The Baron's Betrothal (Dangerous Lords Book 1)

by Maggi Andersen

  “Oh, that’s lovely,” she whispered.

  *

  Hetty breathed in his clean musky scent and ran her tongue over her lips. Ripples of sensation rushed over her skin as he took a nipple in his mouth. “Guy…” She went limp as threads of fire traced their way to throb low in her stomach. He turned his attention to the other taut, sensitive nipple. She inhaled sharply when he eased her skirt up, his fingers stroking her bare skin above her stocking.

  “So soft,” he murmured, a low sound deep in his throat.

  “Are we going to…” she asked between great gasps.

  He angled his mouth to kiss her. To silence her.

  He drew away. In the dim light, his eyes were serious and passionate with intent.

  “Guy…” Tantalized and aroused, Hetty couldn’t finish the sentence for the life of her. She loved to lie in his arms, her body eager for his touch. She wanted… she wasn’t sure what it was she yearned for. But, perhaps not yet. Not here. Powerless to stop him, she grew afraid it would spoil something they shared. Something fine.

  Suddenly, Hetty found herself deposited back on the seat. Guy cursed. “I’m not taking you here in the carriage. Not your first time, Hetty.”

  Hetty gave a sob, feeling part relief and part disappointment.

  “I’m sorry, Hetty.” He leaned back with a grimace and adjusted his pantaloons. “I should not have treated you in that manner.”

  “I want you, too, Guy.” While it thrilled her that she moved him so, she hated the distance that had sprung up between them.

  He eased a lock of her hair from her cheek. “I haven’t forgotten your wish to remain unmarried.”

  She stiffened. She now hated the very thought of being a spinster. To condemn herself to a life without love? It seemed unthinkable. She could no longer defend her earlier pronouncement although she feared the life of a lonely poetess would be her future.

  “Such a dry and passionless life. And you are far from passionless, Hetty.”

  She huffed out a breath, determined to gather together at least some shred of dignity. “I will meet famous poets here. Aunt Emily expects Wordsworth to call again, Byron, too, when he’s in England.” She was aware of how halfhearted she sounded.

  “Neither of those gentlemen will keep you warm at night,” Guy muttered through tight lips. He tapped on the roof with his cane. “King Street please, Jason.”

  “Right you are, my lord.”

  Hetty’s need to argue the point over something that no longer appealed to her, evaporated. He looked so serious in the dim carriage light. Was she enough for him? Why had he changed his mind? Had he not desired her enough? She placed a tentative hand on his arm. “Did you intend to make love to me tonight?”

  “No! That was not my intention.” He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Oh, but I do, Hetty. I definitely do.”

  Thrilled, she said, “Then why can’t we…”

  His eyes locked with hers. “I don’t want you as my mistress.”

  “Oh.” It was a stark declaration. Did he mean it? Even that would be better than being alone.

  He took her hands in his. “I have several things I must sort out before we can continue this conversation.”

  “Will you tell me what they are?” she asked gently. He had not told her he loved her, so she supposed he didn’t.

  “No, Hetty. I won’t.” He tipped up her chin and placed a light kiss on her mouth. “You will keep at me I know,” he said with a smile. “I only ask you to be patient.”

  “Oh, Guy. I care for you.” It was an admission that a woman wasn’t supposed to make until the man declared himself. But she couldn’t play games. Not when danger seemed to lurk in every corner.

  His mouth curved with tenderness. “I care for you, Hetty, very much indeed.”

  “Oh, Guy.” She touched his cheek.

  His eyes beseeched her. “Hetty… tomorrow evening, I am engaged to escort Lady Georgina to a ball.”

  She frowned. He looked guilty. Bitter disappointment flooded through her. “Alone?”

  “With Strathairn. I am indebted to these people who have taken me in.”

  “Will you dance with Lady Georgina?” Hetty wrestled with her emotions, she knew the request was unfair, she had no real claim on him.

  “I don’t expect to.” He framed her face with his hands. “Know this, Hetty. I do not desire Lady Georgina. If I was able to marry tomorrow, it would be you. No other lady is in danger of capturing my heart.”

