The Baron's Betrothal (Dangerous Lords Book 1)

by Maggi Andersen

  Guy’s spirits lifted as he approached the house. Tomorrow was his wedding day.

  Chapter Thirty

  Thankfully, after days of intermittent rain, the day dawned fine, the sky the soft blue of a duck’s egg. Hetty, her stomach fluttering with nerves, stood while her aunt, Genevieve, and Molly fussed around her. Aunt Emily smoothed the boat-necked, white Indian muslin gown decorated with a band of seed pearls high under the bosom. Genevieve arranged the dainty silver and pearl tiara she had lent Hetty over her soft curls. Hetty wore her mother’s pearl drop earrings and the matching pearl necklace.

  They stood back to admire their creation. Genevieve clasped her hands. “Tres magnifique!”

  Aunt Emily kissed her cheek. “You make a beautiful bride, Hetty.”

  Hetty stared at her reflection and smiled. “You have been wonderful, thank you.” The woman in the glass, who surely wasn’t her, smiled back. She dabbed on a delicate floral scent, which Genevieve had given her, and picked up the ivory fan, a gift from her aunt. She performed one last slow revolution in front of the mirror. Could this eradicate Guy’s memories of her shoeless in that horrid warehouse, smelling of something indescribably awful?

  The villagers and tenants who couldn’t fit into the church hovered around the entrance as Hetty, on her father’s arm, walked down the aisle. Fanny followed in white muslin with blue ribbons decorating her bonnet. The Digswell ladies, seated on the pews, craned their necks to take note of the gowns in the first stare of fashion. Genevieve had festooned the church with every available white, hothouse bloom, filling the air with sweet scents. The pews were decorated with silver ribbons and bunches of flowers; the like of which Digswell had never seen.

  Guy, handsome in an indigo tailcoat, a jabot peeping from his waistcoat embroidered in silver thread, stood at the altar with John Strathairn in gray beside him. He turned to watch her.

  Hetty joined him at the altar and her father slipped away. She thrilled to see deep appreciation in his eyes. “Belle,” he murmured.

  “You look very handsome.” She smiled up at him.

  The vicar cleared his throat.

  *

  Guy gazed at his bride standing beside him at the altar. Her lovely mouth trembled, and her slim fingers shook slightly in his as he slipped on the ring. Their eyes met, and his heart swelled. How blessed he was. He would protect and love her for all the days the good lord allotted him.

  He repeated the words that joined them in wedlock, and she responded, her love for him shining in her warm brown eyes.

  After signing the register, they left the church. Guy put his arm around his bride and assisted her into the landau decorated with silver ribbons and bells. Hetty smiled at him. His gaze on her mouth, he wanted to kiss his beautiful, spirited bride.

  “I’d like a kiss,” she said, guessing his thoughts.

  Guy obliged with a long and passionate kiss as a cry went up from the small gathering waving goodbye, and they departed for their new life at Rosecroft Hall.

  “Are you all right, darling?” Hetty asked as the landau lurched and jiggled its way over the rough road.

  He held her tight against him and his lips found the soft perfumed skin below her ear. “I am now.”

  *

  Hetty barely had time to speak to Guy as the wedding breakfast was served. The table in the dining room was laden with silver bowls of walnuts, hazelnuts, and hothouse grapes. A rich fruit wedding cake took pride of place in the center of the table. Their marriage was toasted with champagne. When everyone had eaten their fill of hot rolls, buttered toast, cold meats, ham, and eggs, and washed it down with steaming hot chocolate, an orchestra from London struck up in the minstrel’s gallery and the country dancing began.

  Hetty spied Marina sitting alone while her father chatted to Eustace and sat down beside her.

  Marina smiled. “You have chosen well, my dear,” she said. “Guy will prove a worthy mate for you.”

  “I only hope I will prove worthy of him.”

  Marina placed a hand on Hetty’s arm. “You may not have understood my meaning. You are an adventurous young woman, by all accounts. Passionate and brave from what your father has told me. I am greatly in awe of such qualities because I know I lack them.”

