To Love a Hellion (The London Lords Book 1)

by Nicola Davidson

  “Three days ago, Anthony Hartley came here to tell me that Flora had eloped to Gretna Green with Bradford Shilton—”

  “Bloody hell. Of all the men in London, she ran away with that milksop? Who would have thought?”

  “Exactly. I had trouble believing it myself. But there were notes from the pair of them, Hartley’s outrage and my missing fiancée. Then, on some idiot notion, I volunteered to be the one to inform Caroline, rather than have him go there and tell her. After that…”

  Alexander’s lips twitched. “I think we can guess what might have happened.”

  “Shut up, Southby,” said William. “This is all far too fascinating. Do go on, Stephen, and don’t spare the details. With our Miss Edwards, I’m sure there would have been fireworks aplenty.”

  “No fireworks, but a great deal of broken china. After that, ah, well…”

  He closed his eyes briefly against a surge of erotic memories. To think he’d been on the verge of exploding in his trousers, just kissing her, and sucking one bared nipple. How intense would it be with her completely naked body writhing under him? His tongue bathing her swollen clitoris? His cock buried to the hilt as he came hard?

  A rough hand gripped his arm, and he jerked around to see William’s amused smile.

  “Careful, Stephen, you nearly toppled headfirst onto the ballroom floor. I take it then matters proceeded satisfactorily until you were, er, caught? Sir Malcolm?”

  “No, thank God. George. He was the one who insisted we must wed.”

  “Really?” said Alexander. “How extraordinary. Don’t believe I know anyone more against marriage than him.”

  William shrugged. “Not that I have any personal experience, but I imagine it would be an entirely different matter if it were your sister involved. I mean hell. It’s your sister.”

  “Thank you for that stunning insight, Standish,” said Stephen, rolling his eyes. “It’s plain to see why the government reveres your mighty, code-breaking brain.”

  “Well, if your took her virginity, of course he’s going to insist—”

  “I didn’t. Not even close.”

  There was a long, long silence as both friends regarded him with stunned expressions.

  “So,” said Alexander carefully. “You didn’t, it happened at the Edwards home and was only witnessed by your closest friend…yet you are marrying Miss Edwards tomorrow?”

  “Yes,” he said furiously, slamming his palm against the wall. “Because I am an idiot who couldn’t stop himself. And Caro can’t go back home, you know Sir Malcolm is a bastard of the highest order. Besides, she hasn’t said a word of protest. Not one. Actually, she’s been so bloody meek and mild I want to start an argument just to see the hellion unleash.”

  Tilting his head, William stared at him for the longest time. Then his lips quirked and he turned and ripped another length of silk from the walls. “I guess there is only one question left to ask, then, Stephen. Trousers or breeches for the ceremony?”

  ***

  “And that is er, how it is, ah, done. Any questions?”

  Caroline stifled a laugh. Her mother was perched on the edge of the four-poster bed like she wanted to sprint away, waving her fan frantically in front of plum-hued cheeks. It seemed the ‘what to expect on your wedding night’ talk was truly the most embarrassing discussion a mother and daughter could have, even when they enjoyed a close and loving bond.

  “Not really. That was surprisingly frank, Mama.”

  “Thank heavens. My mother was wretchedly vague, and I always swore I’d do better. But my word, it is difficult.”

  “Actually, I’ve just thought of one. Did you enjoy your wedding night with Papa? Not Sir Malcolm, my real father, I mean.”

  Emily’s lips twitched. “Er…well…”

  “Oh good grief. You didn’t wait either, did you! Mama! You and Lady Westleigh are as bad as each other. How ridiculous it all is. All the mothers lecture their daughters about proper behavior, what they should and shouldn’t do, and none of them obeyed the edicts themselves. Pfft.”

  “Passion is passion, my angel. And when you find it with the right man, nothing else matters. You don’t care what you must give up to be together, only what bliss you’ll gain.”

  Caroline winced.

  “I’m not giving up anything,” she said, staring at her hands. “Stephen is the one making all the sacrifices.”

