THE BEST MARQUESS: Wickedly Wed #2

by Nicola Davidson

  “Posies make you sneeze,” said Finn, forcing a jaunty tone. “I believe the scientific reason is…hmmm, now what was the phrase…floral vengeance for being murdered?”

  “That is correct.”

  “As for your elbows, I cannot in good conscience compliment something that has on several occasions gouged a cavernous pit in my ribcage.”

  Pippa nodded. “Fair enough. But do tell me what the gift is. Otherwise, I shall lie awake all night wondering, and the world will regret it tomorrow.”

  “Can’t place the world in that much peril. Very well. It will arrive in plain brown paper wrapping. Inside, a book—”

  “I love it already.”

  “However, you may notice that the cover says something odd like Modern Principles of Chemistry or Learning Mathematical Equations. Trust me when I say the content may differ from that suggested.”

  “Oh Finn,” she whispered, her face lighting up as she took his hand. “Is it very naughty? I’ve been searching for another as lusty as The Highland Marauder, but have been sadly disappointed on several occasions. They promise me wickedness, then the next chapter it is morning and they are having a cup of tea!”

  “Outrageous.”

  “I know! Each time I feel like I’ve been robbed. They toy with me, page after page, then skip away and leave me frustrated. Most recently, in Travails of a Lonely Pirate King, the pirate cut the lady’s stays with his dagger, which I heartily approve of, but then he kicked the cabin door shut, and that was that! Nary a single detail of their bedding. The words fuck or cock or pussy did not appear. I was not impressed. Not impressed at all.”

  He closed his eyes briefly, savoring the feel of her fingers covering his, yet willing his body not to react. This whole situation was his personal hell of so close yet so far. Pippa holding his hand but not climbing onto his lap and grinding herself against him. An available chaise, large enough for two, but located in a drawing room rather than a bedchamber. Discussing lusty scenes in books or lack thereof, when they could be creating scorching heat together in real life.

  “Exceedingly naughty,” Finn gritted out. “It’s called A Wicked Comte. Set in the Middle Ages, the comte storms a royal castle and takes the king’s bookish sister as his prize. I’ve read it myself, nothing is left to the imagination, and if you gulped wine at each mention of fuck or cock or pussy, you would cast up your accounts within the hour. However, I’d best go now, don’t want the servants reporting back to your grandmother that I stayed here too long. Can’t raise any suspicions before the grand reveal.”

  Then, without thinking, he lifted their joined hands and brushed a kiss across her bare knuckles. A mistake, for even as his lips noted skin softer than rose petals, Pippa jerked away from him with a shuddering gasp.

  “I…ah…” she stuttered, her cheeks pink. “Was that part of the kissing lessons? Oh dear. I fell at the first hurdle.”

  “We’ll have to practice that,” he said quickly. “Forbidden love or passion are the only real reasons for a secret betrothal, and we would be a perfectly acceptable society match. People need to believe we desperately want each other.”

  “Yes. Yes, of course,” she replied, tentatively holding out her hand again.

  Watching Pippa’s face the entire time, Finn kissed her knuckles, then daringly turned her hand over and pressed his mouth to the delicate skin of her wrist. “That’s better.”

  Pippa bit her lip, looking a trifle dazed. “I never would have thought of kissing a wrist, but there you go. Not unpleasant at all.”

  He made himself stand, utterly aware of the open drawing room door, and not wanting to reveal his own inexperience. “Now I really must go. Keep an eye out for the book. I’ll see you soon.”

  “Fare thee well.”

  Finn bowed and departed the parlor; ten minutes later he was striding into the entrance hall of Pinehurst House.

  As the red brick townhouse was fairly modern compared to most buildings in London—only about eighty years old—the windows were large and the fireplaces well kept, meaning the place was warm and bright, even in winter. A shame though, that the building possessed no soul. Nowhere could a visitor see evidence that a family lived here, such as portraits of a wedding or seaside trip, even beloved pets. In fact, the only portrait added to Finn’s knowledge was of his father, next to all the previous Lord Pinehursts in the gallery.

