Rake to Riches (The London Lords Book 2)

by Nicola Davidson

  “Oh. Um…did it feel good?” she asked curiously, as she slowly lifted herself off him. “Can you describe it?”

  Despite the serious possible ramifications, he couldn’t help but laugh as took out a square of clean linen from his pocket to assist in cleaning them both. It seemed a chemist was a chemist no matter what the occasion.

  “Good doesn’t begin to describe how it felt. Like, ah, every part of me tightened then let go, and the whole time such heat and pressure around my cock, like a perfect massage. But Lou…my coming inside you could result in a pregnancy.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Don’t be ridiculous, it was only once…oh God. That is all it took for my mother and father to conceive me. Oh no. Oh bloody hell. George, what if I’m the same? What if I’m shockingly fertile and one time gets me with child?”

  Before he could say it didn’t bloody matter because they were getting married and she was going to be England’s premier countess chemist and that was that, there was a very distinct sound of a throat clearing from the door.

  Oh fuck.

  Turning his head, he looked into a furious pair of jade-green eyes. “Er…hello.”

  With a face like thunder, Caroline half-marched, half-waddled into the room. The sight was rather comical, but he valued his life too much to make a sound. “What, may I ask, is going on here?”

  Louisa shifted beside him, trying to discreetly yank down her dress. “With your belly in the shape it is, I think you already know the answer to that question, Caro dear,” she said surprisingly archly, and he blinked in admiration. People rarely went toe to toe with his twin.

  “The difference being that I am a married woman,” snapped Caroline.

  “Don’t be a goose,” said George. “If I had been a half hour later that day in the parlor, do you think I would have caught you and Stephen playing cards?”

  His twin’s cheeks reddened. “Utterly beside the point. I can’t believe you, George. She’s a virgin. And in a storage room? Really? For such a momentous—“

  “I’m not a virgin,” said Louisa bluntly, “before you start wailing and beating your breast over my ruination.”

  “But how? You’ve been in the country…oh. Oh. Well. So I am the last to know everything, then, happening with my dearest friend and my brother.”

  George winced as the anger on her face turned to pure hurt. “It’s not as simple as that, Caro. In fact, it’s a complicated tale with some damned fucking awful moments.”

  “I’ve got time. All the bloody time in the ahhhhhhh.”

  Seconds later his twin was hunched over the back of a chair, one hand pressed tightly to her belly.

  “Caro?” said Louisa with a startled gasp. “Are you all right?”

  “What is the matter?” he added anxiously. Christ, she’d gone pale, and because of his wounds, couldn’t even leap up to assist her.

  “Oh, nothing,” she replied shakily. “I’m just going to have a baby. Right now.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Forget what they said about a watched pot never boiling. A watched birthing chamber door never opened.

  Sighing in frustration, Louisa began pacing the hallway again. George and Howard were playing the world’s slowest game of chess, and Lord Westleigh had long discarded his ball jacket and cravat as he leaned against the wall and glared furiously at the door, as if any moment he was going to kick it down and charge inside. At least Caro was in the best hands, attended by Dr. Murray, Victoria Murray, plus her mother and the dowager countess.

  “I’m going in,” said Lord Westleigh abruptly. “It’s taking far too long. Bloody incompetent physician. What the hell would he know about childbirth?”

  Howard smiled at the earl with surprising tolerance, considering this was the sixteenth time Lord Westleigh had stated the intention. “I’m advised that Dr. Murray has assisted in the births of hundreds of babies, Stephen. And it takes as long as it takes. But don’t think I don’t sympathize. I’m quite certain Emily took a week to deliver. Or at least it felt like a week of pacing and drinking and vowing I’d put my cock in hibernation forever if she would just be well…er, beg pardon, Louisa.”

  Louisa waved away his apology. “Just forget I’m here. Actually, I’m amazed my parents permitted me to stay. What on earth did you say to them, Howard?”

