Tempting the Marquess (The London Lords Book 3)

by Nicola Davidson

  Not for a moment, especially after her first lackluster experience with a man, could she ever have imagined passion to feel like that. It hadn’t just been good, it had been cataclysmic. The way he’d kissed her. Touched her. Teased and sucked and taken her. Each time had somehow been better and more intense. Especially the last one. Lord above, the wicked things he’d whispered in her ear, and the shockingly intoxicating pleasure-pain when he’d stretched her inner walls with his hugely swollen cock at that different angle. It had been so erotic, and as she’d screamed herself hoarse into her pillow, almost too much. Fortunately, he’d at last been spent, and after removing the sponge from her sore and sensitive core, William had been so gentle with her, holding her close and stroking her hair.

  And he’d asked her to wait for him.

  As always, that odd mix of joy and doubt twisted her stomach, and Samantha paced the room, unable to be still. As she well knew from past experience, words meant little. Even from a man of honor like William. Asking her to wait and avoid other men wasn’t the same as proposing. And even though his staff had treated her with rather astonishing respect and cordiality the following morning as they’d fetched her a hot bath and brand-new clothing and breakfast, then sent her on her way in an unmarked carriage to protect her privacy, they probably weren’t expecting to ever see her again.

  A knock sounded. “Lady Samantha, breakfast is ready downstairs. I think his lordship will join you in a bit, but her ladyship is still abed.”

  “Thank you,” she called back through the door to the maid.

  She wasn’t really hungry at all; in fact, eating had been a chore since William had gone. But spending an hour with her father had become quite a pleasant activity.

  Tugging on her favorite comfortable slippers, she then smoothed her lemon-striped day dress, and made her way to the dining room. Ugh. On another day her stomach would have been growling in delight at the display of coddled eggs and bacon and toasted bread with preserves, but today it made her nauseous.

  After staring at the warming trays for a long moment, she finally selected a single rasher of bacon and a slice of toast and currant jam, and took her plate to the table.

  “What a tiny helping, m’dear. Food not to your liking? Do I need to have a stern word with Cook?”

  She smiled as her father entered the dining room, his cravat askew, waistcoat buttoned incorrectly and the beginnings of a brandy flush already tinting his cheeks. “Good morning, Papa. No, no, I’m just not so hungry today.”

  “Ah, I know what the problem is. Hint of nerves before an outing with young Standish, eh? Excellent prospects there, what a clever girl you are. Wouldn’t be at all surprised if you brought him up to scratch, even.”

  Samantha burst into tears.

  Giving her an appalled look, her father ambled closer and instead of sitting at the head of the table, he sat down beside her. “Here now, what are the tears for?” he said, awkwardly patting her on the shoulder. “Did the two of you have a spat? Never mind, he’ll come around.”

  “No, it is much worse,” she said, sniffling, “Oh, Papa, I don’t know what to do.”

  The earl scratched his head, then leaned across to the sideboard for his ever-present brandy bottle. He splashed a generous portion into her tea cup, but the sight of the curdling beverage made her stomach rebel further, and she swiftly pressed a napkin to her mouth to quell her churning stomach.

  “I think it best that you tell me everything, Samantha. At once. Don’t like seeing you like this. Not one little bit.”

  “I shouldn’t.”

  “Why shouldn’t you?” he asked softly. “Of all the people in the world, I am the one you can trust. And I’m not at all shockable. Seen it all in my life, indeed I have.”

  She managed a watery smile. “I know, Papa. But if I say…you mustn’t tell anyone. Not any of your friends, even Mother. Swear it.”

  “This sounds serious,” said Claremont, and he took a swig of brandy straight from the bottle.

  “Swear.”

  “Of course, m’dear. Now tell me before my buttons pop. I’m not wearing the right waistcoat for long-winded confessions today.”

  Samantha took a deep breath. Even with her father it felt wrong to say anything, but if she didn’t tell someone, she would be in Bedlam before the week was out. “Lord Standish has gone to France.”

