Earls Just Want to Have Fun

by Shana Galen

  “Will you allow her to go?” Brook asked with what sounded like passing interest. How could his brother be so nonchalant when Dane felt as though a piece of him had been torn out and stomped on?

  “You love her, you know,” Brook added.

  Dane turned to his brother. That was it. That was the feeling. He loved her. Dane didn’t think he’d ever loved anyone or anything like this before. And he knew he never would again.

  “I love her,” he said, his voice sounding as though it came from someone else. It was full of wonder and awe. But of course he loved her. He must have loved her for days, if not almost since the beginning. Why else would he have gone with her to Seven Dials, allowed her to stay under his roof, decided to write that bill to help the poor? What else but love could have changed his mind about the lower classes, could have made him see them as people and not simply criminals? His father would turn in his grave, and Dane did not care. He loved Marlowe, and she loved him back. She’d told him so. “I love her,” he repeated.

  “And?” Brook asked.

  “And I love her!” Dane shouted. “I really do love her.”

  “Will you do anything about it?”

  Dane frowned at him. “Do…?”

  Brook raised a brow. “Stop her, for instance?”

  “Stop?” Oh, yes. She was leaving. No, he couldn’t let her leave, not without telling her how he felt. Not without begging her to forgive him, to marry him, to say—again—she loved him back. Why hadn’t he told her this morning? Why hadn’t he realized he could not lose her? She was everything.

  Dane sprinted toward the stairs, taking them two at a time and almost falling and breaking his fool neck. But he didn’t care. He didn’t care about anything but reaching her.

  “Stop her!” he yelled to Crawford when he saw the butler step aside and allow her to reach for the front door.

  She turned to face him, her mouth dropping open at the wild display he must be making. Dane started to laugh. He must look like a madman, and he didn’t care. It didn’t matter. To hell with decorum and duty and all the rest. He loved her!

  He skidded to a stop before her, and her eyes went wide. She looked up at him, clearly at a loss for words.

  “You cannot leave,” Dane said, panting. “Do not leave, I beg you.” He grasped her hand, holding her in place.

  “Why not?” she said finally, looking down at his hand holding hers.

  “Because”—Dane glanced up at Crawford, who made no attempt to hide the fact that he was staring. Dane looked over at Lloyd, peeking out of the dining room. He peered up at Brook, slowly descending the stairs. And he didn’t care if he had an audience. He wanted to shout it from the rooftops—“because I love you.” He sank to one knee. Crawford made a pained sound, but Dane ignored him. “Because I want to marry you. Please, Marlowe. Will you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?”

  She looked at him for a long moment, so long he thought perhaps she hadn’t heard him. He knew he’d spoken the words, because Crawford’s eyes were shut and his face contorted in pain. And then she opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again, and said, “No.”

  Dane felt as though his world was spiraling down, down, down into oblivion. His vision dimmed, and everything around him save her seemed to grow dark and shadowy. She’d said no. He’d lost her. He could not lose her. Fortunately, he was a man accustomed to winning, and he would win her. She was worth every effort.

  “If you think that means I’m giving up, think again.” He rose and grasped her hand to keep her from bolting. “I’ll ask you every day. I’ll prove to you how much you mean to me. I’ll never give up, Marlowe.”

  She shook her head. “You have to. Don’t you see? I’m nothing. I’m no one. You cannot marry me. What kind of countess would I make?”

  She was right. She was perfectly correct. It was a prime mésalliance. If it had been another man, Dane would have been shocked and appalled. He would have commented that the other man had married far beneath him. But something had changed in Dane the day he met Marlowe. He’d seen her as less than human before. He’d seen all of the poor as less than human. And now, he saw that he had been the one who’d been inhuman. He had cared more for himself than his fellow humans, and in that way been more like an animal than he wanted to admit.

  “At one time I would have been bothered by your position,” Dane admitted. “But now it doesn’t matter to me in the least. You are not a class. You are a person. You’re my Marlowe. I need you.” He gestured to the house and the servants. “Don’t you see that none of this means anything to me if I don’t have you? You are my everything.” It was so appallingly true. Nothing mattered without her.

