Imogene bit back a smile. They were adorable.
Nathaniel sauntered up close and lingered before her, setting both hands behind his back. “I see you met Georgia.”
Imogene glanced up at him. “Georgia?” She blinked. “I take it you know her well enough to call her by her given name?”
Nathaniel rolled his tongue on the inside of his mouth before blurting, “You can say that. She lived in the same ward I did back in New York. Apparently, she and Yardley are announcing their engagement tonight. The poor boy. He is beyond saving.”
“I think he did quite well for himself. She appears to be incredibly witty and genuine. I like her.”
He smirked. “Hopefully not too much. It’s bad enough Yardley is getting married to her. I don’t need to lose you to her antics, too.”
A smile touched her lips. “Lose me to her antics?” she taunted. “And who says you have me to lose? It isn’t as if you have committed yourself to me. I’m still waiting.”
Nathaniel shifted his jaw and observed her heatedly for a long moment. “You and I need to resolve that.”
Her lips parted and for a moment she was too astounded to respond. “Do you mean it?”
He leaned in close and rumbled out in a low tone, “Meet me upstairs. I’ll be waiting.” He strode past and after exchanging a few words with some guests in passing, he veered out of the receiving room, disappearing into the candlelit corridor.
She glanced around, her heart pounding. What on earth did he have in mind? Surely not…that. She puffed out an exasperated breath and brought her gloved hands together, unable to keep from fidgeting. No one seemed to have noticed Nathaniel had left the room.
Tarrying for a few minutes more, she edged her way closer and closer to the open double doors, trying to look interested in a painting on the wall, until she was out of the room and in the corridor.
Gathering her skirts, she bustled her way up the main staircase and paused on the landing. “Nathaniel?” she whispered into the unnerving darkness that fingered its way toward her.
A large hand caught her arm from around the corner of the landing, making her yelp. A tug and a spin yanked her entire backside firmly against the contours of a tall, muscled body.
Her heart skipped. It was Nathaniel’s body.
“Good evening, wife,” his gruff voice hoarsely said into her ear as he pulled them into a dimly lit room just off the stairwell.
A tremor overtook her ability to think. He never referred to her as wife. “Good evening…husband.”
He locked the door with one hand, as his other hand pressed her backside harder against a very notable erection she could feel through her skirts. “I missed you.” He pushed her against the door.
She caught herself against the door, her breaths uneven.
He jerked up her skirts to her waist. “Keep your hands where they are. I don’t have anything to bind you with.”
She stared at the panel door in disbelief as his warm hands rounded and rubbed her exposed bum.
He moved his hands toward her bare thighs. “Now this is my idea of a real party.”
Unable to breathe all that well, she choked out, “We really shouldn’t be doing this, you know. People will notice we are gone.”
“Let them,” he murmured, sliding a tongue down the side of her neck. “We’re married. Or did you forget?”
Her eyes fluttered closed against the thrilling sensation of his tongue. She felt his hands unbuttoning his trousers. It was a bit overwhelming to know he wanted her enough to do it just up the stairs from a respectable gathering. “You can’t wait until we get home?”
“No.” Nudging her legs apart with his knee, he set the tip of his erection against her opening. “Ask me why we’re doing this.”
She swallowed, feeling faint against her need for him. “Why are we doing this?”
He thrust deep into her wetness from behind.
She gasped, rattling the door with her hands, which were planted heavily against it.
Leaning toward her ear, he rasped, “The moment you climax, I’ll tell you why we’re doing this.” Holding on to her hips, he slowly slid in and out of her.
She heavily breathed in and out, trying to regain control of herself, her pulse throbbing in her throat and her heart threatening to burst as he jerked into her.
She felt her core tightening against his aggressive, slick thrusts. She swayed against the door as he moved against her harder. Her hands slid against the wood as she tried to stay upright and he pushed them back into place. She instinctively pressed back against him, wanting and needing more of his erection.
His seething breaths mingled with hers in the silence of the room. Each thrust he dug deep into her, making them both gasp.
Her world tipped and her climax overwhelmed her. She bit out a moan, quaking against those violent thrusts that banged her into the door.
After several more ruthless presses, he stilled deep inside of her womb, flattening them both against the door, and groaned loudly, letting his seed pour into her. After a few heavy breaths he bent his head and nipped the inside curve of her throat from behind. “Will you be mine?”
Her eyes popped open. She swallowed, and with her cheek still against the door, whispered, “As in forever?”
He slowly pulled out and let her skirts drop back down around her legs. He gently smoothed them around her and kissed her neck before stepping back. “As in forever.”
Astounded, she turned toward him as he buttoned the flap of his trousers back into place.
She stared up at him, the idea of them being together for the rest of their lives making her heart squeeze in unexpected yearning. “What brought this on?” She wanted to hear him say it. She wanted to hear him say that he was as madly fond of her as she was of him.
“Watching you tonight made me realize something.”
“It did? What?”
“That I hated whenever you left the room. That I hated when you weren’t looking at me. That I hated not being able to touch you in public.” He finished buttoning his trousers and adjusted his coat. “I think it time I announce I’m thoroughly smitten.”
