Third Son's a Charm

by Shana Galen

  “Have you told her that? Have you told His Grace?”

  Lorrie bit her lip.

  “Ask yourself, my lady, is love enough?”

  Lorrie closed her eyes, weariness suddenly pounding down on her. “I don’t know, Nell. But I have to believe it will be.”

  * * *

  Ewan entered the duke’s library, keenly aware that while the dark paneled room with its shelves and shelves of books had not changed since he had first stepped into it, he had changed a great deal.

  The duke looked up from his desk, a smile on his face. “Mr. Mostyn, no doubt you will feel better after a bath and a change of clothing.”

  Ewan nodded.

  The duke gestured to his desk, littered with papers Ewan could never hope to read. “I have here details on several of my properties in the north of England. None of them are more than modestly successful, but I think with a man like you managing them, they would be bettered. In exchange for your service to my family, I’d like to gift you with one of them.”

  He continued speaking, but Ewan could not hear over the rushing in his ears. His own property. His own house and land. Tenants and a living. He had never hoped for so much.

  And yet, he knew it would never be enough.

  “Thank you, but no,” Ewan said, interrupting the duke.

  Ridlington scowled. “May I ask why you dismiss my offer without even hearing all of the details?”

  “Because I can’t be bought.”

  “I beg your pardon!” Ridlington stood. “I resent that accusation.”

  “You want to give me a property so I will go away and leave Lady Lorraine to your designs.”

  “I didn’t say that, but I would expect you to live on the land I gift you. And the lady in question is my daughter. I do not have designs on her.”

  “I wish to ask for her hand in marriage.”

  “Good God.” The duke rubbed the back of his neck as though attempting to unknot it. “The duchess warned me this would happen.”

  “Then you will have prepared an answer. Before you give it, let me be frank with you.”

  The duke raised his brows and gave Ewan a steely look. “Go on.”

  “It gives me no pleasure to confess that my actions toward your daughter have not been wholly honorable.”

  “I see.” The duke went rigid, though his expression showed no surprise.

  “We were alone at an inn, and I…took advantage of the situation. I take full responsibility. And now I wish to do the right thing and marry her.”

  “No,” the duke said.

  The single word was like a pistol shot booming through the room. Ewan could only stare at the duke.

  “Take the land and go. You will not have my daughter.”

  Rage began to build inside Ewan, but he tamped it down with a fierceness borne out of long practice. “She is ruined, Your Grace. She may be carrying my child.”

  “The child, if there is one, will not be a bastard. She will be married posthaste.” The duke sat back at his desk, evidently dismissing Ewan.

  “But not to me.”

  “Not to you, sir. She is the daughter of a duke, the granddaughter of a duke, and a distant relation to the King. She will marry a man whose rank and position are equal to hers.”

  “A man who needs her dowry.”

  The duke looked up sharply. “That is not your concern. Now, I suggest you accept my offer of land before I withdraw it.”

  “No,” Ewan said. “Good day, Your Grace.”

  The duke rose. “You are no longer welcome in this house, Mostyn.”

  Ewan stalked toward the door.

  “Do not come back, sir.”

  Ewan opened the door and slammed it shut behind him. He barreled through the vestibule, his peripheral vision colored with red. He didn’t see Lorraine until it was almost too late. He had to catch her shoulder else he would have knocked her over.

  “I heard,” she said breathlessly once she’d regained her balance. “I’m sorry, but I eavesdropped outside the library.”

  Of course she had. He should have expected it.

  “What are we to do?” she asked, looking up at him with those green eyes that were almost too pretty to be real. She looked to him to save her, and he could not.

  “I’m leaving.”

  “And will you take me?” she asked.

  He wanted to scoop her up and carry her away. He wanted to hold her against him and kiss her until she clung to him and begged for more. He could do it too. He could carry her out of her father’s house. No one could stop him. God help them if they tried, but once outside, where would he take her? To Langley’s? Were they to live at a gaming hell? What kind of life would that be for her?

