Dangerous Liaison (Lords of Whitehall Book 2)

by Ann Chaney

  He waited a few minutes before asking, “are you warmer now?”

  “Yes, thank you for thinking of this. I would never make such a suggestion.”

  “Gillian, if I may state the obvious, we are in our coach alone. Mother and Philly are in London. No one will interrupt us if I lift your chin and kiss you. I would venture to say I may be able to kiss you several times before we arrive at Whitings’ front gates.”

  To his delight, he felt her smile against his linen. Maybe, he would be able to manage this marriage business after all.

  “I’ve never been kissed on the open road before.”

  While he wanted to know exactly who and where she was situated when whoever the blackguard was who kissed her, he bit back the question.

  “My dear Gillian, we must correct that oversight this very instant.”

  He tightened his hold on her and eased her around until she was flush against his chest. Ever so slowly, he lowered his head and touched his lips to hers. He nibbled at her bottom lip and nudged her chin downward to gain entrance to her mouth.

  Moreham moaned as Gillian shivered and reached upward to wind her arms around his neck. His virgin wife did have an innate sense of what to do when kissing. He relished the feel of her tongue caressing his own. Never had a simple kiss affected him so. A tingling sensation shuddered through him as Gillian eased herself onto his lap to press herself even closer. What absolute bliss this was.

  One moment Gillian was kissing him and the next she was not. “Look! There is Whitings. Through the trees. Just there. Do you see?” She all but bounced across the seat to look out the window before looking back at him and smiling another one of those fulsome smiles of hers. “I am so glad we will have these days here. I know you are chomping at the bit to start sleuthing, but I’m so glad to have time to say my goodbyes to the staff. They are like my family. I grew up here. Aunt Isadora would accompany Uncle Whitney to Town for the season and several other trips a year. She felt it was better for me to remain behind. I resented that edict at the time but now I know she gave me a wonderful gift in my friends here.”

  Seizing the opportunity, he slipped across the seat and nestled her body back against his chest then leaned forward to look out over her shoulder. The coach rocked and Moreham grabbed her around her waist and pulled her even closer. If Cross or Sturm had predicted he would be here with his wife in his arms, he would have laughed in his friends’ faces.

  “Hmmph! Oh my, I must have the steward fill in the holes in the drive before Uncle Whitney arrives.” Gillian noted.

  Gillian moved to sit up, but he held her in place. This was an opportunity he was not going to cast aside. No doubt the household staff waited for them in the house for formal introductions. If he had to share Gillian with her friends then he would avail himself of a kiss. Moreham maneuvered her around so he could look into her eyes for a sign she wanted this kiss as much as he did.

  Not seeing rejection, he lowered his head. Contact with the metal rims of her spectacles scraped his nose. Gillian reared back and removed the offensive item and gave him an expectant look. His breath caught in his throat for a moment before throwing all caution to the wind and kissing her again.

  Moreham wished he could call up to his coachman to continue around the drive for the rest of the day. He knew any moment, Gillian would realize they had stopped by the front portico of the manor, where the butler stood waiting, and draw away from him.

  To Moreham’s surprise, no footman flung open the coach door, and more importantly, Gillian did not pull away. He took her by the shoulders and eased her back.

  “Gillian, we have arrived.”

  He’d never seen any woman look as beautiful as she did at that moment. Why had he ever thought merely pretty? Her eyes glowed, filled with wonder. She reached out and touched his lips.

  “I never knew. Last night…this kiss? Why doesn’t someone tell ladies lovemaking is to be relished not repelled? I mean with the right man. At this moment, I know you are the right man for me. I’m so glad our paths crossed.”

  Her confession surprised him so much he couldn’t hold back his laughter. “Oh, Gillian, your honesty warms my heart. To answer your question, we are getting out of this carriage or I will embarrass you by telling John Coachman to depart and drive through the lanes for the rest of the day and have my most wicked way with you. Sweetness, no one tells young ladies about the pleasure of kissing because then young ladies would want to be kissed, then the ladies would want to learn what else there is which is when all the trouble starts. Quite a conundrum, don’t you think?”

