“Oh?”
The earl laughed. “Samantha quite fell under Southby’s spell. Spent so much time with him, all hours of the day and night. Whenever he clicked his fingers, she would be over at Langley House...I saw her happy exhaustion when she came home. Obviously there is one room that frigid man melts, the duke must have had her again and again and again.”
“How scandalous,” William replied in his best bored voice. “But you did nothing to stop it?”
“Why would I?” Claremont drawled, taking another sip of brandy. “A doting papa would never deny his daughter her heart’s desire. Besides, a little carelessness, a hasty wedding, and Samantha is a duchess. Or even if his fevered rutting between her thighs doesn’t put a babe in her belly, she’ll still have an extremely powerful friend.”
“This is true.”
“Ack. If only my wife was as discerning as her daughter when it comes to fucking all and sundry. Who knows where the Buchanans might be right now...”
The sound of glass shattering was unnaturally loud in the cozy tranquility of the room. Glancing down as the sharp scent of brandy perfumed the library, William stared at the tumbler he’d just crushed in his hand.
“Good God, are you all right, Underwood? They don’t make crystal like they used to, do they? Let me pour you another drink.”
William shook his head. Christ, he would need ten baths to scrub this evening away. “Don’t bother. I really should be getting back to the ballroom.”
“Wait. Never say I offended you! I thought, like myself, you were a man of the world.”
“I believe our definition of worldliness is somewhat different.”
“Ah. Perhaps, as practically family, you are miffed on Standish’s behalf? Don’t be. I sympathize fully with the marquess’s plight. He goes to France to rescue his friend’s brother, and all the while said friend is relentlessly plowing his field. That is cold. And to make matters worse, Standish is shot twice. I do hope he fully recovers. Bullet wounds to the left shoulder can be nasty devilish things if they become infected.”
Traitor! You traitorous fucking bastard!
William laughed through his blinding rage. “Fret not, my lord. The would-be assassin was as incompetent as the rest of his countrymen, failed utterly in his mission, and was executed. The bullet wounds you speak of are actually just scratches, and the marquess will be back in London within days.”
Claremont’s eyes flared with anger, and he slowly got to his feet. Stretching like a cat in front of a fireplace, he absently scratched his rotund stomach.
William froze. The whole thing had just shifted slightly to the right. Claremont’s obesity, his jowls and brandy flush, were as fake as David Underwood’s.
“You are staring, sir,” said Claremont softly.
“On the contrary, my lord. I’m merely deep in thought.”
“Oh? Do share.”
“It’s a funny thing, really,” William mused. “Went to the theater not long ago, and as I watched the actors, I couldn’t help noticing the belly padding and thick makeup they wore. Looked frightfully uncomfortable.”
Claremont stilled. “What an interesting topic to suddenly spring to mind. But I’m sure you realize the actors are only doing what is necessary to perform their roles. And there is a difference in those who are wholly dedicated to their craft and those who dabble. The serious actors have a long and illustrious career. The dabblers get shoved off the stage into oblivion. To protect the integrity of the troupe, you understand.”
“Even if the troupe has no integrity whatsoever?”
“So inflammatory! Such opinions are often learned at a father’s knee. Well, if the father and mother don’t come to an unfortunate bloody end, that is. Would be such a shame if history repeated itself. Déjà vu, as the French say.”
“It won’t,” William replied easily, wishing he had a weapon to kill this unspeakably evil bastard right now. “Instead, the troupe will be no more. Good evening, Claremont.”
“Good evening, my lo...excuse me, my dear Mr. Underwood. I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again very soon. Sans masks?”
Baring his teeth in a travesty of a smile, William inclined his head as he opened the library door. “I look forward to it.”
Chapter 16
June
Bloody White and his penchant for the dramatic.
