Lady and the Rake (Lord Love a Lady Book 6)

by Annabelle Anders

  Sebastian stared across the table at his uncle.

  She was not going to be happy married to George. She might be relatively content. She might have the security of being a married lady. But she would not be happy.

  And she might end up lonelier than she was now.

  Because she was lonely. He was certain of that. She was lonely even though she was surrounded by other people.

  Many of the ladies seemed to have one or two bosom companions, confidantes with whom they shared secrets and laughter. Margaret conversed with nearly everyone for short periods of time but rarely with any one person for long.

  He’d watched her with Monfort’s duchess. Although the other woman openly touched Margaret’s arm or leg, Margaret held herself stiffly. She did the same with George, and he’d seen her close herself off from the viscountess. He didn’t think she did so on purpose, but Margaret Coates naturally shied away from intimacy.

  Except for with him.

  An unexpected sense of loss swept through Sebastian as a few of the gentlemen jokingly teased his uncle about the betrothal.

  Marriage was what she wanted. She’d lost a child once and seemed intent upon having a family. George would provide that for her. Perhaps Sebastian was imagining her loneliness. Sebastian downed his port in one swallow, allowing himself to be distracted by the burning in his chest and then gut. She’d allowed George to slide the damn ring on her finger. She’d not stopped him, nor told him no.

  Good for her then. Sebastian nodded as the footman stepped up from behind him to refill his snifter. Good for her.

  11

  Close Quarters

  “I don’t play children’s games, Margaret.” Sitting beside her, George shook his head, refusing to take part in the evening’s entertainment. “Definitely not games that require a person hiding in corners and closets.”

  “It is Margaret’s birthday, Mr. Kirkley,” Penelope reminded from her position at the other end of the room. “I believe that as her intended, you are required to do as she bids this evening.” She gave George a teasing smile but Margaret couldn’t help but wonder if her sister-in-law wasn’t pushing him intentionally.

  Margaret set her hand on George’s arm, doing what she could so that he could emerge from her request without seeming dour. She was angry with him but uncertain again as to her future. If they did marry, she did not want any ill feelings between him and her family. “Do play. If only for a short while. It’ll be fun.”

  He sighed heavily but nodded in concession.

  “As the guest of honor this evening, Lady Asherton must be the first to hide. For those who don’t know the rules, it is easy enough. She will hide while the rest of us remain here and count to one hundred. When the counting is finished, all of us shall go in search of her. When you find her, you must hide with her until there is either no more space for the players to hide or only one person left searching. Does anyone have any questions?”

  “But she will not hide in bedchambers?” Miss Drake asked.

  “Bedchambers, the nursery, and servants’ quarters are all off-limits,” Hugh answered.

  With only a few murmurs for a response, Margaret rose and smoothed her skirts. Having grown up in the house, she could find a place where no one but her brother could find her. She would not make it so very difficult for everyone though.

  She leaned down and whispered where she was going near George’s ear and then quickly rose again. It might be her perfect opportunity. It might be her only opportunity.

  “Go now, Lady Asherton!” Miss Crouch demanded. “One, two, three…”

  Margaret dashed into the corridor and then up the stairs. Although it was, in fact, just a simple children’s game, for some reason, her heart raced. She would hide, and of course, she would be found. She smiled as she opened the secret door and stepped into the linen closet. Normally, she knew that the first person to discover her would be her brother. Or Penelope.

  She quieted her breaths, even though the counting would barely be concluding, and waited.

  Since the moment George had made his announcement, Margaret had put on a brave face. Alone at last, she squeezed her eyes together and allowed the significance of what had happened to wash over her. A few tears escaped onto her lashes, and she dabbed them away by pressing her fingers against them.

  She was engaged. She forced herself to breathe. She had not wanted to become engaged but unless she made an utter spectacle of herself then there was no turning back.

  She needed George to come to her now. She needed him to give her some form of reassurance.

  Several footsteps sounded outside the door without stopping, and she wondered if George had mistaken her instructions until the door opened and in stepped—

  “You’re not George!”

  How had she not remembered that she’d shown this location to Sebastian only a few days before?

  “Must we go through this again, Maggie? No, I am not my dear uncle George.” He hadn’t sounded mocking earlier today. “Your fiancé has decided to remain downstairs rather than… how did he put it? Chase through the house as though he was an uncivilized native. Riverton challenged him to a game of Piquet and of course, he could not refuse.”

  “I…” Margaret hesitated. “I thought he might…” Oh, but had she really expected George to participate? “I even told him where I would be…”

  “Maggie.” He sounded far more serious than he had a moment ago. “I love my uncle and always have but there are a few things you must know about him. He is—”

  Light flooded the room as the door opened and Penelope stepped in. “I thought you might be in here, Margaret.” Penelope gave Sebastian no choice but to move closer to Margaret as she closed the door behind her. “I came to inform you that your very proper betrothed decided not to play, after all, and is not coming in search of you. Who is in here with you? Is that Rockingham?”

  “It is, My Lady,” Sebastian answered.

  “Sebast— Lord Rockingham had already informed me,” Margaret admitted. “It is a rather silly game, though, isn’t it?” She didn’t want pity from either Penelope or Sebastian.

