by Heather Boyd
Clearly his bride’s family didn’t know him that well. His gallantry was because of Whitney’s parting words the night of the Fairmont Ball. After meeting Alice, he’d allowed the date for their marriage to slide toward the end of the season so that she might enjoy the parties and entertainments of London more freely.
That the Quartermanes were not entirely enamored of Miss Crewe’s attitudes toward matrimony, even if they had been much together in London, no longer surprised him. Perhaps they thought they could reform Whitney by keeping her close. Everett doubted that was possible, and Alice’s remark made him wonder how many other men had made it into Whitney’s bed?
“Well, she is very pretty and generous to all,” Alice murmured, glancing down at her fingers. “Everyone looks at her and remarks upon what she does and says.”
Everett regarded his rather timid intended with a kind smile. Alice was beautiful, but pale where Whitney Crewe was vibrant. The pair of women had nothing in common on first glance, and he liked it that way. “There is no need to make any comparison. You are lovely, sweet and kind. You are the woman who will be my wife and countess.”
Alice beamed, a blush rising up her cheeks. “I am, aren’t I,” she stated proudly.
“Well said, Acton. Well said, indeed,” Thompson said approvingly. “It never does to compare one woman after another.”
“She does have a considerable dowry that would make many a man overlook her flaws, especially her age and eccentricities,” Mrs. Quartermane mused, looking closely at Thompson again. She tapped her husband’s knee, waking the fellow from a doze. “What do you think, Mr. Quartermane? Is there anyone you know in need of a wife?”
Mr. Quartermane looked out the window. “I wouldn’t care to speculate, Mrs. Quartermane.”
Mrs. Quartermane tapped his hand again. “But don’t you think the right man could turn Miss Crewe’s head from this nonsense of traveling alone?” Mrs. Quartermane continued to pester her husband about it, and Everett tuned out the conversation.
If Whitney Crewe had ever wanted to be a proper lady, she had had ample examples of how to behave among her cousin’s circle of friends.
If she’d been a proper lady, he’d never have met her twirling barefoot upon the grass of Lord Fairmont’s estate.
He’d never have been seduced by her, lured to a quiet room and convinced to strip off his clothes for her pleasure. The heat in her eyes that night had produced many an erotic dream since.
He closed his eyes a moment and worked to banish the memory of Whitney Crewe that night.
“Here we are,” Mrs. Quartermane murmured.
Everett jerked his head up as the carriage came to a stop, heartily ashamed that he’d spent nearly the entire journey lost in his thoughts about a woman he disliked.
Whitney Crewe was trouble. She made Everett forget he should only be thinking of his future wife.
He scooted out of the carriage before Mr. Quartermane and Thompson with the intention of being the one to assist his intended bride down the steps.
Alice was perfect for him. She’d never behave the way Whitney Crewe had, or would likely do in the future.
He aided Mrs. Quartermane down and the woman quickly grasped her husband’s waiting arm. “Have you ever seen such a grand home as Twilit Hill, my dears? Why, Twilit Hill is almost as large as a castle.”
“Without the battlements or the dungeon,” Alice murmured for his ears alone. “I much prefer Warstone Manor, my lord.”
He smiled down upon his intended bride. “I’m glad, because I tend to spend much of the year here.”
“Yes, yes. There is no comparing Warstone to Twilit Hill.” Mrs. Quartermane sighed as she looked around the shadowed front gardens.
“The woods can make it gloomy at first,” Thompson remarked.
“It is such a shame that so much of the grounds are hidden from view because of all these trees.”
“The woods are what I love most,” Everett told his future mother-in-law proudly. “My great-grandfather had remarkable foresight to keep them, in my opinion.”
Thompson bid them good night and disappeared inside, his hands shoved in his pockets. Thompson wasn’t much for socializing with his other guests, and Everett doubted he’d see him again that night.
Mr. and Mrs. Quartermane bustled ahead and into the house, calling for Alice to follow. He watched them disappear inside with great excitement because Alice lingered.
At last, a moment alone with his future bride, and under the stars no less.
Alice smiled up at him shyly. “Warstone suits you.”
He grinned. “As in a little weathered and rundown?”
“You are hardly rustic, my lord,” she said but then frowned. “I mean, like the house, you have hidden qualities not easily discovered on first glance.” Alice bounced on the spot as she rubbed her bare arms. “It is a little cold tonight though. Perhaps we could discuss the appeal of your home better when the sun comes out tomorrow?”
He held out his arm for her to take just as her mother’s maid appeared, frowning at them. “Then let us venture inside. What do you say to a game of whist before you retire tonight?”
Alice winced. “I would enjoy a game very much, but I must see my mother to her room. She was complaining of an ache before dinner. I am not sure how long I will be.”
“I am happy to wait until tomorrow night if it is more convenient to play then.” Alice had such a tender heart and fussed over her family. He was looking forward to being the recipient of her attention once they married. But until then, he must be patient. “Of course, you must go and comfort her. Ask my staff for anything you require.”
