Love With an Improper Stranger

by Barbara Devlin

  “I maintain various lodgings.” Arching a brow, Blake hiked a leg and reclined across the opposite bench. “But I prefer the country and often escape to the simplicities of a rural existence.”

  “That sounds lovely, and never would I have figured you for a provincial. Given your mother dwells with you, Lucy and I would be happy to take a room at a local inn.” Fear of the unknown set her nerves on edge, and Lenore focused on the passing landscape. “I would not crowd you.”

  “That is not necessary, as I believe my abode is large enough to accommodate you and little Lucy.” To her sister, he said, “And I maintain a substantial library filled with books to keep you occupied until your relation arrives from America.”

  “How divine, Cap’n.” With unveiled interest, Lucilla perched upright. “And may I peruse the logs of your past missions?”

  For the next hour, Blake and Lucy traded bits of information regarding the finer points of sailing and the efficacy of blockades, while Lenore mulled an uncertain future. But her prospective suitor’s ever-present scrutiny left her anxious for familiar surroundings. So when the various outbuildings, barns, and other agricultural structures yielded to more industrial and metropolitan edifices, she struggled to contain her excitement.

  Soon they entered the fashionable shopping district of Cheapside, and the telltale approach to Coleman Street loomed as the rig slowed. When she spied the redbrick construct trimmed in Portland stone, with its latched black shutters, Lenore fought tears.

  “It appears locked tight and uninhabited.” Blake narrowed his stare and then pounded on the roof of the coach, at which point the equipage picked up speed and turned left at London Wall. He drew a handkerchief from his coat pocket. “Here, my dear. Dry your beautiful eyes, as all is well, and you are welcome to stay with me.”

  “I appreciate that.” She daubed her nose. “It is just that I can no longer deny Papa’s demise.” In that instant, she tried but failed to stifle a sob. “He is really gone. And we were not permitted to view his remains before his body was shipped, so we never got a chance to say goodbye.”

  “I am so sorry, Lenore.” With an expression of sympathy, Blake compressed his lips. “Do you know where he was buried?”

  “Yes.” She nodded. “I requested he be interred at St. Benet Gracechurch, with Mama.”

  “Then once you are situated, and the weather clears, I shall take you there.” Then he peered out the window, as they passed through a majestic gate. “Ah, we have arrived.”

  When the rig came to a halt, Blake opened the door, turned, lowered the stairs, and handed her to the pavement. After smoothing her skirts, Lenore glanced up and jolted alert.

  “Oh. My. God.” She blinked, as if the sight she beheld might magically disappear. “Is this a joke?”

  Stretched across one side of Grosvenor Square, the resplendent mansion, spectacular in its size and adornment, with a red brick façade and Corinthian columned entrance, manifested a grand gem among the more fashionable London residences. A trio of footmen, sporting powdered wigs and the now familiar livery, hurried from the front door, along with a very proper butler.

  “Welcome home, Your Grace.” The manservant bowed.

  Then she noted the tailored workers rushing to unload the trunks. And maids scurried to stand in line. The pageantry of what was, for her, a pedestrian task belied the prospect that her sea captain was, in truth, a not-so-noble nobleman.

  “Your Grace?” She gulped at the prospect. “Blake, what have you not told me? Is this possible, or am I lost in a nightmare? Are you—”

  “Yes.” He cast the characteristic and always irritating cat-that-ate-the-canary grin. “I am His Grace, the Duke of Rylan, but to you, Lenore, I am simply Blake. Of course, my darling, my sweetheart, or my innocent angel will do nicely, too.”

  “You did this on purpose to embarrass me.” Anger surged, charging her nerves, and she clenched her fists. “Why else would you deliberately withhold the fact that you are a member of the peerage?” Then an awful reality dawned. “Oh, I spent the night in your lap wearing nothing but my…my…and you saw me intoxicated.”

  With a lusty growl, he waggled his brows. “I did.”

  “This is dreadful, and we cannot stay with you.” To a passing attendant, she said. “Please, return our belongings to the coach, as we will take a room at a local establishment.”

  “Belay that order.” Blake grabbed her by the arm. “As my lady is going nowhere, and I have someone I wish you to meet.”

