Man of My Dreams Boxed Set

by Minger, Miriam

  “Swear to me ye haven’t touched the lass—on pain that yer soul writhe in eternal hellfire if ye lie—and I’ll say nothing of this night’s odd business to my mistress. Do ye understand me well, milord?”

  Jared gave a nod, feeling like a green schoolboy under the Scotswoman’s stern scrutiny.

  “So do ye bring her back as pure as she left here or no?”

  He swallowed a twinge of anger, wholly unused to explaining himself to anyone. But he could see, in this instance, that he had no choice.

  “I haven’t touched her, or compromised her in any fashion. On that I give you my word.”

  Silence reigned for what seemed an interminable moment; then Matilda finally nodded. “Very well, then, follow me. And take care ye step where I do, for the stairs squeak like the devil.”

  Having no idea what this woman’s knowledge might portend for Lindsay, Jared also told himself firmly that it was none of his concern as he followed Matilda up an imposing staircase. Then came a long hallway, their little trio passing by a closed door from which emanated the most outrageous snores, until they came at last to a room at the front of the house.

  “This’ll be Miss Somerset’s bedchamber, not that I imagine ye’ll be seeing it again after this night.”

  Making no reply to Matilda’s thinly veiled reprimand, Jared carried Lindsay into the decidedly feminine apartment with its lace curtains and pastel pink wallpaper and laid her on the canopied four-poster, the bedclothes already turned down as if awaiting her return, a lamp burning brightly on a side table. Imagining no matter his sworn oath what the Scotswoman must be thinking to see Lindsay in such bedraggled condition, the smell of ale and tobacco clinging to her cloak and tousled hair, he decided it was time he left.

  Perhaps even London, he thought darkly, though he knew that must wait until his business was accomplished.

  “Good night to ye, then, Lord Giles,” came Matilda’s voice, her back to him as she began to divest a limp Lindsay of her soiled slippers. “I take it ye can find yer way out?”

  He could tell from the Scotswoman’s tone that she didn’t expect an answer, and he didn’t give one. His face as grim as she had sounded, he couldn’t wait to leave the house, and when he did, he closed the door firmly behind him.

  As firmly as he trusted Lindsay Somerset was well out of his life, although, settling once more into the carriage, he couldn’t help thinking that his oath to Matilda hadn’t been entirely true.

  So he had kissed the chit. Did that make him a liar? God knows he already had enough transgressions heaped upon his soul to send him straight to hell.

  “Driver, the Boar’s Head tavern!” he commanded the coachman, his gaze drawn to the pale light streaming from the windows of Lindsay’s room even as he made himself look away.

  Chapter 7

  “Oh, Lord.”

  Lindsay slumped onto her side and gripped her head, her low groan sounding as loud to her as the crashing of cymbals. She wondered weakly if she could open her eyes. She wanted to, but it seemed her eyelids were stuck to her lower lashes, either that or the sensation was some dire warning that she should keep her eyes firmly closed.

  She could tell it was daylight. Her bedchamber was always bright in the morning, especially on sunny mornings. And she knew it was brilliant outside for the warm rays slanting across her face, which made her slit her eyes to take a peek.

  “Oh… oh, no.” Her fresh groan like a banshee’s shriek inside her aching head, Lindsay now knew why she should well keep her eyes shut, the sunlight blinding her. She rolled onto her stomach and lay there limp as a rag, wishing she had something to drink to wash the unpleasant taste of ale from her mouth. Oh, Lord, ale…

  “Good morning, miss, and a fine morning it is, too! I’ve brought yer breakfast.”

  Lindsay didn’t move except for a feeble flutter of her hand, Matilda’s cheery voice making her wince.

  “My, my, miss, ye’re looking a bit peaked—wan as a ghost, I’d say. I hope ye’re not coming down with a cold.”

  Anything, Lindsay thought miserably, a nasty cold, a fever, anything would be better than how she felt at that moment.

  “I-I’m fine, Matilda—well, not truly,” she somehow managed, attempting a second time to open her eyes. “I fear something I ate or drank at the Whimseys’ card party last night didn’t agree with me.”

  “Aye, that tiny bit of sherry, no doubt.”

  Matilda had spoken so sharply that Lindsay lifted her head, but the stout Scotswoman was busy sprinkling what appeared to be loose tea into a cup of steaming water.

