The Trouble with Love (Distinguished Rogues Book 8)

by Heather Boyd

  “He’s wrong, you know.” Exeter sighed. “I just enjoy being myself with you.”

  “So do I,” she assured the duke. After a moment, she decided it wasn’t too early to take a drink herself. Just one before the ladies returned downstairs. She was about to pour a glass when Exeter took the decanter of sherry from beneath her fingers and did the honors.

  “So, tell me,” he murmured. “Who is he?”

  “Who?”

  “Ettington would say he’s my competition.”

  “Ettington would be mistaken,” Whitney advised as she took her first sip.

  “I’ve seen that expression on your face far too often these past months. Who is the man who claimed your heart but makes you sad when you think of him?”

  She shook her head, staring into her glass. “It’s not like that.”

  “Well, it damn well should be if there is any justice in the world,” he complained loudly.

  “Exeter! What’s gotten into you?”

  He scowled fiercely. “I tell you now if you have a chance to claim the one you love, do not hesitate. Do whatever it takes, break every rule to be happy.”

  “I am happy,” she promised. She looked up into the duke’s face and frowned. “Did you lose someone you loved once?”

  “No. I don’t know. Perhaps?” He shook his head. “And that, my dear, the unknown, is the worst of it at my age. I might have been in love once, but now I’m not sure it isn’t just my advanced years convincing me I might have missed something important in my life.”

  “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

  He snorted. “Don’t pity me. I’ve had a damn fine life. And make sure you never pity yourself, either,” he exclaimed. “You deserve to be loved for exactly who you are. You are remarkable.”

  “Exeter!” She fluttered her lashes at the compliment. “Such ardent adoration will give me unreasonable expectations.”

  “Only if I was twenty years younger, perhaps,” he warned. “I’m much too old for someone of your tender years.”

  Whitney laughed heartily. “You don’t seem that old to me.”

  He studied her a moment, but thankfully let the subject of love drop in favor of talk of mutual acquaintances and the latest scandals making the rounds of the ton until the ladies joined them.

  After that, Taverham’s guests—Exeter, Lord and Lady Ettington, the Carringtons and a few other couples—settled into a cozy chat until dinner was announced.

  But through it all, Whitney couldn’t forget what the duke had suggested to her about chasing love. She’d not truly tried to win a man she admired for herself. She’d given way where Lord Acton was concerned, allowed him to go ahead with his ridiculous plan to choose another to marry.

  But that spark of desire still burned hot between them, and she wondered about it more and more. She saw yearning in Acton’s eyes, eagerness swiftly followed by regret. Was there more between them than desire? Could there be? Did she dare find out before it was too late?

  She was leaving the country, and she’d warned him she might never return. What might happen if she gave in to the pull toward him and actually chased a man?

  Would Acton run away? Continue the engagement with Miss Quartermane, a woman he’d claimed to have never kissed? And if Whitney were brave enough to take a chance on loving him, would he grant her every wish she’d ever had and consider joining her on her adventures?

  She had no answers, but time was certainly running out to decide if she should find out.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Everett dismounted on the drive of Twilit Hill and handed his horse off to a waiting groom. The sun was at its highest in the sky, only a soft breeze blew against his face, so it seemed like a good day for a party.

  He had been surprised by the tone of Taverham’s invitation to luncheon. The marquess had been quite insistent that he must come today, and that was not like him.

  So here he was…but uneasy about the summons.

  He did not know what sort of reception he’d face, and hoped he wasn’t about to be lambasted over Emily in front of everyone.

  He dawdled toward his carriage and was not in time to help anyone out on purpose. Mr. Quartermane took his wife and daughter on each arm anyway, so all that was left for Everett to do was lead the way around the house toward the sounds of laughter with Thompson at his side.

  Making it clear his interest had waned in the Quartermane’s daughter was a frustrating process. He’d deliberately missed sharing the breakfast room with her father this morning again, cursed within Mrs. Quartermane’s hearing, and been less than attentive to Miss Quartermane.

