Racing with the Wind (Agents of the Crown)

by Regan Walker

  “Oh, Hugh.” She threw her arms around his neck, and he kissed away her long held-back tears. He kissed her forehead, her temples, her lips. His passion raged across her like a storm, demanding all, and she melted against his heat just as she had done all the other times. Was it true? Was he really, finally hers?

  As if he heard her thoughts, he broke the kiss and whispered at her temple, “Darling, there is no one but you. There never will be. Please don’t ever doubt it again.” Then he backed away a bit and considered her. “But while we are on this topic…we must discuss your foolishness. I cannot have you taking the risks you do.”

  Mary felt her world upended. “What are you talking about, Hugh? What risks?”

  He looked incredulous. “You have to ask? I do not refer to your ‘riding like the wind.’ Or even to your independent decisions. Those I can accept. But I cannot live in fear of you getting involved in your uncle’s work for the Crown—or mine—that would put you in danger.”

  Mary was not going to apologize for what she had done, but she could now see how her actions had brought the man she loved much anxiety. Adventure, even in the cause of one’s country, was not so important that it should come before love. No, she could compromise. “Oh, Hugh, I do see that what I did caused you great disquiet. I will agree to be more…careful in what I get involved in, but only if you will do the same. I would hope you’d never again have a need to wear those pistol daggers you did in France. I need to be certain you will be coming home—at least if you’re not going to take me with you.”

  He grinned. “A compromise.” Is that how one manages the difficult Mary Campbell? “I like it. All right, minx, you have your deal.”

  They embraced, each holding on tightly to the other as if they feared what they had could be lost. Then as one they lowered themselves to the grass, desperately reaching to find skin through their clothing. Hugh took her hands in his and raised them over her head, entwining their fingers and pushing them into the soft grass as he rained kisses over her throat. He let go of her hands, and they cast aside clothes and boots. Finally they were skin upon skin. Mary relished all of him. He was hers.

  Hugh’s hand caressed the inside of her thigh, sending shivers down her spine in anticipation. She was wet and ready for him, her body remembering the joining she craved. How long it had been.

  “Hugh.”

  It was fast and hard—a taking, a claiming. He demanded full surrender and she eagerly gave it. With one thrust he was buried deep inside her. His voice was rough and raw as he called her name.

  Her body stretched to accommodate him, welcoming his hard thrusts. He was like a madman, feverish and crazed. “Never again will I leave you this long. I am starving for you,” he gasped.

  She matched his deep thrusts, lifting her hips to accept the full fury of his lovemaking. It was over in minutes as they reached the full measure of their passion together. Collapsing into each other’s arms, they lay entwined beneath the trees for a long while, content just to hold each other.

  Sometime later they returned to the manor. Mary changed her clothes before she and Hugh went to see her mother. Hugh seated her on the settee and bowed low. “Countess, I have asked Mary to become my wife and she has agreed. I am asking for your blessing.”

  Mary’s mother’s expression was one of pleasure. “What splendid news! I can think of no better man for my child than the son of the Duke and Duchess of Albany. Your parents were dear friends of the earl’s. William would be happy, I think, to give his only daughter to you. Yes, Lord Ormond, you have my blessing.”

  Hugh smiled at both Mary and her mother. “We’d like to be married as soon as possible, by special license. If you are agreeable, there could be a reception later. My parents would be pleased to host it at our estate near here. This will come as very good news to them.” He thought back on his parents’ exhortations to wed. “Very good news indeed.”

  Hudson came into the room, interrupting them in his usual detached manner. “My lady, Lord Baynes has arrived for dinner.”

  Hugh had joined Mary on the settee where he held her hand, and the countess turned to them. “Apparently your uncle thought there might be some news for me, Mary, so I asked him to come round for dinner. Please stay, Lord Ormond. We can make it a celebration.”

  “Please call me Ormond, Countess. And, yes, I would love to stay. Actually, I don’t think I could be persuaded to leave Mary’s side just now. Or maybe ever again,” he whispered. He squeezed her hand and they shared a warm glance.