“I will, and thank you.” She dipped him a curtsy and turned away, leaving Everett longing for some way to bridge the gap between proper decorum and some small degree of desire. He had not kissed Alice yet. There hadn’t been a chance for any romantic interludes because her parents watched him and Alice like hawks or sent servants to shadow them at all times.
He scraped a hand through his hair. He felt he should have at least kissed her long before now, and the longer he left the first kiss, first embrace, the more he worried about it. And yet, wasn’t there plenty of time to get to know each other after marriage? The banns had been called and he’d only have to wait three more weeks till they were man and wife now.
He raked his hand through his hair again. He had no reason to be discontent with his life, no cause to complain that it lacked certain pleasures.
And yet the fact that Whitney Crewe just happened to visit their mutual friends at such a delicate time irritated the hell out of him.
Alice would never have attended a bachelors ball where half the women in attendance were part of the demimonde! How was he to have known Whitney wasn’t one of them? She’d acted so differently that night to how she behaved in polite circles now, even if that was often shocking.
Whitney Crewe had seduced him at the ball, without revealing her real name or asking for his. She’d then fled the moment he’d revealed his intention to marry—albeit someone else—taking his evening breeches away with her!
The ensuing gossip about that night could have threatened his marriage contract with Miss Quartermane, had her father learned of it, too. And when he’d discovered the identity of his almost lover, coming face to face with Whitney at a ball on her huge cousin’s arm, he’d expected to be called out there and then. When no challenge had come, he’d tried to speak with Whitney privately, but had been firmly turned away, not even seen when he had called at her home the next day.
It was a great relief that everyone remained oblivious to their first real meeting. For weeks, he’d feared Whitney would launch some sort of revenge on him. The fact that she’d yet to say one word about their near-tryst bothered him. She’d greeted him with a polite smile at every public encounter, without a single hint she’d merrily taken his cock in her hand—with very clear intentions.
The proof of her lack of innocence was in her behavior that night,
and that had slowly lessened his guilt afterward. He’d not been the first lover she’d lured away to a quiet room. He knew the signs of experience in a woman. A woman who had demanded his full attention and returned it threefold until she’d heard something distasteful of him. Whitney Crewe was a woman of unexpected passions. As eccentric as she’d claimed to be from their first encounter—and just as troublesome ever since.
“My lord,” a footman called softly as he came running out of the house, coat flapping behind him like wings. “There’s an urgent message from Rose Cottage.”
Chapter Four
Everett snatched up the paper and quickly read the missive. Damn, not again. “Have my horse saddled. I’ll leave from the stables as usual.”
As the fellow raced ahead to do his bidding, Everett glanced up at the windows and checked for observers. Now was not the time for the Quartermanes to discover his secret. Relieved to see no one watching him, he dashed into the surrounding woods and, once beneath the dark canopy he sighed and slowed to a walk.
After Miranda’s return, Emily had gone to Bath for a time. He had not lied to his friends about that, but he’d soon had a letter from her that she was ill, and then she’d arrived unannounced at his London residence.
He’d been horrified by the swift change in her health. He’d feared for her, despite the horrible things she’d done.
When she’d come to him in London, he’d brought her into his home and invited the best doctors to treat her. After being in her company every day for a week, he’d realized that Emily could not let go of her ambitions, and had become utterly unhinged over losing Taverham. Since Taverham and his family were in London, he had swiftly decided to remove Emily to the countryside to recover.
However, Emily could not be made to understand what she’d done in the past was wrong—and what she intended for the future was evil.
She was terribly ill, but she was also obsessed— sobbing over her unrequited love for Lord Taverham and vowing to make everyone involved in keeping them apart pay.
When Taverham and his family had unexpectedly returned a few days ago, he’d been forced to lock Emily away at a small cottage on his estate for the safety of everyone living at Twilit Hill.
Yet that was only part of the problem with Emily.
Only he, a pair of respected physicians, and a number of trusted staff were aware that Emily was dying.
He hurried into the stable and mounted a hastily saddled gelding. “I’ll be back at dawn,” he advised the stable master. “Say nothing of my whereabouts to my guests again.”
“You can trust us to keep your secret safe, my lord. Do be careful tonight.”
“There is a little moon, so I will find my way easily enough,” he promised the man.
He wheeled the horse about and set his heels to its flanks. Riding in the dark across fields and winding lanes could be dangerous if he wasn’t careful, but he would be on his own lands the whole distance. He’d made the trip to visit Emily many times by day and a few times by night already.
He kicked the horse to a fast trot as soon as he was beyond the woods and in open fields.
Emily had taken a bad turn again, and there was nothing he could do but wait and hope she might recover her health quickly this time.
He found the cottage without a problem and, given the gentle light glowing above the garden walls, knew everyone inside was awake despite the late hour. He drew to a halt at the garden gate and dismounted his weary horse. The head gardener who tended the grounds rushed out to greet him with a quiet welcome, taking his horse away immediately to be cooled down and housed in the nearby stall till needed again.
He approached the cottage gate quietly, listening for the screams and tantrums that had become part and parcel of past visits. Instead, the place was deathly quiet.
