Tempting the Marquess (The London Lords Book 3)

by Nicola Davidson

  She gazed at him with such acute disappointment for his flippant answer, he almost apologized. Except that was something his character would never do. As evidenced by the pistol, broom, and geese-inflicted injuries the real David Underwood was currently nursing somewhere.

  “I know about being alone. And being lonely,” she blurted. “I’m sorry I said anything. Please excuse me.”

  “Don’t go,” he replied, his hand jerking out to circle her wrist before he could even think about the wrongness of the gesture. For God’s sake. That was struggling William Hastings, not lecherous, devil-may-care Underwood. “If you stay, I’ll even attempt to behave—”

  “Underwood,” cut in a deep, frigid voice. “I cannot think of a single adequate reason for you to be grasping Lady Samantha’s wrist. I suggest you let her go at once.”

  William glanced at Alexander. His best friend looked ready to do violence. Well, the feeling was mutual. “No need to get your drawers in a bunch there, dukie. Sam and I were just having a friendly little chat.”

  “No more chats. Lady Samantha, we’re leaving now.”

  “Oh. Are we?” Samantha replied uncertainly.

  “Indeed. And the dowager wants to know if you wish to return to Sackville Street or stay the night at Forsyth House. It’s no trouble either way,” Alexander continued, resting his hand on the curve of her waist but staring directly at him.

  William’s breath hissed between his teeth. Was his former best friend warning him away? Forget simple violence, only a headfirst plummet over the railing and into the pits would do for the bastard now. That arm at her waist was far, far, too proprietary.

  “Well,” said Samantha quickly. “In that case, I’d prefer Forsyth House. Mother and Papa both had plans for the evening, and I feel like a pea in a barrel when I’m at home by myself!”

  “Of course. Well, let’s be off then. Underwood,” Alexander finished icily, giving him the ducal stare of death.

  “Southby,” he replied chirpily, bowing low. “And, Sam, my darling, it certainly has been a treat to see you again, all grown up.”

  Alexander tucked her hand under his arm and near-dragged her away, but she glanced back and gave him a small smile. “Goodnight, Uncle David. Perhaps we’ll meet again.”

  “Goodnight, pet,” he called.

  Meet again? Oh, you can count on it.

  Chapter 13

  John leaned back in the padded chair in his library and sighed in satisfaction. His life was about perfect right now. Yes, he shared a house with the two most nauseating females in England, but other than that, perfect.

  He held more power than most nobles and the royals to boot, and the fools didn’t even know it. The safe hidden behind his bookcase contained a king’s ransom worth of gold and jewels. And soon, so very soon, his life’s work would come to fruition, and Napoleon would conquer not only the continent, but this God-forsaken island as well.

  The dark clouds of the most brutal storm in history were gathering. And he couldn’t wait to march alongside the only man worthy of the title Emperor, and watch the humiliating defeat of that puffed-up bastard Wellington. Napoleon couldn’t lose. He had the cunning and the experience, not to mention a far superior army. The allied forces were scattered. Depleted. Ripe to be crushed.

  “Claremont! Oh, Claaaaaremonnnnt.” Eva barged through the door without knocking, because that was something only people with a modicum of good sense or manners did.

  “What do you want?” he said irritably.

  “Is that any way to speak to your dear wife?”

  John glanced at the letter opener sitting on his desk. It would be so easy to stab her to death. But even an amoral idiot like Eva had her uses. Her house parties and dinners had concealed many lucrative transactions, and she could be relied upon to seduce any man he placed in her path. Many a deal had been sweetened, or investigation diverted, by his unwitting spouse.

  “Ah. You want money.”

  “I think I deserve some,” she pouted. “You have a new horse, the best wines, and all those rifles and pistols. I didn’t even know you liked hunting.”

  “It is one of my favorite activities. I live for the kill. But your allowance is more than sufficient. If you didn’t spend money like water, you could pay your bills.”

  Eva stomped her foot. “I do not. Everything costs more than you could imagine thanks to that horrid little Frenchman.”

  “Careful, my dear. I’d hate to have to hand you over to him.”