  “No,” he said. “Goodbye.”

  Lorrie gaped at him. “That’s it?” She caught his arm, and though she was not strong enough to stall him, he paused. “That is all you have to say to me?”

  “What do you want me to say?”

  She shook his arm, her eyes pleading. “I don’t know! I love you? I want to marry you? Please come with me?”

  Ewan blew out a breath. “Fairy tales.”

  “They don’t have to be.”

  “I’m no prince, my lady. I’m a former soldier and an illiterate brute. You deserve better than me.”

  “I don’t want better than you!”

  “I want better for you.” He lifted her hand from his sleeve and bent until he could look directly into her eyes. “Goodbye.”

  It took great effort, but he managed to lift his leaden feet and make slow, plodding progress toward the door. The butler opened the door with a sniff, his nose in the air. Ewan stepped forward, leaving the house, but not before he heard a muffled sob and the sound of slippered feet running away.

  Twenty-three

  She threw herself on the bed, sobbing until no more tears remained. Sobbing until her head ached, her eyes stung from the tears, and her pillow was damp. When Nell came, Lorrie ordered her away. She ignored her mother’s pleas for her to come to dinner, and she threw a book at the door when her father dared knock.

  Welly she allowed to comfort her. The puppy licked her face and whimpered quietly before lying next to her and watching her with large brown eyes.

  “He doesn’t deserve me, you know,” she told the dog, stroking his soft brown ears. “If he won’t fight for me, he’s not worth these tears.”

  Welly whined and pushed his nose into Lorrie’s hand.

  “I should forget him.” She laid her cheek on the coverlet and closed her eyes. A moment later they popped open again. “No. I should give him a piece of my mind.” She sat, and Welly bounced up too, his tail wagging. “He thinks he will just walk away? I won’t make it so easy.” She stood and bent to retrieve her half boots. Shoving them on, she ran to her dressing room to pull a cloak over the simple day dress in white with pink roses at the hem Nell had dressed her in after her bath. A glance in the mirror told her she looked a fright. Her hair was half pinned up and half falling down, and her nose was red, her eyes swollen. She didn’t care. If she was to play the part of the shrew, she might as well look like one.

  She flung open the curtains of her window and blinked at the tree outside. “Wretched man,” she muttered, remembering that he’d had it trimmed to prevent her from sneaking out. She would have to take the servants’ stairs. They were busy serving the family dinner, so she need only worry about the valets and maids. If she was lucky, they would be occupied ironing clothing for the morrow or repairing hems or buttons that had come loose.

  With a last pat for Welly, Lorrie crept out of her room, down the stairs, and out into the night.

  The hackney moved faster than she had anticipated, and she arrived at the address on St. James’s Street before she had an adequate speech prepared. She’d never been on St. James’s at
night, and she could not help but gawk at the young men prowling about and calling to the women on the street, who called right back to them.

  She pulled her hood close about her face and hopped down when the driver opened the door. “Here you are, miss. Are you certain this is where you want to go?”

  She pressed a few coins into his hand. “Yes, thank you.”

  “Should I wait for you, miss?”

  She shook her head. “No.”

  Taking a deep breath, she entered the club. A man almost as large as Ewan immediately stepped in front of her, blocking her way. Arms folded over his chest, he watched the men coming and going with narrowed eyes. Lorrie scooted around him, almost wishing he had tried to stop her. Stepping into the gambling hell was like entering another world.

  Smoke from cheroots hovered in the air, making everything look hazy and murky. The candles from the chandeliers twinkled almost too brilliantly, illuminating the too-bright eyes of the men and the too-red cheeks of the women. A few turned to look at her as she entered, but she kept her gaze down. Laughter rose up around her, making her jump, and a man wobbled back, drink in hand, almost ramming into her. Lorrie skidded around him and headed for the stairs.

