To Bed the Baron (Girls Who Dare Book 9)

by Emma V. Leech

  Chapter 12

  My dear Miss Hunt,

  You will not credit how relieved I was to receive your letter. I feared I had ruined any chance I had at gaining your good opinion with my actions. I know well how easy it would be to perceive what I have done in the light Mr Burton has presented it and I am humbled by your belief in me, if you can imagine such an unlikely thing. I confess no one has ever achieved it before. Only you.

  I enclose the address of the charitable foundation you enquired about. It is admirably run by Mr Bernard Wheatcroft. I am certain he would be pleased to hear from you.

  I will not deny that I am happy to have ruined Mr Burton’s chances with you. I am wholeheartedly glad to have done so. I promise you that if he ever has the misfortune to cross my path, I shall make him pay for having abused you so, the vile wretch. I don’t believe it can come as a surprise to you that I have disliked him from the outset. Whilst I cannot pretend that my personal feelings have not played a part in my animosity, it was by far the only reason. My only regret is that I have caused you a moment’s pain. For that I do have regrets, and yet I would not change what I have done. I hope you can forgive me that. I have seen men do wicked and horrifying things during my life, but what I discovered in those mills will haunt me the rest of my days.

  I think of you more than I ought, Miss Hunt. I would see you again. If you would allow it.

  ―Excerpt of a letter from The Most Honourable Lucian Barrington, Marquess of Montagu to Miss Matilda Hunt.

  7th February 1815. Mitcham Priory, Sussex.

  Solo stared up into the darkness of the room. Never had he felt such a barrage of emotions battering him from all sides. He’d been turned inside out, his heart laying unprotected on the wrong side of his ribs. The scars he bore prickled with awareness, as though her touch had brought the dead skin back to life, as though she’d brought him back to life. He’d been damn close to weeping at her tenderness, at the pride in her eyes… pride for him. The longing to make love to her, to make her his own, had been matched only by the regret and confusion he felt. This woman, this extraordinary, beautiful woman cared for him, for surely there was no actress born who could play the part with such sincerity? The idea of taking her virtue and not offering her marriage in return had been a physical pain in his heart, as though the bayonet that had struck his flesh had returned to skewer him for his wickedness. It wasn’t only that he wanted to make things right for her; he wanted her beside him, always. He wanted to walk through the village with her on his arm, to have everyone know that she was his, and that he loved and admired her beyond… beyond anything. The thought of her being shamed before everyone if they discovered their affair made his skin hot, his stomach roil. It was him who ought to feel ashamed. Not her. Never her.

  So, although he’d been painfully aroused, although he knew she would welcome his body into hers, he’d not made love to her. Even now his body ached with desire, with her proximity, and he did not know what to do for the best. He was only flesh and blood, and he doubted his ability to deny himself the pleasure of the warm body curled about his for long. He was not that noble, and yet he must do it. For the first time in his life, he regretted the promise he’d made Hyacinth. Not because he deserved her forgiveness, not because the ghost of her brother would ever leave his heart, but because the vow he made hurt one who ought never suffer a moment’s pain. Jemima deserved a man to honour and love her, and he could only love her, and how could that ever be enough?

  It seemed ridiculously foolish to have lost his heart with such speed, but he realised it had been happening since the first time he’d seen her, blushing with nerves in the bookshop. Had that only been a month ago? It did not seem possible.

  Jemima stirred in his arms, murmuring his name, the syllables softened and hazy with sleep as she snuggled in closer to him. His cock twitched, desire lancing through him as her hip nudged it, her silky skin the devil’s own torment to his tortured flesh.

  “Hush,” he murmured, stroking her hair and battling the longing to allow his fingers to wander elsewhere, to explore the undiscovered places he longed to seek out with his hands and mouth. “I’m here. Sleep now.”

  His vision blurred, the dim outline of her face clouding as he blinked hard. Oh, God. What was he to do?

  ***

  10th February 1815. Briar Cottage, Mitcham Village, Sussex.

