To Love a Hellion (The London Lords Book 1)

by Nicola Davidson

  “Caroline Emily Edwards.”

  She tsked. “Forsyth. Caroline Emily Forsyth. Part of the whole marriage malarkey, you get yourself a new surname. It’s quite lovely actually, no longer being associated in any way with Sir Weasel of Helltown.”

  “Well pardon me, I’m sure. But I couldn’t give a tinker’s toot about the surname aspect, much as I can appreciate the joy in leaving that rotten carbuncle behind. Marriage bed. Now. Or I will tie you to Aunt Edith’s chair and instruct her to shriek hymns while repeatedly embedding her heels into your shins and pelting you with dried fruit.”

  “You really are a terrible, terrible person.”

  “So I’ve been told. Now, Lord Westleigh visited your chamber or did you visit his?”

  Caroline sighed in defeat. “He came to mine.”

  “And then you played a rousing game of whist to discard items of clothing?”

  “Lulu! I worry about you, I really do. Where did you hear such a thing?”

  “The stable boys have extraordinarily interesting conversations when they don’t know I’m there. So a card game? Or did he just disrobe you then and there?”

  Her cheeks began to burn. “No disrobing games. He, er, kissed me for a while.”

  “Kissed you where?”

  “My neck.”

  “And? What else?”

  “Touched me.”

  Louisa beamed. “Now we’re talking! Touched you where? Was it nice?”

  “Various places,” she replied stiltedly, turning her head to concentrate fiercely on the changing landscape outside the carriage window. Buildings were becoming more sporadic now and the road far more rutted and bumpy. “And yes, it was very nice.”

  “Oooh, I can imagine. I’m officially jealous. And afterwards he asked you very politely to join him in bed for a spot of marital relations?”

  “He didn’t ask. He picked me up and carried me.”

  Louisa let out a long whistle. “Lord Westleigh just moved up a notch in my estimation. What next?”

  “Do we really have to discuss this?”

  “Most certainly.”

  “He, er, removed my nightgown.”

  “Ha! Tore it right off, didn’t he! Go Lord W, you good fellow. Well, you’ve got to be pleased when your husband cannot wait to bed you, I guess.”

  “Indeed,” said Caroline through gritted teeth, her cheeks now hot enough to boil water. Obviously she wasn’t nearly as worldly as she thought; no wonder mothers hemmed and hawed during ‘the talk’.

  “And then Westleigh rang for some cold water to put the fire out in your cheeks?”

  “You’re the one interrogating me with extremely personal questions!”

  Louisa regarded her with wide, too-innocent eyes. “Knowledge is power, Caro dear. So after his lordship made short work of your nightgown he…?”

  “Not right away. He kissed and touched me some more first. And before you ask, yes it does really hurt the first time a man, ah…”

  “Invades your castle? Ploughs your field?”

  “Good grief, Lulu, you really need some new reading material.”

  “What can I say, they’re a guilty pleasure. And I require some balance from the scientific tomes which offer nothing but ‘part A’ and ‘slot B’. So, post the great deflowering did he hold you in his arms and croon lullabies? Feed you cake and champagne while promising the moon and the stars? Did you wake up and watch the sunrise together before indulging your rampant animal lusts all over again?”

  Caroline stared at her hands, trying not to wince as her fingernails left half crescents in her palms. Then she looked up and laughed gaily. “Don’t be ridiculous! Why would I want to share a bed with my husband all night? Naturally I immediately sent him packing after the fact so he could snore, roll, perspire and steal the blankets in his own bed, and I could enjoy a good night’s sleep.”

  Louisa drooped in disappointment. “Oh. I’ve heard some married couples sleep in the same bed. I thought perhaps—”

  “Well you thought wrong. Only very poor people do that. It’s nothing to do with how they feel about one another, and everything to do with economics.”

  “Really? But one of my cousins said she and her husband sleep in the same bed every night, and they are very well off.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, drop it would you!” Caroline snapped, her end limit reached. “It’s all different with the aristocracy. They have traditions and rules you’ve never even dreamt of and they won’t give an inch. You simply have to accept them whether you like it or not.”

