Twice a Rake (Lord Rotheby's Influence, Book 1)

by Catherine Gayle

  “Indeed,” she murmured. An audience? Her initial idea of asking Sir Jonas to stay, and perhaps inviting Rebecca for a visit, seemed rather inconsequential compared to the thought currently swimming around in her head. “I believe I need a favor. I’ll need your promise to keep it a secret from Quin.”

  Perhaps having a swarm of people around them would do just the trick.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  19 May, 1811

  The blasted man clearly doesn’t know what’s good for him. He is so caught up in the past, he can’t see the present, let alone think about the possibilities for the future. Imbecile. Well, if he thinks the only thing that can save me from him and his blasted temper is having someone else around to witness it, then I’ll make certain he is surrounded. Endlessly surrounded, in fact. By people he would never dare to raise a hand against another living soul in their presence. I absolutely refuse to cower. And I will not run back to my father with my tail tucked between my legs. Quin needs to understand—I am not afraid of him. I might be afraid I’m falling in love with him—head over ears, and all that—but I will never be afraid of my husband. It is simply not in my power to do so.

  ~From the journal of Lady Quinton

  After spending the entire morning by the river, Quin finally trudged up the path toward the abbey. He’d spent the time thinking, trying to devise a plan, but coming up with nothing feasible.

  He could order Aurora to leave. Jonas would take her and be sure she was protected. Then she could be safe, but Quin would be utterly despondent. The thought of not having her by his side at night, of not being able to hold her, and savor the faint rosewater scent of her hair, and feel the fluid warmth of her body—it robbed him of his breath and felt as though a mountain were suddenly atop him, pressing him into the earth.

  Quite simply put, he couldn’t live without her.

  Damn it all to hell and back.

  Which meant he was going to have to somehow manage to not become his father. No telling what that would entail. But the time to begin the process was upon him. The time had also arrived to discover, once and for all, who had taken the pages from Aurora’s journal.

  When Quin came through the main doors of Quinton Abbey, Forster was sending a monstrous stack of letters off with a postman. “What is all that?” he demanded of the butler.

  Forster somehow managed to raise a single, overly-arched eyebrow even higher than it normally rested. “Her ladyship’s invitations, of course.”

  “Invitations?” Quin drawled. “She can’t possibly think to accept them. We’re not going back to London. Not now.” Who in bloody hell would be sending her invitations all the way to Wetherby? Particularly when such vile gossip was being spread about her. She ought to be a pariah in the ton at the moment, from what he could gather, not a social butterfly, being invited to every soiree and ball and concert.

  “You misunderstand, my lord. These are the invitations Lady Quinton is sending out for the house party at Quinton Abbey. She said you insisted they go out in today’s post, as you wanted as many people to attend as possible.”

  A house party. At Quinton Abbey. While he was trying to learn patience and to stop relying so heavily on brandy, no less.

  This had to be Aurora’s idea of torture.

  “I see,” he finally said. He couldn’t very well take his frustrations out on Forster. The man clearly thought he was doing Quin’s bidding by doing that of his wife. “And where might I find my wife at the moment?”

  “I believe she is on her way in to luncheon with Sir Jonas. I can order a plate prepared for you as well, my lord.” The older man passed him a meaningful glance, one that clearly said he intended to do so whether Quin wanted it or not.

  Quin only managed a nod in response, before making his way to the great hall. As expected, upon his arrival his position was prepared for him at the head of the table. Aurora and Jonas were already seated on either side of him.

  “Oh, how lovely,” Aurora said as Quin stalked to his seat. “I was so hoping you would be joining us for our meal.” Her voice didn’t hold even the slightest hint of sarcasm.

  For a moment, he envied that ability. Then he grunted.

  A footman placed a plate of cold meats, cheeses, and bread before him. Only then did Quin acknowledge his overwhelming hunger. He could eat an entire boar by himself if given the opportunity. Perhaps he ought to have had more than just brandy the night before.