  “France? Why the devil would he go there? People doing all sorts of silly things. In my opinion, there is only one reason to go to France, and that is to restock your cellar, but there are gents who will bring it right to your door, so no reason at all really.”

  “He’s gone on a special mission. To bring home Colonel Lord Robert Langley, you know, the Duke of Southby’s brother. The colonel was wounded in Paris!”

  “You don’t say. Well, I never! No wonder you are upset. Will Standish be gone a long time?”

  Tears welled again. “I’m not sure. He left four days ago, but could be gone a few weeks or maybe more. He says they will be so safe, with soldiers to guard them, and they won’t be fighting, but I’m so worried.”

  “What alarming news. Very alarming news, indeed. Poor Standish—I hope he stays out of harm’s way.”

  “I hope so, t-too.”

  “Ah, try not to fret too much, Samantha. The marquess is a clever man and I’m sure it will all work out for the best. But gracious me, what a hefty responsibility, going into a boiling cauldron like Paris to bring home his good friend’s brother. So brave!”

  Her smile wobbled. “The bravest. Oh, he is wonderful, Papa, the best of men.”

  “Then chin up, pet. Now, you must excuse me, I have an appointment. If you see your mother, tell her I won’t be home for supper later, I’ll be at my club.”

  After he had gone, in an attempt to distract herself, Samantha accepted an invitation to tea with Caroline over at Forsyth House. She thought she was doing rather well in her tea-sipping and conversation, until a cough made her jump.

  “Samantha Charlotte Buchanan. So far you have crumbled three biscuits, removed all the raisins from a slice of cake, and shredded two napkins, all while staring mutely out the window. I would be insulted, but it has been altogether too fascinating. Must say, though, if you continue to torture innocent sweets in front of my children, I will be forced to empty this teapot over your head.”

  “Sorry, Caro,” she said guiltily. “I’m a terrible cousin-in-law.”

  “Not at all, but I’ll confess I’m dying to know what is going on. Is it something to do with Lord Standish going away?”

  She sighed. “Perhaps.”

  Caroline’s smile widened, and she leaned forward to peer into the wooden cradle where the twins were swaddled in light blankets. “Perhaps?”

  “Are Serena and Olivia asleep?”

  “Yes, at last. But don’t attempt to change the subject, dearest. You are behaving as though his lordship has been gone at least a year. Do I take it from your total distraction that he is a man of superior skill in areas other than estate management and politics?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Samantha muttered, taking several large gulps of tea.

  “Then I am absolutely convinced that something happened between the two of you before he left…good grief. Those ruby red cheeks trumpet blast improper. And now you can’t wait until he returns and is improper with you again.”

  The snap of Samantha’s fan opening was louder than Vauxhall fireworks.

  Caroline’s eyebrows almost reached her hairline. “Hell and damnation, that improper? First Louisa, now you—”

  “If I recall correctly, yours was a rather hasty wedding thanks to a certain porcelain-smashing and bodice-tearing incident, Lady Westleigh.”

  “Entirely beside the point. And it is worth noting my daughters were not premature. So, am I going to be a matron of honor shortly, then?”

  “I don’t know,” Samantha said miserably. “He didn’t say anything about marriage, but he did want me to wait for
him. And warned against any other men in his absence.”

  “Really? Maybe not a proposal as such, but from someone as reserved as Lord Standish, definitely a declaration. Why aren’t you happy?”

  Samantha sighed. “I don’t know. It’s silly really. But I feel like there is something going on, and for some reason I’m not allowed to know about it. That day that William—”

  “Oh, William, is it?” said Caroline with a raised eyebrow. “I’d say that might have been your proposal. Only the London Lords have leave to call him that. No one else would dare.”

  “Anyway. That day he escorted Aunt Jane and me to the museum, he and Stephen had a fight. Actual proper fisticuffs. And then both tried to say it was just a difference of opinion.”

  “Maybe it was.”

  “Oh, please. When have you known either of them to be hotheads?”