  Another man, wider than he was tall, blocked her way. “This area is closed.”

  Lorrie hadn’t expected to be stopped. She took a step back. “But I have to pass.”

  “No entry,” the man said.

  “I’m a friend of Mr. Mostyn,” she said, pushing her hood back slightly so he might see her face. “Please.”

  The man’s eyes widened, then narrowed. “Does your mother know you’re here?”

  Lorrie blinked. “Do you know my mother?”

  “No, but if I did, she’d want me to send you back where you come from. Go home, little girl.”

  “I will. After I see Mr. Mostyn. Please.”

  The man gave her an exasperated look.

  “Please.”

  Blowing out a breath, the man glanced around. “Fine,” he said, his voice low. “Go quickly before you cause us all more trouble than you’re worth.”

  “Thank you!”

  “Go!”

  She hurried up the stairs, holding her skirts out of her way. Trying to keep her head down in the vain hope she wouldn’t be seen, Lorrie hurried to Ewan’s room. Oh, she had done it now. Her father would murder her for this outrageous behavior, and he’d have every right to do it too. She halted outside Ewan’s door, took a moment to catch her breath, then rapped sharply on the thin wood.

  No answer.

  Lorrie rapped again. Oh Lord. What would she do if he were not here? She had not even considered that possibility. “Ewan!” she said, leaning close to the door. “Open the door.”

  No sound but the laughter of the people below and the rattle of dice.

  “Ewan!” she said louder.

  The door flung open, and Ewan stared down at her, his pale blue eyes shooting her looks laced with white-hot fire.

  “Don’t stand there.” Lorrie looked over her shoulder. “Let me in.” Not waiting for him to comply, she shouldered her way in, forcing him to take a step back. Once inside, she leaned on the door, closing it firmly.

  The room was as bare as she remembered it, and Ewan was as starkly handsome as ever. His strong features—the sharp cheeks, the blunt nose, the wide eyes—were so familiar to her now that she almost did not fear the hot fury coming off him.

  Almost.

  Lorrie held up a hand. “Do not say anything.” She shook her head. “Oh, never mind. You never say anything. But hear me out before you throw me out.”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  She glared at him. “Now you choose to become loquacious? When I have something to say?”

  He settled his hands on his hips, making the open V of his shirt part further and stretching the material across his chest. Looking past him, she noted his coat lay on the bed, as did a valise he seemed to be in the process of packing. “You always have something to say.”

  “Is that why you won’t marry me?”

  “No. I usually like hearing what you have to say.”

  Lorrie had to restrain herself from diving into his arms. The taut material of his shirt was making her just a little light-headed. She knew what his chest looked like under that shirt, and she needed to press her cheek to it, her lips, her teeth, once or twice or a thousand times more.

  “Then why?”

  “I told you already.”

  “Fine. Then I have come to tell you how ridiculous you are. How can you think you are not worthy of me? I’ve done nothing but been born to titled parents. I haven’t earned a thing I’ve been given, whereas you are a hero and a self-made man.”

  He looked about the room. “I have not made much of myself.”

  “By whose standards? You had the courage to thumb your nose at your father and all of Society. Can you not do it again? For me?” She pointed to the valise. “Don’t run away.”

  “Yes.”

  Lorrie blinked. “Yes what?”

  “If you would ever ask a question and wait for an answer, our conversations might be easier.”

  Lorrie caught her breath. “Are we to have more conversations then?”

  He sighed. “And yet another question.”

  She held out both hands, forestalling him—though he was unlikely to speak again. “One question.” She closed her eyes. This was the only question that mattered. “Do you love me?”

  The silence seemed to drag on forever, and then she felt his warm hand take hers. She opened her eyes.

  “Yes,” he said softly.

  Lorrie’s heart hammered so hard she pitched forward. He caught her, and she pressed her cheek to his shirt, inhaling his clean scent. “Please do not go away.”

  “I must.”