  If it wasn’t a declaration of love, it was very close to it. A luminous glow of happiness threaded through her as the carriage pulled up in King Street.

  As he placed his hand on the door latch, she stopped him. She didn’t want him to leave her, to go off to face danger without her. “What are you planning to do?”

  “Strathairn is making inquiries.”

  She remembered John’s hard gaze. “Lord Strathairn would be a good man to have on your side, I should think.”

  “He has made some useful connections during his years away at war,” Guy said. “You’re right, a better man at my back I couldn’t find.” Guy opened the door. “I have accepted an invitation for you and your aunt to Lady Bloxham’s rout on Saturday. You met her at Lady Eleanor’s soiree, remember?”

  “I look forward to it.” Hetty remembered the lady only too well. She’d looked through Hetty as if she hadn’t been there.

  “I’ll call for you both on Saturday evening, ma cherie.”

  Hetty hurried inside, aware that her lips were swollen from his kisses. Her aunt appeared on the stairs in her dressing gown and nightcap. “Your gown is rumpled, and your hair is coming down. I trust that you behaved with decorum.”

  Her aunt’s voice lacked conviction, Hetty thought. “Guy has invited us both to a rout on Saturday at Lady Bloxham’s.”

  Her aunt followed Hetty up the stairs. “Oh well, that is nice indeed. I’ve met Lady Bloxham. She is a devotee of the romantic poets. I shall be pleased to spend time in her company.”

  Hetty shut her door. It had been such an extraordinary evening, she wasn’t sure what to make of it. What had Guy found in Eustace’s library? What did he keep from her? But most pressing was the need to know he loved her. She had witnessed his desire, but men were made that way, were they not? While his words were designed to put her at ease, she still didn’t know his true feelings or intentions.

  Chapter Sixteen

  At breakfast Aunt Emily raised her eyebrows when Hetty told her Guy was escorting Lady Georgina to a ball.

  Aunt Emily buttered her toast. “I shouldn’t worry about Guy’s feelings for you,” she said. “Judging by the state you were in last evening.” She made a clucking sound with her tongue and shook her head. “Perhaps I should be more diligent as chaperone.”

  Hetty frowned. “Lady Georgina is an earl’s daughter, and she’s pretty.”

  “Lady Georgina is young and caper-witted. She has been kept in cotton wool and is a trifle spoiled.” Aunt Emily reached for the jam. “Guy speaks ardently of his plans to make improvements to his estate. I suspect he intends to get his hands dirty in the process. He would want a wife who wished to spend a good deal of the year in the country. He has too much sense to marry a young lady who would prefer a coxcomb for a husband.”

  “Sense doesn’t always feature into one’s decision to marry,” Hetty said, stirring her tea.

  Her appetite had deserted her after a restless night. An ominous feeling seemed to hang over her. It was what Guy hadn’t said that worried her most. But she’d seen no evidence that Guy wished to become a fashionable leader of society. She’d begun to understand him, his faults as well as the finer points of his character. He would seek to protect her, something she valued but also annoyed her. He would be a stalwart friend to the last, but he was unequivocal in his demand for loyalty from others. She suspected Guy would never forgive Eustace for doubting him even if he was proved innocent of any crime. Guy had come into her life shattering her dull exi
stence. Sometimes lying in bed at night, it all seemed like a dream, from the moment she first saw him lying on the road.

  She loved his passion, his humor, his masculine pride and would trust him with her life. What would the future hold for her without him? It seemed a dreary prospect.

  *

  The valet put down his brush. “All done, my lord.”

  “Thank you, Hobson.”

  Guy had borrowed John’s valet to ensure he was suitably attired. He was grateful for all Strathairn had done and continued to do for him. But Guy hated being watched. He was confident he could handle himself well in a crisis. It galled him that he was seen to be an enemy of England and that John acted on instructions from Sidmouth, the Home Secretary.

