A Wicked Pursuit

by Isabella Bradford

  She had only been in London three times before, the last time being four years ago. She remembered it as being enormous, with street after street of houses, churches, and other fine buildings, noisy, and so filled with an astonishing number of people that she’d been relieved to return to her quiet home in Norfolk.

  Now London would be her home. She and Harry would also be expected to spend several months of the year at Breconridge Hall, his father’s home in Hampshire, but this house in Grosvenor Square belonged entirely to Harry.

  And now to her as well.

  “It’s the second house, there, with the white stone front,” Harry said beside her. “Does it suit you?”

  “How could it not, Harry?” she said, staring up at the house as the tired horses stopped before it. The house was larger than she’d expected—much larger than Aunt Agatha’s, the only other London house she’d visited—four stories in height with three bays of windows, and a handsome doorway with an oversized arched entryway. By the light of the lanterns outside, it seemed elegant but severe, almost chilly, and a far cry from the cheerfully old-fashioned abbey. “But it does seem large for just you.”

  “It was always intended for only one person,” he said, looking over her shoulder. “Father built it as a dower house for my mother, intending it for her when he died. But because she died first, he leased it until I came of age, and then he gave it to me. Now it’s ours. Come, let’s go inside. I’ve had enough of this damned carriage.”

  The front hall of the house was tall and narrow and very grand, with a sweeping stair and a floor of black-and-white-patterned marble. At the top of the first landing was an arched alcove, and in it stood a white marble statue of an ancient goddess, like some ghostly stone sentinel.

  The servants were waiting for them in a row to greet them: butler, cook, three footmen, and two maids. Harry presented them with such haste and disinterest that Gus couldn’t begin to catch their names. But she smiled as warmly as she could at their bows and curtseys, and resolved that tomorrow there’d be plenty of time to learn names and duties, as well as begin reviewing accounts.

  She could tell she’d have her work cut out for her. Seven servants were not nearly sufficient staff for a house of this size, and she could already see a dozen warning signs, from dust rolling beneath the hall chairs to woodwork in need of polishing. It was clear that the bachelor master had let things slide, and she couldn’t wait to make the changes to improve Harry’s house for him. That she knew how to do.

  “There’s one parlor in there,” Harry said, waving a hand toward one tall set of double doors, “and another behind it, plus the dining room and the library on this floor. Upstairs there’s a gallery, a ballroom, and the usual bedchambers. I’ll show you all tomorrow, when we’re both not so wicked tired. Besides, it all looks much more agreeable in the daylight.”

  He was already making his way up the stairs, one step at a time. Although he wasn’t complaining—he never did—she could tell by the way he grimaced at each step how much his leg was bothering him after they’d spent nearly fifteen hours traveling. She knew better than to say anything about it, however, and in silence she climbed beside him, measuring her steps to match his.

  At the landing he stopped in front of the marble goddess, nearly out of breath, and pointed to the left. Though she stood directly in front of him, he pointedly looked past her.

  “The countess’s bedchamber and rooms are at the end of that hallway,” he said. “Your maid should have already arranged your things for the night.”

  Gus frowned, not liking the way this was heading. “And where, pray, is the earl’s bedchamber?”

  He turned to look in the opposite direction. “Down there.”

  “That would seem to me to be an unconscionable distance apart,” she said, setting her hands on her hips. “I would not expect you to share my dressing room with my clothing and things strewn all about, but no husband and wife should be so far removed from each other each night.”

  “It is the most common arrangement in town,” he said, pulling his hat a little lower over his eyes. He wasn’t exactly being stubborn, but rather thick-headed and dense, and she could not fathom why. “It is the custom. We may still visit each other’s beds at any time, of course.”

  “My lord Hargreave,” she said, her voice taut with wounded anger. “I do not give a tinker’s damn for what the custom of the town may be. Whilst we are in our house, our home, we may sleep together on the middle of the dining table for all the town will ever know of it.”

  He frowned, still avoiding meeting her eyes. “Gus, please.”