  After shoveling down several mouthfuls of food, he turned to his wife. “So when did you plan to tell me about this house party you’re arranging? Or perhaps you meant it to be a surprise, so that I could not withhold my permission for such a thing?”

  Aurora smiled at him then, easily the most charming smile she could muster. Almost charming enough to fool him into wishing he could return it. “I’d hoped to discuss it with you this afternoon, Quin. Sir Jonas was very kind in helping me to put together a guest list and to make out the invitations.”

  Quin raised an eyebrow in the baronet’s direction. “Is that so? I’ll have to thank him later,” he responded dryly.

  “Indeed,” she continued, seemingly unimpressed by his lack of enthusiasm over her pronouncement. “And all the invitations have already gone out. I do hope you aren’t too upset with me, but once the idea struck me that we should have some guests here at the abbey, I simply couldn’t wait to get started on it. Besides, there isn’t much time for our guests to make their plans.”

  Of course she couldn’t wait. If she waited, he might have stopped her. If she waited, he could have at least limited the number of her planned guests.

  He took another bite of cheese. “When should I expect this blessed event to occur?”

  Jonas choked on a bite of his food and cleared his throat on a look from Quin. “Just over three weeks. Because of how soon it shall be, Lady Quinton has asked that I remain here until everyone else arrives.”

  Perfect. Having Jonas around would become a thorn in Quin’s side in no time. He’d never been one to want another gentleman around while he seduced a woman, so why should he want one around watching as he tried to grasp his role as a husband?

  “Oh, Sir Jonas, I do hope everyone we’ve invited is able to join us,” Aurora said, smiling prettily across the table at him. “It just wouldn’t do to have uneven numbers.”

  Numbers. Yes, he needed to know the numbers. Quin would have to prepare himself for the invasion—and that stack of invitations had looked foreboding, at best. “Care to inform me who all you’ve invited?”

  Then Aurora turned her smile on him. Oh, how he wished he could see that more often, perhaps sometime other than when she was plotting his downfall. It shone brighter than the sun coming in through the massive windows behind Jonas. “Well, we invited my father, of course, and Lady Rebecca Grantham and the duchess. Lord Norcutt required an invitation as well, since he can almost never be seen anywhere other than at Rebecca’s side these days. But we couldn’t stop there, since the abbey is so terribly large. It seemed a shame to not have the halls bursting at the seams with people.”

  “That it did,” Jonas interjected, winking at Aurora from across the table.

  “So we sent an invitation to Lord Merrick, because of his friendship with Lord Norcutt. And then we needed another lady, so I invited Miss Stephanie Osbourne and her mother, Lady Pratley. But she has a younger sister who is also out, so of course we had to invite Vivian, the younger Miss Osbourne. So then I thought, perhaps, Lord Tucker Flynn would be a nice addition, and his sister Lady Emily Flynn would have to come with him. And Lord Tucker is rather good friends with Mr. Garret Bentley, so that helped to sort out the problem with numbers quite famously.”

  By Quin’s count, that had them at eleven guests. Twelve, if he counted Jonas. Not quite the even numbers of older guests to mingle with older guests, and younger guests to mix with the younger ones that he would have expected. But he didn’t think it would be a good idea to point that out and have her send out more invitations.


  Jonas reached over to select a piece of fruit from the bowl situated by him. “I suggested my friends Lord and Lady Lipscombe as a younger married couple who could act as chaperones for all the younger, unmarried members of the party.”

  Up to fourteen. Good God.

  “I was so glad Sir Jonas made such a suggestion, too, since they are our near neighbors,” Aurora said. “I’ve wanted to make some acquaintances in the area, and he is helping to make that possible.” She took a sip from her glass and eyed Quin over the rim. “And of course, we had to invite your family.”

  His family? Damnation. He’d string Jonas up to the great oak by his toes for interfering. The last thing he needed was for his mother to see what a mess he had made of his life. Quin shoveled in another mouthful of bread a bit more forcefully than necessary.

