Lost With a Lord

by Emily Murdoch

  They climaxed together, thrashing softly in the linen sheets as the glow settled on them, sweating from their exploits and dazed in their joy.

  “I could do that,” Florence breathed into his neck as they twisted, and lay beside each other, “every day of our lives.”

  George chuckled deeply. “Careful, or I will hold you to that.”

  She smiled gently, ripples of carnal pleasure still washing over her body. “Please do.”

  12

  “Are you completely sure about this?”

  George grinned as his brother handed over his silk cravat. “Luke, you worry too much.”

  Luke scowled, and strode over to the drinks cabinet to pour himself another whisky. “What was it, a week ago you first met this girl?”

  There was nothing that he could say to dull George’s spirits. “What, you are worried she is out to get my money?” He grinned. “You know I barely have any, and so does she. Please, Luke. Be happy for me.”

  The two brothers were in the library – George’s favourite room in his home – and when the clock over the mantlepiece chimed quarter to the hour, they both glanced over to it.

  “Just fifteen minutes to go,” said Luke darkly. “Fifteen minutes before you begin your journey to tie yourself to this woman, losing all freedom and – ”

  “I lose far more without her than with her,” George interjected. He was staring into the mirror on the way, attempting to get his cravat straight and completely failing to succeed. “Would you give me a hand with this?”

  Luke rolled his eyes, threw his whisky bad-temperedly down onto the table, and returned to the other side of the room. “I just never thought I would be attending your wedding,” he said, pulling one side of the cravat so it came completely undone, and starting again. “Seven days. Seven days ago you met Miss Capria, ‘tis madness!”

  George could not help but smile. He had been true to his word: just five days had passed since they had found each other again, and the church was booked, the flowers arranged, the ring procured, and at eleven o’clock that morning, they would be man and wife.

  His brother nodded curtly at the newly arranged cravat, and shook his head with a wry smile. “I suppose nothing but someone incredible would have tempted you to the altar in the first place.”

  George shook his head. “I could not walk away from her, even if I wanted to. Florence is – she is everything I would want in a woman, and more. Witty, beautiful, caring, insightful – ”

  “And Italian,” Luke interrupted, throwing himself into an armchair. “You may end up living in Rome, or Venice.”

  The bridegroom laughed. “I suppose I might! There does not seem to be anything I would not do for her, Luke. Losing her would mean losing everything, and if she asked me for anything – but then, she never would.”

  Luke scoffed. “George, she is too good to be true: mark my words, you will discover something wrong with her!”

  George shrugged, and pulled on his top hat. “Perhaps. But then, I am no perfect gentleman either. I think we will be happy.”

  His brother sighed, rose from the armchair, and picked up his own top hat. “I have never seen you like this, George. I cannot think of anyone more deserving to find their perfect match, and I hope you are right.”

  “You wait until you meet her,” George’s eyes shone. “Then you will see.”

  It was a chilly day that they stepped into as the front door slammed behind them, and George regretted for a moment not throwing a greatcoat over his wedding outfit: but then, what was the point? The church was only two streets away, and before long he would be warmed by the sight of Miss Florence Capria.

  “You know, as your best man,” Luke said as they strode along the pavement, carefully dodging a young pickpocket who squealed as his fingers were caught moving towards the gentleman’s pocketbook, “‘tis my duty – and as it aligns with my own curiosity, I will definitely ask it – to enquire whether you did ever find Miss Teresa Metcalfe?”

  George grinned at him as they turned the corner. “Worried she will no longer give you a cut of your recommendations?”

  His brother’s eyebrows rose. “You have a very low opinion of me, dear brother.”

  “When it is merited, I am afraid I form very firm opinions,” shot back George. “No, I did not meet Miss Teresa Metcalfe – and I must say, I have no wish to.”

  “I wonder what happened to her,” Luke said musingly. “Perhaps she met another man, and received a better offer.”

  “Perhaps she fell into the Thames, or was stolen by pirates,” George said with a laugh. “Come on.”

  The church stood before them, and George started walking up the steps – only to discover that he was doing so alone.

  He turned around. “Luke?”

  His brother was standing at the bottom step, staring up at him. “We are really going in?”

  George stared at him, puzzled. “Well, of course we are. ‘Tis a little difficult to wed one’s intended from the steps of a church!”

  Luke’s jaw fell open. “All this time, I think I genuinely thought there was a chance this was all a jest!”

  Their shared laughter rang out in the street as a carriage pulled up outside the church.

  “God’s teeth, we are about to get overtaken by the bride!” Luke said hastily as he ran up the steps. “Quickly, quickly!”

  The two brothers burst into the church to receive a very disapproving look from their father; but George completely ignored it due to the sight of two men, seated either side of her, but awkward and embarrassed looks on their faces.

  “T-Tom?” George said, coming to an abrupt halt halfway up the aisle. Luke raced past him as he said, “Harry?”

