by Ava Stone
Her life had changed so quickly, in the blink of an eye, really. She had barely left James’ house before she had come across Petey and Penny—and that meant she had successfully been able to avoid dealing with Robert’s proposal. But now that her distractions were occupied with their nurse, it was time to consider her husband’s wishes.
The idea of Robert holding her in his arms didn’t bother her as much as it had before. He had been kind as of late—forcing her to live under his roof, notwithstanding. But he had agreed to let Petey and Penny stay with her. She hadn’t had to put up nearly the fight she had anticipated. And he had seemed genuinely concerned for her safety when the full story of the burly man in the alley had come out. That was a bit endearing.
She had expected him to roar with fury when the bill from Madam Fournier had arrived this morning, but he’d merely shrugged and said he’d hoped that she like her new dresses when they arrived. If Caroline thought a shopping excursion would cause him to see red, she had been sadly mistaken.
Though at the moment, Lydia didn’t necessarily want to make Robert see red. It would be much simpler for all involved if they could just find a way to deal well with each other. A week ago she wouldn’t have thought such a thing was possible, but now…well, now she wasn’t so sure. And the image of him with Penny in his lap had stayed with her most of the day. Perhaps there was more to her husband than she’d originally given him credit for.
So what did all of that mean? Would she give her consent to bear his children? Lydia didn’t think she was quite prepared for that sort of intimacy. Not yet anyway, but…maybe.
A light scratch at the parlor door interrupted her thoughts, and she looked up from the novel. “Come.”
Phelps stepped inside the parlor with a solemn look. “Lady Masten, his lordship would like for you to join him in his study.”
“Thank you, Phelps.” Lydia dropped her book in her seat and followed the butler from the room.
She had seen most of the house over the last two days but hadn’t ventured this far into his private domain. However, once she entered it, the room was exactly what she would have expected—rich dark colors of forest green and burgundy. A large shelf lined the back wall, with scores of intimidating tomes. Robert was furiously scrawling something, seated at a strong mahogany desk that suited him perfectly. He was an imposing figure. Her heart leapt a bit as he ran a hand through his impeccable hair.
When she stepped further into the room, Robert closed his ledger and jerked to his feet. Stiffly, he gestured to a dark-colored upholstered chair across from his. “Ah, my lady, please.”
He seemed troubled, as if the world rested on his shoulders. Almost immediately, Lydia felt trepidation set in. Quietly, she complied with his wishes and waited for him to speak.
“I wanted to inform you that we shall leave for Beckford Hall at first light tomorrow.”
Lydia’s mouth fell open. First light? She knew he was anxious to be rid of her and the children, but tomorrow? “But, Masten, we haven’t yet hired a governess, and—”
“Tomorrow, Lydia. And since Caroline took care of the nurse, she can handle the governess as well. Besides the children aren’t accompanying us.”
What was he talking about? “You told me that I could take them with me.”
He nodded in agreement. “We shall send for them once you are settled. But, since I don’t know which estate you’ll choose, it seems rather unkind to drag them across the countryside for days, maybe weeks at a time, don’t you think?”
But not unkind to drag her across the countryside. And not unkind to force her to leave London against her will. And not unkind to give her no notice—but to expect her to leave at the crack of dawn, which, truthfully she’d never seen. Anger surged through her and she glared at him as she rose from her seat. “What I think, Masten, is that you’re an overbearing brute.”
His lips thinned into hard lines. “Don’t start with theatrics. I told you from the beginning that we wouldn’t be staying long. Don’t blame me if you didn’t think I meant it.”
“Oh, I know you meant it,” she spit out, nearly hysterical and pounding her fist on his desk. “You can’t have your wanton wife in Town for more than a few days, can you? That wouldn’t be wise, would it? There’s no telling whose bed I might end up in! Isn’t that right, Masten?”
Robert’s brown eyes narrowed into cold, dark slits. “That’s the long and short of it, yes. Now, prepare yourself for our evening at Drury Lane. And don’t make me wait on you. I’ll have no patience for any ill-mannered behavior tonight.”