  “Matilda!”

  Jemima exclaimed as Bessie showed Matilda into her parlour. Her friend looked as exquisite as always, in a fine Jaconet muslin morning gown with a deep rose pink spencer and matching kid boots, gloves, and bonnet. She was the height of fashion and utterly stunning. When Jemima considered how very kind and generous she was too, she could not understand how the idiot men of the ton did not see her true worth. They were fools.

  “My word, what a surprise this is,” she said, flinging her embroidery to one side without a backwards glance and rushing to greet her.

  “A good one, I hope,” Matilda said, and her hesitant enquiry made Jemima realise she really wasn’t sure.

  With regret, she remembered how she had refused Matilda’s offer to accompany her to her new home and stay until she settled in. Jemima had hurt her, when Matilda had been so very kind, and she regretted that profoundly.

  “The very best,” she said firmly.

  Matilda smiled, the doubt Jemima had noticed fleeing. Impulsively, she hugged Matilda tight.

  “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, having by now seen the scandal sheets and all the news of Mr Burton’s perfidy.

  Matilda took a deep breath as Jemima released her.

  “I am not,” she said, lifting her chin, a flash of fury in her blue eyes. “I only regret being so taken in by that… that wicked man. Thank heavens I never married him, but I have no wish to discuss him further. Not now, at least.”

  Jemima nodded, knowing Matilda would speak of it in her own time if she changed her mind.

  “Now, come and tell me everything,” Jemima said, once Bessie had taken Matilda’s spencer, bonnet, and gloves and hurried off to prepare a tea tray. Jemima tugged at Matilda’s hand, pulling her to sit down at her side. “What have I missed? What news from the Peculiar Ladies?”

  Matilda laughed and Jemima felt a rush of happiness at seeing her here, in her new home. A sliver of apprehension struck at her heart as she wondered if Matilda would be so happy for her once she knew the truth, but she pushed it aside. Her friends would not forsake her. She was certain of it.

  They discussed everyone’s news and devoured a goodly quantity of cake as they sipped their tea and Matilda caught her up on everything she’d missed. There was not so very much as letters flew back and forth between all the women with astonishing regularity and Jemima felt privileged to be included among their number. They had never forgotten her, despite her fading into the background. Once their gossiping and laughter abated, Jemima decided she ought to tell Matilda the truth. Her heart picked up speed as she set her teacup down, afraid her hands would tremble too badly once she spoke.

  “There is something I must tell you.”

  There must have been a note to her voice that alerted Matilda to the seriousness of what she wished to say, for she too set her cup and saucer aside, and reached for Jemima’s hands.

  “What is it, Jem? Is something wrong?”

  “No,” Jemima said, smiling. “At least, I don’t believe there is anything wrong, and I hope that you will not judge me too harshly.”

  She hesitated, wondering how to put into words what had passed between her and Solo. She didn’t want it to sound cheap and tawdry, not when… Jemima remembered the night they had spent together and felt her heart ache. She did not know how things stood between them now though. He had treated her so tenderly, not taking what she would have willingly given, yet in the morning she had woken alone. When she’d gone down for breakfast, he had been waiting for her, smiling and kind and so very attentive, and he’d avoided her ever since.

  “Jemima, I could ne
ver judge you.”

  Matilda’s words were firm, her eyes filled with concern, and Jemima forced herself back to the moment.

  She nodded and took a deep breath. “My aunt died penniless. In fact, there were bills I could not pay.”

  “Oh, Jem.” Matilda squeezed her hands tight. “Why ever didn’t you tell me? You must know I would have helped you. I would have done so gladly.”

  “I know.” Jemima blinked back tears as she regarded her friend. “I know you would have, but where would it have ended, Matilda? Would you have kept me until I was an old lady? How could I burden you so, and how could you stop supporting me once you’d begun? I would have become a millstone about your neck. I have no skills with which to find employment, I could not gain a situation as a governess, and my stitching is adequate at best. You know the only options open to me.”

