A Husband for Hire (The Heirs & Spares Series Book 1)

by Patricia A. Knight

  “Thank you. Go back to what you just said.”

  “About potatoes or the color of your dress?”

  She stared at him and then snorted, pressing a hand to her mouth to halt a bark of laughter. Amusement lurked in her fine hazel eyes. “Wretched beast, you will make me ask.”

  “Ah, that.” He shrugged. “You know my thoughts on the subject.”

  “But I told you last night I was willing, and you rolled over and presented me with your back.”

  “You lacked conviction.”

  Her mouth hung open for a moment before she closed it with a snap.

  “If I eat another bite, I will surely gut founder, so I am away to the library to further acquaint myself with other improvements to cultivated earth such as gypsum and crop rotation. Will you join me, madam?”

  She eyed him suspiciously. “Are you really going to bury yourself in some dry agricultural treatise?”

  “Yes.” Though, he could be distracted by other delights, Eleanor’s elegant neck and the soft white skin on her slender shoulders for instance. Her lush lower lip, currently caught between her teeth might require further study. More of her sweet kisses wouldn’t go amiss.

  “Might I talk you into helping me research the owners of mares of the Old Codger bloodline instead? I mean to write to all of them and ask if they have mares they will sell. I have a copy of the General Stud Book current through last year. I’d like to accomplish it before Day Dreamer wins the Epsom Derby.”

  Ask him to research racehorses? You might as well ask a schoolboy if he wanted to put down his mathematics and go fishing. He was quick to assist her out of her chair. “I won’t put up much of a fight, my lady. In fact, consider it done.”

  As she rose, he winged out an arm to escort her to the library. She wrapped her arm through his and observed, “It was remarkably easy to sway you, my lord. One would think you lack a true commitment to the science of land improvement.”

  “An accurate observation if ever I heard one,” he muttered. “I’d as rather decline Latin nouns.” From her gurgle of laughter, he’d found a co-conspirator.

  “Then you will welcome the knowledge that we have a land manager who lives and breathes such things. Father had me read the exact same book you had last night only so that I would not be entirely ignorant.”

  “You have relieved my mind of a great weight.”

  They spent several hours in serious industry, borne out by the ink stains on his fingertips and the dust streak on Eleanor’s cheek from venturing into some rarely-opened books containing maps of Ireland and Scotland. She shoved the latest one away with a groan.

  “I cannot decipher these margin notes. My eyes are refusing to focus. Shall we take a break? I’ll ring for some tea and biscuits. Cook made some lovely ginger ones yesterday.”

  “Excellent thought. It is coming on 2:00. Walters tells me that is the customary time the Earl set aside for business callers.” He sent her a speaking look. “We should probably have to stop, regardless.”

  With a face as if she’d tasted something foul, Eleanor rose and stuck her head out of the library door to speak with a footman who would relay her message to the kitchen. Moving to where Miles sat at the desk, she picked up several large books with the obvious intention to reshelve them. He rose and followed her to the shelves.

  “Here, let me help you,” he offered, taking one out of her hand and sliding it into its place. With a smile, she handed him the others, one at a time. He misplaced the last volume on purpose.

  “No.” She stretched forward beside him, reaching across him for the errant book in such a fashion that her breast pressed into his side. “I believe it goes…”

  He caught her about the waist and turned her toward him. “I know where it goes. We’ll straighten it later.” He leaned down and kissed her mouth, smiled against her lips and kissed her again before straightening. “I’ve meant to do that all morning.”

  She gazed at him wordlessly, then rose on her toes and kissed him back, her arms wrapping his neck, her fingers running through his hair in a delicious manner. Delighted with her boldness, he held her to him, one hand low on her back, pressing her against his falls where a particular male organ was rousing to life. Kiss followed lengthening kiss with Eleanor participating fully—so fully that he swept her up into his arms, carried her to the sofa and sat with her in his lap to further explore his willing wife. She made a warm, delectable bundle of rose silk and white skin, sensitive skin that he began to map with his fingers while continuing to occupy her mouth with increasing thoroughness. Her tongue danced with his eagerly while the innocent rocking of her arse incited misbehavior of the worst sort from his cock. His hand slipped into the front of her gown and cupped her bare breast. Her nipple hardened in reaction and she gave a low moan. If a man could die from raw need, she was going to be the death of him.