  Instead of listening to the woman drone on about her season, he’d sat about with a silly grin on his face, remembering the pleasant hour he’d stolen with Whitney Crewe the other day.

  His decision to ride to the Taverham estate today had been an unpopular choice with the Quartermanes, but he’d claimed a problem to fix first and sent them off ahead of him with Thompson. He’d caught up with them halfway along the Twilit Hill drive.

  He strode ahead of them now without looking back, and immediately saw the scene had irrevocably changed since his last visit.

  The rose garden Emily had loved and tended for the past decade was gone as if it had never existed. Even the paths and garden borders had been torn up. Soon, Emily would be no more, and all that would remain was her legacy of pain that he hoped would fade in time, too.

  Beyond the barren patch of earth, a collection of tables and chairs had been assembled and a party atmosphere prevailed. The Carrington children ran about between tables and people, squealing their heads off. And there seemed to be a number of additions he’d not known were coming.

  The Marquess of Ettington and his wife were standing together under the sun.

  “Oh dear! Oh my,” Miss Quartermane exclaimed, primping her hair suddenly when she spotted the newcomers. “Exeter has come.”

  Everett saw the duke across the lawn and nodded politely to him. He did not know Exeter well, but the duke had been much around Whitney this past month. “So it seems.”

  He glanced behind him, noted mother and daughter had turned to each other and were each inspecting the other’s gown for flaws. “That will have to do, my dear. You look lovely,” Mrs. Quartermane whispered to her daughter.

  Three children raced past, waving at Everett.

  “I hope it will be quieter when the children are sent inside for the luncheon,” Mrs. Quartermane whispered again as she clung to her daughter’s arm and boldly strode to the fore.

  He noted the smaller tables and chairs from the nursery had been unearthed and were set behind the larger table, and places had been set for everyone on them. “I think they might be staying out here with us for luncheon,” he warned, searching for one face in the crowd. His new friend seemed to be absent, and keen disappointment caught him by surprise.

  He scanned the group again, catching a flash of familiar red hair lower down. He moved toward Whitney Crewe, discovering her seated with a very young child bouncing on her knee. Dressed in pink as usual, she appeared breathtakingly fresh and lively.

  She looked up into his eyes and his worries fell away. He smiled. “Miss Crewe.”

  “Ah, you’re here at last, my lord.”

  Their eyes held a long moment, but then Whitney turned her attention on Miss Quartermane, who had suddenly appeared at his side and claimed Everett’s arm.

  “It is so good to see you again, Miss Crewe,” Alice exclaimed, as if they’d not seen each other every day for the last week.

  “Miss Quartermane,” Whitney murmured, her smile slipping as she bounced the dark-haired child on her knee. “You must come and hold Ettington’s son. This adorable young fellow is Garret. His twin, Georgiana, is delightful, too, but I think she’s been taken off somewhere else.”

  Miss Quartermane approached, seating herself primly on the edge of a chair next to Whitney. The contrast between the two women was remarkable. They were as night and day
.

  “He looks a sturdy lad,” he said to Whitney.

  Whitney tickled the child again, who bent his face to Whitney’s fingers as if he wanted them in his mouth. The boy persisted, and Everett shuddered that young Garret appeared to be drooling. “Is that normal,” he asked, knowing very little of children except that one day he’d need a son of his own.

  “Of course,” Whitney promised. “I suspect he’s growing his teeth.”

  “Ah, well. You must know more than I do.”

  Miss Quartermane leaned closer to the child, suddenly vying for Garret’s attention, but the boy cuddled up to Whitney’s creamy white shoulder and hid from her.

  Whitney’s smile widened as the boy appeared to put his obviously wet lips and chin on her bare skin. “He’s adorable. Would you like to hold him?”

  Miss Quartermane stared at the damp spot on Whitney’s skin, and lifted her hands to her own neck protectively. “Perhaps later. My lord, do you…”

  Everett tuned her out, directing his attention over her head. “Where is Taverham today?”

