The Caress of a Commander

by Linda Rae Sande

  Hannah was suddenly aware of darkness settling over the stables. “I should be getting back. Dinner will be served soon, and I still need to change my gown,” she murmured.

  Will held up a hand and quickly moved into the stable, finding Thunderbolt with his nose in a bucket of oats. He had been brushed and his stall was mucked. “A favor, sister?” he asked when he determined the horse was in good hands.

  Hannah gave a nod. “Of course. What is it?”

  Glancing around to be sure neither of the two men working in the stables could hear him, he said, “Do not wear your best gown for dinner. Barbara has nothing but the clothes on her back.”

  Giving her brother a quelling glance, Hannah shook her head. “I’ve already given her a gown for tonight’s dinner, and I have every intention of giving her more of them,” she said, one eyebrow arched. “Especially since I will be unable to wear most of them in a few months. Oh, and tomorrow, whilst you go fishing, I shall take her shopping. You might want to be sure she has some money in her reticule.”

  Alarm had Will’s eyebrows rising high before he realized what she meant. “I’ll be an uncle again?” he whispered, a smile suddenly replacing his look of alarm.

  “Probably just before the harvest, which is terrible timing, I know, but it cannot be helped,” Hannah replied with a shake of her head.

  “Does Gisborn know?”

  Hannah grinned, a blush coloring her face. “Before I did, I think,” she answered, leading them back toward the house and through the kitchen door. Before they parted company to dress for dinner, Hannah added, “Henry is very perceptive and very clever. Should he provide you with any advice, do give it consideration.”

  His brows furrowing, Will finally nodded. He supposed he could do with a bit of advice just then.

  Like what the hell I’m supposed to do now that my life’s plan is in tatters, he thought as he made his way to the bedchamber he was supposed to be sharing with Barbara. When he was sure she was being seen to by a maid in the bathing chamber adjacent to their room, he pulled some coins from his purse. At least he could see to it Barbara could afford to shop on the morrow.

  Chapter 38

  A Game of Horsey

  Meanwhile, back at Worthington House

  “Have you taught him to ride a horse yet?” Stephen wondered as he took a seat in the nearest rocker, George held out in front of him as he did so.

  The earl frowned. “I have not. I thought perhaps I would wait until he could at least walk,” he countered with a wry grin. He watched as Stephen crossed his legs and planted George onto the crook in his boot so that George’s legs straddled it. With a solid grip on the baby’s arms, Stephen waited until he had George’s attention. “Are you ready to ride?”

  George squealed in delight when Stephen began bouncing his foot up and down. “You’ll have to say ‘whoa’ when you’re ready to stop,” Stephen warned, grinning as broadly as the boy, imagining what it would be like to do this to his own son. Why, his boy would be ready to ride a pony before his first birthday!

  Amused by Stephen’s antics, Grandby took a seat in the opposite rocker and was about to do the same with Angelica when the babe’s attention was suddenly on the door. A second later, George’s attention was turned there, as well.

  “Mama!’ the two cried out in unison.

  Stephen had George scooped up and into his arms in an instant as he stood up, turned, and bowed to the stately woman who stood regarding him from the threshold of the nursery.

  “Pardon me, my lady,” he said, the red from his embarrassment staining his throat and cheeks. He was barely aware of Grandby doing the same, as if he’d been caught with his hand in a biscuit jar.

  “Bellingham?” she said in surprise. “Oh, my. Had I known it was you who was the one causing all the ruckus up here, I would let you carry on. I sometimes think George believes he’s already inherited, what with how serious he is sometimes,” she said happily, moving to take Stephen into her arms. “I remember when your father used to play ‘horsey’ with you.”

  Stephen swallowed, not sure how to respond. He hadn’t remembered William Slater ever bouncing him on his boot, but then he couldn’t remember much from his days as a toddler. She must mean Will, he figured, realizing he had better admit to being the brother. “Stephen Slater, actually,” he said just as she was about to embrace him, her son trying to decide if he was being transferred to her arms or if he should continue to cling to the man who had entertained him so thoroughly only a moment ago. “I am honored to make your acquaintance, my lady.”

