The Awakening of Lord Ambrose (The Lost Lords Book 6)

by Chasity Bowlin

  “It isn’t a rational fear,” she said. “Just as yours isn’t. You won’t suddenly turn into your father… drinking and whoring your way through life. But it’s always the dark thing hiding in the shadows of your mind, isn’t it?”

  “It is,” he agreed. “There are few people who understand the complications of loving others who cannot love themselves. It’s a hard thing to watch people you love slowly destroy themselves. And yet we both have. Perhaps that is the thing that will allow us to find some peace in all of this. We are in a unique position to understand one another, Primrose.”

  Prim touched the ring that now rested on the third finger of her left hand. The weight of it was unfamiliar but not uncomfortable. “I suppose we are. It is a better basis for building a life together than many have.”

  “It isn’t only that, Prim. And it isn’t only obligation.”

  There was something in his tone that alerted her, something that called to that part of her that had stirred so readily that night on the stairs. Turning her head to meet his gaze, she was not surprised to feel his lips on hers. The kiss itself was, perhaps, the most normal interaction they’d shared as a betrothed couple. Yet it rocked her to her very core because her blood rushed and soared in her veins. There was no room for fear. No room for guilt or shame. There was only him, filling up her senses and blocking out all the world. Nothing else existed—past or future. There was only the present and the taste of him on her tongue, the scrape of his whiskers against her skin, and the feel of his arms closing around her, always gentle and mindful of her injury, but nonetheless insistent.

  When he drew back, his breath caressing her lips and his forehead dropping to press against hers as their breath mingled between them, one word came to her mind. Inevitable. That moment of surrender and his presence in her life had been inevitable. It was as if the fates themselves had arranged it.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Freddy cursed under his breath as he climbed the steps to the Wyverne house in the Royal Crescent. He had misjudged Miss Wyverne it seemed. She had more pride than he had accounted for and was not nearly so enamored with him as he’d initially assumed. He wondered if, perhaps, there wasn’t more to it than that. Perhaps, she did not seek the company of men because she preferred the company of women? She was a bluestocking, an ape-leader, and many of them were devotees of Sappho. None of that mattered. She could have had the face of a donkey and it would have made little difference.

  Now he found himself in a position that he despised. He would have to apologize and beg her forgiveness. That or he would be forced to find another way to shore up his family’s failing finances. Frankly, they didn’t have the time for that. If he didn’t make the necessary payments, everything that was not entailed would be seized by the bailiffs to pay his debts. There was no one left to borrow from and nothing left to sell that wouldn’t lend credence to the rumors that the family was deep in dun territory.

  With a posy in one hand and a box of chocolates tucked beneath his arm, he lifted the heavy knocker and let it fall with a metallic clank. Almost immediately, the door opened and the painfully thin figure of the butler appeared before him.

  “Lord Samford for Miss Wyverne,” Freddy said.

  The butler’s expression never altered. “Miss Wyverne is not at home, Lord Samford.”

  Not at home. Yet as he’d walked up the street, he’d seen two of Miss Wyverne’s friends admitted. In other words, she was not at home to him. She was done with him entirely it seemed, as the gossips had suggested once she’d left the Assembly Rooms the night before.

  They would see about that. “If you could give these to her,” he said and produced a letter from inside his coat. It was both an apology and a patently false explanation. She might believe it. She might not. But in that moment, Freddy decided one thing. He would marry her. Whether she agreed or not.

  If he dragged her off to Scotland, she’d have little choice in the matter. Heiress or not, she was still lame, still rather homely and plain. If her reputation were ruined, no one else would ever have her no matter how rich she was. But first, there was another problem to take care of. He’d received word just that morning via the unlikely source of Cornelius Garrett’s aunt. The dotty old bird was incapable of keeping her mouth shut and she’d been blathering to everyone who would listen about the carriage accident that very nearly killed them all. His bastard brat was still alive and so was the sister. That would have to be remedied. Later, after he’d settled things with Miss Wyverne, he’d attend to the matter. He wasn’t about to set his finances right by tying himself to a hatchet-faced wife only to turn a portion of the rewards over to blackmailers. No doubt, as soon as word of his marriage came out, the demands would begin.

