The Trouble with Love (Distinguished Rogues Book 8)

by Heather Boyd

  Lady Carrington eased closer. “Mabel was so excited to be coming to see him that we had to sing songs for the last half hour.”

  “Was that painful?” Whitney asked out the side of her mouth.

  “You have no idea. My head is still ringing from the sound,” she confessed. “The joy of travel with children.”

  “We should get you all inside for tea, and a little respite, too, wouldn’t hurt anyone, I think,” Miranda said, looking toward Whitney with a hopeful expression she interpreted quite easily.

  “I’ll see to the children, shall I?” she offered.

  Lady Carrington clutched at her arm. “If you could help them get settled, I would be forever in your debt.”

  “I might just collect on that one day,” she said with a sly wink. “I’ll return when they are settled upstairs.”

  “We’ll be in my parlor overlooking the kitchen garden for the afternoon,” Miranda called as the cousins made a fast retreat.

  Whitney gathered the noisy children and servants with Christopher’s help and urged them all upstairs to unpack and claim their beds. There were many small side excursions, led by Christopher himself unfortunately, so the trip took some time. The Twilit Hill servants stepped in, redirecting the enthusiastic children, who wanted to see everything at once. They eased the way, and soon the children and nursemaids were taking tea in the nursery very happily.

  Whitney returned to the marchioness’ office and discovered Miss Quartermane and her mother had arrived in her absence, taken over her favorite chair, and were idly flipping through her sketchbook.

  She felt a twinge of annoyance as they shook hands. “How lovely to see you again,” she murmured as she retrieved her possessions. Alice and her mother had no right to touch her things, even if she had left them behind.

  “We saw the carriages from the village and rushed to greet the newcomers,” Alice exclaimed.

  She glanced around. “Is Lord Acton with you?”

  “Oh, unfortunately not. You know how men are. He’s gone off to do something with Mr. Thompson. I think he said it had something to do with cattle.”

  “Yes, of course.” She smiled quickly. “By all accounts, the earl must be very involved with his estate. It is a busy time of year for farming.”

  Alice winced, and then glanced at the marchioness. She received a subtle nod and then drew Whitney to the far side of the room. “Actually, it is you I’ve come to see today. Since our time together is painfully short I was hoping you’d agree to my proposal.”

  “What proposal?”

  “You are my dearest friend, and you must know that I value your presence here at such a critical time in my life.”

  Drat it. More talk of the wedding was in the wind.

  “Alice, my plans cannot be changed,” Whitney said gently. “I have already booked my passage, and my travelling companions will be waiting to meet me at the docks. I won’t delay to attend your wedding.”

  Especially when it was a marriage she didn’t support.

  Alice rolled her eyes. “I wish you did not have to go. Out of all my new friends, I so wanted you to witness my triumph so you could tell everyone about it.”

  “I am sure the day will be perfect.” Whitney stifled a groan. Friendships within the ton were so complicated. Being talked about were necessary and frequent activities if one wanted to be known and admired. Alice cared a lot about her reputation.

  “I hope so. Given it will be here, beyond the reach of so many of my acquaintances, I was hoping you might be persuaded to stay for my sake.”

  Whitney shook her head.

  Alice pouted. “You don’t understand. It is the most important day in my life. We may not feel the same about marriage, but I want you there.”

  “For what purpose?”

  “We both know that a ladies standing in society is important and depends so much on the worth of her connections.”

  “True.”

  “Imagine what a coup it will be having you there, beside the Duke of Exeter and Lord Taverham’s guests for the ceremony when I speak my vows.”

  Whitney considered Alice’s fevered expression. “I would think having Lord Acton beside you speaking his vows was more important.”

  “Well yes, of course.” Alice’s smile dimmed. “He’ll be there too. I know you constantly deny that you don’t wish for a husband, but surely you see my dilemma.”

  “I’m not sure I do.”

