by Mary Balogh
“I shall beat you once a week,” he said soothingly. “Shall we agree to Tuesday mornings? Will you marry me, Daisy?”
“Ye-e-es,” she said on a leftover sob, and fumbled around in his pocket until she had found his handkerchief. She blew her nose loudly. “Are you really going to make love to me, Giles? I think I would like that, though I own to being very nervous. I have never done it before, you know. Oh, of course you know that, or guess it anyway. Oh, what are you doing? Are you going to undress me? I could probably do it more quickly myself, but it feels good to have you do it. Are there not a lot of buttons down the back of my dress? I always think it foolish, when one’s arms do not bend that way. Why not put the buttons at the front? But perhaps they would look ugly there and spoil the fall of a gown. Shall I undress you? These are splendid buttons on your waistcoat. I am sorry I pulled off the one.”
Lord Kincade covered her mouth with his at that moment while his hands slipped beneath her gown and shift at the shoulders and slid them downward. “You can prattle on in a moment, love,” he said against her mouth. He was propelling her backward and lifted her onto the bed after peeling back the blankets. “I find it strangely arousing. Just let me kiss you for a while first.”
“I did not expect to have all my clothes removed,” Daisy said considerably later when she had her mouth to herself again, her lover’s being occupied elsewhere. “It is shocking, really, is it not? I am sure I should not allow it. Oh, yes, Giles. Touch me there. Oh, yes. You are very beautiful. I knew you were, even with your clothes on. But you are even more beautiful with them off. Why are you laughing? Have I said something funny? Oh, dear, Giles, my teeth are chattering. But I am not at all cold.”
His face, full of laughter and passion, was poised above hers. “I wonder if you will run out of bedtime conversation after forty or fifty years,” he said. “I hope not, Daisy. I do hope not.”
“Giles,” she said, “Oh, Giles, you really do not want to be marrying me, you know. Oh, this is going to hurt, is it not? But you must not be afraid that I will scream. I will bite my lips and not do so, I promise. I do wish my teeth would stop chattering. Oh! Oh, Giles, I think I have wanted you to do this to me since I first saw you standing below my window at the Golden Eagle. I saw red when those bullies . . . Ohhhh!”
Daisy chattered on while Lord Kincade moved in her and loved her and while she opened to him and loved him in return, but it is doubtful that anyone was listening since there was no one else closer than the pantry downstairs and certainly the two occupants of the bed were too intent on each other’s pleasure and their own to listen to anything as mundane as a monologue.
“What on earth was that ghastly oily mess on your face in the stableyard?” Lord Kincade asked sleepily many minutes later as he lay beside his betrothed, his arm beneath her head.
Daisy frowned and thought awhile, her own descent into sleep halted. “It must have been lemon oil,” she said. “For my freckles, you know. I should use it every day, but I seem to forget most of the time.”
“Thank heaven for forgetful minds,” Lord Kincade said. “I doubt if oil would ever be effective to get rid of your freckles, Daisy, but I can tell you that it would soon effectively mask them. They would be scarcely visible beneath the spots. I forbid you ever to use the stuff again. Understood?”
“Yes, my lord,” Daisy said meekly.
She was grinning impishly, her eyes closed, when he looked across at her.
“Tuesday mornings,” he reminded her, closing his own eyes and wriggling into a more comfortable position. “And perhaps Friday afternoons too.”
“Yes, my lord,” she said. “I will try to deserve them.”
“Sleep!” he commanded. “It is what is done after love-making. I will be waking you up soon enough anyway. We must be mad making love and sleeping like this in enemy territory. We are definite cases for Bedlam, Daisy-Morrison-soon-to-be- Fairhaven.”
They slept.
***
Lady Hetty was pacing the floor of her drawing room, her son Humphrey sprawled asleep in a chair by the fire, when Lord Kincade returned with Daisy only just before dawn the following morning.
“You are safe, my dear!” she said, holding out both hands to Daisy and kissing her on the cheek. “Whatever happened? We heard only the most garbled account from the colonel, who came back again after you had gone rushing off looking like a madman, Giles, to entrust us to poor Lord Doncaster’s care. Is it true that you were kidnapped by a monster, Daisy, and Lord Powers responsible?”
