Rakes and Rogues

by Boyd, Heather

  “Lord Westleigh. Lord Westleigh!”

  At the grating shrieks he nodded at the acquaintances, accepting hearty handshakes and insincere air kisses from those who had already regathered their wits. Fortunately there were no Doverfields, Hartleys or Shiltons in sight, having very sensibly heeded his warning to stay the hell away.

  “My lord,” Taff said loudly, stepping forward with his hand outstretched. “May I offer you and your lovely wife my very best congratulations! Goodness me, if I’d known there was to be a wedding I never would have left to see the sights. The two of you certainly kept your romance well under wraps.”

  Caroline bared her teeth like a she-wolf.

  “Well,” she drawled. “Some things are so precious you only want to share them with your closest friends and family.”

  “Of course,” Taff replied, seemingly oblivious to the tone and look as he clasped her gloved hand and lifted it to kiss. “Please forgive a silly old romantic. I always wanted to shout it to the entire world. Introduce my lady to perfect strangers on the street just so I could say ‘have you met my sweetheart?’ I would have done anything for her, it was by far the blackest day of my life when she died.”

  Stephen winced. A few times he’d been tempted to ask Taff about his army days and marriage, but something always stopped him. A certain look, perhaps, that said his guest would enjoy reminiscing as much as he wished to relive the day at Nexham’s estate.

  “No doubt,” he began carefully, but instead of everyone following his lead and tactfully changing the subject, an idiot, purple-turbaned grande dame beside him gave Taff a sternly approving look.

  “Pretty words indeed, sirrah! If only more men felt as you do, I wager there would be far less trouble in this city. When did your wife pass?”

  Taff stilled, his face pale and jaw clenched. “A touch under four years ago, ma’am.”

  “My word. You haven’t considered remarrying?”

  “No, ma’am. Never. Marriage to another woman would be a travesty. A union without true love is a sin against God and I know I’ll never feel that way about anyone else.”

  A symphony of deep sighs sounded around him, and a quick glance at Caroline indicated she was just as uncomfortable with all the love talk as he was. Perhaps more so. Her face was ashen and she gripped his sleeve as though it were a piece of rock in a stormy ocean. Before he even thought about the action, he lifted his other hand and covered hers, giving it a quick, gentle squeeze.

  She turned her head and stared, eyes huge. Had they always been so green?

  A fan snapped open like a thunderclap, and he forced himself to pay attention to a young widow he regrettably knew altogether too well. Ugh. Lady Diana Beecham, and she was making calf-eyes at Taff.

  “Lud, sir. I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of making your acquaintance, but if my husband had possessed a drop of your courtliness, I’d have been one contented lady!”

  Taff bowed. “It’s Martin, ma’am. Captain Tavistock Martin. I’m lucky enough to be a guest of the Westleighs for the Season.”

  “Really? Are you family?”

  “No, ma’am. Actually, I, er…”

  “Taff saved my life, Lady Beecham,” said Stephen. “Charged in and rescued me from two would-be kidnappers while I was out riding. I owe him a great deal.”

  “Well I never! Sounds like you are an excellent man to have around for many reasons, Captain Martin!”

  Taff shrugged. “You do me great honor, my lady, but enough about me. We are here to celebrate the whirlwind marriage of Lord and Lady Westleigh. I simply cannot wait to hear all the details, as I said, I’m quite the milksop for stories of true romance.”

  Lady Beecham tittered. “Oh, me too! Do tell us the story, Westleigh. We all know you and George Edwards have been the best of friends forever, but I must admit I never for a moment thought you and his twin would make a match! You always seemed so, ah, spirited, in each other’s company.”

  Stephen cleared his throat. What the hell was wrong with these people? Couldn’t some things just remain private?

  “Er, well, not really that much to tell—”

  “Oh, come now, my lord!” said Taff, laughing heartily. “No need to be shy! This is your chance to earn a whole barrel of, now what did your charming mother call them? Ah yes, credits. Delight us all with the tale of how you won your fair lady’s heart and convinced her to marry you on a whim after so many years of spirited friendship.”