  “Never, really,” Caroline conceded, frowning. Then she brightened. “Maybe Lord Standish was just out of sorts because he has completely fallen for you. Stephen probably wanted to fight because he cannot accept his baby cousin is a grown woman gaining male attention. I shudder to think what he’ll be like when the girls make their come out. Then again, at the christening, apparently George vowed to teach them to pick locks and tie sheets together, so perhaps the battle will be even.”

  Samantha burst out laughing. “So much to look forward to.”

  “Indeed, poppet, indeed.”

  Pontoise, France

  At this rate, he would be more than happy to never sit in a saddle again. Ever.

  Suppressing a wince, William pulled his greatcoat tighter around his body to shelter from the steady rain. Not only a backside that would possess a saddle imprint for the rest of time, but a set of webbed feet as well.

  The soldiers in civilian clothing who were guarding the small party said rain was common in the northern parts of France, but it felt more like the gods were laughing at them. After about one hundred and seventy damned miles on horseback, he had no sense of humor left.

  Especially when Samantha was so far away. He’d tried to stop thinking about her on the short sea voyage to Calais, and as they trotted down one rocky, unkempt trail after another in order to stay away from officials and French soldiers gathering in all sorts of random locations, but failed utterly. It seemed he’d had his glimpse of heaven, and nothing less would do. Certainly not the company of grim-faced soldiers, nor the nondescript houses in Arras and Amiens and Beauvais who provided information, bread and cheese suppers, pallets for a few hours rest, then sent them on their way. Not that they’d protested. It was too important to get to Robert, especially as the situation in and around Paris grew more heated and leaned further and further toward Napoleon’s cause. And the road home with a badly injured man would be slow and dangerous.

  But damnation, he missed her.

  “Town is just up ahead, sir.”

  William turned to the soldier riding next to him and inclined his head. The entire journey he’d been called nothing but sir. White had insisted that no names or titles be used, which was fair enough. If they were being watched or followed, the less information to identify them, the better.

  “Thank you,” he said quietly. “What is it like? I haven’t been here before, always carried on straight to Paris.”

  “Very medieval. Lots of churches and convents. The streets can be narrow and steep in places, which makes them a pain in the arse…er, difficult to travel quickly.”

  William stifled a smile. “Pleasant for artists to sketch rather than those moving produce. Or weapons.”

  “Aye, sir,” said the soldier, his eyes darting left and right as they inched their way down a rather derelict path amongst the vegetation. The main road was nearby, but the closer they got to the Ile de France region, the more cautious the group had become. “Here, look. Just through the trees. Welcome to Pontoise.”

  Even at dusk, the majesty and history of the area was evident. The cathedral spires rose high into the sky with an impressive gothic façade and even a Renaissance-era dome. If he remembered correctly from the brief notes he’d read about the place, English armies had invaded on a few occasions, but had always been thrown out eventually.

  Yet as lovely as the town appeared, he was here for one reason only: Robert. And he wouldn’t be satisfied until he’d set his own eyes on Alexander’s brother and knew for a fact he was alive. Truth be told, he was wary of what he might find. Robert’s men were fiercely loyal toward their colonel, and spoke of him in nothing but glowing terms as a soldier and a leader, but there was a bleakness in their eyes that spoke of grave uncertainty for the future. Even badly injured might be an understatement.

  William turned back to the soldier accompanying him. “Where are our quarters? Is Colonel Langley there?”

  If he weren’t used to noticing fine detail, he might have missed the other man’s shoulder slump. Hell. They were all bracing themselves for the worst.

  “Yes, sir. After the skirmish, we had to get him out of Paris as soon as possible. We didn’t want to move him, the state he was in…but them damned blue coats would have killed him on the spot had they found him. There was a rumor…men in the city offering a huge bounty for his head. His actual head. Like in the bloody Revolution.”

  “Christ,” William whispered. “You did the right thing.”