  “But you are so calm and practical,” Hetty said, surprised. “Why would you wish to be different?”

  “I am not unhappy. I understand the value I bring to my marriage. But you’ll achieve far more in your life. My one hope is to make my husband comfortable and happy.”

  “Then we are one in that aim.”

  Marina smiled. “But you shall prove an exciting companion, Hetty. Guy is the right man to appreciate a wife such as you.”

  Hetty kissed her cheek. “I am so glad my father chose you.” She turned to watch her new husband across the room. He had joined Eustace and her father. Was Marina, right? Would Guy wish for those qualities in her? Could she become more acquiescent? For the first time, she was unsure. With a sudden need to be close, she crossed the room to him. The next dance was a waltz, and she wanted his arms around her.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  John was one of the first to depart, his presence required in London on official business. The sun was sinking in the west as Guy walked with him to his carriage. “No news of Forney?”

  “Unfortunately, no. It appears he has left the country.”

  Guy nodded. “I doubt we’ll see him in England again. It would be foolish in the extreme for him to return. What of Countess Forney?”

  “Her travel documents reveal she has returned to France.”

  “A tidy end to it, then.”

  “It is never tidy, my friend.” John grinned. “Enjoy rusticating here with your bride. I will give you two months before we see you in London again.”

  Guy laughed. “You believe so?”

  “You displayed talent in your handling of Forney and his cronies. We may have need of you.”

  “Merci, but I think not. To live at Rosecroft with Hetty is all I wish for.”

  John grinned. “We shall see. Farewell.” He tapped the roof with his cane, and the carriage trundled away down the drive.

  Guy and Hetty saw off the rest of their guests. As they walked back over the gravel drive to the house, he turned to his bewitching bride. “Your father has given us a wedding present.”

  Hetty’s brows rose. “He said nothing to me. What might that be?”

  “The General.”

  With a perplexed frown, she searched Guy’s eyes. “Father gave you The General? He did not include me in this gift?”

  “Au contraire, The General is yours. But, it is conditional on you being careful and not jumping over high gates which is dangerous with a sidesaddle.”

  Hetty raised an eyebrow. “Then I promise not to use a sidesaddle.”

  Guy chuckled. “It would be foolish of me to expect otherwise. You’ll always surprise me, my darling.”

  “And that bothers you?”

  “No, I expect it will be very good for me.”

  She giggled. “Do you think Father always knew I rode him?”

  “I don’t know.” He traced a finger over her cheek. “He admires your spirit. As I do.”

  “I can’t believe The General is mine.” She smiled. “I’ll ride him every day.”

  “May I ride with you?”

  She pouted. “To rein me in?”

  Guy leaned against the doorframe and pulled her against him, enjoying her warm curves. “Never. Because I don’t want to be apart from you.” He sighed. “I will try not to be too protective of you, mon amour.”

  “And I’ll try never to cause you to worry.” She turned in his arms to laugh up at him.

  He raised his brows. “You’ll try?”

  She laughed. “As long as you are not unreasonable in your demands.”

  He patted her derrière. “Coquine!”

  Behind them, Hammond coughed discreetly. “One of the gardeners has brought something for you, my lord.”


  Guy expected it to be a wedding offering of some kind, from one of the tenants or the servants, but when the butler placed the object in his hands Guy was speechless.

  “He found it under a hedge he pruned on the western boundary, my lord. It must have been dislodged when the horse jumped over it.”

  Guy looked at Hetty. “My portmanteau!”

  “How wonderful!” Hetty put her hands to her cheeks. “Is everything still there?”

  Guy unlatched it and searched inside. He removed the papers bearing the Fortescue coat of arms and the certificate of his birth, travel documents, and others pertaining to his ownership of several English properties. More importantly, his fingers closed over the box containing the seal matrix, a heavily ornate ring, which he disliked wearing. It was all there.

  He took a deep shuddering breath. “Thank you, Hammond. And please thank…”

  “Hislop, my lord.”

  “Convey my sincere thanks to Hislop. Tell him I shall speak to him directly.”