  “Yes. Yes!” trumpeted purple turban lady, elbowing her way in front of Lady Beecham. “You’ve put the cat amongst the pigeons tonight, you two lovebirds, I’m dying to hear the tale as well. Indulge an old woman.”

  Oh, for God’s sake. As if Caroline standing meekly beside him wasn’t irritating enough, Taff, who he’d really expected better from, had gone and revealed a disgustingly soft underbelly and incited this circle of cream puffs into wanting to hear some bloody Byronic love quest. Like he needed another reason why the foolish emotion should be completely avoided. It turned formerly sane, rational people into simpering idiots and liars.

  “Come on, Westleigh,” several people chorused, and mild panic set in. Come on, think of something. Anything. Then they’ll go away and leave you alone.

  “So,” he hedged. “You really want to hear the story?”

  Hell and damnation. Of course they did.

  ~ * ~

  Hell and damnation.

  This was just embarrassing. And because the Fates hated her, Taff was standing too far away to maul with a heel. Or gag. Or drown in the champagne fountain.

  Taking a deep breath, Caroline let loose with the most high-pitched, fake tinkling giggle she could muster. One which startled her husband so much he shot her an alarmed look, eyebrows nearly imbedded in his hairline.

  “Caroline?” he said, in a tone so artificially calm and soothing she wanted to laugh for real.

  “Oh, Westleigh,” she murmured, rapping his arm with her fan sharply enough to sting. “Stop teasing the poor people. Just tell them our wonderfully romantic story.”

  “But, my dear,” Stephen replied, reaching across to clasp her fingers in a grip that made her eyes water. “You tell it so much better. The stage is yours.”

  “Are you sure?” she crooned, her nails nearly shredding his jacket.

  “Absolutely,” Stephen smiled with another squeeze, one that had her stifling a squeak.

  Caroline coughed delicately. “I seem to have a slight tickle in my throat. Perhaps…”

  “Here you are,” he said, scooping a glass of champagne from a passing footman’s tray. “Drink up, then you may share all the delightful details.”

  Oh, her husband was a feral skunk, leaving this entirely up to her. And when had the ‘chew them up and spit them out’ wolf pack ton turned into a group of such lovesick lambs? Sipping the drink, Caroline mentally plotted the worst of revenges, but eventually she placed the empty glass on a nearby ledge and smiled at the group which had of course become ten times larger.

  “The truth is,” she began, “I first fell in love with Westleigh when I was thirteen years old. It was visiting day at Eton and when my family went to see George, standing next to him was an equally tall, equally gangly pile of bones, but even worse, he had an equally terrible glint in his eye, the kind that spells serious trouble. George, as you know, is an utter rascal, but those two together, my word. Yet I knew there and then he would be the only man for me.”

  “But how did you know?” said Lady Beecham with a supremely annoying flirtatious giggle. “By your own account Westleigh wasn’t the, ah, fine figure of a man he is now.”

  “I can’t explain it, I just did. My whole heart belonged to him from that day forward, wayward limbs, torn sleeves, spotted face and all.”

  Stephen shot her an irritated look. “You were hardly Aphrodite. Stringy hair, a crooked tooth that gave you a lisp, no bosom to speak ooo…”

  He broke off as roars of laughter rang out, giving her the opportunity to
discreetly remove the elbow embedded in his ribcage. Yes her breasts were more than ample now, but they’d taken their sweet time arriving. And THAT had been no joking matter.

  “Anyway,” Caroline trilled, musical as a crow, “As you can see we both improved markedly over the years. I was patient. So very, very patient.”

  “As one has to be,” sighed a rather plain-looking young woman.

  ‘Yes,” said Caroline sympathetically. “I waited while he went to Cambridge. I waited while he trotted around on various grand tours. I waited when he suffered such terrible tragedy. And I waited while he learned all he needed to learn to be the wonderful man he is today.”

  Taff smiled thinly. “Sensible lady, waiting. You’ve been rewarded with far more than, I don’t know, say what a mere mister or even a barony would offer.”

  Bastard. If the captain had a lick of sense he would bolt his door and employ a food taster forever.

