The Caress of a Commander [retail]

by Linda Rae Sande

  She was staring at him, her already pale complexion suggesting she might faint at any moment. Or fall asleep. The poor woman had to be tired, although she looked resplendent in the deep green gown she wore. A maid had done her hair into a bun surrounded by tiny braids and ringlets. Emerald earbobs decorated her earlobes. Except for how thin she had become over her years in Broadwell, she looked every inch the aristocrat she was.

  Henry gave a nod and turned his attention to his meal, pretending not to notice Barbara’s reaction to Will’s statement. Not having met her or her father, Henry wasn’t yet sure he knew enough to figure out what had happened to force the aristocrat’s daughter to take her leave of London, although he had a pretty good idea. He knew Hannah would tell him what she knew later that night, though.

  When Hannah and Barbara took their leave of the dining room, Donald and Harold in tow, and made their way to the parlor, Will accepted Henry’s offer of a port and a cheroot. “I haven’t had one of these in ages,” Will said before he took an experimental puff on the cheroot.

  “I rarely smoke these days,” Henry admitted, returning to his carver. “I think my visit to Wainwright’s home must have had an effect of me. I’m always afraid of starting a fire.”

  Will nodded. “I couldn’t allow smoking on the ship,” he said with a shake of his head. “We always had oils of one kind or another in the hold.” He took another puff before he regarded Henry with a slight grin. “About the Ellsworth Park house. How much?” he asked suddenly.

  Henry blinked. “How much... work, do you mean?”

  “To let the house?”

  Sighing, Henry gave a shrug. “As I said, it’s not really in livable condition, so I’ve not considered how much to charge for it,” he hedged. His eyes widened. “Are you really... interested?”

  Will nodded. “I am if I’m going to work for you. I can probably see to most of the repairs myself—after eight years at sea, I’ve had to learn a thing or two about carpentry—and for those repairs I can’t do myself, I can always hire someone to help,” he claimed, joining Henry in a glass of port.

  Henry regarded Will as the footman who served the port took his leave of the dining room. “Should you agree to take on the task, I shall not charge you to live there,” he offered with a shake of his head. At Will’s look of surprise, he added, “I couldn’t in good conscious charge you,” he explained. “And I rather doubt you could live there until the repairs are completed in at least a few of the rooms. My tenant cottages are in better shape.”

  “And yet, you wanted the property,” Will reminded him.

  Henry nodded. “I wanted the property for the farmland. Managed to get it plowed in time for last year’s crops. This year’s crop will be seeded later this week,” he claimed proudly.

  Will wondered if the earl had given any thought to razing the house so that the entire property could be turned into farmland. He didn’t put voice to the query, though, for at that moment, he was pretty sure he wanted the house. “Is anyone living in the dowager cottage right now?” he asked, remembering Henry’s mention of it earlier that afternoon.

  Henry shook his head. “Just you and your wife while you see to the repairs on Ellsworth Park, I suppose,” he said with an arched eyebrow.

  Will’s eyes widened. “Truly?” he replied, a sense of relief settling over him. The last thing he wanted to do was take Barbara back to the cottage in Broadwell. Better she be able to live in a suitable dwelling and be close to his relatives.

  If Barbara wasn’t going to return to London, then Will knew he would have to figure out a place for them to live. What better location than a house next door to where his sister lived? And close enough to Bampton to walk or drive a gig on market day? He rather doubted his horse would appreciate having to pull a dog cart, but the Arabian might have to until Will could find a bay or draft horse to do the job.

  And there was the opportunity to work. To earn his keep.

  “We’ll walk over to Ellsworth Park after breakfast in the morning. You can have a look and decide then,” Henry offered, stifling a yawn.

  Will felt his own yawn coming on. “I look forward to it. In the meantime, I’ve been up since before the sun. I need to get some sleep,” he said as he stood up. “Thank you. For hosting us. For dinner. Will you excuse me?”

  Henry nodded his head. “I’m right behind you,” he said with a grin.

