Alas, as he climbed the stairs to his chamber for the night, it was too late for regrets. When he opened the door to the master sitting room of their suite, Aurora stood before him in nothing but a bold, diaphanous concoction that left nothing to his imagination. Well, in nothing but that and a devilishly sensual smile.
Good God, he wanted to rip that thing from her body and take her on the floor. More than two months into this marriage, he still hardened instantaneously just from the sight of her. Unbelievable.
A low growl came from his throat and he started across the room toward her.
“Not yet,” Aurora said, holding up a hand to stop him.
He pushed her hand aside and dragged her into his arms, burying his nose in the wild sea of her hair. “You can’t stand here looking like that and expect me to keep my hands off you.” Quin pulled her by the hips, until she was nestled—snug and firm—against his erection, then found her mouth with his tongue.
But she still didn’t cooperate. Blasted minx. Aurora kept her lips clamped and pushed against his chest with both hands. “I have something to tell you.”
“It can wait,” he bit off, trying to pull her back where he wanted her.
With a twist and a whirl, she was out of his grasp and halfway across the room. “No. It can’t wait.” Dropping down to one of the overstuffed armchairs by the darkened hearth, Aurora crossed her arms over her chest and tilted her head, indicating he should do the same.
Damnation. He supposed he had no choice, aside from taking her against her will. Quin stalked over to the chair opposite hers and plopped down into it with a heavy sigh, dragging his hand through his hair in the process. “What is it now?” he barked.
The serious expression she had donned to get him to comply fled from her face, replaced yet again by that sly smile. “I have news for you. Good news. I’m sure you’ll want to inform Lord Rotheby as soon as he arrives tomorrow, in order to obtain his good will.”
News that would ensure Rotheby’s good will? That could only mean one thing, as far as he could see. “Go on,” Quin prompted. He needed to hear it. He needed Aurora to say it.
She leaned forward, resting a hand on his knee. “I’m with child,” Aurora breathed. There was something so very erotic about that, about the way she said it. It left him filled with primal, uncivilized lust. At that moment, Quin wanted his wife more than he had ever wanted a woman before in his life.
He wanted to take her. He wanted to love her. He wanted to protect her with every part of him. He wanted to never let her go.
“You’re certain?” he somehow managed to choke out.
Aurora nodded. “But there is still the possibility”
“That doesn’t matter,” Quin said, waving his hand as if to brush the idea away. “What matters is that you’re pregnant. With my child. With our child.” He rose and lifted Aurora into his arms, carrying her off to his bed. He wanted to make love to her—but not like he had ever done with her before.
Slowly.
Sweetly.
He wanted to savor every moment.
His wife was pregnant. He was going to be a father. He would finally have a family of his very own.
~ * ~
Gilbert Thornton, Lord Rotheby scanned the salon as he and the other gentlemen arrived from drinking their after-dinner port. As had been the case for the past few evenings, the ladies were all scattered about in groups—the older, married ladies on one side of the room and the younger, unmarried ladies on the other side of the room. Young Miss Coulter tended to find a darkened corner to hide, but often Lady Quinton or Lady Rebecca would finagle a way to draw her into a conversation with one group or the other.
Lady Quinton and Lady Lipscombe, being of the younger generation yet also married, could be found with either group, it seemed.
As the gentlemen would join them, they too would fall into certain predictable groupings. The older, married men sat off together near the windows, playing cards and wishing to slip outside for a draw of their cheroots. The younger, unmarried gentlemen followed after the younger ladies, trailing along in their wakes like dogs on strings. Pathetic, really. But still understandable.
Lipscombe and Quinton elected to choose the former group more often, rather than the latter. Gil was a little surprised, actually, that Quinton would choose to spend time in his company. After all, it had been shocking enough that the rascal had allowed his wife to issue him an invitation. But then again, he didn’t imagine his grandson had ever been one to chase the skirts of proper young misses who were hardly out of the schoolroom.
