The Trouble with Love (Distinguished Rogues Book 8)

by Heather Boyd

  It was hard to miss her meaning when her attention dropped to the region of his hips and the erection he should be hiding. He wasn’t usually so easily aroused, but he put his hands to the waistband of his breeches and slipped the buttons free. He pushed his shirt up and lowered his smallclothes to reveal his cock. “Is this what you want?”

  She purred, coming closer before she wrapped her fingers around him. Everett hissed at the sensation of her hand on him. He couldn’t help but thrust his hips forward as she proved her experience without a doubt or hint of shyness.

  “Remove your veil,” he whispered.

  “Why is it that you are alone?” she whispered back without complying.

  He covered her hand and slowed down her strokes, trying to see past the veil to learn more of her identity. “I’m not alone now.”

  Everett lifted the veil a little and leaned forward to deliver a kiss to her cheek, but the woman jerked back, her fingers catching on his clothing momentarily.

  The woman clucked her tongue and resettled the rings on her fingers. “Kissing is for romantics.”

  “Most women enjoy kisses.”

  “I’m not most women,” she promised him.

  “I see that.” Cautious of scaring her off again, he brought her hand back to his cock and closed her fingers around him. “So you are not romantic at all?”

  “I am the furthest thing from it as a woman my age can be.” She resumed stroking him firmly. “I am practical. I give and take my pleasures where I can, without any hesitation or regret, sir. I have no need for a husband or protector, but I do desire being with pretty men from time to time. You interest me tonight, and I want you.”

  “I’m flattered.”

  She clenched the top of his cock and held still. “Stolen moments of pleasure bring meaning to my life. A quick dalliance can satisfy far better than a drawn-out love affair can, and with far less trouble. Do you agree to my terms?”

  She squeezed him a little harder, and he groaned when her hand slid down his length again and clenched him at the base. “Yes.”

  He let the veiled woman have her way, quite frankly because he was utterly under her spell. He’d never known a woman to speak so boldly of pleasure on first making his acquaintance. He’d never inspired such passion before, and her focus on him went to his head.

  She stroked him almost to the brink of completion then stopped. “Take off your breaches and the rest of your clothes. They are in the way of what I want now.”

  Feeling a little desperate for her to continue, Everett stepped back, stripped off his waistcoat and shirt, and everything else he was wearing until he stood nude in the room. He let everything fall to the parquetry floor but heard a button or such bounce away. He couldn’t care where it landed right now. He wasn’t one for unguarded romps, but this woman, Trouble, had him twisted around her dainty bejeweled fingers. “Satisfied, madam?”

  “That’s better. Now I can determine that all of you deserves to be worshiped. The real you is exquisite, rather than the carefully constructed society gentleman keeping himself apart from happiness.” She took a pace toward him, her glance admiring and decidedly hungry. She unwound the fringed shawl she’d tied about her waist and dropped it onto his clothing. “This moment is when lovers are the most raw, most vulnerable. I must have you.”

  “Honestly, I think I must be had,” he said with a strangled laugh as she returned and took him in hand again, torturing him with lazy strokes. He caught her hips, kneading her curves and considered having her against the wall if she was agreeable. “By you, and all night,” he agreed.

  The woman cupped his ballocks, kneading him carefully with one hand, but he still moaned. She traced the muscles of his back with her other hand and then cupped the back of his neck. “Lovely,” she whispered. “I’m so glad we met tonight. This is an auspicious beginning.”

  He was glad he’d come tonight too, but… “I’m to be married soon,” he cautioned her.

  The woman released him so suddenly he cursed out loud.

  “Married? When?” she demanded.

  “Just as soon as I meet the woman.” He said it with a laugh but his companion did not join in.

  “You… You are engaged to be married without ever meeting her first?”

  He nodded, puzzled by her outrage. “Yes, that’s the way it’s always been done in my family—for generations.”

  “Sir, this is a bachelors ball. Hen-pecked husbands and panicking engaged men were not invited.” She bent to snatch up her shawl from the parquetry floor and hugged it to her chest. “I thought you knew the rules for this evening’s revel.”

