His Convenient Marchioness

by Elizabeth Rolls

  Emma inclined her head and braced herself for the inevitable lecture. In the week since Georgie’s escapade either Letty or Caroline had called each day. This was the first time she had come down from the nursery to see either of them. Georgie was much better, her fever broken and the cough improving. But it had left Emma tired, her temper uncertain and she suspected her hair was somewhat dishevelled. She would have liked nothing more than to ask Bentham to tell Letty that she was still not at home to visitors, but she had not liked to send her apologies down again, nor yet keep her sister-in-law waiting while she tidied herself. Instead she had tucked her hair into a cap and come straight down.

  ‘I did make my come-out, Letty.’

  Letty waved that away. ‘A dozen years ago. And the circumstances in which you have been living—’ She delicately refrained from expanding on this topic. ‘Naturally we can make allowances for your inexperience.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Emma examined the very pretty tea cup. It would be a shame to throw it at her sister-in-law.

  ‘Of course, Giles’s first wife was raised and trained to her position.’

  ‘How convenient.’ A very pretty cup. Did Letty imagine that Emma had been raised in a stable?

  Letty raised her eyebrows. ‘Yes, it was. Her father, Throckbridge, was an old friend of our father’s. Both families approved the match in every way. Caroline and I, having drawn dear Anne to Giles’s attention, were in alt. He married exactly as he ought.’

  And this time he hadn’t.

  ‘In fact,’ Letty continued, ‘Giles should have remarried as soon as he was out of mourning for Anne. He needed an heir long before this.’

  ‘But your younger brother,’ Emma said. ‘Gerald, was it not? Surely—’

  ‘Our half-brother, Gerald,’ said Letty, her expression disapproving, ‘was a most unsatisfactory young man. Quite unsuited to the responsibility before him. Giles should have realised that and rectified the situation long before Gerald’s folly got him murdered.’

  Emma felt like a landed trout, gasping for breath.

  Letty, apparently unaware she had dropped a bombshell, continued. ‘But Giles held the foolish notion that the wretched boy would settle down. Caroline and I both told him how it would be!’

  They had told Hunt that their brother—half-brother—would be murdered?

  Emma stared and Letty seemed to collect herself.

  ‘Well, that is neither here nor there. Giles has remarried and there is no question that you can bear children.’ She nodded. ‘In that regard he has done his duty.’

  * * *

  Hunt glanced up as Letty stalked into his library and laid Paradise Lost down carefully before he rose.

  ‘My dear Giles, you must provide some guidance for Emma! She came down to greet me in a gown that looked as if she must have made it herself.’

  ‘Ah.’ Hunt nodded gravely. ‘I’ll suggest to her that when you call next she changes her dress.’

  Letty glared. ‘The point is that she ought to be dressed to receive a visitor in the first place!’

  Hunt sought to deflect. ‘Would you care for tea, Letty?’

  ‘Thank you, no. I had tea with Emma.’

  ‘Very lucky. I believe she gave instructions to Bentham that she was not at home to callers. So I dare say she wasn’t expecting one.’

  ‘But she should be!’ Letty enthroned herself on a sofa. ‘Giles, it is of the first importance that—’

  ‘I’m taking her out of town for a week or so. To Isleworth.’

  He should have done it immediately after the wedding, rather than remaining here in town. The house at Isleworth was far enough from town to preclude stray callers, with a park large enough for two children to run wild and get into mischief without getting into too much trouble.

  ‘A honeymoon?’

  He opened his mouth to deny that and closed it. ‘Something like that. Georgie needs fresh air.’

  Letty sniffed. ‘Then you should begin as you mean to go on and send the children down to Pentreath.’

  ‘But you see, Letty, I have no intention of going on in that way.’ He said it with an apologetic smile. ‘Shall I escort you out to your carriage?’

  Letty let out a huff. ‘You might as well. It’s clear you won’t do anything else you ought.’

  * * *

  Harry, accompanied by Barclay, came hurrying across the wet road from the Square, just as Hunt was about to hand Letty up into her carriage. The boy made a creditable bow to Letty, who acknowledged it with a sniff and a nod. ‘Good day, Giles.’ She presented her cheek. ‘No doubt you will ignore all our advice.’