  The two gentlemen nodded, but George had no time to further converse with his estranged brothers. The door behind him had opened, and the bride was about to enter the church.

  “Hurry, George!” Luke hissed from the altar, and George almost tripped over his own feet in his haste to join his best man.

  The door opened, and a solitary figure entered the church.

  Florence could feel her heart fluttering in her chest, but it slowed to a calm pace at the sight of Lord George Northmere, standing at the altar beside a man who must be his brother, Luke.

  The church was almost empty, but then she had not expected it to be full. She had no family, no friends in this country; George had wanted a small wedding, and she was happy to oblige.

  Anything, anything for this man who made her whole being sing out with joy.

  The organ began, and completely alone, she started her slow procession up the aisle.

  Her fingers tightened around the bouquet of flowers she had made that morning: rosemary and roses, the flowers of true love. Her eyes flickered to the right to see an elegant older woman with two men either side of her – two men who looked awfully familiar, as though she had seen them before through a dark glass, or a rainstorm.

  The music changed, and she looked up to lock eyes with George himself. He had turned, he had twisted around to see her, and there was such pride on his face, such happiness it almost brought a tear to her eye.

  To think she could bring a man such happiness.

  The aisle had seemed long when she had entered the church, but Florence arrived at the altar in what felt like no time at all. George reached out his hand, and she took it. Her hand tingled where he touched it.

  “You are the most radiant creature on Earth,” he whispered with a smile.

  Florence smiled back. “And you are not too shabby either, Lord George.”

  He rolled his eyes as the vicar began the wedding service.

  “Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today . . .”

  “I could hardly believe it when I came in,” George said in an undertone while the vicar droned on, “but my brothers are here.”

  Florence’s eyes widened. “All of them?”

  George nodded.

  She could not help but grin at his words. She had hoped, s
he had hoped beyond hope but without knowing the exact details of their estrangement . . .

  “I wrote to them,” she whispered, glancing over to him. “And very expensive it was too, getting the letters there within a day. I asked them to come; I told them they had already lost so much time, and that they should lose no more. What better moment to reconcile than a wedding?”

  The vicar interrupted with, “Do you, Lord George Albert Gerald Northmere, take this woman . . .”

  The vows were over before they were begun, and the vicar began the ending speech before he could declare them man and wife.

  George’s eyes were still wide at her words. “You – you wrote to them?” His grip on her hand tightened. “We are not even married and I already do not deserve you,” he said, his smile deepening as he turned to look at his brothers. “Miss Capria, is there nothing you cannot do?”

  Florence nodded with a smile. “Just one thing. I am about to lose my name forever and take a new one – and that is something I cannot stop, and have no wish to!”

  “. . . man and wife!”

  “Ah, but when you lose it to a Lord, you know that it is true love,” whispered George as he pulled his new wife into a tight embrace and a loving kiss.

  Wondering what happened to Teresa? Discover her Ravishing Regencies story in Drenched with a Duke – read on for the first chapter… or click here to read the full story now!

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  Drenched with a Duke

  Chapter One

  Alexander was not angry. He was fuming.

  “And what right does she have,” he spat out while striding down the street, his companion struggling to keep up. “Little slip of muslin, I know her brother and he is only just a decent sort of man.”

  “Slow down,” panted Luke. “I am the Marquis of Dewsbury, not a horse – Caershire!”

  Alexander found his arm had been grabbed, and swung round to stare at his friend. “What?”

  He could not help himself. Rage burned through his lungs, and he wanted to shout and complain until it was all blown out of his body. His dark hair had dropped over his eyes, and his broad shoulders were heaving, heart pounding, feet desperate to keep moving.

  “You will do yourself an injury.” Luke took in deep breaths, and leaned against the wall they were standing beside. “I swear, Caershire, you will take a step in front of a carriage or pick a fight, I know you of old!”

  Alexander grinned. “Perhaps too long, I would say. God’s teeth, but you are right.”

  The tension in his shoulders was starting to dissipate, and the cool of the night air was drying the sweat on his brow.

  Luke pulled his cravat, which had become dislodged from its correct position in the rush to leave Almacks, back to its rightful place. “London is no place to wander in anger, Caershire, you should know that by now.”

  The Duke of Caershire shrugged, but his heart was still beating fast and the injustice of the last hour still rang in his mind. “Miss Josephine Layland had no right to speak to me that way.”

  Luke’s laugh echoed in the deserted street. “Caershire, any woman has the right to reject a man’s hand for a dance – where would we be if we could force the beautiful ones to remain on our arms all evening?”

  But his friend’s laughter did nothing to sooth Alexander’s spirits. It had been humiliating: there was no better word for it. There he had been, dressed in all his finery, waiting for her for nigh on two hours, refusing to ask a single other young lady to dance – at great personal cost, for there had been some favours promised to irate mothers which would now have to be explained away – and when Miss Layland had entered the room –

  “Already engaged to dance!” He spat, his thoughts finding room in his tongue as he started to walk once more. “A completely full card, that is what she said, and yet I had engaged her for the La Boulangere dance what – three days, ago?”