  Guy left the bedchamber and made his way down the staircase to the salon. He was glad of his decision not to enlighten Hetty about the cloud which now hovered over his head. It would be impossible to reassure her, she’d want to know every detail, and he refused to have her involved.

  He’d hoped the Bow Street runner would unravel the mystery; but as yet, he’d turned up nothing, and the mystery of the Frenchman who wanted him dead only deepened. Was this to do with Forney’s letter?

  John awaited him in the salon. “Care for a whiskey to fortify you? These affairs seldom offer spirits.”

  “Thank you.” Guy took the proffered drink.

  “There’s a gentleman I hope will offer marriage to Georgina,” John said. “It’s my hope that she’ll realize the great advantages that come with it.”

  “Isn’t she a little young?”

  “She turns eighteen soon. Many marry at that age.”

  Guy thought her too silly for marriage, but he wouldn’t dream of saying so.

  “I’m playing it down,” John said. “If I endorse him, she may think I’m manipulating her and dig in her toes.”

  “Are you two talking about me?” Georgina hurried in, tucking a scrap of lace into her reticule.

  “Yes, in endless fascination,” John said, cocking a brow.

  She giggled. Her maid hurried in with her evening cloak. “Shall we go?” She slipped an arm through Guy’s and fluttered her lashes at him.

  “You shall have all the male guests at your feet tonight,” Guy said.

  “And will that be you, too, Guy?”

  He laughed. “What is this occasion?”

  “Beatrice Taylor’s eighteenth birthday ball, of course.” She rolled her eyes at him as if he should have known.

  “But of course. How did I come to overlook it?” Guy grinned at her.

  More than half an hour later, they arrived at the mansion in Hampton, the gardens alight with lanterns.

  As soon as they were announced and entered the ballroom, a crowd of hopeful young blades came to crowd around Georgina to beg a dance. It was not surprising, for she looked quite lovely in her silky white gauze gown, flowers and ribbons in her dark curls. “Promise me a dance, Guy,” she whispered before a gentleman led her to the dance floor for the quadrille.

  Out of respect for Hetty, Guy had decided not to dance. He planned to move amongst the guests to test society’s mood. He steeled himself for variations of the cut direct. Any whiff of scandal and the ruthless ton would turn their backs on anyone of whom they disapproved.

  Fortunately, no one gazed accusingly at him. A couple of the older gentlemen remembered his father and spoke of the tragedy that befell him with regret. No one even hinted at Guy being a dangerous spy. But then, he shouldn’t be surprised. Spying was a secretive business.

  John danced with Lady Sibella Winborne, an enchantingly beautiful dark-haired young woman, daughter of the Marquess of Brandreth. How interesting that the few times he’d seen Strathairn enter a dance floor it was with Lady Sibella on his arm. They were deep in conversation and smiling at each other. Friends of long standing? From what Guy had come to understand, John sought ladies from lower down the social scale. When they’d talked together in the evenings, nursing brandies by the fireside, he’d insisted he had no intention of marrying for years.

  John laughed at something Lady Sibella said and lowered his head to hers. Guy smiled to himself. A lady as lovely, and apparently as amusing as Lady Sibella, might change his friend’s mind.

  Guy leaned against a pillar. A man should ask one of the ladies without a partner to dance. But if he did, Georgina would put up a good argument as to why he didn’t dance with her. Hopefully, her dance card was filled.

  The dance ended. John was immediately drawn into conversation with someone. Guy was tossing up whether to join them. He was yet to find a comfortable balance in this company and feared he might be de trop.

  When a waltz was called, Georgina approached him. “I have kept this dance free,” she said.

  Guy groaned inwardly. He should have made himself scarce. He bowed. “May I have the pleasure of this waltz, Lady Georgina?”

  “You may, Lord Fortescue.” She smiled and rested her hand on his arm.

  As the first notes of a Handel waltz were struck, he swung her into the dance, guiding her over the crowded dance floor.

  “You might have danced with any number of eager young bucks,” he said as he reversed her.

  “I prefer to dance with you.”

  “I don’t see why. My dancing is in no way superior to your last partner. The Duke of Broadstairs, wasn’t it?”

