The Choice of a Cavalier (The Heirs of the Aristocracy Book 3)

by Linda Rae Sande

  Victoria pretended to pout. “Just one more?”

  He gave her a grin. “Oh, all right.” He peeked into one of the boxes, his brow arching. “You can open this one,” he said as he passed the box to her.

  Victoria removed the lid and stared at the silver satin dance slippers. “Oh,” she whispered. “But, I cannot dance,” she added, as she raised her gaze to his.

  “Tonight, you will. Even if I have to carry you through a waltz,” he replied.

  She seemed to think on it for a time before she finally nodded. “These will be perfect with my orchid gown, I should think,” she murmured.

  “Then I shall dress you in the orchid gown for dinner.” Before she could remind him that she needed a bath, he added, “But first, I shall draw you a bath and wash your hair.”

  A frisson had Victoria trembling. “Are you going to undress me, too?”

  Tom allowed a shrug. “If you’ll allow it. Otherwise, I shall drop you into the tub with you still in your nightrail.” He disappeared into the bathing chamber, and Victoria settled back into the pillows. Her gaze fell on the other boxes. She once again leaned forward and peeked into the top box.

  “No peeking,” Tom called from the bathing chamber. The sound of running water came from the tub, and Victoria grinned as she pulled a pair of scarlet satin slippers from the box. She knew in an instant which gown he’d had in mind when he ordered the shoes.

  “I’m not,” she called back, reaching for the last box. She opened the lid and sighed at the sight of another pair of day slippers, these in black satin. “But do tell me. Just how many shoes did you order from Mr. Shoemaker?”

  Tom appeared in the door to the bathing chamber. “Eight and twenty,” he replied. “And I expect to see you wear each and every one of them sometime in the next year.”

  Victoria blinked. “Noted,” she said as Tom moved to the side of the bed and lifted her into his arms. “However did you choose the style and colors?” She wrapped her arms around his neck, glad to finally be out of the bed.

  Tom carried her into the bathing chamber. “Fashion, I suppose,” he replied after a moment of reflection. “Mr. Shoemaker said a modiste chose all the colors for the Season, so he has satin in all of them. And I do have five sisters,” he added when she gave him a dubious glance. “Now, what do you like in your bath water?”

  Victoria pointed to a glass decanter on the dressing table. “Bubbles, I should think,” she replied, hoping they might hide most of her nakedness whilst she was in the water.

  Tom set her down into the chair in front of the table and grabbed the bottle. “How much?” he asked as he started to shake the powder into the tub, just beyond where water emerged from a tap. Bubbles immediately appeared on the surface of the water.

  “Oh, that’s quite enough,” she said, her eyes wide. “Any more and you won’t be able to find me in the water.”

  Tom gave her a smirk and then moved to the dressing table. “How many strokes?” he asked as he lifted the hair brush from the table.

  Victoria eyed the way he held the brush and wondered if he intended to spank her with it. “Ten or twenty,” she murmured.

  “My sisters always insisted on a hundred strokes a day. Can that be good for hair?” He pulled the brush through the bottom half of a section of her dark locks, heartened when there weren’t any snarls to impede the brush.

  “It cannot be too bad, since that’s the last thing Cummings does before I dismiss her at night,” she replied as she kept an eye on the rising bubbles.

  Victoria thought it odd that the way he brushed her hair felt entirely different from when her lady’s maid did it. Sensual. Slow and hypnotic. The fingertips of his other hand stroked her scalp as the brush separated the strands from the top of her head to their tips.

  It would have been easy to simply close her eyes and revel in the sensations, in the skitters that darted beneath her scalp and the frissons she felt from his nearness. But all she could think about was what would happen when the tub was full.

  “Shouldn’t you be testing the water?” she asked, her words sounding strangled. “Cummings always complains about how hard it is to get the temperature right.”

  Tom dipped his hand under the faucet. He was about to test the water in the tub, but first he removed his topcoat and rolled up the sleeves on his shirt before he dipped his hand into the tub. “It’s rather warm, but not hot. By the way, where is your water heating device?”

