“And in the meantime?”
“Perhaps I’ll finish that book tonight. Sleep well.” And then he headed up the stairs.
Emily watched him go, a heady mix of happiness and relief and disappointment making her wonder how he could think of sleeping at a time like this.
There was more shocking to be done on this night, and she was determined to do it.
Chapter 24
Secrets Revealed in the Dark of Night
Back at Trenton House
Their port long finished, Gabe suggested he and Frances head upstairs. “I didn’t mean to keep you from your son for so long,” he murmured as they made their way to the stairway.
“I didn’t mind. I cannot recall ever having such a grand dinner. And you were right. The port was very good.”
When Gabe continued up the steps after reaching the second floor, Frances said, “There really is no need for you to come to the nursery.”
“Oh, but I insist,” he replied. “I’d like to be sure the youngest guest I have ever hosted is settling in.”
Frances had a fleeting hope he might do the same for her, which reminded her she had no clothes with her. No night rail. She would, of course, simply wear her chemise to bed, but she didn’t want him seeing her in it.
“Barclay saw to it a lady’s maid delivered some night clothes to your room,” Gabe added, just as they reached the door to the nursery.
“He needn’t have done that,” she whispered.
Gabe gave her a quelling glance. “We are speaking of a servant who prides himself on thoroughly seeing to his duty. There would have been no getting around it, I assure you.”
Frances rolled her eyes before she hurried to the bassinet. David was covered in a soft blanket, his eyes closed and his chest rising and falling with his even breaths.
“He looks like a little cherub,” Gabe whispered.
“A bald one,” Frances countered, sighing with relief at seeing he was asleep. “And given the events of the night, I rather expect he will sleep through until the morning.”
She allowed another sigh, and Gabe noticed how she looked as if she might be about to cry. “What is it?”
Her dark brows furrowed, and Frances gave a shake of her head. “To think that at one time, I had no intention of keeping him.”
“What?” Gabe struggled to keep his surprise under control.
She reached out and touched a fingertip to her son’s cheek. “I didn’t think I would want him. I was going to leave him at the Foundling Hospital, but then, when the midwife gave him to me, all wet with his face scrunched up and his hands curled into fists, I could not bear the thought.”
Gabe reached an arm around her shoulders, turned, and pulled her against the front of his body. “I often wondered if my mother had the same sort of plans for me.”
Frances stared at him. “Whatever do you mean?”
Allowing a one-shouldered shrug, he said, “Once I learned I was a bastard, I mean. Before that, I had no reason to wonder.”
Blinking, Frances shook her head. “But—”
“Oh, my father married my mother, once he found out about me, but that wasn’t until I was David’s age.” Gabe’s eyes darted to one side when he realized to what he had admitted. He hadn’t intended to tell her he was illegitimate, but everyone in the ton knew. At some point, she might have learned it from someone else.
Her look of shock turned to consternation. “So, why would she have even told you? It seems as if it wouldn’t have mattered.”
Gabe winced. He had never begrudged his younger brother’s right to the earldom. To the title he would eventually inherit. How could he when his father had accepted him so readily? Choosing to marry Sarah Cumberbatch despite her position as a commoner? Despite the circumstances under which they had first met? Despite her holding a position as the manager of a coaching inn the second time they met?
How could he bemoan his position in Society when his father had recognized him as his own and was so generous with his inheritance?
“It doesn’t matter to me,” he finally replied in a quiet voice. “Just as I hope it does not matter to him,” he added as he nodded in the babe’s direction.
Frances glanced over at the bassinet before returning her attention to Gabe. “That has been my worry ever since he was born. I can claim I am a widow—that his father died in a war or... or an accident—but I have no papers to prove a marriage. No way to account for him. Nor would I ever wish anyone to know the identity of his real father.”
Gabe hugged her harder before he stepped away. “Then that is the way it shall be,” he whispered. “Your secret is safe with me. Come. It’s late. Let me escort you to your bedchamber.”
Frances wondered at the sense of disappointment she felt at hearing his words. For a moment, she had thought he would be taking her to his bed, and for a fleeting second, she knew she would go willingly.
She would no doubt regret it in the morning. She had promised herself she would never again allow a man to bed her unless she was wed—even if he did threaten to tell everyone he knew she was a wanton or a whore.
“Should I send a lady’s maid to help you undress?”
Frances wondered what it would be like if he undressed her. Wondered what it would feel like to have his fingers undo the buttons of her gown and slip the sleeves from her shoulders. What it would be like to have him pull the tie on her stays. Lower her petticoats to the floor. Remove her shoes and roll down her stockings.
Had he done such a thing before? Or had his lovers already shed their clothes and been wearing a dressing gown when they joined him for their trysts? Had there even been trysts? She nearly put voice to the query when she realized he was waiting for an answer.
What was the question?
Something about a lady’s maid. “There’s no need,” she whispered, hope her reddened face wasn’t apparent in the dim gas lighting in the corridor.
They stopped in front of her bedchamber, and Gabe lifted her hand to his lips. “Sleep well, my lady.”