  “You are much older than I, wise in ways I cannot imagine being. You could have already been married by now, a leader in society, given the size of your fortune and connections. They are far better than mine, and we both know it. You could have married anyone, duke or commoner. You always know who is worth encouraging.”

  “Marriage should have nothing to do with fortune or connections,” Whitney protested.

  “Of course marriage has everything to do with those things. They are what matter most in society,” Alice claimed with a shake of her head, making the ringlets bob and sway. “Why is it so wrong to marry and gain the respect of your peers? Carving out a place in society is important for women.”

  “Such superficial desires are never more important than love.” Whitney clenched her jaw, noting Alice’s astonishment at her claim. She softened her voice. “Look, it is none of my business how you live your life, so long as you are happy.”

  “That brings me to my reason for speaking to you today.” Alice grasped Whitney’s hands suddenly. “Do you think he really loves me?”

  “I cannot answer that,” she told the woman, astonished at the question. “Men are very good at hiding their emotions from strangers, but if he tells you he does I would believe him.”

  Alice worried at her lip. “He hasn’t said he does, but I think you can help me decide if it’s possible.”

  “What?”

  “I want to know if he loves me and if he’s worthy of my love.” Alice sighed deeply. “I mean, you can help me decide if he is capable of loving me before we marry.”

  Whitney gasped. “How do you expect me to do that?”

  “By flirting with him to see if he can resist you. You are very pretty for your age, you know, and men always clamor for the attention of popular women. No one will notice if you pay Acton a little more attention here in the countryside.”

  Whitney could only stare at Alice, because she suspected throwing herself at Lord Acton wouldn’t bring about the confirmation of fidelity Alice hoped for. There was something between herself and Lord Acton still, desire and curiosity, and try as she might, she had been fighting those feelings for the sake of this friendship. “No!” Whitney protested. “What sort of friend would I be if I even considered it?”

  “The very best friend I have. I trust you completely,” Alice promised, her eyes wide. “I know you wouldn’t ever try to steal him for yourself.”

  “Of course I would not.” The idea was absurd. Acton was a man of his word. He was marrying Alice. She took a deep steadying breath. “You’re just feeling nervous about him. I’m told every bride feels this way at some point before they wed. It was you Acton asked to marry. You will be Lord Acton’s wife.”

  “Lady Acton,” Alice said in a dreamy tone.

  Listening to Alice whisper the name with such reverence filled Whitney with annoyance. Alice was marrying the title, not the handsome devil who owned it. Alice didn’t even seem aware of Lord Acton’s physical appeal. Whitney couldn’t do as Alice wished, but she could still guide her friend to discover the love she should want more than the title of countess. “Alice, if you want to know the state of Lord Acton’s heart, you’re going to have to find out on your own.”

  Alice’s eyes lit up. “How do I do that?”

  Whitney’s mouth grew dry, and she had to swallow a few times before she could get the words past her lips. “I recommend you seek out Lord Acton privately, alone, and see what happens next.”

  Alice looked at her with a worried expression. “Are you suggesting I allow him to kiss
me before the wedding takes place?”

  Whitney had actually meant a little more than stealing a single kiss, but a kiss was a good place to begin. It was romantic. Acton would like that.

  She glanced toward Alice’s mother, who was rising from her chair to join them. Alice’s mother would never approve of Whitney’s suggestion, and would probably lock Alice in her room if she suspected anything untoward was going on before the wedding.

  She grasped Alice’s arm and forced her to walk about the room to delay Mrs. Quartermane from joining them. “If you want to know what he feels for you, seducing him is certainly a way to determine it,” she advised.

  For a moment, Whitney feared Alice would faint—but then she nodded quickly. “I’ll do it. Tonight.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Everett drew to a halt and dismounted before the Twilit Hill stables as the sun was setting on a frustrating day. Chasing after his betrothed across the two estates seemed to be his lot in life. He’d returned from his visit to Emily, only to discover Alice had suddenly taken herself off to pay a call upon his nearest neighbors again. It seemed her plan to become acquainted with the residents of the district was bearing fruit, given the number of invitations delivered that morning. Her popularity had left him at something of a loose end, so he’d finally come to Twilit Hill to call upon Taverham, and keep his promise to Whitney.

