by Em Taylor
“You would have what, Lord Beattie?”
“I do not know, Lady Wardlaw. What I do know is I would not have continued to kiss her back. What kind of a gentleman do you take me for?”
“I do not know you well enough to form an opinion of you, Lord Beattie, though I have not heard any unfavourable gossip about you.”
“That is because there is none for you to hear, Lady Wardlaw.”
“You shall take care of my niece.”
“I shall, and I shall organise a common license once I am fit and well. I should be well enough in a day or two.”
“You have not eaten for three weeks, Lord Beattie. Give yourself some time. As long as she marries you, Emily’s reputation is safe. I bid you farewell.”
“Please, if I am not up and about tomorrow, will you chaperone Lady Emily to see me?”
Emily did not wait to hear her aunt’s response. It appeared that everyone had decided her fate. She was to marry a man with whom she had barely exchanged a few words. A man who meant to charm her to his will. Well, she would not be charmed. She would not marry the brute. His kiss may have excited her but she would not give into the charms of a self-confessed rake. She would find another way out of her dilemma. She would remain in the country. A spinster, in a little cottage, with just a housekeeper and a maid.
Oh, but where would she keep her horse and carriage? Where would the coachman, the stable master and stable hand live? The gardener? What a terrible fix she was in. How did people survive in the country in just a little cottage?
She arrived at her room and hurried to the window seat. She curled her legs in front of her so that her gown covered her knees and ankles, she leaned her head against the cool panes. She watched as the droplets of rain trickled down. She had never felt so alone. No one understood her. No one tried to. She was a silly goose who was always getting things wrong, but she tried so hard to be a proper lady.
When Lord Beattie had asked why she had never married, it had been on the tip of her tongue to tell the truth. For I am clumsy and awkward and sometimes say the wrong things in company. Especially when I am nervous. But that would never do. What would he have thought of her? Of course, he would find out soon enough if he did marry her.
The idea both appalled and excited her in equal measure. Her only option was to stay away from the viscount as much as possible and then he could not possibly charm her.
What an excellent plan.
Chapter 6
“This is a dreadful idea, Aunt.”
Gideon chuckled at the voice of his soon-to-be-intended outside his bedchamber door. She clearly had no idea how far her voice carried. He could not hear the reply of Lady Wardlaw who had obviously perfected the art of hushed tones.
He had insisted that his valet at least have him sitting in a chair for this meeting, even though he was in a dressing gown and had a blanket over his knees. He felt like an old man. That said, he also felt as weak as a kitten and it did not sit well with him.
“I shall not marry him and I do not want to visit him in his bedchamber. He shall not change my mind.”
More hushed mutterings from the dowager viscountess.
“You should have refused on my behalf. I am Sophia’s guest, not his.”
Again, some murmurings.
“Yes, Aunt. It is his house but… oh very well. I cannot argue that point.”
There was a quiet knock on the door and once he had bid them enter, Lady Wardlaw entered looking somewhat harassed. He did not blame her. This chit was going to be a trial. The chit entered behind. She was wearing a light blue day dress with a white shawl around her shoulders. Her hair, while pulled up into a pretty style, was damp and her cheeks ruddy.
“Good afternoon, ladies,” he intoned.
Lady Emily looked like a skittish horse who wanted to bolt. Lady Wardlaw looked severe. He had arranged for tea to be brought up and a maid placed the tea tray in front of Lady Wardlaw.
“I should really have had the tea tray placed in front of you, Lady Emily since you will soon be the lady of the house.”
“I…”
“Emily!”
Lady Emily looked at her aunt and turned a deep crimson colour, then concentrated on her hands in her lap which she began to twist nervously. She had obviously been about to refuse his suit.
“I do hate to be a burden, Lady Emily but would you mind passing me my tea,” he asked. She looked up into his eyes and gave him a tremulous smile. Her blue gaze was wary but there was a keen intelligence there. “I am still quite weak from my enforced bed rest.”
“Of course.” She jumped to her feet. “What do you take.”
“Milk and two sugars.”
She added both and passed him the cup and saucer. The porcelain rattled as her hand shook. She then fixed her own cup before sitting down.
“I think we should get right to it,” said Lady Wardlaw, but Gideon raised his hand surreptitiously, Lady Wardlaw saw his signal and gave him a knowing smile.
“You have misgivings about a match between us, I believe, Lady Emily.”
“Who told you that?” Her pert little chin raised and she looked directly at her aunt.
“You did when you stomped out of here last evening. Or was it still afternoon at that point. No matter. And just now. Outside my door. You really must learn to use a softer tone if you want to keep secrets.”
Emily bit her lip. He liked calling her Emily in his head, even if she had not yet given him leave to use her given name. She enthralled him. She was pretty enough. Not one of the beauties of the ton. He did not recall ever having met her at any of the social gatherings but then he avoided the most obvious entertainments of the marriage mart. At the balls he had to attend, he spent most of the evening in the card room and would dance, only when he felt he had to, usually with a friend of the family or with a distant cousin. Until now, he’d had no wish for a leg-shackle.