  “Oh, Claremont,” she giggled, the sound grating as rusty hinges. “You’re so awful to me, I don’t know why I married you.”

  “Because Lady Young found you half-naked and astride me in her library.”

  “Oh yes. A wife in days and months later a mother. Hmmm. I wonder how Samantha is. I’ve been meaning to see her, but the callers are starting to drop off now that Lord Standish’s shooting is old news. And the Season keeps me so busy.”

  “Ahem,” came a discreet cough from the doorway.

  “Yes?” said John, relieved at the interruption. He could only tolerate Eva in the smallest of doses.

  “Apologies, your lordship, but an urgent missive has arrived.”

  He took the note and dismissed the footman with a wave. The handwriting was distinctly recognizable as Phillipe’s. Interesting. Perhaps news from France? Standish had succumbed to his wounds? That would be welcome indeed.

  Unfolding the thick parchment, John began to read. When he finished, he sat back in his chair, wanting to roar in triumph. It seemed even now, life could get better.

  “Well. Your daughter is far more enterprising than I thought,” he mused.

  “What?” said Eva, blankly. “Who is the letter from? Is it good news, then?”

  “My dear, limit yourself to one inane question at a time or you’ll have a hot flush.”

  “Inane? What does that mean? You know I don’t like it when you use words I haven’t heard of.”

  John smiled. “It’s another word for intelligent and insightful.”

  “Oh,” she replied smugly, placated. “Then I am most inane.”

  “Yes, you are. It is the main reason I married you. Now, as to the letter, it contains information which might lead to a proposal. A proposal which would see Samantha take the mantle of society empress.”

  “Are you drunk, Claremont? How on earth could Samantha be a society empress? She is so short. And has bad hair.”

  John breathed deeply, his fingers caressing the letter opener. It would only take seconds. And a half hour at most to get rid of her body forever.

  Instead, he smiled. “It seems she has been visiting an extremely prominent Grosvenor Square address other than Forsyth House. Unchaperoned. At rather odd hours. And was seen at the theater being held by the owner of that same prominent address.”

  “Samantha has a lover?” Eva frowned. “And here I thought she was mad about Standish. Well, I never! Who is it? He must be exceedingly wealthy, they all are around there.”

  “Beyond anything you could imagine. And unlike my title, his is absolutely ancient.”

  “A title as well? Oh, who is it? Tell me, tell me!”

  John laughed as energy fizzed through his veins.

  What to do, what to do. Call the Duke of Southby out? Send an anonymous note to that henwit gossip Lady Havenhurst? Take a stand as the caring and indignant father, demanding restitution for the stolen innocence of his virginal daughter? The benefits of being father-in-law to the most powerful nobleman in England would be countless. Instant access to the best of everything. Unlimited credit anywhere. Full admittance to the country’s highest inner circle. Information.

  And as the Duchess of Southby’s dear papa, he would be untouchable.

  “Come now, Eva. You know everything worth having must be worked for.”

  “Do I have to?” she protested in distaste, and his cock hardened. It always made it infinitely better, knowing how much she loathed submitting to him what she would gladly do for any
pretty-faced boy in London.

  “Of course not. But surely you want to know all about the senior peer your precious little girl is carrying on with.”

  Eva blinked. “Senior? How senior?”

  “Top of the tree,” he said, waving the letter temptingly.

  “I hope you aren’t teasing me, Claremont.”

  “Not at all. I’ll even let you read this. After you earn it,” he said, gesturing to the floor. Reluctantly obedient, she knelt in a flurry of bows and feathers to release his erection from his trousers. Soon her warm, wet tongue and clever fingers had him on the edge of climax, and he thrust himself deeper down her throat, making her gag as he forced her to swallow every drop of his seed.

  Indeed, the position of power was the only place to be.

  Chapter 14

  Occasionally, just occasionally, London would put on a day so agreeable in temperature and breeze and sunshine, it made residents quite forget that at other times of the year it could be most unpleasant.

