“As the Duke of Sherwyn you still need a — ”
“Wife?”
“Yes, a wife.”
“I do, indeed.”
“And I’ve realised that I can’t continue doing what I’ve been doing, with my family’s funds, even with the society, without more support. Influential support. Someone who understands the problem but will allow me to continue as I’ve been without restraint, without administering tight controls.”
“You’re talking about male support.”
“Yes.”
“Possibly from a husband.”
“Yes.”
“But if you can’t bring yourself to voice the word, wife, how will you ever be able to become one in reality?”
“I suppose I could … I could learn, if I had to.”
“It’d need to be a strong gentleman who’d allow his wife to put herself into those situations, the sort in which you habitually become embroiled.”
“But you could do it.”
“Could I?” he queried, still casually.
“You’re certainly strong enough.”
“Ah! You’re speaking of physical strength.”
“No. Well, yes. Partly.”
“Partly?” One pretty, little foot peeped out from under her skirt to stomp an impatient patter on the rug. He smothered his grin.
“I’m talking of an inner strength. The sort only a gentleman who knows his own place in the world would have.”
“And you think I have this, um,” he waved his hand vaguely, “this inner something.”
“Cayle, you’re the strongest man I know. Your family knows they can depend on you no matter what.”
“And that’s important to you, because your family has always depended on your strength too?”
“Well, yes, there’s that. I suppose I’m accustomed to being involved, with a family, so any man I, any man who — ”
“Who?”
“Who’d be prepared to take me on, as a wife, would have to be not only strong — ”
“And patient.”
Her foot tapped out her irritated rhythm even harder on the carpet and he could almost see steam expel as she dithered around the subject, trying not to be the first to voice the solution that was glaringly obvious to them both.
“Enough, damn you. You’re enjoying this moment, aren’t you?”
Grinning widely, he agreed. “Immensely.”
“What more do you want me to do? Admit that I can’t do it without you?”
“That would be a nice place to start.”
She actually gritted her teeth. God, he loved her spirit. So determined, yet so giving.
“I can’t do it alone anymore.” She stomped her foot down hard in emphasis. “Any of it. The society. The investments. A woman can’t do it all alone.”
“So you’re saying you need me for my financial involvement?
“Financial, plus other involvements.”
“You’ll need to spell it out for me. Which other involvements would they be?”
“Even my family has benefited from being seen with yours.”
Now he laughed aloud. “You, my little prevaricator, are dodging the larger issue.”
“And you’re going to make me say it first, aren’t you?”
Pretending patience he didn’t feel, he nodded. “I am.”
He could hardly suck air into his lungs as he waited edgily for her to come to the inevitable conclusion. She needed him. Not just any man, but him, Cayle St. Martin.
However, she’d swallowed her pride enough for one day. One of the things he loved about her was her ability to rationalise any situation clearly and come to a conclusion that benefited not only her, but also those around her. It was time he told her. Time that he let her keep her pride intact.
Taking a step closer he bent his head to hers, adoring the way her breath hitched whenever he pressed near her. He nuzzled her neck, luxuriating in the scent of her and the fact that he now had the right, finally, to claim her as his.
“Becca, sweetheart, I love you.”
“You don’t need to say that, you know. I know what I am. I recognise my good qualities and my limitations, but if you could overlook those limitations somewhat … ”
God, she still couldn’t see how wondrous she was. How she made the world a better place. How his world lit up when she was in it. He needed to show her. “Becca.”
“Yes?”
“Would you stop thinking and talking and listen to me. Because I do love you. As Laura would say, I love you madly and gladly and passionately. And I want you more than anything I’ve ever wanted.”
“Truly?” Her words came out on a little gasp.
“Truly! And now, if you can keep quiet for long enough, I want to hold you and kiss you and make love to you. Because I can’t live without you in my life. I will not live like that ever again.” Before she could speak again, he took advantage of her open mouth to press his to it, kissing her hard and fast. Followed by long and slow. And then, he settled in and did it all over again.
“Laura was right.”
With a groan that turned into a laugh, he pulled back. It seemed that not even kissing Becca would keep her quiet this time. “What was Laura right about?”
“She said that when you love someone, your knees tremble when you kiss them.”
“And did your knees tremble?”
“They shook. Amazingly so.”
“So should I take this to mean that you love me?”
“Oh, heavens yes!”
“Well perhaps this would be a good time for you to tell me.
“Would it?”
“Mmm. Before I go quietly mad from the waiting.”
She finally stopped speaking long enough to stretch up on her dainty slippers to run enough kisses across his cheeks and mouth that he ceased to breathe. The sheer force of emotion in him swelled his chest until he literally couldn’t find room to put air into his lungs. And then, then she spoke. If he hadn’t loved her before, after he watched the way her eyes ignited with the burning passion she seemed to have reserved just for him, he’d have toppled head over heels.
“I love you to distraction. I love the way you let me stand beside you as an equal. I love the way you let me be myself. And you seem to love me regardless of who I am or the impetuous things I do.”