  “Not far,” Whitney murmured, a half smile lifting her lips as she resettled the child to face everyone else.

  Damn, she had a pretty smile.

  The appeal of the child was soon forgotten by Miss Quartermane in favor of gossiping about the Ettington’s and Exeter’s unexpected arrival. “I had no idea they were coming,” Whitney promised Alice. “But I am glad they have.”

  “I am too,” Alice whispered quickly as the Duke of Exeter approached the pair. Whitney immediately passed the boy to his great uncle and the trio were soon laughing together, all attention on the child and his attempts to draw the duke’s fingers into his mouth.

  A firm hand settled on his shoulder. “You caught me by surprise the other day,” Taverham murmured.

  “I apologized.”

  Everett moved back a step to keep Taverham at a safer distance.

  “You shouldn’t have needed to. No matter what she did, she’s still family.”

  “My family,” he clarified, and glanced around, feeling decidedly uncomfortable in this garden. He would normally have greeted everyone, joining in where he could and laughing with them. However, no matter what Whitney claimed, he believed himself a risk to others.

  He looked for her quickly but she was already gone. He craned his neck and spotted Whitney, the duke and Alice walking toward the house together. Mrs. Quartermane soon scurried after them, too.

  Most women coveted Exeter’s attention, no matter their age. Exeter’s title and wealth were a definite lure, but the man had steadfastly resisted matrimony. Some said Exeter had developed an interest in Whitney but Everett could not credit it.

  He tracked Whitney as far as the doorway to her studio, and then they all disappeared inside together. “I did not expect to see so many of your friends today.”

  Taverham moved to stand beside him. “It’s quite a change, isn’t it? Having so many people around? A year ago, the only noise around here was the tap of mother’s cane upon the marble floors.”

  And Emily singing. He glanced away swiftly as pain flared in his chest. “Did the dowager come?”

  “No, not even Exeter’s arrival stirred her from the dower house. It’s not often he travels but she refuses to eat out of doors still. She did promise to make an appearance later.”

  He snorted. “So generous.”

  “None the less, I’m pleased with events. Without her stern looks, the children will not need to be shushed so much,” Taverham promised.

  Everett laughed. “The dowager was the same way when you were young. Do you remember? Noise of any sort wasn’t ever tolerated, except for Emily’s music.”

  “Christopher gets away with doing what he wants, though. He’s somehow managed to wrap the old duck around his finger.”

  “I’m glad for his sake.”

  “So am I. I want him to feel safe here. I want him to feel at home and know everyone here wishes him well.” Taverham sighed. “You look tired. How is she?”

  “Fevered again last night. They sent for me at nine.”

  “Does that happen often?”

  “More often than I care for.”

  Taverham fell silent, and so did Everett. He was weary to the bone but glad that he’d come. He disliked being at odds with Taverham, his oldest friend. When Emily was gone, he’d have no one else to discuss the past with.

  Taverham’s son and another child ran up to the marquess, and Everett moved back a discreet step to give the children room to pester him.

  Christopher dragged his father away, laughing.

  Everett felt a tug on his coat and glanced down in surprise. The little girl had lingered, Mabel, he thought her name was, and stared up at him with a wide smile. “Can I sit on your shoulders?”

  He shook his head and stepped back.

  “She doesn’t bite,” Whitney murmured as she stepped between them and took the child’s hand in hers. “Now Mabel. What did we talk about earlier?”

  She bent over to put her face at the height of the girls, presenting Everett with the most awkward and arousing glimpse of her backside he’d ever had.

  “You said not to bother Lord Acton today,” Mabel said quietly.

  “That’s right. He works hard at his estate and he’s often very tired. There will be races later, and the gentlemen need to gather their strength if you want them to carry you around.”

  “There are races?” he cut in.

  “His Grace suggested it,” Whitney told him as she straightened, adjusting her gloves. However, she bent back down to Mabel a moment later. “You should ask the duke to be your pony. Garrett is too little to join in this year, and I don’t think anyone has asked him to carry them yet.”