  “I’ve been very lucky, yes,” replied Caroline, trying out her fake, tinny laugh once again. “But you know, I would have married Westleigh even if he’d been a chimney sweep.”

  “A sweep?” purred Lady Beecham with a sleepy, doe-eyed look. “I daresay he wouldn’t have been a very good one. Imagine trying to fit those shoulders…or those thighs… into a chimney.”

  So. It was true. La Beecham and Stephen had been lovers.

  A faint hiss escaped. If the baroness thought she would ever get within two feet of Stephen again, she was very much mistaken. Actually, the woman had better start running for the continent. Bloody, hair-ripping, gown-tearing brawls at wedding balls were never a good look, especially when one of the combatants was the bride.

  Stephen coughed.

  “But then Caroline got tired of waiting,” he said smoothly. “You know us gentlemen, sometimes we need to be, er, helped along a little when it comes to matrimony.”

  “Helped along?” snickered a dandy to her right. “More like dragged kicking and screaming with a pistol at our backs!”

  Stephen smiled at the quip. “Indeed. So she played a dastardly trick on me.”

  Everyone went deathly silent, and her fingers clamped down on Stephen’s arm as the entire group surged forward with gleaming eyes and big-toothed smiles. The wolves were back with a vengeance.

  “Really?” said a purple turbaned-woman she couldn’t for the life of her remember the name of. “What did our dear Lady Westleigh do?”

  “She…oh I can hardly say it,” he murmured.

  Caroline gritted her teeth. Now he revealed a penchant for the dramatic. If she didn’t know him better, she might say Stephen was actually enjoying himself.

  “Tell us!” barked Lady Beecham, amongst a loud chorus of fervent agreement.

  “Very well,” said Stephen. “She pretended, bold as brass, she was about to marry someone else. Can you imagine! Well, I wasn’t impressed. Knew she’d be making the biggest mistake of her life and I told her so in no uncertain terms.”

  “Yes, he did,” said Caroline dryly, her grip slowly relaxing.

  “And then she said to me, if her chosen fiancé was so terrible, perhaps I knew of someone else who might fit the bill? And that’s when it hit me—”

  “Like a china figurine hurled from a short distance.”

  Stephen patted her hand. “Absolutely, my dear. It did take something akin to a sledgehammer, as I said, you know us men. But I was the right one! So I dropped to one knee—”

  “How romantic!” sobbed a confirmed spinster at the back of the group.

  “Thank you,” Stephen grinned. “And very, very humbly asked her to be my wife. Naturally, once I made up my mind, I couldn’t abide waiting.”

  “No, he couldn’t,” said Caroline. “We were married this morning.”

  “In Langton’s chapel with both our delighted families, Standish, Ardmore, Southby and Miss Donovan present. Although I must admit, I did suggest a sojourn to Gretna Green.”

  “No!” shrieked a petite brunette to her far left. “How scandalous!”

  “Unfortunately yes, he did,” George interrupted, shouldering his way into the fray while bestowing his most charming smile. “Despite this poppycock story my brother-in-law doesn’t have a romantic bone in his body, as I’m sure my baby sister will attest. But Caro didn’t fancy a long carriage ride to Scotland, so here they are, shocking everybody in their ballroom instead. For that we need a drink! Ladies and gentlemen, I ask you to raise your glasses and toast the earl and countess. To Lord and Lady Westleigh!”

  “Lord and Lady Westleigh,” the group sang back obediently, and Caroline let out a long breath. The wolves had been tamed for a night at least. Amazing the realistic-sounding story that could be spun when you added some partially true detail, her husband actually hadn’t done too badly with his additional false proposal details.

  Stephen held up a hand to regain their attention. “I hope you all enjoy your evening, supper is now being served in the adjoining room. I’m going to steal my bride away for a dance.”

  As soon as they made it to the dance floor, Caroline ignored propriety and practically slumped against him. Would it be so bad to abandon their own ball?

  “I feel like I’ve just walked here from Bath,” she muttered eventually as they waltzed.

  “No doubt. You did very well though, especially that nonsense about falling in love with me when you were thirteen.”

