Happily Bedded Bliss: The Rakes of Cavendish Square

by Tracy Anne Warren

  He’d gone to bed last night in exactly the same pitiable condition, thoughts of his bride slumbering just down the corridor plaguing both his mind and his body.

  When the hall clock had chimed two, he’d nearly given in and gone to her, regardless of his promise to let her have the night to herself. But it was that selfsame promise, and the memory of her softly pleading eyes, that had kept him where he was despite his certainty that he could seduce her into giving herself to him.

  So there he’d lain, the long dark minutes creeping slowly past until he’d finally dropped off for a few uneasy hours of rest.

  Obviously they’d been spent dreaming of the new wife he wished was in his bed right now. If she’d been there beside him, he would have kissed her slowly awake then slid heavily into her, listening to her sounds of pleasure as he brought them both to shattering climaxes.

  He cursed aloud as his shaft throbbed with frustrated need. Tossing back the sheets, he climbed out of bed and padded naked and barefoot across to the adjoining bathing chamber.

  He’d been an idiot to have passed up a chance to take the edge off his lust with a courtesan in London. It hadn’t been like him at all, since he’d never been the sort to repress the carnal side of his nature. So why had he this time?

  Esme.

  Well, tonight should take care of his difficulty, since he fully intended to relieve Esme Byron . . . correction, Esme Landsdowne . . . of her maidenhead. He looked forward to educating her in the ways of the flesh and the marriage bed.

  Groaning at the thought, he reached for the pitcher full of water, turned icy-cold overnight. He stepped into the tub, raised it high, and poured.

  • • •

  “Good morning, Ridley,” Esme said as she walked into the stables.

  The head groom turned from his work with one of the horses, eyebrows rising. “Lady Esme! Beg pardon, miss. I mean, Lady Northcote.”

  Lady Northcote.

  How odd it sounded to hear herself called that. But she supposed Ridley was right. She was no longer Lady Esme Byron. Her new title would take some getting used to, though, as would the idea of being married in general.

  Truth be told, it all seemed like an elaborately bizarre dream—a continuation of the wild nocturnal ramblings that had plagued her throughout the night. Lord Northcote had figured prominently in those dreams. So much so that she’d almost expected to find him with her when she’d awakened.

  Instead she’d discovered her big cat Tobias curled in a lazy feline sprawl across the pillow next to hers. Northcote had honored his promise to give her the night to herself.

  But what of the night that was to come?

  Had anything really changed between her and Northcote over the past ten hours? Was he any less of a stranger than he had been yesterday?

  She frowned, deciding she would think about the immediate future later on, after she returned to the house.

  After she saw him again.

  “So what brings you around here so early, my lady?” Ridley continued. “I thought for certain you’d be sleeping late, seeing what a big day you had yesterday. The lads and I all wish you the very best, by the by. No young lady is more deserving of happiness than yerself.”

  Esme gave him a wide smile. “Thank you, Ridley. You are all so kind. Thank the lads for me as well.”

  Ridley tipped his cap. “You may depend upon it.”

  “Despite all the wedding excitement,” she said, “I have animals to look after and they don’t much care whether I got married or not. They only want their breakfast.”

  Ridley smiled. “That’s true enough, my lady. True enough. World don’t stop for beasts just ’cause humans got personal concerns. But it’s your special time. A lady only gets married once in her life and deserves a bit of indulging. The lads and I can handle things for you for the next little while, especially seein’ that you’ll be leaving soon with your new husband to set up a household of your own.”

  Her stomach lurched at the idea of leaving Braebourne. But of course Ridley was right again. She would be expected leave Braebourne eventually, probably sooner rather than later, since Northcote had his own estate, his own separate life, of which she would now be a part.

  “That’s most generous of you to offer to take on extra duties,” she said as she fought to repress the sudden wave of panic that rose inside her, “but I’ve already seen to my own dogs and cats this morning and given Poppy fresh water and new hay. I was just about to drop in for a peek at Abigail and her kittens to see how they are faring today.”

