisdom is a resolute determination.”

  —Napoleon Bonaparte, 1769-1821

  The news swept through the streets of London like a hurricane whipping up winds in a tropical sea. Daniel, Duke of Sussex, folded the newspaper, and turned it so show his duchess who sat opposite him at the breakfast table.

  “Oh, no.” Miranda put a hand to her mouth as she looked at her husband. “What does this mean for the peace talks in Vienna?”

  “It means they are over for now,” Daniel said.

  “Will our delegates be coming home?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know if anyone thought to plan for this possibility. But the peace is over. And we have work to do.” He frowned. “It took ten days for the news to reach us. Ten days. We warned the Admiralty not to abandon the telegraph system when we signed the treaty of Paris.” Daniel rose, walked around the table, then bent and kissed his wife. “I must go see Henderson.”

  Henderson was the Marquess of Shepherdston’s London butler and the main source of communications for all the members of the Free Fellows. In addition to all of his other duties, Henderson coordinated the efforts of the individual Free Fellows. Shepherdston had set up the system when the original three members were bachelors and two of the three had lived in Shepherdston’s London residence. All five of the members were married now, but the system of going to Henderson to relay and collect communications was still in place.

  Miranda nodded. “How long will you be gone?”

  “I don’t know, but rest assured, I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  * * *

  Alex returned from his ride and entered the Abbey through the front door, handing his hat, gloves, and coat to Westerly as he did so. “Her Ladyship?”

  “In the sitting room of the master’s suite, sir, awaiting breakfast.”

  “Has it been ordered?”

  “It’s on its way up, sir.” Westerly frowned. “Sir, you’re bleeding.”

  Alex reached up and touched his chin, then his throat and felt the cuts that had already clotted.

  “No, sir. On your cheek.” The butler pointed to a place on his cheek.

  Alex swiped at his cheek and came away with a red streak on his fingers. He stared at it for a moment. He remembered a sound whistling past his ear as he had galloped across the open fields bordered by woodlands to the west of the Abbey. He thought he’d heard the report of a rifle and wondered if any of the gamekeepers were about. He hadn’t felt anything except the cold wind in his face, but apparently someone had grazed him with a bullet. He turned to Westerly. “Were the gamekeepers out hunting today?”

  Westerly shook his head. “No, sir. Hunting is forbidden when the master or mistress are out riding.”

  “Would any of our gamekeepers break that rule?” Alex left the entry hall and moved to warm himself in front of the fireplace in the grand salon.

  Westerly followed. “No, sir. There’s no need. We’ve plenty of lamb, mutton, pork, beef, several varieties of fowl and fish available. From the village butcher and from our own livestock. Our people are well-fed.”

  Alex frowned. “Have there been any reports of poachers or nomadic bands roaming Abbey land?”

  Westerly thought for a moment. “I haven’t heard of any, sir. But you may want to talk with Douglas, the gamekeeper or Trenton, the gatekeeper.”

  “I will,” Alex said.

  “Would you like me to tend that scrape, sir?” Westerly asked.

  Alex smiled, then shook his head. “I’ll ask Lady Courtland to do it. She assures me she doesn’t swoon at the sight of blood and she needs the practice.”

  “Very good, sir.” Westerly gave a crisp nod. “Shall I have fresh coffee sent to you in here or upstairs?”

  “Upstairs,” Alex said. “Coffee for me. Tea and a pot of chocolate for Her Ladyship.”

  “I beg your pardon, sir, but tomorrow is chocolate day.”

  Alex turn away from the fire to warm his backside. “Send it anyway.”

  “But, sir, Her…”

  “Your protest has been duly noted, Westerly.” Alex held up his hand to forestall further discussion. “Her Ladyship has informed me that the price of chocolate is dear and that we are not to waste it. And we shall endeavor to abide by her wishes. But today, as lord of the manor, I declare that we shall be truly profligate and have two chocolate days this week—Saturday and Sunday. I may even manage to swallow a cup of the wretched stuff myself.”

  Westerly bit back a smile. Lord Alex had never had to economize. He had been fortunate the whole of his life to have plenty of money in the Bank of Englan
d and food on a variety of tables. But the new Lady Courtland had not and Westerly understood her earnest anxieties about economy and waste and was perfectly happy to indulge them. “As you wish, sir.”

  Something in Westerly’s tone of voice alerted Alex. “I am not making light of Lady Courtland’s concerns about money and security. I know from whence they come. But, look at her, Westerly. She’s as slim as a reed and would deny herself the pleasure of a cup of chocolate in order to save me a few pennies when I could buy the entire cacao bean market and islands of sugar cane and produce the stuff just for her and not make a dent in my fortune.”

  “I know, sir.”

  “Do you?” Alex’s question was an earnest one. “Because I’m not sure I understand what’s happening to me.”

  “It’s quite simple, Lord Alex,” Westerly told him. “It’s as plain as the nose on your face.”

  He frowned. “What is?”

  “That you’re in love with your wife.”

  His response was immediate. “I’m not—” Alex stopped and looked at his butler, stunned by the certainty in his manservant’s tone. “I am, aren’t I?”

  Westerly nodded. “Indeed you are, sir.”

  “But I haven’t…I mean, we share my bed because she’s afraid to be alone, but we haven’t…”

  “I know, sir.”

  Alex gave his butler a dubious glance.

  Westerly’s face remained as inscrutable as ever. “Servants talk, sir. And they do the wash. They sometimes talk as they do the wash.”

  Feeling as if he’d had the wind knocked from his sails, Alex sank down onto the ottoman of the wing chair by the fireplace. “What do they say?”

  Westerly’s face broke into a smile. “They say the young master is head over heels for his wife and that he cares more about her tender feelings than he does his carnal ones. They say he ought to get cracking and make love to his bride because some of us are getting along in age and would like to see Nanny brought out of retirement and hear the sounds of boisterous spaniels yipping and the high squeals and the patter of little feet echoing through this old Abbey once more.”