  “‘Gus, please’?” she cried, her voice now breaking with emotion. “That is all you can say? ‘Gus, please’? Have these last three nights meant nothing to you? Did you take no pleasure in what we did?”

  “We were in an inn,” he said. “We weren’t here.”

  “What does it matter, when I am your wife?”

  “Because, damnation, it wasn’t supposed to be like this!” he said, his distant reserve suddenly snapping. “As soon as I stepped through that door, I remembered how I was when I left, how I was whole, and now I cannot even walk up my own stairs!”

  Something snapped inside her, too, all the anxiety and strain and fears for him that she’d kept bottled tight within.

  “Who knows how anything is supposed to be, Harry?” she demanded. “I am no Cassandra, able to peer into the future, and neither are you. You don’t know what may happen tomorrow, or next year, or even a minute from now. The past is done, over, and cannot be changed, and the future will unfold in its own time. All we truly have is this moment, here, now, with that wretched statue watching us, and I won’t let you—”

  But what she wouldn’t do didn’t matter, because he was kissing her, one arm around her waist to jerk her close against him. All the emotion and tension that had been building between them roared into that kiss, his mouth bruising and possessive against hers. She pushed her hands inside his coat to cling to his back, wanting to be closer still. Her hat fell to the floor, and he thrust his fingers in her hair, tangling it. He was kissing her with such ferocity, such desperation, that it made her dizzy with the force of it. She could feel the hard heat of his cock grinding against her, and more, she felt her own body tightening in response as well.

  He groaned into her mouth, an impossibly male sound, and when he finally broke his mouth from hers, he still could not look away from her face, staring into her eyes as if she held every secret in the world.

  “I have far more than this moment, Gus,” he said roughly. “I have you.”

  And she knew there’d be no more talk of her sleeping in the distant room at the end of the hall.

  “I thought I’d never see you in a carriage again after Tuesday,” Gus said as she settled on the squabs beside him. “Yet here we are, only three days later. I am stunned, Harry, truly stunned.”

  Harry laughed, something he’d done a great deal with her these last three days. Of course he’d been doing a great deal of some other things with her as well, wonderfully wanton and voluptuous things, that had gone far toward making him forget the tedious trip to London. They had kept to his bed and ignored the rest of the world, and let the cards of well-wishers who had called pile up on the salver beside the front door. He had sent his regrets and canceled appointments with his agent, Mr. Arnold; Sir Ralph; his tailor, Mr. Venable; and several old friends at his club, while Gus had put aside all her grand plans for remaking his household. Being in bed—his own bed—with Gus had been entirely worth it, and if he’d had his wishes, he would have preferred they continue in this fashion forever.

  But to do so would have been unfair to Gus. Not that she would have objected to remaining in bed with him; far from it. Yet if she was to be accepted into London society as his wife and countess, it was time they were seen together in public. Riding in their carriage through Hyde Park today would be their first appearance, and later this evening he’d take her to his box at the play
house. That ever-growing stack of cards in the hall was proof of how curious society was to meet his new wife, and he was proud to oblige.

  Gus, however, was not nearly as confident. “Do I look well enough, Harry?” she asked anxiously, fiddling with her hat. “Julia says that Hyde Park is where all the people of fashion go to ogle one another, and I don’t wish to embarrass you.”

  “How could you embarrass me?” he asked. “You look beautiful. You are beautiful.”

  She was wearing the plum merino habit and the ribbon-covered hat, and she did look beautiful. He’d have to ask Celia to take her to her London mantua maker now that they were in town, and have Gus order as many others as she wanted. As charming as she looked, he didn’t want anyone saying she had only one habit, or accusing him of being a less-than-indulgent husband.

  She sighed, unconvinced. “Are you sure I’ll do, Harry?”

  “Of course you’ll do,” he assured her, linking his hand into hers. “All that’s required of you today is to sit beside me and smile and nod. No one makes real conversation in the park, because no one stops, and most of them can’t ride and be witty at the same time.”