  Luke, striding beside his friend, brought out a pocket watch and examined in. “I think you will find it is four days ago, now.”

  Alexander’s eyebrows rose. “Goodness, past midnight already? Oh, Dewsbury, I do not mean to be such bad company. When I get disgruntled – ”

  “You stay disgruntled,” finished Luke, a lazy grin on his face as they passed a gentleman walking in the opposite direction. “Do you not think you should start to mend that habit, now you approach thirty?”

  “When you perfect all your character flaws, then you come to me,” shot back Alexander, but it was not said in anger. That had drained out of him now, the heat of the moment dissipated as quickly as the anger had risen. All that was left now was bitterness. “Thank you for walking with me, I had no wish to stew in a carriage. Did you hear what she said to me?”

  They turned a corner, taking the road that would lead them back to Luke’s lodgings.

  “No, what did she – ”

  “She said that she could never deign to accept the hand, for a dance or in matrimony, of a man with such a sullied reputation,” said Alexander. He tried to laugh, but it sounded empty even to his own ears. “I mean, can you believe it?”

  His companion did not speak, but focused determinedly on the road ahead of them.

  Alexander nudged his friend’s shoulder. “Well?”

  Luke sighed. “Well, what? You think that a Dukedom means that any pretty woman should throw herself at your feet?”

  “No, but – ”

  “You think that you are the only charming man that walks into Almacks?”

  Alexander felt a little uncomfortable now. “‘Tis not like you to preach, Luke.”

  Their footsteps had taken them directly to the Marquis of Dewsbury’s London apartment, and he sighed when he looked at his friend. “Caershire, you know that I am your friend, and I do not say these words to hurt you – or to embarrass you.”

  Alexander sighed, and put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “And a better friend, I have not in the world.”

  Luke grinned. “Careful, or Anthony will be after my blood. No, let me be serious for a moment. The rumours of your reputation notwithstanding – ”

  “Or lack thereof,” interrupted Alexander.

  “Are you going to let me speak?”

  “Sorry.”

  Luke smiled ruefully at the tall man opposite him. “I am going back to the family home tomorrow, and yes, that means you will be here in London on your own. I know that this hurts you more than you let on. Just . . . just know that you knew this would happen when you made that decision four years ago. You knew the consequences then. You have to live with them now.”

  Alexander stared into the dark brown colour eyes of his best friend, and dropped his gaze. “I cannot deny it; and yet I wish that it were not so. If I had known, then . . .”

  “You would have made the same decision.” Luke grinned, and jerked his head to the door. “I better go in, I am meeting with my brothers tomorrow and I will need all my strength for it.”

  Alexander returned the smile. He had known the Northmere brothers his entire life, and Luke, as the eldest, rarely missed getting his own way with the family – even if it meant going against his intimidating father.

  “Send my best wishes to the Duke,” he said.

  Luke nodded. “My father, I am sure, sends his regards back.”

  The two men embraced, and Alexander tried to convey some of the gratitude that he felt to his friend for the last two weeks of companionship. It was difficult; he was not a man who shared his emotions easily, and Luke’s constant devil-may-care attitude belied what he truly felt. But if ever a man was a brother to him, it was the Marquis of Dewsbury.

  They broke apart.

  “Safe journey,” said Alexander with a smile.

  Luke nodded, and entered his home leaving Alexander
alone in the street.

  He sighed, and watched his breathe plume before him. His own lodgings were just a few streets away, but his feet itched. This bitterness, this frustration at being – once again – rejected by a beautiful woman, it had to be got rid of before he turned in for the night.

  The streets of London were well known to him, and so he made his way to the banks of the Thames. Long and winding, the pathway along the north bank were almost as populated at this midnight hour than during the day.

  Hawkers and sellers, a few pedlars and a woman selling hot pies that smelt delicious; Alexander glanced at them all with little care as he strode along by the water’s edge.

  Somehow, water had always calmed him. He had been like that since a boy, when he and Richard –

  The pain shot back into his heart, and Alexander physically shook his head. No need to delve into that again. He had experienced enough heart wrenching today without revisiting his brother’s past.

  The gas lamps had been sparsely lit down the pathway, so Alexander moved from light to shadow as he paced. Why should he care so much, why should it matter? The memory of the entire room in Almacks quietening as Miss Layland strode away from him, a friend at her side for support. The way that eyes had followed him, greedy in their hunger for gossip, intrigue, and rumour.

  The darkening of her eyes as she had beheld him, and rejected him publicly and without honour.

  There was physical pain now; Alexander glanced down at his hands, and saw that he had clenched them, digging his nails into his palms until his left hand had started to bleed.

  It was intolerable, this stain on his reputation. If things did not change soon, then something drastic had to happen. Perhaps even –

  The night was torn apart by a loud scream, and a terrible splash.