by Ann Chaney
“James, I know this is all very new to both of us. I hope we can learn to deal with each other with a modicum of respect.”
“Your wish is my command.” He took her hand then pressed a kiss to the inside of her wrist. Her eyes widen as he licked her skin. Gillian’s breath came in shallow puffs. Her cheeks reddened as he leaned down and took possession of her lips. He forced himself to hold back. It would never do to lose himself in his desire to ravish his bride at their wedding breakfast.
Moreham lifted his head and waited. Gillian opened her eyes, now filled with awe. The woman was enchanting. Why had he not realized the passion she possessed? Then he knew. He had known. Gillian had called to him like a moth to a flame. If he had remained behind his desk, one of the others would now be the one tied to Miss Gillian Browning.
A spasm shot through his body at the thought of this woman not being in his life, such a ridiculous notion after such a short acquaintance. Meeting Gillian had upended his world.
“Hmmm, yes, a kiss to seal our marriage vows.” Gillian pulled from his embrace and looked around the room. “I think we should circulate amongst our guests. We’ve provoked my uncle’s patience as much as we dare.”
He heard the uncertainty in her voice.
“Whitney’s pile is larger than More House. I hope you’ll find More House to your liking.”
“Whitney Place is not my true home. I am most happy at Whitings, the duke’s country seat. Prior to my coming out, I resided there year-round. Once I was presented, Aunt Isadora preferred to stay in Town which meant I did as well.”
The pain in her voice caught him off guard. Gillian had led an uncertain life. An orphan and born on the wrong side of the blanket had caused her to fear for her safety. Had her presence in the duke’s household ever been questioned, Gillian would have been cast aside. This woman had known unconditional love, but she’d never trusted that love. Suddenly, the need to protect her slammed into his heart.
“Shouldn’t monopolize the bride’s attention, Moreham. You will have her all to yourself soon enough.”
Moreham looked over his shoulder to find both Cross and Sturm grinning at him.
“I am less than an hour married which entitles me to devote my attentions to my bride as I see fit,” he growled.
Cross leaned around him to take Gillian’s hand and kiss the air over her fingers. “My lady, I am most happy you accepted our friend’s proposal. He has been in need of a woman to tame his savage heart for far too long. I will enjoy watching you ensnare him in your amorous web.”
Gillian laughed at Cross’ words. Moreham relished seeing her remove her hand from the earl’s hold only to have Sturm swoop in and take her hand.
“My lady, please accept my wishes for a long and happy marriage. Our friend can be a trial at the best of times, but I do have faith in your ability to bring him around. If you find you need any insights as to how to deal with his little idiosyncrasies, please send for me. We roomed together at Eton and Oxford.”
Moreham heaved a heavy sigh and pointedly took possession of her hand with a glare at each of his friends. “Off with the two of you. I thought I asked the two of you to deliver a certain package to my estate in Northumberland. With Weatherington unavailable, I need you to make the journey with all haste.”
The two agents were escorting Thomas Jones, one of Percy Arnold’s compatriots, to his estate for safekeeping. After Arnold’s escape, Moreham refused to take any chances of losing another prisoner. Both gentlemen were to provide him with daily reports on their progress. Arnold’s friends were well organized and had proven to be formidable foes.
Cross slapped him on the back. “Moreham, nothing for you to concern yourself with on your wedding day. Two of our friends are at this very moment on the Great North Road with our charge. They left at first light. We will take our leave of you and your lovely bride and ride all out to catch up with the coach before nightfall. Don’t worry, I know if I had a bride as beautiful as the countess at my side, she would have my undivided attention.”
The scoundrel had the audacity to wink at Gillian. Both men laughed and bowed to Gillian before taking their leave and departing through the dining room doors. Moreham watched the door for a moment, waiting for the ever present need to join his friends. Instead all he felt was relief that two of the most charming noblemen in England were no longer smiling at his wife. The significance of not wanting either gentleman to touch her was not lost on him.
This woman would be the greatest challenge of his life. How did a man pretend indifference when his brainbox screamed for more of her? Her voice, her soft touch, her quirky sense of humor all called to him. Nothing had been the same since he’d stepped into Philly’s library.
He’d never own up to it, but he truly hoped Whitney was an innocent pawn in this 1804 Social Club business. He didn’t know how one went about being a husband but he would wager a handsome sum that tossing one’s father-in-law into Newgate would not be well received by his new wife.
After Moreham’s friends had departed, the wedding breakfast took on the aura of a wake instead of a wedding celebration, thanks to Aunt Isadora’s weepiness. Gillian was relieved when Moreham turned to her and suggested they take their leave of her aunt and uncle.
Within minutes of him saying so, they were out the front door and seated in his carriage for the ride to More House, a short ride away. She was surprised how much she was looking forward to arriving at her new home. She wanted to know all about the encoded message she’d found.
The carriage pulled up in front of More House and Gillian peered out the window. Laughter bubbled up at the sight of Moreham’s butler waiting for them buttoned up in his full-dress livery. This was her home. A warmth stole over her at that thought. She’d never had a home of her own before. The duke and duchess loved her and had provided for her every need over the years, but Whitney Place was their home, not hers.