  The duke shrugged. “That I would consider it a personal favor if they did. Not only for my daughter’s sake, but my son’s. I must mention, my dear, your mother actually curtsied while she dragged your father out the door. I’ve never seen anyone do that simultaneously.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Mother is nothing if not ambitious.”

  “Agreed,” said George, with a grin. “To my benefit. But still a fine effort, sir. You are weaving together affable American and uncompromising English duke most effectively. Right now there are peers across London wondering how on earth they were persuaded to happily depart the ball of the year when they were having such a splendid time consuming Stephen’s food and drink like locusts.”

  Howard had indeed done a fine job in “herding the cattle” as he’d laughing put it in his delightful accent. Not only had she and George been able to quickly refresh themselves and reappear in the ballroom as though they had been mingling the whole time, Lord Westleigh had been able to escape and assist Caroline into the chamber specially set aside for the birth, and also interrogate Dr. Murray when the man arrived.

  Suddenly the chamber door opened, and the dowager poked her head out. “Stephen, darling, this time I’m to inform you that you are a turnip-brained cretinous bastard, and should you ever try to get within three feet of your wife again, she will hurl you headfirst from….er, yes Caroline, dear, I’m telling him right now…no, I won’t forget the rest…ahem, she will hurl you headfirst from a balcony into a slimy pit full of…er, starving pox-ridden skunks and one large rabid badger. And before you ask, the doctor says everything is progressing in a satisfactory fashion.”

  Lord Westleigh scowled and moved to shoulder his way through the door, but his mother was too fast, closing and latching it in his face. So he sank back against the wall, and wearily rubbed the back of his neck. “Is the fact that Caro is getting much more specific in her threats now a good sign?” he muttered. “Progressing in a satisfactory fashion, my arse.”

  “Most definitely good,” said Howard. “We weren’t fortunate to have a large, sturdy townhouse like this, so between her pains, I heard firsthand through a sheet curtain what Emily wished to do to me with a pair of shearing scissors. George was born about a quarter hour later, and Linny three minutes after him.”

  Trying to remain quiet so they would almost forget she was here and keep up this fascinatingly informative banter, Louisa stared unseeingly at a pretty framed countryside landscape. In truth, she was desperately worried about Caroline, and hated being the only woman unaware of what was going on. While she’d managed to peruse one textbook regarding anatomy and reproduction, it had been damnably brief on the details of the birthing process. Instead, it had been infuriatingly thorough in discussing the superiority of male physicians over midwives, and how robust their techniques and tools were. Ugh. The sight of some of the tools, like a wooden birthing chair, and long, curved metal instruments called forceps had made her slam the book shut and hurl it away.

  Now she wished she’d read it cover to cover, just so she wasn’t so bloody clueless. Like what went on in the marital bed, this was another topic that it was damned medieval for young ladies to know nothing about.

  Lord Westleigh sighed. “I’ve said it once, and I’ll say it again. I’m certainly glad to be a man. We definitely don’t have the hard part of the process.”

  George wiggled his eyebrows. “Well, actually we do.”

  Desperate laughter erupted, threatening to shake the row of landscapes from their hooks. Howard almost tipped his chair over. Lord Westleigh slid down the wall in a heap, one hand clamped over his mouth. Louisa pressed a fist to her lips to muffle her own giggles, bu
t there was an element of surprise, too. The prospective father would probably never be entirely calm as he waited, but she’d never stopped to think about how anxious other men might be also. Well. This kind of firsthand insight was invaluable for a fact-seeker.

  When the mirth had died down, George stood up and went over to his friend, clapping him hard on the shoulder. “Come on, old man. You’ve made it thus far. And if Caro still has the ability to plot, and your mother the serenity to act as plot messenger, everything must be progressing just fine. Mama did mention once that first babies often take longer.”

  “Why thank you, Dr. Trentham, your vast knowledge on the topic is most appreciated,” said Lord Westleigh sardonically, but his shoulders relaxed ever so slightly.

  “You are most welcome…” replied George, his words trailing off as a very odd expression crossed his face.