  “Just there,” Victoria replied, pointing to where a series of pipes went in and out of a metal box just beyond the tub. Beneath it, he could see tiny flames erupting from a pipe with holes. “Does this stay lit all the time?” he asked, intrigued by the arrangement in the plumbing. He followed the pipes back until they disappeared through a hole in the wall. “And what’s beyond this wall?”

  “The bathing chamber for the bedchamber next door,” she replied. “Juliet’s room. I just had a few of them done on this floor,” she explained. “The man who installed it said to just leave it set like that. Heats the water for the tub as well as the faucet for the washbowl just above it. He said the water will never get hotter than boiling since it’s not a pressurized system. Does that sound right?”

  “It does,” Tom replied, impressed. “There must be a vent here somewhere.” He found a pipe that went straight up the wall. “Here. Now, from where does the gas come?”

  Jealous of the hot water system—Tom seemed entirely too fascinated by it—Victoria rolled her eyes. “Father arranged for it years ago when the lines for the lights in London were being dug,” she replied. “The nearest gas main is not far.” She watched as he continued to study the arrangement, finally amused by his interest.

  If she could walk on her own, she would simply remove her nightrail, step into the tub, and hide her nakedness beneath the bubbles. But then she noted how the bubbles in the tub were nearly to the top edge. “Thomas, the water,” she warned.

  He let out a guffaw and quickly turned off the water source. “There may be more bubbles than water in here,” he said with a smirk. He dipped his hand into the airy orbs of delight and announced that the water was a fine temperature. “Now, let’s get you in here.” He moved to lift her from the chair, but she shrank back from him. “What is it? What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “I... I don’t want you seeing me... naked,” she whispered.

  Tom frowned, his lower lip protruding in a pretend pout. “Oh, all right. Hands around my neck,” he ordered. When she did as she was told, he lifted her and carried her to the tub. “Now, when I lower your legs, you’re just going to put down your good foot until it touches the bottom. I’ll hold on whilst you remove your gown,” he explained.

  “Close your eyes,” she ordered.

  “I will. Just...” He sighed and did as he was told, giving up his hold briefly as the fabric of her nightrail slid up and over her body. His hands tightened around her bare waist, and he felt the warmth of her skin. He was aware of a whoosh of air as the gown descended to the floor. Struggling to keep his eyes closed, he bent and lowered her into the tub until she let go of his neck.

  “May I open my eyes now?”

  Victoria giggled. “This is positively heavenly.”

  Tom stared down at her, laughing when he saw that the bubbles were up to her chin. “I shan’t make that mistake again,” he murmured. “Now. Where’s the soap? And what do you like to use on your hair?” He glanced around and found a small pail. He filled it with hot water from the sink and set it aside.

  “Just there,” Victoria said as she pointed to a ball of soap on the dressing table.

  Tom plucked the ball from the table and sniffed it. “French, I suppose?” he asked as he knelt next to the tub.

  “Of course.”

  “I’ll do your hair first.”

  Victoria disappeared beneath the bubbles, her knees appearing for a moment before she re-emerged, her hair soaked and slicked back from her face.

  For a moment, he simply st
ared at her, reminded of the Greek pelike in his office. Of Aphrodite stepping out of an oyster shell. Of the pearl ring that was tucked into his waistcoat pocket.

  He handed her a small linen. “I have something for you.”

  She blinked away the water droplets that clung to her eyelashes and then dabbed at her face with the linen. “More shoes?”

  He shook his head. “I forgot to give you your pearl. The other night, after dinner,” he whispered.

  “You still have it? I thought perhaps it was lost.”

  “No, but I did take the liberty of having it made into something I hope you’ll like,” he said as he reached into his waistcoat pocket. He pulled out the gold band, watching her reaction as she straightened in the tub and stared at the ring.

  “Are those emeralds?” she asked, one of her hands gripping the side of the tub. The other one joined the first as she leaned in his direction.

  “To match your eyes,” Tom replied. He touched the fourth finger of her right hand with the tip of his finger, and then slid the ring on it when she straightened it.

