Romancing the Earl

by Heather Boyd

  Price hardly had, either. They spent most of their days apart and their nights alone. The current session of parliament, and politicking later in support of Wharton’s current cause, was consuming all of Price’s free time at the moment. It was the marriage he’d promised they’d have. Each a life of their own.

  He made sure not to disturb Lenore when he came home in the early hours of the morning. Often she had retired to her room long before midnight anyway, so if he was early returning, he went to his study and read—if he was sober. He often slept there, too, when he was too drunk to manage the stairs quietly.

  They saw each other for breakfast, and that was about it as far as their marriage went. Lenore seemed perfectly happy with that arrangement and, judging by the modest bills he’d received to pay on her behalf, was having a fine time spoiling herself with a few little things. She never suggested she was dissatisfied with their arrangement. She had not broached the subject of sharing her bed yet, either. Until she hinted she might be ready for a real marriage, he would keep a distance.

  He was only going home to change into something suitable to wear to Tattersall’s today and then would be gone again. He had an idea to buy his wife her own carriage, instead of her sharing his all the time. A pair of matched grays were said to be available at the horse market today for the right price. Once he had the horses, he’d order a carriage to match and employ additional grooms to take her anywhere she wanted to go in style.

  “I think I will come in and pay my respects to your wife today,” Wharton announced suddenly.

  Price glanced at his friend in surprise. “Will you now?”

  “Hmm, if I cannot get answers from you about Lady Carmichael, I shall get them from the lady herself. Surely by now, she’s something to say about the sort of husband you are.”

  “I’m sure she has no complaints.” Price promised. Hadn’t he been the most accommodating of husbands so far? “If she is home, you may certainly talk to her if she wishes to speak to you.”

  “I’m sure she will,” Wharton announced with all the assurance of a marquess certain of his desirability and place in the world. “Where does she go without you?”

  Price wasn’t always sure of that until the bills arrived, but he knew where she spent many of her days. “The Hillcrest Academy.”

  “Hillcrest Academy? What’s that?”

  Price shook his head. “Don’t you remember? Her friends run it.”

  Wharton shook his head. “I don’t recall you telling me.”

  “You do know about it, though. I’m sure you were there when Scarsdale mentioned the place, and what they do for gentlemen.”

  Wharton laughed. “Well, then there you are. I never listen to Scarsdale.”

  “And you met the three cousins who run the academy at the wedding.”

  “Which wedding?”

  Price sighed. Wharton had been in a difficult mood all day. Pretending indifference or ignorance of subjects he didn’t want to really talk about. “Mine.”

  Wharton looked at him steadily. “I remember several young women at your wedding. Hillcrest is run by spinsters, or so I recall Scarsdale babbling about now.”

  So Wharton did know about the academy, after all. “Yes, that is them, I assure you.”

  Wharton snorted. “What advice could women of their age offer a worldly gentleman that’s not considered improper?”

  “I’ve no personal experience with them, but they are well known, and many a friend of mine has had good things to say about the discreet service they offer to gentlemen.”

  Wharton’s eyes lit up. “Service? Now that’s more like it.”

  “Guidance. Advice. Dancing practice. Only that.”

  Wharton’s excitement dimmed. “If it had been the other, I might have paid them a call.”

  “I’m sure you wouldn’t get past the front door.” Price laughed at his friend’s outraged expression. “You have to want a wife to get into such a place.”

  “Well, that’s certainly not me,” Wharton declared, crossing his arms over his chest and smiling smugly. “I’m a long way off tripping over the parson’s noose, no matter how pretty the lady might be.”

  Price glanced out the window and saw his home growing nearer. “Here we are.” But would Lenore even be home at this hour? He hadn’t a clue of her schedule but hated to disappoint a friend if she wasn’t around. “Are you certain of coming in?”

  “Absolutely,” Wharton promised. “I’m hoping to discover what a well-satisfied wife looks like.”