  He stretched across the coach and rapped on the wall behind the coachman’s seat. The door sprung open immediately with Whitney’s butler standing at the ready on the bottom step under the portico. The man’s officious bearing was marred by the huge grin he wore.

  “Shall we?” Moreham asked before stepping out of the coach before taking her hand. He enjoyed touching her. A twinge of foreboding wafted around in his brainbox, but he refused to think on it. The day was beautiful, and he had just kissed his wife. Her reaction to said kiss had been every bit as strong as his own. A very good day indeed.

  Gillian stepped down and stumbled into Moreham’s arms. Her first thought was to remain exactly where she was. They were married after all. He lifted her up, holding her against his chest with her feet dangling in the air.

  Although, they had not consummated their marriage, there would be no annulment. Not that she had ever considered the possibility of dissolving her marriage. Aunt Isadora was the one who had suggested such. Suggesting such a recourse only spoke to her aunt’s desperation to remove her from Moreham.

  Moreham was all she wanted. He didn’t disgust her as Percy Arnold had. Arnold? The gentleman had dogged her every footstep for months which felt like years ago now.

  Moreham was the one who made her happy. Not just in bed making love to her, but now here at Whitings. Didn’t his acceptance prove there was more to their relationship than the physical aspect? Having his trust was a good sign, wasn’t it?

  Moreham swung her around and placed her back on terra firma. Enough woolgathering, she would have to make introductions to Perkins, her uncle’s butler and her dearest ally.

  Gillian smiled at the butler then turned to Moreham and made the obligatory introduction.

  “Perkins, it is my understanding I owe my gratitude to you and your staff here for Lady Gillian’s happiest years.”

  Perkins preened at the acknowledgement…no mean feat. The butler was well used to the peerage having served her uncle, father and grandfather. For the old man to be charmed by Moreham was a feather in her husband’s cap. Would she ever get used to being married to this man who gathered everyone he cared for around him, only to retreat at a moment’s notice behind a wall of indifference.

  Perkins opened the ten-foot tall doors into the front hall to reveal the household staff lined up by the central stairs. Tears threatened as she looked from one familiar face to another. The butler strutted forward and introduced each person to the earl. Each member of the staff was dear to her. Wilbert, the stable master who’d taught her to ride. Sarah, the tweenie, not much older than herself, and every other member of the household who had dried her tears, chastised her and swatted her bottom for whatever transgression she had managed to fall into.

  Her tears would not be held back at the sight of her friend, Jane, standing at the end of the line with the other kitchen staff. How many hours had she and Jane spent talking about falling in love? While she had gone to Town, Jane had married Perkins’ grandson, Michael. Uncle had gifted the couple a tenancy when they married so her friend would always live on the estate.

  Moreham shook each man’s hand. Spoke to each woman in a respectful tone. She had never been prouder, of her friends or her husband. After years of feeling like a lesser person, now she felt like a queen with her king. Not for the first time, Gillian thanked God for bringing this man into her life. She followed behind him lagging f
urther as she spoke to her friends. She wanted to hear all the news.

  Moreham was off to the side speaking with Michael when she stepped in front of Jane. She gasped. Jane was round with child. For the first time in her life, Gillian was jealous, how she would love to have Moreham’s babe in her belly. How she wished James held her in the same affectionate regard that Michael obviously did for Jane. Even conversing with an earl did not divert his attention from his wife. Jane seeing her distress reached for her and held on tight.

  “Oh Gillian…it is so good to see you. I wanted to write about the babe, but to do so seemed too impersonal.”

  Moreham came up behind her and waited. Gillian moved slightly to the side so he could join her. “Moreham, Jane is my dearest friend.” She knew to this woman she could not lie. All she could hope was Moreham would believe her words were in keeping with their ruse. “Jane, I love him. I pray the Lord will someday bless us with a babe.”

