Six Weeks With a Lord

by Eve Pendle

  Politeness was the least of their concerns. A marriage of convenience was a scandal, but fornication was a sign of immorality. Grace would be denounced as unsuitable and contaminated and thus, no judge in Chancery would allow her to look after her brother. A bolt went through her. How could she get Henry to safety now? This could only be the work of Rayner.

  “I know about your illicit affair with a man before your marriage, and that you have hoodwinked my son into marrying you. I know that you are going to run off, leaving him out of pocket from your theft.” The dowager seemingly didn’t even hear her son.

  The dowager’s story was a combination of inaccuracies delicately interwoven together to make a discourse almost more credible than the reality. It reminded Grace of the deceit she and Anna had spun. It was futile to deny, as the explanation was even stranger. The knowledge that she was going to lose everything she’d worked so hard for was wire through her limbs. “Supposing any of this were true, which it is not, what are you hoping to achieve?”

  “Leave before any further humiliation is brought upon this family.” The dowager turned to Everett. “You can still obtain an annulment and make a better choice.”

  Everett laughed and shook his head, as though his mother had made a sweet joke, rather than a dire insult. “I can’t make a better choice than Grace.” He looked at her as he said the words, and the feel of it was like slipping into a feather bed, comfortable and right.

  “She has a child out of wedlock, Everett.” Her virtuous indignation was palpable.

  He arched an eyebrow. “I’m sorry to contradict you, Mother, but that is utterly wrong. You must complain about the accuracy of the gossip you are receiving. It is low quality.”

  They exchanged a look and Grace felt her worry recede. He loved her and they’d find a way to sort this, together.

  “And I’m sorry, but he can’t get an annulment.” She couldn’t contain her smile at how thoroughly he couldn’t claim to have not consummated their marriage. They would confirm that several times tonight. It was a strengthening thought. Even now, she might be pregnant from their repeated consummations of their marriage.

  “I’m not sorry,” Everett said under his breath, and her smile broadened.

  “A technicality. If you are absent, he can find a way.” The dowager glowered at them.

  Absolutely not. Not for all the gold in Cornwall.

  “That supposes I want to find a way. I love Grace. She isn’t what you say, and even if she were, it wouldn’t matter. I am not blind to her faults, like you were to Father’s.”

  The dowager’s face began to turn an unflattering shade of scarlet.

  “His debts, and Peter’s, were the initial reason for my marrying Grace. It would behoove you to remember that when you want to take some lofty moral position.”

  The woman flicked at her skirts, folding and unfolding her hands.

  “And Grace is going to stay, because we are a perfect match. A pair.”

  Were there any words more romantic than being one of a pair? Grace’s skipping heart didn’t think so, even as her heart ached for the callous destruction Rayner had done.

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Everett,” said the dowager. “You are quite forgetting your position and responsibilities.”

  “Your son works every day, all day, to make this estate profitable.” She was surprised she didn’t feel angry, just sad for Everett and the sacrifices he’d made. “He’s committed everything to the Westbury estate and name. Surely it isn’t unreasonable he should have his own choice of wife?”

  The dowager gave her look of superiority and disapproval. “But it was hardly a choice for him, was it? And you are planning to leave.”

  “As I have said already, I am staying.” Saying it lightened her.

  An expression of contemplation played around the woman’s lips. “Very well. On your heads be it.” She rose smoothly and adjusted her skirt hem with a practiced movement. “You will call on me later in the week to discuss the barouche.” Without further comment, she left.

  “What just happened?” Grace murmured as the door closed, her stomach falling. Though she knew what had happened. Her only plan to get Henry back had just plunged into a dark hole and for a moment, she felt the same.

  “Bluster and nonsense.” He shook his head. “There’s no evidence. We’ll face it down.”

  “Are you sure?” The sort of accusations Rayner had started were damaging.