Lydia rushed from the room and up to her bedchamber. Whatever could she have been thinking that he was kind in any way? He was as controlling and cruel as ever. What a fool she’d been to think he was anything other than the overbearing brute she’d accused him of being.
***
Young bucks lament the loss of the beautiful countess! That phrase had echoed throughout his mind ever since he’d read it. The author of that drivel was under the mistaken impression that Lydia had come to him willingly. They were far off the mark. Given half the chance, she would bolt. There was no question about it.
Still, he should have gone about their interview with more subtlety. Why had he dealt with her in so heavy-handed a way? Robert berated himself the remainder of the evening.
While he prepared for Drury Lane, he could tell that his valet, Kistler, was definitely put out with him. Robert had been unhappy with everything from the color of his waistcoat to the style of his cravat.
Did he want his wife to think ill of him? What did it matter? She did anyway—certainly after their conversation in his study.
As Kistler struggled to work an intricate knot with Robert’s neckcloth, they were interrupted by a slight scratching at his lordship’s door. Robert frowned at his reflection in the mirror. He was not looking forward to this night—especially not now that his wife was furious with him, and he did not need any bloody interruptions. “Come,” he barked.
The heavy oak door opened and Phelps stood in the doorway with a silver salver. “My lord, you have a visitor. I’ve left him in the blue salon.”
Robert shook off Kistler’s hands and snatched the vellum card from Phelps’ tray. Mr. Alvin Cooper. He read the name twice. Bow Street? What was a Bow Street Runner doing here? The earl frowned as he met his butler’s eyes. “Has Lady Masten come down yet?”
“No, not yet, my lord.”
Robert threw off the now ruined cravat from around his neck and took a new one offered by his harassed valet. With quick hands, he tied a mathematical and shrugged into his black coat. “I’ll see to my guest. When my wife finally decides to show herself, direct her to the gold salon, Phelps.”
“Of course, my lord,” the butler nodded and slid from the room.
Kistler held out Robert’s black beaver hat, with a look of exasperation. The fastidious valet was clearly annoyed with the earl’s less than perfect appearance tonight, not that Robert gave a damn at the moment. With his entire life in complete disarray, he had no time to deal his temperamental gentleman’s gentleman—especially with a Bow Street Runner waiting in his blue salon. Robert snatched the proffered hat and strode purposefully from the room.
What could Bow Street possibly want? It most likely had something to do with those little street urchins Lydia had brought home. What was she thinking bringing those scamps into his house? And now Bow Street was here! Good God, things were certainly going from bad to worse.
Once Robert reached the blue salon, he pushed open the door with a jab of pensiveness and stepped inside to meet the man from Bow Street. The runner was a portly, middle-aged, balding man with a bushy, brown mustache and small, black, scrutinizing eyes that looked at once remorseful when they landed on Robert.
“Mr. Cooper,” Robert closed the gap between the two and gestured to himself. “I’m Masten.”
Mr. Cooper nodded curtly in response. “I’m terribly sorry to disturb you this evening, Lord Masten. B
ut I do have some questions for you, if you don’t mind.”
It must be important to bring you out so late.” Robert motioned for the runner to take a seat on the settee and then folded himself into a chair opposite him. “Is this about those little pick-pockets my wife brought home?”
Nonplussed, Mr. Cooper shook his head. “Pick-pockets, my lord?”
Peter and Penny or whatever their names are? The dirty little street urchins that are now residing under my roof?”
Again, the runner shook his head, though now with an apprehensive look. “I’m sorry, my lord, but no. I’ve come to inquire about your brother, Mr. Beckford.”
The color drained from Robert’s face. What the devil had Luke done now that would bring Bow Street to his door? Then a horrible thought entered his mind. Was his brother dead? Had his years of self indulgence and living on the fringe of polite society finally caught up with him? Luke was a scoundrel, to be sure, but… “What has happened?” Robert choked out.
After a deep breath, Mr. Cooper frowned and leaned forward. “I’m not sure if you’re aware that there’s been some jewelry theft in Mayfair.”