  “That is good,” she fretted. “Because I’m not witty even when I’m sitting still.”

  “Hush,” he said gently. “You’re the Countess of Hargreave. You’re my wife, and I love you beyond measure.”

  At last she smiled. “I love you, too, Harry.”

  He ducked beneath the sweeping brim of her hat to kiss her.

  “Today we’ll ride about the park,” he said. “Then the playhouse tonight. Tomorrow Sir Randolph is coming to inspect my infernal leg.”

  “He doesn’t inspect you, Harry,” she said. “He examines you. I’m sure he’ll only be pleased with your progress, too.”

  “There’s been damned little progress that I can tell,” Harry said. “Not of late.”

  “Now you should be the one who needs hushing,” she said. “Each day you’re getting stronger. I can see it, even if you refuse to. I would not be surprised if he finally gives you leave to put weight on your leg.”

  “We’ll see,” he said, noncommittal. He refused to get his hopes up. It was his leg, after all, and while Gus was set on being cheerful about it, he didn’t share her optimism.

  “In any event,” he continued, changing the subject back to their newlywed obligations, “after Peterson is done with me, we must begin our wedding calls. I saw that Celia left us a list of all the lady grandees who must be honored with our presence. They all live here in the West End, so I figure we can make four or five at a time. We’ll begin with the duchesses.”

  “Duchesses,” she murmured faintly. “Goodness. Are there that many?”

  “No more than a dozen are in town at present,” he said. Most new husbands didn’t make wedding calls with their wives, but he wanted to make sure that Gus was properly launched, and he was determined to protect her as much as he could from any casual social cruelty. “Remember that one day you’ll be a duchess, too, so you must not be intimidated. Four of them are in the family, anyway. There’s Celia, of course, and then her daughters—Diana, Charlotte, and Lizzie—who are married to my father’s cousins. I expect you’ll all be great friends.”

  “I hope so,” she said faintly.

  “You will,” he said. He knew the kind of social warfare that diverted London ladies, and he understood why Gus felt uneasy about plunging into those treacherous waters. “The ladies of our family are a formidable force, sweetheart, and as one of them, you’ll never have better allies. And next week, of course, is the Queen’s Drawing-Room.”

  She let out a long, worried sigh, and pulled her hand away from his to clasp hers tightly in her lap. “Could not we go to a later drawing room, Harry? Her Grace said that Her Majesty holds them every month. Could not we wait a bit later, when I feel more—more at ease with society?”

  “You can’t send regrets to Her Majesty, Gus,” he said, placing his hand gently over her tightly knotted fingers. “She knows we’re married, and she’ll be expecting me to present you to her.”

  “But surely there are other ladies she wishes to see more,” she said, a quiver of panic in her voice. “Surely Her Majesty would not notice if I were not there.”

  “I fear she would,” he said, “and others would notice our absence as well. We must appear at court, Gus. It’s expected of us, the responsibility and allegiance that comes along with our titles. I assure you that a great many days I’d rather be anywhere than listening to the drones in the House of Lords, but I sit there because it’s my duty.”

  She sighed mightily. “When you explain it in such a fashion, then of course we must go,” she said. “But the thought of curtseying before all those people terrifies me. What if I stumble? What if I fall, there before Her Majesty?”

  “Then you will hardly be the first to do so,” he said. “It’s not such a fearsome ordeal. You’ll wear your silver and gold gown from our wedding and stick tall white feathers in your hair like all the other ladies. We’ll walk up to where the queen sits, I’ll present you, and you’ll curtsey. That’s it. The queen won’t expect any wit from you, and besides, her own English is still so atrocious that she wouldn’t notice if you said the cleverest thing imaginable.”

  Still she looked miserably uncertain, and he covered her hand with his for reassurance. “I know you’ll be a success, Gus. Be who you are. The ladies who’ll wish you to be otherwise aren’t worth knowing. That’s all you need remember. I can assure you that it’s a great deal easier than running an estate like Wetherby Abbey.”