  “Such as taking a mistress? Do you think Lord Westleigh will?”

  At the thought of Stephen with another woman, maybe even that revolting Beecham creature, crippling pain surged through her body and she shuddered.

  “I don’t know,” she said hoarsely, the words dragged from a dark emotional abyss via a sand-dry throat. “Perhaps, gentlemen often do when their wives are with child, although some have a mistress all of the time. Set them up with a house and carriage and so forth.”

  “Humph. If my husband behaved like a barn tomcat, I’d cut off his man parts and serve them up on a silver platter with brandy sauce and almond flakes.”

  The tiniest of smiles tugged at Caroline’s lips. “Lulu, if you keep up with comments like that no lord will ever come near you let alone marry you.”

  “A cunning plan, is it not? I think I shall be a charming eccentric who conducts experiments, pens sumptuous prose about field ploughing and indulges in affairs with dozens of non-aristocratic men. When they grow dull I’ll send them away with a smile and a pocketful of guineas. They’ll beg me to reconsider, write letters, sing odes beneath my window, but alas, it will be all in vain.”

  “This plan has a giant flaw. You are not in the slightest bit charming. And have you considered how tiresome middle of the night warbling might get?”

  Louisa frowned. “A valid point. Imagine if I got a male version of Esther Hartley.”

  “Like George for example.”

  “Indeed. Being forced to hurl myself from a balcony just to escape the wretched assault on my ears does not sound like fun. I’d better ensure all potential lovers aren’t of a musical persuasion.”

  Caroline tilted her head as the carriage came to an abrupt halt outside a large but elegant red brick manor. “You really don’t want to get married?”

  “Good heavens, no,” replied Louisa, making a face. “As you know, Mother is insisting I marry a nobleman. And while I’m aware not all lords are frightful, your husband for example seems quite tolerable, most are. Quite frankly, the thought of being some middle-aged bacon-brain’s chattel while he lavishes my money on gambling hells and trinkets for his bit of muslin, does not encourage me to tread that path.”

  “What about children?”

  “Perhaps I’ll start a school. Or an orphanage. That will no doubt quell any maternal urges I might have had. Now, much as I appreciate your efforts in stalling, Aunt Edith is waiting for us. When I told her you were coming along she promised to arrange a large jug of her special lemonade.”

  “The one that makes your tongue hurt, eyes glaze and stomach cry for the rest of the day?”

  “The very same,” Louisa said sweetly, as a footman helped her out of the carriage.

  Caroline fixed a smile on her face. “I can hardly wait.”

  ***

  “Initially I thought it was just me she wanted to put in a wheeled chair for the rest of my life, but Aunt Edith also kicked a footman, two maids, the vicar, and his eldest daughter. It seems she maims entirely without prejudice. As for her lemonade, I believe it could be used to remove paint. Lulu and I were both near-hysterical during the ride home our stomachs hurt so much.”

  Stephen chuckled, more at his wife’s valiant attempts to lighten the mood around the table than the actual story. Ble
ss witchy Aunt Edith, her viciously out of control limbs and toxic lemonade, wherever she was, because her antics were definitely assisting a rather awkward dinner. Despite numerous courses of perfectly prepared food served with several worthy wines, his mother and Taff were being decidedly and rather annoyingly quiet.

  After a few more hasty mouthfuls of roasted beef, his mother settled her knife and fork together and slid her chair back. “Excuse me. It’s been rather a long day, I think I’ll go and read a while. Do you need any more herbal mixture from Mrs. Conroy, Stephen?”

  “No. No thank you,” he replied, too-heartily, like some drunken jolly uncle. “Enjoy your evening, Mama, I’ll see you in the morning before you go.”

  Jane inclined her head and left the room.

  Mentally willing Taff to make an equally hasty exit, Stephen drummed his fingers on the table. He was well over dinner now and they actually had a night free of engagements. By God he was going to make the most of it.