  “Is… is that for me?”

  “Ha! Surely not for me, lass. I’ve no headache such as the one plaguing ye this bright morning.”

  “Headache… how—”

  “Never ye mind. Just roll yerself over and sit up so ye can drink.” Matilda cut her off sternly, her deep brown eyes fixed on Lindsay as she held out the cup. “Ye’ll feel better after a sip or two of my willow bark tea, but, Lord knows, mayhap I should just let ye suffer.”

  Lindsay was so stunned she couldn’t but obey, no matter that her head seemed to pound all the more as she lifted herself to a sitting position. With trembling hands she took the cup and brought it to her lips, which made the Scotswoman cluck her tongue disapprovingly.

  “Aye, from the look of ye when Lord Giles carried ye into the house at three this morn, I’d say ye’re lucky to be awake before noon. Stunk like a drunken sailor, ye did—”

  “You saw the Earl of Dov—I mean me? Both of us?”

  Matilda’s brusque nod made Lindsay gulp, fragmented memories of the night before falling together like a puzzle in her mind.

  What shall we do with a drunken sailor? What shall we do—

  She grimaced and shoved the bawdy drinking song from her thoughts even as she was struck by another foggy recollection of her drumming on Jared’s lower back and his… his—oh, dear, she hadn’t, had she?

  Her face burning, Lindsay slumped against the headboard.

  “Now, now, miss, drink yer tea. The world hasn’t come to an end. Lord Giles assured me he laid no hand upon ye—I made him swear an oath ye’re a virgin still.”

  “Matilda!”

  “Aye, and rightly so I did! ‘Tis not my place to be judging yer actions, but I can’t imagine what possessed ye to traipse so late from the house, and ye being a proper-brought-up young lady! Certainly the earl’s a fine-looking man, but ye heard well what Lady Penney thinks of him.”

  “Oh, no, Aunt Winnie!” Lindsay had nearly dropped the cup, the hot tea she gulped scalding her throat. “She doesn’t know about last night, does she?”

  “Know? Have ye any sense in yer head, lass? If I told my mistress of yer doings, she’d fall to her bed with the vapors and mayhap never arise!”

  Relief flooding through her, Lindsay set the teacup on the bedside table and looked earnestly at Matilda. “And she must never know, you must promise me, please promise me. I wouldn’t want to hurt her, she’s been so kind.”

  “Aye, so she has. But if I hold my tongue, what will ye promise me then?”

  “Promise… me to you?” As the Scotswoman nodded firmly, Lindsay felt a sinking sensation in her stomach. “If… if you mean will I say I won’t see Jared again—”

  “Jared, is it?” Looking wholly exasperated, the Scotswoman flung up her hands. “Heavens, lass, ye’ve only just met him and already ye’re calling him by his given name?”

  “Of course. What else would I call the man I plan to marry? ‘Lord Giles’ seems silly, and besides, he asked me to call him Jared… Matilda?”

  The old Scotswoman’s face had gone chalk-white. Lindsay threw aside the bedclothes in alarm, but Matilda had already sought the comfort of a chair, plopping down as Lindsay rushed to her side. Her head was throbbing, her stomach suddenly queasy, but she couldn’t think of her discomfort now. She took the maid’s plump hand in her own.

  “Matilda, what’s wrong—”

  “Wrong? Lord i
n heaven, lass, are ye so determined to bring Lady Somerset’s wrath down upon yer poor aunt?”

  At the Scotswoman’s poignant dismay, Lindsay had to grit her teeth, just as she had done so many times in Porthleven because her domineering stepmother wielded such power to distress people. For years she had watched Olympia belittle and browbeat her father, Randolph Somerset finally turning to strong drink as a refuge from the second wife he had brought to his home not long after Lindsay’s mother had succumbed to a fever.

  Lindsay couldn’t count the occasions she had wanted to rail at the ridiculous woman—double that number the times she had prevented Corisande from venting her legendary temper on her best friend’s behalf—but Lindsay’s love for her father had kept her from making his life any more miserable than it already was. Yet somewhere this tyranny had to stop, if not for her father, at least for herself. It had to!