  She closed her eyes briefly against the stab of pain. “Yes. Well. I…had to think of something.”

  “Thanks to Taff. And Lady Beecham and her cronies are rather hard work.”

  “Do me a favor and never mention that woman’s name in my hearing again. Ever.”

  “Really? I thought perhaps you might become great friends. Imagine the conversations you could have over tea and cakes.”

  The thought made her miss a step and he sighed, his gaze apologetic.

  “Listen, you’re obviously exhausted and it’s been a very long day. No one would think it exceptional if you retired to bed. I’ll make your excuses and see you in the morning.”

  She blinked at him. Do not cry. DO NOT CRY.

  He frowned. “Caroline?”

  “It’s our wedding night, Stephen.”

  “I’m one hundred percent aware of that fact.”

  Her laugh sounded brittle as broken glass. “Surely a little early in the marriage to be tiring of me, don’t you think?”

  Stephen sucked in an audible breath and his eyes darkened to nearly black. All at once he pulled her closer. Perhaps not so tired?

  “My dear wife,” he said, his teeth scraping her earlobe until she shuddered, “if you wish it, I am more than ready to see to this particular husbandly duty. Perhaps we should both retire. At once.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “Stop being foolish. You can do this.”

  Caroline stared in the looking glass and tried not to shudder at the reflection. Face snow white with delightfully contrasting dark circles under her eyes, clenched fists with palms sporting fingernail grooves, hair sticking to the light perspiration now coating her neck. Plus the diaphanous jade-green silk and lace nightgown which had seemed so sexy and alluring in its tissue-lined box, currently strained over her overblown breasts and hips in a way that was positively embarrassing.

  She was about to make a right fool of herself. This would definitely be the worst wedding night in the history of the world. Even after Mama’s detailed talk, she still felt like she was running along a cliff top wearing a blindfold. Sure, Stephen kissed like a dream and seemed to like the way she kissed him back, but what about the rest? How long would it take? Was she supposed to lie there and let him do whatever he wanted or could she — should she — touch him also? Exactly how badly did it hurt when a man took a woman’s virginity?

  A low, frustrated shriek escaped. Oh, how she hated not knowing. But the only person who could teach her was Stephen and that would require admitting total ignorance, like announcing with drum rolls and fireworks exactly how nervous a
nd vulnerable she felt right now. Which would never, ever do.

  “Caroline?”

  She nearly jumped a foot in the air. Behind her Stephen stood framed in the doorway connecting their bedchambers, wearing a luxurious-looking heavy black silk robe and appearing so damnably relaxed she wanted to kick him.

  “Y-yes?” she replied, hating the catch in her voice.

  Her husband strolled forward, hands in pockets. Seemingly casual and unthreatening, but there was something altogether predatory in the movement too.

  “Don’t be nervous,” he said softly, standing so close behind her she could feel the heat radiating from his body and his breath on her shoulder.

  She shivered, and another mist of perspiration settled on her skin, raising the hairs on her arms and peaking her nipples. “Th-that’s fine for you to s-say. You’ve actually done this before, lots of times,” she replied hotly, reluctantly meeting his nearly black gaze in the mirror.

  Something flashed in his eyes, but it was gone before she could identify it. Then his hands clamped on her hips, pulling her back against the warm, uncompromising solidness of his chest. Oh God, the stupidly thin fabric of her nightgown, even his robe was no match for the thick hardness pressing against her bottom and he was damned bloody huge.

  There was no way in hell this was going to work.

  “It’ll be fine, I promise,” he said, his voice rough. “I won’t do anything until you’re ready. Until you beg me to fill you.”

  “Beg? Ha. It will be a cold day in hel…ohhh,” she finished, annoyed at her own weakness as his hands slid up her ribcage to play with her breasts, stroking and plucking the rapidly hardening nipples through the thin lace. Her head fell back and he immediately took the opportunity to nip and lap that oh-so-delicious spot where her neck met her shoulder. Curse her traitorous body which had been anticipating this moment since the day they’d met. Her body didn’t care a fig that he didn’t love her, but craved to feel his skin next to hers with no shirts or stays or restrictions of any kind in the way.