Love with the Proper Husband

by Victoria Alexander

  The familiar sense of need rose within her, and she wondered how terribly improper it would be to make love here in the parlor in the middle of the afternoon.

  His lips moved from hers to explore her neck and the base of her throat. “I am a fool, Lady Pennington.”

  Her head dropped back and she clutched at his arms. “Are you, Lord Pennington? Why?”

  “It scarcely matters.” His hands roamed eagerly down her back and over her derrière. “Suffice it to say, I have listened to my own ridiculous doubts based on nothing of substance instead of following what my head has told me.”

  She pressed closer against him to feel his arousal growing hard against her. “I daresay that’s not your head speaking now.”

  He laughed. “No, it most assuredly is not.” Without warning he scooped her up in his arms and carried her toward the door. “However, my head is saying the parlor is most definitely not the proper place to continue this discussion.”

  She kissed his neck. “Godfrey would be scandalized.”

  “To hell with Godfrey,” Marcus muttered. He reached the door and stopped to gaze down at her, his look questioning. “Are you certain you wish to go to the country and leave London?”

  “Well, not this very moment.” She tugged at the knot of his cravat. “Tomorrow is soon enough.”

  “You shall miss a great number of parties, you know. Balls, routs, that sort of thing.”

  “I have missed them before.” She frowned at his cravat. “I cannot get this blasted thing untied.”

  He chuckled. “Patience, my dear.”

  “Patience is a virtue I have never had in abundance.” She sighed and gazed up at him. “I think the country sounds wonderful.”

  “Does it?”

  “It does indeed. It’s been years since I’ve spent any time at all in the English countryside. Even when I was a girl I was away at school far more often then I was at Townsend Park.”

  He stared down at her with a bemused smile. “You really do want to go?”

  “I want to go anywhere as long as you are there,” she said without thinking, then wished she could take back the words. It was an admission she wasn’t ready to make. “Yes, of course. Spring in the country. Why, who would possibly not wish to go?”

  “Why did you marry me, Gwen?” His tone was abruptly serious.

  “What an odd question.” She trailed her fingers over his shirt and marveled at the way his muscles tensed beneath the fabric. “You needed this marriage. Our fathers thought it was for the best. Beyond that”—she smiled up at him—“I suppose I married you for all the usual reasons. You, my lord, are an exceedingly good catch.”

  “And you, Lady Pennington”—he shifted her in his arms and pulled open the door, then proceeded toward the stairs—“are really quite extraordinary.”

  A subdued gasp sounded from the shadows and Marcus grinned. “Godfrey,” he called to the unseen butler, “we shall leave for the country in the morning. Please see to the arrangements.”

  “Yes, my lord.” Godfrey’s voice rang with a subtle note of resignation.

  Gwen giggled and buried her head against her husband’s chest. “He still does not approve of me.”

  “Godfrey does not particularly approve of anyone. Besides, his approval is of no consequence.” Marcus took the stairs two at a time. “You are the lady of the house and as such, he is in your service.”

  Marcus reached his bedchamber and pushed the door open. “He will approve the moment he realizes what I have discovered.” He stepped into the room and kicked the door shut. His gaze, dark and green and promising, met hers. “I am indeed a lucky man.”

  Chapter 13

  There is nothing more delightful than a man in love. Unless of course it is a wealthy man in love.

  Colette de Chabot

  “You can see most of the estate from here.” Marcus settled back in his saddle and studied the view he knew even with his eyes closed. This rise on the very edge of the estate, not a proper hill really but high enough to suit, with its lone beech tree as a sort of sentinel, had been one of his favorite spots since he’d been old enough to sit a horse.

  “It’s a wonderful view.” Gwen’s gaze followed his own.

  He glanced at her and bit back a contented smile.

  Gwen sat on her horse with a confidence that belied her unease a scant five days ago when they’d arrived at Holcroft Hall. It was understandable, of course; it had been years since she’d ridden on a regular basis. Still, the woman was a natural in the saddle and was on her way to becoming an excellent horsewoman. Indeed, she’d been determined to master riding.

  She and Marcus had ridden every morning since their arrival, and she’d set out on her own each afternoon. He’d been naturally concerned at first, but she’d refused to even consider allowing a groom to accompany her, pointing out the estate was her home and no harm would come to her there. He’d had work of his own to keep him busy: he’d not lied when he’d said there were estate matters that needed his attention. Still, he’d noted precisely when she’d ridden off each day and exactly when she’d return, well prepared to ride to her rescue if need be.

  “I love it here,” he said, still gazing off into the distance. “Over there is the road to the village and around that bend is the old dower house. In the distance you can just make out the lake, more a pond, really. I used to sit under that tree and stare for hours.” He leaned toward her confidentially. “When I was a boy I had the lay of the land fixed in my mind and I would re-create every bit of it in the gardens by the north side of the hall as a battlefield for my toy soldiers.” He chuckled. “I commanded some impressive battles there through the years.”

  She raised a brow. “And were you always victorious?”

  He gasped with mock dismay. “I cannot believe you would ask such a thing. Why, I was the most decorated general in His Majesty’s service.” Marcus grinned. “Of course, I was also the only one on the battlefield over two inches tall.”