Getting rowed out to the military ship in the dead of night, fully disguised, that William could understand. But right now he was draped in woolen blankets and strapped to a board, being carried down the gangplank by four soldiers, with his arm wrapped in about seventeen bandages. No makeup would be needed for the remnants of his supposed fever—his cheeks were flushed and his forehead dripped with sweat in the heat of the sun already.
“There he is! Get out of my way, sirs. Your lordship! Your lordship!”
William lifted his head as far as he could and smiled at the sight of his housekeeper barging through the crowds on the docks. Hard to believe he’d missed the old battle-axe, but right now, having someone around who was actually loyal to him and only him was as welcome as rain to parched earth.
“Mrs. Kingsley. A sight for sore eyes.”
She harrumphed. “Look at you, all feverish and trussed up. But the carriage is waiting just over there, with Mr. Jensen in it. Do you know the damned fool implied I wouldn’t be able to manage the task of collecting you by myself?”
“My father hired Jensen because he was the best butler in London, not because of his understanding of women and their abilities.”
“Indeed. It’s just as well he is good at something,” she said disdainfully as their group made their way toward his carriage. “Abundantly clear why he never married.”
“Now, now. Be charitable. Not everyone is as, ah, capable as you.”
“From the current state of the nation, that is patently obvious. Now, gentlemen, we need to untie his lordship and lift him into the carriage. Can you manage the task?”
“Yes, ma’am,” the soldiers chorused, clearly recognizing a Voice of Authority.
She nodded and climbed into the carriage. Soon William lay stretched out on the left side squab, his head cradled on her lap, and they were on their way.
“My lord,” Jensen intoned. “May I say how good...how very, very good it is to have you—”
“Oh for heaven’s sake, Mr. Jensen, stop sniveling,” growled Mrs. Kingsley, the effect quite ruined when two tears splashed onto William’s cheek.
“All right,” he said, and even to his own ears his voice sounded rough. “Who are you and what have you done with General Kingsley?”
“You are exceedingly fortunate I’m not a general,” his housekeeper replied, dashing a hand across her eyes. “I’d be ordering a flogging for each day of worry you put me through with your foolishness.”
“And she’s back. Not to mention fighting fit.”
“Unlike you, my lord,” Jensen replied. “We need to fetch a physician to look at your wounds.”
“My arm will be fine. It has been tended to most admirably, I promise.”
His butler sniffed. “A military sawbones? Hardly. I’m speaking of a good, proper English doctor.”
Rolling his eyes, William sighed. If he didn’t appease Mother and Father Hen, he wouldn’t have a moment’s peace when he got home. “Very well, Jensen. I’m sure between you and Mrs. Kingsley the necessary arrangements will be made.”
“Of course, your lordship,” said Mrs. Kingsley. “And then you’ll receive visitors? I’m sure his grace will want to see you as soon as possible. Not to mention Lady Samantha. I hear she has been fretting for you something terrible.”
His insides alternately burned and iced at the words, and his fists clenched. “No.”
“Beg pardon? I don’t understand,” she said, her brow furrowing. “I have it on best authority Lady Samantha confined herself to her rooms for days when the news of your shooting arrived. Poor lovie. So smitten she was, plain as the nose on my face.”
“I said no. I don’t want to see either of them.”
“But my lord—”
“Mrs. Kingsley,” he said, so coldly she actually recoiled against the window of the carriage. “I will not say the words again.”
His housekeeper pursed her lips, and they travelled in silence the rest of the way to Hastings House. As the carriage pulled up outside the front door, a wave of weariness overtook him. Suddenly nothing sounded better than collapsing in his own bed.
“Now, your lordship, to get you inside,” Jensen began. “I can gather as many footmen as necessary...”
“It’s all right, I can walk.”
“Oh. Of course. But perhaps you’ll permit us to find you a suitable physician?”
“Looks like someone suitable is already here,” said Mrs. Kingsley. “There’s Dr. Murray.”