  “But he told you he would and that wasn’t very good of him to break a promise,” Penelope said matter-of-factly. “Pardon me, Rockingham, for speaking openly about this. It’s just that my sister-in-law—“

  “Penelope!” Margaret stopped her.

  “Oh, no. that’s quite all right, My Lady. Feel free to speak openly. I have no misconceptions regarding my uncle’s priorities,” Sebastian encouraged Penelope in a most unhelpful manner.

  “Can we please—”

  The door opened again. “Here you are.” It was Hugh this time. As the door closed behind him, Margaret found herself flush up against Sebastian. He was even forced to drop an arm around her in order to allow them additional space.

  “Margaret, watch your hand, will you?” Penelope instructed.

  “My hands are at my sides.” But her heart was racing. Sebastian was so very near, and he smelled of soap and something musky and masculine. It took her right back to earlier that day when she’d had her face pressed against his chest.

  “Oh.” And then a giggle escaped from Penelope. “Not here, Hugh! Lord Rockingham is present as well.”

  “My apologies. Rockingham.” Hugh’s voice cut through the darkness. “Just keeping my wife in line.”

  “As if,” Penelope responded.

  “No trouble at all.” Not only did Margaret hear his voice float over her head, but she felt it rumble in his chest beneath her hands. “We are discussing Lady Asherton’s engagement.”

  “Ah,” Hugh stated noncommittally.

  “Did you know, Hugh, that he intended to announce it?” Margaret couldn’t keep herself from asking.

  “I was shocked,” Penelope responded.

  “It was most unexpected,” Sebastian said at the same time.

  And then the person she’d been asking finally answered. “I was under the impression he would wait
. I assumed you had given him permission to make it official earlier,” Hugh informed her. When she didn’t comment, she sensed a shift in her brother’s mood. “You did give him permission, didn’t you?”

  Margaret licked her lips at the same time Sebastian’s hand moved from her waist to her hip. “I—” she began, finding it most difficult to think straight with him touching her.

  The door opened again. “Is there room in here for me?” Abigail asked. “Hello, Danbury, Penelope? Lord Rockingham. Margaret, What a marvelous hiding place.”

  The door had not closed completely when it was opened once more. Margaret could just barely make out the tall figure of the Duke of Monfort. “I thought I saw you slip in here, dear. Clever design.”

  “Good eye, Your Grace,” Penelope replied. “Scoot back a bit, will you, Margaret?”

  Sebastian backed against one of the shelves, taking her with him. They might as well have been locked in a passionate embrace. It was most inappropriate, but in the circumstances allowed for slightly more room in the packed linen closet.

  Margaret was acutely aware of his scent, of the hardness of his chest and thighs. Her cheek pressed against the wool of his jacket.

  He ought to be George.

  She ought to be feeling the length of her intended up against her. She closed her eyes against the confusing emotions spiraling inside.

  “Margaret and I used to hide in here as children,” Hugh said to nobody in particular. “It’s most useful for private discussions with one’s wife, as well.”

  Penelope snorted.

  “We need something like this at Brooke’s Abbey, Monfort,” Abigail suggested.

  “Whatever you would like. I’m sure it can be arranged.”

  “How have you been feeling, Abigail? Are you over the early sickness?” Abigail was Penelope’s cousin and so, of course, Penelope felt perfectly comfortable asking such a personal question.

  Sebastian placed a finger beneath Margaret’s chin and tipped her head back. She nearly gasped when he pressed firm lips to hers.

  This kiss was different from those they’d exchanged in his chamber. And from the one on the cliff today. It was almost as though he was apologizing for her disappointment that George had not come. And then he moved his mouth to her jaw. His fingertip brushed across her cheek, oh, so gently. “I should have reminded you to get a hat. Does it hurt?” He whispered the words directly into her ear so that no one but her could hear.

  Margaret nodded. But then shook her head side to side. She didn’t know. Was it the burn from the sun that pained her or her heart?

  The door opened again and, feeling embarrassed, Margaret would have moved away from him if she’d had any room to do so.

  “I’ve found you all. Is that Rockingham back there?” Miss Drake briefly peeked around the others but then disappeared. “Move in.” But there was no place any of them could go. Laughter sprang up as she and others attempted to squish inside because, of course, there was no way that the door was going to close this time. Sebastian’s arms felt, oh, so wonderful and Margaret wished the game wasn’t over.

  The last person to arrive, Margaret heard someone announce, was Mr. Joseph Spencer, Mrs. Spencer’s young husband. He would have to hide next.

  Before everyone filed out of the closet, Margaret took one moment to squeeze Sebastian’s hand in hers.

  In a few months, he would be on the other side of the world. He would be exploring, following his dreams, and when he returned to England, he would be wanting to accomplish great things that would be far removed from her.

  He is my friend, nothing more.

  “I can’t get it off.” As much as Margaret tried to remove George’s ring before climbing into bed later that night, she could not. The more she persisted, the more swollen and red her finger became. The skin around the ring was quickly starting to burn as much as her cheeks.