  “We were hardly doing anything out of the ordinary, and I am not engaged yet.”

  “Merely intending to be so from tomorrow?” Her gaze hardened, but then she rolled her eyes. “And people wonder why I’m opposed to marriage. An arranged match? I suppose she comes from a wealthy family too and has only just come out?”

  “She’s not out yet,” he confessed, feeling just a touch defensive on the subject. “The money from her dowry wasn’t why I chose her, but it is vital for the future of my estate and our children.”

  “Fortune hunter!” She nearly shouted. “No wonder you look so sad, but I will not pity you. I pity the poor child, married before she’s even had a chance to enjoy her first season and a little attention.”

  “Now just a minute,” he protested. “I’m not going to marry the chit tomorrow.”

  The woman advanced on him, stabbing him in the chest with her finger. “You, sir, should really consider if this arranged marriage is what you want before it is too late to remove the scowl you wear when you speak of it. Goodbye.”

  “Wait!”

  “For you?” She looked him up and down coldly and then shook her head. “I’d rather drink paint.”

  Chapter One

  August, 1814

  Worcestershire

  Whitney Crewe stepped from the dark carriage into torchlight, casting a wary eye up at Lord and Lady Taverham’s country home. She shook out her rumpled travel clothes once more, considering the subtle intimidation of the large building looming above her.

  So this was Twilit Hill.

  The property name had implied she’d discover an elegant, almost delicate structure but Whitney wasn’t prepared for the enormity of the reality. Dear God, this place was a cold monstrosity, and she was expected to paint those who lived here into some semblance of a happy family. No wonder the lady of the house had run away.

  For the first time, she wasn’t sure she was up to the challenge.

  “Miss Crewe, you’ve come at last!” Lady Taverham cried out as she hurried down the manor’s steep front steps to meet her on the drive.

  Surprised by her hostess’ sudden arrival, Whitney smiled broadly and rushed to meet her. The Marchioness of Taverham was a dear friend of her cousin’s, and by association, now hers, too. Whitney thought Miranda the most remarkable woman she’d ever met, but not one given to enthusiastic greetings likes this. “Miranda!”

  The woman caught her by the shoulders, puffing slightly. “My dear, what kept you? I’ve been fretting for hours that something had happened to you after we parted.”

  “Forgive me.” Whitney kissed Miranda’s warm cheeks, noting that although out of breath from her dash down the stairs, Miranda’s eyes seemed to glow with happiness. “I met the most charming newly married couple after you had been driven off, and when they learned of my accomplishments, they commissioned a sketch to be done to mark the occasion. Since it will be weeks before I pass that way again, I decided not to lose a moment and had them sit for me there and then.”

  Miranda’s smile slipped. “I was beginning to suspect you’d tricked us all and changed your mind about coming to visit.”

  Whitney smiled and hid the truth. She had thought about it several times since leaving London. She still doubted the wisdom of taking this trip even now. “I just stole a few hours for myself.”

  And in that time apar
t, she had put her plan into motion. The inn where Lady Taverham had last seen her had been the perfect spot to dispense with the fussy companion her cousin, Lord Louth, had foisted upon her at the last moment. Finding the woman already waiting for her in the Taverham’s carriage upon leaving London had soured her good feelings toward her cousin considerably.

  “Well, no harm done, I see.” Miranda squeezed her hand. “With all that has happened this season, I can understand you might feel overwhelmed and need the peace. It must be difficult to venture so far from your cousin and his growing family.”

  “I have no qualms about leaving my cousin in Iris’ capable hands.” Her cousin had recently married Miss Iris Hedley, a love match she wholeheartedly approved of, and discovered himself a father to an illegitimate child. Neither situation required her supervision or involvement.

  Especially not when Martin was always too protective of everyone.

  Whitney collected her case containing her paintbrushes and such from an overeager footman and tucked it under her arm. She was very ready to be on her own at last. To make her way in the world with no one to answer to. She had money enough, and she had no responsibilities. She was free to live how she chose. “Besides, I promised Christopher art lessons, didn’t I?”

