Seducing the Marquess (Lords and Ladies in Love)

by Callie Hutton

  “Certainly, my dear. You need only ask.”

  “So, will she live?” Nash strode into the room, bringing his presence and good-natured humor with him. He stood at the foot of her bed, his hands resting on his hips. “It appears you’ve gone and done it this time, Sister.”

  “Indeed,” she answered.

  “Need I remind you that you are no longer fifteen years?” he teased.

  Eugenia drew in a breath. “I am not exactly in my dotage, either.”

  “Enough.” Devon held up his hands. “Sibling bickering not allowed. Where is the ice for your shoulder? And where did Sally go with the laudanum?”

  Nash slapped Devon on his back. “Take it easy, man. She has only a bruised shoulder.”

  “Seriously bruised,” Devon added, glaring at Nash.

  Nash scrunched his face. “Painful.”

  “Yes,” Eugenia answered.

  Despite the pain and inconvenience, Eugenia thrilled at the attention and concern coming from Devon. He looked worried, and she relished in the feeling his unease brought her. She felt protected, cared for, almost…loved.

  “May I assume you will not be attending the Whipplesmith ball this evening?” Nash asked.

  “No,” Devon snapped.

  Eugenia glanced at Devon’s abrupt answer. “Will you be attending, my lord?” She held her breath waiting for his answer. Ordinarily, he would have made sure she was well cared for, and then he would be off for the night. What would this new Devon do?

  “Eugenia, I will not leave you home alone with your injury.”

  She had to try one more time, if for no other reason than to assure herself of his concern. “Sally will be here to attend me.”

  Devon sighed. “Eugenia, dear, I will be here this evening, so reconcile yourself to my presence.”

  Nash grinned at Eugenia. “I believe your husband is beginning to behave like a besotted fool.”

  “Nonsense.” Devon waved his hand in the air. “A husband has certain responsibilities that surpass leaving a servant in charge.”

  At his words, Eugenia’s happiness dimmed, until she glanced at Nash who regarded Devon with a look that said, you poor fool, she has you thoroughly smitten.

  Did she indeed have her husband enamored and smitten? If only.

  “Well, I will leave the two of you to work out who will suffer the most with each other’s company.” Nash moved to the bed and kissed Eugenia on the cheek. “Take care, Sister. I will check on you in a few days.” With his familiar smile and wink, he headed to the door, then stopped before opening it. “Shall I inform Mother?”

  “Heavens, no!” Eugenia gasped. “She will lecture me for hours on inappropriate behavior for a marchioness.”

  As Nash left, Sally entered holding the bottle of laudanum and a spoon. “It will do you well to have a rest now, my lady.”

  “She is correct.” Devon stood, and she immediately felt the loss of his warmth and comfort. “You need to rest. I will leave you to attend to matters and see you in a few hours.”

  Unlike her brother’s quick buss on her cheek, Devon leaned in and kissed her on the lips, a nice, solid kiss. She startled at his show of affection in front of Sally, then felt the need to kick herself when he pulled back and apologized. He straightened and nodded at her once before leaving the room. She desperately wanted to call him back and tell him she had enjoyed his kiss, and it had merely been her surprise that made her react the way she had.

  Drat, she’d ruined it!

  …

  Devon headed downstairs, chastising himself for embarrassing Eugenia in front of her maid. What had he been thinking? Just because she’d begun to wear clothing more suited to her age and station, and styled her hair differently, didn’t mean she would welcome his advances before witnesses.

  He eyed the brandy bottle in the drawing room. Deciding it was much too early, and needing to get away from the house for only a couple of hours while Eugenia slept, he left instructions with Bellows on where he would be and headed to White’s.

  I believe your husband is beginning to sound like a besotted fool.

  Nash’s words still stung. He had never intended to have the sort of marriage where either he or his wife were bothered with love. Such marriages allowed for all sorts of emotions with which he was not prepared to deal, and were certainly not good ton. At least, according to his father’s dictates.