Stomach churning at the unnerving silence, he took out his key and let himself into the walled courtyard of the cottage, and made sure to lock the garden gate behind him.
Emily was waiting on a stool just outside the front door. Her face shone with perspiration, but her manner was devoid of all hysteria.
“Thank heavens you’ve finally come,” she croaked as she rose to her feet unsteadily. “I feared you had forgotten me.”
He hurried forward and brought his sister into his arms. He held her tightly, turning his face away in case she coughed over him. He’d been warned of the risk he placed himself in every time he called on her. “Of course I would come. You are my sister.”
She sniffed his shoulder and then sneezed. “You were with her.”
Her was always a reference to Miranda, Marchioness of Taverham, but he deliberately chose not to answer the accusation. Mention of Miranda tended to make his sister a little crazed, but the scent on his clothes could not be hers. It might be his betrothed’s scent she detected, or perhaps it was wholly in her twisting imagination. Emily complained of a great many wrongs done to her lately.
“I came as soon as I could,” he promised.
He had not told Emily that he was getting married, so he would not have to argue with her about his choice of bride. Emily had ambitions for him too, ones he disagreed with. She believed he was destined for a duke’s daughter or some such nonsense. Money and prestige were all that mattered to Emily now, as it had been for their late parents. Emily wanted him to influence members of the ton, and making an advantageous match had always been her goal for him.
“What are you doing outside in the cold? Let me take you inside, where there’s some light and we can have tea.”
He took Emily’s arm and urged her into the neat little six-room cottage on the far edge of his estate. The parlor was well lit and always warmest, so he turned her into that room. The two nursemaids hired to care for Emily startled at seeing them. They must have removed their face masks while Emily was outside and they rushed to retie them on.
He took his sister to a fireside chair, and chose the one opposite so a tea set could be placed on the table between them. Emily’s hands shook as she poured.
“When will Kit come home,” Emily asked suddenly.
“I’ve no idea.” Everett pretended to drink his laudanum-laced sweet tea and said nothing of her fading strength. Instead, he talked of the weather and changes on the estate beyond Emily’s walled garden, careful to avoid the topic that had led to her confinement.
“Lady Taverham is never away from Twilit Hill at this time of year,” Emily remarked, studying him over the rim of her teacup.
The dowager Marchioness of Taverham and Emily had been as close as mother and daughter for years before Miranda’s return. They’d not spoken since the revelation of her cowardly attack Taverham’s son and heir. The dowager was furious and had readily agreed to keep a distance from Rose Cottage. The old and the very young were the most susceptible to disease.
“She is staying in London this year,” he lied, sipping only a little. It was enough to fool Emily into drinking more until her cup was empty.
He chose to read to Emily, and after a few pages her head began to droop. He set the book aside, yawned widely, but was thankful he’d drunk very little of the laudanum-laced brew. Emily should sleep very peacefully now.
Her simple bedchamber wasn’t far, so he picked her up, noting how light she’d become in recent weeks, and with the maid’s assistance, tucked her into her bed. Then, on seeing her eyes flutter, he opened up the book again and continued reading until she was still again.
The nurses were waiting to speak to him in the next room when he stepped out of Emily’s bedchamber. He took in their weary expressions with a heavy heart. “What happened this time?”
“The fever came upon her quick and she began to cough uncontrollably.” One wrung her hands. “My lady became quite distressed and angry with us.”
He nodded. These particular servants had been with the family for a long time, and he was grateful for their presence.
“You are doing me a great service putting up with all of that.” He frowned to see
their bare faces again. “I trust you are careful, and always wear the masks the physician provided you with when you are near my sister?”
“We try, my lord. But she hates when we do, and screams at us worse than ever in her fevered state.”
“No matter what she says, keep wearing them.” It was the only way to protect them. He waved them away. “It’s been a long night for you both. I’ll stay for a while and wake you before dawn. Go get some rest,” he suggested before he returned to sit at the doorway to his sister’s room for the remains of the evening, fighting the pull of the laudanum he’d consumed.
Chapter Five
Whitney turned her face up to the sun and basked in the freedom life afforded a single woman in possession of an unrestricted fortune. She was ecstatic to be rid of her last companion, an uptight woman in need of a stiff drink. Whitney had her affairs in order at last and blessed peace from being told what to do. She had the freedom to come and go at will in a way few women could claim.
It had always been difficult to enjoy herself in London, where tongues wagged constantly about what she did or did not do. It was next to impossible to move about without a chaperone, which was why she’d bribed the last one her cousin had hired to go away.
She walked through grass grown too long, all the while keeping an eye on the marquess’ inquisitive son as he skimmed rocks across the water of a little stream they’d stumbled upon while riding.
“Time to turn back, Miss Crewe,” Lady Taverham’s servant called out from the ridge.
Whitney glared at the man. “You may go if you need to return to your other duties. I want to ride to the top of the next hill with Christopher before going back.”
“It’s the highest point on the estate, Landry,” Christopher explained, making one more attempt to skim his rock so it bounced. “She has to see the best view.”
