A Marriage of Necessity

by Tarah Scott

  She started from her thoughts at a sudden gust of air that swept through the conservatory. She straightened and realized the door had been opened. The door slammed closed and she jumped to her feet. An instant later, she glimpsed Kennedy amongst the foliage. He neared and his gaze met hers. He wore a dark coat with no tie and his collar lay open, revealing tanned flesh.

  He neared her and said, “What the devil are you doing out here?” Then he saw the fire and nodded. “I can see this is already a favorite spot of yours.”

  Anne smiled. “Even on a day like today, it’s a very pleasant room to be in.”

  He took off his dripping coat and shook the water from it. “My mother used to spend a lot of time here.” He hung the coat over the back of a chair. “It’s raining hard. I imagine we can wait just a little while to see if the rain will let up before returning to the house.”

  A tremor rippled through her. Stuck alone with him in a room with nowhere to go?

  “If you have work to do, you needn’t worry about keeping me company,” she said. “I don’t mind being alone.”

  He pinned her with his gaze. “Is my company so terrible that you can’t bear to be alone with me for a short while?”

  “Oh no, that is not at all what I meant.” She blew out a frustrated breath. “I don’t know what it is about you, but I always end up saying the wrong thing.”

  Amusement glittered in his eyes. “You wouldn’t, per chance, be speaking of a similar effect to that which Louisa mentioned yesterday about her friend Robert always saying the wrong thing about her?”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Hardly. That would imply some sort of affection, and I know how much you abhor such feelings from your wife.”

  To her surprise, he laughed. “You prove my point. You have some, if only a little, affection for me.”

  “Affection? How can I have affection for you? I hardly know you.”

  He grinned. “I’m a charming fellow.”

  Damn his soul, he was. But she wasn’t about to admit that. “I feel certain you have charmed many a lady, my lord.”

  “The only lady I’m interested in charming is you.”

  She blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I believe you understand me,” he said.

  “Well, of course, I understand you. That is, I know what you said. As to your meaning, that could be anything.”

  “Come now, Anne, my meaning really can’t be just anything.”

  The way he said ‘anything’ left little doubt as to what he meant. Heaven help her, it had gotten awfully warm in the room.

  “They will probably begin to worry about us back at the house,” she said. “Perhaps we should return.”

  He crossed to where she stood and stopped inches away. “I don’t think they will worry about us overly much.” He wrapped an arm around her waist and tugged her against him.

  She immediately detected his hard length against her abdomen. “Oh dear,” she breathed.”

  “Oh dear, indeed,” he said, and covered her mouth with his.

  Her knees weakened and she grasped his shoulders to keep herself upright. He laughed low and deep, then gently thrust his tongue between her lips and into her mouth. He tasted of scotch. His hold tightened around her waist, pulling her impossibly close. Her head swam. He broke the kiss and pressed warm kisses along her cheek to her neck. She shivered.

  “Perhaps we should go to your bed chambers, my lord.”

  “We would never make it there without being waylaid by a family member,” he murmured against her flesh, “and I have no desire to be interrupted.”

  She cried out when he swung her into his arms. He laid her on the chaise lounge and came down on top of her. For an instant, he felt too heavy, though she found she liked the feeling. Then he levered up on his elbows and kissed her neck. He tugged her sleeve down and kissed her shoulder. An intense ache thrummed between her legs in rhythm with her heartbeat. She started at the realization that they were surrounded by glass.

  “My lord, anyone can see inside the conservatory. Perhaps we really should return to the house.”

  “At the very least, while I am making love to you, you could try calling me by my Christian name,” he said.

  She blinked. Was he reprimanding her—now? “As you wish, Kennedy,” she retorted.

  He froze, then slowly lifted his head and met her gaze. “Have I peeved you again, my sweet?”

  “You seem to make a habit of it,” she said.

  “This time, you may be as peeved with me as you like,” he said. “But we shall consummate our marriage.”

  She should have been ashamed, but, in truth, that was exactly what she wanted.

  Eyes locked with hers, he began inching up her skirt. She didn’t flinch, didn’t move. At last, his fingers made contact with her outer thigh. He flattened his palm against her flesh and slid his hand upward. His hand was so warm. No man had ever touched her so intimately. He slid off her onto the chaise beside her and continued his hand’s upward climb. When he neared the apex between her legs, she tensed. He gently kissed her cheek then nibbled her ear. She twisted slightly at the tickle. Then realized his fingers were brushing the intimate curls. Gently, he slipped a finger between her moist folds. She jammed her eyes shut and gripped his arm.

  “Relax, love,” he said. “I won’t hurt you.”

  She wasn’t afraid of being hurt, it’s just, she had never imagined a man would touch her there. However, to her surprise when his fingers brushed the sensitive nub, a tingle of pleasure rippled through her. She drew a breath. He began nibbling her ear again and the tingle traveled from her ear to the place where he brushed her sex. He applied a little more pressure and began massaging her.

  “Good heavens,” she breathed.

  The ache intensified. He flicked his tongue against her ear. The sensation was almost sinful. She started when he slid a finger inside her.

  “My goodness, Kennedy, do you think you should be doing that?”