  “Oh, Thomas, it’s beautiful,” she whispered. “I don’t remember the pearl being this large.”

  “The jeweler is quite good with his settings,” he replied. “Marry me, Victoria. I’d ask you, but I have reason to think you would turn me down.”

  Victoria swallowed. “Oh, Thomas. I would turn you down, as I would anyone else,” she said, a pained expression crossing her face. “You deserve a woman who hasn’t been ruined, and who has two good feet.”

  “But I want you, and I don’t care about the first man you were betrothed to, except—”

  “Who told you?”

  “—should I ever meet him, he will suffer a fist to the face.” He actually imagined a knee to the groin, but he didn’t want her knowing it.

  “Haddon? He told you?” she asked, obviously angry. “How dare he?”

  “He dared because he knows how much I love you, Victoria. He even warned me you would turn me down.”

  She shook her head as tears brightened her eyes. “I broke off an engagement to Viscount Upton. He said he was sure I was no longer a virgin. Because he paid witness to me riding astride.” She wrapped her arms around her knees and pulled them to her chest, the bubbles no longer so thick as to hide her nakedness.

  “And then he ruined you. To prove his point?” Tom guessed.

  Victoria recoiled in horror. “How—?”

  “When I next meet Viscount Upton, he shall suffer far more than a fist to the face,” Tom said quietly. “Haddon mentioned your brief betrothal—”

  “Damn him!” Victoria cursed.

  “—which positively makes no difference to me. Other than an overwhelming desire to have Upton forced to learn female anatomy at a medical school.”

  She furrowed her dark brows as tears collected in the corners of her eyes. “You knew?” she asked in a whisper. “And yet you still proposed?”

  He shrugged. “I love you, Victoria. As long as you no longer harbor feelings for the man—”

  “Contempt, of course,” she replied. “Anger. Betrayal—”

  “I was thinking more along the lines of affection.”

  “I cannot say I ever felt affection for him. He was merely the one Jeremiah thought best for me. Father only agreed because...” She sighed. “Because Upton will be a marquess one day.”

  “And now?” Tom prompted, when she didn’t offer more.

  “Only contempt, I suppose.”

  “Then it matters not. Other than the knowledge that you shouldn’t feel pain when I make love to you for the first time. Tonight, if you’ll allow it?” he suggested in a hoarse whisper. At seeing her widened eyes, he added, “I cannot help but think that I owe you two hours of pleasure for every hour of pain you have suffered because of me.”

  Victoria stared up at him. “Oh, Thomas, I have not suffered pain because of you,” she countered in a quiet voice.

  His eyes darted sideways. “Could we... pretend you have?”

  “Thomas!” she scolded as she slapped his chest.

  Tom raised the hand to his lips and kissed the back of it. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

  Victoria stared at him, her expression still displaying her indecision.

  “I’ve arranged with your brother, Michael, to buy Fairmont Park from your father.”

  “What?!”

  “And I’ve drawn up a settlement whereby everything you own here, as well as the house and grounds, will remain yours, for you and our children,” he went on. “My business and half the earnings will go to you upon my death.”

  “Thomas—”

  “The other half will go to the children, one of whom I hope will aspire to take it over.”

  “You’re buying Fairmont Park?” she asked in a pained whisper.

  “As a wedding gift. For you,” he replied. “I love you, Victoria. I think we suit quite well, and I have to believe you must feel some affection for me, or you wouldn’t have allowed me to kiss you so many—”

  His head was suddenly pulled toward hers, her hand having moved behind it and her lips settling onto his in an awkward kiss that soon was not.

  Tom reveled in the feel of her lips on his while he ignored the bubbles that cascaded over the edge of the tub and dripped onto his thighs. When their tongues tangled and she moaned, he responded in kind. When she finally ended the kiss to take a deep breath, he asked, “Is that a yes?”

  She nodded. “With one caveat.”

  “Only one?”

  She gave him a quelling glance. “You’ll allow me to continue training horses?”