  That was why she would wed no man who would allow that woman to govern their lives. And if once married she was adventuring far, far away from Cornwall, so much the better. But no matter if near or far, she knew in her heart that a bold spy and hero of the realm like Jared Giles wouldn’t hesitate to stand up to the likes of Olympia Somerset.

  “Matilda, you don’t have to fear for Aunt Winnie, I promise you. Jared will see to my stepmother. But I won’t promise not to see him again.”

  “Aye, so I thought ye’d say.”

  “And he’s not anything at all like Aunt Winnie described—surely not a rogue, but gallant and brave and daring, everything I’ve always dreamed for a husband.”

  “Very well, then, if he’s all these fine things, what does Lord Giles say to yer plans to wed? Not that it’s any of my business, mind ye, but my dear mistress and her welfare is my affair.”

  “Well…” Lindsay paused, not wanting to admit that Jared was as unaware of her fond hopes as she was determined to make them become reality. “He wouldn’t have agreed to meet me last night if his intentions weren’t honorable. What true gentleman would risk dire censure from his peers by misleading me? After all, you said he did swear.”

  “Aye, he did, and I believed him. But he’s won a notorious reputation for himself, lass.”

  “No more than jealous gossip, Matilda, surely, and I refuse to believe it. And Jared made no move toward me last night that was anything but gentlemanly and respectable.”

  As Matilda sighed and looked away, Lindsay didn’t elaborate further, her face grown quite warm as more memories flooded upon her—Jared unfastening her cloak, his fingers grazing her breasts. Jared caressing the ale from her chin. And there was another vision that came to her, more sensation than memory, making her cheeks flame hotter.

  A sensation of power… power and searing possession in a kiss so dark and hungry that she felt her breath falter, her hands fisting in the white linen of her nightgown. Oh, Lord, had Jared really—

  “All right, lass, yer secret is safe with me, but for one week, no longer.”

  Lindsay blinked, wrenched back rudely to reality. “One—one week?” she echoed, confused.

  “Aye, and no more. If Lord Giles’s intentions are as honorable as ye say, and he’s willing to escort ye about the city with no proper chaperone, then I expect he’ll soon be making a formal proposal to Lady Penney about taking ye for his wife. Mayhap this very morning he’s even posted a letter to Sir Randolph asking for yer hand in God’s holy matrimony—to my mind a prudent thing to do, given last night.”

  With that Matilda rose from the chair and bustled to the door, leaving Lindsay so stunned that she merely stared after her.

  “Back to bed with ye, miss, and finish yer willow bark tea,” came a final admonishment right before Matilda disappeared into the hall. “I’ll call for a bath so ye can wash the last of that stench from yer hair.”

  Lindsay barely heard her, her head pounding twice as hard.

  One week.

  One week to show Jared she was as bold and adventuresome as he could hope for in a bride—and surely last night she had impressed upon him that she wasn’t like most other marriageable young women in London for the Season. Would any of them have dared venture out late at night to see more of the city? Dared to enter a place called Tom’s Cellar and down enough ale to—

  Lindsay didn’t finish the thought, her stomach lurching so crazily that she knew she was going to be sick. She barely made it to the chamber pot… so much for Matilda’s willow bark tea making her feel any better. When she was done she collapsed upon the bed, wondering weakly how she might contact Jared.

  Except she had no idea where in the West End he resided, the realization striking her with fresh intensity that she really knew so little about him. Only that he was an earl and a spy who found some solace in raucous places like Tom’s Cellar—making Lindsay groan and roll over onto her side, away from the blinding morning sunlight streaming through the windows.

  Yet she indistinctly remembered him saying something about India—yes, she was almost certain of it, the fuzzy memory becoming more focused. Something about Calcutta and pineapples and sweet cherry brandy, and then he had…

  “Lindsay, are you awake? Oh, my dear girl, such wonderful news! Wonderful news!”

  Groaning to herself, Lindsay sat up just as Aunt Winifred burst into the room in a flurry of pink silk, her two Welsh corgis, Primrose and Ignatius, as sturdy as sausages, trotting obediently in her wake.

  “I thought it would never come—what a dreadful slight that would have been—but my dear friend Lady Sefton didn’t fail me. Look!”