  “More vegetables, Caroline?” he said politely.

  “Oh no,” she replied, with a bright smile. “I couldn’t eat another bite even if I wanted to.”

  Excellent.

  “Then perhaps I might see you in my library directly,” he said, getting to his feet.

  “Ah. Of course. Certainly.”

  “Thank you. Good evening, Taff. Sleep well.”

  Stephen heard a murmured response, but merely nodded and left the dining room, pausing beside the bottom of the staircase in the ground floor foyer. Minutes later Caroline hurried out in a flurry of hitched-up supper gown and clicking heels, only coming to a halt when she saw him propped against the banister.

  “Stephen? I thought—”

  “Come with me.” Taking her arm, he led her up the stairs. Although perhaps half-dragged might be a better description.

  “What is wrong? Are you angry about something?”

  “No,” he said, hearing the gruffness in his tone, but unable to moderate it as intense need coursed through his body. It was her own fault anyway, prancing around the countryside for bloody hours instead of a short visit with Louisa. And since when had this town house been so goddamn huge? It had never taken this long to climb a few flights of stairs before.

  “Are you sure? I…oh…” she finished pleasingly breathless when he pulled her into a shadowed alcove and kissed her, enjoying the wine-rich tartness of her mouth as he dipped and swirled his tongue inside. Sliding a hand down Stephen cupped her backside, pressing her firmly against him until her hips perfectly cradled his growing erection.

  Then he turned her around and trailed his lips along her slender neck, her chignon hairstyle giving him unrestricted access to the soft, sensitive skin. When he’d had his fill he reached around to cup her full breasts, sliding his hands into the bodice of her gown to tease and pluck her already rock-hard nipples.

  Caroline gasped. “Not here, someone might see. Bedchamber.”

  Scooping her up, he carried her the last few steps to the countess’ bedchamber, fumbling with the doorknob before practically shoulder charging the door down to get inside, and placing her in the center of the room.

  Slowly, so slowly, even though controlled movements were nigh on impossible, he removed her gown, stays and chemise until she stood naked before him, her cheeks flushed pink but her gaze steady.

  “Go lie on the bed,” he said roughly.

  She smiled, a downright wicked siren’s smile, and obeyed. Draping herself across the bed with legs splayed, enough to see damp blonde curls, and back arched so her lush, lush breasts were prominently displayed.

  God. So beautiful.

  Stephen yanked off his cravat and boots, his trousers, shirt and waistcoat swiftly following until he was as naked as she. Feeling like some sort of wild predator, he stalked toward the bed and knelt between her long legs.

  “Well, Lord Westleigh,” she teased, stroking his arm. “Now you have me here, what on earth are you planning to do with me?”

  He drank in the sight of her, until finally, unable to resist a second longer he trailed dawdling fingers down her body, around and around but not touching her hard nipples, along her flat stomach to her heated core. Even now her sweet musky scent was teasing his senses, but a little dampness wasn’t nearly enough. He wanted her so wet the moisture would trickle down her thighs and soak into her sheets.

  “Patience, wife,” he replied, running a light finger back and forth across the tight curls covering her mound, making her shiver, knowing full well it wasn’t anywhere near what she really wanted.

  Leaning down, he blew softly to part the pale hair, revealing slick, pink flesh beneath.

  “Stephen. Excuse me, but what do you think you are d…doing?”

  In answer, he gently parted the soft folds and lashed her clitoris with his tongue.

  Caroline screamed.

  Stephen tsked. “That simply won’t do.”

  Clamping one hand over her mouth, he dragged his tongue up and down her core. Soon all he could taste and smell was her musky sweetness, and utterly intoxicated, he licked harder, then fastened his lips around her swollen clitoris and sucked, penetrating her dripping channel with two fingers to heighten the pleasure as she bucked and writhed and ground herself against him.