  He handed the gelding off to a groom with a fond pat and headed for the main house. He wasn’t accustomed to using the front door any more than Taverham used his, so he cut through the formal gardens, heading for the nearest set of open doors.

  “No, no, no. Stop!”

  Everett recognized Simon’s anguished voice instantly, and he took flight for the boy, running as fast as he could toward the walled kitchen garden ahead.

  If Emily had slipped her guards, he always feared she’d come straight for the boy first.

  He barely registered two servants lingering by the garden gate as he rushed inside to save Christopher.

  But the boy was fighting off Whitney Crewe, not Emily.

  He stopped in shock but still pulled the boy toward him, out of harm’s way. “What the hell are you doing to him?” he roared at Whitney.

  She gaped at him, and then glanced down at Christopher.

  The pair then looked up at him at the same time, and only then did he notice they were drenched from head to toe and happy. Christopher’s hair was plastered to his skull and the boy wiped away the drips as he started to laugh.

  Whitney’s gown was soaked completely in the front, and she too was laughing at him.

  “Did you think I was in real danger, my lord?” the boy asked. “From Whitney?”

  Both held teacups full of water rather than tea.

  “I’m not sure. I’m still not quite certain what is going on,” he admitted.

  He released Christopher quickly, confused as hell as the boy’s laughter grew louder.

  He felt a tug on his coat and he looked down.

  A little girl stared up at him. “We’re making it rain for the rhubarb,” she said with an adorable lisp.

  She smiled widely despite her hair hanging in sodden ringlets around her face, or the fact that her little white smock hung limp from her shoulders to her knees, like that of all the others.

  As he took the time to notice more of his surroundings, including seven children of varying ages, he noted that they were similarly disheveled. There was a horde of children standing about laughing, along with Christopher.

  Taverham had said the Carrington children were to come and visit for a month soon. Apparently, they had arrived since his last visit.

  He looked about again and belatedly realized that they were in fact making some attempt to water the kitchen garden, but getting most of the water on themselves.

  They were playing, and Whitney was at the heart of it.

  Embarrassed by his overreaction and their laughter, he took another step back. “My apologies for the interruption to your game. I have only just arrived and didn’t understand what was going on. Please continue.”

  Whitney peeled her sodden gown from her sides to curtsy deeply, her smile widening. “Thank you, my lord. We were going to anyway.”

  She took a step toward Christopher and quickly dumped the contents of her teacup directly over the boy’s hair. Christopher yelled and flung the water from his cup straight into Whitney’s face. The splash made no difference to the woman’s countenance. She laughed and ran away.

  So did all the children, and once they had rearmed themselves, the fight resumed in earnest around him.

  Mabel ran to the gate, took water from a new pail set upon the ground by a pair of timid servants hiding just out of sight, and flung it haphazardly about her. More than half hit his legs but he couldn’t move. He’d never seen such madness as Whitney Crewe had provoked.

  She dashed about the walled garden—being chased or chasing the children. She gave no thought to decorum, no credence to restraint. She did whatever the hell appealed to her at any time of the day or night, apparently.

  And Everett couldn’t look away from her face.

  She enjoyed battling with each child until it was clear that they were running out of ammunition. Water was growing scarce and the tubs were almost drained.

  He glanced back and noticed the pail of water little Mabel was using. He hefted it, and cautiously approached an emptied tub.

  Christopher grinned. “Thank you, my lord.”

  Everett nodded as he poured it out. “I’ll fetch more.”

  He turned—and water slapped into the back of his head. The droplets slithered over his neck and a few even reached his face.

  He brushed them aside, fetched another bucket and returned.