  Also, there were no colorful woven rugs to cover the cold wooden floor, no treasured heirlooms or trinkets crammed on shelves, not even a stray sheet of music left sitting atop the pianoforte. Everything was scrupulously neat without so much as a hint of dust, like a brand-new mausoleum. Just the way Pinehurst liked it.

  “Good day, Lord Knighton. I trust your errands went well?”

  He nodded at the lanky, silver-haired butler, Travers, the longest serving member of staff here. At first glance the man appeared rather stuffy, but a few years ago he’d up and wed their equally lanky widowed housekeeper. The way the two glanced at each other when they thought no one was looking, like they couldn’t wait for their duties to be done so they might meet in a secluded alcove, was quite endearing. “Well as can be expected. Any news?”

  The butler’s lips pursed. “That man…”

  Finn almost laughed. That man was Cunningham, his father’s secretary, and he and Travers had been verbally feuding for the best part of a decade. “What has he done now?”

  “Sharing far too much information regarding Lord Pinehurst’s illness. Mrs. Travers caught several of the maids gossiping about it, how you might soon be as eligible as Devonshire in terms of great fortune and ancient title.”

  His stomach clenched. “I don’t want to hear any of that. My father will be quite well, he just needs rest. I’ll be the heir for some time yet; no one should waste time toadying up to me.”

  Pity glimmered in the older man’s eyes. “My lord…”

  Finn held up a hand. “Quite well,” he repeated sharply.

  Travers inclined his head. “Perhaps a tea tray to your chamber?”

  “Better make it a fresh brandy bottle.”

  He needed it, after the day he’d had. Brandy might also help inspire some new toy designs. But one thing he would not be thinking about: his damned father dying.

  Inheriting the marquessate on top of everything else going on in his life would be a crushing blow to his dreams. That wretched title represented so many things he loathed; old, stuck in the mud ways, duty at all costs, misery, a life bereft of love or passion. Indeed, the Duke of Devonshire could be the most eligible bachelor in England with his compliments and blessings.

  A fledgling business with staff to manage, helping his sister and niece, thwarting Lady Kingsford, and attempting to win the heart of Pippa Nash was quite enough for any man.

  Chapter 3

  There was something wonderfully peaceful about the hours between dawn and breakfast.

  Well, usually there was.

  Brow furrowing in irritation, Pippa stared at the paper in front of her and tapped her quill against the edge of the writing desk. She’d managed three whole lines. Three! Normally she wrote until her fingers ached, then took the pile of letters downstairs to add to the mail tray on her way to the dining room. Obviously, that would not be happening today.

  Instead, she pulled her dressing gown tighter around her body to ward off the chill, and stared out the window at the early morning gloom. When her family were still fast asleep, the servants were enjoying a hearty hot meal, and not even the birds had begun to chorus, it was easy to pretend she was the only person in London. While she mostly attended to correspondence, other times she would stay in bed and contemplate the world. Or light some beeswax candles and read.

  But all she could think about right now was Finn kissing her wrist.

  When he’d brushed his lips over her knuckles, she’d jerked away like she’d been burned. Because it had felt like that. A hot, unruly sensation even more intense than his thumb rubbing. She’d had to bite her li
p to swallow a moan, as well as an invitation for him to pull down her bodice and pinch her suddenly aching nipples. Which was even more brazen than a pretend betrothal. Asking for kissing lessons as part of their bargain was quite enough.

  An unexpected knock sounded at the door and she nearly shrieked.

  “Come in,” Pippa called, frowning.

  Ruby bustled through the door carrying a tea tray. “I know the hour is ungodly, but an urgent note arrived for you. Not the family…just you. From Grosvenor Square.”

  Lilian.

  Heart pounding, and with clumsy fingers, Pippa took the note from her maid then flicked away the red sealing wax and unfolded it.

  Dearest P

  It’s time. I know you’ve read the books, and I need a friendly familiar face in the room. Will you attend me?

  L

  Shocked excitement bubbled within. She had indeed read—with horrified fascination—several heavy Latin tomes on midwifery, and also Culpeper’s The Complete Herbal. Yes, it would be scandalous to have a virgin spinster in the room, but she doubted a duchess in childbed cared overmuch about propriety. Also, Lilian had few choices in companions. Their mother had long passed, as had Gabriel’s. No one of sound mind would invite Grandmother into a birthing chamber, or Georgiana for that matter, and neither of Lilian’s closest friends were yet married. Indeed, a bluestocking younger sister who could talk for hours about romance novels, Latin phrases, or how most ton men were complete bacon-brains, was her best option.