“You as well.” She dipped a curtsy and watched as Gabe bowed and disappeared behind the door to his bedchamber. When she heard the latch click into place, she did the same in hers.
A single candle lamp on a nightstand lit the room in a golden glow, and as if in slow motion, Frances undressed and pulled on the frilly night rail that she found draped over the end of the bed. She reveled in the soft fabric, and then gave a start when she caught her reflection in the looking glass above the dressing table.
How could a single evening have her looking years younger? Closer to her own age?
Could a single kiss really be the reason there were no longer frown lines embedded between her brows? Why there were no longer lines at the outer edges of her lips, where her perpetually pinched expression had etched them over the last couple of years?
Or was it because, for just this one night, her son was safe and sleeping soundly, tucked into a comfortable bed instead of the bottom drawer of a broken bureau? And because she was about to climb into a large bed covered in elegant velvet?
Whatever the reason, Frances grinned as she took the pins from her hair. She shook the brunette locks until they fell past her shoulders and halfway down her back.
Using the ivory hairbrush from the dressing table, she smoothed the waves of her hair until they felt like silk. Not finding a ribbon to bind it, she let it be and settled into the turned-down linens.
Of course the bed was comfortable. Of course the small fire in the fireplace kept the chill away. Was this not the most comfortable bedchamber in which she had ever had the pleasure of sleeping?
The bed was perfect, but sleep eluded her.
Despite having turned down the lamp and covering herself in the cotton bed linens and blankets, Frances felt restless. She found her thoughts drifting to Gabe. Imagining what it might be like to share his bed.
Would they sleep apart? Or would he hold her in his arms? Would he wake in the middle of the nigh
t and kiss her? Use the tips of his perfectly manicured fingernails to incite tickles beneath her skin? Use the flat of his hand to skim over her heated skin? Touch the tip of his tumescence to the swollen bud that ached at the top of her thighs?
Frustrated, she threw back the covers and headed for the door. Perhaps she could make her way down to the kitchens and find some milk. Warm milk. Surely that would help.
She opened the door and nearly let out a yelp.
Gabe, garbed in a dressing gown left open at the top, stared at her in surprise.
“Were you... were you going somewhere?” he asked in a whisper, his gaze taking in her changed appearance by the dim light of a hallway sconce. With her hair down, she looked years younger. Softer.
Desirable.
Frances shook her head, but said, “I thought I might find some milk, but...”
His expression betraying his own uncertainty, Gabe nodded. “If that’s what you want,” he replied, turning as if he intended to lead her to the kitchens.
“It’s not. Not really.”
His brows furrowed. “What is it you really want?”
Without a word, Frances took a hold of his hand and pulled him into the bedchamber.
For a moment, Gabe thought to ask her if she was sure this is what she wanted.
But he would be a fool to do so.
She had been on her way out of the bedchamber, possibly on her way to his.
The door shut behind him as he took her lips with his own. Willing lips. Eager lips that returned his kiss measure for measure.
His hands moved down her back to cup the globes of her bottom through the cotton fabric of her night rail. Then he slid them up her sides as her arms lifted and wrapped around his shoulders. He felt her fingers slip through the curls at the back of his head, and his scalp shivered in delight at the same moment his thumbs rubbed over her nipples.
Her soft inhalation of breath interrupted the kiss, but only for a moment. Taking small steps, he soon had her backed against the edge of the bed. Sliding his hands back down to her bottom, he hitched the hem of the night rail up to her thighs and lifted her up onto the bed.
He sensed she was about to turn over, and he wondered if she thought he intended to take her from behind. Was that how her baby’s father had impaled her? Bent her over the edge of a bed to have his way with her?
Probably not even a bed. A table or a chair.
Well, he had no intention of treating her as anything other than the lady she was. The lady she would be after she agreed to wed him.
The sudden thought of matrimony had him pausing a moment. Long enough to see that she didn’t know what to do. Long enough to know this wasn’t the time to be mentioning a betrothal.
Determined to prove he would see to her pleasure before taking his own, he gentled his hold on her legs. He slowly moved his hands to beneath her knees and spread them apart.
With his own feet still on the floor, he was the one who bent down. He moved a hand to her quim and felt her jerk as a finger parted her folds. A whimper sounded as the tip of his tongue searched for her womanhood.
He finally felt the engorged bud, and he flicked his tongue across it before pushing it into her over and over. Her whimpers increased to soft cries and mewling, her hips bucking with every thrust of his tongue. At some point, she had pulled the night rail farther up her body, or perhaps his hands had done so as they explored her heated skin, exposing her belly and the undersides of her breasts.
Dizzy with his own desire—his manhood throbbed and strained against the velvet counterpane—Gabe finally straightened and pulled her hips to the edge of the bed. He sank himself into her on a sigh of relief and held himself still until he was sure she was ready for more.
He lifted her knees to his hips, and from there, she seemed to know to wrap her legs around him.
When he slowly pulled out of her, he heard her soft whimper. “Am I hurting you?” he asked in a hoarse whisper.
“No, but I don’t know what to do.”