  “Oh, those kittens are right as rain. Barn cats they may be, but the lads are a fair way to spoiling the lot of them. And Pete in particular has taken a shine to ’em. He’s been slippin’ in to see them at all hours, and gives their mama a bit extra from his own plate, seein’ she’s nursing such a hungry brood. Naught to worry about there. Abigail is a grand mouser and an even better mother. We’re all glad of her.”

  “I know you are, but I’ll look in on them regardless. They’re just too adorable not to watch.”

  “They are that. Wee balls of fluff what fit right in your hand.”

  Esme and Ridley shared another brief smile. “After I see Abigail, I’m wondering if you could spare Pete for a few minutes. Aeolus is as healed as I can manage and growing more restless by the day. I’m going to take him out and see if he’ll fly. I’d like Pete to assist me.”

  “So you think he’ll fly again, that hawk, what with his wing shot through the way it was?”

  “We can only see. He belongs out in the wild, not cooped up in a horse stall.”

  “That he does. But what if he can’t fly? What if it turns out he’s too damaged?”

  “Then I’ll see to his continued care, of course. I would never turn loose any creature who could not care for itself.”

  “No, my lady, I know you would not. I’ll send Pete to you directly.”

  • • •

  Gabriel let himself out of his room and walked silently down the carpeted hall.

  It was early yet, he knew, too early even for the breakfast service to be laid out in the morning room. Only the servants were up, already hurrying about their duties, as industrious as ants.

  He thought of knocking on Esme’s door to see if she was awake, but doubted she would appreciate his intrusion. Quite likely, she was still asleep, lost in dreams like everyone else in the house.

  He could have rung for his valet to have a cup of hot coffee and a biscuit brought to his room. Instead, he’d shaved and dressed on his own, then set off for the stables.

  A ride would help to calm his mind and body in preparation for the day ahead.

  Many of the family members who’d arrived to attend the wedding were still in residence, several planning to stay for a few days more, or so the duchess had mentioned in passing.

  Then there were all the Byron siblings themselves, their various spouses and offspring, who had already been in residence before the wedding, there to spend a few weeks of early autumn together before returning to their own estates until mid-December. He’d been told they would all converge again for Christmas, as was the established Byron family custom.

  Considering that fact, he really did need to make arrangements for himself and his new bride to depart soon so they could spend some time alone. As for the holidays, he wasn’t in the habit of celebrating much beyond drinking an extra cup of wassail, but knowing the Byron brothers, they would probably hunt him down if he failed to return Esme to the family fold for the festivities.

  His first thought was to take her to his town house in London—but given the gossip presently raging, it seemed unwise, at least not until enough time had passed for the worst of the whispering to die down.

  Then there was Ten Elms.

  The estate might be his ancestral home, but he’d always found it as grim and smothering as
a shroud. Given the additional fact that he’d set foot in the place less than a handful of times in the past decade, it was hardly a proper location to pass the first few weeks of any marriage—even his own unwanted, hastily arranged affair.

  Lastly, there was Highhaven.

  He warmed to the idea immediately, even though the house on the Cornish coast was little more than a cottage and not nearly grand enough to satisfy the daughter of a duke. Highhaven had been a bequest from his grandmother on her deathbed but had remained unknown to him until he’d been advised of its existence when he’d come of age at twenty-one.

  He’d also inherited a small stipend that he’d used to repair and put the old place to rights. He’d hired caretakers as well—an honest, hardworking couple who cleaned and maintained the house when he was away.

  He’d always loved Highhaven, the first place in the world that had ever been completely his own. What would Esme think of it? Should he take her there? Show her the breadth and splendor of the Cornish sea and sky? Would she find it as beautiful and peaceful as he did himself?

  Making up his mind in that instant, he reached for pen, paper and ink. Quickly, he dashed off a note to inform the Canbys that he and the new Lady Northcote would be arriving in the next sennight, and to make the house ready. Sealing the note, he went to find the butler so that he could be sure the letter would go out with the first post.