  *

  Inside her father’s luxurious townhouse, Kitty Wyverne stared at the gifts laid before her by their aging but dedicated butler. She’d harbored no illusions about Lord Samford. His reputation had preceded him. But she would happily have ignored the gossip. It wasn’t even a requirement that he love her. But she would not consent to be courted by or married to a man who would publicly humiliate her. She’d recognized his behavior the night before as an attempt to manipulate her. But she lived with Samuel Wyverne and no one was a greater master of manipulation than he. Her efforts to find a husband were so she might escape her father, not tie herself to someone just like him.

  “He’s very handsome, Kit,” Judith Villiers offered in what was intended to be a helpful manner.

  “So was Lucifer,” Kitty replied sharply. “I allowed his attentions in the beginning because I hoped he was different from what I had heard of him. He has proven now that he is not. You need not fret, Judith, for my heart was not involved.”

  Judith shook her head. “I don’t know how you do that! You are impervious to the attentions of men. If a man as handsome and charming as Lord Samford were to pay court to me, I’d make an utter cake of myself.”

  “It’s easy enough to be impervious when he danced attendance on a silly girl right in front of me,” Kitty answered. “I’ve heard rumors, as well. I knew his family was in debt, but it appears to be far worse than I had initially believed. I’m not opposed to marrying a man who is poor and swayed to it by my fortune, so long as he is kind and I think we can have a pleasant life together. Lord Samford showed me last night that he is not that man.”

  Across the room, Sally Carter looked up. “I heard something else about him… it was from a maid in the Ambrose townhouse. She’s cousins to one of our parlor maids and she said that there were whispers that the youngest child in a family named Collier, who have become wards of Lord Ambrose, is the spitting image of Lord Samford.”

  “He would not be the first gentleman to sire a child out of wedlock. At least Lord Ambrose is offering to care for them. No doubt, his father contributed to the birth of at least one of the sibling group,” Kitty mused. The previous Lord Ambrose had been rather notorious for such exploits.

  “If you’re willing to overlook scandal, then Lord Ambrose might be a good prospect for a husband,” Judith said. “He’s very handsome, as well!”

  Kitty did not roll her eyes, but she only just managed to refrain. Judith was obsessed with male beauty. And male ugliness. And masculinity in any form in between. Never in all her life had she known someone more desperate to marry. “If you say one more man is handsome, I swear, Judith, I will turn you out of this house and never let you enter it again.”

  “Well, he is! I know there was that awful scandal and the rather questionable death of that Grantham fellow but, by all accounts, Grantham was a scoundrel! It sounds to me as if Lord Ambrose should be lauded a hero instead of a villain. And he’s nice, Kitty. He’s always pleasant and kind whenever I’ve had occasion to encounter him, though admittedly that has not happened frequently in the last few years. He’s avoided society altogether since that nasty business.”

  “I’ve met Lord Ambrose on multiple occasions and he has little to no interest in me. I’m not
even sure he was aware of my presence,” Kitty said. “No. Lord Ambrose will not do. I’ll settle on someone soon enough.” She had to. If she didn’t find someone by the end of the year, her father had stated unequivocally that he would find someone for her. Their criteria for selecting a bridegroom were quite different.

  “We’ll go to the Assembly Rooms again tonight. Perhaps you’ll meet someone there,” Sally offered. “And it can’t hurt.”

  No, it couldn’t hurt anything more than her pride. Just one more night sitting in a corner, watching others dance and flirt while she was ignored. “Fine. We’ll go.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  The journey to London was a difficult one. They were nearing the end of their first day. Every jolt of the carriage had caused agony. As the vehicle lurched into the inn yard, Prim was biting the inside of her cheek to keep from crying out with the pain.