Robert hadn’t been back in London long, and while he was in Dorset, he certainly hadn’t heard about any jewelry thieves in Mayfair. What had this to do with Luke? “I’m afraid not. We do have pick-pockets living here now, but they’re just children. I am certain they couldn’t pull off high-stakes jewel thefts in Berkeley Square.”
Mr. Cooper cleared his throat and looked recalcitrant. “M’lord, I’m afraid you misunderstand me. Lord Ridgemont has high connections in the government.”
None of this made any sense to Robert. Luke? Jewel thieves in Mayfair? Ridgemont’s political connections? “Mr. Cooper, I beg you, pray come to the point of all this.”
“Well, my lord, we would never accuse a gentleman—not without substantial proof, mind you—but Lady Ridgemont seems certain that Mr. Beckford has the emerald pendant in question.”
“I beg your pardon.”
The runner shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “She only wants the piece back, m’lord, and she would prefer Lord Ridgemont not learn who took it. If we can retrieve it soon, her ladyship can simply discover that the piece had simply been mislaid—if you take my meaning.”
“I’m afraid I don’t.”
Apparently tired of dancing around the subject, Mr. Cooper took one last frustrated breath. “May I be blunt, m’lord?”
“Please.”
“According to Lady Ridgemont, Mr. Beckford was with her in her chambers the last time she wore the pendant. I think you understand what I’m saying.”
Robert cringed. He knew only too well what Mr. Cooper was saying. His depraved brother had bedded yet another peer’s wife. Damn Luke to hell! Robert roughly rubbed his brow. “I’m afraid I do.”
“When Lord Ridgemont discovered the pendant was missing, her ladyship didn’t feel that she could tell him where it was, you see. And somehow Lord Ridgemont deduced that the item in question had been stolen and called in some favors to have Bow Street investigate.
“Lady Ridgemont confessed as much to me. So if she can just get the piece back, all will be fine. Lord Ridgemont will be satisfied. Lady Ridgemont can keep her husband from learning the truth, you and your family can be kept from scandal, and I can get back to investigating real crimes and not answering to the beck and call of some stiff-rumped nobleman…no offense, m’lord.”
Robert stood and paced around the room with his hands clenched behind his back. “Are you certain my brother has the item in question, Mr. Cooper?”
“Lady Ridgemont is certain. I don’t think she would have confessed the situation to me if she weren’t.”
Sadly, that made sense and Robert scowled as he shook his head. Damn Luke a million times over. “Will my brother not return it?”
Mr. Cooper scowled. “Unfortunately, m’lord, I cannot locate Mr. Beckford. He has not been at his apartments in Piccadilly for some time now.”
Robert scoffed in response. “Well, if you think I can help you find the reprobate, you’re sadly mistaken. I haven’t laid eyes on my brother in more than a year.” And only then because Luke had needed help getting out of yet another scrape.
Crestfallen, Mr. Cooper let his head fall back against the settee. “Will you contact me if you do hear from Mr. Beckford, m’lord?”
“Right after I strangle him, Mr. Cooper.”
Immediately after the Bow Street Runner left, Robert went to the sideboard and poured himself a generous amount of whiskey. He drained it in one gulp. Why the devil would Luke take Lady Ridgemont’s emerald pendant? And what the devil was he supposed to do about the situation? Damn it! Would he be cleaning up his brother’s messes for the rest of his life?
Robert left his glass on the sideboard with a thump and strode from the room. Without delay, he made his way to the gold salon, certain that his wife would not be ready—but would make him wait upon her for an indefinite amount of time, or refuse to attend at all. Truthfully, he deserved no better from her.
He threw open the door and stopped in his tracks. All thoughts of Luke vanished instantly from his mind. Not only was Lydia already waiting for him, she was breathtaking. Her fine reddish-blond hair was piled loosely on her head, with dainty little tendrils curling at the nape of her neck. He suddenly ached to remove her pins and run his fingers through the strands of her fire-hued hair. To hell with Astwick and Drury Lane. Lydia’s midnight blue gown hung low across her delicate, alabaster shoulders and dipped provocatively at her bodice. God, but she was a lovely woman, this wife of his.