  She tried to pull her hand from his, but he wouldn’t release her. “But I don’t know how to be a countess. I don’t know how to behave in your world.”

  “Then we’ll live in your world.”

  Her eyes widened in shock. “You don’t mean that.”

  “Oh, yes, I do. I’ll walk away now if you but say the word.”

  “Max, no.” She was calling him Max. That, at least, was a good sign.

  “Or we’ll make our own world, Marlowe. I don’t care where we live or what we do, as long as I live with you. I love you, Marlowe. I have never loved anyone, not like this. And I will spend the rest of my days, the rest of my hours, the rest of my minutes, doing everything I possibly can to make you happy. All you need to do is say yes.”

  She shook her head, but he saw the emotion in her eyes. He saw the sparkle of tears and the tremble of her lips. “Allow me to make you happy, Marlowe.”

  “I—”

  A quiet rap interrupted the weighted silence in the vestibule. Dane swore, Marlowe jumped with surprise, and Crawford cleared his throat and moved, with all the dignity he seemed to be able to muster, to answer the knock. Dane stared as Crawford revealed Lady Lyndon on the stoop. “Lady Lyndon,” he said in surprise. “Won’t you come in?”

  Marlowe’s hand tightened almost painfully on his. Lady Lyndon’s eyes flicked to Marlowe, and she nodded and entered. “I am sorry to interrupt.”

  “You just missed your husband, my lady,” Dane told her.

  The marchioness’s mouth turned down, and Dane blinked. The expression was exactly the same one he had seen Marlowe make on occasion when she was annoyed. “No, I did not. He is waiting in the coach.” She looked down. “I had been waiting there earlier, but I could not leave without meeting her.” She glanced up at Marlowe again. “Is this she?”

  Marlowe spoke. “I’m Marlowe, my lady. I’m sorry about your daughter and sorry you came all this way only to be disappointed.”

  Brook came forward then. “Are you disappointed, Lady Lyndon? As I mentioned in my note, I investigated your daughter’s abduction, and Marlowe’s background thoroughly. I do believe she is Lady Elizabeth.”

  Dane could believe it too. One look at mother and daughter, and it was impossible not to see the resemblance. Both had the same thick dark hair, the same large eyes—though Lady Lyndon’s were lighter blue—the same nose and determined set of the jaw.

  Lady Lyndon had not torn her gaze from Marlowe. “Do you…do you remember me?”

  Marlowe looked at Brook and then Dane, and then shook her head.

  ***

  It pained her more than she wanted to admit to shake her head. The white-haired woman seemed kind and genuine and in deep pain. But Marlowe did not recognize her. She had always thought when—if—she ever saw her mother again, she would know her face, her voice, her scent. But this woman was a stranger to her. If her heart had cracked a little at Lord Lyndon’s rejection, it absolutely ripped in half when she had to deny this woman. She’d allowed herself to hope, which was a dangerous and futile thing in Seven Dials. Now she would suffer the heartache for her foolishness.

  The woman smiled sadly and stepped back. “Then I won’t take up a
ny more of your time. Thank you.” She turned, and Crawford, who had barely closed the door behind her, reached for it again. But before he had it open, Lady Lyndon looked back again. “I have one question, and I cannot leave without asking it.”

  “I’ll answer if I can, my lady.”

  “Do you remember your mother, Marlowe?”

  Marlowe shook her head and then slowly changed her mind and nodded. She had never told anyone save Gideon of these memories. She had been too frightened to even mention them. Some of the fear still lingered, but Satin was gone now. He could never hurt her again. She squeezed Max’s hand tightly and then released it. She needed to do this on her own. “I do remember a little.”

  Lady Lyndon stepped closer. “Tell me what you remember.”