  “I can see the hall from here.” She shielded her eyes with her hand.

  “I’m surprised you haven’t found this spot before now,” he said with a teasing note in his voice. “Given the vast amount of time you have spent wandering the grounds on horseback.”

  She cast him a chastising glance. “When one is concerned with staying in the saddle, one tends to miss much of the landscape.”

  He laughed with an ease he hadn’t had since childhood.

  Gwen hadn’t needed rescuing, of course. Marcus had faced the fact that there was perhaps never a woman less in need of rescuing, or more independent than his Miss Townsend—Lady Pennington.

  It was one of the things he loved about her.

  That too was a fact he could no longer ignore. Here in the country, away from the distractions of London, he’d realized Reggie was right. His fears about another man in Gwen’s life were unwarranted and nothing more than his own self-doubts. Doubts that had subtly plagued him for much of his adult life, unrecognized until now.

  In recent days he’d come to several remarkable understandings about himself, late at night, with her lying by his side. She had her own rooms, of course, but he preferred having her in his bed, and she seemed to prefer it as well. He prayed she always would. He’d realized, in those contented moments, that his caution about truly caring for a woman, about love, was interwoven with his own odd doubts and the odder yet suspicion that perhaps he had never especially considered himself worthy of love. Ridiculous idea—he’d never thought himself anything but supremely confident—but present nonetheless.

  Until her.

  Gwen was everything he’d ever wanted in a woman. Everything he’d ever wanted in a wife. She was clever and witty and had a fine intelligence that shone from her lovely blue eyes. Yet in spite of her independent nature, she was willing to do what was necessary to be the countess he needed, whether that was learn to sit a horse with grace or acknowledge yet another introduction with a genuine smile. She’d met his tenants an
d many of the people of Pennington and was unfailingly gracious and kind. He suspected they’d already taken her into their hearts.

  As had he.

  And if an odd shadow flickered in her eyes now and again, and if he caught her looking at him once or twice with a kind of unexplained sorrow, and if she fell silent on occasion as if she had retreated behind her own private wall, well, he could scarcely fault her for that. He had spent most of his life behind a wall: cool, amused, and aloof. Unemotional.

  “The hall is quite impressive, you know. Far more so than Townsend Park.” Gwen stared at the far-off house thoughtfully. “It’s really rather intimidating.”

  He laughed. “I can’t imagine you find anything intimidating.”

  “I find a great deal intimidating,” she said wryly.

  The hall was indeed grand, although Marcus had never particularly thought it such. It had occupied its spot in the center of the estate for nearly two centuries, a great stone entity softened by age and affection.

  “It is a bit imposing perhaps.” He took her hand and pulled it to his lips. “But it’s home.”

  “Home.” A smile tugged the corners of her mouth. “That has a lovely sound to it.”

  “It shall sound even better when the laughter of a dozen children fills its rooms.”

  She snatched her hand from his. “A dozen children?”

  “Did I fail to mention that?” He grinned. “Or perhaps you’ve forgotten.”

  “I daresay I would have remembered a dozen children.”

  “I have always wanted a large family.”

  “But a dozen children.” She shook her head. “Honestly, Marcus, that’s—”

  “Very well.” He heaved an overly dramatic sigh. “Perhaps a dozen is a bit much. A half dozen will do.”

  “All boys, no doubt.”

  “In that, my darling Lady Pennington, you are completely mistaken.”

  Her brows drew together. “But you said—”

  “Whatever I may or may not have said, in the admittedly awkward circumstances of our initial meetings, was not entirely what I intended.” He met her gaze directly. “Gwen, I should quite like to have a son or two to carry on my family name—”

  “I thought as much,” she said under her breath.

  “However”—his voice was firm—“that does not mean I would not welcome daughters. I should like nothing better than a small herd of red-haired, blue-eyed females squealing about the place.”

  She gazed at him with disbelief.

  “I know that worries you because the future of women in this world is frequently difficult and their position often uncertain. I suspect you don’t wish for daughters because of your own experiences. I wish I could turn back the clock and save you from the years following your father’s death but I can’t.” He stared into her eyes with all the sincerity in his heart. “But I swear to you now, I shall make certain the future of any daughters we may have will not be dependent solely on their abilities to make a good match. I promise I shall do everything in my power to ensure they have financial security in the event of my demise.”

  Gwen stared as if she were in shock.

  Marcus held his breath. What if he were wrong? What if her opposition to daughters had nothing to do with her background? What if she didn’t want children at all? Or at least not as many as he did?

  Unease settled in his stomach. “Aren’t you going to say something?”

  “I think…” She shook her head. “Girls do not come in herds.” A slow smile spread across her face. “Flocks perhaps, or, I don’t know, gatherings or groups or—”

  He laughed with sheer relief. “You don’t mind then? Having a large family? Even girls?”

  “Not in the least. I have always wanted a large family myself.” She paused as if considering her words. “And I owe you an apology. I took your words in a manner in which they were not intended. I suspect I may well have been looking for a meaning they did not have based more on my own experience than any true knowledge of you. I should have trusted you from the outset.”

