Quent hadn’t done a blamed thing, and his betrothed still made him feel as if he were ten feet tall and invincible. She made him feel. Common sense said he needed to run right now. But all sense fled every time she laughed.
He did have the presence of mind to set one of the grooms to following Hiram once the man was released. Like Bell, he didn’t trust the former stable hand, but Quent had no authority to hold him any longer, and no evidence to prove that Hiram had stolen the horses. They didn’t even have documents on any of them except Dream to prove whose horses they were. Hauling Hiram to the nearest officer of the law would be an effort in futility.
“I have to stay with Dream,” Bell told Quent earnestly once they had the horses loaded on Nick’s ship. “Older horses don’t fare well with change, and she’s been through so much these past weeks! I can sail on your yacht anytime, but this time, I have to sail with Dream.”
“Fitz is perfectly capable of seeing to the animals,” Quent argued, heart sinking. He’d hoped for more time together in the peace of the city, where he belonged. But he didn’t want her sailing off without him. “We could stay in London, obtain the license, close up our houses.” Finish up some business, answer some correspondence, make love without family about . . . “We don’t need to race out of town yet.”
“Fitz needs to go home to his wife and children. The horses are my responsibility, not his.” She threw an encouraging look to the auburn-haired earl lounging against the railing, waiting for the argument’s conclusion.
“Nick can sail around to Brighton, and I can take the animals up to Wyckerly and feed them,” Fitz suggested. “It would just require a little more riding to my place than to yours.”
“Offloading is bad in either place,” elegant Nick offered unhelpfully.
“Dream goes where I go, and I’m going home to my sisters,” Bell insisted stubbornly. “We can’t be sailing them all over the Channel, so they go with me until they’re healthy again. Then Fitz and I can talk about breeding the younger ones.”
Starting a breeding program did not sound promising for life in the city.
“I’ll leave my yacht docked and go with you,” Quent agreed in resignation. He glowered at his so-called friends. “Do either of you ever win an argument with your wives?”
Fitz grinned. Nick whistled and admired his sails.
Bell hugged Quent and kissed his neck. More than his spirits rose to the occasion. He captured her waist and held her close, fair compensation for business lost.
Taking this as answer to the discussion, Fitz offered his farewells and strolled back to the dock to find his own way home. Nick signaled for the ropes to be untied from the moorings and the anchor weighed.
Quent resigned himself to a long ride in a dark hold with three nervous, highly-strung animals. “Do I need to slay any dragons while I’m at it?” he asked, following Bell down the gangway.
“Your father is the dragon. If you could just stifle him . . .” She let her voice trail off suggestively.
He smothered the fear of the angry letter no doubt waiting at his office. In his frenzy for cash, his father would be selling off his sisters and Bell’s both if he didn’t act soon.
“We haven’t even agreed on the settlements yet,” he said without revealing his concern. “Hard to stifle him until then. I take it we’re renovating Belden Hall if you’re keeping horses there now?” He helped her remove her confining jacket in the heat of the hold. The little slip of nothing she wore beneath it had him perspiring.
She knotted her long skirt high enough that he could have seen her ankles—if she hadn’t been wearing boots.
“Renovating the Hall is probably best,” she agreed. “We’ll need a steward to return the land to use so expenses won’t eat us up. I don’t think either of us will succeed as farmers.”
Ah, another negotiating point in forcing his father’s hand. “I can bring down one of my brothers to act as steward. And there are bound to be more female relations who will gladly take up residence at the Hall as caretakers. Both should please my father, although that won’t be enough to persuade him to give up guardianship.”
Knowing his father, it would only make the old man eager to see what other income he might generate from the unused estate. He had to apply his business perspective to that and not his despair at being inundated in family. “I see no point in renovating a house that will be empty most of the year unless we put it to good use.”
Quent took the anxious stallion’s bit and rubbed the animal’s nose as the ship swayed into the current.
“Since Belden Hall belongs to the marquessate, I certainly don’t mind it being used by Hoyts,” she said. “I dislike waste and always thought it a shame that Edward denied the Hall’s use to your family.”
“Does this mean there’s some hope of peacefully settling our family disagreements?” Quent hadn’t really doubted that Bell would be more reasonable than the late marquess, but differences lingered in many matters.
“My family will be living there also, and they’re seldom peaceful,” she pointed out with a laugh. “I’m not sure how long I want to be in a household with your stubborn but polite sisters and my stubborn but obnoxious siblings. If I have a vote, I’d vote to leave them all in the country to fight it out, while we retreat to the city. We can invite them to visit one at a time.”
His optimism rose considerably. “Then you will not mind if I maintain an office in town?” he asked. “I can’t neglect my business simply because I’ve married a wealthy woman.”
“And you think I do not have business to tend?” she asked loftily. “You will notice I have not spent these last years frivoling my wealth away.”
“A matter of opinion,” he reminded her, “but you are entitled to use your funds as you deem best. I would not have offered for you if I thought you were an inveterate gambler. If you wish to spend your funds on horses and the Hall and our families, I have no objection. Give me some credit and don’t be so defensive, Bell.”