  She saw the moment Matilda understood, saw the acceptance of how she had gained this lovely home, the pretty new gown, all of it. There was no judgement in her eyes, only anxiety.

  “What kind of man is he?” she asked, her voice faint, gripping Jemima’s hands tightly. “Is he kind to you? Does… Does he…?”

  “Yes, and I love him.”

  The words startled Jemima far more than Matilda, who let out a breath of relief. It was true, though. She loved him. She loved Solo.

  “Oh, Jem.” Matilda threw her arms about Jemima and burst into tears.

  “Oh, Tilda, dearest, don’t cry for me. I’m happy. Happier than I could ever have believed. I know perhaps I ought to be ashamed of what I have done, of what I have become, and perhaps I will be when it becomes known. I suppose it must become known one day, these things always do, but I cannot regret it. I will not.”

  Matilda fumbled for a handkerchief, wiping her eyes and blowing her nose noisily. Once she had calmed herself, she looked back at Jemima, her gaze direct and unblinking.

  “You’re truly happy?”

  Jemima nodded. “Strange, isn’t it? I cannot help but think fate has put us together. He is such a good man, Matilda. So kind, and he has suffered. He does not believe he deserves happiness and has shut himself away from the world, but the opposite is true. If anyone deserves to be happy, it is Solo.”

  Matilda started. “Solo? Not Solomon Weston? Lord Rothborn?”

  Jemima nodded.

  “Good heavens.” She stared at Jemima for a long moment and then smiled. “Well, I did not expect that. I always thought he’d been ill used, though. That such a man, a war hero, should be treated so by that awful woman.” Matilda tutted and shook her head. “I never did like her.”

  “You know her?” Jemima said eagerly, realising she was hoping that Matilda would tell her how dreadful the woman was. She found she was unwilling to chastise herself for such unchristian behaviour.

  To her disappointment, Matilda only shrugged. “Barely. Nate knew her better, I believe. I know that she jilted Lord Rothborn, though. Broke his heart, by all accounts.”

  A burst of jealousy surged through Jemima, so fierce it left her breathless and a little shaken.

  “She did more than that,” she said, quite unable to keep the anger from her voice. “She’s burdened him with the death of her brother, blamed him for something he had no hand in.”

  At Matilda’s enquiring look, Jemima explained the story, and was gratified by the disgust in her friend’s eyes.

  “What a heartless creature she must be. It is gratifying to know I am not always such a terrible judge of people, for I thought she had a cruel streak.”

  There was such bitterness in Matilda’s tone that Jemima was taken aback.

  “We were all taken in by Mr Burton, Tilda. How many of us encouraged you to marry him?”

  Matilda stared down, plucking fretfully at the lace edge of the clean handkerchief Jemima had given her. “It’s not just him.”

  Jemima sighed. “Montagu.”

  “It was Montagu who exposed the scandal in the mills, Jemima. He’s taken them over and is making them safe, giving the workers fair wages and providing schools for the children. He’s established a charity to provide for those injured, and for the families of those who died.”

  “My goodness.” Jemima had to admit that was a shock. She would never have believed the proud marquess to even be aware of the lower classes, let alone imagine he would bestir himself to help them. “He has done all this?”

  A flicker of doubt clouded Matilda’s eyes. “I know he exposed the scandal. I know those things have been done, though anonymously. I… I believe he is responsible.” Yet there was a tremor of uncertainty in her voice.

  “Matilda?”

  Little by little, Jemima coaxed the rest of it out of her, the letter from Mr Burton and his accusations, the meeting with Montagu’s uncle, and the letter from the marquess. Jemima could well understand her confusion. It was easy to believe Montagu the devil of the piece, and she was on the verge of telling Matilda that she should run from him when she thought of Solo. He had punished himself for years for something that was not his fault. What if Matilda’s instincts had been correct, and Montagu was a good man beneath the ice cold exterior? It was hard to believe, nigh on impossible if Jemima was honest, but perhaps he deserved a chance to explain himself.