  “Still, that’s understandable,” he said quickly. “We were thrust together by an odd set of circumstances—”

  “Fate?” she said with a grin.

  “Fate.” He returned her smile. “For some of us, trust does not come easily.”

  “Perhaps, but trust is important. I have never truly trusted anyone before, aside from Colette and Madame, of course. You had given me no reason not to trust you. I should have known better than to paint all men with the same brush and base my conclusions on little more than my own fears.”

  “That seems to be something we have in common,” he said under his breath.

  She looked confused. “What?”

  “It’s of no consequence.” He shrugged. “All that matters now is the future.” He wagged his brows in a lascivious manner. “And we should begin work immediately on that large family.”

  She laughed again, and the sound rippled through his blood and into his soul. He wanted to tell her he loved her, but now was not the time. She might well be ready to trust him, but love might take a bit longer. Still, he was confident she cared about him and thought, or hoped, it might well be love. Her views on love were even odder than his, and she simply wasn’t as ready to admit to the emotion as he was.

  And if she did not love him now, she would eventually. He was confident about that as well, confidence sprung from the depths of his own feeling. In truth, at the moment, anything, including love, seemed not only possible but probable. He grinned to himself. Reggie was right: the flight was indeed magnificent.

  They walked their horses in a leisurely manner until the dower house came into view.

  “Blast it all.” He reined his horse to a stop.

  “What is it?”

  “Look, down there, that’s the dower house.” He squinted in an effort to more clearly make out what he was certain he was seeing. “Do you see it?”

  “The house that resembles an overgrown cottage?” she said lightly. “I see it. It looks rather charming.”

  “Bloody hell, it looks like someone has moved in. Look, Gwen, there’s a carriage and laundry drying and”—he peered closer—“is that a child?”

  “One of a dozen, no doubt,” she teased.

  He shot her a quick glare. “This is not in the least bit amusing.”

  “No, of course not.” She bit back a grin. “Well, if it’s part of the estate, can’t you simply demand they move?”

  “No, damnation, it’s part of the estate, or at least it should be, but I don’t own it.” He blew a long, frustrated breath. “I have been trying to get that piece of property back for years. My father sold it shortly before his death for some absurd reason. I’ve never been able to figure out why.”

  “Perhaps he thought you would never marry and therefore your mother would have no need of a dower house.” An innocent note sounded in her voice, and he didn’t believe it for a moment. She definitely found this amusing.

  He ignored her. “I didn’t even know it had been sold until last year.”

  “And the owner won’t sell it back to you now?”

  “I don’t know who the owner is.” He ran his hand through his hair. “Whiting handled the whole thing. He claims he’s not at liberty to disclose the name of the owner. In truth, he was rather surprised to learn I was unaware of the sale.”

  “Apparently your father made any number of arrangements he did not see fit to inform you of,” she said mildly.

  “So it would seem,” he muttered. “Whiting has been trying to negotiate a purchase with the owner. The house has been empty for years, and I was under the impression that the owner had no particular plans for it.”

  “It does seem much easier to buy something no one wants.” She shrugged. “However, now that the house is occupied—”

  “Now that it’s occupied I could bypass Whiting altogether and speak to the owner directly.” He nodded thoughtfully. “That’s exactly what I should do.”


  “Now?” she blurted.

  “There is no time like the present, my dear. With any luck, I shall convince the man to sell this very day.” He started his horse toward the house, then stopped and looked back. “Are you coming?”

  “Of course, if that’s what you wish.” She sidled her horse up close to his and laid her hand on his arm. Her voice was low and decidedly seductive. “But I was under the impression you had other plans for the rest of the morning.”

  She caught her lower lip between her teeth and gazed up at him, her eyes wide, dark blue and inviting. He swallowed hard. “Other plans?”

  “Something about work? For the future?” Her fingers trailed idly up his arm. “That needs immediate attention?”

  “Of course,” he said slowly. “This business can certainly wait.”

  “I thought perhaps it could.” She smiled in a knowing manner, and he resisted the urge to pull her from her horse and make love to her right there on the grass. “Now then, Marcus, I think it’s past time to show you just how well I have mastered the art of sitting a horse. I shall race you back to the hall.”

  “I never enter a race I do not intend to win. And I never race without knowing the stakes.” His gaze roamed over her, and he shifted in his saddle to accommodate his abrupt discomfort. “What is my prize when I win?”

  “Why, my dear Lord Pennington, should you win”—she smiled in an altogether too provocative manner—“anything you wish.” She laughed and before he could say a word, took off.

  He called after her. “And if you win?”

  Her words trailed on the wind in her wake. “Anything I wish.”

  He dug in his heels and started after her. He didn’t especially care if he beat her to the hall or not. Given the stakes, win or lose, he was indeed a lucky man.

  “You certainly appear up to no good,” a familiar wry voice broke into Marcus’s thoughts.

  He looked up from the ledgers and correspondence spread before him on the massive desk that had served his father and his father before him and grinned at Reggie leaning idly in the open doorway of the Holcroft Hall library. “I am.”