  “Sir Jonas did tell me that Nia is a bit younger than the rest of our guests, and truly has not yet had her come-out. But that shouldn’t pose a problem for anyone, since he assures me she is a lovely young lady, and quite mature for her age. Besides, I could not bear the thought of having Sir Augustus and Lady Coulter here, but leaving your sister behind. Your younger sister. One you’ve yet to inform me of.” Aurora continued to prattle on, but Quin no longer heard her words.

  He couldn’t allow this. The idea of his mother seeing him in this state was bad enough—but his step-father? And even worse, his sister? Nia couldn’t come. She couldn’t see him as he’d become. He had made a point since Nia’s birth to stay away from her, so she couldn’t be affected by his influence. She was better off staying in Sheffield, far from his debauched lifestyle. The fact that he was now married held no real significance.

  He was an abysmal excuse for a husband, much as his father had been. He was an even worse excuse for a brother.

  “I am so looking forward to meeting your family, Quin,” Aurora continued before he could formulate his thoughts. “Well, the rest of them, that is. I’ve already met Lord Rotheby, and I’ll be delighted to spend more time with him at our house party this summer of course. But I’m desperate to get to know your mother and your sister.”

  Rotheby? She had to be joking. His wife could not be serious. The last thing Quin needed was his grandfather peering over his morning papers to scrutinize his every little action and lecture him at every turn. “Aurora,” Quin said with a warning in his tone, “you have not truly sent Rotheby an invitation, have you? You do realize that his presence would tremendously try my patience. Not to mention my mother”

  “Oh, dear,” Aurora said. “I am so terribly sorry, but the invitations have already gone out. There is nothing to be done for it at this point. You shall just have to prove yourself a patient man amidst rather trying conditions, won’t you?” She sat back in her chair with an increasingly smug smile.

  So it had been her plan all along. What was she trying to prove? Quin glared at Jonas across the table. The baronet ought to have known better. Jonas knew Quin better than anyone else in the world. He should have recognized the trouble Aurora would be inviting and found a way to discourage her from something so foolhardy.

  But, no matter. Her house party would end up a crashing bore, since she was rather more infamous than at the height of fashion at the moment. Most of her invited guests would never dare to accept. Hopefully Rotheby and his mother would follow suit.

  Still, he ought to prepare himself for at least a couple of guests to arrive. “How soon did you say this would all take place?” he asked with as much patience as he could muster, gritting his teeth while he awaited Aurora’s response.

  She smiled at him triumphantly. “In just over three weeks. The Season will be coming to an end, and I did not want them all to go rushing off somewhere else where we could not find them.”

  Three weeks. He had three weeks to learn to keep his temper in check.

  Bloody hell.

  ~ * ~

  Perhaps married life would not be so monotonous and prosaic as she had imagined it after all. Certainly after their talk at the riverfront, Aurora had an increased understanding of her husband. So, too, did their lovemaking increase in both frequency and fervor.

  The frequency might only have increased because Quin seemed to be staying close by the abbey more often during the day. He would go out and meet with his steward or visit with his workers and tenants in the mornings, but then he would be home for luncheon. Then he would perhaps spend an hour or two in his library with his secretary, going over accounts and figures before joining Aurora and Sir Jonas for tea.

  Some days after tea, the three of them would promenade through the park together, or perhaps take a picnic supper to eat beneath the willow trees next to the great pond.

  But on other days, Quin would slip an arm around Aurora’s waist and pull her into a secluded corner and kiss her senseless. More often than not on those days, before much time had passed, they would be sneaking off to his chamber and making love in the full light of day.

  Aurora loved those days.

  She loved being able to see the coarse curls covering Quin’s chest and follow their path down below his waist. She loved watching the muscles in his arms and chest contract and unfurl as he moved over her, or as he helped to move her body over his. She loved the way his eyes darkened and closed in ecstasy when he spilled himself inside her. She loved the power displayed in his back and buttocks and thighs when he would rise to wash himself before bringing her a wet cloth to do the same.

