by Ava Stone
Finally, Lydia smiled sheepishly. “I’m not sure of anything yet, Robert. I don’t want you to be upset if it’s not what you’re hoping for.”
Lydia might not be sure, but Robert was certain. He’d always heard that expectant women had a glow about them, and Lydia positively glowed. “You’ve made me the happiest man in all of England.”
He threw off his coat and looked around the room. The windows were open and the curtains were moving with the sea breeze. “Are you comfortable, darling? I’ll shut the windows, if you’d like. Or is there something I can get you? Anything you need at all?”
With a cheerful giggle, Lydia reached her hand out for him. “I’m perfectly fine, Robert. You don’t need to fawn all over me.”
Robert winked and then grinned devilishly. “Oh, my dear, I can’t wait to fawn all over you.” He plopped onto the bed next to his wife and gently pulled her into his arms. “From now on, I’ll be by your side every waking moment. I’ll make sure that all your wants and needs are taken care of. And—”
“Enough, you silly man.” Lydia placed her finger over his lips.
He nipped lightly at her finger and then kissed her softly. “I do so love you, Lydia.”
As he held his wife and breathed in the scent of gardenias, Robert realized how much he had changed. In the past, he would have fretted over Luke’s warning and worried about what his brother meant by saying such things. Before he knew Lydia he’d have even believed Luke’s vicious lies. But now—now none of it mattered. Lydia was his and he was hers and there wasn’t anything his brother could do or say that would change that fact.
~ 18 ~
Upon his return to London, Luke met briefly with Mr. Cooper of Bow Street and promised the Runner that he’d deal with Lord Ridgemont. It felt as if he was giving in to Louisa Ridgemont’s manipulations just in doing so, but his time in Dorset had taught him a lesson: he needed to get his past in order.
Amazingly, when he finally spoke with the baron and explained his past friendship with Lady Ridgemont, the man thanked him for his honesty and promised to deal with his wife. When he left the grand Ridgemont home on Park Street, he felt like a free man—at least more free than he had been. The troubling goings on in Dorset still bothered him.
Luke found himself alone in his rooms in Piccadilly, sulking as he had been for a week. How had he let things go so badly with Robert in Dorset? Robert, who’d raised him. Robert who’d always been there for him no matter what. Robert who’d pulled Luke from more scrapes than he cared to remember. Sure, his brother would lecture Luke and badger him to change his ways, but he had always been there regardless—until now. Robert had never before told him he wasn’t welcome at Gosling Park, not to come back. The loss of his brother’s affections was something Luke had never considered, and now that it had happened, he felt like a part of his soul was missing—though truthfully, he’d been feeling that way for quite a while.
If it hadn’t been for William, young Lord Haywood, Luke would have stayed holed up in his rooms. No one would have ever believed that of him, but he just didn’t have it in him to socialize. It was pointless. But Haywood had been adamant that Luke follow him from one gaming hell to another, certain that his luck was just about to change. What a fool! But try as he might, Luke couldn’t talk the young baron off of his self-destructive path.
Begrudgingly, Luke agreed to accompany his young friend—mostly just to keep Haywood out of trouble. Luke had enough guilt on his conscience at the moment. He didn’t need to add to it, and the young whelp was certain to get in over his head if someone wasn’t watching after him.
This was why Luke now walked around the current hell they were in and raised his glass to more than one old friend or ex-lover. This was what his life had come to—spending time around drunken sods, gambling nabobs, and brazen women. Damn, he hadn’t wanted to come here tonight!
Remorse and regret were new sensations for Luke. And for his part, he wasn’t too keen on it. His entire life, he’d been an unrepentant, selfish, self-serving bastard. Hadn’t those been Juliet’s exact words to him?
Lady Juliet St. Claire.
It was most difficult keep the stubborn, prissy duke’s daughter from his mind. Why the devil was his Juliet masquerading as Gosling Park’s governess? The willful chit wouldn’t tell him a thing, though he’d tried his damnedest to get it out of her. He shouldn’t have sworn to keep her identity a secret, but he foolishly had. And his memories of her were slowly driving him insane. Best not to think of any of that. She’d made it quite plain on his last day at Gosling that she wished to have nothing else to do with him—just like Robert had.