  “It does change things, but I think that’s for the best—”

  “My lady?” Thompson appeared at the door. “We had arranged to talk about the specification of the shop fittings for the Women’s Work teaching rooms.”

  “He’s not a man to be denied when he needs detailed measurements.” Everett quirked his eyebrow.

  Grace frowned. Why did he think rumors about her were for the best? They threatened everything she’d fought for.

  “We’ll talk later. But don’t worry.” Everett squeezed her hand. “Henry will be fine.”

  They shared a smile that heated Grace all over with reassurance and desire like a caress over her skin and a soft blanket over her. They would face Rayner together. And until then, she’d concentrate on doing some good for the women here.

  Everett turned to Thompson. “How was your honeymoon?”

  “Devon was… Err. Yes. Thank you.” Thompson coughed. “I have the drawings waiting for you in the study, my lady.”

  Back in the study, Thompson and she went through all the requirements of the shop space. While they conversed, she could feel Everett’s attention on her, though he was writing a letter.

  As soon as Thompson left the room, he set down his pen and stared unabashed at her. “Let me have you.” His quiet words were somewhere between a request and a demand.

  Everett was lounged back in his chair, his coat emphasizing his wide shoulders. Letters and papers were spread across his desk, forgotten. His gaze was like a hot hand on her skin. His beautiful mouth was curved upward. The thought of where his mouth had been only last night made her flush. “What do you mean?”

  “Everything.” His voice was low and intense. “Let me have you in any way that makes you color like that. Come here.”

  Yes. Her heart thumping, she scraped back her chair. She swept her skirts aside and walked around the desks to stand in front of Everett. His slight smile had extended into a grin. He reached up and grabbed her, toppling her onto his lap. His mouth found hers and he held her firmly at her waist. She wasn’t going anywhere. She kissed him greedily as he loosened her dress and corset to reveal her breasts. Then he dipped his head to lick her nipples, drawing a mew of need from her.

  “Grace,” he exhaled her name like a benediction against her skin. “I’ve been thinking of this all morning. Do you trust me?”

  She did. She trusted him so entirely it scared her. An affirmative was hardly out of her mouth, before he’d lifted her and pushed and turned her onto the desk, chest down, her bared breasts against the hard surface. Excitement and the thrill of arousal raced through her. Liquid pooled at her core. His hands ran up her legs, lifting her skirts as they went. She shivered in anticipation when he pulled her drawers down and the cool air touched her bare thighs.

  There was a rustle of fabric behind her, then his hands spread her and he thrust, filling her up, deep and hard. It was a sudden invasion, and it made her gasp. But she was already ready, his length filling a space that hadn’t existed a moment before, except as a vague ache brought about by his look and his words.

  He grasped her hands and stretched her arms out to the side, shoving a pile of letters across the polished wood surface, and a flurry of paper fell to the floor. She felt the warmth against her back as he covered her body with his own. The weight of him against her was masculine and demanding. His breath was hot against her cheek as he whispered about how beautiful she was, that he wanted her so much, that he loved her and thought of her every minute of every day.

  All the time, he stroked in an
d out of her, building up a strong rhythm, stretching her out, intensifying her pleasure.

  It was as if he was pushing her into confession, making it impossible to hold back. Her moans were unintelligible, but began to take shape. She wanted to tell him, his lovemaking pulled it from her, and her mouth formed the words. “I love you. I love you.”

  He moaned in response.

  Grace shuddered as Everett released her and stroked down her sides, enhancing the feel of his male part inside her, hard against her slipperiness. He gripped her hips, pulling her back onto him for firm thrusts that pushed her higher. Then next thing she knew, while keeping hold of her with one hand, he was stroking her from underneath between her legs as he pounded into her with the other, the sensation coming from all around. His body was above her, inside her, and they were together. Grace cried out as waves of feeling crashed over her.