  He turned his horse over to the stable master at the mews behind the club and entered just as Lord Redgrave and his brother-in-law, the Duke of Manchester, strolled up. Both men were known in the ton as men seriously taken with their wives. Although each man was formidable in his own right, neither one looked at all uncomfortable as they made their way to the billiard room, grinning at invectives from members about their wives allowing them out of the house.

  Shrugging, he found a seat and requested coffee and the newspaper. Soft murmuring from members, the swish of newspaper pages turning, and the clink of glasses and cups soothed him from his unease.

  He’d nearly lost his breakfast when he’d seen Eugenia take a tumble from her horse. Dear God, the woman could have broken her neck. He had tried to tell himself his upset was due to the affection he felt for his wife and his reluctance to be in a position to have to find another bride.

  However, a little voice that he had managed to quell all morning now rose to the forefront, insisting he would be more than a bit inconvenienced if anything were to happen to Eugenia. We rub together well, he told the little voice. She is worming her way into your heart, the little voice retorted.

  Nonsense. He could certainly be married and be respectful and affectionate to his wife without following her about like a nincompoop.

  Sort of like Redgrave and Manchester? The argument continued. They certainly did not look like fools striding through the club, practically taking command of the room with their mere presence. No buffoons, those two.

  “Devon, I hear your lady took a spill this morning.” Lord Richmond stood in front of him, a stupid grin on his dissipated face. The viscount spent most of his time chasing married women, drinking himself into a coma, and gambling away everything not entailed. Although certainly not one of his favorite people, since Devon seemed to be losing the quarrel with his little voice, he waved to the chair across from him.

  “Yes, she did.”

  Richmond sat and attempted to pull the two sides of his jacket closed over his protruding belly. The buttons looked as if they would fly across the space and take out Devon’s eye at any moment. He continued to shift his bulk around as he waved to the footman for a brandy. “I see you’re drinking coffee, but I need an eye-opener myself.”

  The servant barely had the glass in front of Richmond before he drained it and waved it around for a refill.

  “Hitting that stuff pretty early, eh?” Devon took the final sip of his coffee and set the cup down.

  “Bad morning already,” Richmond said. “Met with my man of business, and it looks like he needs to find some better investments. M’pockets are bleeding empty.”

  Since Richmond’s way of life had more to do with his empty purse than with his man’s investment choices, Devon remained silent. Some statements needed no comment.

  “Might be time for me to find a rich bride and get leg-shackled.” Richmond drained another glass and set it aside. “Have my eye on Lady Amelia.”

  Devon’s brows rose. “Duncannon’s daughter?”

  Richmond nodded. “Yes. Heard Duncannon’s increasing her dowry.” He grinned. “Not too pleasant to look at, but in the dark, who cares? One can do his duty, then go his own way.” He signaled for another drink. “That’s the way of it, eh?”

  A wave of disgust washed over Devon at Richmond’s words. Yet, in all fairness, wasn’t that precisely how he had always viewed marriage? What he’d been taught to consider marriage? Perhaps not in such a vulgar way, but there it was. Do your duty and go your own way. He had intended to have respectful caring for Eugenia, perhaps even af
fection, but never a great passion, love, nor to live in each other’s pockets.

  Now, it seemed, he was second-guessing himself, along with the way of life he’d always assumed would be his. He continued to struggle with an explanation for his surprising distaste for sexual fulfillment with Margaret once he’d married. And the conundrum he now faced with desiring his wife in a lustful, ungentlemanly way.

  His thoughts continued to wander, leading him in circles as Richmond waxed on about the horror of having to marry.

  …

  Eugenia and Jennie flew over the ground, passing trees, bushes, and a low wooden fence. They headed toward the shrubbery about a mile distant. She leaned over the animal and egged her on. The wind whipped through her hair, sending her hat flying. She grinned and studied the hedge as it grew closer. She narrowed her eyes, and a slight panic started when the hedge began to rise. The closer she got the, the taller it became, until she pulled on Jennie. “No. Stop.”