  As Aunt Winifred excitedly waved an ivory-colored card, Lindsay forced a smile even though she felt her spirits sinking. “A letter, Aunt Winnie?” she asked stupidly, knowing better but wishing all the same that Primrose and Ignatius might transform themselves from docile pets into frenzied hounds with a penchant for chewing paper.

  “A letter? Of course not, dear child, it’s a voucher of admission to Almack’s! We’ll be attending a ball there this very night! Oh, this is wonderful. Olympia will be so pleased. Only the very best sort are invited to join by the Lady Patronesses—you won’t fail to make an excellent match now!”

  As Aunt Winifred hurried across the room and flung open the doors to the wardrobe, Lindsay’s smile faded, the prospect of another ball, especially this one, making her head doubly ache.

  A few weeks ago she might have jumped with delight at the invitation, but Almack’s, well known as the shrine of the socially unblemished, was hardly a place where she might find Jared. With his blighted reputation, no matter how unjustly earned, she doubted that he would make it past the hallowed front portal. Yet she could always hope…

  “Oh, my, yes, this blue silk will be perfect!” Aunt Winifred spun back to the bed, her kind gray eyes misted with tears as she clasped the gown to her ample bosom. “If I’d had a daughter, I would have wished such an honor for her. But that you’re my beloved brother Randolph’s child and my own dear niece, ah, such a happy day.”

  Lindsay swallowed hard at her aunt’s sincerity, suddenly thinking herself a bit of a traitor to be feeling so ungrateful. “It will be a lovely evening, Aunt Winnie. Truly, I can’t wait.”

  “Aye, and yer bath can’t wait, either,” Matilda announced briskly from the doorway. “The water’s nice and steaming, miss. Up with ye now, before it grows cool.”

  “Yes, while I must write to Olympia at once.” Handing the evening gown to Matilda, Aunt Winifred cooed to her dogs. “Come along, my sweet darlings. Oh, so much to do!”

  Lindsay collapsed back onto the pillows to stare numbly at the frilly chintz canopy as soon as her aunt was gone, but that didn’t prevent her from stiffening when she heard Matilda clucking her tongue.

  “So that might make two letters posted today to Cornwall,” the old Scotswoman appeared to say more to herself than to Lindsay, Matilda’s slightly bowed back to the bed as she returned the gown to the wardrobe. “One to Sir Randolph and one to his wife. Aye, mayhap this whole tangle will unravel itself in a few days
’ time and not a week, and we’ll have a fine spring wedding to plan. If not, well, I suppose my mistress will be writing another letter once she learns…”

  Lindsay found her heart beating wildly when Matilda fell to clucking again and she lunged from the bed, not wanting to hear any more.

  Nor would she consider for a moment that one week wouldn’t be enough time to convince Jared that she could be the bride of his dreams. She threw her fringed shawl around her shoulders, her chin rising a notch. “Oh, no, my lord, I’ve finally found you and I’m not going to lose you now.”

  “I’m sorry, miss, did ye say something?”

  Lindsay didn’t answer, her footsteps determined as she flew down the hall thinking of pineapples and cherry brandy and a kiss that made her heart want to leap from her breast.

  Chapter 8

  “Please, my lords, no, I simply can’t dance another step.”

  Lindsay extricated herself as gracefully as possible from a quintet of disappointed-looking gentlemen, the English country dance she’d just endured barely ended before she and her winded partner, Lord Sotherby, had been surrounded. And Lord Sotherby had even wanted her to dance with him again, although the poor snowy-haired fellow, nearly three times her age, had wheezed and puffed so wretchedly that she had feared he might expire on the dance floor.

  “Oh, Lord.”

  Lindsay veered sharply, ducking into the throng surrounding the refreshment table as she spied Lord Ambrose Lamb heading her way. No wonder she was beginning to feel as if she were caught in a maze! There seemed to be no escape from the constant attention, Almack’s proving as much a trial as she had imagined, and with no immediate relief in sight.

  Grabbing a small glass of lemonade and retiring to the shadows under the musician’s gallery, Lindsay glanced across the huge assembly room to where Aunt Winifred sat conversing merrily with Maria, Lady Sefton, the Patroness who had granted them a voucher, Matilda sitting patiently behind them. Her beaming aunt was clearly in her glory, the night as much a triumph for her as she had enthused during the carriage ride to King Street that it would be for Lindsay.