Her prettiness was understated. Her day gown was pleasing enough and hinted at full breasts. Her arms were slender which suggested her legs and waist would be slender too. Her face, while a deep shade of pink at present, was naturally like a peach and her blue gaze was guileless and innocent. Her long dark lashes brushed her cheeks and her tongue darted out to wet her rosebud lips. Damn, he wanted to kiss her again.
“As you see, my lord, I am really not a good match for a viscount.”
“Oh, I am sorry, my lady.”
She looked up at him, her brow furrowed in confusion. “Why are you sorry?”
“I apologise for the low status of my birth. Were you holding out for an earl? Or perhaps a marquis, or even a duke? I know you are the daughter of an earl so my lowly birth was probably not what you were hoping for in the least.”
“N-no. It is not that.”
“Oh, I see. It is like the children’s story. You wanted a prince. I fear, the Prince Regent is already wed. Perhaps you are looking for a Prince for far-off lands.”
She gazed at him, a mixture of horror and confusion marring her pretty features.
“My Lord, I…” But Gideon could not hide his smile any longer.
“Lady Emily, I am…”
“You are vexing me.”
“A little. You look so serious. You are not here for me to pronounce judgement upon you. I only wanted to get to know you better. What activities do you enjoy?”
“I enjoy singing.”
“You do? Who is your favourite composer?”
“Johann Sebastian Bach.”
“Oh, I do love his music too. I enjoy Handel’s music just as well. Do you play the pianoforte?”
She scrunched her dainty little nose. “Alas, I had ten thumbs when I tried to play the piano. I play the harp adequately. What activities do you enjoy?”
“Horse riding.” Her eyes lit up at that. “I assume you like horse riding too.”
“Of course.”
“When I have my strength back, we shall go take the ho
rses out. No doubt Sophia’s mare could do with a good gallop.”
“The ground is too wet to gallop.”
“I know of a few places we may be able to get up a little speed.”
“That would be nice.”
“Shall we say in around three days?”
She looked at him sceptically.
“My lord…”
“Please, call me Gideon.”
“Oh!” She bit her plump pink lip. God, it was adorable and it sent a spear of desire right through him.
“You do not wish to call me by my given name?”
“I… yes… but…”
“If you are not ready to give me leave to call you by your given name, then I can wait.” He gave her his most dazzling smile. The one he knew could charm the garters off the least willing widow.
“I would like you to call me by my given name, Lord… I mean Gideon.”
“It will be my pleasure, Emily,” he said. He lifted his cup to his lips and raised an eyebrow at Lady Wardlaw. She gave him the slightest nod of appreciation.
He turned the discussion to weather and the gossip from town. Both ladies joined in and they spent an interesting half hour in one another’s company. He found Emily to be a keen watcher of people. Her little asides showed an eye for details and curiosity about the people around her. He could tell she was used to being on the fringes of society, rather than in the heart of it, but it did not seem to perturb her in the least.
After tea, the ladies took their leave and Gideon was left to his thoughts. His thoughts turned to the young lady who would become his bride. What would it be like to bed her? He’d considered it a few times over the course of her visit to his bedchamber. The memory of their first kiss haunted him and he wanted a rematch. He had been wrong in his initial assessment of her. She was beautiful. It was just that he was not used to women who were not strutting in front of him like peacocks, trying to garner his attention. Her beauty was innate and masked by her lack of ambition to land a husband.
He imagined her naked on his bed, her long hair, cascading over the pillow, her breasts heaving in anticipation of their wedding night. Damn, he was getting aroused. Probably not a good idea, given his state of health. He hauled himself to his feet and hobbled to the window to look out on the waterlogged parterre gardens. Surely this weather couldn’t last much longer.
Chapter 7
Sophia walked into his bedroom, Gideon placed his paper onto the bedcovers and looked at her.
“Should you be coming into my bedroom unaccompanied?”
Sophia’s trill laughter rang out.
“You’re my brother, you silly man. You’re hardly going to ravish me.”
“Hmm, that’s true. Though, try telling George Byron that.”
“She was his half-sister and anyway, I know you better than that.”
“I should bloody well hope so.”
“Stop swearing. I came to see how you are keeping. Is your hand any better?”
He lifted his hand, gazed at the puncture wound on the palm and flexed his fingers. There was still a little redness around the wound and it still hurt, but it did not pain him half as much as it had when he had woken up.
“It is fine. Are you well?”
“I am well. Blooming actually.” She moved around the bed and as she walked, her gown tightened slightly around her bump. He worried for her.
“Do you think you are having a boy?”
She chuckled. “How would I know, Gideon. I am not a soothsayer.”
“Some say women have a sixth sense about these things.” She laid a hand lightly on her stomach and sighed.
“Part of me hopes for a boy as it was dear Octavius’s greatest wish to pass the title onto a son, but part of me hopes for a little girl, who shall not have the burden of being a viscount from birth. Who shall not have people counting the months of my confinement to make sure she is legitimate. I… I am not sure that I trust Mr Benson, Octavius’s nephew. He seems to want the title very badly indeed. He was rather distressed to hear that I was increasing and wrote to me demanding a letter from the apothecary confirming that I was with child.”