  The two took their leave of the dining room and headed to the parlor, intending to say their ‘good nights’ to the women. But the room was empty.

  “The rest of the household is abed,” Parkerhouse said from down the hall.

  Exchanging glances, Will and Henry each gave a shrug and headed up the stairs to their respective bedchambers.

  Although Henry didn’t intend to spend the night in his bedchamber but rather in his wife’s, Will rather hoped he would have a place to sleep, for he had no idea if Barbara would even allow him into their bedchamber.

  Chapter 42

  A Bastard Makes His Case During the Intermission

  Meanwhile, back at Worthington House

  Stephen barely heard the duet featuring a soprano and a tenor, although he certainly heard the applause that followed. Then a young woman took a seat at the piano-forté and proceeded to play a series of selections by Brahms and Mozart. When she finished, Lady Torrington announced it was time for an intermission and more refreshments.

  Feeling rather sorry for himself—he had made a cake of it with Victoria and yet he knew he wasn’t at fault—Stephen was staring at the carpet beneath his feet when he was suddenly aware of someone standing next to him.

  Victoria!

  He turned and angled his head in surprise. “My lady,” he said as he bowed and took her hand. She allowed it, although Stephen could tell she did so to appear polite.

  “My aunt insisted I come speak with you,” she stated, her gaze elsewhere.

  Stephen wondered if the woman intended for Victoria to speak with him or slap him. He probably deserved another slap across the face, although he could still feel the faint sting of the one she had already bestowed on him. “I never meant for you to think I was anyone other than who I am,” he said in a quiet voice.

  “And yet you would have everyone think you are Bellingham,” she countered with a hint of impatience.

  Stephen frowned. “Have you ever met Bellingham?” he whispered, rather glad there was a steady background of murmuring to fill the music room. A trio of musicians moved to take their places and tune their instruments.

  “Apparently not,” Victoria replied with a roll of her eyes, her attention flitting about as if she pretended to look for someone. “I don’t suppose he’s here?” she added, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

  Stephen felt a bit of relief that he wasn’t the subject on which her silver-gray eyes had rested just then. He could imagine little beams of fire bursting forth, burning his skin and whatever else happened to be in her line of sight. “No, but you wouldn’t know it if he were,” Stephen replied in a whisper, rather liking that he had to lean over and direct his comments toward her ear. Had they been anywhere else, he would have used the tip of his tongue to trace the whorl of it before using his tongue and teeth to pull her plump earlobe—earbob and all—past his lips.

  Victoria stiffened as she felt his breath on her ear, on her neck. Was it really appropriate for him to be whispering as he was, his voice sounding ever so secretive? So seductive? Another inch closer, and he could have his tongue in her ear, her earlobe in his mouth. The mere thought had her nipples hardening into buds behind her corset, her breasts swelling so the tops appeared rounded above the neckline of the green gold silk. “And why might that be?” she managed to get out without her voice sounding too breathy.

  Stephen dared another glance in her direction, suddenly aware of her perfect posture, of how the tops of her breasts strained against the neckline of her gown. Of how her skin had taken on a glow as ethereal as the golden light that shimmered throughout t
he entire room. “He looks exactly like me.”

  He heard her slight inhalation of breath and had to bite his inner cheek in an attempt to keep his manhood from reacting. He was quite sure if she inhaled again, there wouldn’t be enough room for her breasts in her corset and they would simply escape their confines. He would be forced to remove his coat and cover her, but at the moment, he found himself wishing she would inhale just one more time.

  He wouldn’t mind it one bit if he had to once again divest himself of his topcoat for a damsel in distress.

  How would she look out of the gown, he wondered? Entirely out of it and anything else she wore beneath it? Stripped bare and lying on her back in his bed, lit only by the golden glow from the fireplace? Her pale blonde hair spread out like a halo around her face, her mouth left slightly open and ready for his tongue and lips?

  A strangled groan escaped his throat, bringing him out of his reverie.