William glanced out the carriage window and smiled grimly. Geoffrey Murray was indeed the best in the business. Old-school doctors hated the man because he not only combined traditional practices with herbals, and advised against bleeding patients as a cure, but had trained his daughter to medical school level so she could assist him. Yet he’d been the savior of many undercover operatives, as well as Stephen, and Louisa Trentham, and he remained utterly trustworthy and discreet.
“Go and offer the doctor some refreshments, Mrs. Kingsley. Tell him I’ll be pleased to see him shortly.”
“At once, your lordship,” she replied, climbing out of the carriage and bustling away.
Turning, Jensen bowed. “Welcome home. Everyone is going to be beside themselves.”
“Not sure I like the sound of that,” William said as they made their way up the front steps. “Will cost me an absolute fortune in extra wages.”
“How convenient you are richer than Prinny then!”
“Everyone is richer than Prinny.”
“True, but you have far better bloodlines. And a much more handsome countenance. Not to mention—”
“Jensen.”
“Yes, my lord?”
“I am quite well. In fact, it is only if you persist with these truly horrifying attempts at flattery that I will become violently ill.”
His butler sagged. “Oh, thank heavens. Don’t know what I’d do if you turned into one of those dandies who wanted to be admired all the time.”
“Resign?”
“Ha. This household would fall to rack and ruin without me. Certain others might think they run everything, but I’m sure you are aware who is really in charge.”
“Naturally,” said William, suppressing a smile.
“Now, would you like anything, your lordship? Some breakfast, perhaps?”
“No. It’s been a long seven weeks, Jensen, I’m going to see the doctor and then rest. I don’t want to be disturbed unless the house is ablaze.”
“Of course, my lord.”
A quarter hour later he sat on his huge four-poster bed, piled high with pillows and made up with linen so cool and crisp it felt like water. Except now memories were bombarding him of the last time he had slept here. Samantha underneath him, her sweet, lush body arching as she climaxed. Samantha draped over him, her blonde curls spilling onto his chest. Damned woman. Even after everything, it was still her face he saw in his dreams. Her touch he craved.
“Lord Standish. It’s a relief to see you.”
He glanced over at the familiar visage of Geoffrey Murray standing next to Mrs. Kingsley. He was dressed, as usual, entirely in gray, his face unsmiling. “Thank you for coming.”
“I’ve been made aware of your injuries. May I take a look?”
William nodded and stripped off his borrowed linen shirt. The doctor raised his eyebrows at the sheer quantity of bandages surrounding his shoulder, but removed them without comment and peered closely at the wound site.
“Well? What’s your verdict?”
“I do believe you’ll live, my lord,” the older man replied gravely. “The stitches are well done, and there is no infection present although some of the surrounding tissue appears raw. Too much whisky dousing, I daresay, but Victoria can make a poultice to soothe that. All in all, I’d pronounce you very lucky.”
“I did try and tell everyone I am fine. But some people refused to take my word for it.”
“Indeed. Now, your shoulder will suffer soreness and a lessening in mobility until fully healed. But I would strongly recommend you spend a few days in bed. The body always heals better when it is well rested. I shall return this afternoon with the poultice. Good day to you, Lord Standish. Mrs. Kingsley.”
The physician strode from the room, and William stared impatiently at Mrs. Kingsley, who was still hovering. “See? You worried over nothing.”
“I disagree. Your dying would be extremely inconvenient—I’ve no desire to go searching for another employer. Now,” she said, picking up a heavy tray, “sit up and eat your breakfast. You need to regain all your strength.”
“I said I didn’t want anything to eat. And chicken broth and barley water will do nothing for my strength.”
She smiled sweetly as she set the tray on his lap. “It’s the perfect meal for an invalid. For the next two days, at least.”
“You are truly something...special.”
“Why thank you. Your mother always thought so,” she called as she swept from the room.
Shifting the unappetizing tray to one side, William lay back on his pillows. Rest might be the instruction, but it would take more than a few days for his mind to fully comprehend everything that had happened recently. One part of his life might have been set to rights, it was an enormous relief to not have to wear David Underwood’s god-awful padding and makeup anymore, but everything else had been sent to hell.