  Today was one of those perfect days. Samantha, Caroline, and Aunt Jane had decided to take advantage of it with a stroll down one of the less popular, thus quieter and more serene, paths in Hyde Park. Her aunt had advised that gentle exercise and fresh air were both good for a mother-to-be, and unlike those who instructed ladies of quality to stay out of the sun to avoid nasty freckles, she believed sunshine in small doses to be good for the soul.

  Samantha had to agree.

  Alongside evenings at the theater with astonishingly good acting followed by inappropriate conversations with elderly reprobates, it seemed. David Underwood was a complete scapegrace, shocking and indelicate and unrepentant…and yet there had been something endearing about him, too. Amusing. At no time had she sensed any kind of cruelty or malice in the man, just someone who didn’t give a fig about society rules or norms. Actually, the only truly alarming moment had been when he’d taken her wrist to stop her leaving, and she’d felt a small jolt of heat.

  That had been unnerving. Surely she couldn’t be attracted to a sixty-year-old man.

  “Samantha Charlotte!”

  She nearly jumped a foot in the air. “Sorry, was I woolgathering?”

  Caroline laughed. “Well, Jane and I have been trying to get your attention for a good five minutes. What were you thinking about? Or,” she added with a sly look, “is it more who you were thinking about that is the case?”

  “I just…I just have a lot on my mind right now.”

  “And the tiredness and nausea,” said Aunt Jane, patting her arm sympathetically. “It’s not a nice combination, poor dear.”

  “Wait a minute,” said Caroline, coming to a halt on the gravel path and pinning Samantha with a look. “Tiredness and…nausea?”

  Her aunt took an audible breathe, her mouth opening and shutting like a fish out of water. “It’s just a stomach upset. Samantha will be right as rain in no time.”

  Caroline snorted. “That might have been a smooth rescue, dear mama-in-law, if I wasn’t already aware that Sam beat Lord Standish about the head with a stick and dragged him back to her lair for hours of unspeakable impropriety.”

  “To be strictly factual,” mumbled Samantha, “it was his lair. And we dragged each other.”

  “La la la,” said Aunt Jane, covering her ears. “I cannot hear this.”

  “Oh, hush,” said Caroline tartly. “My mother and father anticipated their wedding day. If George hadn’t caught us, I daresay Stephen and I would have also. And may I remind you, ma’am, of the inadequate gap between your wedding day and the premature birth of your eldest son?”

  Samantha gazed at her aunt in surprise. “Gregory was…oh! That’s how you know the pulling out method is as unreliable as a sponge.”

  “Pfft,” said her aunt, her cheeks scarlet. “All right, fine. Andrew and I may have anticipated our vows. Once.”

  “Ha!” said Caroline. “You were two little rabbits in springtime, weren’t you?”

  Aunt Jane sniffed like a haughty empress. Then her brown eyes took on a devilish glint, and curling both hands in front of her, she hopped twice down the path.

  Caroline burst out laughing, and Aunt Jane joined in, her shoulders shaking. Tears running down her face, Samantha giggled uncontrollably. It was just as well this particular path was clear right now, otherwise the three of them would be transported to Bedlam with all haste. But the laughter felt so good. Cleansing, even.

  “Thank you,” said Samantha, when they were calmer. “I desperately needed that.”

  “Whatever for?” said Caroline archly. “You’re only an unmarried ton daughter expecting a baby to an injured lord trapped in a foreign country we’re practically at war with. Tiny matter.”

  “Much obliged for that succinct summary of my life.”

  “Oh, darling,” said Aunt Jane, giving her a hug. “William will be home soon, and when he’s well enough, I’ll organize you the most marvelous wedding. Then in the New Year you’ll be just another society matron with a surprisingly sturdy premature baby. It happens so often, such news doesn’t even interest Lady Havenhurst nowadays.”

  Samantha sighed. “You really think it will all be fine?”

  “Yes,” said Caroline. “We will make it fine. In fact, I insist that 1816 be without sadness or violence of any kind.”

  Aunt Jane shuddered. “I want to write to Liverpool and propose a ban on pistols. People are entirely too eager to shoot others…that is why I was so surprised to see David last night. I could have sworn he had been shot!”