  Afterward, he headed toward the stables.

  He was nearing the adjacent structure when he heard Esme’s voice carrying ever so faintly toward him on the wind. He looked to the east at the broad expanse of carefully maintained green lawn, which was bordered on one side by some woods, and found her in conversation with a young male servant. Between them sat the most curious kind of structure, a flat-bottomed wheelbarrow-like arrangement with something huge and cloth draped fastened on top.

  As he watched, they carefully edged back the cover on one side to reveal a wooden cage with a large hawk perched inside. The great brown bird had round yellow eyes that gleamed with predatory interest as it surveyed its natural surroundings.

  “All right, Pete,” Esme said, “let’s open the door and see what he does.”

  Fly away, Gabriel thought, wondering whose hawk it was she was in the process of liberating. Then again, any well-trained bird would return to its master if signaled in the proper manner.

  But as he continued to watch, he began to wonder if the bird was trained at all, or whether it was wild instead, since it wore no hood, bells, or leather jesses. Surely not, since wild birds could be extremely unpredictable and dangerous. Even domesticated hawks had been known to turn savage, if alarmed or mishandled.

  What in the blazes does she think she’s doing? She isn’t even wearing gauntlets.

  Gabriel started forward, his long strides eating up yards between them.

  “All is well, Aeolus,” she crooned to the bird as she drew closer to the open cage door. “Come out and test your wings.”

  The bird cocked his head and pinned her with a look but didn’t move from his perch.

  “Come along, sweetheart,” she coaxed again. “Time to see if you’re better. Don’t you want to fly again?”

  “Esme! Step back from that cage,” Gabriel ordered, careful to modulate his tone so as not to startle the hawk inside.

  Three pairs of eyes shifted his way. The servant and the bird regarded him with curiosity, Esme with a frown.

  “Lord Northcote, good morning.” Her voice was quiet and calm, without the slightest hint of concern. “If you would be so good, please stop where you are. Aeolus doesn’t care for people he doesn’t know, particularly men.”

  “Did you not hear me? Come away from there now, before you get hurt.” He took three strides closer, hoping to get within arm’s reach in case he needed to pull her away suddenly.

  “Gabriel, stop,” she said, holding a hand out toward him, palm up. “I am fully aware of what I am doing and have everything under control. But that will no longer be the case if you continue to approach. Please stop and step back slowly, out of Aeolus’s range of vision.”

  Inside the cage, the great bird ruffled his feathers and clicked his powerful beak, as if in agreement.

  “’Tis true, your lordship,” Pete said. “Lady Esme is a right wonder when it comes to working with beasts. Once ye’ve seen wot she can do, ye’ll think it’s magic.”

  Or insanity.

  Gabriel stayed silent, deciding to reserve judgment on the grandiose statement for the time being. Clearly Esme had the servants wrapped so tightly around her little finger that they could gainsay her nothing. But as much as he wanted to hurry forward and snatch her out of harm’s way, he also feared provoking the animal. With his jaw clenched, he moved backward, but no farther than needed to put him out of the hawk’s sightlines.

  Once he was at a safe distance, Esme turned her attention back to the hawk. “It’s all right, sweet bird. You’re safe. You’re fine. Do you feel up to trying to fly? We can always take you back inside if you don’t.”

  Gabriel kept his eyes on Esme, ready to act if needed, as he listened to her soothingly spoken monologue, which the bird couldn’t possibly understand.

  Yet the hawk calmed, quieting in his cage but still making no move to exit.

  “Peter,” she said in a near whisper. “Hand me the sleeve, please, then step away too. I’m going to see if I can coax him forth.”

  “Yes, milady.”

  The servant did as ordered, handing her a long sheath of cotton cloth lined inside with what looked like leather. It wasn’t exactly a gauntlet, but at least she wasn’t such a fool as to leave herself completely exposed. The sleeve fastened around her wrist and up over her forearm to her elbow but did not cover her bare hand. With the cloth on the outside, it looked rather like she was wearing a long-sleeved dress.