  ‘Very likely.’ Hunt manoeuvred around her monumental bonnet to deliver the obligatory peck on the cheek. ‘It’s become a habit, you see.’

  Letty took an ominous breath, but got into her carriage without another word. The door closed and the carriage rolled away.

  ‘Is she cross with you, sir?’

  He glanced down at Harry. ‘Naturally. She often is.’ He took a closer look at his stepson. He had hardly seen the boy for the past few days. The boy’s face was shuttered, he was looking at his boots, and they were back to sir. Barclay was standing back, probably more in deference to Letty than anything else. Hunt raised his brows questioningly with a glance at Harry and Barclay gave a slight nod.

  ‘Would you care for some cake and milk, Harry?’

  Harry looked up, surprise clear on his face. ‘Yes, sir. Mr Barclay is going to send for some when we go in.’

  ‘I meant in the library with me. I was about to have coffee.’ He’d been considering brandy after Letty, but with the boy for company coffee would suffice. Barclay gave another tiny nod and went inside. Hunt knew he’d go straight to the kitchens and arrange the coffee, cake and milk.

  ‘Oh. That would be nice. If I won’t be disturbing you, sir.’

  ‘No. My sister did that. There’s no point getting back to...er...looking at my Parliamentary reports before I have to change, so you won’t be disturbing me at all.’ If he were to be brutally honest, he’d distracted himself with the Milton.

  Back in the library he walked over to his desk, picked up the Milton and slipped it back into its place with his other Milton editions, promising himself that he’d finish the blasted reports before he looked at it again.

  Fergus got up, trotted over to Harry and thrust his nose into the boy’s hand.

  ‘Was that your report, sir?’ Harry bent down to pat the dog.

  He laughed. ‘No, Harry. That’s my vice.’ He bit back a curse, wondering if the boy was too young to know what a vice was.

  Harry stared at him over Fergus. ‘Can a book be a vice?’

  ‘Yes,’ Hunt said feelingly. ‘If you are reading it when you ought to be reading Parliamentary reports it can certainly be a vice.’

  ‘Oh.’ The boy grinned. ‘Like wanting to buy a kite instead of paying for the library subscription?’

  Hunt laughed. ‘Exactly. Not the thing itself, but letting it lure you away from what you know you ought to be doing.’

  Harry grimaced. ‘I ought to be learning my Latin verbs, but Mr Barclay took me over to the Square because it stopped raining.’

  ‘And now I’m tempting you with milk and cake.’ Hunt looked thoughtfully at the boy. ‘What’s bothering you, Harry?’

  The boy went very red. ‘Oh. Nothing, sir. Really nothing.’ Fergus sat down in front of him and lifted a paw. Obligingly, Harry shook it.

  Hunt raised his brows. Amazing how nothing could sound exactly like everything depending on how it was said. ‘The French call that a mensonge pieux.’

  Harry frowned. ‘Mensonge? That’s a lie, but what’s pieux?’

  ‘Literally, godly; or pious might be a better translation.’

  Harry looked interested. ‘A white lie?’

  Hunt nodded. �
��That’s it. Now, spit it out. Are you worried about your sister?’

  Harry scuffed at the carpet. ‘A little. She does get colds, you know. And her breathing goes funny. And Mama worries because of Papa, you see.’

  ‘Understandable. She is much better, you know, Harry. Ah.’

  The door had opened to admit a maid with a tray.

  ‘Master Harry’s milk and cake, milord.’

  He smiled at the maid. ‘Thank you. Set it—’ he shoved the Parliamentary reports aside ‘—here.’

  ‘The coffee will be here very soon, milord.’ The maid curtsied. ‘And Mr John asked me to say he’ll have your change of clothes ready.’ She made another curtsy and left.

  Hunt handed Harry the glass of milk.

  ‘Thank you, Uncle Hunt. You’re going out tonight, aren’t you?’

  They were attending a dinner and a ball.

  The boy let out a sigh. ‘I suppose Mama will go, too, since Georgie is so much better. I heard Jane the nursery maid say that Mama wouldn’t need to stay with Georgie tonight.’