Luke downed a good portion of the whiskey in his hands and sank into a seat close enough to the hazard tables that he could keep Haywood in his sights. He leaned back and glanced around the room. Then he lost himself in his own thoughts and contemplated the situation he now found himself in.
Up until now, he’d been satisfied with his life. Wine, women, and song—who would complain about that? He’d been quite content with his self-indulgent lifestyle. His actions had really only ever affected himself—or so he thought. The incident with Lydia at Staveley’s five years ago… Well, that had affected Robert, hadn’t it? Usually when Robert was forced to save Luke’s neck, he only had to throw his influence at whatever the problem was—but this time Robert had been forced to give up his own future.
Luke and Robert had never been particularly close. They ran in different circles and never saw eye-to-eye on much, but they were family. And as Robert had saved Luke time and time again, Luke now felt like a cad for getting Robert into this situation with Lydia in the first place. He never dreamed his brother would feel obligated to marry the little tart. But he had. And now the situation was worse. Now she’d pass off someone’s bastard as Robert’s legitimate heir.
Luke should have told him the truth about Lydia years ago, but it had seemed pointless. By the time he found out that Robert had married the girl, it was too late.
In truth, Luke didn’t care about not being Robert’s heir, not really. The stress of the title and obligations, well, that just wasn’t something Luke had ever wished for. He’d been happy with his own lot and didn’t want Robert’s life. He certainly didn’t want it now.
An attractive female friend, one whose name Luke didn’t even remember anymore, slid on to the settee next to him. She smiled coyly and ran a tantalizing finger along his jaw. Luke frowned at the hussy and pushed her hand off him. He wasn’t all that fond of his own life at the moment.
In a snit, the woman stormed off. Luke drained what remained of the whiskey in his glass and sank back in his seat with a sigh. He would never have believed in a million years that his conniving sister-in-law would have been able to wrap Robert around her pretty little finger in so short a time. His brother was a besotted fool, and he just couldn’t clearly see his wife for what she truly was. It made Luke sick to think about it. And how disheartening to realize that his own selfish act had landed his brother in this precarious situation.
But what could he do now? He tried to warn Robert. He tried to tell him the truth. But the bloody love-sick dolt wouldn’t pay him one bit of attention. Damn Lydia Masten to Hell. Robert didn’t deserve whatever she had planned for him. And while he was at it—Damn himself as well. It was, after all, his fault that his brother was in this trouble to begin with.
“Lucas?” a soft feminine voice asked at his side.
Luke turned his head and grinned up at an old familiar face. Cecily Rigsley dropped into the seat next to him, and she smiled. Now, why hadn’t Robert made things work with her? She was much more his brother’s type—long legs, slender frame, thick brown hair and dark eyes. “Evening, Cecily.”
Cecily reached across her seat and took his hands in hers. “Why, Lucas, whatever has you so distressed, my dear boy?”
Luke usually held his cards fairly close, but he surprised himself when he began to tell her his troubles with Robert. And he was relieve
d to realize that it felt a bit better to get the pressing weight off his chest, so he held nothing back—well, nothing about Lydia.
Cecily listened with great interest and a consoling ear. “His wife?” she echoed in surprise. “Is that the little flame-haired chit I spied him with at Drury Lane?”
“Flame-haired? I suppose it was.” Luke nodded miserably.
“I wondered who she was. At first I thought perhaps she was Astwick’s newest light-o-love. But since his mother was present, I figured that wasn’t the case. But for God’s sake, Lucas, I never would have dreamed that slight little girl was Lady Masten.”
“Her looks can be deceiving,” Luke admitted sullenly.
“And Robert is truly smitten with her?”
Was there a jealous edge to Cecily’s voice? No, of course not. She and Robert had been finished long before Lydia entered the scene. “Blinded is more like it, and it’s all my fault, Cecily.”
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous. Robert is a grown man. You can’t be held responsible for his choices.”