  Mary’s uncle walked into the room, a grin on his face. “Ah, Ormond. I assume from your presence you received my message?”

  Hugh smiled broadly—like a pirate who had just taken a galley full of treasure, Mary thought. “Yes, I did. Thank you, sir. Mary and I have just shared with the countess our own news. We are betrothed. She has given us her blessing. I would ask for yours as well.”

  Her uncle’s face lit up. “You have it! I am delighted. I assume you related my news to Mary?” Without waiting for an answer, he walked over to where they were rising from the settee and kissed Mary on the cheek. She felt her eyes fill with tears of gratitude as he reached out to shake Hugh’s hand. “Welcome to the family.”

  “Thank you, my lord. I hope you are comfortable with a small wedding. Mary and I want to be wed as soon as possible.”

  “Ah, yes,” Lord Baynes agreed. “A small wedding would be just the thing—and a large reception.”

  Chapter 31

  That evening after dinner Mary and Hugh visited his family estate where Hugh’s parents expressed their joy at his finding a very suitable young lady to wed at long last. They had known the Campbells when the earl was alive and were glad to renew what would now become a much closer relationship.

  “You can’t imagine the happiness you have brought the duke and me, Lady Mary.” The duchess’s eyes were full of unshed tears. “I’ve never seen my son so happy. It has been much too long a time. Thank you.”

  Mary was grateful. With a reputation as a hoyden, she had been aware many mothers in the ton would not have wanted their sons to marry her. But all anxiety left her with the older woman’s words.

  Hugh’s father, the Duke of Albany, also readily accepted the match. “I had almost given up hope Hugh would ever find the one for him. You are a rare woman, Lady Mary. And so lovely. I knew it would take a special lady to win his heart. Your father and I were friends, you know. I believe William would have been as pleased with this match as I am.”

  “Thank you, Your Grace.” Mary immediately liked the handsome older man. Tall and broad shouldered, he had the same strong, masculine features and dark eyes and hair as his son, though the duke was graying at his temples. It made him look distinguished.

  That is how Hugh will look many years from now. And she knew with certainty that she would love him no less then than she did this day.

  “Come Mary,” said the duchess, taking her arm. “I have something I want to show you.”

  As they strolled from the room, Mary looked over her shoulder to see Hugh and his father talking. She found herself smiling at the rake she loved. No, she corrected herself. He was no longer a rake. He was the man who loved her, who promised to be ever faithful. Even now, it was almost painful not to be touching him, this dark, mysterious, and yes, demanding man who had captured her heart.

  As if Hugh felt her eyes on him, he lifted his head and smiled at her in return.

  The duchess led Mary down a long hallway graced with large oil portraits on each side. “These are the men and women of Albany, my dear.”

  Mary pondered the handsome men and regal women in their golden frames. “All the men look alike.” The similarity in each male portrait, no matter the age, was striking. That was so different from the blond and red-haired men of her family.

  “Yes, they do. The imprint of the Albany line is quite dominant. Perhaps one day you and Hugh will have a son with those same dark looks.”

  Mary could not help but wonde
r if she already carried such a child. It caused her cheeks to warm.

  The duchess stopped in front of a portrait of two boys, one several years older than the other. “Hugh and Henry?” Mary asked.

  The duchess appeared surprised and turned back to the portrait. “Yes.” She gazed wistfully at the boys with their dark locks and mischievous brown eyes. Mary noted they were dressed in formal riding clothes as if ready for a foxhunt, and Hugh’s arm was draped around his brother’s shoulders.

  “Hugh loved Henry very much, and Henry idolized his older brother. When Henry…died, something in Hugh died. That is why he left, I think. For a while it was as if we lost both of them. Even when he returned to England, he wasn’t really back. You could see it in his eyes. I don’t believe he really returned to us until tonight.” She faced Mary, tears in her eyes. “You have brought him home, Lady Mary. For that, we are so grateful.”

  * * *

  Two days later, Mary and Hugh were married in the country church near the Albany estate that had once been part of an abbey. The congregation was few; only her uncle, her mother, the Duke and Duchess of Albany, and Elizabeth and Lambeth attended. Mary had only explained to Elizabeth last night all that had happened, and Lambeth had only returned from Paris the day before to stand up for Hugh.