  Moreham threw back his head and laughed. He drew her close to him and hugged her. “You are a wonder, my dear.”

  Perkins waited for the conversation to lapse before clapping his hands and sending the staff back to their duties. He led Gillian and Moreham up the stairs to the second floor then turned to the right, rather than the left as she had thought he would do.

  “My lord, your rooms are ready.”

  “Perkins, what rooms are prepared for us?”

  Gillian waited. Silence. That lack of response from spoke volumes.

  “You are taking us to my mother’s rooms, aren’t you?”

  Her heart shattered into tiny pieces. Perkins stopped in front of the door to the suite of rooms formerly known as the Blue and Gold Bedchamber, a suite of rooms her mother had occupied as a young woman. Her uncle had ordered the suite closed up after his sister’s death.

  Only Perkins ever knew about her visits to this room, her mother’s sitting room. Many a time the butler had found her sleeping on the settee or when she was older sitting in the window seat reading a book.

  Perkins turned around. She’d never seen him cry. Tears ran down the old man’s cheeks unheeded. Moreham nudged her and handed her his handkerchief. She gently wiped at the old man’s tears.

  Perkins took the cloth. He folded the damp cloth and straightened to his full height before speaking. “Your mother would have loved you very much. She would be happy at your marriage to the earl.”

  “I know, dear friend, I know. This room was my only link to her. Thank you for the care and love you and the staff showered on me all those years. Many, when finding a four-year old scamp in their care, would have done the bare minimum, but not you and the others. My memories of this house and the people who live here are filled with laughter and love. Please thank everyone for their work in making the suite available for us.”

  Perkins took a deep breath, opened the doors then stood aside for them to enter. “My lord, my lady, your accommodations as ordered by the duke.”

  Gillian stepped into the room with her husband following on her heels. Perkins bowed to each of them then departed. The click of the door latch resounded through the sitting room like a shot on a dueling field at first light.

  “I can’t believe he ordered these rooms prepared for us. Perkins told me my uncle refused Aunt Isadora when she wanted to open the rooms after they married. I asked Uncle Whitney why he kept the rooms closed up, he never answered me.”

  “Too many memories, perhaps?” Moreham asked sounding far closer than she had imagined.

  “Yes, I’m certain you have the right of it. I never knew her. Uncle lost his only sister. He has no brothers. I never thought about it that way before. Thank you, James for that observation.”

  She roamed around the room, picking up items. Nothing had changed in all those years. While the room she had visited had been enshrouded in white sheeting, she’d explored under those covers and unearthed small trinkets. Back then, she told herself holding those bits of ceramics, her writing utensils or her perfume bottles created a closeness she craved.

  She sat a ceramic of a little girl sitting on a bench, one of her favorites, back in its place on a small table by the windows overlooking the back gardens.

  Enough woolgathering.

  “My aunt and uncle share a suite on the opposite end of this floor overlooking the front of the house. They share the same belief as your parents did and share a bed.” She shook her head and chuckled. “The staff enjoy having the duke and duchess in residence. On many occasions I have watched my uncle chase Aunt Isadora up the stairs, both of them laughing all the way. That is what love should be. No, that is the love I want. Loving someone is a celebration of life each and every day. I know you plan to send me away. I hope you come to see I belong with you, no matter the danger.”

  Her heart ached as her husband remained silent and left her standing in the middle of the sitting room without uttering a word.

  What had she done? When would she learn to keep her feelings to herself?

  Chapter 11

  Moreham looked up from the volume of poetry he’d retrieved from Whitney’s bookshelves as Gillian entered the ducal library.

  Should the woman ever learn of her hold on his heart, he would be done for. Such a prospect was not a welcome one. He was determined to prevent the enslavement of his heart. Why he felt defensive was a puzzlement to him. He had witnessed the loving marriage of his parents. He knew such a love was to be celebrated. Until a loved one was lost then pain made an appearance.