“I love you because of those very things.”
Green eyes twinkled up at him. Red hair flew in complete disorder around her head and shoulders. Twelve freckles shone like beacons, a testament to the fact that she was always too preoccupied with mathematics and problem solving to remember her bonnet. She was so beautiful, his Becca. So very beautiful and he’d happily devote a lifetime to convincing her of that fact. But, she had an evil glint in her eyes now. “And most of all — ”
“Yes?”
“Most of all, I love that you might come in handy on long and otherwise boring winter nights, when I’m too tired to reconcile the accounts. For performing all those extremely naughty tricks you do in a bedchamber.”
His extremely busy, often preoccupied genius thought he might, only might, come in handy to relieve her boredom on a cold night. Should he be insulted? Or laugh?
Deciding that being around Becca meant ignoring what other men might think a blight to their manliness, he hugged her tightly against him, feeling her absorbing his strength and yet at the same time making him stronger. “In that case, I think we can come to a mutually suitable arrangement.”
“Cayle?” He chuckled, resigned to never getting another minute’s peace in his life. “Yes, little chatterbox?”
“This arrangement. I don’t think I’d feel comfortable being a mistress any longer. Not that I didn’t enjoy the nights we spent together, in bed, in our affair, but if we’re to be partners in trade and commerce, I think we may need a more formal arrangement.”
“I suppose, if you insist,” he muttered, while inwardly rejoicing. “Next Saturday, we’ll be married.”
�
��Next Saturday? Oh, no, no, I certainly don’t think I shall have time next Saturday. I’ve the monthly meeting for the prostitute’s reform committee, to discuss the new bill, and Mr. Brown has news about that scoundrel Miss Featherstone is betrothed to — ”
“Becca!” He was losing patience. “Is this how you intend our marriage to proceed?”
One dainty finger tapped her teeth as she pondered the question. “Mmm. Most probably. Is that going to be a problem for you? Because if it is, I could probably find some other gentleman to marry. One who’d be more considerate.”
“Some poor unfortunate fool who’d do your bidding, you mean. Jump when you say jump?”
With a huge grin she teased, “When you put it that way, it does have merits compared to being with someone like you who is arrogant — ”
“Arrogant?”
“And controlling — ”
“Enough insults! A man’s ego can only take so much battering. You’re marrying me, no one else. Do you understand?”
“Yes, my lord, and master.” Her eyelashes fluttered.
Eyeing her suspiciously, he muttered, “I trust you even less when you’re docile. Are you up to something?”
“Me? Whatever do you mean, Your Grace?”
“I mean that you think you can outwit me every day of the week. However, I’ll not allow that to happen. Are we clear on that?”
Grinning up at him, she feigned humility. “Certainly, my darling.”
A dainty hand walked up and down his sleeve and she fluttered her eyes at him. Again. Throwing back his head, he laughed long and loud.
“Becca, you’re a minx. I doubt I’ll ever win an argument with you.”
“But you’re so … intelligent and strong and — ”
Cayle didn’t let Becca finish her embarrassing and overdone litany of his merits. Well, not precisely then anyway. At that moment, he stopped her speaking by taking matters into his own hands.
He picked her up over one shoulder and threw her onto the bed. And kept her occupied there all night.
Epilogue
Martin House
Mayfair, London
Taking the steps of his house two at a time, the Duke of Sherwyn rushed past his astounded butler, who stood to attention beside the open front door. The ducal carriage had just discharged them after the long journey back from the Hetherington estate and Cayle was impatient to be alone with his betrothed.
“My soon-to-be-duchess, and I don’t wish to be disturbed, Jenner. Under any circumstances. Do you understand?”
For the first time that Cayle had ever seen, Jenner opened his mouth, threw back his head and laughed. His ageless face creased under the unaccustomed strain. Several heads popped out from around other doors. Servants, curious as to why a normally proper duke and a normally reserved butler were carrying on in such a scandalous manner in the vestibule.
“Oh, yes, Your Grace. I understand perfectly. And may I say, Your Grace, that you have chosen extremely well.”
Jenner nodded his head to where Becca hung upside down on Cayle’s broad back, her red curls swinging in disarray as she bounced. Once again, Cayle had decided the most expedient way to get Becca where he wanted her, in his bedroom, was to pick her up and sling her over his shoulder. Cayle gave him a huge grin.
“I think so too, Jenner. It’s about time Martin House saw a bit more life. Time it embraced scandal rather than hid from it.”
“Indeed, Your Grace. Indeed.” He peered around Cayle’s side to Becca’s upturned countenance.
“And may I wish your soon-to-be-duchess every joy in her married life.”
From her rather indecent position, Becca managed to lift one hand from Cayle’s thigh to give a little wave and splutter, “You may, Jenner, and … ah … thank you.”