  “All right.” Mabel grinned then skipped off looking for the duke.

  “I can’t wait to see how he likes her request.” Whitney’s dark chuckle warmed him all over. “Ah, there he is.”

  Mabel approached the duke, and the man surprised Everett by kneeling down to talk to the girl. Whitney sighed like a woman in love, and his heart twisted painfully in his chest at the idea he’d misread her interest in the duke. He looked down at his feet. “Will he do it?”

  “I would say not. Exeter isn’t the running-around type of duke, but he’s very good at organizing others to take his place. See, he’s conscripted a footman to be her pony already.” She threw a smile his way. “You, however, are the running-around sort, under normal circumstances.”

  He spluttered. “Thank you, I think.”

  “You’re very fit,” she said before throwing him a sultry smile that warmed his blood. It was hard to miss her meaning when she looked at him that way again. She knew what he looked like beneath his clothes. She had touched him intimately.

  “You are more muscular than I thought you’d be too,” he whispered.

  “I knew you’d peeked at me when I was changing in the smithy,” she said in whispered shock, but then lifted her gloved hand to her lips to hide a wicked laugh. “Thank you for being so improper, my lord.”

  He glanced around quickly, as she licked her lips. He would like to kiss Whitney. He’d had a hard time thinking of anything else since they’d parted company two days ago. “Anytime.”

  She cleared her throat suddenly. “The races will be held after luncheon, so that will give you time to think up a reason to leave early if you think you should not stay,” she told him.

  His mood soured at the thought of slinking away. “I would stay if it wasn’t for…”

  “I know,” she added, and then laughed softly. “You would have been such fun to ride, too.”

  He glanced at Whitney quickly and saw her eyes sparking with devilry. It was the very same glance she’d leveled at him the night they’d met. He felt warm all over, and dug a finger under his cravat for some air.

  Whitney chuckled again.

  “You are asking for trouble,” he warned.

  “Oh, no. I am Trouble. I am sure I explai
ned that during our very first conversation.”

  “You probably did, but I confess I might not have been paying attention,” he told her. “You had me rather wound up that night.”

  She hummed. “I had you in hand.”

  His cock perked up at the memory, and he shifted on his feet and tried to think of something unpleasant to diminish it.

  He closed his eyes briefly, realizing this was an attraction he couldn’t dismiss as inconsequential. Talking about the past only made him want Whitney more. She was begging to be chased, tossed onto her back and made love to until dawn, and at any other time he might have considered obliging her. But he was still committed to marry a beautiful young woman and had a sister dying of consumption. It was the worst possible time to chase any woman, but he couldn’t help thinking that having Whitney in his arms again would do him the world of good. If he caught her…

  What might have happened if Whitney had not possessed more morals than him that night? Would he have even bothered to call on Miss Quartermane the next day if he’d kissed Whitney on the night they’d met and learned who she really was?

  “Everett,” she whispered softly.

  He opened his eyes slowly as the answer formed. No, he wouldn’t have. He had absolutely pursued and won the wrong woman’s hand in marriage if he felt like this still.

  They both knew it, too. She’d told him he’d chosen wrong that night.

  He met Whitney’s stare without bothering to hide the desire that stirred in him. He couldn’t have her. Not anymore. He would only bring her disgrace. Yet yearning filled her eyes, too, when she held his gaze. Her hand settled on his arm and squeezed. “What can I do?”

  “You cannot help me. Let me go,” he whispered, and when her hand slid off his arm, he turned toward his future bride with grim determination to continue his sabotage of their engagement so that he might be free to have Whitney one day in the future.

  He joined Alice’s conversation easily, hands shoved in his pockets, aware he’d rather be anywhere else. As it happened, the talk he interrupted was of their impending marriage.

  Exeter smiled warmly, a child of Ettington’s held securely in his arms. “What time is the happy event?”