  Price gritted his teeth. He hadn’t let on that he’d given up his husbandly rights for the time being. Not that he was chafing at the bit to bed Lenore. But if it became known that his marriage remained unconsummated, he would never hear the end of it. His friends would tease him mercilessly—at least until the deed was done.

  There were parts of marriage Price felt needed to remain private for the sake of harmony with his wife.

  He strode up the front steps with Wharton hard on his heels and stepped through the front door as it was opened by his butler. “Is my wife home, Humphries?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  He removed his hat and gloves and passed them over. “Would you let my wife know I have returned, and that Lord Wharton is with me? If she has time to spare, she might like to join us in the library for a few minutes.”

  “Very good, my lord,” Humphries murmured, taking Wharton’s hat and gloves, too, before he left them.

  “So polite a request,” Wharton whispered.

  Price heard singing…and smiled. He wasn’t aware of Lenore’s accomplishments in music. He’d have to add that to a small list of discoveries about the woman he’d married.

  “Marriage requires it, you know. Come this way,” he offered. A pair of brandies should do the trick to settle any tension in him before the auction at Tattersall’s began. If the horses were sound, he’d pay well to have them, but he wouldn’t spend more than he should.

  Wharton threw himself into a chair and sprawled as if he owned the place. “You know, I’m quite surprised you’re still going to Bradshaw’s with us, given your changed circumstances.”

  “The company of friends and the supply of liquor there is excellent,” he confessed.

  “Yes, I suppose, but—

  A woman’s scream rang through the house.

  Price looked about the library wildly, his heart racing in fear of seeing a murderess, his godmother, lurking in the shadows, but then something breakable shattered beyond the room breaking him out of the terrible memory.

  Price bolted from the library, angling toward the sound of Lenore’s barking dog. Lenore was in trouble, and he had to get to her in time.

  He flung open door after door until he came upon Humphries and the housekeeper, frozen in place across from the collapsed figure of his wife. He noticed no one else in the room.

  They gave way to him immediately—and he couldn’t catch his breath when he saw his wife.

  Lenore was on her knees, wailing, her hands raised to her face. The writing table had been toppled over in some sort of struggle, and the dog was franticly darting around his mistress like some savage creature.

  Price rushed to Lenore’s side but she resisted when he tried to lift her up. “How badly are you hurt?”

  “I can look after myself.”

  “The hell you can. Send for a physician. Quickly Humphries.”

  “I don’t need anything. It’s my fault,” Lenore answered, but did not lift her face to his. “Stay back.”

  Hero started barking anew.

  “Hero, shut up,” he bellowed. The dog had the sense to obey and sank down onto the rug beside his mistress. “Let me take care of you. Where does it hurt?”

  “There’s no pain.”

  “Show me.” Lenore flinched but then she straightened her shoulders. “It was an accident. It was my fault, my lord.” She sighed and started to rise unaided. “There’s no good way to explain this and not show you what happened.” />
  Price moved toward Lenore again, but she shied away from his outstretched hand. Lenore’s dog instantly growled menacingly, and then snapped his teeth inches from Price’s fingers as they fell.

  “Don’t you dare bite me,” he snarled at the dog. Hero growled one more time but then moved back, watching him intently. “If you’re not hurt what in the hell is going on?”

  “Hero and I started dancing,” she admitted, her face turned from him still.

  His heart was pounding so loudly still he was sure he’d misheard her. “Did you say dancing?”

  “Yes. We often do. Hero likes to hear me sing, and will stand on his back legs and be my partner to dance with. Something distracted him today, the front door closing, I think, and he leaped away. We both bumped the writing table, and everything flew off and somehow landed on me. And then he did, too.”

  She then turned slowly, and he stilled when he got a look at her face. He took a step back, and exhaled loudly. She was not hurt after all. “Thank God.”

  But there were black paw prints all over Lenore’s gown, chest, and her face, too. Wherever the gown didn’t cover, black paw prints did.

  Her eyes were full of misery before she dropped her gaze.