Moreham once more preceded her from the carriage before handing her down to the street, shunning the help of his footman. She found the gesture sweet. She wanted to believe her new husband was possessive of her because of his affection. An unwelcome voice denied this and whispered he was playing a part and she must do the same. Would be best if she remembered their marriage was a sham.
“My lord, may I be the first to congratulate you and the countess on your marriage? The staff is turned out in their best livery and are ready to be presented to your bride, if you would but agree.” The old man beamed at Gillian.
“Timmie, I distinctly remember telling you there would be no ceremony when we arrived. Mrs. Timmons will show my wife to her rooms. Merciful heavens, man, we are tired. My lady’s introduction to your recalcitrant flock of retainers can wait.”
“Moreham,” She would not allow him to deprive the butler of this moment. Her arrival as countess was a historical occasion for everyone who lived in this house. Showing her off to the household staff was a ritual as old as England. She took hold of his hands and pulled him closer. She tightened her hold. “James, I want to greet the household staff now.”
He glared down at her. Had she made him angry? If so, that was too bad, but she would do as she deemed proper. She meant to start as she intended to go forward. Regardless of how they got to this point, she was the Countess of Moreham.
After a moment, he nodded. He turned to the butler and waved the elderly man forward. “My countess would like to be introduced to the staff.”
The butler had the wherewithal not to smirk at his master’s about face and led the way into More House where the household staff stood in a straight line by precedence. Timmie proceeded to introduce each retainer from his wife, the housekeeper, to Willie, the boot boy.
Gillian listened closely and spoke to each person. She had learned at Aunt Isadora’s knee the finer points of household management. She had taken those principles and added a few of her own. The foremost of those was her practice of taking a few moments here and there to speak kindly to a member of the hou
sehold. To address them by their name. Doing so fostered a congenial atmosphere in the household.
After all the introductions had been seen to, Moreham thanked the servants and took hold of her hand and rested it on his arm. She stiffened when he escorted her to a set of double doors. She’d assumed he would escort her above stairs to her rooms. He had to know she was tired.
She’d not slept well last night. Far too dire thoughts consumed her. She tossed and turned worrying about what was to become of her uncle and aunt if that encoded note she found provided Moreham with the evidence he needed to charge her uncle with treason.
Of course, there was the business of being ruined and betrothed. Even now, married, she blushed at the goings on in Uncle Whitney’s bookroom.
Moreham leaned closer and whispered, “Before you arrived at St. George’s, I received word Fitzroy has had success with the code. I directed him to join us here.”
“Oh my! So quickly done. What does that mean?”
He patted her hand on his sleeve. “Gillian, don’t fret until there is something to fret over.”
As they approached the library doors, the footmen stepped forward to open the doors. Moreham nodded to both servants and guided her into the massive library. Shelves rose to the ceiling on two sides of the room.
“I’ve never seen so many books in a private home. My aunt and uncle do not like to read so the libraries in their homes are much smaller.”
Moreham smiled at her. “We Morehams are avid readers. As a young bride, my mama declared each evening there would be time for reading. She is the one responsible for our impressive collection.”
“I must thank her. I love to read. Aunt Isadora is forever chastising me for sneaking off to a quiet corner to read. I promise I’ll spend many hours sequestered in this magnificent room enjoying myself.” She smiled up at him. At that moment, for the first time since standing in the back of St. George’s she felt married to this man.
Chapter 6
Moreham wished Fitzroy wasn’t due to arrive at any minute. He wanted time with Gillian by himself. Fitz had sent the same note to Philly which meant she and his mother would be arriving at the same time. Time to get back to government business.
Gillian roamed around the room looking at the various bits sitting on the small tables and sideboard scattered around the room. He remained in the middle of the room and watched her. The sight of her looking over his possessions. She wouldn’t know that. Every trinket, book and painting was his not the earldom’s. Her appreciation of each item warmed his heart.
A sharp rap on the door brought her perusal to an end.
He called out. “Enter.”
Timmie came through the door. “Mr. Fitzroy has arrived, my lord.”
“Excellent, show him in. My mother and Lady Philly should also arrive momentarily. Show them in as well.”
He’d give Fitz a rise in pay if he had decoded that note. All this time with his wife was wreaking havoc on his mind. It was time to form a strategy and bring this investigation to a close.
Fitz walked into the library and bowed. Before the agent could speak a single word, his mother and Philly entered. Fitz stood back as the ladies made their way to Gillian who they fussed over for several minutes.
“Mama, Lady Philly, please have a seat so Fitz can tell us what he has learned. You can make over Gillian after he departs.”
“Moreham, you can be so bothersome at times,” his mother uttered as he escorted her to a pair of settees in the far corner of the library. There were two footmen at the doors, but he never took chances. Anyone could be bought.
He went to Gillian and led her to the other settee. “Fitz, now that the ladies are comfortable, you may begin.” The room positively hummed with tension.