“But I know her, Cecily. I know that she’s passing off some lover’s child as Robert’s. I don’t mind being passed over by a legitimate heir, mind you, but it is a bit nauseating to think that some buck’s by-blow will take my place in line.”
“Don’t be so distraught.” Cecily caressed his folded hands. “Perhaps the child is Robert’s, after all. He’s not a fool, your brother.”
Luke held her dark gaze. “You’re very kind, Cecily, but I know what I know. Why did Robert ever leave you?”
She frowned and looked down. “Your brother can be a very unforgiving man. I said some things I shouldn’t have when I was a bit foxed. And, well, that was the end.”
Through his alcohol-induced haze, Luke nodded glumly. It was coming back to him now. But slowly. He blinked and tried to remember the exact circumstances. Ah, yes, he seemed to recall that Cecily had taken up with Lord Audley after some blowup she’d had with Robert at Vauxhall. Audley had been put out over losing a promising bay to Robert on the stocks, and had taken great pleasure in relieving Masten of his mistress as a consolation prize, of sorts.
By the time Cecily had realized that Audley had no intention of making their friendship a permanent one, Robert had already washed his hands of her. Yes, her desertion was not something Robert would forgive easily. And really none of it mattered anymore, anyway. His brother was in so deep with Lydia that it made Robert’s days of sparring with his mistress at Vauxhall looked like child’s play. “Thank you for your ear, Cecily. And if it’s any comfort, I think Robert was a fool to let you go.”
“You are such a dear, Lucas.” Her eyes sparkled with delight as she stood and happily left him. Why was that? Luke shook his head, nothing made sense anymore.
An audible “Aw,” was heard from the hazard table. Luke’s head popped up and he refocused on Haywood. His young friend’s shoulders were slumped forward and his head was bent in defeat. Damn. How much had he lost now? Honestly, the boy didn’t have anything else to lose except for his horseflesh.
***
When Robert heard a child laughing over the sounds of the ocean, he knew he was getting closer. He followed the stone path to the sandy beach behind the castle and spotted them. Lydia sat on the ground with her legs tucked neatly under her skirts, smiling as she watched the children. Penny jumped bare-footed and drenched in the surf, giggling happily, and Peter knelt on his knees, digging a hole in the sand with a rock. What a beautiful picture they all made together.
As Robert grew closer, he heard Lydia speaking to Peter. He wasn’t one normally to eavesdrop, but he just didn’t want to interrupt this sweet domestic scene, and his presence would do precisely that.
“Thank you for being patient with her, Peter. I hope you never lose each other.” Lydia smiled wistfully.
“Like you lost your brother?”
She nodded her head. “Oh, Henry is out there somewhere.” She pointed to the sea. “And I just hope that wherever he is, he’s safe.”
An idea struck Robert, and he smiled. He could do that. It was quite simple really. He had to go to London anyway, so while he was there, why not drop off a note at the Admiralty? He knew Lydia’s rift with Lieutenant Warner bothered her every day. Perhaps he could help. She had changed over the years, perhaps the lieutenant had as well. Perhaps their relationship could still be salvaged. And if not, nothing was lost, as they had nothing now. But this would be successful; he could feel it in his bones.
Robert stepped forward and cleared his throat. Peter stood at attention and let the sand in his hands fall through his fingers. Lydia smiled at Robert and started to get up, but he rushed to her side and helped her to her feet. “Darling, don’t tax yourself.”
Lydia giggled and smoothed his coat across his chest. “I am perfectly capable of standing up, Robert. I’m not an invalid.”
He dropped a kiss on her cheek. “If you don’t want me to leave, say the word, sweetheart, and I’ll stay. It’s just a horse. There’ll be another.”
She stood up on the tips of her toes and brushed her lips against his. “I don’t want you to leave. But you’ll only be gone a few days, and I’ll have plenty to keep me busy while you’re away. Besides, I know how much you want that stud.”