  “But, Your Grace, that is unacceptable.” Stumbling up the entrance stairs, she frowned as Lucy skipped alongside without a care in the world. “In regard to society, we are not out, and your family would never consider me a viable candidate for a wife.”

  “Is that your only objection?” He doffed his gloves, greatcoat, and hat.

  “You want more?” Frozen stock-still with panic, she could only shiver as he unfastened the hook of her pelisse.

  “Jennings, this is Miss Lenore Teversham and Miss Lucilla Teversham.” Blake deposited their outerwear with the butler. “They will be my guests until I command otherwise.”

  “Welcome, ladies.” The granite-faced manservant bowed. “I will have your trunks delivered to your respective chambers, and if there is anything I can do to make your stay more comfortable, I am at your service.”

  “Thank you.” Anchored at her antagonist’s side, she surveyed the imposing foyer, with its polished marble floor, walls covered with flock paper-hangings, featuring a repetitive mix of navy pastoral vignettes on a cream background, and rich polished oak trim.

  “Where is Her Grace?” Blake twined his fingers with Lenore’s.

  “In the back parlor, Your Grace.” Jennings flagged the servants, who paused for his direction.

  “Excellent.” With a swift yank, he steered her down an elegant hall, and she marveled at the Aubusson carpets, the bronze and gilt vases, and classical Greek ornamentation.

  “Your Grace, I beg you, stop.” She dug in her heels. “Blake Elliott, I mean it!”

  “How dare you raise your voice to me.” He stared down his nose, but when Lucy elbowed Lenore, and they curtseyed, he winked. “You know, I rather fancy this obedient aspect of your personality, and I intend to explore the benefits once we are married. Now, come with me.”

  As they stood before a door, he pressed a finger to his lips. Then he threw open the oak panel, charged forth, swept some poor, unwitting woman into a hug, and twirled her about like a child.

  “Blake, put me down.” Gowned to perfection, and her coiffed chestnut hair sprinkled with gray, she defined style and poise, until he kissed her cheek, with a loud smack, and she laughed. “My dear boy, it is good to have you back, safe and sound, on our shores.” Then she turned her animated blue gaze, so similar to her son’s, on Lenore and Lucy. “And who is this in our midst?”

  “Mama, may I present Miss Lenore Teversham and her younger sister, Miss Lucilla. Their father, General Horace Teversham, was killed in battle, and the ladies are our guests.” Blake extended his escort. “Lenore, Lucy, this is Her Grace, Sarah, the Duchess of Rylan, and my mother.”

  “Your Grace.” In unison, Lenore and Lucy curtseyed.

  “How wonderful to make your acquaintance.” The duchess inclined her head. “And may I express my sincere sympathies for your loss.”

  “Thank you, Your Grace.” Lenore dipped her chin. “You are very kind.”

  “Their uncle journeys to England from America, to settle the estate, at which time I shall negotiate a marriage contract, and Lenore will become my duchess. So I leave her to you, to discuss the preparations, as that is women’s work.” Then Blake rested a palm to Lucy’s shoulder and said, “And for Miss Lucilla, I have a huge library in want for some attention.”

  For several seconds, Lenore remained mute and unmovable, and the room was silent save the ticking of the mantel clock and the rapid pounding of her heart. Shocked by Blake’s arbitrary announcement, she swayed, grasped the b
ack of the sofa to steady herself, and stared at the duchess, who clutched a hand to her chest. Given the mere suggestion of nuptials, and anticipating disdain and reproach from her better, Lenore sought to allay any fears of an impending wedding. “Your Grace, I am so sorry.”

  “Nonsense, as it is my pleasure, and it is far greater than you can imagine, as I have been waiting for this day since he was born. Now, come in, my dear, and let me have a look at you.” The duchess ushered Lenore to an overstuffed chair. “I had thought to offer you some tea, but if you have been traveling with my son, I suspect you are in need of something much stronger. Would you care for a brandy?”

  “Your Grace, have you any rum?”

  #

  With triumph surging in his veins, and bawdy visions of Lenore, warm and soft on their wedding night, playing in his brain, Blake swaggered into White’s. In a mood to gloat, disappointment intruded on his celebration, when he discovered only three Brethren husbands present. Then again, those assembled were the most seasoned veterans in the game of love, so who better to congratulate Blake on his success than those who had gone before him?