What did he have to look forward to now?
Samantha and Alexander marrying. Her belly growing big with child. Which, of course, he would only witness if he survived a brutal reckoning with the Earl of Claremont, a man who never played by any rules.
Cursing under his breath, William ran a hand through his hair and turned onto his side.
Two days respite. And then he had to return to the world as himself.
Bloody hell.
“Would you prefer to drive the carriage yourself?”
Samantha flushed at the realization her muttered curses at the responsible carefulness of Alexander’s driver had been audible, but she still glared at the duke. “Oh, go bathe in the Thames, your grace. Or better yet, I could ask Lord Trentham to sing for you again. I understand he has added several more tunes to his repertoire.”
“You and your mean streak. I don’t know whether to admire or fear it. William is a brave man, taking on a lady knife thrower.”
“William doesn’t know about my talents in that area. And no one will share such information with him, except me, at the right time. If you so much as breathe a word, I will sharply ensure continuation of the Langley line becomes quite impossible.”
Alexander’s eyes widened. Then he coughed. “I wonder how William is, truly. Mrs. Kingsley’s note was damnably vague except to say he’d been visited by Geoffrey Murray, ordered to rest, and looked forward to seeing us both as soon as possible.”
“Who is Geoffrey Murray?”
“Best physician in the country. Use him myself when the need arises. Come to think of it, he helped with the birth of the Westleigh twins. You should get him to tend to you, when the time comes.”
Samantha nodded absently and stared out the window as the streets of London rushed by, her stomach knotted with a mixture of nausea, fear, and anticipation.
Today was the day.
It had been seven weeks since she’d seen William, but it felt like a lifetime. Apart from a frantic desire to throw her arms around him, a thousand questions swarmed through her head. Would he be happy to see her? Did he still care? How would he react to the news of his impending fatherhood? He’d be lucky to get a word in edgewise once she began to speak, she had so many things to tell him. How desperately he’d b
een missed, obviously. The torture of waiting for news that had only come sporadically. Then the baby announcement, once she plucked up the courage.
Or more small talk? Perhaps she should tell him about Mr. Underwood. That might make him laugh, and put him in a better frame of mind to hear he would be a father in the New Year. Then again, who knew how much conversation was adequate before telling the man you loved that the preventative sponge had failed miserably. Now Aunt Jane and Caroline knew, if he didn’t agree to marry her, there would be hell to pay from the Westleighs. Oh God. Maybe she should skip the pregnancy confession altogether and get straight to shirt-ripping. William wouldn’t need to do a thing. She could just take his cock deep inside her quim and ride him to orgasm like she had last time…
A sharp clicking sound startled her from her reverie and she glared at one amused duke. “Don’t you snap your fingers at me! What are you laughing at?”
“I don’t even want to know what you were thinking about, but we’ve been sitting outside Hastings House for at least two minutes.”
“As long as that?” she muttered, allowing him to help her out of the carriage. “How awful for you.”
“Your grace! I’m very glad you are finally here.”
“Mrs. Kingsley,” said Alexander, inclining his head as William’s housekeeper hurried down the front steps.
“And Lady Samantha. How wonderful to see you again.”
Samantha blushed. Mrs. Kingsley’s face was blankly polite and professional, but for heaven’s sake, the last time they had seen each other the woman had been organizing a bath and untorn clothes for her after the evening in William’s bed.
“Hello, Mrs. Kingsley,” she mumbled.
“If you will both follow me, I’ll take you to see his lordship. Dr. Murray has confined him to his bedchamber for a few days to ensure he rests, but I’m afraid he is not being a very good patient.”
“How...how bad is his injury?” Samantha asked tentatively, taking Alexander’s arm for courage as the housekeeper led them across the cavernous foyer and up the first set of stairs.
Tempting the Marquess (The London Lords Book 3) Page 21