  She gave Guy a fierce look. “You are the one of the few men who doesn’t bore me. You are interesting. You have lived!”

  “Are you flirting with me, Lady Georgina?”

  She flushed and lowered her eyes.

  “You do recall that I am betrothed to Miss Cavendish?”

  “Of course. I quite like her. But I would make you a better wife.”

  “Let us enjoy the dance,” Guy said, concerned they might be overheard. “If I talk when I dance I get short of breath.”

  “Ho! You cannot fool me, Lord Fortescue. I am the right girl for you. If only you would admit it.”

  “Shouldn’t you like to be a Duchess? The duke is one of your admirers, is he not?”

  “He’s too young.”

  “Nonsense. He cannot be far off thirty.”

  “He’s not…sophisticated.”

  “That is in his favor. You don’t want to marry a rake. That way leads to heartache. Broadstairs could prove to be an excellent husband. You should consider it.”

  “You’re not a rake.”

  “This is not about me.” Guy raised an eyebrow. “You should talk to the duke. You might find you like him.”

  “I have. And I shall talk to him when we dance again.”

  “You may not get the chance. He seems charmed by the pretty young woman he’s dancing with.”

  “Is he?” Georgina turned her head. She shrugged her slender shoulders. “Oh, that’s just Amabel Gilliam.”

  “Amabel is amusing him. See how he laughs?”

  Georgina raised her eyebrows. “So?”

  He noticed her take another peek when they turned. “Could you make him laugh?”

  “Of course, I can.”

  “Are you sure he will invite you to dance again?”

  “As a matter of fact, he has requested the next waltz,” she said airily.

  “Then I shall watch and see if you make him laugh.”

  “I’ll accept the bet. If I win it, what will you give me?”

  “My compliments.”

  “Pooh!”

  An hour later, Guy stood and watched Georgina dance with the Duke of Broadstairs. She flirted shamelessly. The poor man appeared to be lost. Guy hoped that if they married, Broadstairs would stand up to her. Georgina respected her brother for that reason.

  The duke gave a loud guffaw, and Georgina’s triumphant gaze sought Guy’s. He nodded, then went to find John. Unable to locate him, he strolled out onto the terrace.

  The Taylors’ mansion was some miles from Mayfair. The estates were more generous, and this one had a large park bordered by a high brick wall. A f
resh spring breeze ruffled the trees, and a full moon hung, a golden penny suspended in a cloudless sky. What a perfect night to share with Hetty. If he hadn’t lost his papers, they might have been wed by now and living at Rosecroft Hall. He wandered down the steps and strolled beyond the flaming torches into the shadows. At the sound of rustling in the bushes behind him, he spun around expecting some night animal to emerge.

  Something struck him hard on the side of the head. He saw flashes of bright light, heard a laugh, and sank into darkness.

  *

  “It is not like Guy to be late,” Hetty said for the fifth time.

  “No,” her aunt repeated.

  Hetty walked to the window and back, her skirts swirling around her legs.

  “Do sit down, Hetty. I declare you have worn a path in my carpet.”

  Hetty sat but remained on the edge of her chair, listening for the sound of horses clattering over the cobbles.

  An hour passed.

  She rubbed her arms. “I’m afraid something has happened, Aunt.”

  “What can befall his lordship in a short carriage ride through Mayfair?”

  “What if he’s been hurt?”

  “Someone would send word.”

  “What if Lady Georgina has beguiled him?”

  “Beguiled by two different women within a few days? I doubt he’s that susceptible,” her aunt said.

  Another hour passed with little said. Only the ticking of the longcase clock broke the silence.

  It was after midnight when Hetty finally consented to retire. She lay stiffly in bed while jumbled thoughts crowded her mind. Guy might not tell her everything, but she’d never caught him in a lie. Nor was he a coward. If he’d decided he’d rather court Lady Georgina, he would tell her so. She thought about his passionate kisses and his declaration that she was the only one he would consider marrying. He could not have changed his mind within a few days, could he?