  Poor Lilian.

  “I need a sturdy gown,” she said abruptly to Ruby. “Dark colored, brown perhaps. Cambric or calico. If anyone in this household asks once they wake up, you are fairly sure I went to the British Museum to view the curiosities with a friend. Is the messenger still downstairs?”

  “No, my lady. I sent him on his way with a sixpence. And, er, an assurance that you would follow shortly.”

  Pippa smiled. “You are the best of maids. Now, let’s get me dressed.”

  After dashing off a note to Finn to apprise him of the situation, Pippa gulped down some tea and buttered toast with orange marmalade. Then she quickly donned a fresh chemise, stays, woolen stockings, kidskin half-boots, linen petticoat, dark brown calico gown, and fur-lined mittens and pelisse.

  A quarter hour later, she practically hurled herself out of the hired hackney and stumbled up the front steps of Exton House to pound on the front door.

  Surprisingly for the ungodly hour, Turnbull the butler opened it immediately.

  “Ah, Lady Pippa,” he said, ushering her into the warm entrance hall and taking her pelisse and mittens as if it were unremarkable for a visitor to arrive on the doorstep before the sun had properly risen. “Her Grace will be delighted you are here. She has chosen the duchess’s chamber for her lying in and the physician is with her. His Grace is camped in the hallway outside. Mrs. Turnbull has been supervising provisions of hot water and clean linen, but from what I understand, matters are progressing slowly. May I add, we are all so excited. A baby in the household will be such a blessing.”

  Pippa nodded. Her stomach churned with anticipation and anxiety; a little knowledge could be a dangerous thing when it came to childbirth. In these modern times it could still go dreadfully wrong, even in the most luxurious chamber with the best physician. However, she couldn’t dwell on that. Not when Lilian needed her to be strong and calm and encouraging. “I shall go upstairs at once. Oh, and Turnbull, it would be better if my presence here wasn’t widely known.”

  The butler bowed. “I understand completely. Have you eaten? Would you care for tea and toast?”

  “I have eaten, thank you. But if matters are progressing slowly, perhaps send up a tray in a few hours or so.”

  “Of course.”

  As fast as she dared, Pippa made her way up the stairs and down the thickly carpeted hallway. There were servants everywhere dusting and polishing and carrying items, but not a single one was concentrating on their task, judging from the glances and gestures. They were fond of their duke and duchess and eagerly awaited news.

  When she turned left toward the main bedchambers, Pippa spotted her tall, broad-shouldered brother-in-law perched on a cushioned chaise. He was glaring at the closed door barring him from his beloved wife’s side; the portrait of a brooding romantic hero.

  “Gabriel,” she said cheerfully, holding out her hands.

  The Duke of Exton rose to his feet, grasping her hands and squeezing them affectionately. He might look fearsome with his dark hair, dark eyes, and the prominent facial scar that affected his speech, but in truth he was lovely. Good-hearted, generous, and not the least bit stuffy. His perfectly tailored clothing hid numerous other scars; the reason he didn’t like to be touched anywhere except his hands and arms. “Pippa. Thank God. It’s been hours. Each time I try to get information…that damned pompous physician…tells me nothing to report.”

  “Well, there might not be. Birthing takes a long time, especially a first babe. When Lilian’s pains are close together and the water trickles, that is when you know the newest Jordan-Ives is serious about moving from womb to cradle. Also, the only way out is exceedingly small with no internal catapult. So, in conclusion, stop pondering charging at the door. It is oak; you would only dislocate your shoulder if you tried to act as a human battering ram.”

  Gabriel’s jaw dropped, then he laughed. “Lili said you’d read books…but that was more information…than anyone has provided. I needed that. I’m reassured she’ll have you…to keep her spirits up.”

  Pippa beamed. “On my honor, I swear to manage the physician. Perhaps you should fetch some brandy.”

  “Not sure drinking will help.”

  “For me, not you. Actually, one bottle won’t be enough for birthing chamber duties, so fetch two.”