  She clutched the linen beneath her cheek. “Why?”

  “Because I cannot obtain a special license in London.”

  Lorrie stilled, then looked up and up until she met his gaze. “A special license.”

  He nodded.

  “Then you do want to marry me? And you… Oh, wait. One question at a time. You do want to marry me?”

  “Yes.” His thumb stroked her cheek so lightly and so gently she felt the sting of tears.

  “But you told me—”

  “What I told you still stands. I’m not worthy of you, but since you do not seem to agree, and since I took advantage of you in Edgware, I will do my duty and marry you.”

  Well, it wasn’t romantic, but it was the best she could hope for from him. And he’d admitted he loved her. He loved her!

  “I can’t marry you and have you live here at Langley’s.”

  “Oh, I don’t mind! We can fix it up with some bright curtains and we’ll put Welly’s bed in that corner and—”

  He put a finger over her lips. “I have another proposal. Draven has offered to assist me in a new venture. I will open a boxing club and give instruction in pugilism.”

  Lorrie’s mouth dropped. She would never have thought of such an idea, but it really was the perfect role for him. She could see he thought so as well. His eyes were bright with excitement.

  He nudged her chin to close her mouth, then covered her lips with his finger. “I told Draven no before because I am no businessman. But if you consent to marry me and if you will help me—”

  “Of cour—”

  He tapped her lips again. “If you will read contracts and legal notices and keep the books, then I will give it a go.”

  Lorrie nodded, and Ewan removed his finger. “I will do all of that and more, but on one condition.”

  He raised a brow.

  “That is only my role temporarily. Because I know that you will read, Ewan. I’ll teach you or we will find someone who knows how.”

  He too
k her hand, such love in his eyes, and she knew it was rare for others to show faith in him and hers meant all the more because of the death in his life.

  “And I think Lieutenant Colonel Draven’s idea is a marvelous one. You shall be on par with Gentleman Jackson in no time.” She laced her hands around his neck and pulled his mouth to hers. “But even if you were a beggar, I would still love you.” She kissed him lightly. “I love you no matter what, Ewan Mostyn.”

  He made a low sound in his throat, and she understood the sound was one of desire. His hands came around her waist, pulling her close so she fitted against him. This big, hard body would be hers. Ewan would be hers for the rest of their lives.

  His mouth came down on hers, his kisses far harder than hers had been and that much more satisfying. She pressed harder against him, sliding her hands down his back and yanking his shirt out of his trousers, then pushing it up and up until he had to stop kissing her to drag it over his head.

  He would have lowered his lips to hers again, but she took a step back. “I will never tire of looking at you,” she said, trailing a hand down his chest and watching the muscled skin pebble with goose flesh.

  “Nor I you.”

  She needed no further urging and untied her hat, then began to undo the fastenings of her pelisse. His gaze seemed riveted to her movements, but he said, quietly, “Perhaps we should wait until after the wedding.”

  Her hands stilled. He must think her a harlot to behave so. She glanced up at him. “If that is what you want…”

  “Is it what you want?” he asked, voice thick.

  “God no.”

  “Good.”

  And then she was in his arms again, his hands working on her clothes as deftly as his mouth teased the sensitive skin at her neck. By the time she wore only a chemise and stockings, she was breathing hard and her body felt as though it were on fire.

  Ewan pulled her to the bed, swept the valise and the clothing off it with one gesture of his hand, then laid her down. Just as quickly, he tugged her up again and pulled the chemise from her.

  Lorrie laughed when he tossed it carelessly behind him. She bent to untie her garters, but he took her hands. “Leave them.”

  Hands on her waist, he eased her into a sitting position on the bed and knelt between her legs, spreading them. Then he unfastened the fall of his trousers and that glorious male part of him sprang free. She had not imagined the size of him before. He was large and thickly veined and absolutely beautiful. She ran a hand over him, marveling at the smooth skin overlaying the hard iron of his erection.