  Esther had made up her gooey concoction despite Margaret’s objections and dabbed it on Margaret’s face, leaving only her eyes and nostrils and mouth clean of the remedy. Although Margaret’s hair had been tied back, a few strands had escaped and were sticking to her face as well.

  “Let me fetch some lard for it. Hold your hand in the basin of water to bring down the swelling until I return.”

  Margaret could only nod and do as the maid instructed. The evening had gone on forever and all she’d wanted to do was escape to her room. Only now that she’d escaped, all sorts of discontent assaulted her. The ring was growing increasingly painful.

  Hopefully, cold water and lard would help. She forced her breathing to slow. One did not panic simply because she could not remove a piece of jewelry, did one?

  As she leaned against the table where the basin sat, her hand slipped and overturned the entire bowl of water, drenching her night rail.

  It was the perfect end to a perfectly atrocious evening.

  There was a knock on the door. “Come in!” she called out, thinking it would be a maid from the kitchen. She could not even remove her gown without assistance because of the mess on her face.

  When she turned to take the lard from the maid, she gasped. It was not the maid.

  “Wh-what are you doing here?”

  Sebastian stood, unblinking, looking nearly as shocked as she felt.

  And then she realized; the concoction on her face!

  He closed the door, remaining inside. But quickly turned his back to afford her some privacy. “Forgive me, Maggie. I meant to give this to you earlier—for your birthday.”

  Just as she was about to order him out, she realized he was handing her a package, reaching out behind him as he faced the door.

  “What is it?”

  “Take it and see,” he answered, his back to her still.

  Soaking wet, still dripping, in fact, and feeling like some creature who might have crawled out of a muddied lagoon, she stepped forward and took it from him.

  “I forgot to bring it down for the party earlier,” he explained.

  “I did not expect any gifts for my birthday.” Penelope had gone too far. But she opened the paper that had been loosely wrapped around it.

  It was a book—a well-worn book.

  “I’ve read it dozens of times. I wanted you to have it.”

  If he’d brought it with him, all the way from London, by horseback, it was not a meaningless item. The title came as no surprise.

  “Johann David Wyss,” she murmured.

  “Have you read it?”

  She shook her head. “I’ve read Robinson Caruso but not this one.” It was the later version, titled The Swiss Family Robinson. It had only recently been published.

  “I thought you would enjoy it. I wanted you to know that women can travel too. You are not destined to forgo all of your adventures, merely because you are a girl.”

  A girl.

  She laughed. She was hardly a girl any longer. Nonetheless, she opened it and flipped through the dog-eared pages.

  “My apologies for its condition.”

  But she was shaking her head. “It is a prized possession. I cannot accept it.” It was inappropriate for her to accept a gift from a gentleman who was not her husband or brother or father, in any case.

  “Consider it a loan, then,” he persisted.

  She would read it because he wanted her to. Reading was one experience that she could share with him.

  “I will do my best to finish it before the end of the party,” she promised.

  He had turned around without her being aware of it and was smiling. His eyes sparkled with humor. “I wonder why you didn’t wear this concoction when you climbed into my bed.”

  Oh, good Lord! But it was too late to hide her ridiculous appearance from him now.

  She touched her fingertips to her cheeks. “It’s for the burning.”

  He tilted his head and frowned. “I didn’t stop to think of how long we were in the sun. I kept you out too long.”

  “I forbid you to take responsibility for my carelessness.
It was a wonderful day. Please, do not apologize.” It had been a very lovely day, indeed. One of the most enjoyable she’d had in ages.

  “It was,” he agreed and then he bowed and backed toward the door. “I’d best leave before your maid returns.” He winked. “Sweet dreams, Maggie. I know mine will be sweeter for knowing you.”

  And then he was gone.

  When Margaret turned to stare at herself in the vanity, her eyes flew open wide. The water on her gown had made it all but transparent. She might as well have been naked. She could easily make out the dusky pink tips of her breasts and—Good God!—the dark triangle between her thighs.

  If her cheeks weren’t already flushed from the sun and covered with honey and oil, she was certain they’d be beet red.

  It seemed she was to have no secrets from this man!

  12

  Choose Wisely

  A few miles up and over the hill behind Land’s End, Margaret’s father had ordered a brook damned off in order to create a lake. Depending on how much rain fell in a given year, it was used to mitigate floods but also to hold water for later distribution to the lower fields. In addition to its practical purposes, the small reservoir made for a pleasing scene and was occasionally used for swimming.

  Nearby, a tidy storage building housed three small boats for rowing.

  Penelope had had them all brought out, repaired and cleaned for the day’s events. In between pleasure trips, across and back, there would be a rowing tournament, and it went without saying that an informal picnic would be served as well.

  Servants had been working all morning to transport the prepared cold cuts, cheeses, fruit, and loaves of bread as well as wine to the location.

  The most enthusiastic hiked up to the location but most traveled to the lake’s edge in coaches and a few of the gentlemen rode atop mounts.

  Margaret sat beside George that morning in an open barouche with Lady Sheffield on her other side and Mr. and Mrs. Spencer and Miss Crouch sitting on the opposite bench.