  Mary thought the church a fitting place for them to be wed. Though small, it had a stately tower. The sunlight filtered in through the stained glass windows, casting soft, colored light on the flowers in front of the altar. Everything was beautiful.

  They knelt as they repeated their vows. Hugh held Mary’s hands in his, his eyes never leaving hers. Mary’s blue silk gown was a paler shade of the sapphire in Hugh’s grandmother’s ring that he had given her, which was mounted on a wide gold band and surrounded with diamonds. The ring seemed to belong on her long slim finger.

  Mary was happy just to know he was hers.

  * * *

  Two weeks later, all of London, including the Prince Regent, was invited to the reception. In a flurry of preparations, the grand estate of the Duke and Duchess of Albany was turned into a paradise of lights, flowers and elegant decorations. The duke and duchess and Mary’s mother had decided to celebrate Mary and Hugh’s marriage in grand style.

  Having denied everyone the wedding they might have desired, Mary decided to wear a gown befitting just such an event. It was made of ivory silk with lace sleeves that fell just off her shoulders, the fabric shimmering every time she moved. She felt like a princess, adorned as she was with gold embroidery on the skirt and a slim gold ribbon at the high waist embedded with gems. Hugh did not vary from his black formal attire except to add a gold brocade waistcoat.

  He appeared very pleased with himself, did her husband, never leaving her side. Hands clasped together, Mary and Hugh walked among their guests in the large ballroom. Often the newlyweds leaned in to share their thoughts with each other. And when they danced, Hugh held Mary tight, gazing intently into her eyes.

  “Judging from the looks we are getting, my love, I believe it is evident to all that ours is a love match,” he said.

  “You mean to say they realize the rake is truly retired?” Mary felt a flush of pleasure that doubled when he kissed her on the forehead.

  “Truly.”

  Among those attending the reception were Lord and Lady Huntingdon, their house-party hosts. That seemed so long ago, the beginning of the season, and yet the pair seemed to Mary to be most delighted with their marriage.

  “You make a handsome couple,” said the earl with a winsome smile.

  Lady Huntingdon gave Hugh a teasing look. “To think, it all began at our house party. That was your first kiss, was it not?”

  Mary blushed, astonished. “How did you know?”

  “Well, I didn’t know it was your first kiss until this very moment, but I suspected it when I saw you returning from our gardens, only to be followed a moment later by Ormond. He was so preoccupied he didn’t see me, though I stood right in front of him.”

  Mary’s free hand covered her mouth. “Oh my.”

  Hugh chuckled. “We should have known we couldn’t fool you, the observant Lady Huntingdon.”

  “Don’t worry,” the countess assured them. “Your secret is safe with us.”

  “Now you have them nervous, darling!” The earl laughed. Smiling at Hugh and Mary, he added, “We are most delighted for you both. Yours is an exceptional match, and it seems we thought so before either of you.”

  Mary and Hugh turned to each other, warmed by the realization that others who loved them were pleased by their connection.

  “Darling,” she said to Hugh, “did you see the message that came from Germaine?”

  “Yes, your uncle showed it to me. Though I’m sorry she is too unwell to be with us, I am pleased she thought us the perfect match. She rather liked you from the beginning.”

  “I will miss her,” Mary said wistfully.

  In addition to their other friends, Mary had invited Elizabeth to the reception and was looking forward to seeing her. Though Lord Baynes confirmed she was in attendance, he didn’t know where she was at the moment. Mary surveyed the crowded room, but the only red hair she could see belonged to Lizzy’s mother and sisters, who had been invited along with their husbands. She saw Lady Harriet across the room and recalled fondly the warm greeting the girl had given her. Perhaps she’d been unfair to the vivacious brunette. Love had caused Mary to see many things differently.

  The Prince Regent arrived shortly afterward, causing a great flurry of activity. The crowd made way then closed behind his entourage as they passed. Hugh bowed, and Mary curtsied before him.