  “Good evening, brothers.” On normal occasions, with Damian, Blake’s partner in crime, he would never venture into the unfamiliar, and downright terrifying, waters that encompassed matrimonial bliss. But things had changed, and Damian remained on a mission. “May I join you?”

  “What did I tell you?” Trevor chucked Everett’s shoulder. “Pay up.”

  “Never should I have doubted you.” Everett signaled the waiter. “Another round of drinks, and put it on my account.”

  “Now, now. Let us not rush to conclusions based on female gossip.” With a sly smile, Dirk canted his head. “So, what is new with you?”

  “What do you know?” With his sails deflated, he plopped into a chair. “And who told you?”

  “It was only this morning, while lounging in bed with my beautiful bride, that we were rudely interrupted by the delivery of an important missive from your mother, declaring a fashion emergency.” Trevor rolled his eyes. “You should have seen it, as the ensuing frenzy, such as I have never witnessed, excepting a troop movement Wellington would envy, occupied Caroline for the better part of an hour, as she organized selections to be sent to Elliott House. But I waited her out, as the energy she expended to locate dresses for your special lady, at last, sent her right back into my arms, and we finished what we started, however late.”

  “That is more than I wish to know about my little sister.” Blake took a healthy swig of brandy.

  “Oh, come now.” Trevor snorted. “Need I remind you how you found us aboard the Hera? We have three children and a fourth on the way. Just how do you think we managed that?”

  “I know how you managed it, and I will never forget how I found you.” And yet Blake flinched. “I just do not want to be confronted with it, as she will always be the freckled scamp who used to climb between the covers with me, when she was frightened.”

  “Well, take my word for it, she knows no fear between the covers with me.” Trevor snickered and chinked his glass with Everett’s.

  “Caroline told Sabrina.” Everett clucked his tongue. “We wish you merry.”

  “And she sent a note to Rebecca. Felicitations, Blake.” Dirk raised his balloon in toast. “So how did you meet this mystery fiancée?”

  “You may not believe it.” He recalled that fateful afternoon, Lenore’s fiery temper, and chuckled. “It was in Brussels. I almost ran over her with my horse, but I destroyed her favorite hat and showered her in mud.” He stretched his booted feet. “And she sent me to the devil for it.”

  “That is a first.” Leaning on an armrest, Dirk wrinkled his nose. “And was that when you decided to marry her?”

  “No.” As he mulled the circumstances that placed Lenore in his care, he sighed. “That came later, when she suffered a wicked bout of seasickness and spent the night, loaded to the gunwales, in my lap.” Then he narrowed his stare. “And before you cast any aspersions on my bride-to-be, I will have you know I have yet to bed her.”

  “Bloody hell.” Everett choked violently and wiped his mouth. “The mighty have fallen.”

  “As much as it pains me to admit it, this time I must agree.” With his mouth agape, Dirk blinked. “But I am honor-bound to confess I always figured you would be the last to surrender, if at all, to a woman. That you beat Elaine and Damian astounds me, and I know not how to respond.”

  “When is the big day?” Trevor propped his elbows on his knees and arched a brow. “Caroline was rather frustrated that your mother’s letter failed to mention it.”

  Blake had known there would be questions, regarding his nuptials, but he had not prepared any answers, because he had not anticipated the apparent glee his brothers took in his predicament. Given Lenore had yet to accept his proposal, not that he intended to let her choose otherwise, he had no firm response, and that bothered him.

  “Well, we have not settled the matter.” He twisted his signet ring to dispel his discomfit. “But we are to wed.”

  “What do you mean, ‘we have not settled the matter?’” Trevor’s expression of amusement irritated Blake. “Has she or has she not consented to marry you? And just who is this formidable creature that balks at dukes?”

  “Wipe that grin off your face.” Now Blake’s temper flared, as he detested loose ends, particularly when his future hung in the balance. “She is Miss Lenore Teversham.”

  “Not Horace’s daughter?” With a furrowed brow, Everett rubbed the back of his neck.

  “The very one.” Blake dipped his chin. “Do you know her?”