  “I will. But when you’re with child, you’ll stop when the physician says to and resume when he allows it.”

  Victoria considered his conditions and finally nodded. “Agreed. And Juliet?”

  “Is always welcome, of course. Which means I may have to spend more time in Haddon’s company.”

  “I would give you my sympathies, but—”

  “He’s not a bad sort when you get to know him,” he said on a sigh. “I’m not exactly sure why I thought him a pompous ass, but by now,” he pulled his Breguet from his waistcoat pocket and said, “he has no doubt asked Miss Comber for her hand in marriage.”

  “Why do you say it like that?” Victoria asked, her eyes lighting up with his news. She turned his chronometer so she could read the time.

  “Because he would be here, asking for your hand if he had not. I would have to challenge him to a duel, and although I can wield a sword, he’s much better with a foil than I.” When he noted her expression of amusement, he added, “I was never a cavalier, but I’m a crack shot with a pistol.”

  “My hero,” she murmured, a grin lighting her face. “Now given the time, and the fact that you ordered dinner be ready at seven, I think you best wash my hair.”

  Tom leaned over the tub, noting how half of the bubbles had disappeared. “I look forward to it,” he said with a grin.

  “Thomas!” she replied, covering her breasts with her crossed arms.

  “Lean back, my lady. I’m about to play lady’s maid.”

  Once again, Victoria dunked her head in the water, and this time when she emerged, Tom was ready with a kiss and soapy hands.

  Chapter 34

  An Earl Makes an Announcement

  Meanwhile, at the Comber townhouse in Mayfair

  Giggling as she brushed the snow from her riding habit and then from Christopher’s coat, Juliet felt positively giddy. She was betrothed to a man who would one day be a marquess. A man who was proving to be agreeable and who seemed to adore her. A man who could ride a horse without bouncing about in the saddle. A man who had already bestowed her with not one, but two rings.

  A man who not only didn’t mind her fascination with horses, but honored it by having a horseshoe of sapphires included on her betrothal ring.

  She took his arm and gave him a brilliant smile. “Do come in for tea,” she insisted. “And a chance to warm yoursel
f before you take your leave.” Carlington House was not far in Park Lane, but the snow was coming down in huge flakes.

  “I will come in, of course. But I’ve no need of your home’s warmth. Your smile is providing all I need on this auspicious day,” Christopher said with a grin. The front door opened, and Williamson stepped aside to allow them in. “You seem truly happy, and I hope you are,” he remarked, handing his top hat to the butler before he brushed the flakes from his shoulders.

  “Oh, I am, Christopher. I only wish...” Juliet sobered as she sighed.

  “What is it?” he asked, pulling off his gloves and his coat. The butler was quick to take them.

  Juliet removed her own gloves and held out her hands as she angled her head. “Victoria was so sad when I left her earlier today. She is convinced she has lost the good opinion of a man I think she was coming to like very much.”

  Christopher furrowed a brow. “So Mr. Grandby hadn’t yet paid a call before you took your leave today?”

  Juliet’s eyes widened. “How do you know it was Mr. Grandby?””

  A grin split the earl’s face as he lowered his forehead to hers. “I do. We have been plotting these past few days,” he admitted, just before he stole a kiss. “When I last saw him, he was at Rundell and Bridge with a tray of emeralds and a pearl before him.”

  “A pearl?” Juliet repeated. “The one Vicky found in an oyster at Rules? She had him hold it for her and then forgot he had it.”

  Christopher’s eyes darted to the side. “He did not say from where it had come,” he murmured, and then he grinned in delight. “The rogue.”

  Juliet gasped. “But he seems like such an honorable man.”

  “That’s because he is,” Christopher assured her. He pulled his chronometer from his waistcoat pocket. “By now, I expect Vicky is betrothed to him. That is, if he asked for her hand more than once.”

  Staring at Christopher with a combination of confusion and shock, Juliet finally sighed. “She was so sure she would never see him again.”

  “We men are not that easily denied,” Christopher replied, once again stealing a kiss. “Especially when it comes to the women we love. Wild animals cannot tear us from—”