  Louisa dashed forward and put her hand on his arm. “George? What is the matter?”

  He leaned down so his lips were directly next to her ear. “I just got the strongest feeling the reason it is taking so long is that there are two babies attempting to be born. I don’t know. Sometimes Caroline and I…we know things about the other. I used to send her quite mad when I would finish her sentences.”

  “Oh my,” she whispered back, and not for the first time, she mourned the fact she was an only child. “But how are you doing?”

  “Bit sore,” he admitted.

  Knowing she was breaking yet another rule—but at this point they had broken so many she didn’t even care anymore—Louisa wrapped her arms around him and rested her head against the uninjured side of his chest.

  Howard cleared his throat. “So, you two. When will the Grenvilles and the Donovans be making a joint announcement in the newspaper?”

  “Yes,” said Lord Westleigh. “For the sake of my storage room, which is still being revived with smelling salts after what Caro said it witnessed, I think a wedding should happen very, very soon.”

  Hot color scorched across Louisa’s cheekbones. Marriage to George? Even the thought of it made her heart skip a beat in excitement. But the last thing she wanted was a forced proposal, made because he had no choice. Even if their interlude in the storage room did complicate matters further, she wanted to marry for no other reason than love. And though George had demonstrated that he cared for her on numerous occasions, love was one thing they hadn’t ever declared to each other.

  Fortunately, before either of them could answer the pointed questions with words they might not be ready or willing to say, the birthing chamber door opened. This time, it was the physician, Dr. Murray, looking tired but pleased with himself.

  “Lord Westleigh.”

  The earl scrambled to his feet. “Yes?”

  “Congratulations. You’re a father. Her ladyship requests that you come in and see your family, who are all quite well.”

  He didn’t need to be told twice, practically sending the physician flying in his haste to get in the room.

  Howard stood and held out his hand. “Dr. Murray. Yet again, I must thank you for your impeccable care of the Grenvilles. May I ask…er…”

  “I had my suspicions, but wasn’t entirely sure until the moment occurred. Twins. Both girls, and a pleasingly healthy size,” said the physician in his usual brusque manner, but he did shake the duke’s hand. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a few more matters to take care of.”

  “My God,” said Howard, his lips twitching when the three of them were alone again. “Two little Linnys.”

  George burst out laughing. “Oh, this is splendid. Just splendid. Stephen might as well concede defeat right now. Ha!”

  Louisa mock-frowned at them both. “You never know, they could be the quietest, most ladylike little angels who ever lived.”

  “Highly unlikely,” said Howard.

  “With me as their uncle and you as their godmother?” said George. “Not a chance.”

  She grinned. “I think you may be right.”

  ~ * ~

  “Come here, you two. Come meet the babies. They are too excited to sleep just yet, it seems.”

  George sighed in relief at Stephen’s call from inside the candlelit chamber. He could barely keep his eyes open, and Louisa’s head kept falling onto his shoulder, but they had both wanted a peek before morning. Waiting for Dr. Murray and Victoria to depart, and the three grandparents to have their turn cooing over the girls, had been tough when he needed to see for himself that his twin was truly well, but apparently the hierarchy for newborn admiration was rigid and unchangeable.

  Fuck, he’d been a mess of nerves. How Stephen hadn’t lost his mind entirely, he could only marvel at, and tip his hat to any man anywhere who had paced halls waiting and praying that nothing terrible happened to either mother or child, as grim history said it so easily could. If anything, his life at Chateau Hell and the events at Gloucestershire proved no moment should be wasted.

  Which was why in the morning he was going to make an appointment to see Bertram Donovan and gain permission to ask Louisa to marry him. The next wickedly erotic interlude they shared would be as man and wife. He wasn’t just here for her pleasure. Well, perhaps he was, but if she wanted it, she had to make an honest man of him first, damn it.

  Taking Louisa’s hand, the two of them ambled into the room and made their way over to the large, elegantly carved wooden cradle standing near the center of the room.