Moreham watched Gillian’s face for any indication she knew what was to come. All he saw was fear in the tightness of her mouth and her eyes. If she was a part of the conspiracy, she was a topnotch actress. He moved closer to Gillian to have a better perspective of her reaction to the cryptographer’s report.
“My lord, my ladies, I came as soon as I could. I have decrypted the note you found in the duke’s study.”
“Excellent, what does the note say?”
“You were right, my lord. The code is the same letter replacement style as the note Weatherington obtained that confirmed Mr. Arnold’s involvement.”
“It wasn’t the duke’s receipt for his Christmas punch,” he muttered low enough, so only Gillian heard him.
The moment the words left his mouth, he regretted giving them voice. Gillian stiffened.
Why had he uttered those words? He never wanted to cause Gillian any hurt. Another reason he should have never married the woman.
“Another list of names?” Philly asked.
“No, my lady, this time the note is an invitation.”
An invitation?
Moreham watched Gillian only to find her reaction as confused as his.
“Fitz, enough suspense, tell us what the note said.” Philly demanded, clearly at the end of her patience with the man.
Fitzroy, obviously enjoying the moment of having his superiors’ attention, thrust out his chest and pulled a larger piece of foolscap from his pocket. “Meeting full moon old abbey ruins, midnight.”
Philly threw her hands up in disgust. “That’s all? What abbey ruins? The countryside is littered with old remains from the Popish days. How will we ever find the location?”
Gillian spoke, her voice void of all emotion. “There are abbey ruins at Whitings. The duke and duchess are hosting a house party for a group of his friends from Lords. Before the brouhaha of my being compromised, I was to leave Town tomorrow to see to the last-minute details before the guests arrive in three days.”
Fitz piped up. “The moon will achieve its fullness by week’s end.”
No one said a word. Moreham wanted to banish the others from the room. Gillian looked completely at sea. Whitney was guilty of betraying his king and country. At that moment Moreham would have given his all his worldly goods to have been proven wrong.
He watched his wife’s demeanor sink lower as she accepted the import of the translation. A need to take her in his arms and hold her until all this business was finished fought his own need to expose her uncle’s treasonous activities.
Wrong was wrong. He’d lived by that credo his entire life. What a fool he’d been to believe he could wed the woman and remain as he was. He feared the foundation of his work was in jeopardy which only proved marriage was not meant for him. As Philly liked to say, people like them were married to their duty.
He and his friends exposed the fiends and walked away before their own involvement could be discovered. Others came forward to deal with the trial, execution and dissolution of the guilty party’s assets. He’d never thought about what became of the wives and children. Now, he knew. The lost look in Gillian’s eyes called to him.
He told himself their lives were changed forever, but in truth he had believed only Gillian’s would change. He’d continue as he had for years once he packed up his wife and shipped her off to one of his estates. What a fantastical tale he wove. He’d never be the same again because of the woman at his side and the emotions she evoked from his soul.
All this woolgathering would not achieve his goal. Moreham pushed aside his need to comfort Gillian and turned his regard to his code breaker.
“Fitz, thank you for coming. Please file your report.”
The young man bowed then left him and the women. No one spoke for the longest time. He was at a loss as to how to proceed. It was Gillian who broke the silence.
“Well, Moreham, I wish I could refute that note. I still cannot believe Uncle Whitney is part of a conspiracy.”
“I agree, my dear. Moreham, perchance could someone be blackmailing Whitney? Has your man done a file on him? Are there any French connections in his family? What about Isadora’s family? We all have those connections from before the Terror.” His mother turned to
Gillian. “Have you ever heard of such a connection, my dear?”
Gillian frowned, deep in thought. She sighed and shook her head. “On the Browning side of the family, most of my ancestors were not prolific in siring children, so the families were small in number…”
“…Aunt Isadora is forever speaking of our ancestors and their service to this or that king. She is very proud of our English heritage. I have never heard a single hint of relatives anywhere besides England.” Gillian directed her attention in his direction with a glimmer of hope in her eyes. “Moreham, could Uncle be a victim of blackmail?”
Moreham wanted to tell her what she wanted to hear that yes, blackmail could be the reason her uncle was in possession of a coded message. He wanted to erase that pain in her eyes. He could not do so. To profess blackmail was a distinct possibility would only bring more disappointment if Whitney was proven to be a willing participant.
“Gillian, I do not know. We must attend that house party.”
“How are you going to justify attending a house party when you should be closeted together on your wedding trip?” his mother demanded.
“Well, you are here so we are not closeted at the moment,” he replied.
Philly patted his mother’s hand. “Sylvia, Moreham is right we must get to Whitings. We can secure an invitation from Isadora. We have attended her house parties many times over the years.”
Philly turned to Gillian. “Dear, I am certain with her unhappiness over your wedding, she has not given the house party a single consideration. What if you called on your aunt and offered to go down to the country tomorrow to oversee the final arrangements for the party? You can say you want to show your husband the home where you grew up. Moreham will agree which will make the side trip romantic. Your aunt will not be able to deny you.”
Moreham wanted to touch Gillian. He moved over to sit by her. To his surprise, she reached for his hand. His body hummed with intense warmth. He’d never felt such a satisfying sensation before.