  “Ah, but he is gaining a treasure. A wife who loves him dearly. Who loved him long before he gained the earldom and everything else, and would love him still if he lost everything tomorrow.”

  “But what if…what if he never loves me back, Mama? How will I bear it?”

  “I truly believe Stephen cares. He probably thinks you don’t suit because of all the bickering, however he can be his true self around you, say whatever is on his mind. Best of all, he isn’t the slightest bit intimidated by your outspokenness. And as he said in his library, he values you for more than your looks. But you must quell that stubborn, impatient streak, and let him make the discovery on his own—”

  “Knock, knock,” sang out Louisa as she barged through the door, closely followed by Lady Westleigh. “It’s nearly time to leave, is our partially-innocent little lamb ready to be sacrificed at the altar of propriety?”

  Caroline groaned. “You make it all sound delightful.”

  “It will be delightful,” said her future mother-in-law firmly. “I have quite outdone myself in bribery and out and out blackmail to pull together this wedding. If I didn’t love my son so greatly, I’d wring his neck. Half a day indeed.”

  “You are a wonder, Lady Westleigh.”

  “Jane, darling. Call me Jane. I’m conceding the title with relief and affection. By the way, you look utterly splendid.”

  Taking a deep breath, Caroline took one last glance at the looking glass. She wore her best cream satin gown, but as promised, her mother had sewn on an overlay of exquisite Brussels lace into a small train, a jade-green ribbon circled the bodice, and a wide matching sash tied around just under her bust. Instead of her usual chignon, her hair had been curled with papers and styled to tumble down her back in golden waves.

  An hour ago she’d felt quite beautiful. But the closer they got to the marriage ceremony, the less certain she was. “Oh dear,” she said, as her legs began to shake uncontrollably.

  “Quick, have a mouthful of this,” said Louisa, shoving a small silver flask against her lips until she opened her mouth and swallowed a burning gulp of brandy.

  Caroline coughed. “Where on earth did you get that?”

  “Ask no questions and you’ll be told no lies. Now come along, don’t want to keep his lordship waiting at the chapel.”

  Forsyth House was an enormous building, yet the walk from the second floor guest chamber to the foyer had never seemed so short. When they rounded the final corner and made their way past the portrait gallery, George stood up straight from where he’d been lounging near the front door. She’d asked him to escort her to the chapel and walk her down in the aisle in place of Sir Malcolm, unable to bear the thought of her stepfather taking any further part in the occasion.

  Eyes widening, she took in his clothing. Her brother always dressed impeccably, but today’s combination of dark brown jacket, gold waistcoat, elaborate white cravat and black trousers looked downright aristocratic. “You look adequate, big brother.”

  He smiled, almost somberly. “Well. You don’t look half bad yourself, little sister…wait, is that brandy I smell? Are you three sheets to the wind? Bloody hell, Caro, try to refrain from bawdy tavern tunes if you can—”

  “Oh, shut up,” said Louisa tartly. “I gave her a small nip for courage. Unlike some people, she only needs one.”

  “Depends entirely on the circumstances, Miss Donovan. Men courting you will bring their own barrel-laden carts.”

 
Thankfully distracted, Caroline regarded her twin and best friend with a perplexed frown as Jane and her mother made a discreet escape to the carriage. “I thought you two were friends.”

  “No time for chat,” said George, ignoring her question completely as he offered her his arm. “Your intended will be sending out a search party if we don’t hurry up.”

  As if all of London favored the occasion, the journey to the south bank of the Thames was swift and uneventful, and soon Morton’s Tower loomed ahead of them.

  Caroline swallowed hard as George assisted her and the other ladies from the carriage. The private chapel was in fact Langton’s chapel within Lambeth Palace, and the friendly bishop none other than the Archbishop of Canterbury himself.

  Good grief.