Through the darkness, he could see her hugging her mare’s neck. She’d been badly damaged, but he knew she had the strength to overcome anything. She had already overcome her past, but now . . . she could be so much more. It was almost as exciting to watch Bell emerge from her chrysalis as seeing what steam engines would become.
“I’m trying to be more confident,” she said with a hint of sadness. “I know you’re a good man. But so was Edward once. People change, and that’s what scares me.”
“We’ll change together,” Quent suggested, hiding his hope, as he’d hidden it from the day he’d met her. His longing had been a part of him for so long that he didn’t dare confess how much power she had over him.
She considered his suggestion far longer than he could hold his breath. “That could be nice,” she finally answered. “We’re both a bit old to change, though, aren’t we?”
“When I was your age, I was sitting all night in coffee shops, spending my days in counting houses, burning candles at both ends. I think I’ve changed,” he said with a grin.
“You were wenching and studying the marriage mart at the same time,” she reminded him. “I remember seeing you haunting the back of the theaters and the ballrooms. You were so gorgeously frightening, all thick glossy curls that needed cutting and smoldering dark eyes that pierced to the bone.”
“It wasn’t your bones I was seeing,” he retorted, unreasonably pleased that she remembered the yearning youth he’d been. “But I’d sworn off marriageable women then. It was you I was studying.”
“Me?” She actually sounded shocked.
“You.” He flashed a smile, hoping she could see it. “I expected you to be another Camilla, and I waited for you to start playing fast and loose on your elderly husband. You never did, to my vast disappointment.”
“No wonder Edward hated you! Good heavens, I really had no idea. I was very young and very lost and very careful to do nothing that would make him take a dislike to me. That still doesn’t mean I
can change now,” she warned.
“We’re smart,” he assured her. “We’ll change.”
“Mostly, we need to be determined to make marriage work,” she said warily. “Do not think I have any illusions. I know you want to be off about your business and that you’re fretting because you haven’t had time to obtain a license and for half a dozen other reasons. I appreciate that you understand how much my horses mean to me. But somehow, we have to learn to continue living our own lives instead of in each other’s pockets.”
“Right now, there is nowhere else I’d rather be than in your pocket,” he asserted, and realized he meant it. “Business can wait. The license is a nicety. I don’t think our reputations will be lost if we have simple banns posted. I can’t imagine the settlements will be completed in three weeks, anyway. Just as long as I’m welcome in your home while we wait, I’m content.”
“No, you’re not,” she said with amusement. “You’re simply doing what a stallion does, not that I mind at all. But let us at least pretend to be respectable.”
And being welcome in her bed would have to satisfy him for now, because Quent was certain they hadn’t seen the last of her conniving relations. Now that the Boyles had an estate in their sights, they’d be after Bell until they had what they wanted. Or he strangled them.
And then he had to find some way of making his father see reason or tell him to jump off a cliff. Which would mean severing relations with his entire family. That would be a trifle more difficult, akin to saying he’d cut off his right arm to keep Bell. No matter how much he complained about his many siblings, he knew his protective instincts wouldn’t allow them to suffer—and his damned father counted on that.
***
It was the early hours before dawn by the time Nick moored his ship at the small village near Belden Hall, a time when Bell would normally be arriving home after a ball. The emotional day had been much more exhausting than dancing. Wearily, she waited for the all-clear before leading her horse out of her stall.
Quent’s stalwart presence kept her on her feet, but she was ready for their bed. She didn’t care what the household thought, she needed his strong arms around her, reassuring her that all was well.
The horses were as weary as she was—and undernourished despite the grain she’d bought for them. They didn’t protest too vigorously as she and Quent led them up the ramp and out of the hold.
She kissed Nick’s cheek as he held the wheel steady. “Will you come with us or sail straight back to Nora?”
“I’ll wait here until the tide changes,” he told her. “With your permission, we’ll come back to visit and see how you fare in your rural abode before we leave for Amsterdam.”
Bell smiled at his hint of doubt. “Quent and I are very civilized. You will not find us reduced to rags and ruin any time soon, although there may be heads upon poles if our families should interfere. Will you be here long enough to attend our wedding breakfast?”
He bowed over her hand. “Of a certainty. Nora would never allow me to miss it. Try to arrange it before the winter winds fly,” he added with a laugh.
He slapped Quent on the back and left them to find their own beds while he returned to his comfortable bunk.
“I sent a groom into the village to secure a room for us,” Quent told her. “Let’s not wake the household at this hour. Besides, you’re dropping with exhaustion.”
Bell hugged him again. “No sisters demanding our attention or brothers scalping tutors. A few civilized hours alone, perfect!”
“You’re sure you don’t want to send them all to Scotland?” he asked with a note of hope in his voice.
Bell laughed. “Not for the world. Perhaps this is one of the ways I’m changing, but I love having people around me again.”
Quent heaved an exaggerated sigh. “And here I escaped too much family to find peace in London.”