  Everett increased his pace as she clenched and drifted down from her climax. The desk shifted from their effort, and there was the sound of another cascade of papers falling off the desk. His member swelled inside her and it was too much, too good. He groaned as he came, and she thought she could feel that, too, a deliciously firm pressure at the top of her passage, all the way in her.

  They stayed joined for some minutes, Everett pressing kisses into her hair, her neck, and onto the edge of her jawline. She was replete. Finally, the heat of him disappeared from her back. Large but gentle hands replaced her drawers and drew down her skirts, smoothing them.

  “Turn over,” he murmured.

  Grace wriggled awkwardly up and around on the table so she was sitting rather than lying, and her open dress was exposed to him. He was closing up his trousers and tucking in his shirt, scrutinizing her. He was careful and focused on her body as he pulled up her corset and dress slowly into a semblance of decorum, examining her breasts and arms as he did so.

  “Are you hurt?”

  “Pardon?” She was still weak from her release.

  He shot her a chagrined look and took first her left hand, then her right, turning them over in his, stroking across her palm gently, as if checking for any blemish. “I took you roughly on my desk.”

  He was worried about her, concerned he’d been too rough and hurt her. Perhaps he was worried she had done this act for him, instead of with him. Her chest tightened.

  “Poor desk.” She swept her arms across the table, toppling a couple more piles of letters onto the floor. “Whoops,” she deadpanned. “We do seem to have been a little rough with your desk, don’t we?”

  Everett caught her up, pulling her onto her feet and into his arms. “Just correspondence.” His eyes were filled with relief. “Though, unless you want the whole household to know what we have been up to, we had better tidy it up.”

  Grace wrinkled her nose and huffed, “It was more your fault than mine.”

  He chuckled and reached up to rub at the arch of her nose, smoothing the lines. “Don’t frown. If the wind changes, you’ll be stuck like that.”

  Ridiculous man. “Well, that would be a problem, wouldn’t it?” she said, moving out of his embrace and starting to pick up the letters spread across the floor. “You wouldn’t want to throw me onto your desk if I was ugly.”

  He knelt down beside the other side of the desk. “Darling, you quite mistake me. That was not me throwing you.” His dark head tilted down as he swept up the paper.

  His dexterous fingers gathered the sheets. Those hands had touched her, just minutes ago. He was furled, banked power compared to the rawness of the want he had exposed to her. He was truly beautiful.

  “That was me laying you on the desk.” His grin was positively wicked. “I reserve throwing for the bed only.”

  Grace looked away, embarrassed, and reached out for some stray letters. For all they’d done together, she still felt as vulnerable and transparent as a single gossamer thread when he saw her need for him. She concentrated on picking up the evidence of their passion. The papers were a mix of single page formal letters, addressed to Lord Westbury. “I’m not sure if the two are so different. It felt like a throw, to me.”

  “Hardly. I can throw you onto the bed later, darling. If you would like it.”

  “You mean that you would like it.” She hid her grin by scooping up another handful of letters. She glanced at the letters as she stacked them. Everett. The familiar way of addressing her husband by his Christian name jumped out at her among the other dense pages of writing about timber prices and roof leaks. And then, her name was there. Alnott.

  “I could make you like it, too,” he said in a promising tone that would normally send a shiver of want though her.

  The letter was dated a few days ago, about the time they’d been getting on perfectly, easing into a new closeness. As she read, a sensation like cool water down her spine went through her.

  How is your seduction plan for your wife going? Is the whole Alnott dowry yours yet? The damn money lender has begun to hassle me as well about Peter’s debts. I’d be much obliged if you would hurry up. You said it wouldn’t be difficult, remember? You said she was quite pretty and it wouldn’t be too much of a chore to seduce her. Are you finding her satisfactory?

  “Grace? What are you reading?” There was a note of alarm in his voice.

  It was like she had drunk the poisonous letter, rather than read it. It seeped hurt down her already aching chest, through her heart, down to her belly, and across to her arms. She was so cold. She had been in an inferno of his lust and attention and love— Well, not that last one, clearly.