Penny came in from the sea and threw her arms around Robert’s leg, soaking him completely through. Instantly, the image of Carteret covered in blue paint flashed through Robert’s mind. Months ago when he’d spoken with the Scottish earl, he’d envied the man’s beautiful wife and loving family. He now had that himself, and how wonderful it was. He laughed and picked the soaking child up in his arms and placed a kiss on the top of her brown curls.
“Are you leaving now?” the girl asked with a pout while a tiny tear ran down her cheek.
He smiled and tousled her hair. He couldn’t love the little girl more if she was his natural child. “I’m afraid so, imp. But I’ll be back before you know it.” Robert put the girl back on the ground and sank to his haunches to speak to Peter. “I’m leaving you in charge, young man. Make sure Lady Masten gets enough to eat, and plenty of rest.”
Peter nodded in response, “I’ll take care of her, sir.”
“I know you will.” Robert patted the boy’s back. Peter had grown so much in the last few weeks. He spent his days in the schoolroom with Miss Mitford and his afternoons in the stables, doting on Star Dancer and Gardenia. He’d even worked up the courage to brush one of the stallions the other day. Robert was very proud of the boy.
Both children had come so far from the scrawny little pick-pockets Lydia had found. They seemed settled and happy—safe. And their studies were coming along nicely too. They never dropped their h’s anymore and their diction was much improved. So far, Miss Mitford had done a remarkable job with her charges.
Robert turned his attention back to his wife. He pulled her into his arms and held her tight. He hadn’t been away from Lydia since the day he’d forced her back under his roof in London, and so much had happened since then. He would miss her desperately. It was only for a few days, he knew that in his mind. But his heart…well, that was another thing altogether. He’d become so accustomed to holding her every night as they fell asleep, and Robert dreaded this separation. How foolish he’d been to ever think he could live without her.
But there were things that needed to be done, things he had to do in London. It would be a quick trip. He’d acquire Devil’s Inferno, check in with Mr. Birch about the status of the adoptions, and leave a letter for Lieutenant Warner with the Admiralty. Then he’d hurry back to Dorset, to his wife and their children.
***
When Phelps saw the Earl of Masten’s coach stop in front of his Berkeley Square home, the elderly man took a deep breath and opened the large door for his lordship. The earl had left London so quickly last time he was in town, and the butler wasn’t quite sure what to expect from his employer.
But his lordship bounced up the front steps with a happy gait, not what th
e old man had anticipated. Phelps couldn’t quite pinpoint it, but there was something a bit different about the earl from the last time he’d seen him—a softening perhaps.
Robert offered his hat and cane to his butler with a smile. “Evening, Phelps.” He nodded and stared toward his study.
Phelps cleared his throat. “Lord Masten, both Lord Astwick and Lord Clayworth are awaiting your arrival in the parlor.”
“They’re both here?” Robert was aghast. “Last time I checked they each had homes of their own.” He frowned and made his way to the parlor.
He threw open the door and stood in amazement at his two dearest friends. They were drinking his whiskey and laughing together, just like old times. It was Chet who first noticed Robert and stood up. “Ah, there you are. We were just starting to worry about you.”
Yes, they seemed like they were terribly worried, laughing and drinking as they were. “What the devil are you doing in my home?”
Chet raised his glass in a mock toast, though he addressed Brendan. “After all this time, with virtually no word from him, and that’s how he greets us.”
Brendan stood and crossed the floor to shake Robert’s hand. “We knew you were due in tonight. Forgive us for making ourselves at home in your absence.”
“Speak for yourself, Clayworth. Don’t apologize for me. Now sit down, Rob, we want to hear all about it.” Chet motioned toward one of the brocade chairs in the room as he flopped back down on the settee behind him.
Robert furrowed his brow. It was often hard to keep up with Chet’s train of thought. “What exactly do you want to hear all about?”
Chet’s laugh boomed throughout the room. “We want to know about your progress, Robert. Rumor has it you’ve installed your pretty wife at Gosling Park? Do tell all, old man.”
Robert didn’t want to grin. He didn’t want to encourage Chet, but he couldn’t quite help himself. “My progress is none of your business, Chester. But to answer your question, Lydia is living with me in Dorset.”