  “Good day, Lord and Lady Ormond,” the Prince Regent said as his eyes raked Mary’s ivory gown and the honeyed skin above her bodice. Uncomfortable, Mary squeezed Hugh’s hand.

  The Prince Regent smiled at her with a predatory gleam in his eye. “That was quick work, Ormond! You have stolen a great treasure from us.” He leaned closer and whispered, “But perhaps that is appropriate, you being my best thief.” Then the prince straightened but still in a whisper for only Mary and Hugh added, “And how fitting a match. The Nighthawk and the Swan, eh? Perhaps it was fate!”

  Mary’s uncle had told her of the Prince Regent’s nickname for her, but the other… Could it be? She glanced at her husband and leaned close, speaking in a soft voice for his ears alone. “The Nighthawk? You are the Nighthawk?”

  Hugh smiled, nodding.

  “All this time…”

  The Prince Regent raised an eyebrow at Hugh. “You did not tell her?”

  “I have always considered that to be your secret, sire.”

  “Ah, yes, I suppose it is.” The Prince Regent grinned, clearly amused, and inclined his head. “You have wed a most unusual man, Lady Ormond…and it appears from all Lord Baynes has told me, my favorite subject has wed a most unusual young woman. Perhaps it was fate indeed.”

  “I like to think so, sire.” Hugh put a possessive arm around Mary’s shoulders.

  A look of resignation crossed the Prince Regent’s face, and this time he spoke in a loud voice. “Indeed! Well, let us drink to your happiness!”

  A tray of champagne appeared. As they drank, Hugh recounted for the Prince Regent in a few words what had transpired in Paris.

  The Prince Regent chuckled. “It sounds as if Louis owes us a favor.”

  “It would seem that he does, Your Majesty.”

  Soon the Prince Regent’s many followers distracted him, and Mary and Hugh took the opportunity to escape the crowded room. Mary put her arm in her husband’s and cocked her head to one side as they strolled toward the doors to the terrace.

  “So, I’ve married a legend, have I?”

  “Apparently so.” He gave her a boyish grin. “How would you like to be kissed by a legend?” But before she could answer, Hugh began to walk faster, urging her along. “Come, I have the perfect spot.”

  He guided her out the doors. She marveled at how the gardens formed
a series of outdoor rooms enclosed by clipped boxwood hedges and tall yew plants. A wide stone path led down the center, and it was that path they took. They crossed under an arbor with white flowers cascading to the ground.

  “It is so beautiful, Hugh.” Mary had never seen gardens so lush, so well cared for or detailed. The English loved their manicured gardens, but these were exceptional.

  “We are almost there,” Hugh said, picking up the pace.

  They strolled deeper into the gardens, passing a tall wall of colorful rhododendrons with a long bench in front. Mary considered resting for a moment but Hugh urged her on, holding her tightly to his side. They couldn’t have been any closer.

  “Where are we going?”

  “I want to show you my favorite alcove where I played as a boy.”

  They walked a bit farther, but finally he slowed. His lips grazed her temple and he said, “Here we are, my love, my Mary of the Gardens.”

  She looked up into his smiling eyes, his pupils dilated so that his eyes seemed like black diamonds. She remembered fondly the nickname he’d given her in Paris, and the time they spent playing cat and mouse with each other. “It seems we are destined to be kissing among the flowers.”

  “Indeed,” he said, “that was my purpose.”

  He led her toward a large rectangular garden with a stone floor enclosed by tall yew plants. As they stepped through the narrow opening, though, they nearly collided with a couple locked in an embrace.

  “Oh…excuse us!” Hugh said as he stepped back. He began to pull Mary away but paused, looking more carefully at the couple.

  Mary herself recognized that copper-colored hair. “Lizzy?”

  Elizabeth St. Clair pulled free from her lover’s embrace. “Mary! Oh, Mary…I’m so happy for you and Lord Ormond.”

  Hugh spoke just then. “Lambeth?”

  The blond-haired man Elizabeth had been kissing turned to face Hugh. A sheepish grin settled on his face. “Hello, Ormond, Lady Ormond.”