Even with his choice in a wife, he’d gone for a slightly older chit—and one that was hardly proper, though clearly she did sometimes try. It seemed it just didn’t come quite naturally to her. Why, even her decision to host such a gathering with the gossip currently traveling about Town proved her pluck. It was almost as though she was flaunting it in their faces—yet it required both courage and a certain sense of humor that was far too often missing from those of her station.
Which was all well and good. Actually, it suited Gil quite nicely. Propriety was boring, and Lady Quinton was anything but. She seemed to be the perfect choice for his wayward grandson, keeping him close to heel in a way that neither Gil nor Lady Coulter had ever managed to do. Not even the influence of Sir Augustus had provided the desired effect on the lad.
But now…now Quinton seemed different. Perhaps Gil had made the right choice after all, in setting an ultimatum for the lad.
Quinton was married to a respectable (albeit scandalous at the moment) lady. He was finally caring for his responsibilities with Quinton Abbey (and yes, Gil had met with both Carruthers and Forster to ascertain just what level of involvement his grandson had assumed in the running of affairs). He was becoming the upstanding family man Gil always thought he could be. He’d even managed to impregnate his wife, from what they had informed him of upon his arrival three days previously.
Not that he would truly toss Quinton out for a failure on that particular task. God played as much a role in the task as man. But his grandson needn’t know that just yet.
Gil held no illusions about why his grandson had continued to sow his wild oats long past the age when it was acceptable. Quinton’s father—Gil’s son—had become something of a degenerate, to say the least, after that horrible tragedy. He’d been weak, and had turned a what should have been only a single tragedy into multiple other tragedies. For years, Gil had wondered if Quinton was not a lost cause. The damage caused by the lad’s father might have been too much to recover from.
But Gil had entered his seventy-fourth year. He couldn’t fool himself. Each breath he took could easily be his last. He had to make one more effort. One more try.
Finally, Quinton would be prepared to assume the role he’d been born to. Gil could only claim so much credit for the turnaround his grandson had made. Truthfully, most of the credit belonged to the indomitable Lady Quinton.
The chit had proved to be quite the force to be reckoned with, at least from what Gil had seen. Quinton could roll over or barrel through nearly anyone, but she held her own against him. Yes, she may have started a few scandals. But who hadn’t? Gil himself had even been involved in a few, in his day.
The ton was fickle. They would move on to some new on-dit as soon as the stories being falsely published as hers stopped being published. Obviously Quinton hadn’t managed that yet, since Gil had discovered a new issue of the Sordid Scandals at White’s the day before he left for Wetherby. He had no doubt that Laughton’s youngest son, Griffin, was behind it. The whelp couldn’t resist peeing in someone else’s flower bed, particularly if that someone happened to be Quinton.
So, since his grandson had yet to rectify the situation, Gil had decided to urge things on.
Harrogate was not all that far from Wetherby, after all.
He sat back in his chair near the window and watched the youngsters at their games. Charades, this time. He couldn’t help but chuckle at the asin
ine gestures that fool Norcutt was making. After all, he’d been a young man once, himself. He knew what it was to be in love and willing to do anything, even make an utter cake of himself, if it might earn him the attentions of his lady love.
In fact, if memory served (which was an infrequent occurrence these days, but this time he believed it did) a particular game of charades at a house party many years before had been what eventually caught the eye of Lady Rotheby.
Chapter Twenty-Three
21 June, 1811
Truthfully, the younger generation ought to listen to me when I attempt to match them up. After all, I sit and watch them all day. I see the ways they look coyly upon each other from across the room, the stolen glances, the thinly veiled lust. I see it all. They should simply capitulate and agree that I know best. It should not matter that I am also one of ‘the younger generation.’ I am a married lady, after all.
~From the journal of Lady Quinton
“I thought,” Aurora said over the din in the salon one afternoon, about a week into the house party, “that today might be a lovely day for an excursion into town for some shopping. The sun is finally shining again, after several days of rain. And the ladies and I are all feeling rather cooped up in the abbey and wish to get out. Would you gentlemen be so kind as to escort us?”