  He laughed. “That and much more, if you will allow me.”

  Much more? She couldn’t imagine anything more--then he began to slide his finger in and out of her. A strange sense of pleasure rippled deep within her. He swirled his tongue. Heaven help her, how could something so innocent illicit such a decedent response?

  “You set me on fire,” he whispered, and her insides turned to jelly.

  He quickened his movements inside her. She should be ashamed. But she liked the sensation, liked the slide of his warm digit in and out of her. Was she supposed to like this? Her mother had explained what took place between a man and a woman, but she hadn’t told Anne about this, about the need that made her want to close her legs around Kennedy’s hand and beg him to end the torture.

  She became aware of his kisses moving down along her neck. His tongue flicked the sensitive flesh, then he gently sucked.

  “Let go,” he whispered. “Give in to the pleasure.”

  He nipped at her neck. A string of pleasure shot from her neck to the nub he massaged. She cried out with a pleasure that caused spots to race across her vision. Anne seized his arm and squeezed as the spasm rolled over her a second time.

  Gently, he stroked her until the pleasure dissipated into a soft echo. She was still breathing hard as he unfastened the falls on his breeches. She didn’t look down at his manhood—she’d seen that and didn’t need to be reminded that it was much larger than his finger. When he levered over her, she knew a moment of panic. Was she supposed to look him in the eye—how could she—or was she supposed to close her eyes?

  He smiled down at her. “Trust me, Anne.”

  She nodded and kept her eyes open as he settled between her legs. The warmth of his thighs against hers was far more compelling than the warmth of just his hand. His length bumped her opening. He reached between them and slipped the head of his manhood just inside her folds and she tensed. He lowered his head and brushed his mouth against hers. When he breathed deep, she grasped his arms. Hard muscle flex
ed beneath her fingers and a thrill shot through her. His hips shifted—then he surged into her. A deep pinch came and went.

  Kennedy lifted his mouth from hers and looked down at her. “Are you well?”

  Anne nodded, though she wasn’t certain. He felt so strange inside her.

  He drew back and she gripped his arms tighter in readiness for another pinch when he thrust into her again. None came. He pulled back, then thrust. Kennedy lowered himself onto her and kissed her again, then drove deeper. Pleasure mixed with a smidgen of pain startled her. His tongue slipped inside her mouth. Her head whirled as his thrusts increased speed. Pleasure rippled through her. He drove deeper and the pain increased a little. Still, she was shocked to find she wanted more.

  His kiss became insistent. With his next thrust, she lifted her hips. When their bodies collided, he groaned. The sound reverberated through her. Her mother hadn’t told her about any of this. She also hadn’t told her about the pleasure that exploded inside her when her husband drove so deep she thought he’d touched her soul.

  * * *

  Kennedy had read the paragraph in the report half a dozen times and still wasn’t certain what it said. His focus kept returning to yesterday afternoon—and last night—with Anne. There was something about her. She excited him. He found he was looking forward to getting to know her in the years that lay ahead. Even with Jacqueline, he’d never considered such a thing. He never thought of being without Jacqueline, but he hadn’t thought past what they had, either. With Anne, he found himself looking forward to more afternoons in the conservatory. With Jacqueline, he wanted her, felt he couldn’t get enough of her, but he also never felt…satisfied. Anne satisfied him in a way he’d never known possible.

  Was this love? He had believed himself to be in love with Jacqueline. The emotions had been intense, but somehow different. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

  A knock came to the door and he started from his thoughts as a footman entered.

  “Mr. John Weston to see ye, sir,” he said.

  John? “Show him in, immediately,” Kennedy said, but he didn’t have to wait, for John stepped into the room.

  Kennedy rose and hurried around his desk toward his friend. John strode toward him and the footman closed the door behind him. They met, clasped hands, and Kennedy said. “What happened? You have learned something.”

  Surprise shone on John’s face.

  “What is it?” Kennedy demanded.

  “You don’t know?”

  Kennedy’s heart began to pound. “Know what? Tell me, man.”

  “Your father is in a coma.”

  The words didn’t register. “What? What do you mean?”

  “I have a servant in your father’s household in my employ,” John said. “He just reported that the doctor visited Chesterfield two hours ago because your father wouldn’t wake up.”

  A coma? A dozen thoughts bounced off the inside of his skull, but one word resounded: Rose. What would happen to Rose?

  Kennedy looked at his friend. “What if he dies?”

  “Sit down, Kennedy.”

  “What?” Kennedy couldn’t focus on his friend’s words.

  “Sit.” John grasped his arm, urged him over to the chair near the window and pushed him onto the seat. John sat on the divan to his right.

  “Think, Kennedy. Your sister is safe, at least for now. She has only been away from home for nine days. The situation cannot have degraded in so short a time.”

  Kennedy nodded. He was right. But how quickly could things degrade now that the earl couldn’t send instructions for her safekeeping? He prayed Ranald had luck in finding her in France.

  As if reading his mind, John said, “Your father is not a complete fool. He knew you would kill him if anything happened to her. He will have made provisions. She is safe for, at least, some time.”

  Kennedy nodded. He was right. He had to be right.