  Guy and Hetty walked along the passage. “Dare I hope this discovery means the fates are now in our favor?” Hetty said.

  “You may, mon amour,” Guy said. “But we will handle anything that comes our way, together.”

  They found Eustace in the library. “What a surprise.” Eustace held out his hand. “May I see them?” He searched the documents. “Yes, this is the Fortescue coat of arms, the same as the one above the fireplace in the great hall.” He nodded his approval and handed them back.

  Hetty studied the azure chevron with its three golden birds. “What do these birds signify?”

  “Nobility acquired through bravery, prowess or intelligence,” Guy said.

  “The martlet, or heraldic swallow, is seen to be swift and elegant,” Eustace added.

  “The birds don’t appear to have feet,” Hetty said.

  “In a medieval myth, the swallow had no feet. It signifies that one has to subsist on the wings of his virtue and merit alone.”

  “Which perfectly describes my brother’s life up till now,” Genevieve said as she entered the room.

  Guy smiled at his sister, aware of how much he would miss her.

  “I’m for a ride. Who will join me?” Genevieve asked. “I want to see more of the estate. C’est très beau.” A mischievous smile lit her eyes. “I shall be gone from here in two days.”

  When Guy glanced at Hetty, she trembled at the hot impatience in his blue gaze. “We will miss you dreadfully, Genevieve,” she said with honesty. “I shall be delighted to ride with you. Let’s change into our habits.”

  The crisp air was scented with pine as they rode over the fields. Guy reined his horse alongside Hetty’s while Genevieve rode on ahead. “I want to make love to you, but if we begin, we won’t reappear until tomorrow.”

  She giggled. “It’s courteous to remain with our guests until bedtime.”

  “Oui, bedtime,” he said with ill-disguised impatience, and trotted after his sister who had disappeared into the trees. Hetty followed, suffering a good deal of impatience herself.

  The sun was disappearing behind the mansion’s roof when the three returned to the house. As they climbed the stairs with the intention of changing out of their riding clothes before embarking on a game of whist, Hetty turned to Guy. “You promised to show me the secret tunnel.”

  “Not me.” Genevieve gave a shudder and laughed. She continued to her bedchamber while Guy took Hetty’s hand and led her off toward the solar.

  With a lit candle, they walked down past the kitchen into the depths of the hall. Hetty paused on the stairs.

  “Are you afraid?” Guy asked.

  She bit back tears. “When I think of what you endured here, I want to cry.”

  He pulled her close. “I have put that behind me, Hetty.” He took her arm, and they descended to the floor below.

  “I did wonder if you might prefer a calm and sensible wife like Marina.”

  He laughed. “I do not.” He stopped her at the bottom with a hand on her arm, the candle dipping dangerously. “If you change into a milksop of a wife, I’ll lock you up in the tunnel and get myself a mistress.”

  “I shall escape and pull out her hair!”

  “That’s more like the woman I love,” Guy said with a rueful smile. His smile slipped away. “Vincent’s death has been difficult to bear, Hetty.”

  She gasped and slid her arms around his waist. “Oh, my darling, of course it is.”

  He groaned as he held her within his free arm. “I don’t want you to change. Just be that spirited young woman I fell in love with. I consider myself a very lucky fellow to have you.”

  Relieved, Hetty kissed him. “Come and show me this tunnel.”

  The long storeroom was shadowy and dim. Guy held the candle high and took a moment to gain his bearings. He walked to the far corner. With prior knowledge, he had little trouble locating the secret door. It sprung open, revealing a pitch-black passage. Unpleasant smells of damp and rat droppings flooded out.

  “It’s horrible.” Hetty edged closer to him. “I’ve no intention of venturing inside.”

  “There’s nothing to see as the servants have cleaned it out.” He chuckled. “Unless you wish to follow the tunnel to its end?”

  She shuddered. “I’ll view it from the wood.”

  Guy dropped the candle. It rolled around, and before he could reach it, went out. “Are you, all right?” she asked.