  ‘Doesn’t she? That’s excellent. But we don’t have to go out tonight.’ Letty would probably kill him. ‘I thought your mother and I might have supper with you and Georgie instead.’ He hadn’t been thinking anything of the sort.

  ‘Really?’ Harry brightened and helped himself to the largest slice of cake. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Absolutely,’ Hunt said. ‘So, apart from Georgie being better, what is bothering you?’

  Harry kicked at the chair leg. Hunt, who remembered doing exactly the same when interrogated by well-meaning grown-ups, forbore to comment. Harry added a scowl to the chair kicking, but finally answered. ‘It’s not at all how I thought it would be. I’ve hardly seen Mama since we came here. Even before Georgie was sick, she had to shop and when I saw Lady Caroline the other day she said that Mama ought to be going out every evening, except she’s been looking after Georgie, so Mr Barclay has been helping me with my lessons.’

  Hunt blinked. Of course, he knew his secretary had more than a passing acquaintance with Latin, Greek and mathematics, but...

  ‘I hope you behaved. Otherwise I’ll have to give William a bonus.’

  Harry looked slightly offended. ‘Of course I behaved.’

  Hunt didn’t think there was any of course about it, not when it involved a ten-year-old and Latin, but he let it pass. ‘What did you think it would be like? Your mother being married to me?’

  Harry’s brow wrinkled. ‘I didn’t think about it. I just thought it would be like it always was, except Mama wouldn’t be so worried about money and she’d have more time because she wouldn’t just have Bessie, but a whole houseful of servants, and we could have a dog and ponies and...’ He trailed off. ‘It’s not like that at all. She’s even busier and of course you’re awfully busy. Mama says that you sit on committees for the government and have to run your estates.’

  ‘I do.’ But was he so busy that he couldn’t find time each day to spend with a boy who needed a father? He’d taken Fergus for a walk this morning, as he did most mornings. He could have taken Harry with him, but it hadn’t occurred to him. He’d looked in on Emma, sound asleep, visited Georgie, but hadn’t spared a thought for Harry who, according to the nursery maid, had been doing his lessons. Out of sight, out of mind. With Barclay apparently.

  ‘Are you angry with me, sir?’

  Hunt realised that he was frowning. ‘No. I’m angry with myself.’ So he’d do something about it. ‘I walk Fergus after breakfast, unless the weather is simply too bad. Would you care to come with me tomorrow?’

  Fergus, having heard the fateful word, thumped his tail hopefully and Harry’s face lit up. ‘Yes, please.’ His face fell. ‘But what about my lessons?’

  ‘We’ll work around that,’ Hunt said. ‘We can always speak in Latin. Or Greek.’

  Harry looked doubtful. ‘It might be an awfully short conversation, sir. Mr Barclay hasn’t taught me quite that much.’

  Hunt chuckled. ‘French, then.’

  * * *

  After Harry had finished his milk and cake and disappeared back to his Latin verbs, Hunt continued to sit staring at the neglected report. He’d married a week ago, expecting his life to change, but absolutely nothing was as he’d envisioned it.

  With a sigh, he thought back to how it had been when Anne was alive. Not like this. Not with him buried in work. Oh, he’d been busy, but he hadn’t had to think about making time for his family. The time had simply been there. Then his world had broken apart. He’d tried to fill up all the empty spaces with the House of Lords, his estates, his books. Now that he looked back on it, all those things hadn’t filled the emptiness, but they’d kept him busy enough that he’d been able to ignore the emptiness. Except for Gerald. But Gerald had gone off to school a year or so later and somehow he’d allowed the boy to...not so much grow up, but grow apart. He’d made mistakes with his brother. Terrible mistakes. Gerald’s bitter voice echoed from their last argument when he’d refused to pay the boy’s debts again...

  ‘Do you think I don’t know you’d rather Simon or Lionel had lived to inherit? That I had died instead of them?’

  He’d stormed out and the next time Hunt had seen him he’d been dying from the beating Kilby’s enforcers had given him.