  Inhaling sharply, Adele Grandby regarded her bastard nephew with a look of awe. “I haven’t seen you since you were...” She held out a hand to indicate the size of a toddler. Adele continued to regard him with a look of awe. “Well, you certainly are your father’s son to be sure,” she murmured. She suddenly blinked, as if remembering why she had made her way to the nursery. “Now, I came up here to find my host. As usual, Milton is finding it more satisfying to entertain his daughter than to play host to the hundred or so guests who are here for a musicale,” she complained with an arched eyebrow. She turned back to Stephen. “Escort me down, won’t you. Nurse can take George. I think he’s had enough fun for the evening, and it is past his bedtime.”

  Although George obviously didn’t agree, he allowed the nurse to take him from Stephen’s arm. Meanwhile, Grandby was putting his daughter down into her bassinet. “I’ll be but a moment,” he said as he noticed his wife watching him.

  “Give her a kiss for me, will you? I’ll pay it back later.” Adele shook her head as she turned her attention back to a somewhat embarrassed Stephen.

  Pay it back later? The comment suggested the countess would be kissing her husband sometime later that evening!

  Stephen found himself wondering if there was a rather large potted palm somewhere in the house. He smiled at the thought of his aunt kissing Grandby. The two seemed to be a rather good match, probably more affection than arrangement in their marriage. And given the number of jewels displayed on his aunt—she wore a circlet of diamonds around her neck, several bracelets sprinkled with diamonds and sapphires, earbobs of diamonds and the blue stones, and a tiara adorned in the same glittering jewels—Stephen realized the two were probably in love with one another.

  Stephen offered Adele his arm, and she placed a hand on it. “Cherice tells me you’ve already made quite an impression on several young ladies,” she ventured as they made their way to the top of the stairs.

  Stephen felt the color rise in his cheeks again. “Will asked me to keep on the lookout for a potential wife in the event he was unable to locate Lady Barbara,“ he explained as they descended the stairs.

  “And have you succeeded in finding one?” she wondered, her gaze perusing the guests who still streamed in from the vestibule.

  “At least one,” Stephen replied with a nod as he kept his eye out for Victoria.

  They had nearly reached the bottom when he caught sight of her entering the grand hall from the vestibule, an older woman by her side. He was sure she saw him, but her face didn’t register an expression of recognition.

  “Is she one of them perhaps?”

  Stephen realized he had been caught staring. “Victoria Comber. She’s a niece of Aimsley’s,” he explained with a nod as they reached the main floor. “I hardly think I would make an acceptable husband, though,” he added, wondering at Victoria’s reaction to seeing him.

  Adele regarded her nephew with a shake of her beautifully coiffed head. “You would make an exceptional husband for any of these chits in attendance this evening,” she countered, her manner most serious. “Had any of them seen you bouncing my son on your boot as you were earlier, why, I rather think you would have several of them lined up to accept your proposal,” she added with an arched brow.

  Stephen had to stifle the laugh he nearly allowed. “I appreciate you saying so, my lady,” he replied.

  “Aunt Adele,” she corrected him. “I don
’t recommend you call Grandby ‘Uncle Milton’, but you must refer to me as your aunt. I will accept nothing less,” she claimed, an elegantly arched eyebrow emphasizing her point.

  Stephen took a breath as he considered her mandate. “If you insist, my lady. Aunt Adele,” he corrected himself.

  “And you’re welcome to come play ‘horsey’ with George anytime you wish, but do be warned that Angelica will probably insist you do the same with her. She’s rather particular that way.”

  Before Stephen could reply, he found himself in the middle of a crowd of guests, their attention on his aunt. He managed to make his way out of the crush, his gaze taking in the crowd that filled the parlor and the large music room adjacent to it. Chairs had been arranged in a large semicircle around a piano forté and several music stands. Clusters of guests drank champagne and helped themselves to lobster patties and chunks of cheese displayed on large silver platters carried by footmen.