  Seconds later she climaxed with a muted cry of ecstasy, drenching his hand and mouth with hot cream. Grimly satisfied Stephen licked his lips, savoring the taste of her. Then he repositioned himself, bracing on his elbows to take one pouting nipple into his mouth as he slid his stone-hard cock inside her tight, wet heat. It was almost indescribable, the way her body clamped around him like a velvet glove. Nothing had ever felt so damn good, with anyone.

  Until she tilted her hips, sucking his cock in even deeper.

  “Caroline…” he growled, his breath hissing between his teeth at the perfection of the sensation. Instinctively his hips jerked back and rammed forward, again and again, setting up the kind of friction guaranteed to make him lose his mind.

  “Please,” she gasped, wrapping her legs tighter around his hips as her nails dug into his back. “More.”

  Faster and faster he thrust into her, circling his hips and plunging deep until she arched and came again, her shaking, spasming body demanding a complete response. And he did, damn how he did.

  A loud groan tore from his very depths as a violent climax took hold, his seed spurting inside her in long streams before he collapsed, utterly spent, in her welcoming embrace.

  “Mercy, wife,” Stephen muttered, not sure he would ever find the energy or inclination to move from this spot.

  Caroline laughed breathlessly as her fingernails drew light, swirling patterns on his lower back. “Never.”

  His lips twitched and he nipped the side of her neck for such insolence.

  Bloody hell.

  Even for a man of his experience, tonight had been absolutely, undeniably…

  Unforgettable.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “A cart? A goddamned cart? Have you lost your mind?”

  It took a concerted effort, but he remained silent at the furious words lashing him like a storm and calmly drew his expensive gray wool greatcoat closer around his body. He didn’t mind the pre-dawn meeting time at this deserted clearing on the outskirts of London, early rising never bothered him. But sitting astride a hard saddle in the frigid temperature while being harangued by his colleague for a crime he hadn’t actually committed was truly beginning to grate on his nerves.

  “Listen,” he snapped. “I had nothing to do with the cart. It was a complete coincidence. My man was supposed to get close to Westleigh, deliver a short message and the parting gift of a knife to the thigh. That is what I paid him to do. Obviously when the cart came hurtling around the corner, he decided to improvise.”

  “Your explanations are not helping the situation. What I want to know is why yo
u are deviating from the plan we spent so long constructing.”

  “It needs to be sped up.”

  His companion pinned him with the kind of glare that made his cravat feel about two sizes too small. “Oh? Why, pray tell?”

  “Because, I don’t want him in the Society. I don’t want him attending meetings, wandering around the docks and approving shipments. I want him utterly destroyed then a corpse in the ground.”

  “So what do you propose, then? Murder Westleigh then disappear?”

  Stretching and flexing his legs in the stirrups to ease cramping muscles, he shook his head. “No. I know we talked about that as the last phase of the plan, but the risks to us are too great. There must be a better way.”

  “Indeed. What if…” his companion said, rubbing his pointed chin like he always did when deep in thought, “…what if a Society member came to an unfortunate end and it was somehow pinned on Westleigh?”

  A burst of pure excitement shot through his body and he sat up straighter in the polished leather saddle. “Extremely unfortunate for that person, but the loss would need to be avenged. Certainly with a dawn appointment. Westleigh used to be renowned for his ability with a pistol before he lost his nerve, lucky for us.”

  “Excellent. So who is to fall in a blaze of glory?”

  “I believe you just answered your own question, my lord.”

  His companion smiled, an expression colder than their surroundings. “It’s too bad Major Rochland has never seen an hour’s active duty in his life, he might have learned some true survival skills. Scarlet regimentals are fine to woo the ladies, but no shield whatsoever against the sure arm of an enemy. The soldier has had his time in the sun. For the sake of our mission success, he must make the ultimate sacrifice.”

  “When?”

  “The Marquess of Ardmore is hosting a ball very shortly. Anyone who is anyone will be there, including us, naturally. I do believe the venue will make a most admirable battlefield for the major to succumb to his fate.”

  As if nature was in complete agreement, the first pale rays of sunshine broke through the clouds and lit the clearing in a golden glow.