She leaned wearily on his arm as they walked up to the inn. “You still have time to bow out. I’ll not hold you to any promises you made in rash lust.”
“No, my promise to you is a sacred vow. As long as you will have me, I will be there. This is one way that I will not change, and that’s another vow.” He kissed her head and led her into the inn.
It wasn’t a promise of undying love, Bell knew, so much as a vow not to let her out of his sight, but that was pure Quent.
Reassured, Bell hid her laughter as Quent dickered with the landlord over accommodations. He ended up promising to pay a monthly stipend in return for improving a chamber just for them and their guests. The landlord was thrilled to think the Hall would be opening and bringing in more paying customers for the tavern and stable as well as the inn. She was amazed that Quent actually remembered she was waiting and didn’t linger to argue details.
“You would have made a fine marquess,” she murmured as they traipsed the stairs to their chamber. “You have a habit of taking charge.”
“I don’t think parliament would appreciate that habit,” he said dryly. “And I know I would not appreciate their dithering. You must accept me as the untitled tradesman that I am.”
“I do,” she murmured with enthusiasm, throwing her arms around his neck after they closed the door behind them. “A title doesn’t keep me warm in bed.”
He slid his broad hands under her spencer and cupped her breasts. “There’s my Irish lass speaking.”
“Does that make you my Scots lad? No titles at all, sir, just you and me and that lovely bed, please.” She tugged off his loosened neckcloth.
“I am happy to oblige.”
With a tenderness that belied his size, he began removing her clothing with more efficiency than her maid. Bell tried to return the favor, but she had less experience. She fumbled the buttons of his breeches, possibly because he pressed impossibly large against them.
Her need for him was almost frightening. After years of distancing herself from others, she felt the old urge to pull away, but Quent gave her no opportunity. He was there, big and demanding and . . . too heart-racingly tempting for words.
He kissed her into nakedness. He stroked her into bed. When she was sprawled wantonly over the sheets, he shocked her into surrender by kneeling between her legs and plying her with fingers and tongue until she cried out both release and demand for more.
Wickedly, unrelentingly, he returned to her breasts, spreading kisses in search of all her weaknesses. When she could tolerate no more, Bell shoved his shoulder, forcing him back to the mattress.
“I have always wanted to do this,” she said with glee. And with no other warning, she settled over his loins and took him deep inside her, where she could set the pace.
“By the devil, Bell,” Quent cried, “you’ll be the death of me yet.”
As their bodies took over, no further words needed to be said—that was the best part of lovemaking, Bell decided. She didn’t need to think at all, just let him love her—as she loved him.
Twenty-four
As long as Quent had Bell at his side, he didn’t doubt his decision to marry.
The moment Bell disappeared into the bowels of Belden Hall—and her sisters descended on him—he had the urge to flee for town, just as Bell had predicted.
“Where will the wedding be held?” Tess demanded. “You have the license, do you not? Should we be writing invitations to the breakfast?”
“Will there be any eligible bachelors?” Syd asked eagerly. “And will your family be there? What about the marquess?”
Quent shoved his hand through his hair and tried to glare down their eager questions, but these were Bell’s sisters. They deserved answers. He didn’t have any. “Where’s Bell?” he asked in desperation. They’d only just arrived an hour ago. How far could she have gone?
“In the stable, of course,” Syd said with exasperation. “That is why we’re asking you. We can’t pry her away from her horses long enough to be sensible.”
“Then I suppose I’ll have to leave the planning to the two of you,” he suggested.
“Don’t be ridiculous! We know nothing of your friends or customs. Have you even set a date?” Tess asked.
They hadn’t even agreed on the settlements yet. Or obtained a license, although Quent had managed to send a note around to the church to have the banns read. Not that there were many people in town to hear them in August, but that was legal enough. It simply took longer and limited options for the ceremony.
“There are many agreements to be worked out first,” he said evasively. “I’ll have my sisters come down to help and all of you can work out the details.”
“They probably know as much as we do if they live in Scotland,” Tess said with scorn. “You are planning to marry, aren’t you?”
“Definitely, but we’ve waited this long, we can wait a while longer to do it properly.” That sounded like a good enough answer, but it didn’t satisfy Quent much more than it satisfied the girls. Life had too many interruptions. Anything could happen before he marched Bell to the altar.
Quent hunted down his assistant for male support. Penrose seemed to be in his element, interviewing roofers and gardeners and tenants. Quent knew nothing of renovating houses. He supposed he could set up the estate books and examine the agreements Penrose was leaving on the desk in the unused study.
Was this how Bell had felt when she’d been dumped into society without any preparation?
He really needed to be back in the city, in familiar surroundings. He was an investor, not a steward. Show him what was needed to build a steam engine, and he’d set up an entire production industry that would feed his family into the future. Give him a horse . . . and he rode it. The country held no interest for him.
Restlessly, with nothing else to keep him occupied, he went in search of Bell to reassure himself that he was doing the right thing.
Formidable Lord Quentin Page 21