  Whitney watched him closely as he poured out the water slowly, an impish smile playing across her lips. He would bet his favorite horse that she’d been the one to throw water at him.

  Impudent wench.

  He’d get her back for that.

  Before the pail was drained completely, he flung out the remainder at her.

  Most hit Whitney squarely in the chest, but she only laughed and scooped out more water to throw back at him.

  A new battle began.

  One between himself and Whitney Crewe.

  The woman shrieked as he chased her with the remaining pail of water. She fled to the far gateway and bent to collect a new pail.

  Everett stopped immediately as she turned, eyes flashing.

  “My turn,” she threatened, brushing back fallen strands of her flaming-red hair.

  He eyed the pail. “There is a lot more water in your pail than I’ve thrown at you.”

  He took a pace back but was captured from behind by Christopher.

  “I’ve got him, Whitney!”

  She sauntered forward with a saucy sway of her hips. “Well done, lad.”

  She flung her water but it mostly missed him, flying over his shoulder to hit the ground beyond. Still, enough water slid down his legs and into his riding boots to make him shiver.

  “You’ll pay for that,” he promised with a sincere smile, and once Christopher let him go, he rushed back to the gate. “We need more water,” he told the laughing gardeners. “A lot more.”

  They rushed away to do his bidding, he hoped, and Everett returned to the battle.

  He probably looked foolish chasing the children about, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had so much fun. The play might have been meant for the children but he was enjoying himself as he hadn’t for a long time, or at least not since he’d been their age.

  He put a wall at his back as the youngest children rushed past, chasing one another during a brief respite. They were happy children, for all that they were orphans. He could see why Christopher spoke of them so often. He was their leader. They did everything he suggested without question and without complaint.

  Everett folded his arms and smiled as the screaming grew louder. No wonder the boy’s spirits had been
so low until now. He’d been lonely, and clearly used to a different life before returning to his father.

  Everett knew what that was like. Just lately his home had felt so empty and cold. Unlived in, even with guests underfoot. He was still not used to Emily’s absence, not that he wished to bring her back into society with him after what she’d done.

  Water suddenly cascaded over his head, and he cried out in shock, spluttering to catch his breath.

  He turned to look behind him and noticed the tips of a ladder disappearing behind the wall he’d been leaning against. Infuriated, he jumped to catch the edge of the wall to see who had snuck up on him.

  His assailant, of course, was the only person who’d ever be impertinent enough to attack him.

  He hauled himself over, as he’d done many times as a boy, and dropped to his feet on the other side. He shook the water out of his hair. “That was terribly underhanded, Miss Crewe.”

  Whitney backed up a few steps, her hand extended, an empty pail lying between them. “Now, my lord. Don’t do anything you’ll regret later.”

  He advanced. “I rarely regret anything when it comes to you.”

  “Then do your worst, my lord. I’m ready,” she said as she beckoned him to follow with her fingers. “Catch me if you can,” she dared him.

  He pursued her, pail at the ready, but as she backed up another step, her heel caught on a tree root and she started to fall. Everett dropped the pail and darted forward to catch her before she hurt herself.

  He jerked her into his arms, staring down at her merry face and flashing eyes. His breath caught at her triumphant expression. She was so open. She was happiness through and through.

  He suddenly wished he had kissed this woman. “I have you.”

  “Do you?” she challenged. Whitney grasped him by the shoulders, eyelashes fluttering. “Or do I have you?”

  Her grip firmed, and Everett, eager to win, pulled her tighter into his arms.

  Her fingers drifted up into his hair and he shivered. Whitney felt so good against him. He lowered his lips toward hers, but turned away at the last minute. He held his cheek against her bright hair and breathed in her scent again. He remembered too well the night he’d lost himself in wickedness with her. Despite the lack of kisses that night, Whitney claiming to be unromantic, he’d never been more aroused. And he was excited now with her pressed against his body.