She bit back a lopsided grin. “You are?”
“I am.” He grabbed her hand and unlocked the door with his other hand, throwing it open. “I’m talking smitten enough to have children.”
She excitedly trotted after him as he hurried them out into the corridor. She lowered her voice. “How many children do you want?”
“As many as you are willing to give,” he tossed back, swinging her toward the staircase. He leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Now head downstairs. I’ll join you in few minutes so we’re not too obvious.”
She turned toward him and captured his gaze in the dim, candlelit corridor. “I adore you.”
Stepping toward her, he grabbed her waist hard and jerked her toward himself, startling her. He bent his head and set his forehead against hers. “And I adore you, too.”
She almost melted in his arms. “You do?”
“I do.” He traced his lips against her forehead. “I adore the way you make me feel.”
Marvelously content, she nuzzled herself against his chest for a moment, then unlatched his arms and thumbed toward the stairs. “I should probably go. Heaven only knows what the entire room is thinking.”
He set a hand to the back of his neck and eyed her. “My asking you to make this permanent isn’t going to change anything between us, is it?”
She smiled. “I won’t let it.”
He dropped his hand. “Good.”
Sashaying toward the staircase, she purposefully swayed her hips as best she could for him and tossed over her shoulder, “All that said, don’t think you can buy out this investor by tossing words of adoration. You still have a title to win.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Tremble!
—P. Egan, Boxiana (1823)
Nine weeks later—Late afternoon
18 Berkeley Square
; NATHANIEL’S POPULARITY in the boxing community had reached an unprecedented crescendo that had sold out every last ticket in Covent Garden at a guinea and a half apiece for the Terry-Atwood fight. Nathaniel, bless his fists, had already beat Norley, Gill and Hatchet. All that was left was to beat Terry and then the next fight was for the title itself.
Sitting in her receiving room at an hour when every man in London, including her own brother, who was acting as Nathaniel’s second in the match, was gathering to watch the Terry-Atwood fight, unnerved Imogene.
Nathaniel had asked her to stay home, as he did whenever it came to every real fight. Even though she didn’t want to, she did because he had asked her to. Everything she did as of late, she did for him and because of him.
And he knew it.
He had changed her life in so many glorious ways. She never felt alone anymore. And though they never really once said the word love to each other, she knew he loved her as much as she loved him.
Since she had ceased taking her medication, she no longer felt dizzy and hadn’t fainted once. Not once. It was unbelievable.
She felt…incredible.
That is, until she had commenced vomiting due to overwhelming nausea whenever she ate anything. She thought it odd until she noted her menses had also ceased and spoke to her lady’s maid about it. It was rather obvious she was pregnant. Though her belly had yet to show, she knew she was set to have Nathaniel’s babe. It was as exciting as it was unsettling. She decided it was best to announce it after his fight tonight. So he wasn’t so distracted with the news.
She couldn’t deny she was exceedingly fond of her life with Nathaniel. Overly fond. Every night, after his training and a bath and a supper the cook would always have waiting, he would nestle them into bed and tell her all about his progress and how much he was learning from Jackson. His voice was always so husky and eager to share. Sometimes they fell asleep talking, while still in each other’s arms, and sometimes they stayed up, rolling around until all the clothes came off and words were no longer a necessity or an option.
It was glorious.
He was glorious.
And yes, she was madly in love with the man.
During the day, when she wasn’t at Jackson’s watching Nathaniel train, she would call on the quirky but fabulous Miss Tormey or her brother, Henry, who was already laying out all divorce plans and had hired a solicitor. Imogene also busied herself with accepting or rejecting endless invitations to dinners and gatherings, all whilst going through newspapers and gazettes, reading through anything she could find pertaining to Nathaniel.
She made it a priority to ensure nothing was being printed that might damage his growing popularity.
Imogene burrowed into a chair beside the window for better light and angled the latest sporting chronicle toward her. She perused the Remarks section, wondering if there was anything that had been written about Nathaniel, and sat up.
There was one.
And it was a remark written by none other than Mr. P. Egan himself. Her eyes widened. Mr. P. Egan. It was something Nathaniel and Mr. Jackson had been ardently waiting for. A remark from the man.
She only hoped it was good.
Bringing the paper closer, she read aloud:
“The Honourable Lord Atwood, known as the ‘Missing Heir’ to the sporting world, has far exceeded the anticipation of this pugilistic observer who has been keenly watching him through every fight. What has been noted repeatedly is a man not only of gigantic strength, but one possessing a degree of scientific knowledge and impressive self-possession. He stands well on his legs, goes fearlessly against his opponent, and uses both hands with equal quickness, hitting well out from his shoulder, and throwing all his energies into the force of his blows. At present, I regard him as a ‘rara avis in terris.’ For those unfamiliar with Latin, and for shame on those of you who are, allow me to translate: ‘A rare bird on earth.’ If there is any remarkable man capable of taking the title of Champion of England, it is our missing heir. Let it be known, that, as always, I was the first to scribe it.”
Imogene jumped from her chair with a bursting squeal, shaking and shaking the paper. If Mr. P. Egan thought Nathaniel was taking the title, it was not only possible, but it was going to happen.