  Had he thought that? Ever? In the darkest corner of his heart? It didn’t matter. Because even if it wasn’t true, Gerald had been able to think that it was.

  He was damned if he’d make the same mistakes again with another man’s son.

  * * *

  ‘Take the children to Isleworth?’ Emma stared at Hunt. She had just walked into the library after tucking them into bed.

  ‘Yes. I have a place there.’ He grimaced. ‘Rather an extravagance, but it’s convenient to have something close to London. We...used to use it quite a lot. William is making the arrangements. The servants need a couple of days to prepare the house, but we could leave London in three days.’

  ‘But Parliament?’

  He shrugged. ‘I’ll come back for a night here and there. It’s only a few miles. Once Parliament rises we can leave directly from there for Cornwall.’

  ‘And your sisters?’ Letty and Caroline would be furious if she left London entirely.

  ‘Will be busily spreading the word that we have gone on our honeymoon,’ he said without a blush.

  ‘With two children?’

  ‘It’s a big house and park,’ he said. ‘They—the children—need more space. I sent a note to Cambourne suggesting that Fitch might visit for a few days. And Cambourne has found a couple of ponies for me. He’ll bring them over with Fitch. And, with your permission, I’ve written to my steward at Pentreath. There’s a puppy there—Fergus’s half-sister, actually. The children might like her for Christmas.’

  Ponies. They had been longing for ponies. Especially since coming to live here. And a puppy. But—

  ‘You’re very generous, Hunt.’ So much that she had been unable to do for Harry and Georgie. Even if Peter’s money had continued after his death it would have been difficult.

  Hunt frowned. ‘Generous? Hardly that.’ He let out a breath. ‘I’m not their father. I cannot and should not try to take his place. But I do have to do his job as best I can. They should learn to ride. And there is a small pony carriage at Isleworth, so they can learn to drive, too.’

  Oh, yes. He was generous. And kind, responsible. It ought to be enough.

  He rose from his desk where he had been sorting through some papers and came towards her. ‘Come, madam wife.’

  She blinked. ‘Come where?’

  ‘An early start to that honeymoon.’

  * * *

  It was different this time.

  She was no less heated and desperate to have his hands on her, but he refused to hurry. He escorted her into her bedchamber, di
smissed her maid with a cool, That will be all, and stripped her with controlled expertise. By the time his clothes joined her own on the floor and he slid into her bed, she was aching. Firelight slid over hard planes, shadows etched his face as he drew her against him. Eager, she slid her arms around him, raised her knee to caress his flank.

  A curse mingled with a groan and he rose over her on his elbows, cradling her face. To her surprise, rather than accepting her invitation, he straddled her, pressing her thighs together. She squirmed, but he bent to kiss her.

  Deep, heated kisses that dissolved thought and protest, reducing her to a jelly. And she discovered her husband. Discovered his slow, skilled hands that learned her curves, found and teased secrets, and refused to rush. Refused to let her rush him. Discovered a strength that held them both in check, even as his wicked mouth licked and nibbled a burning path to one breast.

  Her body arched and she scarcely recognised her own voice as she cried out. Need and mingled relief shuddered through her as he drew the peaked nipple into the consuming heat of his mouth.

  Emma was everything he wanted and more. Such wild abandon as her body bowed up, her breast the sweetest offering, feminine curves all his.

  Soft, so soft, as he learned the gentle dip of her waist, the swell of her hip and the creamy texture of her thighs. Soft and welcoming as he finally reached between them and she opened, willing and eager. Slick, lush heat, and another choked cry as he found the taut nub above her entrance.

  All the tastes and scents of her body flowered and were his, and the satiny skin and muscles of her belly flickered and jumped beneath his questing mouth. Her hot scent drew him and he slid lower, hard and burning.

  This time she would have everything. Everything he could give. Everything she could take, before he surrendered to his own needs.

  Beyond her control, Emma’s body bucked against the rising need, was held steady by a heavy arm across her hips, even as his mouth at last found her and wild, glorious pleasure speared her. The silken caresses burned her, brought her to the edge of sanity, held her there a moment, then relentlessly forced her over into the abyss.