  Taking a deep breath, she rested a gloved hand on his sleeve, and let him lead her through the door and eventually into the breathtakingly beautiful chapel. The black and white checkered marble floor made her feel a trifle dizzy, so she instead kept her gaze on the magnificent stained glass windows, and the small line of men waiting ahead of her. The Archbishop was resplendent in deep purple, and next to him stood the Marquess of Standish in deep blue jacket and gray trousers, and the Duke of Southby in unrelieved black.

  Then Stephen stepped forward, and she almost stumbled on her lace train.

  His black jacket fit his broad shoulders to perfection, the snow-white cravat a striking contrast to his sun-kissed skin, and gray trousers clung lovingly to his muscled thighs. But it was the glimpse of a jade-green waistcoat that nearly reduced her to tears.

  Her color. Perhaps he did like her a little?

  George took her hand and placed it in Stephen’s. “Take care of my sister, or oil and dungeons will be the least of your troubles.”

  Frowning at the odd words, and the very un-George like tone, Caroline glanced at her fiancé. But Stephen merely bowed, muttered ‘duly noted’ and led her forward to stand in front of the kindly-faced Archbishop.

  Words filled the room, a long speech on God, the sanctity of marriage, and the blessing of love. Stephen spent most of the ceremony staring at a spot somewhere over her left shoulder, but held her hands in a secure, warm grip, and his voice as he repeated his lines was strong and unwavering, even the one about promising to love her.

  The Archbishop turned her way.

  “And you, Caroline Emily Edwards, wilt thou have this Man to thy wedded Husband, to live together after God’s ordinance in the holy estate of Matrimony? Wilt thou obey him, and serve him…”

  Stephen met her gaze, raised an eyebrow, then glanced at the roof.

  A wholly inappropriate giggle bubbled.

  Obnoxious skunk. If she hadn’t been struck by a stray bolt of lightning up until this point, she was probably safe.

  Firmly suppressing her laughter, somehow she choked out the rest of her vows, then held out her hand for the blessed wedding ring, a band of gold, to be slipped onto her finger. It felt cool and heavy, yet almost seemed to glow in the pale rays of sunshine streaming into the chapel windows.

  “With this ring I thee wed,” said Stephen to complete the ceremony, “with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow. In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.”

  And it was done.

  She was a married woman.

  Oh God.

  Chapter Ten

  Lady Caroline Emily Forsyth, Countess of Westleigh.

  Even after writing her amended name fifty-five hundred times, it was still hard to believe. But an exquisite, emerald-set betrothal ring tucked neatly next to her wedding band, and she sat at an elaborate baroque dressing table in the countess’ suite of rooms at Forsyth House. After this morning’s ceremony, smiling servants had efficiently unpacked her belongings; her writing desk placed near a wide window to capture the best light, and favorite trinkets plus vases of fresh-cut flowers dotted various ledges.

  It was true. She was now Stephen’s wife.

  And still felt guilty as hell.

  “Excuse me? Lady Westleigh?”

  Caroline nearly jumped a foot in the air. “Ah, yes? What is it?”

  The maid curtsied and smiled warmly. “My name is Penny, ma’am, the dowager sent me. I’ve bought some tea and toast to tide you over, the ball supper won’t be for hours yet, but it’s time to get ready. Which gown would you like to wear tonight?”

  “The ruby one,” she replied decisively. Stephen had once said he liked red and besides, wearing such a bold shade might go some way in giving her the courage needed to get through this night.

  At the moment her marriage felt like a hollow victory, but the devil himself couldn’t have tempted her to turn the opportunity down. Stephen badly wanted an heir, and would dedicate himself completely to the task. Now she’d experienced a taste of his passion, thinking of him doing those wickedly delicious things and more every night to someone else until he’d filled her belly with a precious baby…

  Untenable.

  The clatter of spoon against saucer jolted her back to the present.

  “Red is an excellent choice, my lady,” said Penny, nodding in approval as she handed her a steaming cup of tea with lemon. “His lordship will love it.”

  “I hope so,” Caroline replied, with a faint smile.