  The woman smiled broadly. “So you did. Christopher tried so hard to remain awake long enough to greet you, but Kit had to carry him up to bed over an hour ago.”

  “He must have loved that,” she said with a laugh. Miranda and Kit’s son might be too old to be carried but Kit was very new at being a father to him. “Well, tell Christopher that I always wake early so we can meet first thing in the morning, if his tutor will release him to be with me that is.”

  Miranda nodded and looked beyond Whitney’s shoulder. “Where is your companion, Mrs. Fry?”

  Whitney shrugged. “She, ah, remembered friends she simply had to visit immediately and went on her merry way.”

  Miranda sighed heavily. “Martin warned me you’d try something underhanded, but I told him he was worrying for naught. Oh, he’s going to be so angry with us.” Miranda closed her eyes briefly.

  “Only with me,” Whitney promised Miranda. “I’m sorry, but I told you—and Martin—many times that I do not need or want a companion following me about anymore.”

  “It is expected, Whitney. You’re not married yet. You must think of your reputation.”

  “I’m five and twenty, Miranda.”

  “And look as young as anyone fresh on the marriage mart.” Miranda sighed deeply. “But it is done now, and I trust you compensated the poor woman for the trouble of being dismissed after a mere two full days’ employment.”

  “I did indeed. She has a glowing reference and fifty pounds, and that should ensure Mrs. Fry never has to work for an obstinate, headstrong spinster like me for a while,” she said soothingly, experiencing a twinge of guilt that she made the marchioness worry over her. Miranda wasn’t always in good health, so Whitney led the marchioness up the long flight of stairs by taking her elbow. It was Miranda’s heart, of course, the organ most likely to give a lady trouble. Tonight, the marchioness did seem to lean on her arm, so Whitney held her up a little more firmly. “How are things with you?”

  “Very well. The dowager moved out to the dower house as if the devil chased her upon my arrival. She expects our son to visit her daily but other than that, we are quite civil. Of course, she dotes on Christopher, so she tolerates me for his sake.”

  Whitney winced. Miranda and her husband hadn’t had the best start to married life, and the dowager, the most fearsome woman she’d ever encountered, was said to have favored another woman for many years. It had been a messy situation all round. Love did that. “Perhaps I’ll ask Christopher to escort me to the dower house when I go to pay my respects tomorrow morning.” Only for the sake of peace for Miranda, of course. “I suppose everyone else has gone off to bed by now.”

  “Heavens no. The dowager is here, and the entire household remains awake and waiting on your arrival. Lord Acton and his guests have joined us, too.”

  “What is Acton doing here?” Whitney groaned. “Last I heard, he was in London.”

  Not that Whitney was keeping track of the scoundrel.

  “He is our nearest neighbor and my husband’s good friend,” Miranda reminded her. “He called earlier in the afternoon with the Quartermanes and a friend, Mr. Thompson, so Kit invited them all to stay for dinner. When I heard them arrive, I at first thought, hoped, it was your carriage.”

  Whitney had no acquaintance with a Mr. Thompson, but Miss Quartermane was a young lady she’d met early in the season. She was nice if a little forward and competitive for attention. Her mother gave Whitney a megrim though. Mrs. Quartermane had stated very plainly that she disapproved of Whitney’s avoidance of matrimony, which had made for some awkward encounters during the last few weeks.

  As for Lord Acton, she couldn’t imagine why he’d choose to linger in wait for her, unless he wanted the breeches of his she’d accidentally taken returned before he wed the innocent Miss Quartermane.

  Miranda squeezed her hand. “Miss Quartermane is quite lovely, and I’m sure we will become great neighbors and friends one day. But promise me you’ll behave around Acton? He really has been on his best behavior since the reconciliation, especially so since his sister went to live in Bath.”

  Whitney smiled, but inside she was seething. Lady Brighthurst, Lord Acton’s sister, had attempted to take Miranda’s place as marchioness through devious and despicable acts that could have ended Miranda’s son’s life, by all accounts. Whitney knew enough of the facts to know not to trust Lady Brighthurst or her brother, even if he protested his innocence. “I’ll not say one word to upset the starch in Lord Acton’s smile.”