  She sighed. “Truly, Harry?”

  “Truly.” He leaned forward and kissed her lightly on the cheek, taking care not to knock her hat askew. “Besides, I shall be with you through it all.”

  “Will you swear to that?” she asked.

  “Of course,” he said. He would, too. He’d do anything she asked of him. “I’ll swear by anything you wish.”

  At last she smiled. “I won’t make you swear any terrible oaths, Harry. That would scarcely be wifely of me.”

  He smiled, too, but his words remained serious. “You were with me when I needed you most, Gus. The very least I can do is steer you through the rigmarole of calls and court. Ah, here we are at the park now.”

  “Look, Harry, look,” she said, turning toward the window. “I’ve never seen so many people parading about!”

  The day was a sunny one, and the park was crowded. Carriages of every description, some open, some closed, filled with ladies in extravagant hats, drove slowly up and down Rotten Row. Gentlemen and a few more ladies in riding habits rode on horseback, while a smattering of officers seemed determined to display both their scarlet coats and their spirited mounts.

  “Oh, Harry, people are waving at us!” Gus said, flustered. “What shall I do? How do I reply?”

  “You smile and wave in return,” Harry said. “There’s no other trick to it. They recognize the carriage, and they’re eager to see you.”

  “Me,” she said in wonder, her eyes wide. “I still cannot conceive of anyone taking that much interest in me.”

  “I fear it’s the curse of becoming my wife,” he explained, even as he hoped she wouldn’t come to think of their marriage in that way. “Ah, here are several of my acquaintances.”

  Three gentlemen and a lady rode close to the carriage, clearly peering in at Gus as they nodded in greeting.

  “Good day, my lady,” called one of the gentlemen as they passed by. “So good to have you back among us, my lord!”

  “That was easy,” Gus said with such genuine surprise that Harry laughed again.

  “By sunset the entire town will be praising you to the veritable skies,” he promised. “Your beauty, your gentility, the quality of your dress.”

  “Goodness,” she exclaimed again, but she was smiling now, and as other carriages and riders passed them by she enthusiastically waved and returned their salutes.

  By the time they’d driven back and
forth along the King’s Way three times, he was quite sure he’d never enjoyed an afternoon in Hyde Park as much as he did with Gus.

  “One last pass, sweetheart,” he said, “and then home. We needn’t begin dressing for evening until five or so, which should leave us time for a swift, ah, interlude, if you can be persuaded.”

  She blushed and chuckled. “How exactly do you mean to persuade me, Harry?” she said, sliding her hand along the inside of his thigh. “If it’s the same way that you—”

  “By all that’s holy, it is Hargreave!” exclaimed a young man on horseback, his leering face suddenly filling the window, with his friend behind him. “Risen from your Norfolk grave to return among the living?”

  “Cobham!” Harry said, delighted to see so old an acquaintance, both from school and as a more recent partner in many late-night adventures, even as he regretted how quickly Gus’s hand had retreated from his leg. “Sweetheart, this is Lord Cobham, a very old friend, and there behind him is Lord Walford. My wife, Lady Hargreave.”

  “Most honored, Lady Hargreave,” Cobham said, his gaze boldly wandering across Gus’s breasts—a bit too boldly for Harry’s tastes. Gus wasn’t another of their casual lady-bird conquests; she was his wife. “I say, Hargreave, we’ve heard such fatal things of you, that you’re quite the wreck. Happy to see they’re false.”

  “Base exaggerations from the mouths of rogues and dogs,” Harry declared, striving for the same old familiar bravado. He was thankful he’d stowed his crutch below the seat, away from view, and that his leg with the brace was hidden by Gus’s voluminous skirts.

  “Do you know there’s even a betting book open on you at the club?” Cobham said, as if this were the best jest in the world. “Greatest odds were that you’d knocked your head and lost your wits, and had been committed to an asylum in the north. Second greatest was that the surgeon had taken your leg outright and that you’d have a peg leg when you came back to town for entertaining the whor—ah, for walking.”