  He pointed toward her cheek. “Is that ink?”

  She nodded quickly. Her cheek bore the stain of a perfect dog print. He intended only to trace around it, but she reared back a few steps.

  “Don’t touch me!” she cried.

  Price ignored her request and followed, catching her under the chin and lifting her face to his closer inspection. Lenore had possessed beautiful clear skin that morning, but her beauty was decidedly marred now. He carefully cradled her face between his fingertips, and then slide his fingers back a little into her soft hair. She was lovely, this wife of his. Even when she was upset. The pain in her soft blue eyes drew him closer still.

  “I don’t want you to get any on you, too,” she whispered.

  “I’m being very careful,” he promised softly, quite aware that he had a sudden urge to hold her tight in his arms despite the risk of ruining his clothing.

  “There’s nothing on the furniture,” Mrs. Baker announced. “The rug has plenty of paw prints all over it though, and getting more by the minute,” she said with a deep sigh.

  “There’s more on her,” Wharton added unhelpfully. “Greetings, Lady Carmichael.”

  “What’s he doing here,” Lenore whispered, ducking behind Price quickly to hide herself.

  “Visiting you,” he whispered back. “Or trying to. Just say hello and get it over with.”

  “Good afternoon, Lord Wharton,” she called, but used his body as a shield still. “I’m afraid you’ve come to visit at the worst possible time.”

  “I see that,” Wharton agreed. “It’s never this exciting at my home.”

  Price looked around, and then he lunged for Lenore’s dog, hoisting the beast up against his chest quickly—paws out so he could avoid getting ink on himself. He pushed the animal at the butler, juggling the wriggling beast and jumped back out of range immediately. “Take him to be cleaned, and do not let his feet touch anything as you go. He’s to be bathed and clipped, too, to remove as much of the ink as possible. He’s not to set one foot inside until I’m satisfied he will not ruin anything else.”

  Price returned to Lenore and moved to stand between her and Lord Wharton again. “Now, as for you…” He inspected her from top to bottom. The pretty cream muslin gown was undoubtedly meant for the rag pile now, but it was her face that caused him the most concern. The dog had painted her pretty features in ink.

  “Perhaps I should head home to let you make husband and wife decisions,” Wharton suggested, interrupting.

  Price waved his friend away. “Yes, please do go on your way.”

  “Oh, please don’t leave on my account,” Lenore begged, even though she was still trying to hide behind Price’s wider frame. “I’ll go and clean myself up as best I can. You must stay and talk to Carmichael.”

  Price agreed that she should go upstairs immediately to change and try to do something about her face. The sooner the better, too, because he suspected that ink stain was not going to be removed easily or quickly. Anyone who saw Lenore would think her an outright savage. That was not the first impression anyone should have of a lady, least of all for his countess.

  “I think it wise to retire and change and try to remove this blemish.” He traced the ink on her cheek softly again, filled with a yearning to comfort her the way he had on their wedding day.

  “I’ll look after your lady, my lord,” the housekeeper promised. “It will be gone by bedtime tonight, I’m sure.”

  “Thank you,” he said, and then lightly grasped Lenore’s wrist. He lifted her hand and saw ink there, too. “Be careful not to touch anything you care about.”

  She pulled her hand back quickly. “I hadn’t planned to. Excuse me. Lord Wharton,” she said, and then walked away, chin held high but her steps rushed.

  He watched her go, thinking he should try to do something to help. She was his wife, after all. He shook himself, and then took Wharton to the library.

  “You could have gone upstairs with her,” Wharton remarked. “Helped her take her bath. Stoked her skin to cleanse the ink away yourself with gentle husbandly hands.”

  “I think scrubbing might be the order of the day, rather than tenderness. The ink might need to be worn off.” He sighed, hoping that was not true. “Hopefully Mrs. Baker has some clever remedy up her sleeve that will help my wife look more like herself by tomorrow.”