  Marlowe closed her eyes and tried to picture that time so long ago. The pain in her chest when she thought of it was sharp and still fresh, but it could be no worse than the ache she would feel when this woman walked away. “I remember she was always laughing. She was so happy. And she had fancy clothes.” She smiled slightly. “At least they seemed so to me.” There was more, but she had never told anyone this part. It was the last thing that was truly hers and hers alone. She swallowed. “I…I remember I liked it when Mama did bedtime and not Nanny. Mama always sang to me.”

  “What song did she sing?” a feminine voice asked.

  “I don’t—” But she did remember. When she thought back very hard, she did remember. “Elizabeth’s true, dilly, dilly,” she sang quietly. “Elizabeth’s sweet.” She could not remember the rest of the words. They hung just beyond memory. “A…kiss…will…” she began tentatively.

  “A kiss I will give, dilly, dilly,” Lady Lyndon sang with her. “When next we meet.”

  They sang the last together, and when it was done, Marlowe heard not a sound, not even breathing. She opened her eyes, and the first thing she saw was a woman’s gloves gripping her hand. Lady Lyndon had taken Marlowe’s hand in both of hers. And then she looked up and stared into the woman’s eyes. Tears streamed down her face.

  “You know the song,” Marlowe said.

  Lady Lyndon nodded. “I used to sing it to my daughter, Elizabeth. I used to sing it to you. And that”—she motioned to Marlowe’s mouth, where the pad of one thumb was lodged—“I used to scold you for that.”

  Marlowe nodded, but she was still unwilling—unable—to allow herself to hope again. And then Lady Lyndon—her mother—pulled her into her arms. Marlowe stiffened, and then she caught the scent of the woman, the feel of her arms around her, and she knew she was home. She knew this was exactly where she had always longed to be.

  Twenty

  “I still don’t understand why I had to wait a fortnight before you would give me an answer,” Max said, sounding surly and a bit melodramatic. Marlowe didn’t think he was too upset, considering he was currently stroking her bare abdomen.

  “Will you stop that?” she said, pretending annoyance. She lifted the volume he had been teaching her from earlier. It was not Shakespeare. Max promised they would read that soon, but this book was a bit easier for her to understand at the moment. “I am trying to read.” She squinted, attempting to sound out a word she did not know.

  “Are you, now?” His hand moved higher, tracing her breast until her nipple hardened.

  She swallowed. “Yes.”

  “I will soon have a bluestocking for a wife,” he said, his hand dropping back to her abdomen and then inching lower. She couldn’t read a word with him distracting her like that. She lowered the book, and Max took advantage of her inattention, closed the volume, and tossed it on the floor beside his bed.

  “Would you like a bluestocking wife?” Marlowe asked.

  “If she is you,” Max said, making her shiver with the feather-light touches of his fingers. “Why did you make me wait so long for your answer?”

  She rolled her eyes. Back to his marriage proposal. “I was busy, you know. I was becoming reacquainted with my parents. And then there was Gideon and the cubs to think of. I was hardly thinking about marriage.”

  “You could have at least said yes. You know Susanna was happy to plan all the details.”

  “I do adore Susanna,” Marlowe said, “but I don’t think your mother will ever forgive you or tolerate me.”

  “She will,” Max said with confidence. “If you give her grandchildren.”

  The dowager countess did not seem at all the type to welcome children. And yet, Marlowe thought that maybe there was more to her. Maybe given time…

  Max’s hand moved again, and she forgot all about his mother.

  “She will be satisfied when I have an heir,” he whispered. “We should probably start to make an effort.”

  “Start?” she laughed. “We have been married all of ten days, and all you have done is make an effort to swell my belly.”

  He moved over her, and she sighed with pleasure.

  “Shall I leave you to your reading?” he asked.

  She wrapped her arms about his neck, keeping him in place. “Absolutely not.”

  He bent and kissed her, his mouth tender and unhurried. “That’s not all I’ve done,” he said when they parted for breath. Marlowe’s breath was quite shallow now, and she had to take several quick gulps of air. “I’ve been to Parliament with my bill to aid the poor, and consulted with my solicitor in order to allocate funds to open a soup kitchen. And I made certain Gap and Tiny are settling in to their new positions at my country house.”