  He bit the inside of his other cheek, rather wishing he could take off his coat if only to cover himself. The damned cutaway coat was cutaway in precisely the wrong place!

  “Does he now? I suppose that makes it rather convenient for you.”

  Convenient? Stephen furrowed his brows. How is this convenient? Having taken on the task of imagining how good it would feel to be buried in the naked woman who lay spread out on his bed—the woman who was standing right next to him—his cock was hardening at an alarming rate.

  “Convenient?” he managed to get out, the word sounding almost garbled.

  Victoria blinked as she turned to regard him, wondering why he suddenly sounded as if he were struggling to breathe. She dropped her gaze, afraid he might make eye contact, and found it rather hard to ignore how tented his breeches appeared at the base of his cutaway coat. Inhaling sharply, she lifted her gaze so she was staring at the violinist, a rather inopportune time to be doing so for the man’s attention was entirely on her.

  As was Stephen’s, she realized. Daring a surreptitious glance down, she realized her breasts had nearly escaped the confines of her corset.

  Damnation! The modiste had warned her this might happen with this particular gown!

  Rounding her shoulders slightly, she was able to maneuver herself back into the corset, much to the dismay of the violinist. Stephen’s attention was suddenly on the painted cherubs on the ceiling. A moment later, so were Victoria’s. That is, until she turned her face in his direction, her upturned chin just reaching his shoulder. He lowered his shoulder, realizing she wanted to say something for only his ears. “Convenient in that he can be you, and you can be him whenever it should strike your fancy,” Victoria whispered, imagining what it might be like to reach out with her tongue to trace the whorl of his ear, to put her lips together and blow gently into it, to use her tongue and teeth to pull his earlobe past her lips and nibble on it.

  A rather garbled, mewling sound emerged from her throat.

  Stephen jerked his head around to stare down at her upturned face, his own face mere inches from hers. Was she struggling to catch her breath? Or was she choking on her words? “More convenient for him, actually,” he replied. “He is my commander. I do as he tells me to.”

  This had Victoria’s eyebrows arched up in surprise. “You said you were retired from the Navy,” she countered in a low voice.

  “He is my older brother. If I know what is good for me, I shall always do what he tells me to,” he said with a shake of head.

  “Including answering to ‘Bellingham’?” she argued, her manner becoming more agitated until she suddenly felt his hand wrap around her gloved one, his thumb rubbing into her palm. The contact was so unexpected, she nearly let out a squeak, but she also realized she had to calm herself. The violinist kept glancing in her direction, no doubt hoping she would pop out of her bodice.

  “I cannot help that I look like him,” Stephen said in a quiet voice. “And I cannot prevent others from using his name when they see me.”

  “Would you if they did, though?” Victoria wondered, her silver-gray eyes searching his. “Correct them, I mean,” she added, her gaze suddenly aimed at the Aubusson carpet beneath their feet. She didn’t dare try to hold his gaze. Despite her obvious displeasure with him, he was behaving with grace and quiet dignity, answering her every complaint with logical replies. His thumb was still doing its magic, his touch surreptitious in that he kept their hands hidden in the folds of her gown.

  She found herself studying the carpet, rather amazed at how new it looked despite the hundred or so people who had trampled on it during the reception. She also hadn’t noticed the repeating pattern of birds in the weave of the fibers. Doves, she thought in passing. Peace.

  Stephen regarded her for a moment, his lips pressed together for fear the words he spoke would be the wrong ones. “Would you have me make it known I was eavesdropping on their conversation? I think not,” he finally replied. He could tell by how her shoulders lowered—her beautiful, bare shoulders—that she accepted his reasoning just then.

  He had a passing thought of what it had been like to hold those shoulders as he kissed her, to slide his palms over the smooth, soft skin as his tongue plundered her mouth, as his lips took purchase on her lips, her earlobe, her throat. Just thinking about it had his hands quivering, his lips tingling.

  “I did not mean for you to assume I was anyone other than Stephen Slater,” he continued quietly. “Which begs the question—how did you discover I wasn’t who you thought I was? I did introduce myself as Stephen Slater, as I recall.”