  “I transported them to the Continent some years ago.” Everett nodded. “I heard of his demise, and I am very sorry, as he was a good man.”

  “But let us not digress.” Trevor caught Blake in a wicked stare. “Out with it, brother.”

  “I am courting Lenore, but it is a mere formality.” He braced for all manner of sport at his expense. “And her consent is of no consequence, as she will marry me because I say so.”

  Uneasy quiet fell on their small group.

  Then the Brethren husbands burst into laughter.

  “Well this is going to be fun to watch,” Everett said between guffaws.

  “Might even best Dalton’s comedic, albeit successful, pursuit of Daphne.” Dirk snorted. “If you manage not to frighten your bride on your wedding night, you just might avoid an assault by hairbrush and a minor head injury.”

  “As well as a major blow to your ego.” Slapping his thigh, Trevor surrendered to mirth.

  In light of such absurdity, Blake could only indulge in a bit of hilarity. Yet inside a tempest brewed, as he pondered the various exploits that marked the sometimes exciting, on other occasions tedious, but always painful undertaking known as courtship. Why could a man not select his woman, haul her before the archbishop, speak the vows, and spend the remains of their days making heirs?

  Ah, how he longed to make Lenore his lady, in every way.

  As his brothers recapped myriad escapades, he reminisced of the night she spent in his arms, and a warm sense of fulfillment, mixed with something he had yet to identify, unfurled and spread from his chest. Without thought, he smiled.

  “Will you look at that?” Trevor elbowed Everett, who arched his brows.

  “Hell hath frozen.” Everett peered at Dirk. “And pigs have flown the sty.”

  “If I were not present, and you recounted events as they occurred, I would doubt you.” Then Dirk shook his head and glanced at Blake. “You care for her.”

  Prior to meeting Lenore, he had only to drop the name of his latest conquest, and the husbands ran for their wives. Given he endeavored to join their fraternal order of spouses, he could not risk offending them. Denial traipsed the tip of his tongue, but Blake was far too curious to challenge their conclusion. He tried to muster anger, as that never failed to forestall unwelcomed queries, yet he required their expertise in a particular area of importance.
<
br />   “How do you know?” The question left a foul taste in his mouth, as no man, sane or otherwise, would willingly broach the topic of engaged affections. “I mean, how can one be sure?”

  “The solution is elementary, old friend.” Trevor averted his gaze and grinned. “When you resolved to marry Lenore, at that very second, how did you feel?”

  As the Brethren husbands perched on the edge of their seats, Blake pondered the question. “Well, if memory serves, she was curled in my lap, three sheets to the wind, and belching, which I viewed as an improvement, as she had been vomiting uncontrollably for days.”

  “How romantic.” Everett grimaced and emptied his glass.

  “Actually, I found her unutterably charming.” And then he revisited her impromptu confession. “Lenore does not know it, but she shared some of her hopes and dreams, and all I knew was I wanted to be a part of her future.”

  “Yes, I can see that.” Trevor pointed for emphasis. “But how did you feel, deep inside, where you shelter those emotions you do your damnedest to conceal from everyone but your nephews?”

  Dirk and Everett sported identical expressions, which suggested Blake had just shown his winning hand in a game of cards he had never played. “Aside from the most stubborn erection known to humanity, it is difficult to explain.”

  “Try.” Dirk cast a side-glance at Everett and Trevor. “As we can relate.”

  “This is humiliating.” All of a sudden, Blake regretted entering White’s.

  “Oh, you have not even reached that level—yet.” Everett smirked. “You must concentrate, brother.”

  “Hell and the Reaper.” Closing his eyes, Blake relaxed, inhaled a calming breath, and slipped into sweet memories of his journey with the delicious elder Miss Teversham. “As Lenore snored, I studied the gentle lines of her classical features, and everything inside me ached to take her. I wanted her, more than I wanted any woman, yet I could not ruin her, and the thought of turning her into my mistress inspired violent disgust. Instead, my internal rudder steered me on a course I had never fathomed taking, at that time. Indeed, every inherent tendency came alert, my inner consciousness pointed in a single direction, the universe aligned, and my instinct proclaimed a remarkable truth so powerful that I could not ignore the revelation: She is the one.”