  “Thank you for that,” she said. He put a finger on her lips.

  “It’s not for you. It’s the very least I can do, and far less than I should do. But I will remedy that.”

  She had no doubt he would, and a small part of her could not help but think it was her fault more of the cubs had not left Seven Dials. After she had been reunited with her parents, it had taken several days before she’d returned to the old flash ken. By then Beezle had the gang under his control. He was the new arch rogue, having taken Satin’s place. She’d managed to speak to Gideon and begged him to leave with her, but he’d refused. Where would he go? To be her servant? He wasn’t cut out for the life of a slavey. Besides, he felt responsible for the cubs. He wanted to protect them from whatever plans Beezle was making.

  She’d told him Dane was willing to offer the boys honest work at his country estate, far from London, and Gideon had managed to convince Gap and Tiny to leave the gang. She’d hoped it would be more, but at least two of the boys were away from Beezle. Dane’s country house was a half-day’s ride, but he’d been twice to check on the boys, and said they were doing well. They’d put on weight, and the country air seemed to agree with them. He had promised to take her to visit in a few days’ time. Marlowe looked forward to seeing the boys again, but she was loath to spend any time with the dowager countess, who was currently protesting her son’s marriage by staying in the country. Marlowe felt horrible for Susanna, who was stuck with her mother.

  And she felt incredibly fortunate to have found her own mother. Lady Lyndon—she was even beginning to think of her as Mama—was kind and sweet and could not seem to stop hugging Marlowe. It had been awkward for Marlowe initially. She was not used to affection, but between Dane and her mother, she was becoming used to being loved. Even her father had softened. He was not at all as he’d appeared when she first met him. Then he’d had all of his defenses raised against disappointment. But now that he’d accepted her as his daughter, he could not stop smiling. And he was thrilled with her marriage to Dane, although he would have preferred she wait to marry and spend more time with him.

  But Dane was not to be put off. He’d acquired a special license and was quite insistent upon marrying her sooner rather than later. It didn’t seem to matter that his friends and most of his family were appalled. Dane said in three- or four-dozen years, no one would care anyway. Marlowe could only marvel at the changes in
him. She could only marvel at the changes in her own life. For years, no one had wanted her. And now she had more love than she knew what to do with.

  “What are you thinking about?” Dane asked, and Marlowe realized she’d been quiet for several minutes.

  She looked into his eyes. “Love.”

  “Ah. My favorite subject.” He kissed her nose, then her cheeks, then her lips.

  “I love you, Maxwell,” she murmured against his lips.

  “I love you, Marlowe Elizabeth Grafton Derring, Countess of Dane. Now.” He kissed her lips. “Tomorrow.” He kissed her again.

  “It is tomorrow,” she pointed out.

  “Forever.” He pulled her close into the warmth, safety, and love of his arms.

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  Acknowledgments

  Thank you to my fabulous agents, Joanna MacKenzie, Danielle Egan-Miller, and Abby Saul for their support and feedback on this novel and the series. I am so, so fortunate to work with you.

  Thanks to my longtime friend and critique partner Tera Lynn Childs for reading the draft of this book and giving me suggestions and feedback. Thanks to Tera as well for the title of this book.

  Thanks to my awesome, fabulous, wonderful friend and assistant Gayle Cochrane. You are a sanity saver. I would not get any sleep without you. Thanks also to my friends, the Shananigans, for all your support. That’s you Sarah, Sue, Susan, Flora, Misty, Ruth, Patti, Barbara, Nicole, Lisa, Connie, and Kristy!

  I’m blessed to be a member of the West Houston RWA chapter. The members are so supportive, especially my friends Jo Anne Banker, Kay Hudson, Mary Lindsey, Sophie Jordan, Lily Dalton, Nicole Flockton, Vicky Dreiling, Colleen Thompson, and Lark Howard. I’m also grateful to the Beau Monde chapter for their help with all those research questions I can’t find the answers to on my own.