  “There is more,” John said. “I didn’t want to say anything until I was certain, but there is no time now to confirm. I suspect that the person your father was using to keep in contact with your sister is a servant within his household.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “As you know, I have had the house watched at all times. Only the usual activity has taken place: food deliveries, supplies, the comings and goings of servants. I doubt any of the deliverymen are anything but what they appear to be. Therefore, it is easy to strike them off the list of potential contacts. That leaves only the servants. I have jested before about how servants know everything, but it is the truth. Someone in your father’s household knows something about your sister’s whereabouts. My guess is that servant is a man.”

  Kennedy grunted. “Of that, you can be assured. My father believes women to be weak in all things.”

  John chuckled. “In that he is very mistaken.”

  Kennedy nodded. “Have you any idea who the man might be?”

  “Your father employs twenty-nine servants. Half of those are women. Half of the men are likely not intelligent enough or reliable enough to be trusted with the passage of information. I have a list of the remaining seven men. I would like you to take a look at the names.” He reached inside his pocket and pulled out a folded paper, then handed it to Kennedy.

  Kennedy took it and opened it. He scanned the list. “I know three of these men. David Henderson has been my father’s stable master for twenty years. He is a possibility. Jason is his valet. He is loyal to my father; however, he would not be my first choice.”

  “Why?” John asked.

  Kennedy shrugged. “My father believes in a strong separation between nobility and servants. To confide in Jason would be to elevate his station as valet.”

  John nodded. “What about the others?”

  “The last name on the list.” Kennedy pointed out the name Henry McKinley. “He has worked for my father for two years. In truth, I was surprised my father kept him on. He does not take orders well.”

  “Interesting,” John murmured. “What about the third name on the list, Milton Hayes? He has worked for your father for only two months as a groomsman.”

  Kennedy shrugged. “I know nothing of him. Are any of these other men new on his staff?”

  John nodded. “Aye, the fourth name on the list, Dawson. He has worked as a groomsman for two weeks.”

  Kennedy leaned back in his chair. “I do not know him. As he is new to my father’s staff, perhaps my father hired him specifically to help keep track of Rose.” Kennedy looked up at John. “What about his man of affairs, or his solicitor, Mr. Spector?”

  “One of them would be an obvious choice,” John said. “And your father might fear that you would approach them and try to beat the information out of them.”

  Kennedy thinned his lips. “He is right.”

  “However, they could have information without realizing it,” John said. “There has to be bills relating to your sister’s living expenses.”

  Kennedy had considered that. “Aye.” His heart began to thud. “With my father in a coma, I can demand to see all his financial records.”

  John nodded. “My thoughts exactly. Ye may also question his servants without fear of repercussions.”

  Chapter Nine

  By that evening, Kennedy had taken possession of all the records he could locate in Mr. Spector’s office, as well as the records kept by Mr. Cummins, his father’s man of affairs. Mr. Spector had refused to cooperate, but John held a pistol to his head while Kennedy confiscated everything he could find. Mr. Cummins was more cooperative, and handed over two ledgers and a box of receipts.

  Kennedy didn’t return home, but went to John’s office, for he knew that Jacqueline would be waiting for him at home. He was confident that Anne could deal with her. He would make it up to his wife tomorrow. For now, he had to find Rose.

  The afternoon turned into evening as he and John poured over files, ledgers and receipts.

  “Kennedy.”

  Kennedy looked up
from the ledger he was reading.

  “I have never been inside Chesterfield, but it is large,” John said.

  Kennedy nodded. “Mammoth, in fact.”

  “Could someone be locked in a room there without the servants knowing?”

  Kennedy started. “What are you saying?

  John handed him a receipt. Kennedy read the receipt. A lock had been installed on a fourth floor suite in Chesterfield’s west wing. Kennedy stared for a long moment before accepting what his eyes told him.

  He looked at John. “It’s too simple.”

  “That’s the beauty,” John said.

  “She never left Chesterfield? It can’t be.”

  “Why?”

  Kennedy shook his head, unable to focus. “I could find her too easily. The west wing isn’t in use. For the most part, it’s reserved for guests. My mother spent a year there when she and my father were estranged.”

  “Then it wouldn’t be difficult to lock someone in a room there without the rest of the household knowing,” John said.

  Kennedy shook his head. “Rose’s screams would be heard. My father might trust one or two servants, but, as you said, servants see everything. They would notice.”

  “Would they notice someone who lived there if that someone didn’t mingle with the rest of the household?” John asked.

  Kennedy started to answer, then stopped. There were two entrances on that side of the house. Perhaps it could be done if someone were careful. Still… “Once Rose realized she was being held prisoner, she would scream for help,” he said.

  John’s expression softened. “Not if she were incapacitated.”

  An image flashed of his sweet, dark-haired sister lying in bed, dosed with laudanum. Shock reverberated through him. He’d feared that if he couldn’t comply with his father’s demands that his father would make good on the threat to marry her to Granbury. He feared the earl would die and Rose would be stranded somewhere in a foreign land with no resources to reach home safely. He had hated not knowing where she was, being uncertain of her future for even a day. But he had believed that, for the moment, she was safe. Had he been wrong?