  The animal kept going, ignoring her panicked voice. The hedge grew higher, and Mother’s face emerged from the center of it, scolding her. She felt the sweat on her body and the tears gather in her eyes as she realized Jennie would never make it over the hedge.

  “Jennie. Stop. Please, stop.”

  “Eugenia.” A low, rumbling voice pulled her out of the horrible place from which she had been trying so desperately to escape. “Eugenia.” A warm, strong hand cupped her face, shaking her slightly. His thumb wiped at the tears streaming down her cheeks.

  She opened her eyes, staring directly into Devon’s chocolate brown ones. “Devon?”

  He sat alongside her on her mattress. Placing a candle on the table alongside her bed, he said, “You were having a bad dream, my dear.”

  “Oh, thank heavens it was a dream.” Her heart pounded in her chest, and her breaths came in short gasps. A fine sheen of sweat covered her body. She attempted to shift in order to sit up and winced at the sudden pain in her shoulder. “Ouch.” She dropped back down. “My injury. I forgot.”

  “Let me get you a cold cloth for your face.” Devon moved from her side and dipped the washcloth sitting on her dresser in the now cool water from her wash before bed. “What were you dreaming about?” He returned to her side and smoothed the cloth over her face.

  Now that her heart had resumed its normal rhythm she could speak with some intelligence. “I dreamed Jennie and I were racing happily through a pasture and headed toward a hedge. However, it grew taller and more menacing as we approached.”

  Devon smoothed back the hair from her forehead. “Considering the spill you took today, that is quite understandable.”

  Eugenia became aware of Devon wearing a red and blue printed banyan. The hastily tied belt told her he was probably naked underneath and had thrown the garment on quickly to get to her. The heat from his body and the scent of bergamot that always surrounded him rose to her nostrils, comforting her.

  “Would you help me sit up?” Now that she had him in her bed, naked except for his robe, perhaps she could entice him into spending some time. That thought brought a smile to her face and warmth to her belly.

  “Certainly.” He gently placed his hands around her waist and, without any effort, lifted her to settle against the back of the bed. “Lean forward,” he said.

  He then positioned two pillows behind her back. Once again she remembered his strength and how she melted when he set his large hands on her body. After he settled her to his satisfaction, he ran his knuckle down her cheek. “Do you feel better now?”

  She stared into his eyes, the remnants of the dream fading with his presence, but something else disturbed her peace of mind. She wanted so badly to lean forward and kiss his warm lips, taste the brandy and whatever other flavor was there. To feel him nudging her lips to allow him to enter her mouth, sweeping in to touch all the sensitive parts.

  “Yes.” It came out a whisper. “I do feel better.” She shuddered at the thoughts keeping her mind in a whirl and her body sensitized in places she longed for him to touch, to caress, and fondle.

  His eyes narrowed. “Are you cold, Eugenia?”

  Yes, warm me up, please. Take me in your strong arms and love me the way you did once before. The way you would if I were your mistress.

  The thought of a paramour brought desperation, and a sense of time running out. “Perhaps if you slid in beside me, the chill would pass.”

  Devon hesitated slightly, then lifted the counterpane and climbed in next to her. “I don’t wish to cause you pain by jarring your shoulder.”

  How to tell him the only pain she felt was the one in her lower parts that ached for his touch or her breasts that longed for his attentions. She smiled softly. “It is feeling stronger already.”

  The light from the candle cast a golden wash over his strong features. In moving next to her, the shoulder of his banyan slipped, and part of his chest, along with dark curly hair, peeked out. Her fingers itched to run through the curls.

  Devon gently placed his arm around her shoulders and drew her to him. The heat from his body swept over her, driving away any chill she’d had before. Eugenia rested her head on his chest and looked up at him. “I feel warmer already.”

  Turning slightly toward her, Devon cupped her chin. He studied her for a long moment, then whispered, “I cannot help this, Eugenia.” With that statement, he slowly moved his head down until his lips settled on hers.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “If one wishes to be naughty, there is no better place than a house party in the country.”