  The rattle of china on a metal tray came from the open library door accompanied shortly thereafter by a clearing of a throat.

  Eleanor drew back fractionally from a kiss she participated in with an untutored enthusiasm that was every bit as arousing as that of a skilled courtesan. “Miles … the servants.”

  “Ignore them. They will go away.”

  “But…” She gurgled with laughter. “I want my tea.”

  He drew back from an oral exploration of the delicious juncture of her neck and shoulder and with a sigh of regret, removed his hand from her bodice. “I’d prefer to nibble you instead.”

  “But you have yet to taste one of Cook’s ginger biscuits.”

  He knew when he was defeated and by a ginger biscuit at that. But, he’d accomplished what he’d set out to do. The servants had caught them in a moment of amorous interchange and servants being servants, the gossip that Lord and Lady Miles Everleigh had been surprised in the library in an intimate moment would speed throughout the entire estate. If he could arrange several more of these moments of discovery in the odd location, it would shortly be common knowledge that Lord Miles was a randy sod and Lady Eleanor delighted in it.

  He set her off him. Eleanor straightened the shoulders of her gown and glanced at his lap, noting the evidence of his enjoyment that had risen to prominence behind the falls of his too-revealing breeches. From behind her, she offered him a pillow for his lap. To call her grin triumphant would not be an overreach.

  “See to your tea, Eleanor.”

  As it happened, the ginger biscuits were every bit as good as Eleanor professed.

  Chapter Sixteen

  A

  s Miles had predicted, Mr. Ivan Ludlow arrived at the stroke of 2:00. As Miles and Eleanor were engaged in having tea in the library, Mr. Ludlow cooled his heels for a good hour before being shown into the Earl’s study. Miles sat behind the Earl’s great desk, at his ease, very much “lord of the manor” while the commoner, Mr. Ludlow, was offered an armchair positioned before the center of the desk, a place appropriate to a supplicant. Eleanor nested, cozily familial on a sofa near the window. She held an embroidery hoop and seemingly stitched, an expression of tranquil domesticity on her face which Miles found highly amusing given what he knew of the lady’s character. The stage was set with the actors in their places. Let the farce begin.

  “Let’s not waste our time, Mr. Ludlow. I’ll get straight to the point. Lady Miles advises that the Prince Regent questions the intent and validity of our union. Do I have the right of it?”

  “Yes, my lord. There are elements of the circumstances surrounding your marriage that suggest intent to deprive the Crown of an entailed property that is legally theirs upon the passing of the present earl. We believe that yours is not a marriage entered into with the intention to beget children but to interfere with the legal reversion of property.”

  “Nonsense.”

  Ludlow narrowed his eyes. “I think not, my lord. The settlement of a significant sum of money upon you and the payment of a conditional annuity give rise to all sorts of conjecture. Furthermore, in interviewing the staff of th
e homes surrounding the Lady Miles Everleigh’s property in London, I am told that on the very night of your wedding, when most brides and grooms are otherwise engaged, said lady was observed getting into her coach with baggage strapped to the roof and said coach was seen departing London at an excessive speed. Some minutes later, you exited the townhome and got into a hansom. Further inquiry revealed that you arrived at Baron Stanton’s residence in Mayfair and departed his townhouse perhaps an hour later in great haste, arriving at Rutledge Manor shortly after the Lady Miles Everleigh’s arrival.” Ludlow checked his notes. “You remained less than an hour then rode out, not even staying for dinner. The ostlers at the posting inn on the road to Newmarket say that you came into the yard around 3:00 a.m. and asked for a change of horse, yours showing signs of hard use.”

  Ludlow settled back into his armchair with an air of satisfaction. “That does not paint a picture of wedded bliss. It smacks of a heated falling out between two business partners. I have reason to doubt this marriage was even consummated. What could possibly induce a high-born gentleman such as yourself to marry a plain spinster so senior to him if not for money?” He cast an uneasy glance at Eleanor. The expression of anger and offended outrage on her face would create trepidation in a much braver man than Ludlow. “Beg pardon, ma’am.”