  “This was too much for you,” Cornelius observed.

  “It doesn’t matter,” she said. “Time is of the essence and we cannot afford to coddle me.”

  “I’ll procure rooms for us if you wish to wait here.”

  It was only the two of them. They’d elected not to borrow a maid from Lord and Lady Wolverton or to return to Avondale and fetch one. The lighter they could travel, the quicker they would be able to get to London and get the deed done. Theirs would not be a joyous wedding, but a perfunctory thing to achieve and be done with. Perhaps their lack of joy and anticipation of the wedding itself would not carry over into the marriage if they were lucky.

  After Cornelius climbed down from the carriage and she was alone, Prim let out a deep shuddering breath. Without the carriage being in motion, there was some relief from the pain. She was at least not being jolted and jostled about.

  Easing back against the seat, she stretched experimentally, trying to ease the kinks from her back without causing further pain to her injured shoulder. It was only moments later that Cornelius returned.

  “There is only one room available,” he said.

  “We are already courting impropriety, Cornelius. I hardly think it matters,” she said. She trusted him to be a gentleman. Despite their kiss in the garden just that morning, she had no fear of him. If nothing else, that kiss had confirmed for her that she could trust him. He had kissed her, but done no more, though given how his kiss had affected her, he certainly could have. It was something she had struggled with from the beginning. Her response to him seemed to defy her will and her sense.

  “Let me help you,” he said, offering his hand to assist her down from the carriage.

  The warmth of his fingers on hers was a welcome jolt of pleasure to ward off the misery of the aches and pains that wracked her. Stepping down, her legs trembled as her feet touched solid ground for the first time in hours. He placed her hand on his arm and Prim was grateful for the support as they made their way into the crowded inn.

  The innkeeper glanced at them, but said nothing. A serving girl scurried in their direction. “Follow me, my lord, my lady,” she said.

  My lady. It would take some adjustment. And while they were not yet wed, she understood the necessity of allowing the innkeeper and staff to believe so.

  Following the girl up the narrow stairs, they were led to a room tucked under the eaves of the building. It was small, the bed as narrow as the one she had shared with Hyacinth for so many years. A fire had already been laid in the hearth and the chill was abating. Before the fire were a small table and two rather rickety chairs. While it lacked luxury, it was neat and tidy.

  “I’ll bring up a tray shortly with tea, bread and cheese. There might be a bit of stew left from dinner. If so, I’ll see to it, as well. There’s fresh water for washing yon,” she said, and gestured toward a wash stand tucked into the corner near the fire. With a quickly bobbed curtsy, she was gone.

  Alone with him, Prim wasn’t quite sure what to do. How did one proceed in such a situation? He had been a perfect gentleman and had made no advances toward her at all. Yet it was such an intimate thing to share a chamber with a man, even without any real impropriety occurring.

  “I’ll go below while you wash off the dust of the road. Lock the door behind me, Prim. This is a respectable inn, but there were some rough-looking characters in the tap room. I’d rather not put their morals to the test,” he said.

  “Of course,” she agreed with a nod.

  He looked at her again for a long moment, the silent stretching between them. Finally, he asked, “Do you need my help?”

  “With what?”

  “With your gown,” he answered. “Given your injury, I wasn’t sure you could manage it alone.”

  She would. Regardless. The very idea of having him assist her with such a personal and incredibly intimate task was more than she could bear. “I’ll be fine,” she replied. “I can manage.”

  “Very well. Lock the door,” he reiterated and then was gone. The soft snick of the door closing behind him echoed in the small space.

  Immediately, Prim did as she’d been instructed and crossed the narrow room to turn the key in the lock. The sound of the tumblers clicking into place spurred her to action. With difficulty, she managed to shed the heavy cloak that had been draped about her shoulders. In the last few days, the weather had turned. Late-autumn was upon them and it held the portents of a bitter winter.