Daisy said that yes, indeed, it was true, but that no harm was done, as Lord Kincade had come after her and rescued her. Not that she had been in any danger anyway because that man had behaved in such an ungentlemanly way that he had got her temper up. She had agreed before the ride home in a borrowed carriage to say nothing about the chamberpot. But where was Rose? She had expected her sister to be up and worried about her.
“Oh, it is Julia,” Lady Hetty said, her hands flying to her mouth. “I meant to tell you as soon as you came in, Giles. She has been brought to bed. Rose went to be with Judith.”
“I am coming with you,” Daisy announced before her betrothed could even open his mouth. “And this is not one of those occasions when you may forbid me to be dominating, Giles. Let me come.”
“If you would just stop arguing with yourself,” he said, “we could be on our way. I don’t think the dear marquess will mind if we borrow his carriage and horses for one more short journey.”
“I knew it would happen today or tomorrow,” Daisy said as he guided her out of the house, “or I suppose I mean yesterday and today, it already being tomorrow. I was right, you see.”
“So you were,” Lord Kincade said, vaulting into the carriage after her, closing the door before a hastily summoned Gerry could do it for him, and kissing her squarely on the mouth. “I was rather busy driving this carriage home, my love. We have lost time to make up for.”
“Yes, Giles,” Daisy said meekly.
All was confusion when they arrived at Julia’s house. Judith and Rose were seated together, a little apart from the rest of the company, looking flushed and anxious and pleased with themselves all at once. The Earl and Countess of Atherby had arrived sooner than expected late the previous evening and were anxiously awaiting the arrival of their first grandchild and the return of their two sons, who had apparently gone tearing off on some hair-raising adventure that no one could make much sense of.
Colonel Appleby had arrived moments before Lord Kincade and Daisy and was trying to clarify those events to people who were more intent on plying him with questions than listening for answers. Arthur was still absent.
And in the midst of them all was a huge mountain of a man, all muscle and scarcely an ounce of fat, who had been reduced to wild-eyed, trembling jitters by the fact that his beloved wife was giving birth to their child abovestairs and there was nothing in this world that he could do to help her. Daisy had not met the elusive Ambrose before. His wiry dark hair looked rather as if someone had dragged him through a hedgerow and back, she thought.
And then everyone—except the oblivious Ambrose—spotted her and Lord Kincade and plied them with questions that they might have had answered minutes before by Colonel Appleby.
“Well, I am safe,” Daisy announced after the tale had been told quite satisfactorily, apart from the fact that the long period of time that had elapsed between Lord Kincade’s leaving Vauxhall and their return home had not been accounted for. “And all is well that ends well. I think it is time you presented me to your mama and papa, Giles.” She flushed.
“So it is,” he said, “especially since you are to be their daughter within a few days.”
There was a renewed buzz of excitement.
“I am?” Daisy asked.
“Certainly,” he said. “I am going in search of a special license as soon as the hour is a little more decent.”
“And where is Arthur?” Daisy asked Colonel Appleby. “And wha
t has happened to Lord Powers?”
Colonel Appleby scratched his head and looked somewhat apprehensively at Lord Kincade. “The reverend is escorting him to Dover,” he said. “He seemed to think Powers would be safer on the continent for the next year or so. I think he was afraid that you might kill the man, Kincade.”
“Damnation!” Lord Kincade said before looking his apology to his mother. “I had not nearly finished with him.”
“If it is any consolation,” the colonel said, “the reverend popped him a good one when he said something disrespectful about Miss Morrison.”
“Arthur?” Judith said in disbelief. “Arthur hit Lord Powers? Impossible! Arthur could not harm a flea.”
“Oh, I am glad!” Rose cried, her hands clasped to her bosom, a flush high on her cheekbones. “It is just the sort of thing he would do.” And then she flushed a brighter red when all eyes turned her way.
Fortunately for Rose, the housekeeper came bustling in at that moment, full of importance and suppressed excitement, to ask Ambrose to accompany her upstairs.
“The child?” the countess said, jumping to her feet.
The housekeeper clasped her hands in front of her and nodded.
“And Julia?” the countess asked.