Many of the unmarried gentlemen in the room promptly snapped to attention with, “Of course,” or, “It would be my pleasure,” as their responses, eager for an excuse to get away from the prying eyes of the older chaperones for a bit of time. Quin and Lord Lipscombe did not appear to be quite as keen as their unmarried counterparts to join. However they had little choice since Aurora and Judith, Lady Lipscombe, were each firmly intent on going.
Indeed, Aurora’s house party had been a resounding success so far. Certainly, the weather had not cooperated as much as she would have liked, but she had planned for enough indoor activities that it had not presented a true problem.
And, much to her delight, her first attempt at matchmaking with Nia and Sir Jonas was also going rather well. At least it seemed that way, since Nia was no longer hiding in the corner quite so frequently, and Sir Jonas seemed all-too-content to remain by her side as often as Aurora positioned him there.
Her matchmaking attempts for Rebecca and Lord Tucker were not proving quite as auspicious, however. Just when she thought the two were well and securely situated together for some entertainment or another, if she turned around for a mere moment, somehow Lord Norcutt had finagled himself into Lord Tucker’s position by Rebecca’s side, and Lord Tucker had replaced Norcutt’s position with Miss Vivian Osbourne.
The four of them were being highly uncooperative.
Soon, the entire group was ready to go out for the day. Her Grace of Aylesbury, Lady Pratley, and Lady Coulter also decided to come along, with Aurora’s father offering to escort them. Sir Augustus and Lord Rotheby preferred to keep court at the abbey. Once all the ladies had fetched their gloves and traded soft caps for bonnets, and the gentlemen had donned their beaver hats and gloves and fetched parasols to carry for the ladies, they made their way outside to the four awaiting carriages.
“Miss Coulter,” Aurora said, attempting to direct the members of the shopping party to the appropriate conveyances to achieve the pairings she preferred, “why do you and Sir Jonas not ride with Quin and me? Then perhaps Lord Tucker and Lord Merrick would be so kind as to escort Lady Rebecca and Lady Emily in the second carriage…”
Her voice trailed off as Lord Tucker placed Miss Vivian Osbourne’s hand upon the crook of his arm and guided her into the third carriage with Mr. Bentley and the elder Miss Osbourne, leaving Rebecca to (once again) be paired with Lord Norcutt. Blast them all. They were ruining her fun.
“Come along, love.” Quin placed a hand at the small of her back and guided her toward the first carriage, where Nia and Sir Jonas were already firmly seated—on opposite benches, pressed back against the squabs as if their lives depended upon it—leaving her no choice but to take up the seat next to the girl.
She let out a huff of air as she sat, crossing her arms over her chest and thoroughly resisting the urge to hide her sulk.
“Are you unhappy?” Nia asked in her soft, sweet voice. “I thought you wanted to go shopping today. We could stay behind”
“We most certainly will not stay behind,” Aurora responded a mite more sharply than she intended. But she would not give Nia an opportunity to avoid being in Sir Jonas’s company. Not if she could thrust them together at every turn. And clearly, they needed some encouragement. “I do wish to go into town. And I wish for you to have a lovely time today. I’m sure Sir Jonas will be certain you see everything you wish to see, so please do not fret on my account.”
The carriages rolled to a stop almost before they had started, it seemed, and the coachmen stepped down to let out the steps and hand them out on High Street. The shops here certainly did not hold the appeal of the finest in London, but they would have to do for an afternoon excursion in the country.
Indeed, Aurora had not yet visited town to discover the wares for herself. But Forster and Mrs. Marshall had assured her that the goods they sold were of excellent quality, and that the young ladies would certainly find something upon which to spend their pin money.