“You have just received this letter.”
“No. I did not tell you about it before because I did not want you riding off on your horse to put a bullet through his head.”
“What makes you think I will not do that now, sister.”
“You are still weak.”
“Not so weak I cannot defend the honour of my only sister.”
Sophia giggled. “Honestly Gideon, you are silly. You have to charm Lady Emily.”
“Ah, but she is just Emily now.”
“She allows you to address her by her given name?”
“I told you I was charming.”
“Of that, I am in no doubt, Gideon, but Emily is not your usual lady.”
“I am under no illusions on that score, Sophia. She is an enigma, but she is also beautiful, intelligent and charming in her own way.
“Oh!”
They both turned to find Emily standing in the doorway.
“Emily?” Sophia said.
“I apologise. Aunt Gertrude said I would find you here, Sophia”
“Do people not knock in Cumbria?” he asked, his eyebrow arched. Emily’s cheeks turned dark pink. Dash it all, he loved making her blush. He could not wait until she was flushed and panting under him.
“Ignore my brother, Emily. He is a brute.”
“But a charming brute. Emily, what say that this afternoon, I don some clothes and we take a turn about the garden.”
Her eyes grew to the size of saucers. “But it is raining, my lord.”
“Yes, it is, but it appears that if we wait until the rain ceases, we shall be in our dotage. I shall find an umbrella and you can raise your skirts so they don’t trail in the mud.”
“You are rather bossy, are you not, Gideon.”
“I am, Emily. Get used to it. I shall be bossy when we are wed, and you shall enjoy it.”
She glanced at Sophia and Gideon glanced at his sister too. Her eyes were lit with merriment and she sucked her lips into her mouth to stop herself from laughing. She knew he meant in the bedchamber, but Emily did not. Devil take it. When did his sister become so worldly wise? His gaze dropped briefly to her stomach and he felt a pang of regret for the young widow. Once her year of mourning was out of the way they would have to find her a new husband. She could not spend her life in isolation, whether the child was a viscount or the daughter of a viscount.
“I shall help you find something suitable to wear outside. If you have not brought anything warm enough, I am sure you can borrow something from me,” said Sophia, hurrying to her friend and ushering her out of the door. “Behave, Gideon,” she said, over her shoulder. He smirked but felt a warm feeling in his belly, just above his hardening cock.
Chapter 8
Gideon—she liked that name as it suited the rather austere but sometimes funny viscount—did not take her to wander through the parterre gardens in front of the house as she had imagined he would. Instead, he led her down a path towards a lake and some trees. He held an umbrella over her but he did not shelter under it himself. Instead, his hat and greatcoat were his defences against the unending drizzle.
She supposed the aspect would have been lovely any other year but nothing was growing and the grass was waterlogged. Some patches had now turned yellow because it had seen so little sun this year. It really was a very sorry sight. Emily knew most of England was in a similar state. She had heard from her brother and apparently Cumbria, Northumbria and Scotland were faring a little better. It was still colder and wetter than usual but partly because they grew hardier crops and partly because their weather had not been quite so miserable, they were looking forward to a harvest of some description.
“I received a letter this morning.”
“A letter?”
“From your uncle. Lord Hargreaves
.”
“My mother’s brother.”
“Yes. He is good friends with the Earl of Bachcomb whom he is visiting. He wants to come and visit. The letter came from the Bachcomb estate. It appears he wants to slap a glove in my face for debauching his niece.”
Emily suddenly felt very cold and very dizzy.
“No!”
“No? No, what?”
“He cannot. You did not.”
“That matters not to hot-headed men defending the honour of their nieces, Emily. He says he will come next week on his way back to London. Beattie Hall is on the way.”
“Next week? He is waiting a full week to defend my honour?”
Gideon huffed out a breath. “I’m rather pleased that he is waiting a week to defend your honour. It gives me another week without having my brains shot out.”
“How horrible.”
“The week or the brains.”
“The brains.”
“Hmm. You are rather hard to fathom at times, Emily.”
“I do apologise.”
“Please do not. I like it.”
“We must do something.”
“Yes, we must. Your uncle. Is he sane?”
“I believe so.”
“Good.”
“How far from the Scottish border is your brother’s estate.”
“Only a few miles.”
“Fine. Pack your things tonight when you go to bed. Before dawn, I shall come and wake you. We shall elope to Scotland.
“Elope?”
“Yes, Emily. Elope. We shall marry in Scotland without the need of a licence. If you wish, we can collect your brother on the way to be our witness. Assuming he agrees to our marriage.”
“I have not even agreed to marry you.”
“For pity’s sake woman. Your uncle thinks I defiled you. You have no choice. Half the ton will think you are a fallen woman by now.”
“But…”
“But what?”
Emily could think of no arguments. Not any that would hold sway against this brute of a man who was glowering down at her.