“Tired, my lady,” the housekeeper said, “and wanting her husband.”
Ambrose sighed and fainted.
“Oh, goodness gracious me,” Daisy said, kneeling down beside him and chafing his hands. “It has all been too much for him. Grab that tablecloth, Giles, and fan his face with it. He will soon be over the shock. Poor gentleman. It is hard for large, strong men to stand by and see their wives go through the discomforts of childbirth. You see, he is stirring already.”
The countess had left the room. The earl was staring down at Daisy with fascination. Judith, looking thoroughly pleased with life and remarkably unconcerned over the fate of her erstwhile lover, was standing at the other side of the room, both her hands in the colonel’s. Rose sat, still flushed, her eyes dreamy.
“Come on, sir,” Daisy said to a blank-eyed Ambrose, “it is time you aroused yourself. Julia is waiting for you, as is your child. And gracious heaven, we do not even know if it is a son or daughter. You should have been with her for the birth, you know. That way you would not have to pace down here imagining all sorts of horrors.”
“Hush, Daisy,” Lord Kincade said, noting that his brother- in-law’s color was changing from white to pale green. “Come on, old chap. Up you get. Fatherhood is making you weak.”
Ambrose managed to stagger to his feet and out through the door.
Daisy gazed fondly after him. “When our children are born, Giles,” she said for all the room to hear, “I want you there to witness all the pain and blood and mess. And to share all the wonder. I hope it will be soon. Oh, I do hope so. I am five- and-twenty already, and I want us to have children. Perhaps in nine months’ time, do you think?”
Lord Kincade met his father’s eyes across her head, and the earl raised one expressive eyebrow. The viscount grimaced and passed a hand over his eyes. “Tuesday mornings, Daisy,” he muttered, “and definitely Friday afternoons. And probably Sunday evenings too.”
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Mary Balogh was born and educated in Wales and now lives with her husband in Saskatchewan, Canada. She has written more than one hundred historical novels and novellas, more than thirty of which have been New York Times bestsellers. They include the Bedwyn saga, the Simply quartet, the Huxtable quintet, and the seven-part Survivors’ Club series.
Also by Mary Balogh
The Survivors’ Club Septet
The Proposal
The Suitor
The Arrangement
The Escape
Only Enchanting
Only a Promise
Only a Kiss
Only Beloved
The Huxtable Quintet
First Comes Marriage
Then Comes Seduction
At Last Comes Love
Seducing An Angel
A Secret Affair
The Simply Quartet
Simply Unforgettable
Simply Love
Simply Magic
Simply Perfect
The Bedwyn Saga
Slightly Married
Slightly Wicked
Slightly Scandalous
Slightly Tempted
Slightly Sinful
Slightly Dangerous
The Bedwyn Prequels
One Night For Love
A Summer to Remember
The Mistress Trilogy
More Than A Mistress
No Man's Mistress
The Secret Mistress
The Horsemen Trilogy
Indiscreet
Unforgiven
Irresistible
The Web Trilogy
The Gilded Web
Web of Love
The Devil's Web
A Promise of Spring
Standalone Novels
A Certain Magic
An Unlikely Duchess
Lady with a Black Umbrella
Red Rose
Christmas Miracles
Christmas Gifts
Silent Melody
Heartless
Beyond the Sunrise
Longing
A Christmas Promise
The Trysting Place
A Counterfeit Betrothal
The Notorious Rake
A Christmas Bride
Christmas Beau
A Matter of Class
Dark Angel
Lord Carew's Bride
The Famous Heroine
The Plumed Bonnet
The Temporary Wife
Thief of Dreams
The Last Waltz
Courting Julia
Dancing With Clara
Tempting Harriet
Truly
Tangled
Deceived
The Ideal Wife
A Precious Jewel
The First Snowdrop
Christmas Belle
The Incurable Matchmaker
Snow Angel
The Secret Pearl
The Obedient Bride
A Gift of Daisies
Daring Masquerade
The Ungrateful Governess
An Unacceptable Offer
Secrets of the Heart
Gentle Conquest
The Constant Heart
A Chance Encounter
The Wood Nymph
A Masked Deception
The Double Wager