  Stephen made his way into the next room, his eyes finally settling on Victoria Comber.

  Dressed in a green gold silk gown with full long sleeves, she shimmered nearly as much as the metal objects displayed on the shelves. The older woman, dressed in a classic gown of deep blue watered silk, was still by her side, their heads bent in conversation. Her aunt, he thought, remembering her words when the coach had dropped her off at the townhouse in King Street.

  Stephen nodded in Victoria’s direction, sure she was watching him as he moved to make his way to her side. Before he could reach her, however, she and the older woman suddenly moved off, making their way to the other door.

  Stephen stopped, wondering if Victoria didn’t want to introduce him to her aunt.

  Had the older woman scolded her for having ridden with him, alone, in the Devonville coach? Did she suspect they had engaged in rather passionate kissing? Or had Victoria truly not seen him as he made his way through the crowded room?

  Sighing, partly because he knew so few people in attendance and partly because he had hoped to gain an introduction to the woman who was supposed to be her chaperone, Stephen made his way out the same door as he had seen Victoria use to take her leave of the library. Once again back in the grand hall, he glanced around, finally spotting her—alone—near an alcove that displayed a suit of armor and a Greek statue of Pan.

  Hurrying to her side, Stephen was stunned when she suddenly moved off and made her way down the hall, passing him as she did so but not giving him any indication she recognized him.

  “Did you just give me the cut direct?” Stephen whispered hoarsely, one hand having wrapped around her elbow as she passed so he could force her to face him. Her sudden inhalation of breath had her breasts mounding behind the bodice of her gown, the delicate lace edging doing little to hide the swells of her breasts nor her cleavage. The collarbones he had kissed only the night before stood out in sharp relief, accentuating her soft bare shoulders and the simple gold locket that hung at the hollow of her throat.

  “Why, I do believe I did,” Victoria said in a quiet voice, her eyes not making contact with his. She was sure those hazel eyes would perform some sort of witchcraft on her, much as they had done that night at Lord Weatherstone’s ball, unless she could get away from them. “Unhand me,” she added, jerking her elbow away from him.

  Stunned at her behavior, he frowned. “Why?” he asked in a whisper, his expression displaying his hurt.

  Victoria gave him a shake of her head. “Are you truly that thick?” she countered, gathering her skirts so that she could hurry off. “Bellingham?” she added before rolling her eyes. “Hardly.”

  Stephen found his ability to breathe suddenly compromised. What the hell had happened since the night they attended the theatre? What could have happened to cause her to treat him like he was a...?

  Stephen inhaled sharply.

  Bastard.

  No. Certainly she wouldn’t hold that...

  She would.

  He had never introduced himself to her as ‘Will’. Never introduced himself as ‘Bellingham’ despite his brother’s insistence that he do so. He had introduced himself as ‘Stephen Slater’. He and Victoria had spent an entire evening in his father’s box at the theatre. At no point had anything been mentioned as to who his mother might be. He was sure Cherice wouldn’t have said anything to her whilst they shared conversation during the intermission. Cherice seemed rather taken with Victoria—she practically had Stephen married off to the chit when they spoke in the study earlier that morning.

  Stephen rolled his eyes and turned to watch Victoria’s retreating back, watched her silk de Naples skirts sway with her every step, the fabric threatening to cling to her long legs.

  Well, if that’s what she thought of him now that she knew he was a bastard son of a marquess instead of an heir, well then, he supposed he was better off having discovered her feelings on the subject now rather than having wasted any time courting the chit.

  He would miss her kisses, though, dammit.

  He was almost relieved when he heard the gentle chime summoning the guests to take their seats.