  Oh, dear good Lord. Who was she fooling? She loved Quin. Blast him.

  There could really be no purpose in continuing to deny it. Perhaps she loved him even more for all of his imperfections (and Quin certainly could not claim perfection—her husband had a multitude or ten of faults). Aurora had already loved him before that morning by the hermitage, before he had bared his heart to her, before he showed her his true nature. Before he displayed his vulnerability. Before he admitted his love.

  She loved him before she even realized she loved him. Best of all, it was all right that she did.

  Because he loved her in return.

  It shouldn’t really surprise her. She had written of their love, after all, and her stories always seemed to work out just the way she imagined them. Well, perhaps with a few detours from the plot and a handful of hiccups along the way. But that was beside the point.

  The point was that, despite how they had ended up that way, Aurora and Quin had a marriage full of love.

  They still had their disagreements, to be sure. But now that Quin was starting to actually spend some time with her other than only in bed, at least they were able to talk them out and find some sort of compromise.

  She could hardly contain her excitement in telling him the best bit of all. But the timing had to be perfect. Aurora wanted for both of them to remember the moment forever. It was about time they started collecting good memories, after all, instead of all the traumatic, salacious, and otherwise scandalous memories they had to that point accumulated.

  More than a fortnight has passed since Aurora had sent out her invitations. The house party would be a grand success. She simply knew it would. And she and Quin would have a lovely announcement to make to their guests after they arrived in a week’s time.

  Still, she didn’t want to tell him quite yet.

  Soon. Very soon.

  ~ * ~

  One more day. In one more day, a hoard of expectant guests would invade his home, expecting him to put on a happy face and be a happy host and say happy things and think happy thoughts.

  Damnation.

  Quin should have sent a footman out to reclaim the bloody invitations from the postman. But he hadn’t. He ought to have written apologetic letters to Aurora’s entire guest list, informing them that, due to unforeseen circumstances, they would be unable to host the house party. But he hadn’t. He damned well should have done what he had intended and sent Aurora away with Jonas, somewhere she could be safe, somewhere he couldn’t hurt her, somewhere he could never find her. But, again
, he hadn’t.

  So now, in one more day’s time, he would have no option but to follow through with this farce she had dragged him into.

  Quin had done his best over the three intervening weeks to behave as a proper and decent husband ought. He took care of his business affairs efficiently. He joined his wife for luncheon and tea and supper—chiefly because the thought of leaving Jonas to his own devices with Aurora didn’t sit well with him. Or at least that was the excuse he gave himself. Jonas had never (to Quin’s knowledge) been known to make a cuckold of other men.

  Quin took the time to get to know more about Aurora—about her relationship with her father (how the man doted upon her), and what she remembered of her mother (chiefly only sadness and strife), and if she’d ever had a pet (none, but the idea of having a puppy of her very own thrilled her to pieces).

  Aurora told him of her fear of heights that had plagued her since falling down a few stairs as a young girl. She told him how she came to be such dear friends with Lady Rebecca after her mother’s death—how no matter how forcibly Aurora had pushed against Rebecca to leave her alone to her misery, no matter how much she lashed out in anger and sadness and grief, no matter how deplorable her company must have been for a young girl, Rebecca stood staunchly by her side. She let him see tiny little pieces of herself that she normally kept hidden or firmly tamped down so as not to be discovered: the way she would always say “Thank you,” whenever a servant assisted her with a task, no matter how small; the way she would stealthily set aside her embroidery and begin work on a new gown for her lady’s maid as soon as the latter left the room; the way she picked up after Jonas so the maids wouldn’t have to come behind him and do it; the way she would set about discovering Quin’s favorite meal, or Jonas’s favorite dessert, and be certain to have Cook prepare them regularly; the way her eyes would light up when something struck her to write in her journal, and she would dart to the escritoire or her chamber to write it down before it was lost.