  “Oh, Whitney. If I can forgive him for the unsuspecting part he played, surely you can.” Miranda sighed. “He is trying to make amends, but I caution that you must not say a word about his sister before the Quartermanes. I don’t believe he has revealed the true state of affairs to his betrothed yet.”

  Whitney came to a complete halt beneath the wide front portico. “Alice is on pins and needles to meet Lady Brighthurst and win her approval. She told me so the last time we spoke together in London.”

  “I agree it is badly done of him to keep such a secret, but as far as I’m concerned, it is his business to manage.” Miranda smiled. “All I ask is to never see the woman again.”

  “Yes, but surely the right moment to tell Alice that Lady Brighthurst isn’t a good person was long ago. Acton announced their engagement in the first weeks of the season. Is he afraid to tell Alice?”

  “I wondered about the delay myself,” Miranda whispered as a servant approached. “Hush now. The less said, the better.”

  An aged man wearing livery approached from the shadows of the hall and bowed. “I am Anders, Lord Taverham’s butler. May I take your coat, Miss Crewe?”

  “Indeed you may, sir.” Whitney moved to a mirror set above a marble-topped hall table and put her treasured paint box down. She shrugged out of her coat, removed her bonnet, and shook out the skirts of her favorite pink gown. She fluffed out the cap sleeves and then peered at her face in the mirror, noting that her bright red hair looked far from elegant again. It did gleam nicely in the candlelight of the Taverhams’ front hall though, so Whitney did her best to tame it. Largely unsuccessful, she teased a few strands into ringlets beside her ears and hoped that would do. Still, she looked like she’d recently tumbled out of bed, or off the top of the carriage she’d been grudgingly allowed to drive a few miles on the way here. What an exhilarating experience that had been!

  “Barely presentable,” she apologized.

  “You always look lovely,” Miranda promised.

  The old butler nodded too and then hurried away with her coat and bonnet. Whitney tucked her paint box under her left arm again and smiled. “Ready.”

  To be nice. To be civil. To bite her tongue rather than say what she really th
ought of Lord Acton’s impending marriage to Miss Quartermane.

  Married by arrangement?

  She shivered. Whitney did not approve of that sort of thing.

  The butler returned to open a tall set of doors to the left of the marchioness, and Whitney stepped into an elegant drawing room beside her.

  She was barely in the room before her eyes found Acton’s.

  As always, the man turned his beautiful body toward her without a sliver of shame or awkwardness in his bearing. It was as if they’d never almost climbed into bed together one decadent night.

  What a mistake she’d made, thinking she’d met a kindred soul at the Fairmont Bachelors Ball.

  Chapter Two

  Despite her distaste for Lord Acton’s past behavior, Whitney couldn’t stop herself from admiring his appearance. As usual, Acton dressed with restrained elegance, appropriate to his location. His blond hair was always just a tad too long, brushing the collar of his coat and making her itch to run her fingers through it again. His maroon tailcoat barely contained his wide shoulders and long arms. His chest was wrapped in a brown, striped silk waistcoat, and his long, powerful legs encased in another pair of black silk breeches, above pristine stockings and shoes.

  Quite simply, he was a very well put together earl, and as someone who knew what lie beneath his clothes, she was nearly breathless after her brief scrutiny.

  Tongue-tied yet again, she only nodded to him before hurrying toward his future bride—a woman Acton had coldly chosen for her obscenely large dowry without ever knowing one thing about the young woman he would wed.

  Miss Quartermane appeared a delicate creature. Soft curves and a nervous giggle. Blonde hair, almost silver in a certain light. Her full cheeks were tinged with a delicate blush from pinching them too often. Beside Alice, Whitney felt too tall and far too red. “My dear Miss Quartermane, what a delightful surprise,” Whitney murmured.

  “Forgive me for the surprise of being where I wasn’t expected,” Alice said as they shook hands. “But when Lady Taverham mentioned your coming for a visit, I convinced Mama and Papa that we must accept Lord Acton’s invitation to visit, too. So here we are, all in the wilds of Worcestershire, together again.”