  “What will you do?”

  Matilda made a choked sound. “I have no idea.”

  “Will you tell him about his uncle?”

  “I promised I would not, though it troubles me to keep such a thing secret. Jem, you must not breathe a word of it either. Promise me.”

  Jemima tutted at her. “As if I would! Of course I promise. What else is known about his family, though? I know his parents and his older brother, the Earl of Lyndon, died in a carriage accident.”

  “What?” Matilda paled, staring at her, and Jemima looked back in surprise.

  “You didn’t know?”

  She shook her head.

  “Well, it was years ago,” Jemima said. “My aunt lived for the scandal sheets, though. I always knew far more about what was happening in the ton than about our own neighbours,” she said with a laugh and then grew serious when Matilda said nothing. “Montagu could only have been a boy at the time. I think his brother, the earl, was only seventeen and Montagu is a fair bit younger. The only reason I know is that my aunt would indulge in stories of all the highborn fashionable people and tell me their histories. I think secretly she longed for me to marry a duke.”

  “I must have been too small to hear anything of it then,” Matilda said quietly. “I knew he had a brother who’d died, and that he’s his niece’s guardian, but little more than that. I assumed he had always been the heir to the marquessate.”

  “You were perhaps thinking of the death of his younger brother, then. Miss Barrington is Lord Thomas Barrington’s daughter. That’s much more recent.”

  Matilda’s hand went to her throat. “Oh, my. He lost two brothers and his parents?”

  “Yes.” Jemima wondered for the first time what that might do to a man. “I don’t know the circumstances of the younger brother’s death. I seem to recall my aunt was curious about it. She said there were murmurs about the circumstances in which he died, but if there was a scandal it was hushed up. It must have been five years ago, at least.” She watched as Matilda absorbed this. “Have you met the niece?”

  She nodded. “Twice. Once when he took her for ices at Gunter’s, the other time at an art gallery.”

  Jemima considered this. “That hardly seems like she’s being kept a prisoner.”

  “No,” Matilda agreed, her face softening. “And she clearly adores him. I would say the feeling is mutual. He worries for her.”

  “But you still doubt him?”

  Matilda threw up her hands. “Not in my heart, no. When I’m with him, I believe the things he tells me, but it appears my judgement is not to be relied upon… and you didn’t see his uncle. How can one judge a man on such a brief meeting? But he seemed so… so genuine, so sincere. He was also a good friend of Lord
Fitzwalter, who is such a dear man.”

  Jemima studied her, wishing she could help. “Will you see Montagu again, as he has asked you to?”

  There was a short laugh, full of frustration and sadness.

  “Yes,” Matilda said hopelessly, before turning a direct gaze on Jemima. “What is it like, Jem? To be a man’s mistress?”

  Jemima blushed and looked down, taking a moment to arrange her skirts. “Surprisingly liberating,” she said with a wry smile, and then realised what Matilda was asking for a reason. “But he is a good, kind man, and he makes me very happy. With another man I might have a very different answer for you. I am content, though. I have made peace with my sin, if sin it is. We have a little idyll for ourselves here and I shall live every moment without regret. I am blessed, Matilda, so do not pity me. I have a comfortable home, friends who do not judge me, and a good man who I am falling more in love with as the days pass. I shall not repine for more.”

  Matilda nodded, understanding in her eyes.

  “Then I am happy for you, too. I may even envy you,” she added, so quietly Jemima only just caught the words. “And now I must away. Alice asked me to give you her best love and demand you write to her at once and come and visit soon. You realise the journey took me little more than an hour and a half from their home?”

  Jemima smiled as she remembered Nate and Alice had settled in Kent, and then realised Dern, the Kentish seat of the Marquess of Montagu was likely close by too. Did Matilda know that, she wondered?

  “I did not realise they were so close, and I shall be delighted to indulge both requests,” Jemima said, following Matilda as she got to her feet. “How is our mother-to-be?”

  “Blooming and ready to be put out to grass—her words, not mine.”