Robert couldn’t help but gape at Lydia. He eyed her from top to bottom and back. When he finally stopped at her neckline, she blushed. “This is perfectly in style. Please don’t tell me that I look like a harlot.”
He winced. Had he really said such a disgraceful thing to her before? Robert was ashamed to realize that he had. Caroline was right—he was a beast. “I was just going to tell you how beautiful you are, Lydia. Is this one of the new gowns?”
Lydia smiled, though it didn’t quite seem to reach her eyes. “No, Masten, it will take a few weeks for everything I ordered to be finished.”
Of course it would. He was such a dolt! No modiste he knew had dresses ready in a day—although with the prices Madam Fournier had charged…
What would she look like in the new dresses she’d ordered? Would they display her heavenly body the same way this midnight blue did? Would he get to see her in any of them? Would she ever call him Robert again?
~ 6 ~
When Robert and Lydia arrived at Drury Lane, they landed in a sea of other theatre-going couples. Bouncing ostrich plumes from bonnets and turbans of every color bobbed over the top of the crowd. Robert steered Lydia up the staircase and then down the corridor toward Lord Astwick’s box.
From the moment they arrived, Robert noticed with some degree of displeasure that many of the passing gentlemen openly ogled his wife. They seemed unable to help themselves. Though Lydia paid them no attention. It was blatantly obvious that their leaving in the morning was the best thing for all involved.
“There you are!” Chet’s loud voice reverberated off the walls. Within two strides they reached the marquess, who leaned toward Robert and whispered, “Thought you’d abandoned me. She’s simply horrid this evening.” Robert started to respond, but at that moment Chet noticed Lydia and his eyes danced. “You truly are a vision, Lady Masten.”
She smiled. “Thank you, Lord Astwick.”
Chet motioned to his mother, already in her seat. She was a tiny lady with silver hair, who looked nothing like her hearty son. “Mama, look who’s arrived.”
The widowed Lady Astwick looked through her lorgnette at the two guests and nodded courteously. “Good Evening, Masten.”
Chet took Lydia’s arm and smiled. “And, Mama, this is Robert’s wife, Lady Masten.”
Lady Astwick shot her son a look of stark disapproval. “The absentee wife? The one who
prefers to live away from her husband? Doing God knows what?”
Embarrassed, Lydia looked at the floor. She had been in London a month, but no one had been so outwardly harsh toward her. Lady Astwick’s displeasure was barely palpable. Lydia was surprised when Robert laid his hand protectively on her shoulder and smiled at the widow. “Lady Astwick, my wife does live in the country, but at my request. I’m very busy with my stables and not in London most of the time myself. She sees me more there than she would here, I assure you.”
Lady Astwick looked the girl over and then turned back in her seat. “At least he has a wife, Chester.”
Chet threw his friend a rueful look and shrugged.
Lydia turned around to see Robert. It was so much easier to hate him when he was unkind. She smiled gratefully for his interference with Lady Astwick, and was surprised when he returned her smile.
“Here, my dear.” Robert put his hand on the back of a seat. “You’ll sit next to me.” Then he reached for her hand and squeezed it. “Be brave, Lydia,” he whispered. “Lord Masten doesn’t hang his head in shame and Lady Masten won’t either.”
She nodded, but couldn’t quite look at him.
Then Robert turned his attention to Chet and the two discussed some new horse breeding techniques that Robert’s stable manager was working on at Gosling Park in Dorset. After a while, Chet looked past Robert and winked at Lydia. When she smiled in acknowledgement of the marquess’ flirtation, Robert glowered at his friend.
In Lydia’s opinion, it was a most trying night. She looked around the theatre at happy couples enjoying the performance and sighed. How she envied them! She would give anything to turn back time and keep herself far away from Luke Beckford. Her life could have been so different. Though she had despised her husband from the beginning, she couldn’t blame him for her actions all those years ago. She was the one that chose to follow Luke to his room. It was all her fault—everything that had happened afterward could all be laid at her door.