  One booted ankle resting on his knee, Miles rocked back in the great chair and studied Ludlow, without sparing Eleanor a glance. “Let me address your last comment by referring you to the American, Benjamin Franklin. In a letter to a young friend, I believe he lists eight excellent reasons for welcoming, nay preferring, the affections of an older woman—none of which speak to money. You should familiarize yourself with them.

  “As for the rest of your spewing, it is pure conjecture and balderdash. The financial settlement and annuity were not for me but for my mother, the Dowager Duchess of Chelsony. The funds happen to be in accounts under my name to protect them. You may have heard that my eldest half-brother acceded to the position of Duke of Chelsony. The man is a tyrannical skinflint. I would add unprincipled to that description as he is the trustee of Mother’s widow’s jointure and has used her monies for his benefit while she remained in mean circumstances. When I expressed my distress about my mother’s situation to Lady Miles, my generous, kind-hearted wife offered to purchase a home for her and provide a yearly allowance for the running of the household. The property is Fairwood Stud in Newmarket, formerly the Woodward farm. It is easily found. You may verify this information with my mother if you desire. She is in residence.” He wondered how fast a messenger could carry instructions to his mother about what to tell Ludlow. Certainly faster than Ludlow would care to travel.

  “You can be certain I will, my lord. How do you explain both your and her ladyship’s actions on the night of your wedding?”

  Eleanor rose from the sofa, every inch of her quivering with offense. “Do you have a wife, Mr. Ludlow?”

  “I haven’t been so lucky, my lady.”

  “Then you will be unaware of the delicate sensibilities of well-bred females particularly when it relates to intimate matters of…of…amorous congress.”

  Ludlow squirmed in his chair and muttered something inaudible.

  “When a virginal bride is confronted with the bare realities of what is expected of her, sometimes she needs…” Eleanor threw up her hands, gesturing vaguely. “A day… or two… to become adjusted to the idea. And, and, she wants her… her… mother.”

  She does? What a bouncer. With some difficulty, Miles arranged his features into an impassive expression. Eleanor’s inventiveness fascinated him, but he had never met a woman less likely to run to her mother for anything—ever.

  “Yes, I quit my townhome and returned to Rutledge as fast as my horses could take me, and yes, Lord Miles followed on my heels before proceeding to Newmarket. As my husband is a man of every consideration and kindness, he removed his person to allow me time to… adjust, and our marriage is now on a most congenial footing.” Eleanor crossed the room and stood behind Miles with her hands on his shoulders. “Most congenial.”

  Miles picked up one of her hands, kissed her knuckles and replaced it on his shoulder, then held the agent with a featureless gaze. “Satisfied, Mr. Ludlow?”

  The man studied them with an expression of lively suspicion. “For now. I have a few more interviews to perform before I’m ready to report my findings to His Royal Highness. I’ll stop in again before I return to London.” He stood and made a bow. “I’ll see myself out. My lady, m’lord, good-day to you.”

  When Miles was certain Ludlow was no longer within hearing, he glanced over his shoulder at Eleanor, one eyebrow raised. “Your mother?”

  She shrugged, her hands slipping off him. “At that moment, I couldn’t think of anything else to explain my bolt to Rutledge other than to seek the comfort of my mother. Speaking of my dear parent, I told her I would sit with her in the garden this afternoon. I’m quite certain she will spend the time quizzing me about Mr. Ludlow.”

  Miles pulled out his watch. “I am closeted with your father for the next several hours. I expect the same treatment, but first, I must draft instructions to the Dowager Duchess on her response to Ludlow and dispatch them to Fairwood with all haste.”

  “Of course, she must have time to prepare. When you are ready, send a footman to Bitters. I think, Jemmy as our rider? He is conscientious and familiar with the way.”

  “Excellent idea.” He stood and moved to the sofa. “Over the first hurdle safely. I think we made a convincing domestic pair.” He picked up the embroidery hoop she’d been stabbing at when Ludlow arrived and scrutinized it. “Though I won’t be asking you to darn my stockings.”