  “They’re so…tiny,” said George, startled, as he hesitantly ran a fingertip over a miniature, satin-soft fist that had escaped its linen swaddle. Both tiny yet absolutely beautiful, with rosy cheeks and a dusting of Forsyth brown hair on their heads. But he suspected those wide blue eyes were going to darken to Grenville green, and God help his friend then. These little ladies were going to break hearts and cause serious mayhem.

  “I know,” said Stephen as he nudged the cradle with one hand to keep it gently swaying. “After the quality and severity of the threats, I thought my daughters would be toddler size at least…birthing these two would have been easy.”

  George glanced over at his sleeping twin. He’d heard Caro talking for a while as the two Murrays expertly tidied, but she had probably succumbed to exhaustion soon after. It was no small relief to see her color was normal and her breathing regular. “Say that when she is awake, and you can name your price.”

  “Don’t be bloody daft.”

  “Congratulations, Lord Westleigh,” said Louisa warmly. “Your girls are just lovely.”

  “Stephen,” said his friend with a weary smile. “Just Stephen for family. And we are going to be family, are we not?”

  Damnation, Louisa had that hesitant look in her eyes again. How could she not know how he felt? He’d shown her, hadn’t he?

  She started to say something, then paused and eventually murmured, “I just can’t wait to go shopping for my goddaughters. The nursery should brace itself.”

  Stephen shot her an alarmed look. “Can I request that any laboratory equipment or materials of an explosive nature at least wait until their first birthday?”

  “No,” said George. “Not when such gifts will combine so well with the swords I’m planning to commission. Twins need weapons. That is a fact.”

  “A mini catapult would be just the thing,” said Louisa, nodding thoughtfully. “Saves the need to walk across the room with toys.”

  He smiled in admiration. “We’ll need to obtain some animals, too. All children should have pets. But let’s not be dull and get a puppy or kitten. I’m thinking a rooster. Or perhaps…their own skunk family?”

  “Get out,” said Stephen. “Both of you. My girls are going to defy all odds and love poetry and watercolors and embroidery, and that is the end of it.”

  George shook his head. “Far too much delusion for such an allegedly intelligent individual. You really think Caroline’s offspring, and the granddaughters of my mother and your mother, will be so conventional?”

  “Of course,” said Stephen, without a shr
ed of conviction in his voice.

  “There, there,” said Louisa kindly. “We’ll add some hartshorn to the packages for you. Perhaps the rooster could be trained to fetch on command.”

  “OUT.”

  His shoulders rocking with laughter, George offered Louisa his arm, and they left one flustered and very pale new father behind them. Even as tired and uncomfortably sore as he was, he needed to have her to himself. “That went well, I thought.”

  Louisa snorted as they walked down the hallway to their allocated guest chambers. “We won’t be allowed to see the girls until they make their come out, now. Actually, no, probably when they celebrate their thirtieth birthdays. Poor Stephen. Sharing a house with his mother, his wife, and twin daughters. He’ll need nerves of steel.”

  “Speaking of steel,” said George, “what happened with your parents’ carriage on the way here? I meant it when I said I was worried at how late you were.”

  She frowned. “Actually, it was the oddest thing. We were all ready to depart, and then I noticed that one of the wheels looked slightly crooked. I can’t help it—since we had the accident outside of Cheltenham, I’m forever studying carriages and curricles and phaetons now, looking at their sturdiness and balance for safety.”

  Unaccountably, icy fear slithered down his spine. “A loose bolt?”

  “No. One of the shafts was nearly broken, like it had been travelling for miles and miles over nothing but rocks. It was odd, because the footmen who do the oiling and maintenance are usually very thorough and are swift to replace parts. Although I suppose you would have to be looking very closely to notice it. I hated to be late to the ball, but I’m not sure the carriage would have lasted even the short journey here.”

  His heart thudding, George pulled her into her guest chamber. “Promise me you’ll never go anywhere alone. Actually, I’d prefer it if you had six footmen and travelled by Grenville carriages at all times.”