  “Wellington would have had our guts for garters if we hadn’t. He and our colonel, they are almost like father and son. That’s why the French want him dead so badly. And they almost succeeded. Only thing that saved us was we got their riflemen before they got ours, so their swordsmen were left with less protection. We killed ’em all. But not before…before…”

  “I understand.”

  “No, sir. You don’t. We had the best of the best for the Peninsula War. But our ranks were decimated so they could send more troops to fight the Americans. Too many of our numbers now are green as fucking…beg pardon, inexperienced. We had some fresh officers in Colonel Langley’s group for Paris. Sons of the peerage who barely knew how to hold a damned sword, foisted on our colonel because of who his brother is. Those bastards are the reason Colonel Langley was cut to pieces. He was protecting their lily-livered hides.”

  Nausea churned violently in his stomach. “Take me to him. At once.”

  The fading light proved to be their friend, and a half hour later, they approached a simple two-storied wooden building in a shabbier section of Pontoise. Even though William couldn’t see much, he could practically feel the eyes, and weapons, trained on them from both sides of the street. And that was incredibly reassuring.

  The soldier dismounted in an enviably efficient and smooth manner. “This way, sir.”

  Gritting his teeth, William slid from his saddle. Under the guise of giving his borrowed horse a pat, he took a moment to stretch his muscles, all while praying his legs wouldn’t collapse under him. After a few twinges of sharp pain it seemed his limbs were going to behave, so he followed the soldier into the building. Several burly men waited just inside the door, heavily armed and gazes colder than a Siberian winter.

  One man with graying hair stepped forward. “State your business.”

  William inclined his head. “Package collection for Mr. White.”

  At once, the room warmed and the men around him relaxed. Gray Hair half-smiled. “About time you got here, sir.”

  “Is everything ready for a departure first thing in the morning?”

  The man grimaced. “Not quite. We purchased a cart to carry the colonel back to Calais, but got into a scrap when it was being delivered. Buggers wanted thrice again the price, and we didn’t have the blunt to pay for it. With all due respect, sir, the army can be slow with money.”

  “I understand, believe me. But this particular mission, unofficial though it may be, has been signed off at the highest level, and generously equipped. There will be more than enough for a new cart, plus weapons and supplies to restock your cellar.”

  “That is good to hear. All
around us, blacksmiths and farriers and carpenters, not to mention all the farmers, are being called into service. The French are preparing for war, sir. I hope to God Britain and her allies are ready, because I reckon Napoleon will be marching north in May.”

  William froze. “That soon?”

  “Aye. So we need to get Colonel Langley away from here and back to England as soon as possible.”

  “Can I see him?”

  Gray Hair nodded. “Come this way. He’s in the back room.”

  Ducking his head under the low door frame, William followed the man down a narrow candlelit hallway. Another soldier stood at attention outside a closed door. “Is this Colonel Langley’s room?”

  “Aye, sir. We have guards posted outside, across the road, next door, and upstairs too. Ain’t no one getting to him. We shoot to kill. No warnings.”

  “Good,” said William, taking a deep breath. Then he unhooked the latch and pushed open the door. Like the hallway, the room was lit by candles. It wasn’t large, but the furniture was sturdy, and the linen surprisingly clean. Sheets of fine muslin had been tacked to the roof to protect from insects.

  Crossing the room, he paused next to the bed. No matter what Alexander’s brother looked like, he had to remain calm and reassuring. He lifted the fabric, to find a dark-haired man on his side facing the wall. “Robert?”

  The unmoving, and naked figure on the bed coughed. “Who wants to know?”

  William swallowed back bile. It was Robert’s voice, and yet sounded all wrong. Hoarse. Raw, like chains scraping stone. “It’s me. Standish.”

  Slowly, Robert turned away from the wall and looked at him.

  Christ. Hell. Fuck.

  William pressed a fist to his lips to halt a gasp of horrified denial. This couldn’t be Colonel Lord Robert Langley. That man was tall and broad-shouldered and built like barn. That man was dashingly invincible, and the acknowledged pride of the British army. Not so acknowledged, but the pride of the Langley family also.