It seemed they were right. The milliner boasted any number of lovely straw bonnets lined with ribbons and flowers. At the haberdashery, a broad assortment of ribbons and bows were found that the ladies could then use to make their gowns for the upcoming ball a bit more special than they already were. The linen draper even had a number of lengths of fine muslins and silks available. Down at the end of the street near where their carriages waited for their return sat a small sweet shop.
The various pairs set off, the ladies to make their purchases, and the gentlemen to carry them. Except Nia did not seem to want to leave Aurora’s side. In fact, she latched on to Aurora’s free arm (the other one being occupied with holding Quin’s) instead of allowing Sir Jonas to escort her. It was almost infuriating how shy she was.
“Oh, look over there, Nia,” she said after several minutes of walking about High Street in a group of four, instead of the intended groups of two. “Do you see that lovely bonnet in the window? The one with the bluebells upon it. I think that would look lovely with your coloring, don’t you agree?” Before the chit could respond in the negative, Aurora slipped Nia’s hand free and placed it upon Sir Jonas’s waiting arm, then practically shoved them across the street. “Sir Jonas, would you be so kind as to take Miss Coulter to visit the milliner?”
Nia turned her head with her mouth open, as though to protest.
“Oh, dear. Perhaps your father has not given you enough pin money,” Aurora continued, fishing around in her reticule to pull free some coins. She shoved them into Sir Jonas’s free hand. “This should certainly be enough. We shall meet up with you later! I daresay I cannot wait to see how stunning you look in that shade, Nia.”
And with that, she walked away, nearly dragging Quin along behind her when he did not come as soon as she would have liked.
“What was that about?” he asked when they were out of earshot of the other couple and finally slowed their pace.
Aurora frowned at him. “What was what about?” Really, it wasn’t as though she was making any secret of her intentions. The man would have to be daft not to realize that she was matchmaking.
“I don’t like that you’re perpetually putting my sister together with Jonas. He’s nearly old enough to be her father.”
“But he’s not her father,” Aurora said with a roll of her eyes. “And you can hardly say anything about it with how you have avoided the girl her entire life. Besides, Sir Jonas is almost like a brother to her, she tells me. That’s all.”
“You’re fooling yourself if you believe she thinks of him as a brother,” Quin retorted. “I’ve seen how she watches him. He isn’t good for her, Aurora.”
Oh, dear good Lord, the man had picked a rather inopportun
e moment to suddenly recognize his brotherly duty. “Her mother and father don’t seem to agree with your assessment. Nor do I. In fact, I think Sir Jonas is rather perfect for Nia. Far more important than any of that, however, is what Nia thinks. You said yourself that you see how she”
Aurora stopped short when a sharp pain stabbed her midsection. She placed a hand to her abdomen and bent over slightly. It felt similar to those pains she would often get with her courses. But she couldn’t…
“What is it?” Quin asked, bending over her. “What’s wrong? The baby?” He looked at her with his blue eyes awash with fear.
But just as soon as it came, it was gone. It was almost as though she had imagined it, as though it weren’t real. Perhaps it had only been her imagination. “Nothing. I’m all right.”
Aurora straightened herself and started to walk again, but Quin placed a hand on her arm, his grip like a vise. He implored her with his eyes.
“Truthfully, it was nothing to worry about. I’ll be fine. The baby will be fine.”
She hoped.
~ * ~
Quin didn’t believe her. He didn’t believe his wife was fine or that his baby would be fine. She hadn’t looked fine when she had nearly collapsed on High Street, doubled over in pain and with her face as pale as a sheet.
He didn’t believe Nia or Jonas, either, when they climbed into the carriage for the return to the abbey, claiming that nothing had happened between them, despite the fact that they returned to the carriage with guilty expressions upon both their faces. Nia was looking up at Jonas far more often than she was normally wont to do, and now Jonas had started to peek across at her as well.
Neither of which sat well with Quin. He may not have been the best brother for Nia all along, but he was still her older brother, by Jove. And the thought of Jonas, at thirty years of age, chasing after the seventeen-year-old girl’s skirts was enough to send Quin’s blood to boiling.
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