  “Is Mr. Underwood really that bad?” asked Caroline. “I tried to talk to Stephen about him last night, and he just got this pained look on his face and then distracted me. But now I really want to know.”

  “No, he’s not a bad man. He just has some bad habits, like bedding other men’s wives. Now, I personally don’t like or approve of affairs, but if the husband and wife have a certain understanding with each other, well, that is their business. David, though…I think he quite likes the danger of it all.”

  “Or perhaps Mr. Underwood just misses his late wife terribly and doesn’t know what to do with himself,” said Samantha, unable to stop the nagging feeling that the man was lonely and needed companionship.

  “Maybe,” said Caroline. “You were talking to him, Sam—how did he seem? It looked like he made you laugh at one point.”

  Samantha smiled. “He did. Mr. Underwood is amusing, when he’s not attempting to shock your hair snow-white. I…I couldn’t help but like him. I don’t know why.”

  “David has that effect,” said Aunt Jane, rolling her eyes. “I’m always torn between wanting to strangle him and hug him. My husband just wanted to punch him in the nose. David is definitely not someone who does well in the company of other men.”

  “Southby wanted to punch him in the nose,” said Caroline, nodding.

  Samantha frowned in recollection. It was true, Alexander had been rather curt with Mr. Underwood. Well, more curt than usual. Which was ridiculous. Mr. Underwood might have a scandalous reputation, but he ran around with married women, not young spinsters a third his age. “I’m beginning to understand what you meant about the Lords being overprotective in certain circumstances.”

  “Dear Southby,” said Aunt Jane. “He inherited the dukedom at a very young age, you know. I don’t think he’s ever had the opportunity to sow his wild oats like most men. Nor would he even know how. He just takes on more and more responsibility instead. And I worry that one day, his burdens will bury him. Oddly enough, I had that same fear for darling William. He was always so reserved. Holding himself just a little aloof.”

  Caroline grinned. “He just needed the right unconventional blonde to storm his lair and turn his world upside down.”

  Samantha nodded, but one hand instinctively slid down to rest on her stomach. William still didn’t know about her pregnancy, but it definitely wasn’t something that could be written in a letter. And speaking to him face to face was entirely reliant on him recov
ering enough to come home.

  Oh God, did she want him to come home. To hear his voice and feel his arms wrapped around her. Six weeks already seemed an eternity, and she didn’t know how much longer she could bear.

  Why did love have to be so hard?

  “Mr. Underwood, have some decorum, sir! She’s far too young for you.”

  William glanced sideways at the plainly dressed young buck standing next to him on the gravel path within Hyde Park, and sighed. This one was obviously fresh from the country—no one but ninety-year-old spinsters wore an expression of such appalled righteous indignation in London.

  The stranger might have a small point, though. God knew what he’d muttered, or the expression that he’d had on his face as he watched Samantha stroll along the path ahead with Caroline and Aunt Jane, but from the naked horror in the buck’s tone, it had been something akin to a starving wolf spotting a plump spring lamb. Which was understandable.

  After seeing Samantha at the theater, when he’d retired back to his bachelor accommodations and removed the disgusting makeup, wig, and ill-fitting clothing, he’d settled into bed and dreamed of her. Scorching hot, erotic dreams that left him rock-hard and aching—it seemed his cock didn’t care that she might well be an unscrupulous traitor who lured men in with false innocence and sweet words, then betrayed them. No, his idiot appendage just wanted to be deep inside her tight, wet quim again. Much like his lips and tongue wanted to worship her swollen nipples and clitoris. To feel the sting of her fingernails clawing his back, hear the sounds of her orgasmic cries as he filled her with come—

  “Sir! I must insist you immediately cease looking at the young lady like that, or I’ll...I’ll...”

  Silently thanking providence for makeup thick enough to hide a flush as bad as a young lad seeing a naked woman for the first time, William thumped his cane on the ground and glared at the stripling. The fact that he would knock unconscious and hurl into the Thames any man who looked at Samantha like he’d been doing wasn’t in the slightest bit hypocritical. “Are you new to the city, boy?”