  “Are you up to continuing, Lord Rutledge? We can resume tomorrow. We have been head down in estate accounts for the last four hours and will have to dress for dinner shortly, regardless.” Miles eased back in the chair that he’d pulled up to a circular table placed in a sunny bay window in the library and regarded Eleanor’s father with a quiet smile. The Earl sat in his wheeled chair beside Miles with a lap robe covering his legs.

  Lord Rutledge’s mind remained keen. Sadly, the body that housed that impressive mind was failing. Miles suspected Eleanor’s father lived on from sheer stubborn will. The Earl labored to catch his breath, and elaborating on a subject of particular significance required an effort on the old gentleman’s part that was painful to watch. Miles knew a pang of regret that he had not met the Earl in the gentleman’s younger days. He thought he should have liked him exceedingly well. His respect, tinged with a growing fondness for the crusty old man, gave him a measure of insight into the heartbreak for which Eleanor prepared herself.

  He, too, had lost a beloved parent. He’d been at Oxford when his father had fallen ill and had nearly crippled his horse, so hard had he pressed the poor beast in a headlong race to reach his father’s bedside. When the Duke succumbed to his illness and died, if not for the necessity to be strong for his mother, he should have spent weeks closeted with his grief.

  The Earl of Rutledge impressed Miles with his vast and varied knowledge about the workings of Rutledge and its attached farms and villages and with his determination to ensure he imparted all of it to the younger man—as if Miles would have an active hand in the administration of the estate. Without saying a word, the Earl of Rutledge gave him to understand that he loved his land and his people and had cared for them with unstinting effort—a legacy he expected Miles to carry on. Caught up in the fabrication of his “loving” marriage to Eleanor, Miles couldn’t tell Lord Rutledge that the older gentleman’s hours of painstaking explanation were wasted, but it didn’t signify. Some of the information the Earl imparted could be useful at Fairwood.

  The man’s winter-blue eyes caught Miles’ and held his gaze for several moments before the Earl's lids dropped as if the effort to keep his eyes open was too great. “On this Ludlow business. All of the properties we discussed today, I hold privately. They are not subject to entail
and are mine to give as I see fit. I have seen fit to leave them to you.

  “I have amended my will and petitioned the House of Lords for a waiver that will allow me to adopt you as my legal heir. Elsington submitted the waiver to the House of Lords the day your marriage was announced in the Times. I still carry some influence in the House of Lords, and as I fully expected, the waiver was granted in a timely manner.”

  The old gentleman paused to catch his breath while Miles sat, stunned into silence.

  “You will inherit the entirety of Rutledge, the entail plus all lands in freehold, thus keeping the estate intact. The title conveys with the entail. Furthermore…” the Earl opened his eyes and directed a fierce, uncompromising glare at Miles, “… you will set aside that ridiculous codicil to your marriage contract requiring you to separate yourself from Eleanor, and you will take up your residence here. Upon my death you will accede to the title of the 11th Earl of Rutledge and Eleanor shall be your countess.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  The Earl’s voice lost its stridency, and his expression became weary. “This is the best way I know of to protect Eleanor. She has lived a life far removed from the avarice and the legal manipulations perpetrated upon vulnerable females by unscrupulous men. In many ways, she is naïve and artless, and altogether too trusting, though she does not consider herself so, and that makes her doubly vulnerable.” His gaze sought Miles again. “Elsington has noted that in naming you my heir, I will bolster the authenticity of your marriage. This Act of Lords will put paid to any attempt by HRH to interfere in your marriage.” Again his lids fell, and the room filled with his sonorous breathing. “You should get her with child at the earliest. It is always best to have a male heir in situ.”

  “Lord Rutledge, I… I…”

  The old gentleman continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “I can only pray my trust in you is not misplaced. I rely upon you to provide for my daughter in a manner that allows her to retain the freedoms she has enjoyed all her life. She has not had a conventional upbringing and should not be restricted to a conventional life. Her spirit would shrivel and die. Should Lady Rutledge survive me, I would deeply appreciate it if you would extend to her such tender considerations as may be necessary.”