  “Most housekeepers do have something useful lying around, but I’m not sure in this instance it will be that easy,” Wharton laughed. “You might have to bear the sight of that for a while.”

  “I hope not.” But for her sake, not his. He hated to see her so miserable. Price finished his drink and poured seconds for both of them.

  After a sip, Wharton glanced his way. “I don’t disapprove of the sudden decision you made to marry anymore, you know? You made a good enough choice in my opinion. Tattoo aside, you have someone to come home to. It must be nice, but it’s not for me.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “There’s no one I care about the way you do.”

  “You misunderstand,” Price murmured, turning away.

  “Oh, come now. You can stop pretending to be indifferent to her. I’ve never seen anyone move so fast as when Lady Carmichael screamed just now.”

  “I thought…” he started, but then shook his head. He’d thought the worst. “I made a mistake thinking matters were dire when they were not.”

  “You overreacted but for a good cause.” Wharton grinned at him. “Have you never made her scream really loudly yet to know the difference in sounds? You ought to try harder later tonight when you join her in bed,” he teased.

  Price drained his glass. “Never mind.”

  “You really did rush to save her,” Wharton said, and nodded. “Made me feel inadequate. I’m glad you have someone to care about again, though. Not all marriages start so well as yours has.”

  Price let that remark go without comment. He cared about Lenore. Any decent gentleman would. He liked her. That was the only reason he had sprinted through the house to reach her, and yelled at her dog, too. It hadn’t seemed foolish at the time but he was starting to feel it now. He should not let his fears get the better of him. There was no one alive who could hurt Lenore. “Another drink?”

  “Nothing for me, thanks. I think I should be on my way to Tattersall’s.”

  “I’m coming with you,” he reminded Wharton.

  “No, you’re not,” Wharton smirked. “At a time like this, a husband is needed at home—if only to reassure his wife that she’s lovely with or without paw prints.”

  “I don’t think—”

  “All women care about how they look. I’d wager your wife is no different from my mistress. She’d be panicked, thinking I couldn’t love her still with that mark—
marks—upon her skin. If it troubles her too much, promise to blow out the candles and meet her only in the dark for a while.”

  Wharton had a one-track mind when it came to women, but Price’s marriage was not like that. He nodded, though, and agreed he should stay at home for the time being. Lenore had seemed unconcerned about her appearance. He’d thought before she was perhaps less excitable than many women in society, unconcerned about looking in mirrors. But now? He wasn’t sure.

  When he’d been courting Angela, she was always worried about dust and dirt and messing up her hair whenever he’d met her in the park on a windy day. Angela would probably have fainted to have ink on her skin. Lenore had not revealed the same vanity yet, but then again, he didn’t know her well.

  Wharton stood. “I’ll be at White’s for dinner then Bradshaw’s later as usual, if you have leave to join me?”

  “I’ll meet you at Bradshaw’s.”

  “I’ll take a look at the horses for you, too.”

  “Thank you.”

  When Wharton was gone, Price dithered a minute, and then took the stairs up to his wife’s chambers two at a time. He tapped on her bedchamber door lightly.

  He heard the rush of feet inside and called out, “How’s it going in there?”

  There was a splash, and Price turned away from the door, putting his back to the wall quickly as he realized his wife might be in her bath. If the door opened, he didn’t want to invade her privacy by seeing what she wasn’t ready to share with him. He hadn’t set foot in that room since the day before they had married. He should have waited a bit longer before coming up to make his enquiries. Damn Wharton for putting ideas about Lenore needing him in his head.

  The door opened a crack. “Carmichael?”

  “I’m here. Has any of it come off?”

  “Not really,” she said in the quietest, most horrified tone he’d ever heard from anyone. “We’ve tried everything, but its still there.”

  He felt compelled to see his wife again for his own peace of mind. He moved to view Lenore’s face, and yes, nothing much had changed except that her cheek was now red around the ink, most likely from scrubbing. He gulped, sympathizing. “It’s not so bad.”