It was going to happen!
A blurred movement from the street made Imogene turn to the window. She froze as a lacquered, black carriage pulled by enormous, midnight-colored stallions rolled up to the town house.
A footman opened the door of the carriage, unfolded the stairs and dutifully guided the hand of a veiled, petite female draped in lavish, verdant morning attire.
As the stallions restlessly pawed the ground, the woman, whose face was eerily hidden beneath a black lace veil, turned her head toward Imogene. Though Imogene couldn’t see any eyes or a face, she felt the woman’s gaze penetrate her straight through the window.
It was like death making a personal call.
The newspaper floated with a rustle from her hands to the floor. A knot formed in her stomach that had nothing to do with the babe as the woman gathered her skirts and made her way up the entrance stairs.
The calling bell rang.
In panicked dread, Imogene glanced toward the open doorway of the receiving room as the butler passed.
Her throat closed up and though she wanted to call out to the butler not to even open the door, she couldn’t move or think or get her tongue to cooperate.
Within moments, the butler returned with a silver tray and presented her the card.
Imogene hesitated and leaned over the tray, not wanting to touch it. The ivory calling card read:
Lady Sumner
She glanced up in startled astonishment. Dearest heaven. It was Nathaniel’s mother.
“Are you at home, my lady?” the butler inquired.
She swallowed against the tightness in her throat and nodded. “I… Yes. I’m at home. Show her in at once.”
“Yes, my lady.” The butler departed.
Imogene lingered in the middle of the receiving room, her heartbeat as erratic as her thoughts. After snubbing the wedding and repeated letters and invitations she had sent to the Sumners despite Nathaniel’s grudging mutters about her letting the matter go, what would make his mother break her silence now?
The veiled figure Imogene had seen through the window appeared in the doorway and lingered.
“Is he here?” the woman asked in an eerily quiet but regal tone from within the veil.
Imogene pressed her hands together in an effort to remain calm and crossed the room toward her. “No, my lady. He is not and won’t be until after midnight. He usually joins my brother and the boxing community at Cardinal’s after a fight.”
Lady Sumner gathered the veil with gloved hands and, with a trembling sweep, folded it back onto her bonnet, exposing beautifully assembled grey hair. An aged face with startling blue eyes that reminded her of Nathaniel’s held her gaze.
Imogene drew in a breath, not at all expecting what she saw.
The entire left side of the poor woman’s aged face, including her eye and the corner of her mouth drooped from what appeared to be an ailment. “I apologize for the state of my face,” Lady Sumner said matter-of-factly.
Imogene shook her head. “Please don’t…don’t apologize, my lady. ’Tis an honor to be in your presence. I was hoping you would eventually call. Nathaniel is incredibly proud and refused to make the call himself after he had already sent several missives, which all went unanswered by you. Though he never admitted to it, I know he was incredibly hurt by your silence.”
Lady Sumner averted her gaze and dug her gloved fingers into the side of her face, indenting that disfigured flesh with every tip.
Imogene swallowed, sensing something wasn’t quite right with this woman. “Are you unwell, my lady?”
Lady Sumner’s hand fell away and instead now dug into her arm. “I didn’t want to hope.” Her voice sounded eerie, almost faint. “I doubted it. Sumner made me
doubt it, too. He said it wasn’t possible. Until I saw a sketch of him in a sporting chronicle this morning that Wilkinson insisted I see. The moment I saw it I…I knew. This overwhelming, inexplicable feeling that I was looking at a grown version of my son seized me. It was as if—” A sob escaped her. She set a hand to her ruined face, those shoulders quaking against emotion.
Imogene hurried to the woman, tears blurring her vision. She gathered the woman into her arms and tugged her close. “I’m so sorry.”
The woman sobbed against her. “I need it to be him.”
Imogene cradled the woman, rocking her through tears. “It is indeed him. Have no doubt in that.”
The woman drew away from Imogene, using the veil to dab her eyes, though her hand prevented her from doing it properly. “I have yet to accept any of this as true.” She sniffed several times and buried herself within the veil. “Have him call on me tomorrow morning. The earlier the better. Tell him I will be ardently waiting.” The woman nodded through the veil and grabbed Imogene’s hand again. “Forgive me for not having attended the wedding. Are you and he happy?”
Imogene smiled. “Yes. We are. Very.”
“Good.” Lady Sumner shook her hand and kept shaking it. “What is he like? What has he grown into? A good man? The sort I can be proud of?”
Imogene’s heart squeezed. “Indeed. He is that and more, my lady. Though I will say he is haunted by whatever happened. He doesn’t tolerate small spaces and sometimes falls into silence when certain topics of conversation are introduced. Despite that, he manages to rise above it. I think his boxing helps him with that.”
Those fingers now dug savagely into Imogene’s hand, almost startling her. “He shouldn’t be boxing,” she rasped. “Lest he get hurt. Tell him to cease. Tell him I will not tolerate it.”
Imogene stared, wanting those digging fingers to let her go. She understood Lady Sumner’s concern, but something didn’t feel right. “I ask you ease your grip upon my hand.”
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