  Chapter 39

  Making an Impression Before Dinner

  Meanwhile, in Oxfordshire

  Barbara regarded the guest bedchamber and allowed a sigh. It had been years since she had enjoyed such elegant accommodations, and back then, she hadn’t realized how nicely appointed her bedchamber was at Pendleton House. Although the furnishings in this bedchamber were old—Hannah had mentioned that nearly everything in Gisborn Hall was old—they had been recently polished, and the velvet drapes that framed the mullioned windows appeared as if they had just been hung the day before.

  She perched on the edge of the bed, giving the mattress a quick bounce. Closing her eyes, she allowed a wan smile before tears suddenly collected in the corners of her eyes. Lifting the back of her hand to her nose, she suppressed the urge to simply allow herself a good cry, but her tears would no doubt stain the deep green silk batiste gown Hannah had insisted she wear.

  The gown was beautiful despite its too-long length. Barbara thought it made her appear taller, willowy, almost. Not a thought she would have had of herself during her days in London. Back then, her figure had been rather generous, made curvy with breasts and hips that didn’t necessarily work well with the most fashionable gowns. Now, she was far too thin, her bones more apparent beneath her skin, her arms barely filling the elbow-length gloves Hannah had loaned her.

  A quick glance in the cheval mirror gave her a start. Hannah’s maid had done wonders with her hair, the blonde tresses pulled up and back in an elaborate bun while spirals graced her temples.

  Donald didn’t even recognize her, his mouth gaping open when she appeared at the threshold of the library door. But then, she didn’t recognize her son, either. Dressed in a formal suit of black short pants and a topcoat that fit as if it had been tailored specifically for him, with his unruly hair trimmed and tamed so it was nearly plastered to his head, Donald looked every bit the aristocrat’s son he was. She had to suppress a gasp when he stood up and gave her a deep bow, nearly toppling over as he did so. Curtsying, Barbara allowed a smile and was about to say something when the air in the room seemed to sizzle.

  Will was at her side in an instant, offering his arm as he led her to a settee before seeing to a glass of claret for her. “You look... lovely,” he whispered, his lips brushing her forehead as he gave her the crystal glass.

  She stared at him, stunned at how he appeared in his uniform, the white breeches and white shirt an impressive canvas for the naval coat decorated with brass buttons and ribbons. “And you look positively... commanding,” she breathed, keeping her voice low because she thought there might be others in the room. But a quick look around had her realizing their hosts hadn’t yet joined them.

  “Were that the case, do you suppose I could command you to join me for a walk in the gardens after dinner this evening?” he asked, sotto voce. He was well aware his son was watching his every move, the boy still not c
ompletely reconciled to his relationship to him. But then, what did he expect? Donald hadn’t had any male presence in Barbara’s household, such as it was. He hadn’t had a father figure in his life.

  Well, Will intended to change that starting the next afternoon, for he planned to join his brother-in-law on a fishing expedition on the River Isis, and he had every intention of taking Donald along.

  Barbara regarded Will for a moment, figuring he probably intended to coerce her into returning to London. To steal a kiss. Or two or three. Despite the pleasant sensation that rippled down her spine just then, she gave him a shake of her head. “We’ll see,” she answered before urging her son to join her. “Oh, Master Donald. Let me have a look at you,” she said with a huge smile, rather liking how her lean son appeared in his borrowed clothes.

  “Hannah is quite insistent that he keep the clothes,” Will said in a quiet voice.

  Barbara gave him a quelling glance. “She has a boy who could wear these clothes in five or six years. And should her next child be a boy, too? Won’t she regret having given away Master Nathan’s Sunday best suit?” she countered.

  Will leaned over and kissed her forehead before she could jerk away from him. He allowed a wan grin. “She’s quite sure she’s going to have a girl this time,” he replied with a shrug, not about to add that Lord Gisborn wasn’t the miser his uncle was known to be. “And I rather doubt her son will be wearing any of Master Nathan’s clothes. Henry tells me Nathan’s clothes were mostly worn out and are now the household rags. He was a rather active boy, playing pirates and what-not.”

  Barbara held her son out at arm’s length and regarded him with a smile. “My, but don’t you look like the perfect young gentleman?”