  It was like she imagined those baths in Budapest she’d heard about, where you sit in a hot room and relax every muscle, then plunge into a cold pool. Frigid reality, after the luxury of the hot saunas and baths, was how she felt now. She had let herself be lulled into a sense of security with him and affection toward him. She hadn’t known how complete her feelings for him were until this letter had cut through all the protection she thought she had around her heart, showing that it had already been inundated. Seeing it had all been a con on his part made her feelings real. And more painful, because they’d been entwined with the thought that he loved her. He had declared his love, of course, but the idea had begun to seep into her. She had seen evidence of his affection in every request for her opinion and his concentration on what she cared for.

  Here was evidence that he had been playing a part all the time. It was as though his love was a physical thing that had been ripped from her chest.

  She stumbled to her feet and Everett was there, reaching for her, or reaching for the letter. She jerked away from him.

  “What is your brother’s debt?” Already, she could feel the cool that had protected her when she’d been sent away to Geneva returning. The fronds of ice crept through her, preserving her vital organs even as they incapacitated her.

  “What?”

  She flicked overleaf to see the letter’s sign off. “It’s from George. Your younger brother.” His brother who lived in London, perfectly positioned in society to spread rumors that would make it pointless for her to spend her dowry on getting her brother.

  “Grace, you have to understand—” He reached for her again and she evaded with a flinch and a backward step. His eyes filled with dismay and she steeled herself.

  “How much is it?”

  He swallowed, then held her gaze steadily. Unsaid things hovering in the air between them. “Twenty thousand pounds. Or thereabouts.”

  Grace had no comprehension of how one person accumulated that sort of debt. By all accounts, Everett’s father had taken years of bad investments to achieve only half that amount of debt that had become the mortgage on Larksview. But suddenly, the answer was so obvious. “Gambling debts.”

  Everett nodded tersely.

  “I specifically asked about gambling. You lied.”

  “You asked whether I was a gambler.” He clenched his jaw. “I’m not.”

  “I asked about your debts, and you said there were no others.” She w
anted him to have a legitimate excuse, though she knew it was impossible.

  “They are not my debts. They are—they were—my brother’s debts. I don’t gamble.”

  “A persnickety detail. Your brother, Lord Westbury. You are now Lord Westbury. Therefore, they are your debts. You took them on with the earldom.” Her anger was an east wind, shriveling every tender plant in its wake. “This letter. Your brother says you were going to seduce me, and he asks about the dowry. You planned this from the start.”

  His every kind action now took on a taint. Taking her sailing, being so patient with her, understanding about her distrust of lords. Her misgivings had been correct.

  He leaned toward her, his gray gaze steady on her face. “I didn’t plan to fall in love with you.”

  His voice was gravelly and for a moment, Grace leaned toward him, almost hypnotized.

  Then the words in the letter were in her mind again. A chore to seduce her. Her frozen heart had cracked, but didn’t soften. His declaration of love was what she wanted to hear. She wanted him to say that this had transcended all their original mistakes and misconceptions. She wanted this to be other than what it seemed.

  “You don’t think I’m going to fall for that, do you?” She couldn’t lie to herself or listen to his lies.

  His head bowed, he turned away. She watched as he sat at his desk, still surrounded by chaotic paper from where they’d been making love on it only minutes before.

  He put his head in his hands and was silent for a moment, then muttered, almost to himself, “It started badly. But it’s not like that… I… It’s… I didn’t mean…”

  Hadn’t she thought something so similar only hours ago, talking to his mother? But it had started so much worse than she’d thought. Everything beautiful they’d built in these weeks was on top of a mire of deception.

  Grace looked at his lowered head, his hair flowing around his fingers. He looked desolate. She stemmed the trickle of sympathy. “You didn’t mean to manipulate me? You planned to seduce me, but it’s not really like that because I found out?”