  He’d witnessed his mother prostrate with grief when his father died. After the funeral, he’d held his mother in his arms on the carriage ride to Hollybrook. He’d remained at her bedside for weeks while she mourned for her beloved. Moreham had feared she would take her own life so deep was her grieving for his father.

  He wanted no part of that emotion. Easier to remain aloof and let others suffer. He regarded his work for the government to be of greater importance than falling in love.

  “James, reading poetry? I would have taken you for a treatise on the probable shifting of boundaries after the war ends.”

  “No, I will leave the incessantly boring discussion of borders to the politicians.” He closed the book, laid it down on the table at his side then rose to his feet. “You look lovely.”

  Gillian, dressed in a pale-green gown with a shade darker embroidery around the hem, was a sight to behold.

  “There is no reason for false compliments, Moreham.” She muttered when she was close enough for only him to hear. “This is one of the gowns your mother ordered.”

  “Well, I must say we shall see to it that whoever made up the gown will continue to dress you.”

  “You are an infuriating man. Are you going to order my gowns and send them off to whatever little property you have set up for my use?”

  Moreham would have explained why he felt the need to protect her from his work, but he feared his words would not ring true. He knew Gillian to be a skilled debater and she’d quickly point out she’d been involved with his foray into her uncle’s bookroom. A scheme that would have worked had Lady Sylvia and Philly not taken advantage of the situation. Even now, she was involved in whatever plan her uncle had concocted. Before he could respond, Perkins appeared in the library doorway to preclude him from doing so.

  “My lord, dinner is served.”

  Moreham took Gillian’s hand, placed it on his arm then walked with her into the small dining room Perkins had prepared for their meals. He made small talk about the weather, their ride from Town. He’d talk about anything but the state of their marriage.

  He rather liked Gillian’s subtle glances from the corners of her eyes. His wife was not indifferent to him as he feared. They’d only known each other for less than a sennight. There was also the issue of Arnold’s perfidy, her uncle’s possible involvement and her aunt’s disdain for himself. The poor girl had had a rough time of it.

  Intent on reestablishing their roles as leader and follower, Moreham turned to Gillian and wh
ispered. “My dear, I propose we spend the evening in the library. I’ll search your uncle’s desk while you keep watch for the servants. After everyone retires for the night, we should search his rooms.”

  Gillian drew herself up. So much for appeasing the woman’s impression of him.

  To his delight, Gillian leaned closer. The warmth of her breath tickled—a delicious feeling. “My uncle’s desk, his rooms? Is such an invasion of his personal rooms really necessary? You have the note speaking of a meeting.”

  “Gillian, unfortunately, we must mount our search here for any information that will either solidify our case of treason or as you believe clear him of any wrongdoing. Should we prove your uncle is not involved, we may find evidence of who is.”

  She grumbled. “Must we abuse my uncle’s hospitality? Wasn’t one infraction of his privacy enough? The silly man goes to tea with King George each week. He is one of a few who are still allowed to visit. Queen Charlotte holds him in great respect and encourages his visits with the king. A boon few receive. What would she say if she knew your suspicions?”

  He closed his eyes and prayed for patience before explaining himself. A feat he never did, not even to his mother. Thus, only confirming having a wife was a tedious business.

  “Gillian, Queen Charlotte would be the first to say I should leave no rock unturned to ensure her husband’s monarchy. I abhor invading Whitney’s rooms as much as you do. This is our procedure. Searching his desk and rooms will establish those rooms as free of incriminating evidence as of a specific date should we be called to testify.”

  Gillian picked up her serviette and wiped her mouth. “Well, if you are intent on this search, we should get this business over with. Shall we?”

  Before he could rise from his chair, she pushed her own backward and rose. Moreham jumped up grabbing her arm. Didn’t the girl listen to him? This was no game, they must act their parts as a newly wedded couple, or all would be lost before they ever got started.