  Victoria lifted her eyes, this time so she was staring into his. Dammit. Why did he have to have such fetching eyes?

  Their browns and greens flecked with gold—they matched her gown to perfection and threatened to hold her hostage. “I couldn’t find you listed in Debrett’s,” she whispered, suddenly feeling rather foolish. Why was it so damned important that he be who she thought he was? Did it matter if he was an heir to a marquessate or merely a gentleman of bastard birth? Despite how beautiful Cherice appeared wearing her coronet, Victoria knew she didn’t care a whit if she ever had one.

  She suddenly felt foolish, and she would have bolted but for the room full of people who surely would have noticed her departure from where she had been standing for the intermission. And for Stephen’s grip on her hand, his thumb still rubbing circles into her palm.

  “That’s because they don’t list illegitimate children,” he said quietly. “I found you in there, by the way,” Stephen added, wondering how she would react to having been looked up in a book of the peerage.

  Victoria gave a start as she lifted her eyes to meet his, knowing she would be lost in them but not caring just then. “So, you know I am almost on the shelf,” she replied, immediately regretting the comment, especially the tone that made her sound disgusted.

  “Happy birthday,” he said as he lifted the hand he held to his lips. His other joined it so one was beneath her hand while the other rested atop it. Then he kissed her knuckles, aware of how her eyes tracked his every move.

  “Thank you.” For some reason, the words had her rather glad it was an auspicious day. She wasn’t really that old, after all.

  “You have the most beautiful eyes,” Stephen whispered, “Angel’s eyes.”

  A pink blush colored Victoria’s face just then, but she couldn’t look away from him. He had her under his hazel-eyed spell. “Oh?” she managed to respond.

  “Aye. I think I should like to see those eyes every morning when I awake, and every night before I close my own,” he murmured, once again lowering his lips to her knuckles.

  “I would like that, too,” she replied on a breath, not quite realizing what his words meant. That is, until she realized everyone in the music room was staring at them, champagne glasses held at the ready as if the guests were expecting some grand announcement.

  Victoria’s eyes widened as she glanced around the room before settling them back on Stephen’s, rather stunned to find he seemed entirely unaware of anyon
e but her just then.

  “Marry me, Victoria. Marry me, because I dearly want to get a child on you, and I don’t want him to be a bastard,” he said with a hint of amusement.

  Her mouth nearly as wide as her eyes, Victoria finally nodded. “Yes,” she whispered, her free hand moving up to grasp his lapel to pull him down for a kiss.

  Stephen made it quick, if only because the applause in the room had him thinking his aunt was about to announce the next performer. Instead, he realized he and Victoria had that honor, for the earl and countess stood regarding them with broad smiles and raised champagne glasses.

  “You might have given me fair warning my musicale was to be the setting for your proposal,” Adele scolded as she joined them.

  Giving her a shake of his head, Stephen could only sigh.

  “Another goddaughter about to be married off,” Grandby said as he touched the edge of his glass to his wife’s.

  “Goddaughter?” Stephen repeated, his attention darting between Victoria and Grandby. “Her?”

  “Oh, aye,” Grandby replied proudly. “Her father and I were in school together. She wasn’t my first goddaughter, of course, but...” He allowed the comment to trail off as several well-wishers stepped forward to shake Stephen’s hand and wish Victoria a happy marriage.

  When the second half of Adele Slater Worthington Grandby’s musicale finally got underway, it did so much later than planned. Although Adele didn’t seem to mind, and neither did her guests, one particular violinist certainly did.

  “He’s only been back a week and already Bellingham has ruined my evening,” he said to one of his fellow musicians.

  Although Stephen overheard the remark, he decided not to correct the man.

  Chapter 43

  One More Day

  The following day in Oxfordshire

  “Are you quite sure you can look after Donald whilst you’re fishing this afternoon?” Barbara asked, her hand moving to touch Will’s arm as they were about to leave Gisborn Hall for Ellsworth Park.