  Sipping the soothing hot brew, she quickly downed two slices of delicious buttered toast slathered with berry preserves. Then the maid laced her into fresh stays, helped her into the beautiful silk gown and attended to her hair.

  Love? The gown, perhaps. His wife, well that was a wager she wouldn’t take.

  Her mother’s words this morning hadn’t really soothed her. True, Stephen seemed to like her body just fine and would obviously have no trouble doing his husbandly duty, but unlike women, men could easily separate love and lovemaking. Her only hope was that she would have time to convince him of her true feelings. Demonstrate in a way his practical, logical mind would comprehend that they could grow an obvious physical attraction into something more and make this marriage work.

  Unfortunately, something that wouldn’t be possible if she got with child too soon.

  Nearly all noblemen had mistresses, especially when their wives were expecting. A pregnancy would give him the perfect excuse to be ‘courteous’ and not trouble her for marital relations. At best she’d get some scraps of him, perhaps a breakfast inquiry toward her health or a brief, impersonal smile in the hallway. He wanted an heir right away. But giving him his heart’s desire would be her downfall.

  A sob caught in her throat.

  “My lady? Is something the matter? Do you not like the hairstyle?”

  Caroline blinked teary eyes and focused on the looking glass. The maid had tamed her thick tresses into an elegant upsweep, fastened with a ruby-studded clip.

  “You’ve done a fine job, Penny, thank you.”

  “Do you need anything else, my lady?”

  “Not right now.”

  “Enjoy your evening then,” the woman said with a cheerful smile, scooping up the tea tray as she left the room.

  Wandering over to the window, Caroline rested her head on the wonderfully cool glass. Enjoying the evening would be damned difficult, but ton women smiled their way through trying situations every day. No doubt it got easier with time.

  A loud knock sounded and she spun around just as the connecting door between the earl and countess’ rooms swung open. Stephen. Looking unbearably stern and yet devastatingly handsome in black trousers and jacket, a muted bronze waistcoat and crisp white cravat.

  “Are you ready? Everyone is waiting downstairs.”

  “I believe so…er…yes,” she said hastily, smoothing her gown and giving her chignon one last pat. Several hundred people down there anticipating the news promised in their invitations, and none suspecting it would be his marriage to her. They
were in for a quite a treat.

  He offered her his arm, and she rested her hand on his sleeve as they made their way to the ballroom. Even through the fabric she could feel the warmth and hard strength of him and her breathing hitched.

  “You’re not going to faint, are you?” he asked, giving her a sharp glance.

  “Of course not. I don’t faint.”

  “Hmmm, that’s right, just the odd impromptu nap on the floor. There’s nothing to be nervous about, you know all these people.”

  Caroline rolled her eyes. Men could be so positively dense sometimes.

  “Not as your wife. Because I now wear the formerly supremely eligible Earl of Westleigh’s ring I’m going to be the most hated woman in London. Every female in there will be hoping for a combination of a headfirst tumble down the stairs, my gown catching on fire, or the spontaneous purge of a bad seafood serving.”

  “Well your shoes aren’t exactly sensible, so walk slowly. I’d also advise against juggling candles and eating anything you cannot immediately identify.”

  “So very helpful. Thank you.”

  “The world is a vexing and burdensome place, Caroline. It is my responsibility to offer wise counsel to sensitive, delicate flowers like yourself…ow. That is a nasty habit, quite beneath a countess.”

  “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, dearest husband,” she replied, smiling sweetly. “But allow me to offer my sincerest apologies for the shocking waywardness of my tiny, dainty feet. I certainly hope it won’t happen again downstairs.”

  Stephen came to an abrupt halt and turned to her, his expression frighteningly forbidding. “Do not test me. It might have been a private moment of utter foolishness that got us to this point, but let me warn you, I will not tolerate any public disrespect or outlandish behavior. The Countess of Westleigh will conduct herself in a manner befitting her station at all times. Do I make myself clear?”

  Humiliation scorched her cheeks. What did he think she was going to do in the ballroom, dance half-naked atop the buffet tables? Swing by her ankles from the chandeliers?