Cayle grinned again; satisfied with his world at last, and determined Becca would linger under the title of future duchess for as short a time as possible. As soon as Laura, Lottie, and Aunt Aggie could arrange their wedding, Lady Jamison would also become, Your Grace. With all his heart, Cayle longed for that moment. He heard Jenner humming to himself as he hustled away to the kitchen to spread the good news to the rest of the staff.
Things would be different from now on. Martin House was about to gain a new mistress. And not just any mistress, but a lady known to advocate reformed conditions for working class people throughout England. Right about now, the Duke of Sherwyn imagined his butler was informing the servants how, perhaps one day very soon, he’d whisper a word in the new duchess’s ear about the sorry financial plight of some of his family in Scotland.
Continuing his hurried strides upwards to his bedroom, Cayle entered, and then pushed the door shut with his shoulder.
Dropping Becca on the bed so hard she bounced, twice, he followed her down and pinned her with his weight.
“Now, repeat after me. I … Rebecca Jamison … am marrying Cayle St. Martin, Duke of Sherwyn, in three days’ time. I will love, and obey him, all the days of my life.”
“Hmm.” Becca pondered for a minute. “I will love, and work with him … ”
Cayle contemplated her troubled expression. She’d given up so much to be with him that he could at least do this for her. He amended the vow to, “I will love him, work with him, have children with him … and make his life endlessly entertaining.”
She solemnly repeated the vows and then lapsed into a tiny silence. He looked at her in amazement and was about to comment that it was the first time he’d ever been able to stop her talking, when she spoke. Naturally!
“Ah, Cayle.”
He was chuckling as he complained, “Good Lord, Becca, are you ever going to let me get in the last word?”
The love of his life mulled over that possibility for a few seconds but then shook her head and gave her usual honest reply. “Probably not. But, Cayle?”
Her petite hand in the middle of his chest stopped him from lowering himself fully to her, from feeling her breasts squeezed tightly against him, as he was now so desperate to do. Precisely three hours and twenty-four minutes had passed since they’d made love in their private train compartment and it was too long, far too long for his sanity.
After an agonised groan, followed by a resigned mindset, he asked, “Yes, Becca, my love, my adored one.”
“I love you. Love you so much.” She leaned up to kiss him and repeated her sister’s mantra for marriage. “I love you madly, and gladly, and, without any doubt, passionately.”
The rest of the chant drifted away into a whispered promise as he proceeded to make not only her knees, but also her whole body tremble with the force of their passion.
“For the rest of our lives,” she murmured, giving a contented sigh.
In that moment, Cayle decided that Becca could always, always, have the last word, if she’d say those specific words to him.
Each, and every, time.
About the Author
Suzi Love, who is also the author of The Viscount’s Pleasure House, is trying to make history fun, one year at a time. History for her isn’t dull or boring, but vibrant and alive and filled with characters whose stories may sound stranger than fiction but who really did conquer oceans and travel the world.
Suzi is an Australian author whose life-time fascination with all things old, weird, or exotic led her to travel extensively and to then write about all the exciting things she discovered along the way. Hopefully, you’ll enjoy the journey with her.
More From This Author
(From The Viscount’s Pleasure House)
Early in the reign of Queen Victoria
Hawkesbury House in Belgravia, London
“Remove that hideous gown!” Justin Tremayne, known in amusement-seeking society as Handsome Hawkesbury or the Virile Viscount, struggled to hide his rising frustration. “I need to examine your body. All of it.”
The woman, clad in unrelenting black and looking more like a newly grieving widow than an enchanting bird of paradise, had pushed past his butler
and stormed into his library as though claiming her right to be seen and heard. As if she feared her late arrival might have cost her the chance to strut around the room with the other peacocks and show her wares. And as if her life depended on him offering her employment.
He, of all people, knew how fear of failing drove a person to take rash chances and how desperation to achieve something could drive a man, or woman, to extreme lengths. But to his surprise, the strange woman had come to a dead stop a few feet inside the room, dug her feet into the carpet as solidly as a scarecrow staked into soil, and turned her head, ever so slowly, to stare at the girls posing around the periphery of his library.
Below the chin length veils, Justin could see her long, thin neck rise and fall in pronounced swallows. He watched, amazed, as she clenched and released her fists. After her headlong rush into their presence, she now appeared to be waging some sort of inner battle, most likely torn between picking up those ghastly skirts and leaving or tossing off that ugly outfit, and her inhibitions, and joining the other girls.
Justin stood before the woman in his rumpled disarray — evening coat discarded, shirt tails hanging, booted legs spread — and threw his arms wide. Looking up, he appealed to the smiling gold cupids frolicking in naked abandon across his plastered ceiling. “Why me? Do I not have enough problems in my life?”
The gala at his club opened in three weeks — his grand finale — and the smallest disruption to his schedule could mean everything he’d worked so hard for could slip through his fingers. During week-long performances at the Pleasure House, every fat-pursed gentleman in the city would visit, drawn by promises of spectacles more ribald than any of their fantasies. His potential buyers would be so impressed with the club’s earnings that they’d throw their money at him and fall to their knees and beg him to sell the club to them.
Suzi Love Page 33