  Gabriel tensed, still not liking the situation. He ground his teeth together and swallowed down the warning that rose in his throat. Suppressing the instinct to rush forward again, he watched her ease her hand inside the cage.

  But rather than draw out a bleeding stump, Esme ever so carefully lifted the bird from the cage, the hawk balanced now on her arm.

  She crooned to him again, murmuring encouragements that he almost seemed to understand. The hawk tipped his head, listening to her as he slowly blinked his eyes.

  “I shall miss you, Aeolus,” she said. “You have been such a good, brave bird. But you are a wild creature and need to be free. I have done all I can to heal you; now you must do the rest. You must fly and make your home in the trees again. You must seek a mate, wherever she may be, and raise a brood of fine little eyases.”

  She blinked, her voice suddenly thick with emotion. “Go on, now. You’re ready. Take flight and have a long, happy life.”

  She extended her arm fully and gave it an encouraging upward bounce. But Aeolus hung on, turning his head again to look her once more in the eyes.

  Then, as if he too had said his good-byes, he spread his magnificent wings and lifted upward. Briefly, he fell back toward the earth, as though still uncertain if he had enough strength in his newly healed wing to make the flight. But then his feathers caught hold of the breeze and he flapped harder. Once, twice, three times, and he soared into the sky. With a profound grace, he flew farther and farther away until gradually he disappeared from sight altogether.

  Pete grinned widely, satisfied at the exhibition they had all just witnessed. “Exactly as I told ye, your lordship. Nothing short of amazing. ’Tis a gift Lady Esme has. She understands creatures like none I’ve e’er seen.”

  “Yes, so it would appear.” Gabriel walked slowly forward, considering his bride from an entirely new point of view.

  Briefly she met his eyes before looking away to busy herself removing the leather and cotton sleeve.

  The stable hand cleared his throat. “I’ll just tak
e this back to the stables, then, shall I?” He gestured toward the cart with the wooden cage fastened on top.

  “Yes, thank you for your help.” Esme handed the sleeve to the servant.

  “Anytime, Lady Esme.”

  “Lady Northcote,” Gabriel corrected quietly as he drew to a halt at her side.

  “Right ye are, my lord. So used to thinkin’ of her the other way, it’ll take a mite to get the new one lodged in me noggin. Day to ye, my lord. Lady Esme.”

  With a tip of his hat, Pete took hold of the cart handles and wheeled everything away.

  “Rather impertinent fellow. Does Clybourne not mind?”

  “Mind Pete? Not at all. Why, he’s one of our best grooms and has an excellent way with the horses, and with the barn cats too. Everyone likes Pete.”

  “He certainly reveres you. That was a terrible risk you took with that hawk, you know,” Gabriel said.

  Esme started toward the house. He fell into step beside her.

  “Not at all,” she said. “Aeolus is far from the first wild animal I have nursed back to health. Over the weeks since I pulled an arrow out of his wing, he’s learned to trust me. I find animals are amazingly understanding after you save their lives.”

  “Not always. Some of them have been known to bite the hand that helps them. So, do I take it you make a habit of rescuing wounded creatures?”

  “I do. And lost, abandoned ones as well.” She came to an abrupt halt, then turned and looked up into his eyes. Her own gleamed an intense blue. “Gracious, but I never thought to ask. You do like animals, don’t you?”

  He arched a brow. “What if I told you I do not?”

  Her delicate little forehead scrunched tight. “That would present a formidable problem, one that might compel me to ask you for an annulment.”

  Reaching out, he drew her to him. “Then it is a good thing that I do like animals—and not just to eat or wear.”

  Her frown grew thunderous. “That isn’t funny.”

  He chuckled, then forced himself to be serious again. “No, you’re right. It is not. Truly, I was just teasing. All your furry little charges are completely safe with me.”