  “Your servant, ma’am,” he replied, his eyes glinting with amusement.

  She curtsied, then turned and tapped on the bedchamber door. “Lilian? It’s Pippa. Can I come in?”

  Moments later, the door opened to reveal Dawn, her sister’s maid. Pippa greeted her then swept past, eager to see Lilian. While she had no idea what to expect, it certainly wasn’t the physician and his assistant eating buttered toast and coddled eggs in front of the roaring fire, while the mother-to-be cradled her distended belly and paced the room at such speed her blonde braid swung about and her voluminous nightgown created a breeze.

  “Good morning,” Pippa said cautiously, tossing her reticule onto the writing desk. While she very much wanted to provide comfort and reassurance, she needed to know what her sister’s current condition was first.

  Lilian didn’t reply. Instead, she marched up and clung tightly to Pippa, trembling and clammy despite the heat in the room.

  “Here now,” Pippa continued, quelling her alarm as she rubbed her sister’s back. “You’ll squish the babe. Why don’t we get you under that nice warm blanket?”

  “He wants me to go to bed,” whispered Lilian, glancing over at the silver-haired physician with a scowl. “But I refused. If I obey, I might have the baby and I’m not sure I want to do this anymore. The pains hurt. Like a particularly bad menses cramp.”

  “Bah. He only wants that because it’s easier for him. If you wish to stroll, we’ll stroll. If you wish to wail like a banshee, then do so. But you must hold my hand and breathe nice and deeply. There. Excellent. One more time. Good. By the by, have you noticed how closely the physician resembles the coddled eggs he’s eating? Hope they aren’t related; that could be awkward at the next family gathering. Where’s Uncle Harold? Oh, I may have eaten him.”

  Lilian giggled, then shrieked as a small puddle appeared at her feet. “Oh dear. Ah…”

  “My fault,” said Pippa quickly. “A truly appalling jest.”

  “Perhaps I should get into bed.”

  “If you like. Then I can tell you about my favorite book.”

  “Not a Latin one I hope,” said Lilian, wrinkling her nose as they ambled to the four-poster bed
.

  “No, it’s called The Highland Marauder. Greatest romance novel in history…”

  His best friend was shortly to be an aunt.

  As Finn finished the last bites of toasted bread with blackberry preserve from his plate, he leaned back in the dining room chair and grinned.

  It was so very Pippa to shun propriety in all ways and undertake an early morning dash to be at her sister’s side in childbed. But he couldn’t think of a better companion for Lilian during her time; he still remembered his full-body cringe when Pippa gleefully shared all the information she’d learned from the Latin midwifery books. After that, he’d tentatively asked Abby if those horrific-sounding things happened during Nessie’s birth, and she had confirmed, perhaps even more gleefully, and in hair-curling detail. Ladies were weaker? Ha.

  But he couldn’t wait for Pippa to learn the joy of a niece or nephew. There was something so refreshing at seeing the world through a toddler’s eyes. The wonder at seeing a bug fly or flower bloom; the way they just lifted up their arms for a hug; how a penny’s worth of marzipan was viewed with as much delight and reverence as the crown jewels; the simple bellow of NO when they did not care to wear shoes. These days, one of his favorite activities was a tea party with Nessie and Miss Wabbit at the wooden table in the nursery, or trotting on his hands and knees while a most imperious princess clung to his back and crowed go horsie go!

  It made a splendid change from the spiteful machinations and overbearing superiority he saw each day in society. Yet another reason why he wished to remain the heir rather than become the marquess anytime soon. An heir could involve himself in the ton as much or as little as he wished, but a titleholder had a vast range of responsibilities such as taking his seat in the House of Lords, perhaps the very heart of all things spiteful and overbearing.

  In all honesty, he hated the thought of being trapped for long periods of time with a group of sour relics like his father who fought against change and viewed even an inch of progress as a grave threat that must be destroyed. It was much preferable to work outside the hallowed halls, to provide a real difference to others in a short amount of time with well-paid employment in pleasant surroundings. As everyone well knew—even peers—it was money that offered opportunities and independence, not trite words. Money that gave downtrodden women like Abby the freedom to choose their own path.