  “I am now.” His arms found her in the dark and his mouth claimed hers. She held on to him as all her other senses came into play, his arousing male scent, the rasp of rough fabric beneath her fingers as his big, hard body pressed against her, his breath sweetened with the wine he had drunk earlier, the slide of his lips over hers, teasing her lower lip with his teeth, and the taste of him when he entered her mouth.

  Guy moved to put space between them, still holding her upright. If he hadn’t, dazed and breathless, she might have fallen. “Dash it all, not here, Hetty,” he said heavily. “There are many ways to make love, and I mean for us to try them all. But not here, not now.”

  He picked her up and climbed the steps with her in his arms. In the upper passage, they met a maid who covered her mouth with a hand and dropped into a curtsy.

  Guy carried her toward the main staircase.

  “You can put me down now.”

  “If I put you down, someone will whisk you away,” he muttered. “And I am going to make love to you. In our bed.”

  Hetty should have been embarrassed. They were expected in the salon for a game of cards. She clutched the velvet collar of his riding coat and gave herself up to the wonderful sensation of being crushed against his chest, listening to the steady metronome of his heartbeat. What she had yearned for was finally to happen. She wondered if he would do all those things to her, that he spoke of in the hut while the snowstorm whirled around them, which seemed like years ago now.

  Guy entered their bedchamber, kicked the door shut, and slowly lowered her to the floor.

  “We are finally alone, I can scarcely believe it,” Hetty said as he turned the key in the lock.

  They began to undress. It seemed a lifetime ago that she’d had helped him in the hunting lodge. She struggled to equate that man with the one before her; he seemed so changed. She had thought him an arrogant rake back then.

  He methodically stripped her down to her chemise, and finding herself naked, she scurried to the bed.

  Guy laughed. When the last stitch of his clothing was added to the pile on the chair, he walked over to her completely unconcerned about his nakedness. She clutched the coverlet to her chest and gasped at his beauty. Satiny olive skin stretched over long elegant bones and well-defined muscles. The wound in his side, now a purplish scar, testament to how close he’d come to death. Hetty was stunned into silence.

  Guy came to where she sat on the bed. Wordlessly, he removed the coverlet from her fingers. She slid her arms around his waist and pressed her lips to the scar, then cuppe
d his buttocks, strong and smooth beneath her hands.

  He pressed her back on the bed. His arms resting on each side of her, erotic excitement sparked in his eyes as he lowered his head. His mouth demanded a response, and as she moaned against his lips, their kisses caught fire. She danced her fingers over the defined planes and soft dark hair of his chest and down, his galloping heart beneath her hand. Then tracing the line of dark hair over the ribbed muscles of his hard stomach to his taut member. Curious, she took it in her hand, testing the length, sensing the strength beneath the soft skin.

  Guy lavished attention on her breasts, drawing each nipple to a peak with his tongue as he stroked her feminine folds and the pearl beneath. His teasing fingers drew ripples, then waves, and shudders from her body. Hetty arched against him, moving restlessly, unsure of what she craved, except more.

  “Please, Guy, please…,” she murmured, overcome with an urgent desire to be one with him.

  *

  “Let’s take it slow, mon amour.”

  Guy seized control before Hetty’s ministrations to his cock upset both their plans.

  She coiled her arms around his neck and pressed her breasts against his chest. Their rapid breaths mingled as their passionate kisses robbed them of breath.

  Hetty’s eager responses matched his. He wanted her desperately but intended it to be memorable. The first time for a woman was not always good, he’d been told. Guy scooped her up in his arms and eased her back onto the bed. He planned to take his time, and continued to stroke, finding her moist and ready for him. She moaned and clung to him, pushing her hips up to meet his gently probing fingers. As she gripped his hair none too gently, he trailed kisses across the soft swell of her belly. His fingers tangled in the soft nest of fiery curls and he breathed in the musky smell of her arousal, following his fingers with his tongue.

  “Oh, what are you doing?” Hetty gave him a wild look, her face flushed.

  “Shush.”

  Hetty bucked her hips and moaned. She shook her head, pushed him away, and then pulled him back against her. “Yes, my love,” he urged as she tensed and her thighs shuddered. She came with a long cry which turned into a deep sigh.