  The simple day dress she wore, quickly altered from some things left behind by Lady Wolverton’s sister-in-law, had a bib front that was thankfully easy to manage without having to remove her arm from the sling. Pouring water into the basin, she scrubbed her face and neck, washed her hands and then made for the valise in the corner that Lord Ambrose—Cornelius—had brought up with them. Another borrowed garment, a wrapper of velvet and silk that was old and worn but still much finer than anything Prim had ever owned, was hastily donned.

  She was just sitting down in the small chair before the fire to attempt to brush the snarls from her hair, when there was a soft knock at the door.

  “It’s me.”

  She recognized his voice immediately and moved to let him in. As she stepped back from the door, he entered bearing a heavy tray. He’d apparently intercepted the serving girl in the corridor.

  “That smells divine,” she said, inhaling the aroma of the stew.

  “There isn’t much of the stew, but with the bread and cheese it should suffice.” He’d placed the tray on the table as he replied. “Let me wash the dust off and then we’ll dine.”

  Prim nodded and moved away from the fireplace, crossing the room to the small valise that Lady Wolverton had provided, stuffed to overflowing with borrowed things. She needed nothing from it, but she hadn’t wanted to stand so close to him. Distance was impossible to obtain in the small room, but she needed it desperately.

  A glance over her shoulder revealed that he’d stripped off his coat of superfine and his waistcoat, leaving him in just his dark breeches and a white lawn shirt. The fabric stretched taut over his shoulders as he leaned forward to wash his face. Prim looked away quickly. It was foolhardy to tempt herself further.

  When he finished, he returned to the table and began divvying up their supper. He placed an earthenware bowl filled with the steaming mutton stew and a large hunk of bread in front of the chair she’d so recently occupied. “Eat,” he said. “I know you’re starving and you need the nourishment to heal properly.”

  Prim was too pragmatic to balk at the command, though a part of her felt compelled to do so. He was right. And she could appreciate, though it pained her to admit it, that he was not being autocratic out of arrogance but out of concern for her. She could feel the exhaustion from their journey creeping in on her. Her muscles ached and trembled with it.

  Easing into the chair, she waited until he’d served himself and then they ate in silence. It was a surprisingly comfortable silence. Perhaps because they were both tired and hungry, the need to indulge in social niceties for the sake of it had been replaced by the tending to more basic needs.
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  When he’d finished, Cornelius leaned back in his chair. It creaked rather ominously prompting him to raise one eyebrow.

  Prim felt a giggle building inside her. It bubbled up, impossible to contain. “The look on your face!”

  *

  Cornelius listened to the soft peals of her laughter and found himself enchanted by the sound. A smile tugged at his lips. If it took him falling on his arse and sacrificing his dignity to hear it again, he’d happily do so.

  “These chairs do not keep one from sprawling on the floor… they simply delay it. I feel as if the seat will give way any moment,” he offered. His comment had the desired effect and her laughter continued.

  After a moment, when she’d managed to compose herself, though her lips were still curved in the sweetest of smiles, he said, “You should take the bed. I’ll sleep on the floor.”

  “You can’t possibly!” she protested immediately.

  “I’ve slept on floors before, Prim. Not often and I do not enjoy it, but I assure you it will not wound me to do so.”

  “Where, Cornelius? There isn’t room! Not unless you wish to sleep half-under the bed!”

  It was true. The room was small. Even if he pushed the table and the rickety chairs that accompanied it up against the far wall, there was still little room.

  “I will manage,” he replied.

  “I will take the floor. I’m not nearly as tall—”

  “Absolutely not!”

  “Why ever not? I can attest to the fact that when Hyacinth was restless or ill, I often slept on the floor!”

  “I am a gentleman, Primrose. Despite my behavior this morning in the garden… I will not allow a woman, especially one who is injured, to sleep on a cold hard floor in my stead! What sort of man would I be?”

  “One who can walk upright tomorrow instead of like a hunchback,” she said pertly.