He thrust into her, and he heard a soft gasp as he sucked in a breath between his teeth. “You needn’t do anything, my love.” His breaths quickened with each rhythmic thrust as his hands gripped her hips. Then he remembered to pleasure her again. One thumb slid down her mons to where their bodies met, and he rubbed her womanhood.
Perhaps he had pressed too hard, or she was already on the verge of her release, but all at once, he knew he could hold on no longer. The contractions of her orgasm pulled his manhood in and gripped him, over and over, as his seed spilled into her and stars appeared before his eyes.
Unable to hold himself up, he lowered his torso to hers, kissed both her breasts, and settled his head between them.
When her breathing finally returned to normal, Frances moved her hands to Gabe’s shoulders and then to the back of his head. She was sure he was sleeping, but how he could do so when half his body was still over the edge of the bed, she knew not. And with the night rail bunched up, she couldn’t see anything beyond his shoulders.
She managed to pull the garment off over her head, feeling relief when her struggles to move had Gabe waking up from his brief nap.
He lifted his head and gazed at her. A grin lifted the corners of his mouth. “Do you have any idea just how beautiful you are?”
A blush colored her cheeks, and she blinked several times. “I feel... young,” she whispered. “And I’m trembling all over, but—”
“You’re probably freezing,” he countered in alarm, lifting himself until he was standing. He was still wearing his dressing gown, although it was wide open in the front.
“But I’m not cold,” she argued, managing to pull her knees together in an attempt at modesty. Gabe didn’t seem the least bit concerned for his own, she noticed, for he didn’t attempt to close the robe.
And why should he? He had the body of a Greek god, his torso sculpted much like those naked statues that stood in the museum. He could have been Cupid’s father, given his crown of blond curls and blue eyes.
Frances watched as he hurried around the bed, leaning over to take her body in his arms so he could place her on the downturned linens.
“Would you mind terribly if I... if I stayed?” he asked. “I’d like to hold you for a time, and besides, I don’t think I’d have the strength to make it back to my bedchamber if I wanted to.”
She couldn’t help the humor she felt at hearing his words, especially since he had just lifted and easily carried her to the other side of the bed. She couldn’t help but delight in the shivers that coursed through her body. Her entire being felt alive, all tingly and sensitive, warm and wanton.
She grinned as she moved over and lifted the bed linens in invitation. She watched as he shed his dressing gown, his skin golden in the firelight. His manhood, still semi-erect, bobbed about as he climbed onto the bed and then took her in his arms. He kissed her on the mouth and then the forehead before he settled back onto the pillows and promptly fell asleep.
Marveling at his ability to sleep when she felt as if she were wide awake, Frances settled her head into the small of his shoulder. Beneath her cheek, she could feel his pulse, steady and slowing as the minutes ticked by. One of her hands moved to rest on his chest, and she was soon fast asleep.
Chapter 25
The Shape of a Bum Revealed
Meanwhile, at Woodscastle
James stopped in the library to retrieve the book Thoughts and details on the high and low prices of the last thirty years, before he headed up to his room. A quick glance at the massive desk reminded him of the time he had spent there holding Emily, of the tale she had told about Henry.
Once he and his brother had grown and gone their separate ways, he hadn’t expected they might also grow apart. That Henry wouldn’t think to come to him for help bothered James. That Henry instead first went to Lady Andrew rankled. That he then thought of a marriage to Emily as the solution to his problem angered James.
Or perhaps Henry had thought to com
e to him first and then thought better of it.
How would he have reacted at learning his brother was in financial straights? Would he have loaned him the money to clear up that debt that their grandmother’s ring had apparently paid off?
Which brought him back to thoughts of the ring.
He lifted the bauble from the nightstand and regarded it under the light from the nearest candle lamp. He was sure it wasn’t paste, as Emily claimed, and now he wondered if it was even a copy.
Perhaps she had mixed up the rings when she pawned the one. Which meant whomever gave her the money for it wasn’t a jeweler. Or a goldsmith.
He sighed and placed it back on the nightstand. Perhaps he would pay a call in Ludgate Hill. Discover from a jeweler its worth.
Would he give it to her as a betrothal ring, though?
He moved to the dressing table and opened his own jewel box. Pushing aside cravat pins and cufflinks, he pulled out a ring and compared it to the one he held.
The sapphires appeared identical, as did the diamonds that surrounded them. Even the number of tiny stones matched. The gold was the same. The bands were the same width. And the goldsmith marks inside the bands and under the center stones were the same.
He chuckled, wondering just how many identical rings his grandmother might have owned and who had them all now.
Had she commissioned them for this very purpose? So that every grandson might have the same ring to bestow on their brides? Even in death, Mary Margaret Merriweather was as manipulative as she was in life.
Bless her heart.
James set aside the two rings on the dressing table and quickly doffed his clothes. Given the fire and the warmth in the guest bedchamber, he eschewed his nightshirt in favor of simply climbing into the crisp bed linens naked and reading the book until he could fall asleep.
He had just settled in and begun the fourth part of the book when a firm knock sounded at the door. “Come,” he called out, thinking Humphrey was there to let him know he would be retiring for the night.
The Puzzle of a Bastard Page 18