  Secrets of the Bedchamber, p.142

  Devon knew it was a mistake the minute he crawled under the covers with Eugenia. He’d struggled to keep his hands off her from the time he’d entered her chamber and witnessed her thrashing on the bed. Concerned that she would injure herself further, he’d woken her, resisting the urge to crawl on top of her and slide into her warmth.

  Pulling her against him had been even worse. Now he could feel her soft breast pressed against his side and smell the delectable scent of whatever she’d used to wash her hair. Huddled together as they were, with only the flickering candlelight keeping the darkness at bay, encouraged a sense of being alone in the world, in their own dark, private space, with no one to judge, condemn, or question.

  This was not good. He needed to distract himself until she went back to sleep and he could return to his bed. “Would you like more of the laudanum?”

  Eugenia shook her head. “I think not. I have heard one can have unusual dreams from the drug. The pain is not so bad now.” She eased back a bit and glanced up at him. “Tell me about your sisters.”

  She shifted further, removing her lovely breast from his side, and he felt the loss immediately. “I have told you stories from my early years. You told me a bit about yours, but I know nothing of your sisters. I remember meeting Lady Withington and Lady Rochester at our wedding, but we really didn’t have time to converse.”

  Devon rested his head against the back of the bed. “Lady Withington—Mary Ann—is two years my junior. Lady Rochester—Louise—is two years younger than her. Both have been married for a few years now and have children.”

  “You have nieces and nephews?”

  “Indeed. Louise is mother to two little girls and Mary Ann has four boys.”

  “My goodness. I never knew that. You so seldom mention your family. And if I remember correctly, both of your sisters left the morning after our wedding, so I never had the opportunity to speak with them.” She paused. “Are you not close with them?”

  “No. Not really. I spent the bulk of my youth away at school. Louise and Mary Ann were under their governess’s and tutor’s care. With my mother’s supervision, of course.”

  “And your father?”

  His father. He remembered the man as someone who sat behind a large desk, frowning at him as he peered through his spectacles to grill him on his studies. Each time he’d returned from school he would present himself to Father and sweat through the in
quisition. What was he studying? Was he keeping up his grades? Had he made proper friends? Who were these friends, and who were their families? And then when he returned home after university, the man instructed him to find an accommodating mistress and begin his search for a proper, well-connected bride.

  No brothels for Lord Devon, nor his progeny. He’d sat through numerous lectures on the diseases one caught from common light-skirts. Father bragged about the fact that he’d had only four mistresses in his entire life.

  Get yourself set up with an opera singer or well-known courtesan. Slake your lust on her, boy. Hold your wife in the highest regard, and visit her bed only when you wish to increase your nursery. They’re damn sensitive about things like that. Buy her jewels, pay her modiste bills, and give her a generous allowance. She will be grateful, and you will have many years of a pleasant marriage.

  Stay away from the gaming hells and brothels. Lead a proper life, leave your title untouched by scandal. ‘Tis the way it has always been for the Devons, and I expect you to uphold that legacy and pass it to your own son unsullied.

  Once, in a moment of rebellion, Devon had wanted to ask what his mother thought of his pater’s four mistresses. But since he’d always been anxious to leave his father’s presence once the questioning was over, he’d held his tongue. Mother had always seemed content, so he had to conclude she felt their arrangement acceptable.

  He realized Eugenia watched him with a slight frown as he ruminated. “So sorry, my dear, I am afraid I was woolgathering.”

  “I can see that.” Her soft smile brought him back from his wanderings and to his presence in her bed.

  “My father was a hard man. Strict. Full of rules that one never questioned. When I returned home during school breaks I was subjected to extensive questioning on my life at school.” He shook his head at the memories. “He even visited me several times over the years and spoke with my tutors and professors. Yet, for all his hardness, I always knew he loved me, and wanted only the best for me.